#northern air rescue

[laresearchette]

Sunday, April 07, 2024 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: GO! GO! LOSER RANGER! (Disney + Star) BEACON 23 (MGM+) SPACE SHUTTLE COLUMBIA: THE FINAL FLIGHT (CNN) 9:00pm WHEN CALLS THE HEART (Super Channel Heart & Home) 9:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT?: 2024 CMT MUSIC AWARDS (CBS Feed) MR BATES VS THE POST OFFICE (PBS Feed)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

CBC GEM YOUNGER (Season 7 + One Hour Special)

DISNEY + STAR GO! GO! LOSER RANGER! (Premiere Episode)

CURLING (TSN/TSN3) 4:00am: LGT World Men's Curling Championship: Bronze Medal (TSN/TSN3/TSN5) 9:00am: LGT World Men's Curling Championship: Gold Medal

2024 IIHF WOMEN'S WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP (TSN3/TSN4) 11:00am: Sweden vs. Japan (TSN3/TSN4) 3:00pm: Canada vs. Czechia (TSN3) 7:00pm: China vs. Denmark

MLB BASEBALL (SN) 1:00pm: Jays vs. Yankees (SN Now) 4:00pm: Red Sox vs. Angels (TSN/TSN4) 7:00pm: Astros vs. Rangers

NHL HOCKEY (SN1) 1:00pm: Sabres vs. Red Wings (TSN5) 6:00pm: Sens vs. Capitals (SN) 7:00pm: Predators vs. Devils (TSN2) 7:00pm: Habs vs. Rangers (SN) 10:00pm: Stars vs. Avalanche

MLS SOCCER (TSN2) 1:30pm: Kansas City vs. Portland

NBA BASKETBALL (SN) 7:00pm: Warriors vs. Spurs (SN1) 6:00pm: Wizards vs. Raptors (SN1) 8:30pm: Jazz vs. Warriors (TSN4) 10:00pm: Timberwolves vs. Lakers

NORTHERN AIR RESCUE (APTN) 7:00pm: With the surprising resignation of one of Missinippi Airways' senior managers, others line up seeking an opportunity for advancement. Later, a new first officer arrives from South America and gets a crash course in the unique challenges of northern.

OCEAN WARRIORS: MISSION READY (APTN) 7:30pm: Representatives from the eight Coastal Nations Coast Guard Auxiliary teams travel to Prince Rupert to take part in a friendly skills competition. Who will emerge victorious?

SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE (CTV) 8:00pm: Bitten by a radioactive spider, teenager Miles Morales suddenly develops mysterious powers that transform him into Spider-Man. He must now use his newfound skills to battle the evil Kingpin, a hulking madman who can open portals to other universes.

WHEN CALLS THE HEART (W Network) 8:00pm (SEASON 9 PREMIERE): Change is in the air for Hope Valley, with the foundry to be built and an upcoming mayoral election; Elizabeth arrives home from a trip to Hamilton; a potential investor arrives in town to discuss the oil business with Luca.

YELLOWSTONE WARDENS (Animal Planet Canada) 8:00pm: Region 1 wardens are left speechless after witnessing a squatter on public land and are on high alert during the annual Yellowstone River Boat Float; during the pursuit of an upland game, a license check comes up empty and the wardens scramble.

BIG BROTHER CANADA (Global) 9:00pm

HIGH COUNTRY (CTV Drama) 9:00pm: On the anniversary of a local boy's murder, Sam Dyson pledges to bring his prime suspect, Damien, to justice; Andie warns against harassment, but Sam can't help himself, forcing Andie to take action.

INTO THE DARK: TREEHOUSE (T&E) 9:00pm: A celebrity chef tries to escape a recent wave of negative tabloid exposure by retreating to his family's vacation estate in the woods, but the ghosts of his past are everywhere and debts will be settled.

PROSPER (Super Channel Fuse) 9:00pm: Cal returns to U Star with plans to bring Jed back into the fold and solve the Charity Tax bill.

THE CURSE OF OAK ISLAND (History Canada) 10:00pm: The team is ecstatic when a recent theory about Nolan's Cross comes to fruition while they prepare for a European adventure on the horizon.

BRYAN'S ALL IN (HGTV Canada) 10:00pm: With the purchase of a seaside fishing resort, Rob and Lorraine have quickly become full-time dragon slayers fixing a never-ending slew of renovation surprises. But with new problems constantly creeping up on them.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"SAVE THREE FLIERS, PLANE FROM NORTHERN MUSKEG," Toronto Star. May 14, 1943. Page 2. ---- Indians Made 150 Trips to Salvage Machine Forced Down on Lake ---- BRIDGE OF TREES ---- "Our first consideration was to save the lives of the men, and then, If possible, salvage the valuable parts of the plane." Hon, Norman Hipel said today. He was describing the rescue of three R.C.A.F. men and the salvage of their Avro Anson bomber from the muskeg of northwestern Ontario by his staff of the provincial air service.

The airmen, lost during a flight from Nakina to Armstrong, made an emergency landing on one of the countless lakes which dot the northwestern section of the province. They were there for three days before being found by Pilot A. C. MacMillan and Observer C. Pike.

Their rescue and the salvaging of the plane called for all the ingenuity at the command of the air service personnel at Geraldton. W. U. Fiskar, acting district forester, supervised the operations.

"The men were pretty hungry when we got to them," he reported. "One of the crew had attempted to get out but sank out of sight when he stepped from the wing and was rescued with difficulty by his companions.

"MacMillan and Pike, who had landed on a lake a mile away from the spot where the big bomber was bogged down, made their way to where the crew had reached shore and fed them. Then they took them aboard the forestry plane."

At first R.C.A.F. officials believed it would be impossible to salvage the plane because of the "bottomless" muskeg and the inaccessibility of the spot.

A 200-foot spruce carpet was laid from the store. This carpet consisted of small trees and limbs to form a foundation and then bigger saplings for a surface. It was strong enough to bear a ton weight or more."

"There was very little water in the lake," Fiskar continued. "Not enough to row a boat but to attempt to walk on the muck and vegetation meant certain death."

After the parts were dismantled the Indians carried them to the forestry plane, a mile away. The Indians made some 150 trips. Image caption:

DAMAGED AND SUNK deep in the muskeg of Northern Ontario, this R.C.A.F. plane was found by a searching plane of the Ontario Air Service. It had been. missing three days. Its crew of three was rescued.

A SALVAGE JOB followed the rescue. With the aid of a winch and cable flown from Geraldton, the plane was drawn ashore and stripped of $50,000 worth of equipment. Indians helped, carrying salvaged parts on "stretchers" over the trail to planes landed as near as possible.

[jjunhui]

What has happened in Gaza since the truce ended a mere 16 hours ago — do keep in mind that some of these source links include videos of what is described.

• Israel’s military said it had 'resumed combat' in Gaza where air strikes were reported as the seven-day truce came to an end on Friday morning local time. [ source ]

• The Israeli warplanes started bombing Gaza as soon as the temporary ceasefire expired. [ source ]

• A little Palestinian girl got injured by an Israeli bombardment in the northern part of Gaza City. [ source ]

• Residents try to evacuate the bodies from the rubble of a destroyed home by Israeli air strikes that began bombing Gaza Strip by the end of the temporary ceasefire. [ source ]

• A number of Palestinians were injured and killed by Israeli air strikes all over Gaza. [ source ]

• An ambulance evacuated children who were injured by an air strike that targeted a home in Khan Younis, southern Gaza. [ source ]

• More than 30 Palestinians were killed by Israeli air strikes since the end of the temporary ceasefire this morning. [ source ]

• The Israeli warplanes bomb a home in Rafah, southern Gaza. [ source ]

• A little girl lost her father by Israeli air strike in the middle area of Gaza. [ source ]

• A wife bids farewell to her husband who was killed by Israeli bombardment in Khan Younis, southern Gaza. [ source ]

• A mother bids farewell to her 5 month old baby who was killed in an air strike in Gaza. [ source ]

• A mother bids farewell to her son who has was killed by an air strike in Gaza. [ source ]

• Palestinians inspect the rubble of the Qanan family home which was bombed by Israeli warplanes in Khan Younis city. A number of deaths and injuries were reported. [ source ]

• Israeli warplanes bomb a home west of Khan Younis. [ source ]

• A faulty Israeli bomb was dropped by the Israeli warplanes on a home in Yebna refugee camp in Rafah city. [ source ]

• An Israeli bombardment targeted an UNRWA school in Jabalia refugee camp, north of Gaza. [ source ]

• Heavy Israeli air strikes in Khan Younis city, southern Gaza. [ source ]

• Israeli warplanes destroy the home of the Hessi family in Khan Younis refugee camp, southern Gaza. [ source ]

• Palestinians rescue a girl from the rubble of her home that was bombed by Israeli warplanes. [ source ]

• Civil defense crews rescue a number of residents and evacuate bodies of martyrs from the rubble of a home in Shejaeya neighborhood, east of Gaza. [ source ]

• Over 100 Palestinians were killed since the end of the temporary ceasefire in Gaza, today. [ source ]

• Medics are dealing with 'large numbers' of wounded Palestinians seeking treatment in overcrowded hospitals following the resumption of Israeli air strikes on Gaza, says Gaza's health ministry. [ source ]

• A little child tries to calm down his baby brother after they were injured by an air strike in Gaza. [ source ]

• A series of heavy Israeli air strikes bombed several sites in southern Gaza Strip. [ source ]

• Palestinian children bid farewell to their father who was killed by Israeli bombardment in Khan Younis. [ source ]

• A fire broke out following the bombing of Jabalia refugee camp with white phosphorus. [ source ]

• Israel preventing aid trucks from entering Gaza via Rafah border crossing, PRCS says [ source ]

• A child was injured by the Israeli occupation bombing of Abu Nada family home in Al-Jeneina neighborhood, east of Rafah. [ source ]

• The ministry of health says in a statement that 178 Palestinians have been killed and 589 injured since morning. [ source ]

• The Gaza Strip has been under “relentless Israeli bombardment”. [ source ]

• The Palestinian Red Crescent Society says Israeli forces have informed 'all organisations and entities' operating at the Rafah crossing that the entry of aid trucks to Gaza is 'prohibited, starting from today' and until further notice. [ source ]

• The Israeli warplanes carried out a series of heavy air strikes on Gaza city. [ source ]

This list is not exhaustive. There are bodies under the rubble, missing from the death count, there are stories of atrocities gone unreported. Let that sink in, that this is not even the full extent of what has occurred since the truce agreement expired. The children of Gaza have gone back to living in fear, constantly hearing the sounds of warplanes over their heads. The people of Gaza have gone back to expecting to die.

It is far from time to lose steam. This is not over just because the bombing stopped for a week. The genocide continues and has been ramped up. Do not stop talking about Palestine. Do not stop bearing witness to what is happening. Do not stop demanding that it ends.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Winter Gem

Thranduil x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: soft!Thranduil, widowed!Thranduil, fluff, peril & rescue, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.8k

Seeking something precious for Thranduil, you're caught in a storm. When you don't return, he goes searching for you.

A/N: For @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

“The first snows have arrived.”

“It has come early.”

Thranduil inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”

You stand beside Thranduil outside the main gates. Five guards stand nearby but there is no danger. A steady snowfall drifts down from the sky. The snowflakes are slightly gray in appearance, almost like ash on the wind. You frown down at a few of the flakes that land on your leather vambrace.

“You look ready for your hunt,” observes Thranduil, gesturing toward your attire with the tip of his head.

“Yes,” reply softly. “I plan on heading out for a bit.”

His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “In this weather?”

You glance up from the vambrace and meet his blue eyes. Thranduil’s gaze is startling and sharp. Piercing. Intense. It cuts right down to your heart. His gaze always holds you hostage, wrapping you up in his essence. Most might find Thranduil intimidating, but you know better.

“Is my king telling me I cannot?” You’re teasing him, and Thranduil knows this. His smile is one of soft amusement.

“As long as you return to me. You are free to do as you wish.” Even though Thranduil’s tone is gentle, you understand the deeper meaning.

Thranduil lost his wife many years ago. Other than his son, Legolas, you are his comfort. He wants you to be free, to enjoy the pleasures of life, but he also wants you to be safe, to return to him at the end of every leaving.

Thranduil glances over his shoulder. The guards on duty discreetly glance away, staring off into the distance as if they’ve suddenly found something of great interest. Thranduil leans in and shifts his body to block their view of you. He is close enough that it might appear that the two of you are kissing, but he does not meet your lips.

In the end, Thranduil is private about affection. He does not like to share your tender moments together in front of others.

“Enjoy your hunt. I eagerly await your return.”

You give him a half-hearted, sarcastic bow that immediately puts a wide smile on his face. Thranduil watches you until you disappear into the trees. Perhaps he lingers longer than that, wondering if you will turn around and come back to him.

It is true. You are on a hunt, but not for what he or anyone else is likely expecting.

Over a week ago, Thranduil went out in the woods with some of the guards on patrol. It’s the first time he’s been out beyond the walls in some time. Many patrols that ventured into the northern regions reported back on a strangeness in the air, and the scent of evil. Thranduil decided to investigate.

While tracking, he lost something precious.

Around his neck on a chain, Thranduil kept a silver ring. Within the ring is a precious gem, a blue stone so pale it almost appears white like a burning star. The chain that held it snapped while he and the guards chased a group of spiders that had made their way south.

He remembered it snagging, and while he did not show any distress upon telling you of its disappearance, you also know how much that ring and jewel means to him. It was a gift from his wife when they were newly married. She had a matching one, but upon her death, Thranduil moved it from his finger to around his neck.

This hunt—your hunt—is about that ring. You have a fairly good idea about where it might have fallen, and there is no reason for it to have moved since then. Few enter these woods unless they follow the road, and that is on rare occasions.

Tracking is your specialty, and your time is not limited due to the falling snow. But you’ve tracked in worse weather. The snow is unfortunate, but you can still search as long as it remains at its current pace. The tree cover will keep much of the snow in the higher canopy. There will be time yet before the snow completely covers the ground and you lose the trail.

Heading north, you retrace the path the patrol took. Yes, a week has passed, and nature reclaims much, but not everything is hidden so quickly. There are small disturbances that indicate the path ahead.

As you begin to draw nearer to the area Thranduil mentioned, the snow starts to pick up. It becomes thicker, not staying above in the canopy but instead making its way to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can manage.

Thranduil mentioned two tree trunks growing together and then breaking apart. When you happen upon it, the snow comes down in thicker sheets. On the ground, it’s sticking. Collecting. Time is running out. Elves have good eyes, and you focus in on the ground, gnarled roots, and underbrush.

Near the base of the tangled tree, you notice a slight sparkle. Approaching it, you go down on one knee, brushing away some of the snow.

“Found you.”

The ring is there, resting in the roots. It appears undamaged, and that is a relief. Picking it up, you tuck it into an inside pocket, protecting it from the elements.

The snow crunches under your boots, and the wind howls. For the first time, you shiver. Cold is not and has never been an issue. Elves can withstand a great many things, including winter weather.

Frowning, you turn into the chilly wind. There is a disturbance. Something dark and foul. It sets the edges of your nerves tingling. A simmering suspicion bubbles up from somewhere within you, question whether this snow is natural or not.

Turning on your heel, you head back the way you came. But the snow is heavy, and your fresh tracks are starting to slip away, returning to the snow. As you walk, the snowfall becomes a storm. The wind whips up, swirling the snow around until you cannot see more than a few feet in front of your face.

Your instincts were right. This storm is not natural. It is too early for it, and storms like these are rare in the Woodland Realm.

The toe of your boot catches in a downed tree branch and you slam face first into the snow. It’s freezing. Temperature isn’t usually a deterrent for the elves, but this is beyond cold. It’s as if you’ve been swallowed whole by a massive glacier.

You walk and walk, and you have no idea if you’ve gained any ground. There are no visible signs, and you’re not sure how far you’ve gone, or if you’re simply walking in circles. The snow is deepening or perhaps you’re imagining it. Everything seems darker, like the world is closing in.

You’re not dressed for this sort of weather.

And you’re tired. So tired. Your knees and thighs burn, and sitting down for some rest doesn’t seem so bad. It’s fine. You can take refugee within the deep roots of a tree. You can stay warm there until the snow dissipates. Then, you can return. Thranduil will understand.

As if opening for you, the roots of a nearby tree expand, showing safety from the storm. You slink into it, curling up into a ball.

You drift in the howling wind. There is a haze that sits on your eyelashes. Whether you dream or not is irrelevant. Numbness oozes into your limbs, and that only forces you to curl up tighter, wanting to pull away from the cold.

A hand touches the side of your head. It is warm. Gentle. The fingers slide up to brush your hair out of your face. You hear your name but it is a whisper. Distant. So far away it doesn’t seem real.

There are arms around you. Lifting. Steady. And when you inhale, the scent is familiar. You know who it is instantly.

“Thranduil,” you murmur, and the answer is a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“I found you, my star.”

There are only short moments of consciousness. There is snow. Cold. The antlers of an elk. The gates of home, and then warmth. So much warmth that the numbness begins to recede.

You are brought back to the living world near a roaring fire. Beneath you is a makeshift bed comprised of pillows and soft blankets. You shift, and feel bare skin against bare skin. Slowly, you push yourself to sitting.

Your leather gear is gone, replaced with a soft robe that traps in the heat.

“You’re awake.” Thranduil’s voice is a gentle, comforting hug.

Turning toward his voice, you watch as he glides across the floor. Thranduil wears silver robes of starlight. In his hands in a small tray. On it is a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of food. Bending at the knees, Thranduil settles in beside you, placing the tray down on the blankets.

“You came looking for me,” you say, and your voice nearly cracks with emotion.

“Did you think I would not?” he asks, arranging the food around on the tray.

You know, deep in your heart, that Thranduil would come, but you also believed in your abilities as a tracker. “When did you start to worry?”

Thranduil lifts the cup off the tray and presents it to you. “When the storm picked up. Something about it felt unnatural.” You take it, and bring the warm beverage to your lips. “I gathered some guards and we set out. It is good that we found you in time.” He pauses. “I’m not sure my heart could take any more loss.”

The heat of the tea spreads throughout your body, the chill slipping away quickly. “I do believe you are correct. That storm was not natural.”

Thranduil nods. “There is a growing darkness to the north. The scouts on patrol have spoken of it often but have been unable to get close enough for more details.”

“Perhaps I strayed too close,” you murmur.

“Perhaps,” replies Thranduil, reaching out to take your hand. He lifts it, and brings it into his lap. Using both hands, he rotates your wrist until your palm faces the ceiling. Then, he guides your open palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the middle of it.

Instant warmth shoots out from that spot, running down your arm and piercing your heart like an arrow. Slowly, he curls your fingers in, creating a loose fist, and then brushes his lips against your knuckles before pulling away.

He does not release your hand. “I know why you left.”

“Thranduil—”

“You did not need to explain. I understand why.” Thranduil reaches out and cups your cheek, turning your face toward him. “I am thankful that you found it, but you are also precious to me, and losing you is a far greater loss.”

You turn into his touch. “That ring is important to you.”

“Many things are important to me. But the ring is just that. A thing. You are breathing. You are here. I would like to keep it that way.”

Your eyes drift close and you revel in the warmth of his touch. “Are you mad?”

“Never.”

“Will you hold me?”

“For as long as you like.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @ninman82 @therealbloom

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Can you give examples of Aang showing Empathy? Oh wait, you can't.

Actually, I can - because unlike you, I base my opinion of the characters on the actual stuff that happened in the story, not the bad faith takes dumb people on the internet come up with.

Zuko literally only survived past book 1 because Aang was the ONLY person amongst the heroes that gave a single fuck about his well-being. Aang offered to be FRIENDS with him as early as episode 13, even though this dude is trying to kidnap him.

In the first damn episode we see him realize and try to remedy Katara's struggle with no longer being able to act like a kid and have fun. He wants to travel with her so SHE gets to learn waterbending. He willingly lets Zuko take him into his ship because he understood that a conflict could lead to the people of the water tribe getting hurt or killed.

In Warriors of Kyoshi he apologizes to Katara for letting all the praise and admiration go to this head. He makes sure to put out the fires Zuko and his crew started in Suki's village.

He tries to help remedy the Hei-Bai situation, even though he is unsure of himself and even scared, because he knows he is the only one that has any chance of helping - and the thing that allows him to connect with Hei-Bai is the fact that he is ALSO upset about the destruction the Fire Nation has caused AND hopeful that the world would eventually heal.

He thinks Jet is awesome because he wants to help people that are being oppressed by the Fire Nation - and then is horrified when he finds out his intension is to "free" them by killing everyone

He wants to help the two rival groups not only safely cross the Great Divide, but also stop hating each other.

He confesses that he hid the map to Hakoda because Bato, Katara and Sokka are showing how much they appreciate and trust him and he feels unworthy of it after what he did because he knows it'd hurt him if the roles were reversed.

He is so devastated by the fact that he ACCIDENTALLY hurt Katara that he swears to never firebend again. He is also able to recognize the same principle behind his mistake in Zhao's fighting style, allowing him to win the battle against the bastard.

He accepts the fact that the Northern Air Temple is now occupied by people who not only don't belong to his culture but also don't understand it and unknowingly destroyed something sacred to him (and that one of them had been forced to make weapons for the Fire Nation) because these people have nowhere else to go and he doesn't want them to suffer.

He is furious at Pakku for refusing to teach Katara waterbending, because he knows how much it'd mean to her and how unfair it is that she can't learn it just because of her gender.

He is so devastated by the death of the Moon Spirit that the Ocean Spirit latches onto him to avenge it and save the day - and the leve of destruction it causes haunts Aang, even though the violence was against his enemies. And still, he tries to go into the Avatar state again because people are dying and he can't accept that.

After the fall of Omashu, he wants to rescue Bumi, not because he needs a teacher, but because they're friends.

He felt empathy for Toph when she was explaining to her parents how lonely and unappriacted their over-protection made her feel.

He and Katara both feel bad for snapping at Toph during "The Chase" and wanted to apologize for not understanding that being part of a group was a radical change to her, even though she had refused to even try. He also didn't have a problem with fighting alongside Zuko and Iroh against Azula, AND he looked concerned when Iroh was injured.

