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airas-story · 20 days

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I'm a sucker for angst ironstrange especially amnesia!Tony (and usually happy ending at the end) please make more lol <333

So this is a continuation of the Confabulation Complication. There will probably be either three or four parts depending on the route I take. We have not yet gotten out of the angst.

“Boss?” FRIDAY interrupted. “Miss Potts is requesting access.”

Tony glanced at the wall of windows. They were blacked out and he couldn’t see Pepper, but that meant that Pepper couldn’t see him either. “Tell her I’m busy.” And he was. He’d had FRIDAY gather all of the pertinent footage of the past five years and was skimming through it.

There was a possibility that he’d lost and confused memories from before then, but Tony could handle that later.

Things that had happened in the tower or the compound were easiest to find, followed by things that had happened while he was in his armor.

But there were far too many things that hadn’t happened in either of those situations. He was irritated to realize that he’d spent more time with Stephen—Strange? Tony wasn’t sure—in his sanctum than in Tony’s space. He had almost no data points to tell him how to react to Stephen.

Then again, Tony could just avoid being around Stephen. He could completely skip out on that particular complication.

He could just avoid everyone for that matter, because he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be around most of them.

Some things he remembered weren’t too far off. He remembered JARVIS dying, he remembered Ultron. He very much did not remember Thor picking him up off the ground by his neck or Steve throwing his shield at Tony’s chest and sort of wished he didn’t know about either incident now.

“Boss,” FRIDAY said. “You’ve been in here for three days. Miss Potts is getting worried.”

“Tell her I’m fine. Just getting caught up on my past history.”

He’d watched the break up with Pepper first. The first one. It had been… well, it had been almost exactly as he remembered it. It left a sick feeling in his chest and he’d had FRIDAY give him a presentation of their relationship in the time since.

He’d analyzed the footage desperately. They were good together, right? Not perfect, but that was an entirely unrealistic expectation. But good. He glanced to the side where he’d saved the video of Pepper pulling him into his arms in the aftermath of Ultron and JARVIS. The compassion and love on her face was real and his own expression when he looked at her was somewhere between desperate love and aching need.

That was real.

He didn’t remember it, but it was real. It was good.

“Miss Potts suggested that you may have better luck talking it out with her.”

Tony shook his head immediately. He wasn’t ready to face her. She didn’t deserve to have to deal with a fiancé who didn’t even remember loving her. That was why he was doing this, so he could find the pieces of history that would show him how to love her again.

Or at least how to pretend until it was true.

Because it’d be true again, right? He’d fallen in love with her before, surely he’d fall in love with her again?

He had to. Because this was Pepper.

“Tell her I’ll see her soon,” he said.

He could tell FRIDAY didn’t like the answer, but he had no doubt that she passed it on.

He turned back to the footage of the past he only remembered distorted pieces of.

A spark of light to his left interrupted his scanning and Tony looked over to see a portal opening a few feet away.

Tony froze. The sight of a portal opening into his lab was familiar and the way his stomach flipped with pleasure was entirely instinctual. The nausea that followed was a more appropriate response. He very much did not want to deal with seeing Stephen. He couldn’t bring himself to react though as the portal opened and Stephen stepped through.

Tony’s averted his gaze immediately. He couldn’t look at Stephen. It’d just confuse him.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked.

“Miss Potts called me,” Stephen said. “She asked me to come convince you out of your lab.”

Tony swallowed hard. Pepper played dirty. “Well, you tried. You failed, but you tried. You should probably head back out, now. Tell Pep I’ll be out once I’ve figured out—”

“You’re not going to get your memories back watching footage,” Stephen interrupted. “That’s not how it works.”

Tony clenched his jaw. “I’m not trying to get my memories back.” Not really, at least. His quick dive into confabulation had already told him it wouldn’t be that easy. Sure, he hoped it would spark something, bring back the memories that would make everything make sense again—not that he’d gotten lucky, yet. No, he wasn’t trying to get his memories back, but he could train himself off of the footage, could at least pretend to be the person people expected.

