#hunter had me feeling a certain way my lord

[idontgetanysleep]

requested by @theogfulcrum22 !

STARBOY ⭐️ BAD BATCH EDITION

ik the request was for hunter but i thought i might as well do the whole batch! minus omega

like and reblog to save a graphic designer’s life <3

original upload for this series here

[solbaby7]

Testing the Waters

pairing: rhysand x reader

[ 1 ] [ 2 ]

part 3 to the shy!reader massage mini-series

warnings: sexual content, minors DNI, massages, some swearing, probably typos

summary: Weeks of rubbing up on a certain High Lord is bound to build some tension.

—

“Need you to do something for me, bunny.”

There’s a feeling in your stomach at the pet name, bare toes digging further into the throw blanket and it’s instinctual the way your body rises to meet him, your book long forgotten. Rhysand doesn’t resist when you come ease his jacket from his shoulders and throw it over the couch. “Anything.”

His hands run over the back of his neck, head slowly rolling and the tension in his body is unmistakable. He doesn’t even bother asking you to go grab your oils or salts; Rhysand’s hand waves and it’s all laid out on the table before you. His clothes disappear with a lazy blink and the way the High Lord’s body drapes across the couch in your room was utterly boyish, boxers tight around his thighs. “Please? I always get the best sleep after these.”

You hum in acknowledgement, grateful for his face pushed into the pillows to hide the blush that blooms at the sight of his body. It never got tiresome; the rippling muscles that contracted whenever he adjusted or the gravelly tone that set in when you finally got your hands on him. It begins as a fleeting touch, fingers just barely grazing the smooth skin between his shoulder blades and his body goes still. “Try to focus on your breathing,” It feels weird as you say it, giving the most powerful male in all of the Courts a demand but Rhysand is quick to comply. “Gonna try something a little different this time.”

You’re not even facing him and you can feel the smirk that pulls on full lips. “Is that so? Maybe I should lie on my back instead.”

“You know, Cass said the same thing when I did this for him last night.” Rhys goes quiet a moment, violet irises tracking your every move like hunters did their prey, taking in the gentle tease of the pale purple hem of your nightgown against your thighs, the cute tapping of your toes against the terra cotta rug as you pulled out a black box filled to the brim with smooth rocks that were warm to the touch.

“And did you take him up on his offer?”

There’s a shake in your voice when you answer, skin blooming with heat at the nature of the conversation but you busy your hands with the little glass jars of oil, its contents significantly depleted. “That’d be highly inappropriate. He’s my friend.”

Rhysand relaxes instantly, clearly pleased with your response but his eyes still watch you as you prepare. Dainty fingers dip into a tiny little jar and you’re swift in the way you swipe it under his nose, the soothing scent of lavender filling his nostrils each time he breathed and he couldn’t deny the way it aided in his relaxation. “You’ve never thought about it?”

“Rhys,” It comes out so quietly you barely hear it yourself, skin going warm and you’re quick to sit on the back of his thighs before he can see the affect his words have on you. “You don’t usually ask me questions like this.”

“I’ve had a long week, bunny. Reports and responsibilities; things you don’t have to worry your pretty head about.” You try to focus on the crackle of the fire instead of the casual compliment falling off the deep rumble of his low voice, throat bobbing when he lets out a little chuckle. “Indulge me.”

Heated oils drips on his spine, a deep sigh releasing when you finally put your hands on him. Slow, smooth motions; easing the stress away from the broad stretch of his shoulders to the muscular taper of his waist. “Was that an order, High Lord?”

“No.”

It takes a second for you to work up the nerve to answer and you’re grateful he doesn’t push; taking the time to ease into the feeling of your palms gliding over golden skin. “Yes, I’ve thought about it,” You finally confess, thumbs pressing firm circles near the spot where his wings would sit.

A groan pulls from deep inside the High Lords throat and you can’t tell if it’s from your fingers or the shy admission but you don’t ask; too fearful of the feeling beginning to form between your thighs and you’re quick to readjust your positioning, rising to your knees to avoid any more contact than necessary. He was too handsome—smelled too good and felt like heaven beneath your fingers that you didn’t trust yourself not to grind down on the thick thighs beneath you if he’d asked a thing more.

Mother above seems to laugh at you, winking from above when the Lord of Night leans into your touch, one eye prying open to look at you. “Tell me what you think about. Tell me who.”

“My Lord, I really think—“

“Come on, bunny. I’m just Rhys when we’re like this; just tell me.”

You swallow thickly, hands stuttering to a stop on his back. “You promise not to laugh at me?”

“I’d never.” The seriousness in his words is all you need to nod a little to yourself, one hand bracing at his waist to lean over and grab the warm rocks he’d summoned. They’re smooth to the touch; retaining their heat and once they touch his skin, he finds them to be far more soothing than initially anticipated. “Cross my heart.”

Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, debating on if you were actually brave enough to do as he’d asked—not commanded. It felt like such trust; an opportunity to make him proud and you didn’t want to disappoint no matter how jittery it made you. “Sometimes, when I’m doing this,” You feel him adjust beneath you, head turning to the side and even though his eyes are closed you can still see that gentle furrow of concentration, waiting in anticipation. “—I think about letting my hands wander places I know they aren’t supposed to.”

He sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertip barely grazes under the waistband of his underwear and he’s acutely aware of the tremble of your knees on either side of his hips. He doesn’t want to say anything, violet eyes clamped shut as his mind wandered to just that, your soft hands coated in sweet oils wrapped around his cock, those shy eyes fluttering with wonder at the way he’d crumble to pieces for you.

A High Lord, completely at your mercy.

Rhys swallows thickly, voice so hoarse it’s impossible to miss the affects your words have on him and a confidence brews in your belly, words more sure when you proceed. “I think about what would happen the next time one of you jokingly asks me to strip down for my turn and I actually do it.” A smile works its way on your mouth when you see the way the High Lords brows crease, imagination running wild behind those lids.

“You think about doing that with all of us?”

Silence.

The gentle scrape of rocks against one another as you trail them up and down the sides of his spine, the oil slick and the warmth working out deep knots from the countless hours being hunched over his desk with a whiskey in hand and brain overloaded with information Rhys was no longer processing. “At the same time?”

The noise he lets out is positively sinful and you’re suddenly aware of his breathing beginning to quicken. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t understand.” But you did now, understood the underlying question behind his inquiry. “I sometimes think about it with Cass on nights he’s trained especially hard because he gets really vocal and sometimes those sounds are really hard to get out of my head.” Rhys hums in strained understanding, body relaxing but his hips keep shifting every now and then, fingers clamped tight around his biceps as he encourages you to continue. “Sometimes, I think about it with Az because when I’m doing an especially good job, he gets so relaxed that his shadows forget to obey and they start playing around in my clothes.”

Rhysand grunts but you take it as your hands doing good work, not the fact that he didn’t blame the slinking shadows; nearly subject to doing the task himself if you’d kept up.

“But you, High Lord,” It comes out breathless, hands stilling as if you couldn’t focus on touching and talking at the same time. “I think of you the most.” He physically shivers at the confession, fingers gripping so hard at his arms he’s sure he’s left marks but he tries to relax, forces himself to breathe and listen to the pure filth of such desires that hummed deep within your brain.

If only he could just slip past and look for himself—

“Especially that night with you in the tub,” You whimper, the noise sending filthy shocks of pleasure straight to his cock. The rocks clamber to the floor, his body twisting before you can comprehend his hands suddenly on your waist, violet eyes half lidded and so lust blown they’re nearly black. You can see the print of his arousal through the thin fabric of his underwear and you’re certain he’s clocked the way your tongue slides over your bottom lip. “Rhys.”

“Keep going, bunny.” His voice is wrecked, tone so low and commanding you don’t resist when strong hands ease you down on the thick bulge. He gives you time to deny it, to pull away and scramble off but it never happens.

“But—“

“You’re just helping, right? Helping your High Lord and this,” You follow his gaze to where both of you touch, the hardness of him pressed between your legs, the embarrassing wet patch that he’s surely felt seep through thin cotton. “I really fucking need this.”

The delicious drag of his hands guiding your hips over the rigid length of him, gaze eating up the way your lips part and your hands slip against his abdomen. "What about me in the tub, bunny? Tell me."

You don't understand how he expects such things from you when you can barely keep control over your body with such intense pleasure coursing through it. The friction of cock and cloth against your sensitive clit is enough to have your toes curling at the pressure, fingers digging perfect marks into your hips as you scramble through the brain fog long enough to remember how to form words and string together sentences. "Fuck," The slur doesn't even sound like you, eyes clamping shut and it takes great effort to remember what had been asked of you. "I've thought about it every night since; picturing what you looked like beneath all those bubbles."

"Was hard as a fucking rock the second you stomped to the door." He feels you clench around nothing, head falling back as you submitted to the pleasure and he genuinely has to hold back from finishing the second your hand slides up your own frame to grab at your breast. "Mother above."

He doesn't even have to guide your movements anymore, hips grinding into him with such hunger it makes the room darken; a deep, rumbling power filling the space and Rhysand actually moans when you don't shrink away from it. "Rhys, I'm—"

"Just a little more for me, yeah?" You catch yourself nodding along with him even when you don't believe you'll be able to fulfill his command. The burn in your stomach was near unbearable, mind stuck in a frenzy when warm hands bunch up the thin hem of your nightgown just enough to show off the wet drag of cloth on cloth. "So fuckin' pretty."

So eager to please, eyes glossy and half-lidded when you peer down at him, hands running over the defined muscles of his abdomen as your hips take on a pace that had the High Lord sucking breath through his teeth. "Thought about being the reason you made those noises. Wanted to use my hands," Your fingers drag over the strong planes of his chest, nails scratching just enough to leave a hint of a trail and your words carry a sultry drawl to them. "—my mouth too."

He's seconds away from release, skin on fire and hands eager in their exploration of your body over the silky material of your clothes. He trials up the length of your belly, fingers smoothening over the hard nipples poking through. The room smells of arousal, male musk and feminine desire twisting about the air so thick there'd be no way denying what had taken place if anyone had decided to walk in.

None of it matters though.

Not when you lean over, hands bracing on his chest and press a whisper of a kiss to his bottom lip.

The bruising grip on your hips leave only to pull your mouth back to his own, both of swallowing the others moans in and you can feel his cock twitch against you the moment your own release shudders through you. He doesn’t stop kissing you through it, hips slowing to a stop and you have to pull away simply to catch your breath before you pass out. “It’s your turn,” You huff out and you’re quick to smooth out the curious furrow of his brow. “To tell me what you’d been thinking about all those times?”

A feline smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’d rather just show you.”

[natureboy96]

Prediction for ACOTAR ending

I’ve recently finished through reading the ACOTAR series as of about a month ago, and since then I’ve spent a long time thinking about how the series will end in regards to certain characters, mainly Tamlin, Lucien and Elain. I know a number of people don’t believe that Tamlin is deserving of redemption/healing, and while I disagree with the idea entirely, from what I’ve gathered the author doesn’t really. I would like to see Tamlin get the patience and kindness other characters have been given in the series to heal and become a better person, and I’ll definitely be keeping that in my mind as my preferred and better ending, but I also don’t expect it to happen. With that in mind, I’ve had a single thought as to the best way I predict Ms Maas will end his part in the story.

With Tamlin having regressed more and more into a bestial form, the Spring Court in disarray and nothing seeming to get better, the other high lords (or probably just the Inner Circle) will decide that something has to be done and a new lord put into place. Lucien will have been on a journey of self discovery and respecting women and winning Elain over (haven’t many details on that part) and being of two powerful courts will volunteer to do it, which means confronting his friend Tamlin.

In the end, I think it will end the way it began; a hunter in the woods, staring down a fae transformed into a beast who may seem threatening but is really there waiting for death, and an arrow to the heart. Tamlin’s power will transfer to either him or Elain or both, and they’ll rule the Spring Court together.

It would be a tragic end for me for a good character, if not somewhat poetic, and I hope there would be some hint of dignity or regret or feeling of loss to go with it. I wish I could say I’d expect at least that much, but I’ve come to doubt it…

——————————————

To not end things on too sour a note, my hope is that Tamlin will be able to give up or abdicate his powers through the Spring McGuffin, seeing as he never wanted to be High Lord in the first place, Lucien and Elain somehow get it, Tamlin gets his space for healing, him and Lucien make up, and then he can go about playing the fiddle and dancing and finding out who he really wants to be, not who everyone (fandom and author included) expect or plan for him to be. A pipe dream, but a lovely one at that.

[stars-n-spice]

So, this is it, huh?

I figured the least I could do was write something down before shit goes down because I know after tomorrow I don't think I'll be emotionally available to do or say much about the show and what it and the fanbase means to me.

The last few days, my mind has been a whirlwind of emotions and I don't think I've ever really suspended my disbelief since it was announced that this would be the last season.