After Katara comments on the fact he called Toph Sifu but not her, he calls her Sifu while bowing, to show that he respects her both as his master and friend.

The hopelessness and downright depression he was feeling after Appa was stolen only starts healing because he saw a couple being happy with their newborn baby - the same couple he decided to help cross the Serpent's Pass, even though he and his friends had just been allowed to take a much safer route to Ba Sing Se.

His understanding and sympathy towards Jet, even after everything the guy did, was so strong that it freed him from literal brainwashing.

He doesn't want to push his love for Katara aside to gain power because he cares about her too much - and then does it anyway because, even though not making her his main focus 24/7 offers the risk of her being hurt, him neglecting his mission guarantees she'll get hurt.

He is devastated to learn that the world thinks he is dead because he knows he was everyone's last hope - and yet in the end he still accepts the burden of failure because he understood that, at that moment, everyone would be safer if no one else knew he was still alive.

He goes to a Fire Nation school and bonds with the kids, wanting to give them a taste of freedom and joy, as well as trying to understand what the war is like from their perspective. The same episode also has him pull Katara for a dance because he noticed she was feeling left out.

The boy felt empathy for, and understood the mistakes of, both Ruko and Sozin. SOZIN. Aang could see the humanity in the monster that is responsible for him losing his entire culture and everyone he loved.

When Zuko spoke about wanting to control his impulses so he wouldn't accidentally hurt anyone, Aang explicitly connected with that struggle and saw them being teacher and student as fate, and Zuko agreed because that's how deep their connection was.

Aang is not happy about Katara wanting to murder a man, but he still lets her take Appa on her mission and is not disapproving when she ultimately spares the guy but does not forgive him and makes it clear she never will.

He feels empathy for freaking Ozai, to the point that refuses to kill the guy - even as he has the balls to say that Aang's family, his people, deserved to die. He spared that guy - but only after he had a way to do that without it meaning the death of more innocents. Aang, the pacifist, was going to turn his back on everything he believed in just to avoid more human suffering.

So yeah, miss me with your bullshit and don't come back until your brain is developed enough to understand a cartoon aimed at kindergarterners.

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES: A SIDE STORY

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding, brief mention of alcoholism and implied child abuse (not to reader), totally unedited (didn't have time! sorry!) reminder that segment list is on the masterlist if needed!

notes: THE BDAY SIDE STORY IS HERE, sorry i couldn't get it out on time i've been so busy i literally did not have the time to format or do anything sobs but i hope u guys enjoy because i had so much fun writing it. i originally came up with the idea for milk's bday a few weeks ago hehe. i rlly love it because it gives more background into reader and some of my fav segments (minus theta </3 he didn't make it in this one. but perhaps i shall do a christmas side story and make him the star).

THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT,  AND ONE TIME THEY DID.

I. THE KAPPA SEGMENT & THE EPSILON SEGMENT; READER, AGE 6

You were cold. Soft puffs of air left your lips, shaky and weak. You were curled up in a ball on the ground, and a part of you knew that you needed to move but you couldn’t bring yourself to, your limbs felt as if they were iced to the ground—maybe they were, you could barely even pry your eyes open to check. 

The storm had died down, brief and brutal as they usually were, but you had been unable to find shelter before it hit. The town had to be close, you could hear people leaving their homes to fix up their properties from destruction of the harsh winds. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted you curled up on the ground, you were wearing a bright purple cloak. Your mother would find you, she would come to your rescue, she’d bring you home and make some hot cocoa for you just like you guys used to do during the bad storms before your father left for Fontaine City. 

It felt like an eternity. It might’ve been an eternity, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that everything was cold, and you felt sluggish and slow, and you were starting to struggle to breathe because the air felt like icicles scraping at your lungs. You were tired, you could feel yourself falling asleep but living on the northern border, you knew better—you had to make it somewhere warm before you fell asleep, otherwise you might not wake up. 

But you couldn’t move, you thought you should feel scared and you thought you should definitely be crying but you couldn’t even do that. And as the minutes passed, slow and agonizing, you began to question whether or not someone would find you in time. The more those doubts began to surface, the more appealing the relief of sleep became—at least if you slept, you wouldn’t have to wait out these freezing and harrowing minutes alone. You could dream of your mother and father, of Sylvie and Elliot, maybe you would even dream of your soulmate. You heard that some people who were favored by the gods had dreams of their soulmate well before they ever met. 

Your weak breaths began to even out as you gave into the lull, but just as you were on the verge of falling asleep, you heard it—the crunching of snow, fast and loud heading in your direction. You forced your eyes open now, whimpering as the ice and snow caked on your face ripped at your skin painfully, and through little slits, you watched a figure dashing toward you.

At first, you thought it was your mother, wishing you could cry in relief because of course she found you, she would always find you. She would always come to your rescue. She would wrap you up in her arms and cry at you for being such a fool, but you knew she would just be happy you were okay. 

But as the figure drew closer, you realized that it was far too small to be your mother—you thought maybe it was Sylvie or Elliot, rushing ahead to get to you and maybe your mother was right behind them, but again, you were proven wrong as an unfamiliar boy knelt at your side, red eyes wide and silvery-blue curls hanging in his eyes as he peered down at you. 

He pressed his hands against both of your cheeks, as if to warm you up, but you thought it might’ve made it worse, because with the small bit of warmth against your skin and the feeling of someone else’s touch after being alone so long in the blizzard, you found your eyes drooping shut again, being lulled to sleep far faster this time. 

At once, the boy ripped his hands away and you could hear him pulling off his own cloak. He wrapped it around you tightly tucking one of your arms inside the thick material but hesitated before stuffing your other arm in there too. You forced your eyes back open, watching as he stared at your hand in confusion, and you parted your lips to ask what he was doing but no noise left them besides a wheeze of cold air that had ice slicing down your windpipe and your body shuddering in pain. 

Noticing your reaction, he put your arm into the cloak. He stood up, and you wondered if he was going to try to lift you himself, or leave you, but then another voice reached your ears, loud and tired, calling a name that you couldn’t quite make out but it had the boy lifting his arms and waving them frantically. 

A few moments later, there was a new figure kneeling next to you, brows furrowed as he looked down at you. “How did you get out here all on your own in this weather?” he murmured more to himself than you, and careful to keep you wrapped up in the small one’s cloak, he took his own off and wrapped you in that one too, easily lifting you up into his arms.

He was a stranger, and you knew you shouldn’t feel so comfortable in his arms, but you couldn’t help the way you leaned into his chest, basking in the warmth and relief of having been found, even if it wasn’t by the person you wanted it to be. You started to doze off again but found yourself disrupted as he jostled you in his arms suddenly, eyes blearily reopening to give him a confused look. 

“No sleeping,” he warned, giving you a steady look before motioning for the boy to follow him as he brought you into the town.

He took you to the inn, bustling with people who had taken refuge from the sudden storm, and immediately the innkeeper recognized you, gasping as she hobbled over to the man and led him in the direction of the fireplace, shouting for people to go fetch your mother or stepfather. He placed you down on the ratty couch of the inn, keeping you nestled inside both cloaks before pushing it as close as possible to the fireplace. 

He stepped away and at once you felt cold again—not physically, but mentally. Empty in a way that you’d never experienced before. You wanted to tell him to come back but you still couldn’t speak, your throat hurt and your lips still felt numb. 

The boy lingered for a moment, standing in front of the couch and staring at you as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t—much like you.

“Come, Kappa,” the man who saved you said just as you finally began to drift off to sleep with the warmth of the fireplace next to you and the weight of their cloaks pressing down on you. “She will be fine. Delta is waiting, you know how he feels about wasting time.”

You could only watch them leave, confused as to the warmth you felt when you were wrapped up in his arms—you knew it was different than normal but didn’t know why—and Epsilon never noticed the thread tied neatly around your finger, which was hidden by his and Kappa’s cloak. Kappa, mute and anxious, was unable to force the words out of his mouth as Epsilon held his wrist and led him from the tavern away from you. 

II. THE IOTA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 11

You shuffled through the streets, sniffling and wiping at your eyes with baggy sleeves. You were getting odd looks from all around, wondering why an eleven-year-old was wandering around the streets alone wearing clothes that were far too big for her body. You had stolen Wriothesley’s jacket and gloves to cover your nice dress and the rings adorning your fingers, you probably should have taken them off before leaving the palace—the last thing you needed was for your mother to yell at you for losing her grandmother’s pearl ring and the city was out of control with pickpockets the past few months. 

It had already started raining, much to your displeasure, you remembered the prophecy that spoke of the day Fontaine City would be drowned by the gods and not for the first time, you wished that the day would just come already. You were so tired of dealing with your stepfather, and you hated the way he looked at you, and you hated how now he was even turning people against you and your father. 

You were supposed to have joined your mother and siblings in visiting your uncle for dinner, but instead, your mother had made an off-handed comment about how you should go spend some time with your father and grandfather instead, and you knew it was because your stepfather must have said something to your uncle. You didn’t know what, you had never been close to your uncle but you’d thought that since he was still family, he wouldn’t care for the words of an outsider.

But you should have expected this, in Fontaine, nothing came above the word of a person’s soulmate, Celestia’s gift to humanity. Of course he would believe your stepfather, because your stepfather was his sister’s gift from the gods—he only ever wanted the best for her, and he had somehow convinced your uncle that you, her own daughter, were not the best for her. 

Another sob bubbled at your lips, you pressed the sleeves of Wriothesley’s jacket to your mouth to muffle it. You wondered if your mother thought you were stupid, that you wouldn’t know what she really meant, but of course you knew. You spent too much time just observing people to not know. You didn’t have any friends to talk to besides Wriothesley, and Wriothesley was always busy. All you could do was sit around and observe until you got bored. 

Maybe you should have just gone to your father or grandfather and tell them what happened, but you knew if you did that, they would be livid and it would escalate things even more, and you were the one that would deal with the backlash of that, not them. So instead you went to Wriothesley, and stole his jacket and gloves, and refused to tell him what happened before you fled from the room to leave the palace. 

Just as you were about to turn the corner, you slammed into a figure and hit the ground hard, crying even more when mud splattered all over your face and into your mouth. You tried to wipe the mud off of your face through choked sobs but now the gloves were covered in mud too from you trying to catch yourself, and you only smeared it even worse.

“Oh.” 

It was a young boy who you had slammed into you but you couldn’t make out his facial features through your blurred vision. You were caught off guard when he was suddenly pressing his cloak against your face, using it as a rag to try to wipe off the mud. It didn’t help much, all he did was smear it around more because his cloak was drenched, but it had at least cleared your vision. 

“... Better?” he said hesitantly, looking down at you.

You sniffled a bit, using the clean part of Wriothesley’s jacket to wipe at your eyes before you nodded, but you didn’t stand up from where you were sitting on the ground. You didn’t want to. The boy leaned in a bit closer, frowning, “Are you… crying?” 

“I am not,” you denied immediately, but your voice betrayed you, cracking and breath shuddering over another sob. The boy looked suspicious. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“I am not!”

You glared at him. 

He glared back. 

Then he sat down in the mud next to you, plopping down hard and splattering mud all over you again. 

“Are you crying because you fell because of me?” the boy asked.

“‘m not crying,” you muttered, but with far less vigor this time. When he only stared at you, red eyes wide and earnest as he waited for an actual response, you finally said: “My stepfather is mean to me.”

“Oh,” the boy said in response, and the two of you just sat there for a moment, ignoring the way people kept giving you strange looks. Then, he reached up and patted your head, getting mud in your hair and on your forehead. Your brows furrowed as you stared at him, trying to figure out what he was doing, but he looked just as confused as you. “The Doctor pats my head when I get sad sometimes. It makes me feel better. Do you feel better?”

He drew his hand back swiftly into his lap, as if the single touch had poisoned him, and then you noticed how he was sitting with a large space between the two of you, the hand that had touched your head trembling and his body stiff. You wondered if he was like Wriothesley, Wriothesley used to get scared whenever people touched him, even just a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the head, and he never initiated contact with anyone else—you were pretty sure it was because his grandfather drank a lot, and when he drank a lot, he hurt people but whenever you asked your father, he said it was none of your business. But your father didn’t like Wriothesley’s grandfather, and you supposed that said enough, your father liked pretty much everyone. And then, realizing he might be like Wriothesley, you felt sad because he still tried to make you feel better even though he was scared. 

“I feel better,” you said quietly.

He smiled, brightening up a bit, but just as he was about to say something, you heard your name being called, loud and panicked. Your eyes turned up to where Wriothesley’s father was rushing through the rain in your direction, a few of his men following close behind. 

At his side, Wriothesley was with him, looking guilty as he refused to meet your eyes.

“Traitor!” you cried at Wriothesley as his father gently hauled you out of the mud to your feet. “I don’t want to go back there!” 

“He was worried, little one,” Wriothesley’s father patted your head, voice quiet as he spoke. “We all were. The city has been dangerous lately, you cannot go running off on your own. Your father just about had a heart attack when Wriothesley came to us and told us that you took his jacket and left the palace grounds.”

Wriothesley’s father pulled off the muddy gloves and coat to drape his own cleaner one over your shoulders—if he had been a second faster, maybe Iota would have caught sight of the thread tied to your finger before he ran off to get back to Delta. 

III. THE GAMMA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 16

You had made it your goal to attend every festival you possibly could across all of Teyvat. The music festivals of Fontaine were an easy tick to your list, but it had taken a lot of convincing to get your mother to agree to the Lantern Rite Festival of Liyue. With you, Sylvie and Elliot combined though, it was impossible for her to say no. 

It was all you’d been thinking about for days now, and as you walked over the bridge to enter Liyue Harbor, you thought the city might’ve been the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen, eyes drawing upon all of the decorations and stands—it was dark out already, but somehow the city was still completely lit up and alive. People were singing and dancing, chatting loudly and laughing.

It reminded you of Fontaine City before the curfews were set and you were confined to the palace. 

“Look at all of the lights,” Sylvie whispered excitedly, tugging at your arm as she pointed to the lanterns decorating each corner of every building. 

“They say that they release thousands of lanterns at the end of the festival into the air,” Elliot said, squinting as he dipped his head down to see the words of the book he was reading. “They send their soldiers traveling throughout Liyue to collect all of them after Lantern Rite ends.” 

“Do you think we’ll be able to release one?” Sylvie asked, bouncing in her feet as she turned to look at Elliot, who just shrugged. “Can we go explore? Please, mother.”

Your mother looked tired from all of the traveling, sharing a look with your stepfather before nodding. “We’re going to go check in at the inn we’re staying at. Be sure to meet back here before nightfall, we have reservations at the Xinyue Kiosk tonight.”

Delighted, you lit up, watching as your stepfather told Elliot and Sylvie to go buy themselves a kite from the Toy Shop before handing them each a pouch of mora. You should’ve known better, but still, you glanced at him after Elliot and Sylvie ran off in opposite directions. His eyes glazed right over you as he held your tired mother by the waist and led her off in the direction of the inn. 

Your smile faltered but you refused to let it ruin your mood—you were in Liyue Harbor during Lantern Rite. You weren’t going to let him make you sad, you had your own coins anyway that you got from tutoring the Beaumont kids. Instead, you rushed off across the bridge and down the street, in the direction of the main area of the city. 

There were people everywhere, all of the shops stayed open, your smile widened as you watched a bunch of kids Elliot and Sylvie’s age run around with kites in their hands, ignoring how the adults were chiding them for doing it while the streets were so busy. 

You peeked around at some of the market stands, tempted to try some of the food but you figured that you’d get yelled at if you filled yourself up before the reservation, knowing that your mother spent a lot of time and mora getting someone down to Liyue a few months ago to make sure you guys were put on the waitlist. 

Instead, you found yourself in front of a jewelry shop, looking through the glass windows at the gemstones perched up on pretty purple cushions. They were already sold out of Emeralds, Topazes and Agates, but they had a full stock of Turquoises, Jades, and Diamonds. Distantly, you wondered who the hell was going to buy Diamonds from the jeweler, knowing that the rest would at least be bought by people with a vision. 

Your eyes narrowed, and just as disappointment was about to hit you, you caught sight of what you were looking for:

Varunada Lazurite. 

Your gaze shot open in surprise—the gemstone was always sold out in the Land of Hydro with so many people who had hydro visions living within the city. You had managed to get your hands on three chunks the last time the shop near the palace restocked, even though you had to wait in a line for nearly twelve hours to make sure you were the first one there after the restock. You had thought you’d have to wait another month or two for a chance at obtaining the other three you needed. 

But right there were the three brilliant and shiny chunks of Lazurite you needed tucked in the corner of the glass box. Excited, you realized that you wouldn’t have to wait as long as you thought—once you got home, you’d be able to grab the three you already had and crush them down into dust with your father for the second-to-last vision ceremony, to give you the increased connection with your hydro energy that you needed to finally start learning your family’s passed down hydro art. 

Then, you would start the long process of trying to acquire the full gemstones, which were far more expensive and rarer than the chunks. 

“Unless you’re going to buy something, I suggest you move on. You’re holding up my customers,” the woman behind the stand said boredly.

“How much for the three chunks of Lazurite?” you asked, raising your chin. 

She only quirked her brow upward. “Forty geo sigils each.”

“Geo sigils?” you gasped, eyes wide and lips parted as your elation immediately disappeared. 

How were you supposed to get geo sigils? You weren’t a Liyue native, you had no way of knowing how to find them. You barely even had any Hydro sigils and you were from Fontaine. 

“You’re a foreigner?” the woman asked, squinting her eyes a bit as she looked you over. You nodded, and she sighed heavily. “Very well, seventy-five thousand mora. Each.”

You blanched, knowing in your heart that she was ripping you off. Forty geo sigils was worth closer to sixty-thousand than seventy-five thousand but you weren’t going to argue that when she was doing you a favor by taking the common currency for you already. 

Defeated, you asked: “Do you take bank checks?” 

The woman nodded, and you pulled out one of the Northland Bank check slips that your mother had given you a few months back—it was your stepfather’s, he was the only one that had a bank account with the Northland Bank, and you figured that he would be mad when he realized you’d spent over two-hundred thousand of his mora on your Lazurite chunks but you thought that he deserved it, and signed the check happily after making it out to Mingxing Jewelry. 

She handed you the bag with the Lazurite chunks and thanked you for the business. Smiling to yourself, you made your way down the street again, this time looking for Sylvie or Elliot.

You got no further than a few yards before someone slammed into you, sending you both sprawling out to the ground. 

All the air left your lungs as a heavy weight dropped onto your stomach, scrambling off of you almost immediately, panicked. Your eyes met a pair of red ones and a face flushed pink in embarrassment, burn scars decorated the upper half of his face and for a moment, you thought he was familiar from somewhere. He was around your age, you couldn’t help but notice.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Sorry, I was just-I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m looking for someone and-”

“It’s-” You began to say ‘it’s fine’ but the words died on your tongue when you realized that the bag you were holding was significantly lighter. You shot an accusing look at him, thinking that he had pickpocketed you but as you did that, your eyes caught a glimmer from the corner of your eye. 

The Lazurite.

You rushed toward it, but not fast enough, only able to watch as a small child darted through the crowd to steal the shiny object.

“Hey!” you shouted angrily, glaring back furiously at the boy who had bumped into you, who looked even more humiliated now, pressing his knuckles against his mouth as if refraining the urge to gnaw at them. “Look at what you did!”

You didn’t even spare him another glance, ignoring his apologies and his offers to help you get it back as you gave chase to the child who had stolen your seventy-five thousand mora gem. 

You hadn’t noticed the warm feeling that had swept through you when he had crashed into you, nor had Gamma noticed the thin red thread wrapped around your finger in his panic.

IV. THE ZETA SEGMENT; READER, AGE 19

The Windblume Festival.

You smiled as you stepped into Mondstadt City, the beams of the sun washing over you and a gentle breeze sweeping through the city. You had heard that Anemo Archon makes the days of the Festival the most beautiful that the city sees all year—you had doubted it, partially because the Hydro Archon thought it was the greatest entertainment to douse the city in rain and storms whenever the music festivals were taking place. It never deterred them, the musicians would always play on even through the rain and thunder, but you had never quite experienced a festival like this, even during Lantern Rite, you had been unlucky with dreary clouds draped over the harbor. 

You didn’t even know where to go first, you were so overwhelmed with all of the colors and all of the people and you thought you shouldn’t be, you should be used to crowds by now, but you’d spent so much time locked up in the palace after your father’s death that you were getting anxiety just being in the vicinity of so many people. 

Your father. Your throat felt tight just as the reminder of him. He was supposed to be at Windblume with you—he had promised to bring you last year knowing how excited you were to see all of the nations’ different festivals, but he’d died before he could. You hadn’t even been able to bring yourself to go without him, but you forced yourself to go this year, to enjoy it for the both of you. 

And you couldn’t enjoy it with such a cloud of gloom hanging over you, so you squared off your shoulders and pushed away all of the dark feelings, forcing the small smile back onto your face as you made your way into the city, although it wasn’t quite as bright as before. 

You sighed as you made your way up the steps to the city’s main square. There were kids dancing to the music of a bard and flower stands set up all around the fountain in the center of the square. You wanted to buy one to give to someone, as per the Windblume tradition, but you didn’t have anyone to give it to. Sylvie and Elliot were supposed to have joined you for the festival, but their stepfather forbade them at the last minute, forcing you to attend the festival alone.

You looked around, eyes falling upon where a pretty woman with brown hair and green eyes was leaning into a tall blonde woman, and next to them, where a shorter blonde man was being dragged to the center of the square by a little girl dressed in red, who was pointing excitedly to a stand somewhere behind you. 

“Are you waiting on someone?”

You jumped at the unfamiliar voice, turning to the side only for your eyes to fall upon a handsome man with dark skin and blue hair. His lip ticked up a bit as you studied him, and a bit embarrassed, he added: “Sorry. I was just wondering, you’re not from Mondstadt, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?” you asked dryly, glancing down at yourself. You wondered if it was the way you were dressed or if it was the way you looked like a lost duckling trying to figure out where to go. Disappointed, you thought you had made sure to wear an outfit that leaned more toward Mondstadt’s typical fashion than Fontaine’s but either way, it was a bit embarrassing. 

“No,” the man said immediately. “I was just throwing it out there for a conversation starter, I’ve found it works wonders.”

“Does it?” you asked curiously, peering around the pavilion as more people began to wander around.

He hummed in agreement. “Usually, they start asking me why I think that because they are from Mondstadt,” you laughed a bit and the corner of his lip pulled up, “and if they aren’t, I explain to them why I asked, and then they laugh, kind of like how you are now.”

“You’ve got it all figured it out, don’t you?” you asked, letting the tease slip into your tone as you relaxed against the stone wall behind you, glancing up at him.

“Not at all,” he corrected. You gave him a questioning look and his grin widened a bit as he leaned in, as if to whisper to you in conspiracy. “I just made all of that up.”

You laughed louder this time, more in surprise than humor, but he seemed to take it as a positive regardless, straightening back up and looking down on you. “I’m Kaeya,” he greeted. “Cavalry Captain of the Knight’s of Favonius.”

“I’m…” you began, but found yourself trailing off as you caught sight of a figure ducking into an alleyway. All you caught was a head of silvery-blue hair, but somehow you could feel yourself drawn in that direction as if something was pulling you and were a puppet on a string that could only follow along. “Excuse me for a second.”

You didn’t hear his response and though you felt a bit bad about leaving him hanging like that, you were more focused on trying to figure out whatever the pull to this person was. You took off in that direction, relief hitting you when you realized he was still lingering at the mouth of the alley, fiddling with something in his hands.

“Excuse me,” you called, trying to get his attention. He didn’t respond, he didn’t even look up, so you repeated yourself as you drew closer, reaching out to touch his arm but he jerked away, dropping whatever was in his hands and your eyes widened as it hit the ground hard, shattering. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him, you could feel the cold and harsh gaze set on you as he waited for you to say whatever you wanted to say, but now you were at a loss for words because you didn’t even know why you came after him and you didn’t know what you wanted. 

“Did you need something?” Clipped and icy, the thin smile on his lips did not meet the red of his eyes, and any words that you might’ve been trying to say to excuse your actions died on your tongue. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, grateful that your voice remained steady even under his severe look. “You looked familiar. I thought we might’ve met before.”

He looked ridiculously familiar, in fact. You swore that you’d seen him before—the red eyes, silvery-blue hair and the scarred upper half of his face—it was all so familiar but you just couldn’t place from where. He looked taken aback a bit by your words, examining you for just a second before his lips twisted down again. 

“We have not,” he said, voice frigid as he knelt down to pick up the broken pieces of the object that he had been holding. It was a dismissal if you’d ever heard one, but instead of leaving, you knelt down next to him.

“Here, let me help-” you tried to say, but at once, he grabbed your forearm, fingers pressing deep into your skin to stop you.

At once, a jolt shot through you and he seemed to feel it too, if the way he drew back as if he had slapped had anything to say about it. He stared at your hand as if he had just seen a ghost, lips parted in shock and eyes wide, and just as you were about to ask if he was okay, he spluttered something out about being late for something and then he was moving, disappearing around the corner before you even knew what was happening. 

You sat there for a moment, stunned, and completely oblivious as to what he had seen.

Zeta’s heart was racing and his head was pounding, red eyes wide with disbelief as he leaned against a wall around the corner, far away from you. A part of him was embarrassed at the way he had run, he couldn’t even remember what excuse he had given—something along the lines of having to go because something important came up, a load of bullshit of course, but he thought it was better than what would have happened if he stayed there any longer after seeing that thread. 

The thread.

Zeta didn’t know what to think. He had known of your existence—he knew because the moment the Iota segment found out years ago, the boy went running to every segment to tell them how a thread showed up on the Doctor’s finger, how they finally had their soulmate. He never expected to meet you though, much less before any of the other segments, and even then, a part of him had been convinced by Lambda’s persistence that this was all just a ploy for them to drop their guards, a fake, a means to destroy them in a way they had yet to be destroyed. 

But you were there. You were right there. Zeta couldn’t help the way he peeked back around the corner, eyes immediately drawn to where he had left you in the middle of the alley. You looked upset, expression downcast as you glanced around, still trying to find him. A part of Zeta wanted to walk back over to you—talk to you, study you, try to figure out just who you were and why you were tied to them, there had to be something unique about you that made you their soulmate, that made them have to wait five hundred years just to meet you. 

But he knew better. 

The Doctor would already be suspicious. 

It wasn’t unlike Zeta to have bursts of emotion when dealing with too many people—he got overwhelmed quickly after spending years having to keep up a friendly mask at the Akademiya. No matter how hard he tried to keep himself calm and learn new methods for not exhausting his thin tolerance of social situations, he never seemed to be able to do anything to fix it, an unfortunate side-effect of having been created with this mindset, because he would always revert back to the one in which he was originally made in.

But it was not the sudden outburst that was the issue. It was that shock that spread through him when your hand brushed his arm. The warm feeling. The familiarity with someone who should not be familiar. The Doctor would have noticed it, and he would have questions.

Zeta sighed heavily, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he leaned his head back against the wall. He cast one last long look backward, eyes lingering on you, memorizing your face and your body, the outfit you wore and the gems that donned your fingers and neck. 

With a tight feeling in his throat, he pushed himself off the wall and head in the opposite direction of where you were standing, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the Doctor reached out demanding to know what had happened and Zeta needed to figure out what he was going to say before that happened, wanting to keep this little encounter a secret to himself because he knew that Lambda would inevitably find out through the Doctor and then he would try to hunt you down. 

One last look, he told himself, again. He glanced back as he reached another corner, the alley where he left you only barely visible from the distance, but you were already gone.  

[endless-ineffabilities]

in the shadow of your heart (part two of two)

Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader

requested by anon: inspired by the plot of the movie Flipped, where the reader openly pines for Daemon, but he always brushes her off until one day, she stops bothering him.

word count: 11.2k ▪︎ part one ▪︎ masterlist

themes: pining, angst, language, Daemon being Daemon, slight Cregan Stark x f!reader, some smut (18+)

“Greetings, Prince Daemon.” Cregan Stark is the first to speak. His genial manner is something that draws everyone to him, warm and earnest. The Lord of the North is much beloved, and with good reason. As he assesses Prince Daemon, he easily notices the agitation in the prince’s stance. The confusion in his eyes. If Cregan also notices the subtle envy collecting in Daemon’s expression, he does not let it show.

“Lord Stark,” he saunters in your direction, slowly, like a predator who has finally cornered his prey. Taking in the competition like a practiced fighter.

“Lady Y/n.” He calls you by name, and you realize how much of a rarity it is. It’s always just You, a statement more than an endearment, or my little shadow. You still don’t know what to make of the latter. Shadow. Does that mean you are indispensable, a part of him he can never shake? Or does he see you as an unwanted presence?

“Daemon. How have you been, my prince?” An attempt at cordiality from you. You know Daemon doesn’t care much for such dialogue, but what else is there to say?

Why did you not show up at my nameday, like you promised?

Have you been finding comfort in Mysaria’s arms?     

Have I even crossed your mind, even once, or is my absence something that you welcome?

But you don’t make any of these thoughts heard. You don’t believe there would be a point. Besides, there is no need to air out your grievances whilst in the company of Cregan.

“I don’t know, my lady. Perhaps you could enlighten me. I have roamed nearly every inch of the palace grounds, and I’ve only just found you. You have not come to see me as of late, either.”

“I was not aware that you were expecting me, my prince.”

He scoffs, hating how formal you were being. Was this a show you were putting on for the Stark boy? Where are your throwaway smiles and your playful quips? Your appreciative gaze, drinking him in as if it were always the first time?

Cregan comes to your rescue, “I’m afraid I may be to blame for taking up the lady’s time, Prince Daemon. She makes for excellent company, as I think you know. She’s kindly been showing me around King’s Landing.”

“You’ve been around King’s Landing before, Stark. We were not aware you have taken a particular interest in the ins and outs of the city, but we’d be more than happy to provide you with our best maester to tell you everything you need to know. I’m sure the lady has much better things to do with her time. Besides, after a while, you might like a change of scenery. One that she wouldn’t know how to provide.”

What in the seven hells is that supposed to mean? Of course, the first time you meet in a long while, Daemon has surely stored some kind words to tell you.

“Don’t worry, Daemon. I can assure you that we’ve been making good use of our time together,” you look at him directly, no longer bothering with the niceties. Daemon knows how you really are, after all. He’s seen you flustered, embarrassed, angry. Mostly, he’s seen you pining. Wanting. For him. You’ve always been open around him, not holding anything back. Daemon enjoyed your brazenness, so unlike the other frilly maidens who clamber for his attention. But what changed?

“If you don’t mind, Lord Stark, I’d like a moment alone with the lady.” Daemon readily meets your gaze, barely giving mind to Cregan, who is now halfway covering you from his vision, as if preparing to protect you from him should the need arise. The nerve of this fucking Northern Lord.

“Honour demands that I only leave if this is what the lady wishes, Prince Daemon.” Cregan declares, his voice steady.

Bloody Northerners and their honour. “I was not presenting you with a request, Stark. Try not to get on my nerve.”

“Alright,” you speak up, “it’s okay, Cregan. I’ll come find you later.”

Daemon notes the familiarity with which you addressed the Stark boy, and it doesn’t sit well with him. “Yes, run along, young wolf.” He doesn’t drop your gaze, doesn’t watch Cregan walk away.

So, he also does not notice Cregan throw you a comforting wink as he disappears from view, leaving you with Daemon on the rooftop. Daemon’s mood considered; this is probably for the best.

The air is thick with words unsaid, and while Daemon relaxes his stance, his face betrays a storm of emotion. Ones that he is not equipped to deal with. Jealousy? Unrequited yearning? Uncertainty? What can he possibly say that would be enough? So he settles for, “You look well, my shadow.”

“As do you, my prince. Enjoying the comforts of home, I’d hope?”

“Tell me this,” Daemon impatience flares, “why have I not seen you around? They used to be rare, the days in which you would not simply make your presence known to me.”

“That’s why I got to be called your shadow, was it not? That I was always following you around like a pest, driving you to irritation. There were moments wherein I could swear that I saw you grimace at my arrival - ”

“A pest?” He looks taken aback. He reaches for your arm, but you sidestep and fold your arms behind you, “Y/n, where is all this coming from?”

“I think you know quite well, Daemon.”

“Would it delight you to hear that I may have missed your company, no matter how unreasonably persistent it might have been?” Daemon’s smirk is dangerous, capable of breaking through your icy approach.

“Unreasonably persistent? Is this your way of making amends, my prince? You might need a lesson in tact from your markedly more diplomatic brother.”

“I was never one to bother with needless flattery. Unless directed at me, of course.” His smirk grows even wider, enjoying the resurgence of your familiar banter.

Your tone turns sour, almost angry even, one that Daemon has not heard before, “You promised that you would attend my nameday festivities, and yet you did not. I waited for you, like the stupid little shadow that you have deemed me to be, and for nothing. I don’t know why I even expected you to come, given what you clearly think of me.” Your voice breaks at the end, and it snags at Daemon’s heart.

“I did not think you cared much for such frivolities, and…well, I…”

“No, I did not. I don’t. I only cared whether you would be there, so that I might see you. So that you might greet me with the smug smirk of yours. So that you might even ask me for a dance,” you pace around Daemon, your mind lost in thought of what could have been, “But no matter. It’s all over and done with now. We can keep such nonsense in the past, Prince Daemon. You no longer need to waste your time with me.”

“Y/n,” he says your name with such clarity, such emotion, as he moves to narrow the space between the two of you, “I sincerely apologize if I was not there for your nameday. Had I thought that my presence would mean that much to you, then I surely would have come.”

That’s not enough, Daemon. That’s not what I need.

You notice the sincerity in his eyes as he continues, “I don’t want you to be cross with me. And… I don’t want you to think that I… think little of you. You are not. You are - ”

“You were like my sun, you know. My entire world revolved around you. You were in everything that I could see.” Your face morphs into a mixture of sadness, and longing, and acceptance. Daemon notes that you were speaking of things as if it were already in the past, and he does not like it at all.

He lets you continue, even though it pains him to see the turmoil in your expression, “Daemon, I… I thought about you when I woke, and when I went to bed. You were intoxicating… and fucking infuriating, because you clearly did not share the same sentiment when it came to me. I was simply there.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you fucking expect of me,” he counters, not willing to comprehend that your words can bring him to fold so quickly, “but you know exactly who I am. What I am, my shadow.”

“Did I not make it clear to you just how I felt?” You ask. Your gazes are locked and heated. The distance between you has narrowed, and he can feel your warm breath on his face. He notices the way your chest rises and falls, the slope of your breasts, the furrowing of your eyebrows which he finds endearing. You stand so close, an alluring distraction, nearly making him lose all train of thought.

“For fuck’s sake, of course. Everyone could see it!” He snaps, raising his voice at you.

“And yet, it did not matter.”

“No, it matters - ” he pauses, looking away, “I just… don’t know…”

You straighten, “You know what, it’s perfectly fine, Daemon. Why were you looking for me?”

“I thought I already mentioned. I was wondering where you’ve been all this time. Whatever wrongs you believe I have done to you, it was never my intention. I do not wish to be rid of your presence. It does not…” When his eyes capture yours once again, you see the inner turmoil reflected within, “It does not feel right without you around… my shadow.”

You want so badly to take his hand as you had done so many times before, and reassure him that everything is fine. But Rhaenyra’s advice had struck you, so well that it rings true in your mind as you look at Daemon. “Make him hunger for you,” she had said, eyes glinting mischievously, “so that he may realize what it is he may be at risk of losing, if he does not get his act together. And, well, if he still does not treat you as you deserve, then surely someone else will.”

You would have chased Daemon to the ends of the Seven Kingdoms, but you can only pursue someone so far before you might tip over the edge of the world yourself.

“I understand, Daemon. I am not angry at you. Truthfully, I don’t think I could ever be.” You offer a comforting smile, but it does not reach your eyes.

“Very well, then. On the morrow, I shall once again conduct my training in the courtyard. I expect you to be there.”

When you narrow your eyes at his implication, he adds, softly, “I mean, I want you to be there.”

You smile, and echo his exact words from weeks ago, when you gave word to him about your festivities, “I’d be loathe to miss a good training display of yours, my prince. I’ll be there.”

There may be a lot more than needs to be said, that Daemon wants to say. But he cannot find the words. He is not even certain what it is that compelled him to seek you out today. Or if he is, he is not ready to face it yet.

“I shall take my leave, my prince,” you curtsy, “I’ll be seeing you.”

He watches as you walk away. He is covered in sunlight from where he stands, the wind gently blowing mild and pleasant. And yet he feels cold, and his spirit is strained, as if this unspoken stalemate between the two of you casts a gloom over his days. As if you had taken all warmth along with you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Daemon swings forcefully, toppling his opponent to the ground.

“Again!” He yells, “I thought you cunts are supposed to be decent fighters, at the very least. And yet even the whores in the Street of Silk might make for better competitors.”

Not one of his gold cloaks makes a move, and they all look at him warily. Their commander has been heated all morning, and they have taken the brunt of his rage.

The spectators have created a wider berth around him than usual, while they mostly whisper to each about the prince’s nasty temper.

One of the braver gold cloaks, Maron Tyrell, decides to approach him, “My prince, perhaps we should conclude our training exercise for today. The men are drained and wish to - ”

“We finish when I say so,” Daemon emphasizes every word in his displeasure, “not at your fucking heed.”

Maron persists, forgetting to mind the risk of talking back to Daemon when he is in this state, “We noticed that a certain Lady is not among the spectators, my prince. Your shadow, I think that is what you deem her to be, and rightfully so, I mean… don’t you think that actually made this morning’s activities more bearable, without her needlessly yapping at you at every-”

Maron does not get to finish his jibe about you, as Daemon pummels the young knight into the ground. His fist collides with Maron’s face, again and again, until he is pulled back by several of his struggling men.

“Prince Daemon!” A cacophony erupts around the courtyard – pleas for him to cease, gasps of shock and worry, even some callous laughter at the absurdity of the situation. The rogue prince has assailed one of his very own men. One of his loyal devotees. An undignified act, even for the volatile prince.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” Daemon squirms out of the grip of his men, and storms out of the courtyard, people parting like waves in his path. His knuckle is bruised and partially covered in Maron Tyrell’s blood. Yet, he cannot bring himself to care.

For what is a man without his shadow? He might as well just be gone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Lord Mathias Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, your Grace." A member of the Kingsguard announces the new arrival, his clear voice resounding in the throne room.

The imposing hall is nearly empty, apart from King Viserys who stands at the foot of the Iron Throne, several members of the Kingsguard, and his Hand, Lord Otto Hightower.

The elderly Tyrell walks in with a dignified air. There is a slight hunch in his posture, but his gaze is trained straight ahead. King Viserys meets him halfway, with a welcoming smile on his face, "My Lord Tyrell, what a pleasure this is, truly."

"My King," Mathias bows his head once, then looks at Viserys again, eager to finally make his appeal known, "I do hope my arrival is not untimely. It has been a while since we last convened, you and I."

"Not at all, Mathias," Viserys says, "I am always at your disposal for any important matter that you wish to bring to my attention, as I understand this is the case at present."

"Yes, well, let me begin by relaying my wife Lady Lenna's well wishes for you, my King. She feels honoured to have been a friend to your late wife Queen Aemma, and we only hope the best for your family."

Viserys nods amiably, accustomed to such flattering declarations from Lords and Ladies alike. He also knows by now that such, while potentially genuine, are usually followed by either a complaint or a petition. As if he was being softened up for what follows.

“Which is why it saddened me greatly to hear that a certain member of your family had attacked one of mine. The inducement of this remains beyond my understanding. My nephew, Maron, a member of your gold cloaks, is currently being attended to by our finest maesters, after suffering several injuries at the hands of Prince Daemon.”

“What?” Viserys’ friendly expression falls, “Daemon?” He looks toward Otto Hightower in hopes of some clarification.

“My King, we have just received word of this incident, and we were planning to discuss this in our council meeting on the morrow. The prince is required to attend, after all, which gives him a chance to elucidate his actions.” Otto explains placatingly.

“Daemon,” Viserys repeats his brother’s name, breathing it out like a curse. It was no longer any surprise to him to hear of such an act committed by his brother. He merely hoped that their occurrences would grow fewer and farther between.

“I knew you would understand the seriousness of this matter, my King. House Tyrell has, after all, always supported House Targaryen since the age of the Conqueror. All I want is for Prince Daemon to answer for what he had done to my nephew, in any way that you see fit.”

Viserys puts on his best placating smile, “Of course, Mathias. It shall be done. Now will that be all? I’m afraid I have some other matters to attend to.”

The Lord of Highgarden does not fail to notice the poorly hidden irritation in the King’s face, and he is quick to be done with the formalities of making himself scarce, exchanging a few choice words before bowing and promptly leaving the throne room.

“Well?” Viserys looks around the throne room, addressing whoever might have answers, “where the fuck is he?”

Otto squirms where he stands, “I can send for him right away, your Grace.”

They will soon realize that Prince Daemon’s whereabouts will elude them that day, as he had taken refuge in the clandestine quarters of the Lady Mysaria after the incident in the courtyard. However, the usual pleasures will not be exchanged between the two. Daemon no longer possesses the eagerness to lose himself in his apparently favoured woman. Mysaria does not press on, letting the prince get some much-needed rest. She does take note of one name uttered from his lips as he succumbs into slumber. Yours.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The members of the Small Council settle around the table, each one placing their round totem in front of them. The council meeting has begun.

Each Lord sits alert, ready to present their reports and findings for the week. Lord Corlys on the ongoing war in the Stepstones. Lord Beesbury on lowering the common tax for grain. Lord Lannister on arranging a play for the nobility. And so on. At the head of the table, however, their King does not appear to give off his usual air of graciousness. He leans to the side of his chair, routinely running his hand over his face in frustration.

Lord Beesbury speaks up, “Your Grace, shall we start with - ”

“Where is my brother?” Viserys’ voice is irate, his query directed at Lord Otto.

“We summoned him, your Grace, but he made it clear that he had other pressing matters to attend to.” Otto speaks slowly, clearly, in hopes that Viserys does not take his frustration out on him. “He mentioned having to meet with the Lady Y/n,” At this, Otto looks at your father across the table.

“My daughter?” Your father says, “I assure you, your Grace, I am not aware that she has any pressing matter with Prince Daemon. I would not even go so far to say that they are acquaintances.”

“Oh, Lord, you must know,” Tyland Lannister says, almost mockingly.

“Know what, my Lord?” your father asks, incredulous.

“Your daughter has been openly pining for the rogue prince. It’s common knowledge. She has not been shy about her affections, mind you,” Tyland smirks.

“I know nothing of this. My daughter has just begun a courtship with Lord Cregan Stark himself, and this I approve of. It would be unseemly for her to get involved with Prince Daemon in the way that you are insinuating.”

“What is the truth?” Viserys raises his voice, then turning to Otto, he adds, “Have you heard of this development?”

“I did not believe it to be consequential, your Grace. The prince has his share of admirers, after all.” Otto replies.

Viserys sighs heavily, thinking of how things will never just be simple when it comes to his brother. “Well, has he been receptive of the young lady’s affections?”

Lord Beesbury says, “The consensus has been that the prince has largely ignored them, your Grace.”

“Seven hells,” Viserys lets out a dry laugh in disbelief, “How come everyone knows of this matter except for me, the man in question’s own brother?”

“If I may respond to what Lord Beesbury just claimed, it does not seem that way. At least not anymore. Word has been circulating of yesterday’s incident, and apparently, the reason why Prince Daemon assaulted Maron Tyrell is because the latter brought up the subject of Lady y/n, and not in the nicest way.” Tyland says.

Lord Corlys intervenes, “Might we get on with more urgent business, lords?”