I felt like Po honestly, in Kung Fu Panda 2, when he's like "But I just got Kung Fu!" when they're talking about Lord Shen making that weapon that straight-up kills people who practice Kung Fu (I'm going somewhere with this just bear with me-) because I'm fairly new to the animated shows of Star Wars fandom and didn't start hyperfixating on Bad Batch until midway through Season 2 while those episodes were still releasing.

So when they announced that the 3rd season was the final season I was devastated. "What do you mean no more Bad Batch? I just got Bad Batch!" - I didn't want to believe it.

But here we are. Final season. Final episode.

I can't describe how the obsession started. It just did.

When the first season was coming out, I was still on Season 6 of TCW, so I got into it a little late. Then when it was over I immediately jumped into watching Rebels and became utterly obsessed with that show while Bad Batch just stayed, "Oh, neat show I watched."

Then the second season came out. I don't know how or when or why but suddenly something just went off in my brain and I became obsessed. I became attached. I fell in love with Wrecker in a way that I've never once felt or experienced towards any other fictional character, or person for that matter. I grew to understand Crosshair on a deeper level that made my heart ache for him and made me reflect on my own past and choices. Echo became a comfort character and an anchor in my life in where he's the first thing I think of when I'm down to put myself in a better mood. Suddenly I was ready to give Omega the universe and everything good in it. Tech became a lifelife (ironically) a hope that despite how I am and who I am, I'm capable of loving and being loved. And recently I've become so incredibly attached to Hunter because as the oldest child of five as well, I know that crushing weight of responsibility. Of failing your siblings. Of trying to be better.

This squad. This family. Cheesy as it is, I can't describe what they mean to me but Force, I'll try.

Recently I've been wondering why I'm so attached to this show and these characters. Jokingly, part of it is yes, the Bad Batch are lovely to look at and that does play a role in why I enjoy watching the show so much, but that's not completely it.

I think I speak for a lot of us fans when I say that I didn't fit in as a kid. I still don't even as an 'adult.' Look, I'm a biracial guy from two VERY different cultures that don't feel like home to me. On top of that, half of the time I don't know how to identify myself in gender and sexuality because I don't feel either most of the time. I'm introverted. I have anxiety. I probably have autism. I'm a burnt-out former gifted kid. I quite simply don't fit in.

"No, I'll stay. You guys don't fit in here either."

That? Yeah.

This show is for all those kids. Everyone who never fit in. Everyone who was told they were strange or weird, for the kids who ate glue in the back of the classroom, who were told they were too loud, who were put down because they didn't express emotion a certain way, for the kids who sat alone at lunch, who got left behind in their friend groups, for the kids who felt like they had no one so turned to harmful things, for the kids who were told they were special only to be discarded later in life, for the kids who don't know their place, don't know where they fit in and if they even do or ever will.

It's a show that tells those kids you're more than that. You're worth it. You're worth loving. You're worth protecting. You're worth the second chance. You're worth being loyal to. You're worth teaching. You're worth forgiving. You're worth it. You're worth it. You're worth it.

In the end there's hope for us. There's hope for all of us. And I think that's why I cling to tightly to this show. Why it means so much to me. Why I so desperately need these characters to make it out alive.

It's what Star Wars was from the start. About hope. About family. About loving and being loved and learning to love despite your circumstances. It's a show that took a bunch of neurodivergent absolute daddies and packed in so much angst but also feel-good moments with stunning animation, beautiful, moving music, and phenomenal voice acting. It's a show I can't help but love and love immensely because it feels like it was written for me.

For that kid who spent their recesses with their nose buried in an animal encyclopedia or talking to imaginary characters from their favorite books. For that kid who always felt so utterly useless and hopeless whenever they got less than an A- for a grade because they were supposed to be the gifted one. For the kid who struggled so much to be the older sibling they never asked to be. For the kid who just wants to find someone, anyone, who will love them as they are and fight for them. For the kid who valued loyalty above all else, always has, always will, and never gets it in return. For the kid who never fit in.

And well, whatever happens in the finale, I'm so grateful, so blessed, and so honored to have been a part of this journey with all of you.

[cilil]

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Tulkas x Nessa, Oromë, Vána 𓄌 Synopsis: Tulkas attempts a proposal, Nessa issues a challenge and Oromë has an idea. Or: A brief origin story of the feast. 𓄌 Warnings: / 𓄌 Oneshot (~1.2k words) | AO3

"My lady Nessa..." 

Nessa giggled when she saw Tulkas' normally jolly expression change into a more serious one, but gracefully placed her hand on his outstretched one after one more playful pirouette. 

"Yes? What is it?" 

Tulkas was even redder than after his hunts with Oromë, he could feel it. He also felt the eyes of his best friend and companion on him, could sense his nod of encouragement without seeing it, and noticed other nearby Ainur glancing in their direction too. What he meant to ask her was a distinctly private matter, and unfortunately it seemed as though he wasn't going to get privacy right now - but to make a flimsy excuse and leave would be cowardly, and he would permit no cowardice in front of the lady he was courting. 

"Have you, um..." Tulkas' brow furrowed as he searched for words. "...considered getting married?" 

The second these words were out of his mouth, it felt as if the world around him stilled. Even the wind died down — damn Manwë's curiosity — and Nessa stopped moving around, looking up at him with wide, contemplative eyes. 

"Not really." A huge, toothy grin appeared on her face, and there was something distinctly wolfish about it, reminiscent of her brother. "Why?" 

"Because I would like to... ask if you... umm..." Despite his best efforts, Tulkas failed to properly formulate the question he had been meaning to ask. Nessa's mien was disarming in the best and worst way possible, making him stammer and stumble over his own words, entranced by her wild, mischievous pride. 

"Would the great Lord Tulkas ask for my hand in marriage?" she challenged him. 

"I would." 

"But surely you understand that I cannot wed you without testing you." 

"Of course, my lady. Ask of me what you will and it shall be done," Tulkas said. He had never been one to back down from any sort of challenge, and he felt light with relief as she voiced what he hadn't managed to convey. This, he thought, he knew; this he could do. 

"Very well." Nessa pulled back her hand and took a few steps back, dancing and twirling as she went.

"I am certain my brother has instructed you in the ways of the hunters," she began, "as a warrior I know you are peerless, but I wish to see how you fare in the ways of our family." 

"There is no beast I wouldn't catch for you and no enemy I wouldn't overcome!" Tulkas proclaimed. The Ainur around them had begun to whisper, but he cared little for them. 

Nessa merely laughed and then, with one more elegant hop, shifted into the shape of a white deer. 

"No beast you wouldn't catch? Well, my lord, your prey shall be none other than I. Hunt me if you dare and catch me if you are able."

"As you wish," Tulkas accepted her challenge and got ready to chase the deer. 

"Careful," Oromë's voice cautioned in his mind, "she is the wildest and fiercest prey you could ever hunt. Do not take this challenge lightly."

"I shan't," Tulkas reassured him merrily. 

With one final glance over her shoulder, Nessa began to run, and he gave chase. 

~

Tulkas had never doubted his abilities before. It was not in his nature to hesitate, falter or question, but to ever press on with a smile on his lips and laughter bubbling in his chest. 

Nessa, however, made him wonder if he had bitten off more than he could chew. 

He could keep up with Nahar when he hunted together with Oromë, but she was swifter than the two of them, steadily gaining distance no matter how fast he ran after her. As if to taunt him, she ran across the plains of Arda for a while, before finally reaching a nearby forest and disappearing between the trees. 

Tulkas searched for her of course. It felt as though he had run past every single tree in the forest when he finally slowed down, panting and glistening with sweat, his proud golden hair matted and sticking to his skin. His entire fána was covered in dirt, leaves and a few stray twigs and vines he had trampled during his wild chase, and his eyes searched in vain for the white deer, finding no more traces of her. He thought about trying to look for hoof prints or pieces of fur in order to track her instead, but decided that the sister of the Great Hunter was certainly too smart and skilled to leave such things behind. 

Dejected, Tulkas began making his way home. To admit his failure to his best friend and the others would be humiliating, but he cared less about his pride and more about his failure to live up to Nessa's standards. She had, and of that Oromë and Manwë had assured him, shown herself to be amenable to his courtship, so surely she hadn't given him an impossible task — perhaps he simply wasn't worthy of her yet. 

When Tulkas trudged across the plains of Arda, he suddenly heard the sound of hooves and turned to see the white deer he had so desperately sought — with none other than Vána sitting on her back, riding her with nonchalant elegance. 

"Did you catch her?" he asked in disbelief. 

Vána smiled mysteriously, and her demeanour made it obvious that she knew exactly what deeper purpose his unsuccessful hunt had. Tulkas tried not to look too ashamed. 

"In a way," she said and shook her long hair, causing sweet-smelling golden pollen to fill the air around her. Nessa turned her head to sniff it and appeared to be pleased. 

"Ah, you lured her in," Tulkas said, nodding sagely. "Good tactic, it seems." 

"Someone has to bring the poor lady home, if it isn't going to be you," Vána teased and gently urged Nessa to move. 

"Come on. Let us go back to Almaren." 

Tulkas nodded in agreement and walked beside the pair. He had failed his challenge, but at least he wouldn't be returning empty-handed. 

~ 

"I have been thinking," Oromë announced. He was lying on his back underneath a tree, staring up at its leafage in deep thought. 

"About Nessa and I?" Tulkas asked, equally sheepish and curious. 

"A hunter and a hunted... a challenge, a chase, courtship and passion..." Oromë pondered aloud instead of answering, then turned his head and smiled at his friend. "It seems to me like it could work well as a tradition of sorts. Perhaps I shall even ordain a feast to celebrate the wild and primal tendencies of us Ainur and the Children to come. What do you think?" 

"If that means I get to try my luck again, I'm already in favour of this feast of yours," Tulkas chuckled, attempting to make light of his own misfortune. 

Oromë's mien softened with compassion. "Don't take it to heart, my friend. I don't think Nessa thinks less of you for it; she merely is capricious and wild like the beasts in the forests where we feel at home. Such things are a game to her, and she does enjoy winning." 

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 17 (Tabaeus x Reader)

paranormal fantasy vampire x human eventual triad (x werewolf)

Anonymous asked:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

x x x x x

First | Previous | Masterlist | Next

x x x x x

Get early access to Part 18, when it’s ready, on Patreon!

Comments, tags, and reblogs are real motivators for me, too! (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

Also, my inbox is always open for asks, so don’t be shy!

x x x x x

Lachlan Barrett. Your brain swirls, trying to place the name with some snippet from the journal or some other odd place you've heard the name before. It feels strangely familiar but, at the same time, unfamiliar.

As you're thinking, Lachlan takes a step toward your group. Immediately, Ewan tenses, growling so low in his chest that you can feel the vibrations in your stomach. Simultaneously, Tabaeus hisses from behind you, quiet and soft and sharp. Sandwiched between your companions, you hardly feel threatened, but the predatory air - plus Ewan and Tabaeus's reaction - piques concern in your gut.

"Please, try not to kick up too much of a fuss," Lachlan chuckles, though he does not take another step closer. He inclines his head to Tabaeus and Ewan, flashing them a look over the edges of his sunglasses with a pointy-toothed smile. "We are in a library."

The meaning was clear. You look around at the other patrons of the library: children and teenagers and people just minding their own business. People that are likely unaware of the two vampires lurking in their midst. Glancing back at Tabaeus, noting their stricken look, says enough.

A sudden thought crests your mind, overcoming the shock of the moment. Given this man had just lightly threatened a whole library, was it too hard to imagine he'd kill a town? Or a doctor?

It was a shot in the complete dark, but you had to ask. Tabaeus admitted to blacking out the name, so perhaps Lachlan would fall for your question. "By chance are you the same Lord Barrett who worked with Dr. Kieran Bennett in the 1880s?"

"Ah, Kieran! Yes. That is a blast from the past, as the young ones say." Something in Lachlan eyes glow, but not in a pleasant way. It reminds you of the iridescent shine of a predator's gaze. In a theatrical way, as if he were playing for the nosebleed seats, Lachlan rubs at his chin in a thoughtful way and leans toward you. He ignores Ewan's warning growl. "I did know my pet showed you to one of the vaults, but to think they gave you that information. That is such a surprise."

"I am not your pet," hisses Tabaeus, low and soft. As if they were not entirely certain they wanted to be heard.

"Are you not? Let us think about this," purrs Lachlan, his gaze shifting to Tabaeus. His voice takes on an irritating singsong quality as he counts off on his fingers, "You are pampered and cared for entirely. You need not hunt nor stalk the nights, need not risk being caught by a hunter. You are beloved among covens all over the world and gifts of clothes and food are showered upon you."

The description doesn't overly surprise you. And the longer Lachlan speaks, the more Tabaeus bristles behind you. Glancing back to your vampire, you press a hand to their arm, but it does nothing to ease their upset. Their red eyes remain pinned to Lachlan, afraid to let the other creature out of their sight.