Viserys sits silently for a moment, letting all of the information sink in. He looks around the council table, baffled at the ridiculous scenario in front of him – the highest-ranking officials of the Seven Kingdoms prompted to engage in chitchat all because of this whole affair between yourself and Prince Daemon. “My lords,” he finally says, “Lord Corlys is right. We have better things to do with our time than to fucking gossip. I shall deal with my brother myself.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The same morning, in another corner of the sprawling castle, you stand in your chambers, arranging the books on the shelf. You have just gone on a stroll with Rhaenyra, and are just taking a short rest. You startle slightly when your lady-in-waiting Hestia walks in.

“Good morrow, my lady.”

“To you as well, Hestia.” You smile in return.

“I have a message to relay, my lady,” she timidly says, “Earlier, when you had departed, Prince Daemon visited your chambers.”

You freeze. “Daemon?”

“Y-yes, my lady. I had walked in to change the linens, and he was already sitting there at your desk. Waiting for you, it seemed.”

“And? Did he mention anything to you?” You ask gently.

“He wants to meet you in the godswood, my lady. He said that he will anticipate you there at around noon.”

You note to yourself that noon is fast approaching. “Hmm. I see.” Hestia smiles comfortingly at you, and you can deduce that there is more that she wants to say.

“How did he seem, the prince, whilst he was here?” You engage her further, genuinely curious yourself.

“If I may be blunt, my lady, he seemed quite distressed. He appeared as if he was lacking in rest, and well… he really did seem eager to find you.”

You walk over to your chair and slump down in a dramatic huff, “Ah, it appears that I have found myself in quite the conundrum.”

Hestia smiles, following you, “What a conundrum, though, my lady. Prince Daemon and Lord Cregan vying for your hand? Nearly every eligible lady in all the kingdoms would feel envious of you.”

Your smile is wistful when you say, “It’s not quite the fairy tale that it seems, Hestia. I mean, you know how Prince Daemon is.”

“So it is Prince Daemon whom you favour?”

“What made you think so?”

“Well, I can’t be certain, my lady. It’s just that… he’s the one you chose to mention. His is always the name that you bring up, as opposed to Lord Cregan’s.”

Huh. I really must have been fixated on Daemon, haven’t I, if everyone is still of the impression that I want him, even with Cregan in the picture.

Do I want him?

“My lady?” Hestia’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, “are you alright?”

“Yes,” you clear your throat, and stand, “I think I have somewhere to be.”

“To meet with Prince Daemon?”

How could I ever not want him?

“Perhaps.” You look back at Hestia, eyes glinting in anticipation, before leaving your chambers.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

You walk through the hallways, still uncertain whether the godswood will be your destination. Whether Daemon will be your destination.

The weather is quite lovely anyway. Why not sit and enjoy some calm in the godswood? Deep down, you know that your reasoning, while sound, is a mere excuse for wanting to see Daemon.

Turning the corner, you see your father coming your way. He calls for you with a wave, and you rush toward him with a smile, “Good morrow, father.” You kiss him lightly on the cheek. “I was just heading to the godswood. Perhaps I shall take a book from the library and - ”

“To meet with Prince Daemon?” Your father's voice is stern, and you become nervous.

You tilt your head, unsure of how to respond. Your father continues, “This matter was brought to my attention, in the council meeting of all places! I felt like a bumbling fool. My own daughter, and I did not know.”

“You’re certainly not a fool, father. And - ”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Your brows furrow in frustration.

“This affair between yourself and Prince Daemon. Do you not have any mind for decency? How must this look? Cregan Stark is courting you, and here you are, running around with the rogue prince.” He speaks in hushed whispers, as if he is afraid of being overheard, but the anger in his tone can easily be detected.

“I am not sure what you heard, father, but I am not having an affair with Prince Daemon.” You lean back, also growing irate at his tone.

“Everyone knows, my child. I do know that you are intelligent, and that you mean well, but this - ”

“I was quite… smitten with him. Only that. But it is over now.”

“Is it? Then how come he apparently came to your defense yesterday, assailing Maron Tyrell when he spoke out of turn about you?”

“What?”

“Word has spread, and King Viserys has been saddled with the laborious task yet again of having to make amends on his brother’s behalf.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” You remember that you meant to visit the courtyard for his training, but instead opted to read with Cregan Stark in the library. You did not think Daemon would particularly mind, and truth be told, you wanted to give a taste of his own medicine. You made your mistake in believing that Daemon might approach it just like anyone else – with a reasonable amount of impatience and irritation. But of course, it’s Daemon.

You want to appease your father’s worries, so you say, “The next time I see Daemon, I shall make things clear. There will no longer be anything between him and I. Not that there ever was anything before.” You can’t help but look away sadly, but then your father pulls you in for a hug.

“I trust that you will do the right thing. Lord Cregan is a man of true honour and kindness. You deserve someone like him.”

“I know.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Moments later, just before you make a turn into the open area of the godswood, someone catches you by the elbow.

“Hello, lass.” Cregan says. “I am happy to see you.”

“Cregan,” you attempt to hide your surprise with a smile, “ perhaps you were simply following me?”

“That idea did cross my mind, yes,” he jests in return, “but I’d much rather have you aware of my presence so you can indulge yourself in my undeniable charm.”

“Ever so humble, my Lord of the North.” You have grown accustomed to his witty quips, easily shared, making whoever he converses with comfortable. When you had mentioned it, he assured you however that the doting glint in his eyes is reserved for you only.

“Having a good day so far?” He draws you in close by the waist, his sincere gaze boring into yours.

“Very much so, thank you. I was just about to, uhm, spend some time in the godswood.”

“I shall accompany you then, my lady, if you would allow me.”

“Oh, I - ”

“There you are.” You turn towards the familiar voice. Daemon has found you. “I thought I heard you.”

“Ah, Prince Daemon, ever a pleasure.” Cregan loosens his hold on you, but he does not let go. You notice Daemon’s eyes draw downward to Cregan’s arm around your waist, and his jaw clenches.

“Oh, I wish I could say the same, young wolf. But I have been waiting in the godswood for the Lady Y/n, and I can see that you are taking up her precious time. Keeping her from me.” Daemon spits the final words, making his annoyance clear.

“Daemon, I was just about to come see you,” you say.

“I thought you were going to spend time in the godswood?” Cregan looks at you confused.

“Yes, she is,” Daemon chimes in, “with me.”

“Simply to talk.” You start to become anxious with how the two men are sizing each other up, cold expressions plastered on their faces.

“No matter,” Cregan shrugs, “might I accompany you too, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You and Daemon speak at the same instant, your contrasting responses putting a pause on the whole exchange. The silence is filled with tension, with Daemon staring at you intently. A slight smirk rests on his lips, and you can tell, he is enjoying this. He takes pleasure in being able to get under your skin.

You might be right, but in that moment, Daemon’s mind also wanders to the smoothness of your skin. The fire in your eyes. His stare grazes your decolletage, exposed by your dress, the very same dress he had disparaged weeks prior. How foolish of me. Anything she wears is immediately more refined as a result. Although I’d much see rather that dress on the fucking floor.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that there is still something between the two of you.” Cregan’s voice cuts through the silence. When you turn to him questioningly, he explains, “I have heard whispers here and there about a possible mutual affection that you share.”

“Prince Daemon and I are merely friends,” you clarify, “and even this I have reason to doubt.” You glare at Daemon, imploring him to not cross the line.

“We are friends,” Daemon grits his teeth, “come with me, Y/n.”

You continue to challengingly stare at Daemon, and any passer-by would immediately feel the tension. They would also be quick to assume that the connection lies between yourself and Daemon, not Cregan. Not that you would be willing to admit it straightaway.

“Forget about the godswood,” you look between both men, “Rhaenyra tells me of a travelling theatre troupe that will be conducting their show in the Red Keep this afternoon. I think I fancy heading over and seeing it for myself.”

You start to walk away, not paying mind to either the dragon or the wolf.

I’m done with this bickering. Let them follow me if they wish.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

After a short period of deliberating and preparing, you find yourself walking the streets of the Red Keep, with Daemon walking close to one side and Cregan to the other.

Hestia follows suit, conversing with Cregan’s young squire, Pod. You had looked back to her to give a comforting smile, and you could tell that she was slightly intimidated by the member of the Kingsguard accompanying your little group. The knight is a looming figure of hunkering armour, walking close behind her and Pod.

Daemon and Cregan both offered an arm for you to hold onto at the start of your stroll, but you avoided the pain of choosing by clasping your hands in front of you, walking forward with your head held high.

You reach the city centre, and Cregan points to a fountain in the middle of the plaza. “I remember when you took me there, darling. We had the most pleasant afternoon.”

Daemon snorts upon hearing that, “The bloody fountain?”

Pod comes up to speak with Cregan about the tasks he has to fulfill for the day, demanding his attention, and they shuffle to the side in discussion.

“Yes, Daemon, the bloody fountain. We sat, had the best lemon cakes, and conversed with the common folk. Activities that are not to your taste, I’m sure,” you matched his sardonic inflection.

“I thought you would have preferred mulberry tarts,” Daemon responds, matter-of-factly.

Your lips part in mild surprise. “How could you have guessed that?”

“You might have mentioned it once, weeks ago.”

“Huh.” You continue to stare at him in disbelief. So he does listen to me.

You had the impression that all those times when you prattled in his ear, your words would simply dissolve into air. Like an incessant tune droning on in the background. Daemon always looked as if he was pondering some other more important thought.

“You continue to surprise me, Daemon.”

“And you never fail to pleasantly disrupt my life at every turn,” he remarks, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

“Since you used the word pleasantly then I shall assume that it’s a good thing. But disrupt? How so?”

He kicks a pebble across the cobblestones, lost in thought, “This is the last thing that I would have ever expected, my shadow.”

You continue to look at him in suspense, your heart thudding in your chest. Try as you might, Daemon still has that effect on you.

He continues, “I never expected to… feel this… about you.”

“Feel what?” He turns to you, and softens at the sight of your innocent expression, your eyes wide and glistening. You’ve always gazed at him in such an open and caring manner, unaffected by the reality of his reputation. Very much unlike other people, who are almost invariably wary or distrustful when dealing with him. He has accepted that he needs someone like you. But recently, it became clearer. He only needed you.

“Prince Daemon,” a familiar soft, accented voice calls out.

The spell is broken. You turn toward the new arrival. The lady Mysaria.

“Good day, my lady,” you greet her reluctantly. You badly wish to move close to Cregan and engage him in conversation, just so you would not be privy to the interaction between Daemon and Mysaria, but something keeps you rooted in place.

“Good day to you as well, lady Y/n.”

“Have you come to watch the performance?” you tilt your head toward the stage that is being set up on one side of the plaza.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time for such frivolities at present, my lady,” she smiles thinly, before turning to Daemon, “I am glad I found you, my prince. I would have waited until you eventually came to see me again, but since you are here, I want to return this to you.”

She reaches out her hand, and in it lies an ornate ring, decorated with an exquisite blood-red ruby. An inscription in High Valyrian is carved on the band.

Daemon snatches it swiftly, “Right. Good eye.”

“I recognized this to be one of your Targaryen heirlooms. You must have dropped it when you spent the night with me.” She steps closer to him, caressing his arm.

Your heart sinks. What did you expect – that Daemon would ever commit to you? He has been making gestures that are unusual for him, giving you just the slightest hint of hope. And now, this.

He was right. You do know exactly who he is. What he is. The lady Mysaria can be taken as confirmation of this.

“Would you excuse me?” you clear your throat, and start to walk over to Cregan.

Daemon notices the drop in your spirits - in the frown that formed on your lips, and the way your shoulders scrunched forward. He knows that you are aware of him looking at you imploringly. You refuse to meet his gaze, and continue to ignore him as he stares daggers at your retreating figure.

Daemon shrugs Mysaria’s hold off his arm, taking a step back. He is not certain what to say, and Mysaria senses his agitation.

“You desire the lady Y/n,” she states, not a shred of doubt in her enticing voice.

“You know nothing of it,” Daemon spits defensively.

“You do. You want her. I can see it in your eyes,” Mysaria repeats, “It’s a novel thing, as you once told me that she is someone whom you merely tolerate.”

And I fucking wish I knew better. “I’ll be damned if I’m not capable of changing my mind.”

“Or perhaps you always wanted her, and you just were not aware of it? You did speak plenty of her even before,” she muses, as she knows that Daemon will not deny her keen eye for observation.

Daemon and Mysaria look over to you, as you stand with the rest of your group. You smile, and stroke Hestia’s back soothingly. Cregan leans over to you, and you laugh at whatever he has whispered.

Daemon sulks, hands firmly clasped in front of him. “Fucking Stark.”

“She wants you too, you know,” Mysaria smiles.

This piques Daemon’s attention, though his face remains sour, “Don’t toy with me. Perhaps she did, but now - ”

“She still does. In time, you will both see the truth of it all. Good fortune, Prince Daemon.” she walks away, her long tresses blowing softly in the breeze, but pauses and turns halfway, “Just don’t be stupid.”

Daemon nods once, feeling hopeful anew.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

One brisk morning, you sit peacefully in the gardens, a new book in your hands. You sit comfortably, your legs tucked underneath you on the seat. Daemon once remarked of how he liked the careless way with which you sit, to which you rolled your eyes, “Don’t mock me, Daemon. My father has scolded me plenty about how I don’t sit like a proper lady.”

Daemon just snickered at that, and playfully pulled at your ankle. That was one of your more amicable exchanges. Even now, your mind trains back to him, as if his absence is a thing that demands to be felt. Even after you believe yourself to have grown resolute at giving up any romantic notion when it comes to Daemon, after the encounter with Mysaria a few days prior.

Hestia sits beside you, crocheting, her needle deftly held between her slender fingers.

“My lady,” she says, looking to the side at the hedges, “I think you have a shadow.”

You follow her gaze and see him. The prince currently occupying your thoughts. As he always has. Daemon leans against the bark of a tree, evidently watching you. A smirk forms on his lips when he sees you finally notice him.

Your shadow.

You throw him a questioning look from afar. He merely shrugs his shoulders and starts to confidently walk toward you. He reaches you, and you just stare at each other in relative silence.

“You,” you say, as he had always done upon seeing you.

“Excuse me, lady Y/n, Prince Daemon,” Hestia curtsies to the both of you, then proceeds to take her leave. She smiles slyly at you over her shoulder, and you know she will want to be filled in about what happens later on. You consider yourself fortunate that your lady-in-waiting grew to become one of your closest confidantes.

“My shadow,” he says smoothly, then sits beside you.

“I might go so far as to say that the tables have turned. You are my shadow now, Prince Daemon.”

“Hmm,” he sneers, “No Stark boy today?”

“He’s visiting his sister, but he shall return soon. He promised me.”

“I’d much prefer it if he were to never set foot in King’s Landing ever again,” he comments casually.

“Jealous are we, my shadow?” you look at him teasingly through your lashes, realizing in that split moment, how easy it is. Being around him feels natural, despite the flares in his disposition and his offhand remarks.

You also realize that it is not completely the same with Cregan, as sweet and perfect as he might be. There is a sense of trying to fulfil your duty as a lady from a noble house, when it comes to your courtship with the young wolf.

But you have always chosen Daemon. If only he would choose you in return.

“I could ask the same of you. I saw the way you were glaring at Mysaria,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows tauntingly.

“I was not glaring at her.”

“Oh no, apologies, not glaring,” he raises his hands in faux surrender, “Not glaring. Seething.”

“Can you honestly blame me?” your face turns gloomy as you look off into the distance.

Daemon feels the drop in your demeanour, and his heart sinks. Must I always be the root of her heartache? Have I not done enough?

As if on instinct, he reaches across, and squeezes your hand, “My shadow, you must know, I have not bed any other, have not even looked at any other, ever since…”

You look down at your joined hands, his hand wider and calloused around yours. You’ve always known, when you would hold his hand to give him comfort, that it was always for your sake as well. His touch calmed you, but it was as if you had to steal moments of it for yourself.

This feels different. His thumb lazily strokes the back of your hand. You watch his eyes roam your face, from your eyes to your lips and back.

You wait for him to say the words. To say anything that would validate your longing.

“Now, I’m going to attempt something, my shadow, and you mustn’t be angry with me. Alright?”

“Daemon.”

“Alright?”

“Okay.”

Your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer, close enough that you feel his warm breath on your skin. Even closer, as you feel his lips graze yours, ever so gently. His eyes continue to search yours, gauging your reaction.

Then he presses his lips to yours. The countless times you had imagined that way it would feel, certainly does not do it any justice. Not even a little bit.

You let out a sound of appreciation, a soft little moan against his mouth, overwhelmed by the sensation. He pulls away for a second, hums affectionately, and runs his thumb over your lips. You let out a laugh, feeling light-hearted. He smiles at you, at his little shadow, before motioning towards your lips with a tilt of his jaw.

You kiss him again, and he feels his heart beating faster than ever before. The rogue prince, quite possibly one of the most notorious philanderers in the Seven Kingdoms, feeling flustered over you. You blossom into him, revealing yourself like you never had, his beloved shadow being engulfed and warmed by his sunlight.

His mouth becomes insistent in brushing against yours, his tongue tracing your lips. A shiver runs down your spine, your nerves set completely alight. His tongue mingles with yours, and you savour the taste of peppermint and sweet wine.

Reluctantly, grudgingly, you find whatever little impulse you have to pull away.

Your breath comes out in pants, and you raise your fingertips to feel where his lips were once on yours.

He studies your face, wondering what thoughts fill your mind.

You stand abruptly and begin to pace in front of him.

“Shadow?” he stops you, keeping you still with his hands on your shoulders.

“W-why?” you question.

He is still half-dazed from your taste, your scent all around him, “Don’t you see? I want you.”

“You want me?” your tone rises in disbelief.

“Must I repeat myself?” he nearly rolls his eyes, but keeps his manner sincere, “I’ve never been the sort of man to deny myself the desires of my heart. And my heart only wants you.”

Just give in. Kiss him again, throw reason away to the wind. Forget any doubt, any past grievances. He says he is yours now.

But you remember all those moments wherein you made yourself available to him. To be his friend, his source of comfort, his defender. Any way he wished to have you. You desired him. You wanted him. You loved him.

You love him. But for so long, he turned the other way. You had held your heart out for him to take, and he did not. He merely tolerated it.

“Daemon,” you shut your eyes, needing to clear your head, “what of Cregan?”

“What of him?” he hisses, eyes narrowing.

You become infuriated, “Seven hells, I am in the middle of a fucking courtship!”

“An empty formality.” Of course Daemon would believe so.

“We should not have kissed. It is not respectful to Cregan.”

His hand moves to grip your face, tilting your head, and you are caught up in the passion in his violet eyes, “Did you not enjoy it? Did you not like kissing me?”

“You know I bloody well did.”

“We can speak with your father and end this farce of a courtship. You need not continue - ”

You interrupt, “It wouldn’t be right. Cregan is a decent, and loving man. My father says so himself. He would make for a good husband.”

“And I wouldn’t?” his hands drop to his side, and he takes a step back.

“I don’t know. I have to learn how to trust you again. After everything.”

His eyes are tormented as he looks away.

“Daemon, I need time. I want to be completely certain if I will have to give up a life with Cregan.”

“Because he matters so much to you,” he sighs, appearing dejected.

“I’ve grown to value him for who he is. He’s my friend, and I had entered this courtship in hopes that it would help me forget about you. And I was thinking that perhaps, I could learn to love him… in time.”

“Don’t,” is all he can bring himself to say.

“I did not believe you cared for me, as I did you. It is only now that this,” you gesture between the two of you, “ever became anything. For you, at least. There was once a time wherein there was only you for me, but now, I just need some time.”

Daemon says nothing, letting your words sink in. His jaw clenches, deep in thought.

“Daemon,” you take his hand, “say something.”

He doesn’t. In a flash, he simply connects his lips to yours again, sucking the breath from your lungs. Your worries cease, as you give in to him. You reach upward to entangle your fingers in his silver hair; his hands hold your waist tightly.

In true Daemon fashion, his lusty resolve breaks, and he lets his hands slide downward to grip your backside. You moan, and bite his lip as a result.

He smirks, breaking the kiss, his forehead pressing against yours, “Okay, my shadow. I will wait.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The days are long and languid. Daemon thinks so. He does not have much to occupy his time apart from his duties as Commander of the City Watch. He used to gain just the barest enjoyment from it, from ensuring that the city’s vermin are put to justice. But everything feels gray, devoid of any appeal. Nothing made him incandescent. He merely watched, and waited. For you.

He remembers you as he sits in the courtyard. He remembers the way you cheered for him while he trained, the way you sneered at his opponents, cussed at them even. The intensity in your expression was almost too much at times; you were so invested in his insignificant, little displays of skill. You were always there for him.

He remembers you when he strolls into the gardens, where you first met. You had been reading in solitude that fateful afternoon, your brows furrowed over a passage that baffled you. Something about witches in the histories of Westeros, you told him afterward. He responded, “Why, do you fear you might be a witch yourself? You certainly possess the ferocity.” So crude, you thought, so intriguing. So this is Prince Daemon Targaryen.

“Careful now, my prince. I just might put a spell on you.” you smiled at him, the very first time. He thought you very comely, but then again, he thought the same of several dozen other ladies. You thought him inexplicable, his reputation preceding him. The Rogue Prince, the rebellious second son. The patron saint of delinquents and whores, Otto Hightower once told your father. But you thought him amazing. Different. Dangerous. That very night, he filled your dreams. Since then, Daemon Targaryen became your sun.

On one of these mindless strolls, he comes across you. He cannot help it, and so he trails you, like a shadow. Every step feels heavy, because you are not alone. Your arm is looped around the wolf boy’s, walking too close for Daemon’s liking.

When he sees you kissing Cregan Stark, he sees red. He feels ill, fueled with rage. He saw it unfolding, the Stark boy running his fingers over your cheekbone, and then slowly closing the distance between you two. You stand arrested by the moment, seemingly apprehensive, but you don’t move away. The way the Stark boy curls his fingers firmly on your waist, drawing you close, he wishes he had done that.