"In return, all you must do is what you were created for," chuckles Lachlan, a vile gentleness to his voice that sets your teeth on edge. Underneath his words, there's an implication you can't quite put a name to.

As your gaze bounces back to Lachlan, Tabaeus spits out, "And what was I created for?"

The other vampire takes another step forward, ignoring Ewan's bristling snarl and how Tabaeus flinches behind you. Lachlan's arms spread wide, as if for an embrace, as he smiles like a television evangelist. "For memories."

Your brain sputters for a second, before a slew of awful imagery comes to mind. Bacchanal and violent and not all to the consent of Tabaeus. Weren't those always a trope in vampire media? They would drink and have sex and be cruel? Something about enjoying the world in excess while being undead. Or perhaps trying to feel something in their dead nerves?

Before you can stop yourself, you wrinkle your nose and blurt, "Excuse me?"

"I won't explain myself to a foodbag or a fleabag." A brief darkness flutters over Lachlan's features at your question, pinched at the edges. He doesn't glance to either you and Ewan, but waves a hand in your direction. "Tabaeus understands, deep down."

"Tabaeus?" Once more, you turn to look at your vampire, hoping to prompt more revelation. They refuse to look at you, at Lachlan, at Ewan. Their gaze has gone distant, averted. Something strains in their expression and you wonder if they've been accosted by triggering memories.

"They get this way whenever I mention their purpose," sighs Lachlan, shaking his head as if he is speaking about an ill-behaved child. "Now, I'm not a cruel master. I will give you time to say good-bye."

"And then what?" Enough suspicion was evident in Tabaeus's voice, you could picture them squinting their eyes critically at Lachlan.

That irritating smooth smile widens across the other vampire's lips. "And then we leave."

You hear Tabaeus swallow and their tone seems to lack confidence as they murmur, "And if I refuse to go?"

"Well, that will be such a pity, seeing as you live with two liabilities." Lachlan tapped a finger against his chin, eyes flickering to you and Ewan. You never realized how long and black his nails were before. His unwavering smile made your skin crawl. "Who are you willing to sacrifice first?"

Tabaeus snarls at the question, making you jump. You can feel their rage prickle along your back. In the short span of time it takes you to turn, a breeze passes by and you are shoved forward, away from Tabaeus. Their snarl is cut off in a choke. You gasp, stumbling only to be caught single-handedly by Ewan. As you turn, catch the sight of Lachlan backing Tabaeus to a far wall, hand around their throat.

The people around you don't even blink, don't even falter in their actions. You wildly wonder if Lachlan has some sort of cloaking power or if he managed to hypnotize all present with his mere presence. Vaguely, you sense Ewan's arm curl tighter around you, keeping you close.

One question resonates as you stare, frozen at the vampire: How old, how powerful, is this man?

"A good owner disciplines their pets when they misbehave." You hear the hiss-laden words even from the distance. Lachlan gives Tabaeus's throat a squeeze, another sound choking from your vampire's mouth. "Do not make me discipline you. That gets rather messy, doesn't it?"

Tabaeus glowers at Lachlan, before their gaze can take no more and they turn their face away. They refuse to look at you or Ewan. Shame rolls off them in waves as the other vampire pats their head with his free hand. "There's my good darling."

You and Ewan barely take a step forward, before Lachlan moves again. He bites his own free wrist with a sickening rending of flesh, and holds the dribbling wound to Tabaeus's lips. "Now, so your memories of me are fresh."

At first, they refuse to drink, turning their face further away from the offering, smearing strangely dark blood across their cheek. But Lachlan is not having that. His grip moves from Tabaeus's throat to their hair, knocking aside their bucket hat as he forces their mouth to his bleeding wound.

It doesn't take long for Tabaeus to succumb, to eagerly feed on the oozing blood. They lick the streams up first before latching onto the bite. Their eyes flutter closed, their hands reach to grip at Lachlan's arm, holding him close.

You're frozen in place, watching with nausea rolling in your stomach. Desperately, you look to Ewan, hoping he has some idea or answers. Heavy breaths make Ewan's chest rise and fall, his eyes scanning the area and the vampiric scene. Feeling your eyes on him, his gaze flickers to you and his expression is akin to a fearful dog in the face of a greater predator.

The silent look makes your skin crawl further, your stomach lurch.

"That's enough," Lachlan finally purrs over the grotesque slurping sounds of Tabaeus feasing on him. When Tabaeus refuses to let go, Lachlan yanks them by their hair with a snarl. "I said enough."

A pained gasp escapes Tabaeus as Lachlan hauls them away, blood oozing down his arm and down their chin. That sound seems to spur something in Ewan and he launches himself at the other vampire. You barely had a chance to jolt, a chance to raise your hand. As soon as Ewan makes contact with Lachlan, mingling snarls erupt just before the werewolf flies backward, across an aisle, into a shelf of books.

Books clattering around him, you can hear the wind escape Ewan's lungs. He isn't down for long, scrambling to his feet and baring his teeth, half-crouched and prepared for another strike. Despite the tension and adrenaline, he hasn't gone full wolf, though you're sure his stubble is thicker and his eyes far too inhumanly green.

Your attention flickers to the surrounding people. They still haven't seemed to notice anything and, if they had, Ewan was still human enough to not cause a stir.

Tabaeus, too, is back on their feet, swiping a hand over their chin. Their sunglasses sit askew, their red eyes alight and the whites of their eyes darkening at the edges.

Both fall still as Lachlan's arms suddenly clamp around you, his hand curling around the front of your throat. He was too fast to see, too fast for you and your shock-stricken brain to register. Or perhaps he has you enthralled as well, just less-so than the other unaware bystanders. His ice-cold touch burns and is unyielding to the point you, too, freeze in his grip. You barely even breathe.

"I can see you need time to understand your situation. I will give you a day, twenty-four hours, to say good-bye to your consorts." Disgust swirls inside you as Lachlan bends close, nosing along your throat. Tucked against Lachlan, it's strangely quiet and cold. No heartbeat, no breaths, no body heat. It's worse than Tabaeus, you muse as you hold your own breath.

"You should already be aware of the levity of the situation. But if not..." Lachlan yanks your head to the side, exposing your neck further. Sharp pinpoints dig into your throat, a threat that doesn't yet break skin. Your eyes snap shut as you steal yourself, feeling his amused breath play over your neck, "Well, I do enjoy the screams. Twenty-four hours, Tabaeus."

And like that, Lachlan is gone. Dissipating into shadows or just misting from existence, you're not sure. It is only after a few breaths, you realize the library's ambient sounds are returning along with heat and sunlight from the windows.

How did you not notice how quiet and cold it had gotten near Lachlan? Had it been that way in the diner? Your mind whirls, as if it has been electrified with jumper cables. Was that a powerful vampire's ability? Or was something else at play?

As your thoughts churn, Tabaeus - re-hatted - and Ewan crowd around you. Both ask you questions, visually check over your body, but you can't find enough words to answer them. You stare at the two for a long moment, before you realize you are shaking.

"Hey, it'll be okay, alright?" Ewan whispers, looping an arm around you. His head dips toward you, pressing his fluffy hair against you. His body heat is a blessing, cutting through the ungodly cold that has sunken to your bones.

You don't have a chance to respond as Tabaeus gathers you in their arms, as well. The odd cool-warmth of them easing Lachlan's cold from your body. Their grip on you is firm and fearful, almost quaking. Something holds them back from allowing themselves to tremble though. Some need to appear stronger than they feel.

Your heart lurches as the very thought crosses your mind.

"May we go home?" They ask quietly, still holding you close to their chest. You're crushed so tight to Tabaeus, you're not even sure if Ewan still has an arm wrapped around you.

Still unable to find words, unable to connect synapses to work your mouth, you nod with a noiseless whimper. The three of you are quick to leave the library, huddled close as you return to the safety of home.

[jomiddlemarch]

You’re Not My Homeland Anymore

“This was the best idea you had?” Nina muttered in as low a tone as she could that Matthias would be able to hear. If she’d had her way and they’d both worked harder on the Suli grammar and listened-to-slash-pestered-to-tutor-them Inej, they could perhaps have had a conversation in a normal volume in a tongue no one in Arendelle would have understood, but the courtiers would still have been curious; Nina was fluent herself but Matthias did not have her same skill and she freely admitted she was a terrible teacher, at least for him. Nina thought sighingly of the signing language Botkin had introduced one very wet sleety winter, aware that Matthias would take her to task for referring to her thoughts as sighing and yet knowing it to be the most accurate description. She could have signed that to him, her hand half-hidden in the voluminous embroidered gown she’d been laced into for the presentation, but she hadn’t been a good enough student that very wet sleety winter and so her signing was limited to an obscene gesture or two, neither of which would be helpful in this instance.

“It was the only idea we had,” Matthias hissed back. He’d improved at hissing in their flight from Kerch across Fjerda, which was not a huge win but one of the few she could own. His ability to convey italics was a gift he’d been born with, much as she’d been a Heartrender since she’d been able to cry aloud for milk.

“Fine,” she said, timing her quelling retort to coincide with the extremely low curtsy that was due a reigning monarch and their consort. Queen Anna had a relatively friendly expression, her eyes inquisitive, her bejeweled crown worn with a certain whimsical panache, but her consort, Kristof, Lord Tyholmen, who looked as if he’d been carved from granite, could give Ivan a run for his money in the sternness department and he’d reportedly been raised by rock-trolls, which were a thing in the far, far north. What General Kirigan would make of such a race Nina could not begin to imagine, but she tucked away the piece of intelligence because whatever else was said of her, she was an extremely skilled spy.

“You may rise,” Queen Anna announced. Was she bored? Was that boredom in her tone or a curiosity badly disguised? 

“State your case for asylum,” her consort said. His hair was nearly as bright as Matthias’s, but he was broader across the chest, heavy with muscle, a notable contrast to the fine-boned queen. Nina and Matthias were more evenly matched, at least physically. It remained to be seen how similarly the queen and her consort approached problems, Nina and Matthias being the first one of the official court day. It was possible they had argued over breakfast already, as Nina and Matthias had because there were no waffles to take the edge off Nina’s anxiety over the odds of their survival.

“Kristof, you needn’t be so curt,” the queen said. “I prefer If you will, make your plea and be heard, oh tormented supplicant for merciful respite. It’s a little long-winded but it just feels right. There’s a certain elegance to the process that you convey when you use the old form, and I don’t know, it puts me in a more receptive frame of mind for those seeking asylum. As you are, Lady I’m afraid I don’t know your name. And your stalwart companion.”

“I’m not a lady, your Grace,” Nina said. “My name is Nina Zenik and I am a Grisha of Ravka, seeking asylum in your fair and just land. With me is my partner, Matthias Helvar, drüskelle of Fjerda—”

“I seek asylum, Queen Anna, for we are sore in need of safe passage and the protection of your gracious sceptre,” Matthias said, using the Fjerdan dialect they preferred in Arendelle. It got the desired effect; Queen Anna clapped her hands and Lord Tyholmen’s shoulders relaxed a noticeable degree.

“What is a drüskelle?” asked Lord Tyholmen.

“He is a witch-hunter,” Nina said quickly.

“But are you not what the Fjerdans call a witch?” Queen Anna said. “How come you to be allies? Or more, it’s hard to tell at this distance, though I would wager there is something more between you. He’s not been able to take his eyes off you and he had his hand at the small of her back when you came into the chamber.”

Nina smiled as beatifically as she could, wishing to beat Matthias to a pulp.

“We have learned we are each what the other needed,” Nina said. 

“She is not a witch,” Matthias said, speaking over her. Queen Anna glared at him a bit.

“You are seeking asylum, you may wish to consider your tone. I don’t call her a witch. You are Fjerdan and we here know a little of what happens in the Southlands. What can you do, Grisha Nina?”

“Grisha is not a title, your Grace, but my tribe, if you will. I am a Heartrender, I can work on the body—”

“To kill,” Lord Tyholmen said.

“To heal,” Matthias interrupted. “Miss Zenik saved my life when I nearly drowned and then nearly died of exposure.”

“The name is rather ominous, Heartrender,” Queen Anna said. “Among our people, we have those who may manipulate water and wind, call down ice and snow, bring the summer in winter—”

“We call those Grisha Tidemakers,” Nina said.

“We haven’t any other kind of magic here. Separate from the rock-trolls. Do you have rock-trolls?” Queen Anna said.

“Not in Ravka,” Nina replied.

“Oh. Well then. Why are you fleeing Fjerda? Besides the general intolerance there,” Queen Anna said.

“There are Fjerdan people who want us dead. Tortured first, for their pleasure,” Matthias said.

“And you can’t rely on the authorities to intervene?” the queen asked.

“It is the authorities who want us dead,” Matthias said.

“Anna, I told you, this has the makings of a diplomatic nightmare,” Lord Tyholmen said quietly.

“We have already made our position clear to Fjerda,” the queen replied and she sounded, for the first time, like the anointed ruler of the country, responsible for the life of every Arendelle citizen, from the noblest to the least. 

“You must consider the ramifications—”

“Enough! I have considered. I shall answer for my decision with my life it it is required. We shall not do as Fjerda does, we shall not pursue and persecute those who have different gifts, who only seek to live,” she said.

“They are also thieves, Anna,” Lord Tyholmen said.

“We would steal our lives for ourselves. We had to eat, to be warm. We needed boots and gear to make our way here,” Nina said.

“And the documents, the weapons, the pouch of gems?” Lord Tyholmen challenged. He turned to face his wife. “We could build the new hospital and the observatory with what that one ruby would fetch—"

“We must defend ourselves. We have debts to pay, a mission to complete,” Matthias said. “Nina has pledged her faith to the leader of the Grisha, General Kirigan.”

“You may be lying,” Lord Tyholmen said. He gave them a stony glare. It was perhaps to be expected, being raised by rock-trolls, but it was still rather chilling.

“Or they may be telling the truth,” Queen Anna interjected, attending to her consort directly, nearly turning her back entirely on Nina and Matthias. “They feel like they’re telling the truth to me, so I’m inclined to let them stay. They can stay.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Nina said.

“I want a dossier prepared on the Grisha, another on the Fjerdan authorities, and one on your Kirigan by end of week and I’d prefer you wrote in Arendellian, because getting them translated isn’t a delay I’m willing to accept,” Queen Anna said, suddenly serious, suddenly conveying the power that went along with being an anointed monarch. And perhaps something else, some call to the force that charged Nina’s Small Science. The queen’s eyes were a darker blue than Nina had noticed at first, the blue of the deep ice, the open sea that was bounded only by sky.

“You will be housed in a secure location,” Lord Tyholmen said. He lifted a hand to stop Matthias from speaking. “Not a prison cell. You will be well-treated. The Queen has decided to trust you. I have not. Make of that what you will, but do not attempt to divide us or exploit that difference. It will not go well for you.”

“I have only one question, your Grace,” Nina said. She needed to re-establish their humanity, hers and Matthias’s, their value as individuals; she needed to appeal to the queen’s warm humor. In this cold a place, that would be all that stood between them and annihilation.

“Yes,” Queen Anna said.

“Do you have waffles here? Breakfast pastries with a sort-of raised grid pattern, served with butter and syrup or jam?”

Queen Anna smiled. Even Lord Tyholmen did something with his face that was smile-like. Matthias rolled his eyes; Nina didn’t see that, but she felt it and tossed her head.

“Kösvafler,” the queen said.

“We serve them with caviar. Or cloudberries in season,” her consort said.

“That sounds intriguing,” Matthias said, finally, finally��playing along.

“You shall try both and report your favorites when you produce the dossiers,” the queen said.

Nina nodded smartly. The queen had given her an order she was eager to fulfil.

Cloudberries were nothing special. A berry was a berry as far as Nina was concerned. But caviar…

[ladyphlogiston]

Turning Hearts

Star Wars fanfic, set at the end of Empire Strikes Back (picks up in the middle of Luke's fight with Vader). Gen, canon-typical violence.

This is the unedited version. Someday I will finish it and then my husband will edit it for me and it will be much better. You have been warned.

-----

"Luke.  You can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen this.  It is your destiny.  Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son.  Come with me.  It is the only way."

Luke grimaced. In the Force, he could feel the truth: this was his father. His offer was not a trick. The pain and longing he felt were real.

But overwhelming the sadness, eclipsing it and blocking it out, was the sticky black anger of the Dark Side, waiting to rend him apart. Luke tightened his grip on the gantry, his hand sticky with blood. Surely anything would be better than that.

The wind picked up, causing the gantry to sway and creak, as if all of Cloud City was falling apart. Luke had come to rescue his friends, and walked straight into a trap. The city would be destroyed, and it was his fault.

It was probably too late for Luke, but perhaps he could still rescue his friends. He swallowed. 

"If I come with you, will you let my friends go?" he asked. 

Darth Vader lowered his hand. "I will." 

"And Han. Will you get him away from that bounty hunter?" 

"I will." 

"And..." Luke swallowed again, trying to think clearly, to sense the Force above the pain. "And will I be required to use the Dark Side?" 

Darth Vader stared down at him, motionless. The mask gave nothing away. "We will discuss the matter," he finally said.

Luke shut his eyes, then opened them again. Later. He could face his father's ways later. 

"Okay," he said. "Okay, I'll come with you."

The trip to Vader's ship was a blur. Luke was dizzy and in pain, and he focused on staying upright, putting one foot in front of the other. His father's arm came behind him, providing support and protection. It wasn't a real arm, and Luke was vividly aware of the steel and plastic pressed against his back, but he was grateful for the help. 

"Call off the pursuit," Luke heard his father say, "and withdraw from Cloud City. Send a squadron after the bounty hunter. I want Captain Solo brought to me, alive and unharmed."

"Should we compensate the bounty hunter?" asked a voice. 

"If necessary." 

"Yes, my Lord." 

"There is no one with me. I brought no one aboard," Vader added, and Luke heard or felt the resonance in the Force. It felt wrong, worse than when Obi-Wan had tricked the guards, but he was too dizzy to care.

"There is no one with you," the voice repeated.

Vader moved on, and Luke leaned on his arm and walked with him. His father was very tall. Uncle Owen had been taller than Luke too.

The lights changed, and Luke was settled onto a smooth bed. A medical droid whirred over him, and Luke shut his eyes and allowed the darkness to come.

---

When Luke woke up, a robotic hand had been attached to his arm. His arm ached, deeply, and the foreign weight seemed to pin his whole body to the bed.

Luke stared in horror at the machine attached to his arm. He tried to close his fingers into a fist, and the machine responded stiffly, as if it were copying him. He opened his fingers, and the fingers opened. Their reluctant mimicry seemed to mock him.

"We will have to look for a better one," said his father's voice.

Luke looked up and discovered that he was on a bed at one end of a large room. The shiny black walls seemed oppressive in their austerity, and the Force breathed black smoke around the bed. Darth Vader was sitting at a white table, a pile of datapads in front of him.

"A better one?" Luke echoed, puzzled.

"This is my personal medical droid. It is programmed to provide care only within certain parameters," Vader explained.

Luke sat up carefully. The room swam for a moment, but then righted itself. He shifted his aching arm and dropped the prosthetic hand into his lap. "I thought the Imperial Navy always had the best of everything," he objected.

"The Navy does have excellent medical droids, which we cannot use without betraying your presence on board. I do not wish to engage the Emperor any sooner than I must."

Luke furrowed his brow. Something wasn't adding up, but the pain in his arm made it hard to focus. "Won't the crew be loyal to you, Father?" he asked.

There was a long silence, broken only by the click and gasp of Vader's respirator.

"Why would anyone be loyal to the master's dog?" Vader asked. His voice sounded heavier than ever.

"But, you're...." Like trailed off, unable to put his thoughts into words. He waved good hand vaguely, attempting to indicate Vader's power and strength.

This time the silence was even longer. "There are a thousand ways to be a slave," Vader finally said. His voice was almost soft. "Remember that, son."

Luke stared at him.

Vader clenched his fist and the table scraped against the floor. "Remember that!" he thundered.

"Okay, I'll remember," Luke snapped, frightened and confused.

Vader seemed satisfied, and Luke took a breath. His arm hurt. He looked again at the metal hand attached to it. The wiring was badly soldered in places, and he could see burrs and misalignments on the struts.

"I bet I can build a better hand than this one," he said aloud. "Or upgrade it. Do you have any tools on hand?"

---

"They've stopped shooting. Why would they stop shooting?" Lando asked, peering out the viewport.

"I don't know, but I'm not sticking around to find out!" Leia replied.

Chewie growled his assent, and a few moments later, the stars streaked into hyperspace. They all stayed alert, peering around for followers or more trouble, but none came. Slowly they began to relax.

"Where are we headed?" Lando asked.

Chewie indicated the control panel, and Leia leaned over to read it. "Kafrene," she reported. "It's a good place to lose any tails and pick up more information."

Lando nodded. "Good thinking, Chewie."

Leia folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the console. "It's a good place to find transportation, too. What are your plans?"

Lando shrugged. "Might as well visit the Banking Guild while I'm there; see if I can withdraw anything from my Imperial accounts before they're frozen. After that, I'm with you. We have to get Han back, and I don't believe in backing down from a fight."

"Well, don't hold your breath about your accounts," Leia replied, "But we would appreciate your help."

Lando smiled and bowed. "Glad to be of service."

They settled in. Chewie went to his bunk, and Leia sat down with a cup of caf. Lando had been winged in the firefight, so he got out the med kit and sat down at the table.

"So who was the kid?" Lando asked, examining the burn on his arm.

"Hmm?" Leia asked.

"The kid at the end. You called him Luke."

Leia nodded. "Luke is - was - a pilot with the Rebellion. He and Han were good friends. We weren't sure if he was alive, actually; we haven't heard from him for a couple of months."

Lando applied a bacta patch to his arm. "Well, seems likely he's dead now. Vader wanted him specially, didn't he?"

Leia hesitated, then sighed and nodded. "Yes. Have you heard of the Jedi?"

Lando looked up, puzzled. "Sure, I've heard some crazy stories. Not so many lately, of course."

"Well, apparently Luke had the potential to be a Jedi. I don't understand how it works, but I've seen him do some things....well, maybe it was true."

"Too bad he's gone. Sounds like he would have come in handy."

Leia smiled wanly. "He already had. And he had a good heart. I'll miss him."

Lando rolled down his sleeve and stood up to pour a cup of caf for himself. "Do you know where he's been? The past month or so, I mean. He must have heard about Han being captured somehow."

Leia looked puzzled. "I don't know. The other pilots said he had a personal stop, but we hadn't heard from him since. Maybe Lord Vader broadcast a message somehow?"

Lando frowned, leaning against the galley counter. "Not on any frequency I was monitoring, he didn't."

Leia got up and crossed to call into the cargo hold. "R2? Could you come up here?" she asked.

A few minutes later, R2-D2 entered, followed by C-3PO.

"Good evening, Your Highness, Your Lordship. I thought I had better come too, in case you needed me," he explained.

Leia smiled at him. "We may. We wanted to know where Luke has been, the last month or so. R2? You were with him."

R2-D2 whistled, and C-3PO said, "He says they were in the Dagobah system. How very curious."

"What was Luke doing in the Dagobah system?" Leia asked.

R2-D2 replied, and this time C-3PO turned to look sternly at the little droid. "What do you mean, floating rocks? Rocks don't float."

R2-D2 blatted back, and Leia intervened. "What did he say, 3PO?"

C-3PO turned back to her. "He says Master Luke was getting muddy and floating rocks, Your Highness. I'm afraid I don't understand what he's getting at."

"R2, was Luke's visit to Dagobah related to becoming a Jedi?" Leia tried.

R2-D2 beeped disparagingly, and C-3PO replied, "Always throwing themselves off things? Why would they do that? And when have you ever known a Jedi? Other than Master Obi-Wan, of course, and you know perfectly well he—"

R2-D2 blatted at C-3PO and rolled away. C-3PO followed him, still demanding that he explain himself.

Leia sighed. "Well, you know as much as I do. Once we get Han back, I might go to Dagobah myself and see if I can find out what Luke was up to."

---

Luke shakily exited the fresher, leaning heavily on the doorframe as he passed. His arm was throbbing with pain, and his whole body seemed to be throbbing in time with it. 

"Let me teach you the power of the Dark Side," his father suggested. "The Dark Side can take your pain from you, and turn it into power." 

"I don't want to use the Dark Side, Father," Luke replied firmly. 

Darth Vader was silent, except for the constant rhythm of his respirator. Eventually he admitted, "There is also a Light Side discipline which does much the same thing." 

"Can you teach me?" Luke asked, lowering himself carefully into the seat across the table from Vader. 

"I have not touched the Light Side in many years, my son." 

"I know that Father, but can't you tell me what to do?" Luke persisted.

The respirator cycled several times before Vader finally replied, "You focus on the Force, on its presence in you and around you. You breathe out your pain, and trust the Force to take it."

Luke closed his eyes, trying to meditate like Master Yoda had showed him. He hadn't been very good at it. Moving meditations were better, but the idea of moving his arm more than he had to made him feel sick.

The Force was dark and oppressive, feeding on his pain. Harsh laughter swirled through the mist, grating against his injury. 

Luke breathed out again. Focus on the presence of the Force. The Force was dark here. In acknowledging that, he realized he could also sense places the Force felt lighter. He focused on them, and tried to breathe out his pain as his father had instructed. 

It seemed to work for a moment, but then the mists came swirling back and he lost concentration. He opened his eyes. 