He wishes he had pulled you close when you wiped the sweat from his forehead on those days you watched him train. In those moments when he was overcome with emotion and you would hold his hand. He had walked away, or turned to someone completely insignificant, when he could have held you. When he could have kissed you, much better than the Stark boy kisses you now.

Every part of him wishes to end the Stark boy’s life. He wants to strike him down in front of you. He wants to get you back.

But seven hells, Viserys would cast him out for good. He has only just returned to his brother’s good graces, the incident with Maron Tyrell having just been resolved.

And you. You would never forgive him. You would never speak to him again. And he can’t have that. He can’t live with that. He won’t.

He needs you, he knows this now.

He loves you, he is certain.

You had become Daemon Targaryen’s sun. As he was once yours.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

There is a storm raging over King’s Landing. Heavy rain is pelting against your windows, and thunder echoes across the skies, a blanket of shadow covering the kingdom’s capital.

You sit in front of your mirror, absentmindedly running a comb through your hair. The week has felt long and languid. You certainly think so. You’ve had much to occupy your time – Cregan, duties with your father, lessons with the Septa, poring over books in the great library.

And yet, everything feels gray, as if devoid of warmth, not unlike the state of the city at present.

Daemon has been flooding your thoughts, despite your reluctance. You have been trying to not let your mind flash back to the kiss, without much success. A knot in your belly formed the moment Cregan’s lips touched yours, because you realized that you wish it had been Daemon instead.

It is as if your heart is sound in its resolve, its verdict clear. It is now left to you to either embrace the truth that it speaks, or stifle it, for the sake of an obvious consolation.

Daemon. You close your eyes, in remembrance of how he tastes. What if he loses heart? What if he no longer waits?

A sound catches your ear, one you think to be a faint knock, but it is overshadowed by a crackle of thunder booming outside at the same time.

The knocking repeats, a consistent rapping on the heavy wooden door.

You cautiously walk over, confused as to who would be visiting your chambers at this late hour.

“Who’s there?” you call out.

“Shadow.” You freeze, you would recognize this voice anywhere.

With tentative hands, you push the door open, and you are at once met with the sight of Daemon. His hair is unkempt and he is clad in only a loose white poet shirt, and dark trousers.

Words fail you, and you drink in the sight of him, as if it was the first time.

He rasps, holding your gaze, “I’m done waiting.”

“Daemon.”

He lunges forward, flooding all of your senses, gripping your face tightly in his hands and smashing his lips to yours. It’s different this time. More heated, passionate, greedy. He kicks the door shut with his foot, and he leads you deeper into the room.

“Daemon, what - ” you break away, in an attempt to catch your breath.

His forefinger flits across your lips, silencing you, “Hush, my shadow. I need this. I need you.”

You hum in agreement, and throw all caution to the wind. This is your Daemon. It has always been clear, he is the one you will always want.

Your hands roam, feeling his neck, his collarbone, and his chest exposed by the flowing shirt.

He stands captivated by you, and the gentle way in which you touch him. Your eyes filled with adoration. This is exactly what he needs. The storm might be raging outside, but right now, in this glowing candle lit room, he has his sunshine.

You had gone from being his shadow, to his light.

“I love you,” his voice is a mere whisper, and yet it electrifies your entire being, “I love you, my light.”

You look at him in a daze, and your vision becomes cloudy as a tear threatens to fall, and it does, when he kisses you again. He lifts you up on the table, and you wrap your legs around his waist. You lean backward, pulling him with you, making his pelvis press onto yours.

He groans, his frustration heightening even more when your hands roam under his shirt, gliding across the chiselled plains of his stomach, down to the line of his trousers.

He breaks the kiss, burying his face in your neck, “I want to… do this right.”

He straightens, kissing you once, before declaring, “I shall wed you first, my dearest love. Then, I shall have you.” His hand comes up to squeeze your breast, as if to make a promise, “All of you.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you can feel all this yearning prompting a knot to unravel low in your belly, “I must admit this is not what I expected of you, my prince. You were never one to exercise such restraint.”

“Be that as it may, my light, this is different. You are not like the others. Granted, I am not one to shy away from the pleasures of the flesh.” His fingers caress your ankles, before slithering gradually up your legs. He savours the softness of your flesh, squeezing your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You will soon find, my light, that fucking is a pleasure, and I especially want to show you how satisfying it can be,” his hands slide higher, and higher, “in every way possible.”

“Daemon,” you bite your lip, encouraging him, “my love.”

“Yes, my light?” he taunts.

“For fuck’s sake,” you curse impatiently, guiding your pelvis so that his fingers finally graze your undergarments.

“Impatient are we?” he shifts the cloth to one side, tracing one digit over your folds, “You are exquisite.”

“Mmm,” you tilt your head back, and brace yourself on the table, your hands struggling to keep yourself upright, “please, Daemon.”

Urged by your mewling, sensual music to his ears, he pushes one finger inside your warmth. He pumps it inside, outside, watching you all the while.

With his other hand, he undoes the delicate string on the front of your nightgown. The thin fabric haphazardly falls to your waist, revealing your torso to his hungry eyes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pushing another finger inside you, picking up the pace. He then moves to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips, before trailing downward, licking and pecking his way until he reaches your breast. His tongue swirls freely on your nipple, and your hand comes up to brace itself onto his hair.  

“This is fucking torturous,” he nearly growls, once again kissing you. Daemon wants to lose himself in the sight of your unravelling, as you unabashedly fuck his fingers. He prays to the gods that he might learn to control his lust, his desire to just forego tradition and bury his cock deep inside your pussy threatening to take over him.

“Gods, Daemon, this is so much better than I imagined,” you pant, your lips turning up in a smirk.

“Is that so, my light? Have you touched yourself to the thought of me?”

When you nod, he purrs in your ear, his lips grazing the skin, “Have you dreamed about fucking me? As I have you?”

His thumb circles rapidly around your clit, while his two soaked digits relentlessly plunge into your pussy. “Y-yes, Daemon.” His movement grows ever so careless and wild, fingers curling inside you, eager to bring you to climax. Your eyes flutter closed, as your pelvis begins to feel tense, that familiar spasm gathering below.  

“Let go, my light,” he commands, “Release yourself onto me.”

Once more, you pull him by the neck, and taste him. When his tongue collides with yours, you let go, gushing down on his fingers. He feels your juices drip down to his palm, but he makes no move. He leans back, memorizing the sight of you. His shadow, his light, covered in a sheen of sweat, thin nightgown pooled by your waist. Your legs spread wide open for him, your cum still warm on his skin.  

He cleans his hand, first sucking some of your orgasm off his fingers, and wiping the rest on the back of his shirt. He leans forward, palms on either side of your thighs on the table.

“Daemon?” you breathe, eyes half-lidded from the aftermath, “What is it?”

“I love you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Daemon’s arm is wrapped around you, as your head rests on his chest, listening to his faint heartbeat.

You found yourselves lying down on your bed, atop the silken sheets, after that delightful table incident, deciding to call it thus as you now fondly think back to it.

You had been sharing stories of mixed significance, ranging from what you had for breakfast to the culmination of the war in the Stepstones.

“I may have to go into battle,” he confesses, “sometime in the days to come.”

Worry floods you, knowing how reckless he can be when faced with the thrill of war. Violence is not something that deterred Daemon, let alone the pain of death. If anything, he seemed to welcome it, and it frightens you.

You do not want to ever lose him. It was true then, but now, your very being depends on it. With him gone, you are afraid that you would never be whole again.

“Must you go?” you whisper.

“You need not worry, my light,” he kisses the top of your head lovingly, “I will always return to you.”

“But must you go? Is it necessary that you be there?” you prop yourself up on one elbow, so that he may see the sincerity in your expression.

“No,” he decides, “the war is all but won. There are just some loose ends to tie up, and the Velaryon army is more than capable of putting an end to it all. I had just half a mind to proffer aid from myself and a portion of the King’s army.”

“So let the King’s army go, and you can stay here with me.”

“My love?” he grins, “are you truly demanding that of me?”

“Just this once?” you plead, smiling at him, “I don’t wish to forbid you from ever stepping into battle. I just… I’ve only just had you. I prefer not to take any foolish risk, as little as it might be.”

A smile forms on his lips, as he relishes in knowing that you truly must care for him.

“As you wish,” he relents, “I shall stay.”

You kiss him, certain that you will never tire of the feeling of his lips flush against yours.

You look down at him with stars in your eyes, “I love you, Daemon.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The members of the Small Council try to hide their surprise at the presence of Prince Daemon, already sitting comfortably at his chair, as they enter the room and each shuffle to their place around the table.

“My lords,” Daemon casually greets, “I had thought you all had forgotten about the council meeting.”

“Prince Daemon, I assure you that we are exactly on time,” Lord Beesbury responds, failing to understand the jest.

Viserys is the last to walk in, accompanied by his Kingsguard. He pauses upon seeing his brother, but quickly carries on to his seat at the head of the table.

“Brother,” Daemon says, amused, “do try not to look so amazed.”

“Daemon,” Viserys merely nods in acknowledgment, before turning to the rest of the council, “let us begin.”

The minutes seem to pass by at a snail’s pace, at least for Daemon. He unknowingly gazes out the window now and again, as if in a daydream, eliciting several scolding glares from his brother.

Taxes, festivities, tapestries, resources. All these concerns fly over his head, especially since it was only the night before last when he finally claimed you. Or more aptly put, when he surrendered himself over to you.

“Princess Rhaenyra is to embark on a tour to several neighbouring cities, as part of her duties as princess of the realm, and as my heir,” Viserys announces, before addressing your father, “She kindly wishes to have your daughter, the Lady Y/n, as her companion for this particular excursion.”

Daemon’s interest is restored at the sound of your name, and he straightens, eager to hear the rest. Little does he know, Viserys notices this slight movement, peering at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, what an honour that is, your Grace,” your father beams, “she will surely only be glad to accept the princess’ request. I shall relay the news to her when she returns from Storm’s End, in around a day or two.”

“Y/n is in Storm’s End?” Daemon speaks for the first time since the council discussions began, and all heads turn to him. There is an intimacy with which the prince mentions your name, a genuine curiosity with which he inquires about you, that drew everyone’s attention.

“Yes, my prince,” your father responds carefully, “she wanted to treat with Lord Cregan Stark, who has been visiting his sister Sara, the consort of Lord Baratheon’s eldest son.”

“How goes the courtship, my lord?” Tyland asks purposefully, knowing that it might turn Daemon irate, as he is already sulking in his seat, looking as if the wrong word might set him off.

“I’m afraid she plans to put an end to it,” your father finally says, regret perceptible in his voice, “as she has divulged to me that she might never see Lord Stark as more than a friend.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, my lord,” Viserys expresses genuinely, although he continues to closely watch Daemon’s reactions. His amusement grows at his younger brother’s inability to hide his emotions when it comes to you. First, intrigue at the mere mention of your name, then disappointment upon hearing that you are to see Cregan Stark, and finally the most obvious sense of relief regarding the end of your courtship.

A laugh threatens to escape Viserys. Being the elder brother that he is, he craves the pleasure of playfully taunting Daemon over his increasingly apparent affection for you.

“Nothing to be sorry about, dear brother,” Daemon speaks, breaking Viserys out of his thoughts.

“Oh?” Viserys turns to him in anticipation.

“My wish is to wed the Lady Y/n, as promptly as can be expected.” The entire council falls into silence, and Viserys finally lets out the dry laugh he has been holding back.

“M-my prince?” your father looks as if his heart would cease, and he certainly feels so, his chest significantly tightening at the prince’s declaration. Due to elation, or horror, he is yet to determine.

“Seven hells,” Otto exclaims, turning to Viserys, “won’t this be improper? The Lady Y/n has just ended a courtship with another lord, immediately to be wed to the prince?”

“I don’t suppose so,” Viserys easily counters, placing his hand atop his brother’s, “Daemon, I would hope that the lady is aware of your desire to be wed to her, and that you are not simply about to spring this upon the poor girl?”

“Of course she is,” Daemon confirms, his voice steady, “we are in love, if you cunts must know.” He could not help his less than tasteful remark, growing defensive about you.

“Gods be good,” Lord Beesbury balks at the prince’s crudeness.

“Alright,” Viserys raises a hand to appease the council, “Daemon, brother, I would be glad to see this come to fruition. Your marriage to the Lady Y/n would be exceedingly advantageous after all, for both our Houses.” He addresses your father, “I would assume that you believe so as well, my lord?”

Your father’s thoughts race, and with your best interests in mind, he speaks only to Daemon, “Do you truly love her, my prince?”

There is not a shred of doubt in Daemon’s voice when he answers, “More than anything.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sit in your usual spot in the gardens, accompanied by Hestia. A book rests on your lap, but you pay it no attention, your mind elsewhere.

Having just returned from Storm’s End, you feel at peace. You already knew that Cregan would accept your choice, but you did not wish to cause him any pain. It may have just been his natural charm, or a sense of ease with which he can hide his displeasure, but when you finally confided in him about Daemon, he was only quick to offer you a smile and pull you into his arms.

“Quite frankly, my lady, it only seemed a matter of time before Prince Daemon would break and accept that he needs you,” he said sincerely, his smile unwavering, “and I can recognize love when I see it, and it certainly exists between the two of you.”

Love. You shut your eyes, thinking of him, and savour the warmth of sunlight on your skin.

“My lady,” Hestia whispers, and your eyes slowly flutter open. You see her looking toward a figure in the distance.

“I think you have a shadow.”

🖤🖤🖤

The longest fuckin chapter I've ever written, gods be good. It did get a bit rushed towards the end. There was meant to be this whole scenario about Daemon heading into battle after hearing that the reader went to Winterfell instead to treat with Cregan Stark. Then I read how long it actually takes to travel from King's Landing to Winterfell and the timing just didn't fit with the events.

The parallels between Daemon and the reader were my favourite parts to write. They really are just two sides of the same coin.

Also, I did not expect myself to be writin' spicy content for this chapter, but I guess it just happened?? Oh well. 🤷‍♀️

I apologize this took aaaages to be put out. The amount of times I altered some parts I'm telling you, y'all would have just wrenched my laptop from me and I would not have blamed you 😂

My inbox was indeed flooded with demands for this chapter and I can only thank you all so much for wanting to read on!!! 🤍

taglist: @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @itscheybaby @my-dark-prince @keep-beating-my-dear-heart @mamamooqa @63angel @azucarmorennna @kate16sstuff @thoughtfulfreakalpaca @alexandra-001 @babywolff @gloryekaterina @writer-lee5 @lockleysgrl @alexa4040 @piceous21 @softtina @bregarc @ramennoodles212 @siriusdumblittlepuppy @captainweirdo42 @thx-rn @merovingianprincess @clarap23 @itisjustwhatitis @blushinyouth @aeisnoa @a-lil-bit-nuts @paprikaquinn @just-some-random-blogger @cantstoptherecs @baybieruth @wondergal2001 @pax-2735 @immyowndefender @moonmaiden1996 @wrendermeuseless @schniiipsel @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @icarusignite @flourishandblotts-inc @siriusdumblittlepuppy @booknerd2004 @just-a-harmless-patato @moni-cah @boofy1998 @huntycola @sanguinalia @thelastcitysposts @daeneeryss

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ ARRANGED LOVE. 

fandom. genshin impact

pairings. neuvillette x gn!reader

content warnings. sfw (angst with happy ending), arranged marriage/mating, neuvillette loses his children during the archon war, you're a (wind) dragon, he rejects you for many years because he's grieving, not edited/proofread, written in lowercase

word count. 1k

notes. this is now the third time i'm posting this... tumblr this better show up in tags or else

the archon war has now raged for many years and would continue to do so. something one of the last dragons on teyvat hated. the endless pain and suffering of his subjects wore heavy on his heart and soul— but he truly broke when one of his enemies slaughtered his children, the last of his. 

his wailing summoned the worst storm that teyvat has ever seen. his cries for his hatchlings, the last of his kin darkened the sky and the thunder resonates with his sobs. the seas were restless, waves crashing against cliffs and swallowing weak land. 

he continued to cry for his children for many days, cursing celestia deep beneath the surface and wishing all his enemies would die a painful death. he wished for them to suffer, he wished to take everything from them just as they took everything from him.

his children had been protected by his realm and they still died too young. he had been foolish to hope no one would touch his domain, the place where he was king. he had been foolish to hope— foolish to think his power as one of the last dragons, the last hydro one, was grand enough to fend his enemies off. 

his foolishness cost his future, the future of his seas, his waters. 

and the storm raged on, flooding the flat lands and raising small creeks to violent streams. the hydro dragon had been angered and now everyone suffered the consequences. 

meanwhile, the dark clouds grew and reached other regions and nations, slowly but surely completely taking over, other gods and mystical beings grew concerned. well, as concerned as they could be, while they slaughtered each other for the seven thrones. 

one of them was rex lapis, a kin to the mourning dragon. while he never had hatchlings and thus didn’t know the pain of losing them, he could recognize the cries. the hydro dragon was spiraling, his powers feeding onto his grief and claiming even more lives. 

to end the suffering on both ends, he decided to leave his current battlefield and made his way to the dragon known as neuvillette. he didn’t come as an enemy or ally, instead he came as kin to offer assistance— assistance in revenge. 

the agreeing between the two dragons, two mighty elements at their beck and call, became known as the first contract of war, written down by rex lapis himself. he offered a helping hand to the hydro dragon, if he would agree to mate one of his many adepti. 

mad with grief, the dragon agreed. he took an adepti of rex lapis’ choosing as his mate and went on rampage. in matters of weeks, he and the now geo archon reduced their enemies to nothing more but dust. and the god who killed the hatchlings… it is said that the hydro dragon himself drowned him in the sea. 

but what they don’t know, what no one but the two dragons know is that this contract of war saved not only many innocent lives from the floods, but also yours. 

rex lapis has rescued you from shackles placed on you, shackles of earth when you belong in the air. they weakened you, as you were the northern wind that brought the snow and winter to teyvat. wild yet freezing, you’re one of the four winds— and the last one remaining. 

the only thing that could save you, that saved you in the end, was to mate another powerful dragon. and while you wished rex lapis had taken you as his, his future as archon repelled you in the end. no matter what he said, the gnosis from celestia was a shackle. 

you needed to be free, free to remain alive, the last wind of teyvat. 

and the only other option was the hydro dragon, neuvillette. 

it broke your heart to see him like this, reddened eyes and slouched body, he was in no way showing the power he possessed. and oh— how he cried. even when he met you, tears were still running down his cheeks, as the storm raged on. 

the mating itself had been a somber affair, nothing more but a formality. there was no joy when he bit your neck, marking you as his. there was no celebration, instead you tugged on your armor the moment the mating was over. and even then— it couldn’t be even called a proper mating, because there was no nesting, there was nothing but a bite of formality. 

it took decades for your mate to recover, the gentle hydro dragon neuvillette. it took centuries for him to actually look at you and greet you as his mate and not a fellow dragon. 

you can’t lie, those years were weary on you and it hurt— it hurt so bad. but you understood, or at least tried to, and he was trying. 

trying to reign his grief in and to hold his tears back. 

but then you took him by his hand and tugged him with you. the two of you twirled in the air, a dance of dragons, and you spoke to him. 

“grief, my mate,” you said as you pressed your cool body against his.

“cry, my mate”, you whispered while it started to snow. 

“do not harden your heart, remember your hatchlings and remember the pain. the pain you received and brought on others in return.”

“remember, so it shall never happen again.” 

(and this day, he knew, it was this day he finally opened his heart. he allowed himself to feel, to yearn, for your touch, the touch of his mate he rejected for years. he yearned and broke to his desires, the deep, deep desire to love and to be loved again. and you greeted him with open arms and a gentle smile, forgiving the sins he did against you, forgiving all his wrongdoings. 

in this moment he knew, he loved you.)

ARKHAM MAID 2023

[elegantsplendour]

Of Blossom and Betrayal

Summary:

AU: Green victory, the realm called for a new queen after Queen Helena's demise

Seraphina Tyrell did not belong to the worldly realm of Westeros; a lone child conceived of loyalty, love and devotion. A beacon like her attracts the darkest of souls, in the darkest of times.

💌 Aegon II Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: manipulation, abuse of power, mentions of rape, slight underage, dub con, violence. Specific warnings will be added at the beginnings of each chapter.

Cast

Chapter 1

Prologue: Highgarden

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Lord Lyonel Tyrell was a man of honour, loyalty and vigilance. Succeeding in remaining neutral, assuring his family’s survival and maintaining the influence of his house in one of the bloodiest war since Aegon’s Conquest, if not of all of Westerosi history, was an accomplishment that many of his position had dreamt of.

Loyalty? He laughed bitterly at the memory of the bright and confident smile on his long gone brother Bryan’s departing figure to King’s Landing to serve under Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Be loyal to no one but his family, his loved ones.

It was the code he had lived by since Bryan’s unexpected tragic demise at the hands of Rogue Prince himself, a man his poor brother, the innocent messenger sent by King Viserys, admired and sworn loyalty to, fourteen years ago.

Lyonel remembered the day the news of his demise reached his father, the former lord of Highgarden.

People sing that there were six stages of grief.

Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

But when it came to a devoted seventy two year old father, the grief ended in the very first.

Two days later, Lyonel, the second son, whose ambitions never surpassed the allure of marrying Lady Jayne Lannister and sampling the finest wines and sugary with his beloved, inherited the legacy he had never been prepared for.

The Targaryens will always do what’s best for the Targaryens.

Those were his late father’s last words.

To survive the Targaryen rule, Lyonel played by their rules. Schemes, betrayals, deceptions and bloodshed? He did not shy away from them. He bore the burden so his family, his people, didn’t have to.

With his hands on the cold balcony, Lord of Highgarden bathed the fresh air of flowers, the peaceful chirping of insects, the giggling of young maids and the distant melodies from the small folks returning to their homes after a long day of labour.

This was his empire he defended.

One of loyalty, honour and love.

His beloved Jayne, her arms wrapped around his waist.

Seraphina, his precious jewel, his sweet little rose, the one and only fruit of his and Jayne's love's many attempts at blooming.

His Lancel, Bryan's illegitimate offspring, whom he had taken under the Tyrell bloodline, a fierce and honorable knight, a fine protector, his heir.