"It's too difficult," he complained. "The Force is too dark here." 

His father looked at him, then went back to his work.

Luke was still considering what to say next when the door chimed. Darth Vader raised a hand, and Luke found himself pushed across the room, and a partition wall slid down to hide him from view.

Luke heard the door open, and footsteps enter, then leave. His father's breathing was harsh in the silence, but there was another person breathing in the room. The Imperial officers had brought in a prisoner.

"Captain Solo," his father finally said, "I trust you are recovered from your ordeal?" 

"Fine," came Han's voice, full of spit and sarcasm, "I hear on Chandrila they charge hundreds of credits for that treatment."

"Indeed."

Heavy footsteps strode back and forth. 

"Have you any family, Captain Solo?" came Vader's voice. 

There were sounds of movement, as if Han were thrashing around, or maybe struggling to free himself. "If that's a threat, it won't work," he said scornfully. "If that's an attempt to question me....well, it still won't work."

"What can you tell me about Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Vader asked him. 

"Pretty sure that crazy old wizard let you kill him." 

Heavy footsteps paved again, faster this time.

"And what can you tell me about the Rebellion?" 

"They all do nothing but sit around and drink Bothan wine," Han shot back.

Footsteps strode to the door and opened it. "I have further use for Captain Solo," Vader said, "See that he is transported to the Ring of Kafrene and released there." 

"Yes, my Lord," came the Imperial officer's voice, and the footsteps returned and dragged Han out. 

The partition slid back into the wall, and Luke faced his father once more. "Thank you," he said.

---

Luke allowed his arm to drop, breathing hard. The droid insisted that exercising the new hand was important, but every movement made the pain in his arm spike through him, hot and fresh. It was leaving him light-headed.

He closed his eyes and once more tried to find the Force, to breathe out the pain. That wasn't getting any easier either. He was increasingly aware of the Dark Side, eager to take his pain, eager for him to use it. He ignored it. He was a Jedi.

A chime sounded, and a section of the wall parted and slid open, revealing a white pod around a steel seat. Darth Vader set aside his data pads and stood. The angle of his shoulders looked defeated for a moment, and then he straightened. 

Vader turned to regard Luke for a few minutes, then he called and lit his lightsaber and deliberately cut away a section of the wall bear the pod. He reached in and pulled out a large pouch, which he threw to Luke. 

"I am rarely given solid food," Vader explained. 

Luke clumsily caught the pouch and examined it. It turned out to be two pouches, linked together, each containing a liquid. He shrugged. "Can't be the worst thing I've ever eaten."

His father sat in the seat and allowed the pod to close around him. There was a series of mechanical hisses and clanks, and then the Force was filled with pain.

Luke winced. The Dark Side swept around him, stronger than ever, leaving impressions of his father's daily pain. His joints were sore from the heavy prosthetics. Raw places on his skin ached as ill-fitting couplings were withdrawn. His head was sore from the filtered light of the mask.

Shutting out the sensation as well as he could, Luke opened the first pouch. The clear liquid inside was sweet and salty, like the hydration fluids his Aunt Beru had mixed up before long trips into the desert. Luke drained the pouch dutifully.

The second pouch held a white liquid, and felt more filling in his stomach. Luke sipped it thoughtfully.

"This tastes a bit like blue milk," he commented. "It's not bad."

There was no answer, so Luke finished the white fluid quietly.

The lights dimmed shortly afterwards. There was no bed in his father's chambers, so Luke lay on the smooth surface of the operating table. The hand flopped awkwardly on the table next to him, and the pain shot up his arm.

Luke closed his eyes and tried to sleep. The pain in his arm was intolerable. He tried to breathe it out to the Force. It helped a little.

Luke wasn't sure how long he lay there, alternating between trying to sleep, trying to breathe out the pain, and perhaps dozing a little, before a hand touched his shoulder. He snapped awake, and saw his father standing next to him. The respirator seemed to echo in the darkness.

"What is it, Father?" he asked.

"Come. Be quiet," his father replied, and turned away, making for the door of the chambers.

Luke got up, using his good hand to support the prosthesis, and followed.

They walked through the hallways of the Star Destroyer. Many of the lights were dimmed for the night shift. Sometimes Darth Vader would pause before crossing a space or rounding a corner, and Luke felt shifts in the Force as he sent the guards away. No one saw them.

They arrived at a workshop. It was deserted, and the tools and supplies were neatly put away. Half-repaired droids sat in a row along one wall, and boxes of scrap and parts filled the shelves.

"Thanks," Luke whispered, grinning. He strode forward, tucked his prosthesis into his tunic for support, and began gathering the tools he would need.

Once he'd grabbed his tools, Luke sat down to take the prosthesis apart, and realized he couldn't do it with one hand. Almost before he'd realized it, his father's hands were there, helping him detach the hand and begin the disassembly.

Luke took a deep breath. This was nice. Being in a workshop was calming. The Force wasn't as oppressive here, and his father seemed a little calmer too.

"I figure we'll start by cleaning up the smaller rods, and maybe replacing the larger struts with a lighter material," Luke said. The hand was heavy, and reducing the weight would make it hurt less.

His father nodded. He raised his hand, calling grinding and burnishing tools to himself, and began methodically smoothing out each of the tiny bars. Luke used the Force to lift down a likely-looking box of scrap, and began rifling through it.

"What have you been working on, Father? On your datapads?" Luke asked quietly.

Vader took a moment to answer. "I have been considering our strategy," he said. "I do not yet see our way to victory. The Emperor is very powerful. He will be a formidable opponent."

Luke frowned. "Is there any way to get him to give you a better position? He thinks you're on his side, after all."

Vader's fingers tightened on a bar, and it bent out of shape. He threw it down and summoned a new one. "In the Dark Side, there is no loyalty and no sharing of power. There will be no peace until the Emperor is dead."

"Okay," Luke said. He picked up the deformed bar, tried and failed to straighten it, and placed it next to the other struts that needed replacement. He turned back to his scrap selection. "What about passing information to the Rebellion?" he asked, next time his father was between pieces. "I've run a few attacks with them. They could help. Maybe even kill him for us."

The next bar hit Vader's palm almost viciously. "I will kill him. I must," he replied.

Luke could sense his father's anger and frustration, so he left the topic. He took a deep breath and centered himself in the Force. It came easier now, after the last day of constant struggle to reach anything that wasn't the Dark Side. He breathed out his pain, trusting the Force to take it, and his arm stopped hurting. It was easier to think, here in the workshop.

He'd found replacement material for the struts, but it would need to be cut and shaped, and he still only had one hand. This was finer Force manipulation than he had done before, but there was lots of scrap. It wouldn't hurt to try.

He cut the first length of wire, and slowly worked on bending it to shape. The shape felt small and slippery in the Force, and it responded unpredictably. He cursed under his breath when it slipped from his grasp.

"Reach for the composition of the wire, not just for the shape. Look for the weaknesses," his father commented. Luke noticed his father was no longer putting off a maelstrom of dark emotions. The Force was fluttering around his father now, as if delighted to be back within touching distance.

Luke turned back to his scrap. He lifted it in his good hand, trying to focus on it. It still felt small and slippery in the Force. When he focused on the cut ends, he could sort of sense fluctuations around the shape, but reaching for the composition....it slipped out of his fingers and clattered on the table.

Luke pressed his lips together and tried again. He breathed out the pain in his arm, shunting it off to the Force and trusting the Force to heal and protect him. He focused on the metal in front of him, but it sat blank and inert in the Force. He could lift it, but not shape it.

This was pointless. Luke sat back and looked around, eager to think about something else. The parts of the prosthetic hand lay spread out on the table between them. "Once the linkages are clear, maybe we can find some more responsive servos to install," he commented.

His father indicated one of the broken droids sitting on the scrap shelf. "Try that MKX model. Their servos are consistently excellent."

Luke called the droid to himself and popped open the chassis. Much of the circuitry was fried or broken, but the servos and armature were largely intact. He began to pull it apart with his good hand and the Force.

"Have you done this to your arm?" Luke asked.

"No. There are chips in my prosthetics," his father replied.

Luke shook his head in commiseration. "Synthetic Rights Management is the bane of the galaxy."

Darth Vader's respirator hitched. "I think that's me."

Luke chuckled. "Well, okay, but SRM is up there. I could take a look, if you want, once I can work again. I'm pretty good at working around the SRM chips; I just have a good sense for what to do."

"Do you sense them with the Force?" Vader asked, surprised.

Luke hesitated. "Huh. Maybe? I didn't know about the Force when I started fixing droids, but it probably is the same."

"Indeed. Now try shaping that strut again; you must master fine Force manipulation. Clearly Obi-Wan did not teach you everything he should have."

---

The next day was a little easier. The Dark Side was still strong in Darth Vader's chambers, but the time spent in the workshop during the night seemed to have strengthened and steadied both of them. Luke even found that his arm was substantially less painful, and the smoother action of the prosthesis made his physical exercises easier.

Vader gave Luke a data pad, and he spent time on the holonet, catching up on the news he had missed during his time on Dagobah. He also spent time practicing fine manipulation with the Force, at his father's insistence.

His father had duties elsewhere in the ship, and when he returned to the room he was aching and tired. Luke encouraged him to eat and rest.

That night, they finished replacing the servos in Luke's hand, and Luke examined his father's prosthetics to see what he could do. The heavy, brutal construction left him frowning and worried, but he would have the next day to plan improvements.

---

Luke worked his way carefully through the linkages in his father's arm. The SRM chips were there, embedded in struts and circuitry. They smelled like death, and the Dark Side clung to them.

Luke reached for the Force around them, trying to direct the lighter Force in the workshop between himself and the toxic chips. He eased a wire away from the connecting module, and used the Force to lift an SRM chip free so the socket could be smoothed and polished.

The scarring on his father's shoulder was extensive, and the skin near the socket was raw and oozing. Luke wished they had some bacta.

"Father, could a proper hospital fix you?" he asked. "Even in the Rebellion, I've seen the medics do amazing things."

Darth Vader turned to look at Luke. "The Emperor does not allow me to be fully healed, my son. After he is dead, I will consider the matter."

"But why not try now? You shouldn't have to be in so much pain," Luke asked.

"Suffering is the power of the Dark Side," Vader intoned.

Luke rolled his eyes. "The Dark Side sucks."

The respirator cycled a few times before Vader added, "I cannot visit a hospital. There is nowhere I could go that would not turn me over to my Master, and he would punish me for my rebellion."

Luke grimaced. He didn't want to bring up the Rebellion at the moment, as the arm was at a rather delicate stage, and his father was right: there was nowhere else to go. He pushed his wish that his father could get better into the Force and kept working.

---

"Any luck with your accounts?" Leia asked, pouring herself a cup of caf.

"Not frozen, surprisingly," Lando responded. "I pulled out what I could without raising suspicion. I'll have to work on transferring the rest to some of my Outer Rim accounts - I'm sure the Empire will freeze them eventually."

"At least that's some good news," Leia responded.

"Yes." Lando took a sip of his caf. "So, Tatooine next?"

Leia nodded. "I'd like to stay here for another day or two - however long it takes to get a report from the Alliance High Command. We didn't have a secure comm connection while we flying, and I need to update them. But after that, Tatooine."

"Fine by me, Princess. I'll talk to a few people while we're here and see if I can get some fresh identities made up."

"Thank you."

Leia took a long drink of her own caf, aware of Lando's keen eyes on her. She wasn't really surprised when he finally spoke.

"So. You and Han?" he asked.

Leia blushed a little. "Yes. We - well, it's been a long time coming. And we were able to talk some, on the Falcon. I know it probably looks like it's just a fling..."

"Oh, it's not just a fling, I can tell you that," Lando interjected.

Leia looked up at him, puzzled.

Lando smiled a bit and leaned forward. "Do you know much about Wookie culture, Princess?"

Leia frowned. "A little, but mostly just from talking to Chewie on the Falcon. My Shriiwook isn't very good, but I'm learning."

"Wookie care very much about honor, Leia, and about fulfilling their debts," Lando explained. "Han saved Chewie's life, years ago, and in Chewie's mind, that's what he owes Han. When Han was threatened, his honor required that he fight to the death."

"But he didn't."

"He didn't, because Han told him to protect you. And Chewie accepted that. Because you are Han's life." Lando smirked at Leia's expression, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "So no, it doesn't look like a fling."

Leia took a sip of caf, hoping to cover her confusion. "I guess we'd better get him back then," she finally said.

Lando's smirk broadened into a grin. "We'll wait for you to make your report, and then I guess we'd better."

---

The cockpit comm chimed, and Lando slapped the pickup button. "Who's talking?" he asked.

"That you, Lando? Might have known you'd take the opportunity to steal my ship," said Han's tired voice.

Lando sat up straight. "Han? Old buddy? Where are you? What can you tell me?