“Lord Ormund has written again,” Jayne rested her head on his shoulder, her golden curls soothing his skin as much as his mind, “The letter touched me, the words he’s chosen, the sincerity of his voice. He truly desires a betrothal between his first born and Seraphina.”

Jayne traced her fingers on her husband’s cheeks, “He wishes to introduce them in King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing?” Lyonel frowned deeply, “It should be fit for them to present themselves to Highgarden, especially when Phina was the one who treated their wounded bodies in the woods, risking the slaughter of the ruthless Northerners.”

Jayne swallowed hard as she recalled the turbulent times of the war.

Although negotiations, strategies and armies kept the castle away bloodshed and dragon fire, the walls were not impenetrable to whimpers of loss and screams agony from the highborn’s well acquainted soldiers calling the Rose without Thorns to their rescue, even at the interdiction of her parents.

Every time the Rose sneaked away from safety, the Lord and Lady of Highgarden sobbed while the peasants and soldiers rejoiced. Her empathetic smile, attentiveness to their wounds and of course, the herbs and food she had carried with her ignited the flicker of hope in the darkest times.

One fateful day, Seraphina stumbled upon two injured knights bedecked in green armor, hidden in the woods—Ormund and Daryn Hightower, gasping for air, on the brink of death from the Battle of Tumbleton.

As Seraphina returned with the blood stained figures of the castle, Lyonel and Jayne’s anger and fear exacerbated.

Highgarden had remained unharmed because of its neutrality that their naive daughter had just broken.

Yet, the gods seemed to show them mercy, perhaps in honor of the lives House Tyrell defended. The Blacks remained oblivious to this act, which could be seen as a declaration of allegiance. Instead, Seraphina’s uncalculated move of benevolence eaned House Tyrell a favourable position in the new Targaryen court: an intimate alliance with the most influential house beside the new king.

As Lyonel contemplated the offer in silence, Jayne squeezed his hand, “Daryn is a handsome, brave and honourable young man. I recognized the look on his face when Seraphina brought him back from the wild,” she pressed a kiss on cheek, “It’s the same way you looked at me years ago, lord husband.”

Lyonel’s gaze softened as he enveloped his wife into his arms with a light chuckle, “Your jest on formality never cease, my love. If the young Hightower truly feels the same about our daughter as I did to you twenty five years ago,” he cupped her cheeks, “Then, perhaps, that boy deserves her hand.”

Jayne held her husband tightly, relishing his scent and warmth. In a world cruel as this, she thanked to the gods everyday for granting her a man of his devotion, wisdom and strength.

“To King’s Landing then?”

“To King’s Landing,” Lyonel nodded before rolling his eyes, his never dying youthful side emerging, “Where the drunken king will be holding a foolish lavish pageant while his people starve. Seven bless the poor girl he will choose as the new queen.”

Jayne laughed wholeheartedly before tending to his arm, returning to the warmth of the interior, “You know, fate favoured us immensely,” she whispered with a mixture of gratitude and anxiety, “If we had agreed to the Kinslayer’s proposal in marriage-“

Lyonel suddenly gripped the touch of her hand, “Thank the wisdom my father and brother had bestowed me. Never trust a Targaryen. The rumours of…” disturbance and disgust written all over his face, “Lady, now a Princess, Cassandra Baratheon’s screams of pain echoed through the Red Keep on her wedding night. I cannot imagine-“

He buried his face in his hands as he sat down with his wife next to the fireplace.

Jayne brushed his hair with adoration, “Don’t overthink about the past, my love. Phina is about to marry a good man.”

The lord smiled as he lifted his head to face his beloved, “Everything I risked, I fought for, it was worth it. For you, for her, for Lancel, and for our people.”

Jayne kissed him passionately before whispering, “You are too good for this world, Lyonel Tyrell.”

As the stars gracefully pirouetted around the moon in the embrace of the night's darkness, and with the imminent date of embarking on the journey to King's Landing drawing near, the wheel of fate began its inevitable revolution once more.

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 2 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Dedicated to @sassysaxxy for quoting my own writing at me, showering me with compliments, and sending me your screams and other genuine reactions to my snippets. Your enthusiasm as a reader ignites my enthusiasm as a writer. I hope you enjoy this! 💗

Summary: Y/N is succeeding as Obi-Wan Kenobi's padawan, but who knew succeeding brought other kinds of difficulties with it?

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: war

Rescue Me masterlist

I swiped at my forehead, wiping the moisture that had collected there away with my sleeve. Obi-Wan warned me about the thickness of Felucia’s climate, but I hadn’t realized this was how it felt to breathe in equal amounts of water vapor and actual air. I felt as though a mesh swatch had been implanted in the back of my throat, making me work twice as hard to gain half as much oxygen. 

All the Coruscant patricians spending hundreds of credits on expensive moisturizing hair and skin treatments just needed to visit here. 

Obi-Wan’s voice flowed through the comm in my ear. “We need more fire towards the east!” 

“Units C3 and 4, fire three clicks east!” I shouted over my shoulder. The brief telltale clatter of the artillery units calibrating behind me was nearly deafening. 

“Yes, sir!” two clones chorused. I twisted my neck slightly at the sound of it. All Jedi were called ‘sir’, but that didn’t mean I would ever get used to it. 

“How’s the view from up there?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“It’s stunning. Too bad you can’t see it.” His huff made me grin as I raised my binocs to my eyes, looking out at the southernmost front in some hope of catching sight of him. But the only thing I could see were the white flashes of clone armor and the streaking red and blue blaster bolts. “How’s the view from down there?”

“Clanky.”

Droids. 

“How many of them?” 

I heard the telltale sound of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber slicing through metal. “One less now,” he grunted. 

I sighed. “Only a few hundred thousand to go.”

The war continued to gnash its way through the galaxy, and few planets were as devastated as Felucia. Sparsely inhabited, the value of the planet came from nysillin. The Separatists and the Republic had been battling for months over control of the precious healing herb. My master and I had only been here for a few days to resolve the current standoff, but I was ready to leave the moment we were allowed to. 

Directly in front of the mountain I stood on was Master Plo Koon’s battalion, arguably the most important part. If the middle of the field was lost, the battle was lost. To the south was Obi-Wan’s battalion, steadily gaining ground, in no small part because of my master. 

The northern regiment, the smallest group of the three, was currently at a standstill. Commander Cody reported no action and no sightings of the Separatist forces, and so, that battalion was currently out of combat.

My position with the artillery gave me the perfect vantage point, not only of all three fronts, but of the village at my back, one of the only villages the Separatists hadn’t managed to pillage. It would stay that way, if the Republic had anything to say about it. 

My master’s voice crackled in my ear. “There’s more trying to cut through the mountains.”

“Unit B, two clicks to the south!” I relayed to the closest artillery gunman. 

“Yes, sir!” He immediately started punching in calculations for trajectory, and I preemptively clapped my hands over my ears to try and hear Obi-Wan’s next words. 

“When the droids fire up their backup generators-” My master’s voice garbled, becoming unintelligible amidst the horrid clatter from behind me.

“Repeat orders!” I requested, pushing my comm-link further into my ear in the hopes of hearing better. But instead of getting clearer, the words got softer and more garbled before completely cutting out.

“Obi-Wan?” No response. “Obi-Wan, can you hear me?!” No response.

I waved over at the comms technician. “I’ve lost Master Kenobi. Can you restore the connection?”

“Right away, sir.” The clone’s helmet tilted down as he started tapping on his screen. Then, his fingers stopped. “Uh…sir?”

My brow furrowed. “What’s the problem? Is the machine malfunctioning?” 

The helmet shook from side to side. “No, sir, it’s not the machine, it’s something external.”

“What about Master Koon? Can we reach him?”

“No, sir, I can’t locate any signals on any frequency, much less hone in on what they’re saying.”

“No other signals?” I said under my breath. Surveying the ground below me, I searched for any suspicious movement, anything that could resemble a jammer. But the battlefield resembled how it looked before with conflict on the central and southern fronts. Desperate, I panned to the north. My eyes caught sight of the glimmering of the shiny, gray armor of battle droids.

“Oh no.” I quickly adjusted the settings and let out a gasp. 

Four clicks ahead of Commander Cody’s battalion, the Separatist AATs were charging. And because of the foliage, Commander Cody wouldn’t be able to see the tanks until they were already within range.

“Scrag!” I ripped the binocs from my eyes, breathing heavily as I stared out at the valley. 

“What’s going on?” one of the clones asked. 

I didn’t reply, still staring. What was I supposed to do? Communications were down. If Commander Cody’s unit was overcome, the Separatists could easily incapacitate the artillery before storming the village.

It’d be a massacre.

And they didn’t even appear to have a jammer with them.

The group marching on the front were still a few minutes away from firing distance, which meant I had a chance to act. How should I seize it? How could I seize it? I was here, with the artillery, removed from the battlefield. 

“Obi-Wan,” I said weakly into my comm, knowing he wouldn’t hear me. “What do I do?” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm down.

In the darkness, Obi-Wan’s wisdom came back to me.

From the Force were we formed and to the Force will we return, he once told me. Sitting cross-legged, his tone perfumed with his seemingly infinite patience, even as I struggled to master the elusive practice of meditation. The Force is your ally. Let it use you, and it will let you use it.

Sentiments that appeared contradictory, but instead formed a perfectly balanced harmony, like the Force itself.

The beginning and ending of all things.

I took in a deep breath, inhaling the humid air before breathing out, letting the cacophony of worries and what-ifs go.

I am here, I thought. 

And the Force answered.

“Commander Y/L/N?”

My eyes flew open to reveal a nervous looking clone.

“What is going on?”

“Communications are down, and there’s a massive force about to reach the 3rd regiment.”

“What are your orders, sir?”

“Fire two kilometers in front of the 3rd regiment’s line and keep firing!” I gave a strained smile. “You’ve just gotten a promotion, trooper.”

There was no path leading up or down the mountain. The artillery was only set up here after being transported by a slow carrier, and I wouldn’t be able to land that thing down on the field. A target that big would be shot down by the Separatists immediately. 

So I stepped right to the edge of the mountain, looking down below. 

I reached out with the Force, took a few shallow, bracing breaths, and jumped.

One of the clones let out a cheer, but the sound whipped away as I free-fell, gaining speed. The wind whipped past me in a roar, and my eyes watered so badly, I had to shut them.

Blindly, I reached out for the Force and felt its aura surrounding me, imparting soft comfort instead of hard, cold fear. The wind around me slowed. I suddenly felt as though I were floating instead of tumbling. I opened my eyes, and I could see the whole valley. 

A searing warning came, and I immediately tucked in my head, bent my arms and legs, and waited for impact.

My feet touched the ground, and I immediately rolled forward.

I stayed there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest as I fought against the water vapor to catch my breath. 

Then, I took off running, ripping through the Felucian vegetation as I sprinted towards the northern front. 

No other planet I’d been to had plants which compared to the size of the ones on this one. The cyan pitcher plants, shaped like the bulb of a flower, stretched far above my head while long, wispy red growths bent and curled every which way. The dangling parts of the yellow plants made them seem like they dripped with sticky yellow syrup. The dull light from Felucia’s yellow sun was colored by the translucent nature of the plants, shining all manner of different hues around me. All the plants grew so fast, it was all the Republic forces could do to keep clear paths between battalions. If I hadn’t been on the mountain looking down at the battlefield a moment ago, I might’ve taken a wrong turn. As it was, I knew precisely which paths to take.

My heart raced when the white tents and equipment came into sight. I tore through the camp. “Where’s Commander Cody?” I asked the first clone I found. He wordlessly pointed, and I rushed in the provided direction. 

A helmetless Commander Cody stood above a projected map of the area, the very view I’d just seen from my position. The commander looked up, clearly surprised to see me. “Commander Y/L/N? What are you doing here?”

I skid to a stop. “I saw the Separatists moving on this position, they’ll be here any minute.” My own voice sounded so even, a marvel considering how out of breath I should’ve been. 

Commander Cody cursed. “That’s why the long range comms aren’t working.”

I nodded.

“We have to hold this line while Master Koon and Master Kenobi are informed and push their lines forward.” Cody turned to one of the clones standing beside him. “Take my speeder to inform Masters Koon and Kenobi of the situation!” The clone nodded and ran the direction I’d come. 

“How long until the troops can be deployed?” 

Commander Cody’s face went grim. “There’s only a platoon assigned to the front. The rest are sleeping or eating. The clankers will be here before I can get them ready.”

I started running towards the front. “I’ll buy you that time!” I called over my shoulder.

Subtly reaching out with the Force, I let the life forces of the clones ahead of me guide my path, and it was a good thing I did. 

The only reason I recognized the edge of the battlefield when I reached it was the gradual dwindle in the number of large pitcher plants, allowing for a slightly more unobstructed view ahead. Heart pounding, I dodged the ferns and giant mushrooms, waiting for the thick air to suddenly fill with blaster shots.

SCREECH!

That was my only warning before a shell screamed over my head. My heart dropped, because I knew I hadn’t reached the squad in time. 

“AATs ahead!” the voice of a clone yelled, and all hell broke loose.

The air filled with blaster shots, and I was surrounded by the high pitched whines following their discharge and the heat that followed them. I deflected as many shots as I was able, trying to reach the platoon. I spotted the camouflage helmet of a clone scout trooper and bounded towards it. 

“Where’s this fire coming from?!” one of the clones behind me cried from his defensive position. “We didn’t hear a warning!”

I managed to reach whom I assumed was the squad leader: an ARC trooper I recognized: Driver. “Commander Cody is rallying the troops now!” I shouted over the noises of combat. 

Driver gave a curt nod before crouching out from behind the pitcher plant to fire a few shots at the Separatists and then rolling back to safety.

I glanced around at the other clones I could sense, all valiantly returning fire. Nine clones and a Jedi had no hope of winning against the infantry corp that was bearing down on us, but we just needed to buy time.

Another shell barreled towards us, and I threw my hand out, diverting it into the trees. Sending a glare at the AAT that came so close to destroying the platoon, I deflected every blast I could. “Hold your ground!”

But it couldn’t last forever.

“Dank’s been hit!” one of the other squad members yelled.

Distracted, I looked behind me to see the white-clad body of a clone on the ground, not moving. Turning away to parry another shell, I reached behind me with the Force to feel Dank’s life.

I felt nothing.

And in that nothing, suddenly, everything slowed down.

A shell came hurtling towards me, slowly rotating in the air as it came closer and closer. With a yell, I threw out my hand, sending the shell back in the direction it’d come from. 

The explosion of an AAT made the corner of my mouth twitch up. Take that, I thought with satisfaction. 

“Engage!”

I dared a glance over my shoulder to see scores of clones running out of the foliage, taking cover behind the pitcher plants and returning fire.

Commander Cody joined me behind the pitcher plant I was using for cover. “Took you long enough!” I called over to him. He waved his hand in the air, dismissing my teasing. “Have either of the masters sent back word?” The commander shook his head, and my heart sank. To win this battle, it was imperative that the other two battalions pushed forward. Cody could hold the line, but he wouldn’t be capable of pushing the Separatists back. 

I ducked behind another pitcher plant, gripping my lightsaber in front of me as I panted for breath. “Obi-Wan,” I said quietly. “Where are you? Why aren’t you here?” I shut my eyes, tuning out the commotion around me.

I am here.

The Force rose up, the crackles of energy surrounding me.

Obi-Wan. I need Obi-Wan.

The answer was a grab of my consciousness. The Force dragging it at top speed, not bothering to weave through the trees and fighters. It was an odd sensation, to fly through solid things and feel only the energy that knit them together.

Then, I felt the light.

“Obi-Wan,” I breathed, my own voice sounding far away. “You need to attack.” The light didn’t react, and I knew he hadn’t felt me. Reaching out with my conscience, I prodded the light sharply. “Attack.”

Suddenly, I got ripped away, flying back to the confines of my own body. I opened my eyes, once again hearing the blasters firing.

Had he heard me?

I wasn't sure.

I peeked over the edge of the plant. The hundreds of droids were nearer, and with it, the crowd of AATs. I was about to turn away when an AAT in the middle caught my attention.  Standing with its top half outside the hatch of an AAT, was a droid, tapping onto a large, welded addition to the AAT.

It could’ve been anything, but I knew better. 

Eighty meters away, there it was.

If I were still with the artillery, I could order them to fire on that AAT, but I was in the battle, and my options were limited.

I scanned the field. The fighting was thick, but the foliage was thicker. With Cody holding up the rear, I might be able to sneak past the droids, get to the jammer, incapacitate it, and turn the tide of the battle.

I’d need back-up.

My eyes fell on Driver, and the plan started to form. “Driver!” I called. The ARC trooper turned, and I waved him over. “On me!” Without hesitation, I started on a zig-zag path, darting from cover to cover, never staying still enough to be a target. Driver and two other clones followed me.

It was harrowing, leaping from side-to-side, hoping that no droid would notice us before we got around. Finally, we got to the edge of the battlefield.

“What’s going on, sir?” Driver asked.

I peeked over the tree we hid behind. “We’re going to take out the AAT that's jamming our comms,” I told them breathlessly.

Driver and the other two clones exchanged looks, but none of them raised an objection. They nodded at me, and together, we snuck through the foliage, trying to keep the battlefield within sight, but remain unseen.

Finally, we reached as far as we needed. Maybe fifteen meters into the battlefield, and we’d reach the AAT.

I singled out the AAT with the welded addition. “That’s the one!” I shouted above the clamor on the battlefield. 

“Click,” Driver yelled, “you’re up! We’ll cover you!”

One of the clones nodded, his hand drifting to his belt where a number of dangerous looking items lay. He took off in a zig-zag jog, ducking around droids and staying low to the ground.

I watched him, my anticipation rising.

Click reached out to lay a hand on the AAT when suddenly his body contorted. I caught sight of a blaster mark in the center of his chestplate before he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Horror rose up in me, and with it, the distress of the two clones standing with me.

I shook my head. Time to do my job. My eyes shifted to the thermal detonator on Driver’s belt. 

“I need your detonator!” I hissed at Driver. 

Driver’s helmet shifted slightly, and I could feel the sense of duty that tugged at him. “Sir, I should be the one to–”

“Driver, now!”

Grabbing the detonator from his belt, he tossed it at me, and I caught it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sprinted into the battlefield, the air around me filling with red and blue blaster bolts alike. I didn’t check my surroundings to see if the droids or other AATs had noticed me, trusting the Force to warn me of an impending threat. 

I felt the blaster bolt before I saw it and ducked, the bolt whizzing over my head. I didn’t bother to look in the direction it’d come from, solely focused on my target. 

Finally, I reached the AAT and jumped onto it, throwing open the hatch door. Hitting the activation button, I dropped the detonator into the interior and slammed the hatch closed. 

I slid off the AAT as fast as I could. Dropping beside Click’s body, I hooked my arms underneath his armpits and yanked. 

Another clone appeared beside me. “Sir, we need to lea–”

The detonator blew. 

The vigor of the blast threw me backwards. I landed hard on my back, my head snapping back.

“–and do it now!”

I nearly cried with relief upon hearing my master’s voice through my comm. 

“They’re retreating!” said Commander Cody’s voice in my ear. “Push forward!”

I lifted my head up in time to see droids retreating…right in our direction.

The clone beside me let out a groan, and I caught sight of the bashed side of his helmet. I was on my feet in an instant, slinging his arm over my shoulder and practically dragging him with me. 

Driver ran from the tree, coming to the clone’s other side. 

Together, the three of us reached cover, just in time to hear the shouts of victory and aggression as the clone forces ran forward, chasing the Separatists away. 

Driver and I leaned the clone against the tree. I could sense his pain, which only increased my guilt. This clone had just been trying to get me to safety and ended up injured because of it. I was not going to let him die like the others. I crouched in front of him, reaching out to inspect his helmet. “What’s your name?” I asked softly. The clone didn’t respond; his arms were out to the sides, as if he were trying to balance himself. Resting a firm hand on his shoulder, I asked again. “Soldier, what’s your name?” 

“CT-7563.” Even through the modulator of his helmet, I could hear that he tripped over the numbers. 

My eyes flicked to Driver, who now kneeled beside me. “What’s his other name?”

“We call him Exit,” Driver answered. 

I grabbed both sides of the helmet, preparing to ease it off. “Okay, Exit, I’m going to take off your helmet so I can see your wound better.”

I could feel Exit’s hesitation, but when he raised no objection, I gently tugged on the helmet, pulling it off his head. 

The right side of Exit’s head was already swelling, and there was a nasty gash oozing blood into his buzzed hair. Exit blinked rapidly, and I wished I had a flashlight to check his pupillary response. But I didn’t have a flashlight; I didn’t even have a bandage to stop the bleeding.

I glanced around to see what was available to me, and my eyes fell on a red spotted plant—the very plant responsible for this skirmish. “Here,” I said. I delicately plucked a leaf. “Chew this, it’ll help.” 

Disoriented as he was, I didn’t expect Exit to hold up his hand. “I s-shouldnnn’t.” 

I threw him a stern look. “There’s more than enough to go around. Chew it.” Exit obediently put the plant in his mouth, and Driver knelt down to help him up. “Help him back to the FOB, will you?”

“Yes, Commander Y/N.”

Another clone joined them, and together, they brought their injured brother onto the battlefield, towards the camp. 

I stopped, crouching onto the ground to take a moment. As my adrenaline receded, the muscles of my neck started to ache from the detonator’s kickback. I could only hope for no more explosions in the near future. 

Click’s body still lay where I’d abandoned it, and the sight made my chest feel tight. 

“May the Force be with you,” I murmured under my breath as two clones walked up to their brother, rolling him onto a stretcher so they could carry him off to the field. Had he died on Coruscant, his body would be cremated. But I’d been in this war long enough to know his body was headed for a mass grave, marked only with the helmets that no longer had anyone to claim them.

The only funeral rites these warriors were likely to receive.

A hand patted my shoulder. “You did good,” Commander Cody said. Through the thicket of gruff and stern words, I could make out the undertone of pride. 

I sighed, knowing it was undeserved. “I deserted my post.” I reflexively tightened my grip on my lightsaber. “I was supposed to stay with the artillery.”