"Are you okay?" Leia asked, coming into the cockpit to join the call. Chewie growled behind her.

"I'm on Kafrene. They...they let me go? The Empire. I don't know why. I'm in a hostel called the Golden Coaster."

Leia and Lando exchanged looks. "Hang tight, Han, and we'll come get you," Lando replied.

"I don't know why they let me go. It could be a trap. I should meet you somewhere," Han replied.

"You sound exhausted, Han. You're probably still recovering from the carbonite. Stay there. We'll be careful," Leia promised.

"Better bring clothes," Han replied. "These might be bugged."

"We'll do that, and we'll take you to a clinic to get scanned for chips. It'll be fine, Han, don't worry so much," Lando told him.

Chewie growled again, and Han chuckled. "You're right, Chewie. I'll see you soon."

---

"Jabba's announced the course for the Boonta Eve Classic," Luke said, scanning the holonet news on his datapad. "It's a little shorter than usual this year, but that cut through the canyon looks tricky."

"I flew in the Boonta Eve Classic once," his father commented.

Luke looked up, puzzled. "But humans don't—Wait. You're *that* Skywalker? The one who won the Boonta Eve Classic ages ago?"

"Yes. I was nine."

Luke jumped to his feet. "I can't believe it! Jag Darklighter - my friend Biggs' father - he was there. He still has his ticket from that race. I must have heard about it a thousand times!

Luke sat down again, leaning forward. "So what really happened to your coupler in the last lap? People have been arguing for years."

"I cannot be certain," Vader admitted. "My podracer was largely built from scrap, but I thought that coupling was secure. I believe Sebulba sabotaged it."

"Ha!" Luke said, slapping the table. "I knew he had a squinty look. Biggs thought you'd misjudged a cut and damaged it."

"I definitely did not."

Luke grinned and leaned back, shaking his head. "I can't believe you won the Boonta Eve Classic. Obi-Wan never told me anything *important*!"

---

"Tell Jabba the Hutt that Anakin Skywalker wants to make a deal with him. If he'll provide the medical care I need to be fit to fly again, I'll fly for him in the Boonta Eve Classic. He lost a lot of money when I won, thirty years ago, and now he'll have the chance to make it all back. I've transferred ten thousand credits to his holdings, as a sign of good faith."

Darth Vader ended the holo message. It would work or it wouldn't. But Luke wanted him to be well, and the Force was with him.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Ok so Zeb's in a cage, Jack was/is being crushed by the physical embodiment of bureaucracy, Null took their mask off, the judge is already bored and we've still got half a pie left...

The straps of the muzzle bite into your skin and strain against the rest of your skull, bringing back the headache you've been fighting off for hours now. The holding cage is small, smaller than the one they've confined Zeb to, so your only choice is to remain in animal form for the time being or be stuck in some horrible position for god only knows how long.

The paper judge has your sword, hung at an awkward angle on the wall... curtain... empty air(??) behind them where you can't get at it.

You're tired, exhaustion seeping into your skeleton and nesting there, pulling the rest of your body down towards the edges of sleep.

You feel like this trial has gone on for days and days, even though it's only been a few hours now.

The Bureaukrat lays curled around the bench, head resting on its massive inky claws, eyes firmly fixed on you. Streams of ink-smoke curl from its nose and the gaps between its horrible teeth, pouring into your cage through the spaces between the bars. It smells like cold and liminal waiting rooms and the deep disapproval of DMV clerks waiting for you to cough up the right paperwork.

There is a pixie on the witness stand, made visible by a large arrangement of magnifying glasses held in place by more of the judge's disembodied hands, and you wonder for a brief moment if the judge is the paper or the hands or if they're both the same entity but you're muzzled so it's not like you can really ask.

The pixie is pink and white and spidery, his name is Pipsqueak and he's lived in your house for his entire life which is probably why he looks so much like your husband, since pixies take on the shape of the very first thing they see as larvae.

Pipsqueak makes several urgent beeping and jingling noises, flailing all 6 of his arms for emphasis and pointing at Zeb every now and again.

You don't speak pixie, you barely speak coherent english on most days but you get the gist of what Pipsqueak is trying to say.

"Dis kid saw me n' his first reaction was ta trow holy water at me! Das like peppa sprayin' a mouse! I didn't even do nuffin to him... yet... bet he'd look real nice wit a new haircut." Pipsqueak flexes 6 sets of fingers menacingly, many eyes narrowed with malice. "But I wouldn't kill him or nuffin, that'd make my boss sad n I don't like when my boss is sad."

The judge nods in understanding, using one of their hands to lift Pipsqueak off the stand so they can usher in the next witness.

You've lost count of how many testimonies you've heard so far, some lobbying for the death of Zebede on principal, some for the fun of a good execution or Just Because.

More people than you expected advocate for letting Zeb live, though for entirely selfish reason, their ideas for his final punishment range from indentured servitude to turning him into a fairy for a certain time frame to straight up giving him to Peter Pan which you're very sure is a violation of the Geneva Convention.

Your friend Gehr'Hedra Soljrkenne, Hunter-King of Virkara, The Third Burning Star, [Our Eclipse Presence, God Of Desperation], the Paleblood Royal, Inheritor of madness, etc ad nauseam who has known you since you were a half formed Concept clinging to empty pages said: "Mercy spits in the face of their existence- adoration proves they have no grasp here. Let him live, and grow to adore Us. A fitting punishment for a weapon is always to make it your own, is it not? The feelings may be savored that way, and executions are so short, so boring." and that seemed to swing quite a few people around to your side of things.

The judge called for a lunch break halfway through the testimony of a very agitated looking Dwarf Lord who had been on duty when Zeb damaged Fairyland's core, and the Bureaukrat let you out of your cage and muzzle for the occasion.

Lunch was laid out in the theater's lobby, with long banquet tables groaning with food snaking down the middle of the space. You were still a little too stressed to have an appetite, but Null refused to let you just not eat. You watched your alchemist disappear in a cloud of faintly glowing vapor only to reappear with a plate loaded with goodies.

A grilled sunflower head dripping with melted butter and spices, split moon-bones with bubbly roasted marrow, a tankard of whisper wine, chunks of dark bread, and a slab of bloody meat that flinched when you bit into it. Null didn't move until you'd finished the entire plate.

You felt better after eating and that pissed you off for some reason.

Your mom crushed you in a hug the first moment she got, the snout of her hyena head nestled deep between your ears, Bud, Lou and Brucie pressing up against the both of you the whole time. She'd crashed onto the stage the second the muzzle had come out and tore quite a few pages off of the Bureaukrat in the following scuffle, a big black ink stain spread across her face and chest where the beast's claws had grazed her. The rest of your family had hopped down from the balcony in a similar fashion and many of them had also been muzzled and restrained, their weapons confiscated by judge and bailiff.

Egg was still in a cage, she kept pulling knives out of random places and stabbing anybody and everybody that got close, as was her custom. You fed her strips of raw meat through the bars of her cage, and ignored how many times she bit you on purpose.

The trial was drawing to a close, the judge's patience wearing thin as boredom crept in on its scaly belly. Your family loaded themselves back into their balcony, eyes bright with rage and worry.

A tall dark figure with the head of a jackal slowly ambled onto the stage. Dressed in a smart dark suit with accents of gold, the great god Anpu (Anubis) gazed at the angry little boy in the golden cage. Ammit, Devoureress of the Dead, sat on her great hippo haunches beside him and bared her crocodile teeth greedily.

Zeb clung to the bars of his cage and glared at Anpu, as if daring the god to come closer, to get within striking range.

Anpu's muzzle crinkled in what might have been a smile. He opened the boy's cage without touching it.

Zeb bolted, only to run smack into the sharp-toothed meat wall that was Ammut.

"Foolish boy." Said Ammut, licking her teeth. "None may escape Death."

Zeb threw a fireball at the monster, which she swallowed whole like a particularly spicy dumpling. You weren't sure if the sound coming out of Ammut was meant to be a growl or a laugh or some horrid combination of both but it made your stomach twist and your hearts nearly stop.

Anpu placed his warm brown hand on Ammut's snout, "Enough." His voice... his voice was endlessly Old and deep, the mournful howling of wind whistling through a tomb, the whisper of funeral incense, the whine of a thousand canines trudging though hot sands beneath the gaze of the burning sun.

Anpu bade Zeb to stand, and the boy refused to obey. Crouched against the wood of the stage with eyes burning burning burning, his hands wreathed in flickering flames and the shreds of divinity that clung to him like a parasite.

The god's muzzle crinkled again in that strange not-smile and he held up his hands to show that he meant no harm. "I think you and I would be friends in another life, perhaps I will usher you to that new life myself some day if your gods hesitate to claim you."

Zeb didn't move, the flames of his anger burning just that much brighter. "Don't I get to say anything about this? Don't I get to stand up for myself?." He's shaking. "I fucked up, I admit that, I fucked up and now I'm here and now you all want to kill me and that's fair but I don't wanna die."

"Nobody want to die--"

"Shut up I'm not done." Zeb stands up, still glaring, still burning, he points first at Anpu (who he silenced) and then at the judge. "The Knights made you like they made me, so why are you acting like this?"

The judge grins, threads of ink and scraps of wood from their chewed up gavel falling from their teeth. "Just because the Knights made me, doesn't mean I like them or want to do what they say, they left me in charge of a bunch of monster and expected me to behave afterwords... I'm sure you know how that feels."

"You're the Dictates of Preservation, you're supposed to PRESERVE human life, not end it."

The judge, the Dictates, just shrugs. "And you're supposed to kill fairies and witches and demons and anybody else who poses a danger to the Veil, but it looks like we both failed in our quests, little brother."

Zeb scowls, hands balling into fists at his sides. "I don't want to kill anymore, I don't WANT to be a Knight, they left me here to die without a second thought and I don't wanna be like that anymore."

"You're always going to be like that kid, it's woven into your soul and it's never gonna go away." The judge looks sad and manic all at once, like being here and saying this physically hurts. "You can take the boy out of the church, but the church has to be taken out of the boy like shrapnel. One bloody piece at a time..."

"I'm..." Zeb swallows, the fire in his hands weakening, dimming, dying ever so slightly as he fights back tears. "I'm not gonna be like that forever."

But he sounds so unsure of himself.

Anpu clears his through, half forgotten during the conversation. A spotlight spills around him. "Might I make a suggestion?"

The judge tilts their head but doesn't speak, twirling one paper curl of hair around their finger.

"His heart has been weighed and measured by his words," The god nods at Zeb almost proudly. "Though he is guilty of these crimes, and the stains upon his flesh show that Guilt has nested deep in his soul, I find him to be Good and True."

Zeb tugs the sleeves of his shirt further down over his gloves, cheeks heating with embarrassment, Anpu not-smiles at him again with a knowing gleam deep in the god's eyes.

"Death would be too boring like the elf king said, so might I suggest he be sentenced to community service?" The jackal god tilts his head, almost cutely. "He's terrified of you lot, so think about how funny it would be if you all forced him to help you with something for days on end."

"...yeah that works." The judge raps their gavel on the bench and calls the trial to a close.

[andrea-lyn]

ATLA recs post take 2 (electric boogaloo). Am I totally unsurprised I have enough for a third post at some point? Nope. ANYWAY, enjoy another round -- once again predominantly Zukka, though there’s some f/f in this round!

ATLA Recs #2

i wanna be still with you by tristanyvaine

Handwritten letters sent back and forth do not a love story make. Or. Maybe they do, in the case of a certain Fire Lord and Water Tribe warrior who happen to fall in love over sending letters to each other at least.

keeps me up late at night by midnights

Fifteen years since the war had ended, and still Zuko remembered every step of the way as if it were yesterday. More than anything, he remembered Sokka. He'd been in love with him then, and he still was.

ft. ambassador sokka, fancy parties, pining zuko, and two oblivious fools

the brightest you've ever been by panthalassas

Azula folds herself into the lotus position and empties her mind. Then Yue places her hands on either side of Azula's face, and her mind fills back up again. Or: Yue notices Azula is lonely. Turns out, Azula's ready to feel some emotions.

real love baby by verdanthoney

Five times Zuko and Sokka pretend they aren't in love, and one time they don't.

OR,

Sokka initiates a friends with benefits relationship between them, and Zuko keeps coming back for more.

Seasons in the Sun by burkesl17

Ambassador Sokka's first year in the Fire Nation, a story for each of its seasons. With thunder, assassins, blossoms, poison, politics, volcanoes and a baby dragon. Also falling in love.

Or: four parties, four assassination attempts.

Please Return if Found by CSHfic, VSfic

When Sokka sees a “lost pet” poster near his apartment for an actual, literal dragon, he thinks it’s a joke.

Right up until he finds the dragon sitting on his couch.

Nobility by hikuni

Book 3. Sokka/Zuko. Set after The Boiling Rock Pt. 2, Sokka and Zuko explore the Western Air Temple, where Sokka tries to get Zuko to talk about girls, marriage, and maybe even a future for the two of them.

Worship the Ashes by meregalaxiesandgods, patentpending

All Azula wants is for things to go back to the way they were – her father on the precipice of conquering the world, her own position secure at his right hand. Now, the only secure thing is her, trapped in a gilded cage in her brother's new Fire Nation. Lonely and adrift, Azula would do anything to make it end, until an unexpected connection rekindles a light she long-thought had burned to ashes. But falling for Suki isn't something Azula can let herself do, especially with the world as they know it threatening to crumble around them.

Or: Azula goes to therapy, has an identity crisis, stops actively trying to kill her brother, makes a few friends, and falls in love along the way.

No Quiet Life by JustGettingBy

Zuko's not sure when it started. It would be easy to say it started with Boiling Rock, or with the Western Air Temple. But whenever it started, his crush isn’t about to go away anytime soon.

*

“It’s not too late, ‘Lee’. We could steal a boat. Sail across the high seas until we hit the horizon. Spend the rest of our days living off the land.” He brandishes his arm as if to show Zuko the untapped potential of their future as wild hunters.

“No, Sokka.”

Sokka shrugs. “Well, it was worth a shot. When you’re up to your eyeballs in expense reports, don’t say I didn’t ask.”

Zuko’s mouth feels very dry. “I won’t.”

virtues uncounted by bloobeary

fire lord zuko visits the southern water tribe eight years after the war ends

based on that text post

Will We Last the Night by CSHfic, VSfic (My absolute fave of the canon rewrites for its wildly IC enemies-to-lovers feel)!

Chief Arnook never assigns Sokka to protect Princess Yue, so he goes to fight the Fire Nation with the other men. When the moon dies, and the ocean spirit takes its revenge, Sokka is caught standing on the deck of a Fire Nation ship. Sokka should have drowned… and he would have drowned, if not for a certain Fire Nation raft fleeing the North Pole.

[An enemies-to-lovers season 2 rewrite, where Sokka is separated from the gaang during the Siege of the North, and travels the Earth Kingdom with Zuko instead].

Ashes Inside When You Finish Your Song by Muncaster

Sokka writes lyrics for his sister’s band. Zuko plays piano and is unnecessarily nice. Fellas, is it gay to write love songs about your friend and his golden eyes?

(AKA, a modern band AU featuring The Gaang, crappy software equipment, homoerotic lyrics, and the realization that maybe, if you think about a guy every night before you sleep, you just might be in love with him.)

Relief Next to Me by wilteddaisy (taotu)

Sokka thinks Ozai’s beach house is pretty awesome. Slightly less awesome is the couch he has to sleep on, as is accidentally getting into Zuko’s bed. At first, that is.

[serenofroses]

this wip was a lead up to this other wip I had. just wrote them out of my head because the polytriad Marr/Ania/Jadus with atonement arc are slowly consuming me lately. probably will get back to this later on if i'm not hit with writing insecurities.

and yes, this is strictly a canon divergence IA story.

i'm leaving out a big spoiler for reasons regarding a character. only few friends knows.

--

"You don't recall much?"

Ania shook her head, her voice was hoarse, "No, everything was a blur, only some vague details but I don't remember how I exactly got here. What happened?"

"The Shadow Arsenal's destroyed and Ardun Kothe is done for." Marr filled in the details of the mission after Ania was out of it.

She remembered there was a man screaming in pain within the background.

"But with exception of this "Hunter" who reportedly fled the scene before reinforcement arrived. We're unable to trace him down." Marr filled in the details of the mission after Ania was out of consciousness.

Ania was baffled by this.

"Why haven't you stopped him?" Ania sounded disappointed.

Marr exhaled sharply.

"Because we had to stay behind for you." Marr explained the reason to refrain from pursuing after Hunter, "We had argeed to compromise on freeing you from the outsider's control--our task was to save you. You're lucky to survive, love."

That clicked--she figured she had heard something along the lines of "Iconoclasm" through a different voice that isn't Marr's. She was under the influence of the command programming in effect caused by Hunter's doings.

Then she blinked in confusion.

"Wait… who's we?"

Ania noticed the way Marr glanced over to the side from where she laid on bedrest within the secluded medical bay, "There's someone here wanted to see you."

Marr glanced back over and tilted their head.

Ania was about to speak but was cut off to the sounds of heels against the floor that alerted her attention, she sensed the familiar aura and the smell of perfume aroma was intoxicating like how she remembered when she was with a certain Sith Lord.

She turned her head to come face to face with the person and her eyes widen in surprise.

Someone familiar.

"… Jadus?"

"Hello, darling."

Ania tried to sit up but her head and body went dizzy as the result of the IX Serum side effects that was injected into her hours before. Marr stepped in to prevent her from getting up too quickly, murmuring comforting words to heed the doctor's advice.

Ania looked back to Jadus and pinched her arm twice incase she wasn't actually dreaming. She had noticed the way they flinched slightly with a quiet hiss through their teeth--she ceased her action with a quick realisation they can feel that through the Force Bond.

This was real. She wasn't expecting to see the Jadus, completely unmasked, standing by the bedside abroad Marr's flagship.

"It would seem we… have much to catch up on."

[relevant-url-incoming]

Greying

once again doing some outside perspectives of when people realise caibos is actually Baby, this time with Tharan (can you tell this is matching up to my playthrough) (also realising that they did imply that he can stop shielding and therefore no longer be weakened once vivicar's done sending out the plague signals or whatever the fuck but that's dumb i like my consequences long-lasting and heartwrenching. i handwaved it for some of my consulars but not for Caibos i am making this boy suffer)

The first time Tharan realised how deceptive the Jedi’s looks must be was when he returned with Qyzen from the Carida. Tharan had seen how haggard Caibos had looked after shielding Master Fain, but it was the greying at his temples as he returned from saving Fain’s daughter that clinched it.

“I see shielding this victim has done a number on you,” he said, eyeing Caibos as he trudged up the steps into the ship. He couldn’t help but feel concerned. He’d thought the wrinkles and occasional winces of pain were due to a life lived well and long. The rapidity of his degeneration today made that significantly less likely. Not that Tharan was any less excited to be travelling the galaxy with him, as the Jedi had certainly proved himself, but this rendered the Jedi an unknown quantity once more. Tharan only liked that in a new piece of tech, and when he knew the unknown could be made known through his genius.

“I’m fine,” Caibos said. Tharan looked at Qyzen. He couldn’t be sure, having not had the opportunity to learn Trandoshan facial expressions, but he thought Qyzen looked upset or frustrated. Certainly, it was an unusual expression for the hunter.

“Rest, Herald,” Qyzen said. “Cannot hunt on shaking legs.”

“I am fine,” Caibos said again. There was a strange note to his voice – higher-pitched and plaintive, like a boy whose voice was still dropping. Tharan’s sense of foreboding grew. “I must call Master Syo.”

Tharan trailed after Caibos and Qyzen, intending to keep an eye on the Jedi. There was something strange in Syo Bakarn’s eyes as he spoke to Caibos, Tharan saw now – and he apologised to Caibos.

“I did what I must do,” Caibos said, as though these were words he said so often he didn’t have to plan them. From Syo and Qyzen’s reactions, they had heard them before, too.

“I appreciate your commitment, young Jedi,” Syo said. “But the Council does not take your sacrifices lightly.”

“Master Syo, we should discuss Lord Vivicar,” Caibos said too quickly.

When the call was done, Tharan did not return to the lower deck right away. Instead, he followed Caibos to the cockpit.

“Is something wrong?” Caibos asked.

“It’s difficult to say,” Tharan said, unsure how to start the conversation. “It has occurred to me there are a few things I neglected to ask you when this partnership began, not being on my mind at the time –“

“Tharan, it’s quite all right. You can ask me anything.” Caibos’ voice was so soothing and solemn that Tharan felt incredibly silly for a moment. He would only insult and confuse the Jedi if he was wrong – but then again, he was a genius. Perhaps not always in matters of picking up on lies and half-truths, but Tharan had never been a fool.

“How old are you?” he asked.

He knew immediately that he had guessed right. Caibos stiffened, seeming to search for an answer.

“Fifteen,” he muttered at last, sounding for all the galaxy like a sullen teenager. Tharan supposed, to his mounting horror, that he was. “How did you know?”

“I wasn’t certain,” Tharan said. He needed now to recategorize each of their interactions. The way Caibos’ eyes skittered over Holiday’s midriff – not just a Jedi with an overdeveloped sense of propriety, but a boy unsure of how to interact. The insistence on handling everything himself – knowledge of his own competence, or a desire to prove himself?

“Then why did you ask?”

“It occurred to me after your most recent foray into shielding your fellow Jedi,” Tharan said. “That perhaps your wizened appearance is not due solely to time lived.”

“I’m not wizened,” Caibos said, sounding disgruntled.

“My dear boy,” Tharan said with no small amount of amusement. “You are now going grey.”

He reached up to touch his hair, positively pouting.

“You look very distinguished, never fear,” Tharan said. “Though I should say if anyone expresses interest in such things, you may want to disclose your age sooner rather than later.”

“Why would – Oh. That’s – I am a Jedi!”

“Of course,” Tharan said. “But if you ever desire advice –“

“Tharan, you don’t need to treat me differently,” Caibos said. “You didn’t treat me like a child before.”

“That would be my mistake, and not yours,” Tharan said more sombrely. “I don’t doubt your skill, Jedi. But it doesn’t take a genius to know a child should not shoulder these burdens alone.”

“I’m not a child.”

That sentence alone was enough to confirm his age. Tharan smiled, reminded all too well of his own teenage years. What a hellion he had been.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “I thank you for your time.”

He was no expert on biology, but he resolved to see what he could find to diminish Caibos' symptoms. Especially if this plague continued, the boy would need all the support he could get. He may not welcome it, but Tharan was quite good at making his efforts so indispensable that even the most recalcitrant of people had to accept them.

[juneviews]

axelle judges non bl shows > The Jungle

summary: The Jungle are a group of good-looking men that meet regularly in the secret bar Rendezvous owned by the mysterious bartender Hunter. When certain special women approach them, their whole self-built image shatters.

where to watch: youtube

grade: 7/10

pros:

the cast is awesome!

the acting was good from everyone, though the ones who impressed me the most were my already faves off, pat, nanon, mild & lookjun, who especially slayed considering it was her first main role! they didn't have to go that hard for this show lol

the aesthetics of this show are beautiful, be it the lighting, locations and especially the outfits! each girl's wardrobe was incredibly gorgeous!

cons:

GIRLLLLLLLLLLL. the writing!!! this is one of the worst writings from gmmtv, like... ever bruh! let's analyse everything that's wrong with it:

this show is some of the worst marketing failure ever. they really done advertised a silly 6-stories romcom like a dark, mysterious murder drama bruh!!! so when the viewers started watching the show, obviously we were not gonna like it & feel like it's super surface-level & dumb, bc they had built up our expectations for a completely different show. if this show has been advertised to be in the same vain as the three gentlebros for example, we would've have accepted its three gentlebros writing. but the issue is that we expected something on the level of ps: I hate you & we didn't get anything near that.

focusing on each story one after the other impacted everything badly in this show. first of all, it makes it so every ship (except pineaugust bc they got the most screentime) looks rushed AS HELL, especially the earlier ones like lee & mook, so the romance that we were supposed to feel? isn't here babes. secondly, bc each story is so separated, the link between them feels close to non-existent and the friendship between the jungle guys feel stick thin. MOREOVER!!! since each story is so separate, once a ship get together we barely ever see them on the show again, and the later characters like nathee, hack & pine, whose stories only start by ep 8 feel non-existent during the first part of the show! you literally cannot win with this way of doing the show lol. ALSO!!! bc each story is separate, every viewer had their favorite and the one they don't care about, which means that some entire eps were super boring & people got mad some ships got better development & screentime than others.

they made their female characters look so fucking dumb & useless, oh my lord. honestly it's even more insulting considering the same team created some of the most interesting & complex female characters ever in ps: I hate you, like... makes me wonder what they were on for this. only august is written with layers & an interesting storyline, and florence is alright since she flips the usual conventions of the male lead pursuing the female lead relentlessly on its head.

the male characters aren't much better, there's so many cringy parts where they try to look cool & be defenders of women but it doesn't work at all when they've been established as players who don't respect women. btw they look pathetic bc we are TOLD that they are players but never SHOWN so they have no credibility, also I love the boys & they're all good looking or whatever but idk they weren't emanating this cool, badass energy the showrunners wanted us to feel lol.

leemook's story gave me nothing. it was the most disappointing bc it was the first so that's when I realized my expectations of a gritty series wouldn't happen, but even then not only is their story basic but there's nothing to it, it's so basic & forgettable.