“You saw a problem no one else did, and you acted before it was too late.” Commander Cody glanced over at where the Separatists had been minutes ago. “Your leadership prevented the worst case scenario and turned it into a victory.”

I straightened. “We can only hope my master agrees.” 

“Padawan Y/N!”  Master Plo Koon approached. Normally, his presence was a calming one, but at that moment, I was unnerved by the inability to see his eyes.

“Master.” I bowed my head, ignoring the twinge from my neck muscles.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, master.”

Master Koon and Commander Cody started for the camp, sharing information on the battle as they went.

The sound of humming light filled my head, causing me to look up.

Obi-Wan walked straight towards me, dirt covering his grim face and unignited lightsaber clenched tightly in one hand as he crossed the field with his long, uninterrupted strides. He looked tired, but uninjured. 

I walked to meet him, a soft smile on my face. “In one piece, old man?”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Of course it would be too much to hope the Separatists might’ve goaded you into holding your tongue.”

“Well, they couldn’t goad me into holding onto my thermal detonator.” I grinned.

Obi-Wan shook his head, but he couldn’t hide a small smile. “Come, we must go check on the village while the troops secure the field.” 

Obediently, I fell into step behind him. “How long do you think the Separatists will take to regroup?”

“No way to know,” Obi-Wan answered as we strode through the camp. “They took a hit today, but it’s just another step in the dance.”

I lowered my eyes somberly, the day’s victory coming into perspective. He was right, as always. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single time when Obi-Wan had been wrong about–

“Master Kenobi?” a voice from behind us said.

Commander Cody stood there, his arms folded in an imposing stance. 

“Yes, commander?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Commander Cody jerked his head to the right. “The village is that way.”

I pursed my lips to keep from smiling.

-

“Don’t put any weight on that leg, y’hear?” I said, playfully narrowing my eyes at the Felucian villager as I wrapped bandages around her wound.

She laughed, bending her long neck sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, let’s get you up.” I helped her shift to the end of the rickety cot in the med tent, hoisting her up onto her right leg.

“Thank you,” her husband told me, bowing his head as he reached his arm around his wife, helping her balance. 

“No problem,” I replied, watching the two of them hobble towards the mess tent to join the other villagers that had joined the Republic camp to receive some nourishment. Judging by the tightness around the villager’s eyes, she was still in pain, but her husband watched her with such tenderness, as if he was counting himself lucky to be nothing more than a crutch.

“How’d she get injured?”

I jumped, then relaxed when I recognized the voice as Obi-Wan’s. “She got caught in a Separatist trap and nearly lost her foot. Unfortunately for her, the village still hasn’t found a shaman to replace the last one.” I walked over to the makeshift sanitizer, quickly cleaning my hands. “Honestly, she still might lose the foot if she’s not careful.”

When my statements were met only with silence, I glanced up at my master and caught sight of the calculation on his face. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Nothing. Shall we go eat?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was thinking something, and he was thinking something about me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He let out a little sigh, his mouth curling into a smile. “Seeing you acting as a healer. It’s…satisfying.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Well, don’t go getting any ideas about jumping in a Rathtar den, ‘cause I’m not patching you up.” 

Obi-Wan laughed easily. “C’mon, let’s go eat.” 

Perhaps when the clone wars ended, there would be things I missed. I would miss getting to explore new planets and meet new people. I would miss the demands of battle, whether it demanded more energy where there was none or ingenuity in the face of stress.

I would not, however, miss the rations.

I popped another sweet energy cube into my mouth, chewing it and trying not to grimace. 

Opposite me, Obi-Wan was staring at the cube in his palm with great distaste. The delighted cry of a child filled the air, and a stampede of them started to run past in the strange waddling way of Felucians. 

Obi-Wan slyly reached out to them, allowing one of the children to pluck the cube off his palm and into her mouth with a grin. 

I sent him a sideways glance as the children ran out of the mess tent. “You’re going to go hungry.” 

Obi-Wan conspiratorially lowered his voice. “Better an empty stomach than a stomach with that stuff inside it.”

I snorted. “I’ve fought on an empty stomach. Trust me, it’s no good.”

Obi-Wan’s face fell. “Krell?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to, Obi-Wan already knew. Instead of dredging up the past, I looked down at my plate. "Agh," I blurted at the burst of pain that ran up my neck.

Obi-Wan tensed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no." I rubbed at the sore spot. "Caught the wrong end of an explosion and earned myself some whiplash."

"I think I saw some cream in the med tent." Obi-Wan started to get up, but I grabbed his arm.

"I'm fine."

Obi-Wan didn't ask me if I was sure, he simply fixed me with his classic I-know-better-than-you look.

"It'll clear up on it's own," I insisted. "Save the supplies for the clones and the villagers."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth.

“Are you ready, Master Kenobi?” Master Koon approached our table. “The council is waiting.”

My master threw me a look and then got to his feet. “Yes, Master Koon.”

“Your padawan will have much to tell us,” Master Koon said. 

I shot upright in my seat. “What?” I looked at Obi-Wan, hoping he would provide me with insight, but he was staring at Mast Koon as well, a slightly wary expression on his face. His Force light was flickering with uncertainty.

“What am I telling?” I asked Master Koon.

“We will want to speak of your actions today,” Master Koon replied, seeming absolutely calm. 

My…actions?

An uncomfortable tension settled in my stomach, and the souring of the previously sweet energy cubes made me wish I’d followed my master’s example and refrained from eating. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Master Kenobi.” Master Koon left us, walking towards the erected tent for the council meeting.

Obi-Wan didn’t move for a moment. He kept his eyes on Master Koon’s retreating back, but I could feel the buzzing surrounding us, like the Force was flocking to my master. Whatever he was thinking, the Force was drawn to it. 

Obi-Wan started walking towards the tent, not sparing me another glance as he left me alone in my panic.

If Master Koon thought my actions deserved a place in a council meeting…perhaps my desertion of my post in the battle was a bigger deal than I thought. 

Of course it was. What had I been thinking? I must’ve been possessed by some maverick spirit, urging me to leap into battle without instruction from my superiors. Perhaps the spirit of Skywalker, I thought nervously to myself, except I don’t have the role of the Chosen One to cushion my fall. 

Now I was to defend my actions in front of the council? Not once in all my appearances before the Jedi council had they asked me to speak. Every time, I stood in Krell or Kenobi’s shadow, keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. 

The longer I waited to be summoned, the greater the buzzing of the light grew. Only Master Koon and Obi-Wan were physically inside the tent. If the Force gathered around any of the other members, I wouldn’t be able to feel it, not this far away from Coruscant. What could the council be discussing that would send Obi-Wan into such a flutter?

After what felt like ages, Obi-Wan poked his head outside of the tent, making eye contact with me. 

I sucked in a breath, slowly rising to my feet.

But then Obi-Wan’s eyes moved to something behind me. “Commander Cody, the council wishes to speak with you.”

Commander Cody appeared as aghast as I felt. “As the council wishes,” he said finally. He got up from his chair, shooting me a look before ducking into the tent. I stared at the tent flap. Why did they want to speak to Cody? Was it simply for a report on the battle? Or were they asking Cody to give a report about me? 

Altogether too soon for my tastes, the tent flapped opened as Commander Cody came out. I searched for something in his face to clue me into what he’d said about me, but his stoic face revealed nothing.

“Y/N.” My master stood, holding the tent flap open. “We’re ready for you.” I stayed where I was, trying to read his face, but the words there were in Shyriiwook. 

“Hells,” I muttered. “Here comes the heavy weather.” After lingering a moment to lift my chin high, I walked inside the tent.

Master Koon stood off to one side while Obi-Wan moved to stand at the other. In between them, life-sized holograms of each member of the Jedi Council was projected. With the glitching and imprecision of the transmissions, it was impossible to tell what expressions they wore. 

“Padawan Y/N,” Master Windu began, “the 3rd Regiment went into conflict under your discretion, correct?”

Aware of Master Windu’s deep distaste for excuses, I erred on the side of brevity. “Yes.”

“And you joined them once the comms went out?”

“Yes.”

“Can you please tell us why?”

“When the comms went out, I surveyed the battlefield with binocs, and I spotted the enemy making a move towards the 3rd Regiment in force. Knowing they weren’t expecting conflict and being unable to communicate with them, I left orders for the artillery to fire upon their position while I got to the line as quickly as I could.”

Master Fisto tilted his head. “Commander Cody informed us you arrived on foot.”

It wasn’t a question, and yet there was still a suspicious silence. “I…looked for a speeder of some sort, but the only ship with the artillery was the command platform, and I wouldn’t be able to land that by the front without it getting shot down.”

“How did you get down off the mountain?” Master Windu asked.

“I jumped.”

The humming of the light dissipated for a moment, and it took everything in me to keep my focus on Master Windu. 

Master Windu cleared his throat. “So once you…jumped…and you reached the northern front, then you took control of the regiment?”

I hesitated. “No.”

“No?” Master Tiin asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Sweat gathered on my palms. “I told Commander Cody of the oncoming fighters, and once a messenger was sent to the other platforms, I went to the front line to buy enough time for the regiment to deploy.” A few of the masters glanced over at each other, and I couldn’t keep quiet. “I didn’t give Commander Cody orders. I informed him of the situation and gave him the time he needed to rally his troops.”

“But you did take three clones with you to bring down the jammer.”

“Yes.”

“And you brought it down how exactly?” 

I swallowed hard. “A thermal detonator.”

“Why didn’t you go to Master Koon or Master Kenobi directly when the comms went out?” Master Mundi asked. 

I hesitated. It felt like a trick question, but it was impossible to know what the masters wanted me to say, so I opted for the truth. “Protecting the village was the most important. That’s why the Republic is here, to defend life. There was very little time, so I trusted my–”

Gut, I very nearly said, but Jedi didn’t make decisions on gut feelings. 

“I trusted my training.”

No one spoke, and a skittish feeling scratched at the walls of my stomach. To stand in front of the most powerful Jedis while none of them spoke? How royally had I screwed up?

“Impressive,” Master Yoda muttered, stroking his chin. “Impressive, very.”

…impressive? 

Did he speak of my disobedience? Were my actions a kind of wrong of epic proportions, it was impressive someone could have behaved so poorly?

My hands started shaking. 

“Padawan Y/N, have you started preparing for your trials?” Master Unduli asked. 

“Yes,” I said hesitantly, unsure of where the question was leading. “I’ve been studying for months.” A strange, shuddering pulse of light shot through the Force like a bolt of lightning, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at my master. His stony face offered no insight. 

“I don’t think you’ll be studying for your trials much longer,” Master Unduli said.

Desperation rocked through my core. I knew it, I thought. Abandoning my post would get me kicked out of the Jedi Order.

“The way I see it,” Master Unduli said, looking over at Master Windu beside him, “Padawan Y/N acted as a Jedi Knight in this situation and turned the tide of the battle.” My mouth fell open as murmurs of agreement rippled through the tent. I quickly closed it, hoping none of the masters had noticed it.

“We commend you on your quick thinking and serenity under pressure,” Master Windu said.

Commend? Serenity? I hardly dared to believe it. “Thank you, masters.”

“The jogan doesn’t roll far from the vine, eh, Master Kenobi?” Master Fisto asked, and appreciative chuckles rippled through the room. Not even my years of strength and endurance training kept me from smiling. They were comparing me to Obi-Wan? That was surely one of the highest compliments in the galaxy.

Aching to see the approval on my master’s face, I dared a peek at him.

But instead of a beam of pride, Obi-Wan’s brows were furrowed and his lips downturned. My stomach flipped. Was he displeased with me?

“We’ll be keeping our eyes on you, Padawan Y/N,” Master Mundi said, drawing my attention once more. “As for right now, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, master, thank you, master.” I bowed low and left the tent, leaving Obi-Wan and Master Koon to finish up their business with the council. Once the tent flap closed behind me, I breathed in the heavy air, trying to process what had just happened.

“Well?” Commander Cody asked from his chair, helmet off and eyebrows raised. “What did they say?” 

“They’re pleased with me,” I answered, surprised by my own words. “They commended me.”

Commander Cody rose from his seat to clap me on the shoulder, celebrating with me in his own grisly way: without saying a word. No reassurances or comments.

“I thought they were going to kick me out of the Order,” I confessed. “Or give me some consequence, not…not tell me I did well.” I smiled at Cody. “But they did.”

Cody went back to his chair. “I’m sure your master is very proud.”

I stopped.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem proud. In fact, he hadn’t said a single thing about the battle. If I’d done something right, Obi-Wan would’ve given a quick affirmation before we went to the village. If I’d done something wrong, we would’ve been knee-deep in a lecture instead of spending time with the children. But Obi-Wan hadn’t done either. If I didn’t do anything right and I didn’t do anything wrong…then what had I done?

Was the Jedi council being generous in their commendation? 

No.

The Jedi Council showing kindness to me had never been much of a priority before, so they must’ve meant it. 

Why was it, then, that Master Windu of all people praised me, and Obi-Wan hadn’t even smiled? Was Obi-Wan simply withholding his pride to save it for the right time? Or did he disagree with the other masters? Did Obi-Wan believe that I’d acted rashly and deserved to be scolded for my disobedience?

I felt weirdly jittery, as though my bones were shaking underneath my skin.

“Safe travels, Master Kenobi,” Master Koon said as he and my master came out of the tent behind me. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” Obi-Wan replied. 

With a nod in my direction, Master Koon walked off in the direction of the mess tent, and Obi-wan brushed past me to walk in Commander Cody’s direction.

I caught up to Obi-Wan. “We’re leaving? 

“The council is pulling us out,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder at me. “The Separatists have pulled back, and the Felucian Commandos can advance without us here. Master Koon will remain to supervise until this heats up again.”

Dreams of Coruscant filled my mind. The tall buildings, the tempered weather, the crowds. “Are we returning to the temple?” I asked hopefully.

“No, they're assigning us to a diplomatic mission.”

“Diplomatic mission?” I echoed, coming to a stop. I’d never been on one. They were rare these days, and in the days when they’d been common, Master Krell would most certainly not have been the council’s first choice to go, which meant I wouldn’t have been either.

Obi-Wan, the great Negotiator, would be. 

My master and Cody exchanged quick words.

“Y/N, let’s go,” Obi-Wan said, his every word clipped.

There was no point in telling me to gather my stuff; the only things I possessed with the robes on my body and the lightsaber at my belt.

Cody flicked two fingers out from his forehead in a tiny salute. “See you later, kid.”

“Next time you see me,” I said with a smile, “I might be a Jedi Knight.”

“About time,” he said gruffly.

I could’ve hugged him for his words, and I stood for a moment, debating doing so.

“Y/N,” said a firm voice behind me.

Ducking my head, I followed Obi-Wan towards the rudimentary spaceport. His light was casting uncertain shadows through the Force. I tilted my head, honing in on the flickers, but the nearer I got to it, the more light skittered away from me.

How strange that I'd felt him as clear as day across a battlefield, but now I couldn't when I walked beside him.

When we reached the ship, I wordlessly went to the cockpit, preparing to take off. According to the rumors, Obi-Wan was an excellent pilot, but I only saw him occupy the pilot’s chair when we were under fire. If we were simply navigating from one planet to another, he left the piloting to me.

“Where are we going, Master?” I called behind me.

“To Taris, in the Outer Rim.”

Taris.

A planet of overgrown swamps and yellow smog that choked the atmosphere. And if we were headed there for a negotiation, we were headed to the far side, where all the wealthy lived. 

Fantastic.

-

The ship’s engine hummed as it hurtled through lightspeed. 

I settled myself on the floor, ducking my head to catch sight of what I needed in the mirror I’d propped up against the wall. I lifted the pair of scissors in my head, grabbing a section of hair.

“What are you doing?” 

Obi-Wan stared down at me, the grime gone from his face. He must’ve washed it.

“My hair’s too long, so…I’m cutting it.” 

A strange heaviness shot through the Force, as if Obi-Wan’s light had tumbled to the ground with a loud and hollow thunk. Before I could try to reach the light, Obi-Wan turned away from me.

His Force signature was confusing me left and right today. The exorbitant turmoil I felt through the Force seemed disproportionate to the lack of words coming out of his mouth. Usually when I sensed this much distress in him, we dialogued about it.

Perhaps the issue now wasn’t with him, but with me. As the battlefield on Felucia had shown, sometimes the receiver was a problem just as much as the transmitter. 

I shook my head softly, raising the scissors again to make the first cut.

“You’ve been my padawan for less than six months,” Obi-wan said suddenly, nearly making me jump out of my skin. He stood above me again, his lips pursed. 

Why was he mentioning our timeline? “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, the words curt, “that you were studying to take the trials.”

“Oh.” I looked away, my scissors hovering uncertainty as I tried to decide whether to go ahead with cutting or put them down. “Well, I’ve been a padawan for years.” Obi-Wan said nothing. I shifted to face him, gripping the scissors in my lap. “I’m twenty-two. Everyone I trained with as a youngling has passed their trials already, and some of them even have padawans of their own now.”

“Right,” came Obi-Wan’s unenthusiastic reply. 

“Do you think I’m not prepared?” I asked worriedly.

“No, no!” he burst out. “I mean, yes, you are, you’re capable, to be sure.” He scratched his chin. “I guess I thought I had more time…” he trailed off, his expression troubled. “More time to…to teach you, to help you…improve.”

“What do I need improvement on?” He didn’t answer, sending my anxiety through the roof. I got to my feet, abandoning the scissors on the floor. Obi-Wan took a step back so as to keep us from colliding. “If there’s something I should be working on, something that would hold me back, I would like to know.”

“There’s…” He paused, his eyes darting all over my face. Why did he seem so…uncertain?

Then it dawned on me, the reason he was reluctant to speak. I crossed my arms, trying to hold the pieces of myself together through the implosion of disappointment. “It’s because of Master Krell, isn’t it? No one wants me to pass the trials because no one trusts me.”

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply.

“It’s because of what I did with the regiment, then. I should’ve found some way to contact you first."

“Y/N-”

“Or maybe it’s my combat skills, I know I’m not the best fighter–”

“Y/N!”

I bit my lip, keeping the flood of words from bursting forth. 

With the opposite problem, Obi-Wan didn’t form any words, didn’t move. He just…examined me.

“Why am I not ready?” I asked, slowly and clearly.

“It’s…you’re…I think…” Obi-Wan visibly wrestled with the words coming out of his mouth, seemingly unsure of which sentiment to land on. Finally, he let out a large sigh. “You’ll be a good Jedi Knight.”

I blinked. That was not the answer I was expecting, nor was it a true answer to my question. When Obi-Wan minced words like this, he minced with great care. So what was the hidden meaning, the intent hiding behind his words?

Obi-Wan shuffled towards the cockpit, leaving me alone with the burgeoning company of my thoughts.

He had doubts. He must’ve, for why else would the echoes of his thoughts fall so heavy?

It was strange. Obi-Wan fought for me, fought to overpower my reputation within the Order and establish me as a true Jedi. The council had always been skeptical, and it hadn’t hindered him one bit. In fact, it seemed to spur him on. 

Now I’d received affirmation from the council, yet Obi-Wan had doubts?

I returned to my reflection, trying to resume my planned activity. But my hands were shaking so much, I couldn’t hold the scissors straight. Every time I worked up the courage to make a cut, the scissors faltered.

-

Part 3

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Rescue Me tag list:

@penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @starlazergazer @blackqueengold @ajwild220 @exploringalaxiesfarfaraway @mortallycrispyglitter @nerdory10 @shinybananapastanickel @sassysaxxy @sunshine-girl013

[laresearchette]

Sunday, March 31, 2024 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: PARISH (AMC Canada) 10:15pm

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

NETFLIX CANADA AS GOOD AS IT GETS BIG DADDY CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF MEATBALLS CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF MEATBALLS 2 DOPE S.W.A.T: UNDER SIEGE

“GIVE US BARRABAS!” - Movies for Easter (TCM) 8:00am: The Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima (1952) (Cartoon Network Canada) 10:00am: Hop (2011) (TCM) 12:00pm: Godspell (1973) (TCM) 2:00pm: The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) (W Network) 4:00pm: Easter Under Wraps (2019) (TCM) 5:30pm: The Robe (1953) (Crave) 5:30pm: Easter Sunday (2022) (W Network) 6:00pm: An Easter Bloom (2024) (TCM) 8:00pm: Easter Parade (1948) (TCM) 10:00pm: King of Kings (1961) April 01 (TCM) 6:00am: Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ (1925)

CURLING (TSN/TSN3) 8:00am: LGT World Men's Curling Championship: Canada vs. Scotland

MLB BASEBALL (SN/SN1) 1:30pm: Jays vs. Rays (SN Now) 4:00pm: Red Sox vs. Mariners (TSN2) 7:00pm: Cardinals vs. Dodgers

MLS SOCCER (TSN2) 1:30pm: DC United vs. CF Montreal (TSN2) 3:30pm: Atlanta vs. Chicago

2024 WORLD FIGURE SKATING CHAMPIONSHIPS (CBC) 2:00pm: Exhibition Gala

NHL HOCKEY (SN360/SNPacific) 3:30pm: Ducks vs. Canucks

NBA BASKETBALL (SN) 7:00pm: Warriors vs. Spurs (TSN/TSN4) 6:00pm: 76ers vs. Raptors

NORTHERN AIR RESCUE (APTN) 7:00pm: At Missinippi Airways, medivac pilots do much more than fly planes; when a job-related injury sidelines one of their crew members, a talented young pilot earns her shot at moving up to the medivac program.

OCEAN WARRIORS: MISSION READY (APTN) 7:30pm: An oil spill from a grounded tug and barge in 2016 proved devastating to the Heiltsuk, who use their waterways for food, transport and cultural practices; today, Heiltsuk's Coastal Nations Coast Guard Auxiliary team searches for a missing community.

THE JESUS MUSIC (Super Channel Heart & Home) 8:00pm: With stirring songs of faith, love and hope, Jesus music rises from America's 1960s counterculture movement to become a worldwide phenomenon.

BIG BROTHER CANADA (Global) 9:00pm

HIGH COUNTRY (CTV Drama) 9:00pm: After Rose's harrowing ordeal in the bush, Andie investigates another suspect in the disappearances, ex-army hermit Ghillie Jack.

INTO THE DARK: DOWN (T&E) 9:00pm: Two office workers get trapped in an elevator over a long Valentine's Day weekend. A promising romantic connection turns dangerous as they learn more about each other.

PETER RABBIT (Starz Canada 2) 9:00pm: Peter Rabbit and his three sisters enjoy spending their days in Mr. McGregor's vegetable garden. A battle of wills soon breaks out as McGregor hatches scheme after scheme to get rid of Peter -- a rabbit who proves to be a worthy and wily opponent.

PROSPER (Super Channel Fuse) 9:00pm: Cal locks horns with a psychologist as he suffers a breakdown following Rosa's suicide.

THE CURSE OF OAK ISLAND (History Canada) 10:00pm: The team has finally reached target depth in the Garden Shaft, but their drilling efforts may be thwarted by a legendary flood tunnel.

BRYAN'S ALL IN (HGTV Canada) 10:00pm (SERIES PREMIERE): Matt and Alicia bought their town's beloved bowling alley to save it from being torn down. The business is a local landmark, giving young, old, and everyone in between a safe, familiar place to gather and unwind.

[doublehex]

Powers Greater Than Hatred

There are two passages that are often quoted of Daenerys from A Game of Thrones. The first, and most popular, are the final sentences in the novel.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

It’s easy to see why these final lines are so often quoted within the fandom. They are poetically powerful; this is an impactful arrangement of words that have an emotional punch. The final chapter stands as some of George’s most poetic writing he has ever done. It is filled with mythology that has been lacking in the novel up to this point; for most of A Game of Thrones, the supernatural is related to long dead legends or psychedelic visions that make it hard to grasp exactly what they were meant to entail. The final chapter, the return of the dragons, turns the supernatural from vision quest into a tangible, real thing. And most importantly, this passage uplifts the book; it showcases that there is a reason to hope, that the dark turn after Eddard Stark’s execution is not what the series is about. Instead of leaving on a melancholic note, the novel ends with hope and wonder for what the future will bring.

I am not going to talk about that passage today. I want to talk about the second passage, one that I feel speaks much more closely to the themes that George is trying to hit with the series. This is from one of the final paragraphs of Daenerys IX, in the moments that build up to when Daenerys must euthanize Khal Drogo. Even when Daenerys is so full of despair, George still give us reason to hold onto hope:

She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai.

The second half of the passage is directly rooted in the emotional context of the scene. Mirri Mazz Dur had used shadow magic to both rob Khal Drogo of all sentience and intelligence, as well as killing Daenerys’ son Rhaego in the womb. Most of Khal Drogo’s khalatar, his army of warriors that was the mightiest and largest in all of Dothraki recent history, had splintered and broken apart under a dozen different warlords. Daenerys is lost and alone for allies save for the exiled Westerosi knight Jorah Mormont, who has his own selfish wants in staying close to her. 

It is the first half that George establishes an important thread that he weaves throughout the series. Evil has its limits. Hatred, corruption, all of the sins of the world, there is a point where they are undone. This theme is manifested in the fourth book of the series, A Feast for Crows. Tywin Lannister has been murdered by the son he has abused for all of his life, and the Lannister regime that he betrayed and murdered to build is falling apart. The book is not just a reference to all those that have died over the course of The War of the Five Kings, but to the Lannisters. House Lannister itself is the feast for crows. It is a tower of dominos and it has started to crumble. All of the petty evils of that house is finally crashing down. Evil has limits. Evil is undone. There are powers greater than hatred. 

Paint that contrast with the Starks and the Targaryens. The swords of the North are riding to rescue “Ned’s precious little girl”. They don’t know that the little girl is not Arya Stark but Jeyne Poole who has been forced to masquerade as her to preserve her life, but that doesn’t matter. The fact that the Northern lords, even after being decimated at the Red Wedding, even after being forced to submit, will ride and fight and die in memory of Eddard Stark, that matters. Even after Daenerys flies away from Meereen on Drogon, her people are fighting against the masters in her name. It matters that they believe in her cause. It matters that the freemen will fight and die to make sure their children will never know what it means to be a slave. 

A Song of Ice and Fire is often painted as a cynical, bitter response to fantasy. It is the forefather of the grimdark subgenre. That is an erroneous attribution. The books remind us that there are powers stronger than hatred. Of course there are scenes that have grit to it, and it can be bitter at times, but the saga is never cynical. It doesn’t say that there is no meaning to the good fight.

If watching the fall of House Lannister should say anything, it would be that evil will always devour itself in time, and eventually, good and decent people will pick up the pieces. 

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Footage from inside a building nextdoor from the target of an Israeli occupation airstrike targeting civilian homes in Deir al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip, where at least 9 civilians were killed and others buried under the rubble.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏡💥🚑 🚨

ISRAELI OCCUPATION FORCES LAUNCH FRESH AIRSTRIKES SLAUGHTERING DOZENS

The Israeli occupation forces (IOF) have renewed airstrikes across the Gaza Strip Friday night, causing dozens of new casualties among Palestinian civilians.

According to early reports, IOF warplanes resumed airstrikes on Deir al-Balah and Jabalia, targeting civilian homes and leaving entire families buried under the rubble of their homes.

Palestinian public broadcaster, Palestine TV reported 17 dead after occupation fighter jets bombed three civilian residences in Jabalia and Deir al-Balah.

Meanwhile, in Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, Zionist air forces bombarded the Abu Ghali family home in the Yibna Refugee Camp in central Rafah, killing a young child and wounding several other civilians.

In another crime, occupation warplanes bombed the Shabat family home in Beit Hanoun, in the northern Gaza Strip, resulting in multiple casualties, while occupation artillery and airstrikes targeted the Sheikh Zayed neighborhood of Beit Lahia, along with the eastern section of the Jabalia Refugee Camp,

Elsewhere, in the village of Maghraqa, in central Gaza, an occupation drone targeted and killed a civilian Palestinian man with gunfire.

In an earlier attack, Zionist air forces bombarded a civilian vehicle and a group of people in Hamad City in Khan Yunis, in the south of the Palestinian enclave, while occupation soldiers detonated multiple residential homes in the Al-Mashrou neighborhood west of Khan Yunis.

Several Palestinians were also killed when occupation artillery shelling targeted the eastern neighborhoods of Deir al-Balah in central Gaza.

In what is being described as a "miracle", five members of a Palestinian family, bombed in their homes by the Israeli occupation army over 9 days ago in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, were pulled from the rubble of their home alive, looking like "skeletons," according to reports in the Palestinian media.

According to the Palestinian Civil Defense, “After 9 days under the rubble, and despite the lack of capabilities and primitive manual equipment, the Civil Defense crews were able to rescue the child, Ahmed Naeem and four members of his family, alive in difficult circumstances, and their bodies had become skeletons. From under the rubble of their house, which was targeted by occupation aircraft with missiles, which led to the death of 30 martyrs at the time in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood in the center of Gaza City."

As a result of Israel's ongoing genocide in the Gaza Strip, the death toll has risen to upwards of 30'228 martyrs, mostly women and children, while the number of wounded now exceeds 71'377.

#source1

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#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[silicacid]

Al Jazeera journalist Samer Abudaqa killed in Israeli attack in Gaza

Al Jazeera Arabic journalist Samer Abudaqa has been killed and his colleague Wael Dahdouh was wounded in an Israeli attack in Khan Younis, southern Gaza.

Cameraman Abudaqa and correspondent Dahdouh were reporting at Farhana school in Khan Younis when they were hit by an Israeli strike on Friday.

Rescue teams were unable to immediately reach Abudaqa and others at the site due to Israeli bombardment.

“Rescuers just managed to retrieve the cameraman Samer Abudaqa’s body,” a spokesperson for the media network said.

Dahdouh was hit by shrapnel on his upper arm, and managed to reach Nasser hospital where he was treated for minor injuries.

Witnesses said earlier there was heavy shelling in the area around the school.

Wael Dahdouh says the network’s crew was accompanying civil defence rescuers on a mission to evacuate a family after its home was bombed.

“We captured the devastating destruction and reached places that had not been reached by any camera lens since the Israeli ground operation started,” Dahdouh said from his hospital bed.

As the Al Jazeera journalists were heading back on foot because the areas were not accessible by car, Dahdouh said “something big” happened that knocked him to the ground.

After the explosion, Dahdouh said he pressed on his wounds and walked out of the area to get help, but by the time he reached an ambulance, medics said they could not return to the site of the attack because it was too dangerous.

Subsequent efforts to coordinate a safe passage to send rescuers for Abudaqa were delayed, Dahdouh said, adding that one ambulance that tried to reach the cameraman came under fire.

Many Palestinians from the central and northern parts of Gaza have sought shelter in Khan Younis since the war began in October. Many have now been pushed further south towards the strip’s southernmost city of Rafah after Israel intensified its military operations in Khan Younis.

The attack comes amid violent clashes between Palestinian fighters and the Israeli army in locations across Gaza. Residents reported fighting in Shujayea, Sheikh Radwan, Zeitoun, Tuffah, and Beit Hanoon in north Gaza, east of Maghazi in central Gaza and in the centre and northern fringes of Khan Younis, according to the Reuters news service.

The Al Jazeera Media Network condemned the attack and extended its condolences to Abudaqa’s family in Gaza and Belgium.

“The Network holds Israel accountable for systematically targeting and killing Al Jazeera journalists and their families,” a statement read.

“In today’s bombing in Khan Younis, Israeli drones fired missiles at a school where civilians sought refuge, resulting in indiscriminate casualties,” the network said.

“Following Samer’s injury, he was left to bleed to death for over 5 hours, as Israeli forces prevented ambulances and rescue workers from reaching him, denying the much-needed emergency treatment,” the statement added.

In late October, Wael Dahdouh lost four of his family members in an Israeli air raid.

His family had been seeking refuge in Nuseirat camp in the centre of Gaza when their home was bombed by Israeli forces, killing his wife, Um Hamza, his 15-year-old son, Mahmoud, his seven-year-old daughter, Sham, and his grandson, Adam, who died in hospital hours later.

Calls for accountability

The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) said it was “deeply saddened” and called for an independent investigation into the attack.

The press freedom group says the conflict in Gaza is the deadliest for journalists it has ever recorded.

“We’re outraged by the high price, I would say the extreme price, that Palestinian journalists are paying,” the CPJ’s Carlos Martinez de la Serna told Al Jazeera, adding that there was a “clear prevailing sense of impunity.”

“We need international, independent investigations to assess all these killings and those responsible need to be accountable,” said de la Serna. “It’s essential to remember that journalists under international humanitarian law are civilians, and the obligation on all parties involved in the war is to protect them, and what we’re seeing, is that journalists are being killed.”

The International Federation of Journalists (IFJ) said it was “shocked” at the attack.

“We condemn the attack and reiterate our demand that journalists’ lives must be safeguarded,” it said in a post on X.

An IFJ report published last week found that 72 percent of journalists who died on the job this year were killed in the Gaza war.

‘A professional, strong team’

The two journalists have worked together with Al Jazeera Arabic since before the war.

“[Samer] and Wael make up a very professional, strong team on the ground, documenting everything and bringing all the facts and live pictures of what the Palestinian people have been going through,” Hani Mahmoud said.

“But particularly with this war, given its intensity in scale and magnitude and the sheer amount of destruction, they have been at the forefront of covering every little detail that one might have forgotten about,” he added.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Got myself in a cycle of stress editing / rewriting particular piece which will not go the way I want. So I abandoned it for now and challenged myself to just write a one-off scene that has lived in my head for a long time with no going back and editing or adjusting but just a linear splurge of words and silliness.

It’s entirely ridiculous but here it is anyway (with an affectionate nudge to @crunchyluigi @obeyweegee214 @galaxytransman)

It’s a Secret No-One Knows

6pm on Tracy island and all was quiet as Scott made his way up the stairs into the lounge.

Virgil, Gordon and Alan were still in the air on the way back from a tricky mine rescue in Northern Europe. He was grateful that success had been confirmed on comms as he’d been on the point of ignoring John’s pointed comments about flight hours and heading north.

He’d have been there with them of course if, when the call came in, he and One hadn’t already been plucking panicking, inexperienced climbers off of one of his favourite crags in the Blue Mountains. His nimble ship was always the most suited to such environments and frankly he could have done it in his sleep.

Oh, but it was such a waste of his time and fuel! Enough awful disasters happened around the world every day without people putting themselves into danger because they were more focussed on researching what shots they wanted for their vlog than on the rating of the climb they were undertaking. The names the Aussies had assigned to each route didn’t exactly help - the latest gaggle of idiots had got half way up “Does my Bum Look Big On This?” wearing entirely inappropriate shorts for the weather and got themselves tangled in each others’ safety lines while trying to take selfies from a distinctly unorthodox angle. It had taken every last ounce of self-restraint he had not to accidentally drop their phones into the ravine.

And the next one to use the word ‘gnarly’ was going to experience an Incident with the passenger loading bay door.

Over the ocean.

At Mach 19.

When had young people got so ridiculous?

And when had he stopped being one? He sighed and dragged his hands down his face. Damn, he really was getting old and grumpy.

And probably hangry, now he thought about it. Well that was fixable even if the inexorable march towards irrelevant middle age was not. He made a beeline for the fridge and found himself uninspired by the array of pre-prepared high calorie low effort snacks they usually favoured post mission. He craved something… nutritious…

Ignoring the imagined old-man mockery of the younger brothers who resided in his brain, he pulled out every fresh ingredient they had in stock: Eggs, bacon, sausages, three types of cheese, peppers, spring onions, basil… ah Ha! He knew exactly what this was going to be. A quick rummage in the larder turned up a bag of potatoes and he hefted it over his shoulder, flicking the switch on grandma’s ancient radio as he went past.

Ooh, ‘Happy 90s Hour’ was starting. One of his guilty pleasures as a teenager in the early 50s…

The repetitive peeling and dicing task combined with the irrepressibly cheery pop bangers slowly eased the knot of grouchiness in his chest. By the time he scooped the mountain of potato cubes into the dustbin-lid sized frying pan he was singing along with both halves of the Barbie Girl duet. A pleasing sizzling ensued and he grinned to himself. This was going to be epic. A little prodding with the spatula to cook them evenly then he turned the heat down and did a little slide sideways to fetch the meat and a shuffle and a hop back to add them to the pan.

As John popped up on the kitchen comm, his big brother was too busy volta-ing through the kitchen with a cheese grater to notice. Because you can’t just walk across a room when Ricky Martin is playing. John’s quizzical single eyebrow was rapidly joined by its twin as he spotted the pan on the stove… he cut the connection and leapt into the elevator, sending a message to Virgil to put his proverbial foot down.

Frittata Night was not to be trifled with.

And so it was that all four younger brothers took the elevator up from the hangar together and arrived in a state of some excitement for the culinary experience that awaited them.

As the door opened however Virgil threw out his arms to prevent them piling out. The chatter stopped immediately as they peered round the wall of brother to spy their eldest dancing to and fro at the stove and belting out the words to some ancient pop song:

So hold on to the ones who care

In the end they’ll be the only ones there

When you get old and start losing your hair

Can you tell me who will still caaaaare?

As the chorus dropped so did the jaws of Alan and Gordon for who knew their biggest brother could move his hips like that? And why was he waving the spatula that way? Alan looked wide eyed to John and pointed with a shaking hand as if to ensure his space brother was seeing the same thing he was. John, didn’t acknowledge him, instead staring straight ahead, tapping a finger on the doorframe in time with the beat. Gordon turned to Virgil unable to verbalise beyond “bu.. bu… bu…” only to find his tank of a brother smiling broadly and… his jaw dislocated further… also swaying his hips in time.

Then he was gone.

… And so was John!

Both of them jigging across the floor to join their brother in an honest to goodness dance routine while the three of them sang nonsense words. Alan lost control of his knees and collapsed cross-legged to the floor. Gordon desperately tried to grab his phone to record the moment but fumbled and dropped it down the back of the couch. And then it was over.

And there was frittata.

And if the Tinies were unusually quiet during the meal, the elder three didn’t notice as each treasured the memories of their little dance trio ‘performing’ for their biggest fan. While eating her signature dish.

Fin.

*****

You want the dance routine? Course not… but here is is anyway (Scott starts singing at about 0:40, chorus and excellent hip action kick in at about 0:52)

Edit to add: Weirdly specific note because the precise image is apparently super important to me (clearly been sucked in by the child watching Strictly) and because I forgot there are two types of Volta… this is the move I mean - the samba one (skip to 1:44 of the video and it’s just a few seconds).

[thebluemallet]

My Immediate Thoughts on the Latest Avatar: The Last Airbender Trailer

THE SHIP DESIGN FOR THE FIRE NAVY SHIPS! THAT MAST!

This must be the North Pole and leading up to the Siege of the North.

Appa soaring through the skies.

Yeah, they're really going to go and show us the attacks on the Air Temples. On the one hand, I'm excited about the new material. On the other hand, I feel like I shouldn't be excited about witnessing a genocide even if it's fiction.

IS THAT FIRE LORD SOZIN? OR IS THAT JUST A RANDOM FIRE NATION GENERAL?? I THINK IT'S SOZIN??

Aang breaking out from the iceberg seems a lot more violent than the cartoon but it also looks awesome! And if I were Sokka and Katara, I'd be scared shitless seeing that.

I think that's Monk Gyatso voice in the beginning? And he specifically says that the Fire Nation is embarking on a dark path instead of the super vague "storm clouds are gathering" like in the original cartoon. So Aang goes into that iceberg with more knowledge in this adaptation than in the cartoon.

Daniel Dae Kim looks great as Fire Lord Ozai!

Azula with a bow and arrow? Guess she's expanding her skill set.

Blink and you'll miss it, but that is JET that Katara, Sokka, and Aang are talking to before there's a big ass explosion behind them.

WE'VE GOT THE MOTHER EFFIN OSTRICH HORSES, BABY!

IT'S ZUKO COMING TO RESCUE UNCLE IROH WHEN HE GETS CAPTURED BY EARTH KINGDOM SOLDIERS!

Aang, Katara, and Sokka checking out the ruins of one of the Air Temples. Southern Air Temple, maybe, probably?

Water Tribe! Don't know if it's Northern or Southern but it could be the aftermath of Zuko coming to the Southern tribe to find Aang.

Katara coming in with her belief that Aang can save the world.

I'm in love with every shot of Appa flying!

THE AIR SCOOTER!

AND HE CRASHES INTO A STATUE LIKE HE DOES IN THE ORIGINAL OPENING CREDITS!!!!

There you go! You whiny little complainers finally got your sarcastic Sokka. And he definitely has more emotional range than the Sokka in the other project that shall not be named so I approve!

THAT'S ZUKO'S TINY LITTLE WARSHIP CRUISING AROUND THE SOUTH POLE LOOKING FOR THE AVATAR!!!

UNCLE!

That's not Zuko pinning up that picture of Aang. Maybe it's Zhao?

I fucking love the masks on the Fire Nation soldiers!!!!!!!

Zuko, you moody, angsty, traumatized teenager! I love you!

(This better get renewed so we can get awkward Zuko. I want to hear him say, "That's rough, buddy." I want to know how many takes they ruined when they eventualy film that scene.)

ZUKO AND IROH TEAM UP AGAINST THOSE EARTH KINGDOM SOLDIERS!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you know guys, maybe we should hear out what the fire nation has to say?

Nope, sorry, I was distracted by the abs. They should have had him silhouetted because I'm pretty sure this is the AGNI KAI WHERE HE BURNS HIS KID'S FACE!

Avatar "I don't want the responsibility!" Aang.

It's giving "Because I never wanted to be" and "I'm just one kid" energy.

THE FACT THAT I WILL NEVER GET TO CUDDLE APPA IN REAL LIFE IS A CRIME!

Sokka coming in and reminding Aang that he's not alone in this.

Reminds me of early on in the show when he says "Katara and I aren't going to let anything happen to you."

Momo's excellent comedic timing, there.

IT'S JUN! AND NYLA! IT LOOKS SO FREAKING GOOD!

HOLY FUCKING SHIT! IF THAT'S HEI BAI, THEN I'M GOING TO SHIT MYSELF WHEN THEY SHOW KOH!

Oh, Zuko isn't showing up to Kyoshi this time, it's ZHAO!

SOKKA AND SUKI LOOKING AMAZING FIGHTING TOGETHER!

THAT'S TEO AND AANG FLYING AROUND! THAT'S TEO AND AAANG!

I guess one of the big changes from the cartoon is that we'll see Teo and his dad in Omashu instead of the Northern Air Temple because that's DEFINITELY Omashu they're flying around.

AANG! YOU'RE SO PINT-SIZED COMPARED TO SOKKA AND KATARA! AND THE RUNNING HUG! I CAN'T HANDLE THE RUNNING HUGS! THEY'RE MY KRYPTONITE!

BLUE SPIRT! WE'RE GETTING THE BLUE SPIRIT AND AANG FIGHTING TOGETHER!

Aang ready to kick some Fire Nation butt.

I wonder if that's part of the Siege of the North? It looks like Sokka flies him in on Appa and Aang drops in.

I think the next shot is the South Pole when Zuko attacks trying to find Aang?

Aang pulling out the Matrix moves when Sokka lets his boomerang fly!

KING BUMI! They were really accurate with the costumes here.

KATARA FIGHTING OFF ZUKO AT THE NORTH POLE!!!!

Jet looking like a badass and fighting off some fire benders.

I know I've guessed this several times, but THAT WAS DEFINITELY AANG AND ZUKO AT THE SOUTH POLE!

I like we see the glow slowly going over the tattoos as Aang goes into the Avatar state instead of it just going straight to glowing.

AND THE CHANTING! I LOVE THIS MUSIC SO MUCH!!!

I think Aang's last transition to the Avatar State is definitely him at the Southern Air Temple when he finally has to face what happened to the Air Nomads, but I could be wrong.

Anyway. February 22 isn't that far away and there are not enough words to describe how excited I am for this.