the nanonpunpun story was alright, imo naanfah was probably the most interesting male character in the show (he's black from not me but in a different font lmao), but their story was rushed & didn't have a satisfying conclusion at all. also they didn't really have much chemistry compared to nanonmild imo. lastly, bc their story is so early in the show but contains what was set up as the center of the show, kaewta's murder... once it's done & we know the truth we're just left like... alright there's 8 eps left, what's even the point lol. their story should've been done differently & solved at the end imo.

the plot twist of nanon playing twins... could've been good if it was actually a plot twist??? bc the viewer is aware there's two nanon characters it just fell so flat, the reveal to punpun's character seems so ridiculous & straight out of a low-tier lakorn from 50 years ago bc the viewer is not surprised one bit bruh.

hack's character is so icky & terrible. not only is he INTRODUCED into the show using his power imbalance to fuck a student's mother, but then he has sex with irin while she's blackout drunk & thinks he's pine, which is... r*pe obviously. but then he keeps playing these games & he's just fucking terrible & icky and made me feel so gross while watching this, which is such wasted potential since he actually had really great chemistry with lookjun. but yeah throw his whole character in the trash!

nathee & florence's story is so rushed & underdeveloped, which is kinda sad bc they had good chemistry & also were very fun together. but also tbh florence's insistance on having sex with nathee when he said no 500 times is literally coercion babes, if florence was a man doing this to a girl we wouldn't find it cute.

also please for the love of god luke I'm rooting for you, but why did you have to growl like a werewolf everything you wanted to look hot & angry 😭 this man is so unserious as an actor, wishing him luck in getting better lmao

as for the augustpine storyline, imo it should've started and ended the show. the "past" should've been at the beginning of the show so that 1) we immediately get context of what brought the jungle guys together and 2) we actually FEEL the 10 years wait that pine had to feel on the show for august to come back. it would've given so much more weight to the show imo.

would I rewatch it: only the offpat parts

This was in my top 5 shows I was the most looking forward to watch this year, and goddamn did it disappoint all of my expectations except for offpat being one of the best ships ever. I would not recommend this show except for the pineaugust storyline, honestly don't bother.

[odyssean-flower]

ok i played the new story update in hsr and here are my thoughts

warning: it's kinda negative

first things first: yeah i know this isn't the end of the xianzhou story, there are six ships after all and i guess luofu is supposed to be like the opening act to a bigger conflict with the aeons but m a n the execution was not good

the 1.3 story is more like an epilogue, which is fine, but it really should have been added to the previous patch. tbh the luofu story didn't need to be stretched over three patches with its overall length

i feel like everything went wrong when they decided to make the dan shu quests optional instead. i feel like they had to scrap a lot of stuff because of that? i agree that the dan shu quests felt out of place but they could have moved it around instead of just cutting them out of the main storyline. It's fully voiced after all and it has interesting lore

the problem is that the writers wanted to incorporate so many concepts but didn't want to (or can't) increase the length of the story. There are so much stuff going on like the conflict between Lan and Yaoshi, the bad side to immortality, the vidyadhara politics, the stellaron and the lord ravager, the sanctus medicus, dan heng & dan feng, dan heng and blade, the stellaron hunters, the high-cloud quintet, luocha, but all of these things only get brief moments of spotlight before we move on to something else. it makes everything feel kind of inconsequential and confusing

Especially the dan heng il thing which really should have been the main point of the story. his transformation is cool but it also feels random. the opening cutscene with blade also comes off as baffling in retrospect bc he didn't really do or explain anything??

i think they tried to rectify this by making the companion quests (like yanqing's and dhil's) basically main quests but they only raise more questions that may or may not get a definite answer. also these quests are optional

the ending is so abrupt, but they still try to tease continuations (see: jingliu and luocha cutscene at the end) even though we're leaving?? and who knows when these threads will get picked up again

Another problem i have: the vagueness of the lore and story. We finally know what dan feng's sin is...kind of. We maybe kind of know what happened to baiheng. tingyun's dead...or is she??? the writers love teasing resolutions instead of giving them, and it's honestly annoying. And im saying this as a genshin lore fan who loves finding random readables and trying to piece together what happened

The high-cloud quintet: ok this might be an unpopular opinion but i don't really care about them. maybe it's just my inherent dislike for the trope of "super elite group full of hot people who have a lot of history with each other and they feel sad about it :(" but they are just not doing anything for me right now. I like them all individually but as a group? meh. Part of the problem is that their lore is scattered all over the place and is very vague, so you really have to read between the lines and speculate in order to get their story, which requires a certain amount of investment from the start. i repeat that im a genshin lore player, but the thing about genshin lore is that it's not needed to understand the main story most of the time. Important stuff about the characters, on the other hand? tbh i care way more about spina di rosula trio or the narzissenkreuz people, and most of those people are npcs (faceless even)

honestly high-cloud quintet deserved a world quest chain or something instead of just (a very nice) animated short. as it is now i don't know why we would ever revisit them in the future considering dan heng doesn't want anything to do with them. maybe a rematch with blade?

tldr xianzhou had a lot of cool ideas but the execution was bad. oh well at least it had jing yuan

[goatsorcery]

>:3 Alright Frank, my turn. Please share your bg3 brain worms (tadpoles). Favorite character(s)? Preferred companions? Do you have a consistent party? If not, how do you choose your members at any given time? I am very curious if it’s the latter because as I mentioned, I don’t really ever switch it up.

you said in the tags of your answer to write as many paragraphs as my feelings can fill… and well… it’s a lot haha :)

i love all the characters so much! they're all so unique, interesting, and charming in their own way. i'm only in act 2 myself (about to finish it though i think) so i haven't gotten to see everyone's full stories yet. narrowing down a favorite is so hard! i change up my party every once in a while, but consistently i still always bring wyll or shadowheart so I guess they would be my favorites!

i love wyll so much, im always a sucker for characters who are able to stay postive and optimistic even through the worst of times. I also love characters (especially in fantasy) who are primed to be the main character either from their backstories or narratively (alistair in dragon age and aragorn in lord of the rings are other examples); wyll, who is a monster hunter but is first and foremost a protector of the people, (there are other details about him that I wont spoil for you that also lend to this) has all the makings of a classic fantasy protagonist, but he never expresses the desire to be the leader (i guess, unless the player plays as him haha) or to get any recognition for helping cure the tadpoles. other possibly-spoilery tid-bits about him that break away from or invert fantasy character archtypes help to really round out his character in an interesting way.

I loved shadowheart pretty much instantly (shadowheart and lae’zel being the first two companions you meet is everything, i love them both and their dynamic so much) shadowheart is a bit of a mystery, even to herself, which is fascinating to me. I find her whole story, so far, really interesting, and I’m excited to see where it goes and what else is learned about her through the rest of the game. i love characters who are so dedicated to one goal to the point that it’s all that matters to them and it’s all they are, but then the story challenges their dedication or pulls them from it for a larger cause.

i switch up my party every once in a while, but its usually just to swap out characters for quests that are relevant to them or that i think will prompt dialogue or approval from them. i think my game is a bit bugged, because i didn't even realize there was party banter until very late into act 1 (also just might be  because i fast travel a lot) so i've been switching out characters more to see what conversations they can have.

my go-to parties in act 1 were wyll, shadowheart, and lae’zel or wyll, karlach, and lae’zel (this was mostly because of combat game play, karlach and lae’zel with their extra attack or shadowheart as an extra healer was so helpful when I was still trying to learn the combat system).

in act 2 my go to party is wyll, shadowheart, and karlach, or wyll, shadowheart, and halsin depending on if im just exploring/doing side-quests or if i know I’ll run into heavy combat. karlach regularly one-shots enemies with 30+ hp and having her extra attack is the only way i get through combat most of the time (even on the easiest difficulty, combat continues to kick my ass).

when I reach act 3, I plan on mixing up my party more, depending on what’s in store for act 3 (I have surprisingly not been spoiled on anything that happens in act 3).

combat is the main reason why i don’t switch up my parties more since i get used to having certain spells or abilities. on my second play through (which I’ve already started planning even though im not close to being done with my first lol) i plan on trying to mix up my groups more to get more banter and to spend time with other characters I haven’t had much chance to. I rarely take gale or astarion with me (unless there is a relevant quest) but only because of combat, i feel like other characters have more useful abilities then they do. which is a shame because i like them both a lot, and want to get to know them better. my tav is a cleric, so that also factors in to party make-up. gale’s party banter is always bugged for me as well which is a bummer, the captions will pop-up but his voice lines never play.

one thing i like so much about the characters is that they all have interesting interpersonal dynamics. it really only comes up in banter and the occasional camp conversation but its enough to make it feel like they're all actually interacting in camp. whether or not they fully get along, they still all seem to care about each other which i love! its the friend group you'd never expect (most of who would probably not get along or get the chance to interact if the circumstances were different) but they all end up being close in some way or another. shadowheart and lae'zel's dynamic is especially a favorite of mine, i always love characters who don't get along on the surface but are actually "no one's allowed to be mean to them except for me". shadowheart and astarion are a bit like this too, with each other, and astarion with the rest of the companions as well. another one of my favorite party dynamics is wyll, shadowheart, and astarion; three people I wouldn’t have expected to really get along but the first time i had them all in my party I triggered like three conversations in a row where they were flirting with each other (my favorite of their banters is astarion saying he’d drink from wyll if he could chose anyone in camp after shadowheart asks him and then her sounding disappointed that he didn’t pick her. in my play through shadowheart then asked astarion if he was single less than a minute later lol).

my favorite character dynamics are:

wyll and karlach

wyll, astarion, and shadowheart

shadowheart and lae’zel

[submissive-and-readable]

Silver Under Nightfall by Rin Chupeco

Genre: gothic fantasy romance

If you like: polyam romance, vampire hunter x vampire(s), enemies to lovers, angst, Castlevania(idk what this is but apparently they are similar), Gideon the Ninth's sense of humour

Content warnings: blood, violence, (past) statutory rape, sexual coercion, body horror, semi-explicit sexual content(they get it on a lot, but there's no description of genitals and its mostly skimmed over)

Overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫/5

Synopsis

Remy Pendergast is many things: the only son of the Duke of Valenbonne, an elite bounty hunter of rogue vampires, and an outcast among his fellow Reapers. Though the kingdom of Aluria barely tolerates him, Remy’s father has been shaping him into a weapon to fight for the kingdom at any cost.

When a terrifying new breed of vampire is sighted outside of the city, Remy prepares to investigate alone. But then he encounters the shockingly warmhearted vampire heiress Xiaodan Song and her infuriatingly arrogant fiancé, vampire lord Zidan Malekh, who may hold the key to defeating the creatures. When he’s offered a spot alongside them to find the truth about the mutating virus Rot that’s plaguing the kingdom, Remy faces a choice—one he’s certain he’ll regret.

But as the three face dangerous hardships during their journey, Remy develops fond and complicated feelings for the couple. He begins to question what he holds true about vampires, as well as the story behind his own family legacy. As the Rot continues to spread across the kingdom, Remy must decide where his loyalties lie: with his father and the kingdom he’s been trained all his life to defend or the vampires who might just be the death of him.

Review

I genuinely can't remember the last time I had this much fun reading!

This book starts off with a whole fight scene, which was so brilliantly executed. Not just because it was cool as hell, but also because it introduces Remy in such a way that readers can get a sense of who his character is and his place in the story right off the bat. His ostracization from most of his fellow humans, his position and reputation as a Reaper; as well as his character: his determination to do what's right, his kindness, his stubbornness and impulsivity.

And I love how Remy's first meetings with each of his love interests perfectly sets up the dynamic for their relationship. Like, Remy and Malekh fighting from the very first time they meet, with Malekh goading him and Remy refusing to back down + Remy's immediate acceptance of Xiaodan and their easy banter, establishes the tone of their relationship from the jump, which is maintained throughout the book, while still allowing them to grow closer as they learn more about each other.

Remy also serves as an excellent narrator. Although he's slower on the uptake than Xiaodan and Malekh, he's still observant and intelligent, and has a snarky sense of humour, never failing to snark at the worst possible moments.

The action scenes were all so fun, and I think the way Remy holds his own against the stronger and faster vampires makes sense. Also the sex scenes ate (sometimes literally lmao).

I have a few nitpicks that keeps this book from being perfect for me, which aren't a problems, its just my personal tastes. I couldn't completely get behind Malekh, because I don't really enjoy brood-y, super-serious, edgy type characters. Which, he has good reasons for being so, given his backstory, but some of his lines which were probably meant to come off as cool and sexy, made me scoff a little and take him less seriously. Other people would probably find him appealing, this is really just a case of "its not you, its me".

Another thing that took me out of the story was some of the names. I mentioned it here, and I do think its fun, but it removed me from the narrative a bit. Singing Waters is a cool-sounding name in english, but Changge Shui in mandarin sounds kind of dumb, and being named Yingyue would get you made fun of by Chinese people.