He’d always been good at that.

And hey, fake it til you make it. Tony’d always been good at that too.

It didn’t help much with Stephen, who Tony had abominably little footage of. From the corner of his eye he saw Stephen shift, moving closer.

Tony stiffened.

“Tony, I know that you’re confused—”

“You don’t know anything, actually,” Tony retorted. “I’m fine. Give me a week and no one will be able to tell the difference.”

Stephen didn’t answer immediately; the silence was strangely alarming. “What is that supposed to mean, Tony?”

Tony waved at the footage. “I’m relearning what people expect to see. It won’t be—”

“Tony,” Stephen sounded vaguely horrified. “That’s not in any way healthy. Pretending to be someone you’re not—”

“Is what I’ve done most of my life,” Tony said shortly. “I know how to mask, Stephen. Now, you’ve tried your best, but I’m not in the mood to be convinced out of here.”

Stephen let out a tired sigh. “Tony. You’ve been in here three days. Your fiancé—” Tony flinched, ”—is worried about you. I, as your friend—“ Tony flinched again, “—am worried about you.”

“Yeah, well take your worry somewhere else. Like I said, a week, and then—”

“And are you going to do that with me?” Stephen demanded. “Is that all I’m going to get from you from now on? The person you think I expect to see?”

Tony whirled to face Stephen, frustration spiraling out. “What else am I supposed to do, Stephen? I don’t… I don’t even know if I really know you. The you I remember… The you I remember loved me.” God, why did everything have to go so wrong? “The you I remember would have kissed me in that hospital room, self-imposed rules about kissing be damned. The you I remember would…” He swallowed. “I don’t know if I even know you, yet. I remember kissing you. I remember teasing you whenever I managed to make you blush. I remember curling up with you in the sanctum and just… enjoying each other’s presence as though we didn’t need anything from each other but each other. And that’s all a… that’s all a lie. I don’t… I don’t know you.”

And it hurt. It hurt that Tony had versions of a life that didn’t exist inside his head. It hurt that he wanted it so much when he knew he wasn’t supposed to. It hurt to know that there was no chance he’d ever have that.

“You know me, Tony,” Stephen said quietly. “We may not have kissed, but you certainly teased me plenty. You’ve spent hours working in the sanctum, just spending time with me. You’ve—”

“Stop,” Tony demanded. “Stop. I don’t know you. I’m not sure I want to know you.”

Stephen flinched back, hurt crossing his face. “I’m your friend, Tony.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, the rough gesture tugging at snarls that probably needed to be brushed out. “You don’t get it, Stephen. I’m in love with you. But it’s all a lie.”

Everything was.

#ironstrange #pepper/tony #tony stark #stephen strange #amnesia and confabulation #real things but I'm taking liberties #part 2 #soooo long #oh well

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officialaemondtargaryen · 2 years

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Age Of Consent [part two]

Summary: Dustin’s older sister thinks Eddie Munson could be a bad influence on her younger brother due to their history. Can he change her mind?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson!Reader

Word Count: 1,785

What you’ll find in this series: big angst, wholesome fluff, sexual content, and a lot of profanity.

A/N: I hope you guys like this!

Read Part One || Read Part Three

It had been three weeks.

Dustin was sitting at the kitchen table with a plate full of french toast sticks and scrambled eggs, both drenched in syrup. "Don't forget, our first campaign is tonight."

"How could I forget?" You deadpanned, grabbing an apple out of the bowl in the middle of the table; you ran a hand through Dustin's hair mercilessly.

Surprisingly, you hadn't changed your mind about it. You figured you owed it to Dustin to at least try- he'd do it for you without even asking, in fact, Dustin would give anyone a second chance. And that was the very reason you had your reservations to begin with. Despite the fact that you knew you were putting yourself in a position to be compromised by the likes of Eddie Munson, once again, Dustin's happiness was more important.

You thought of a thousand and one scenarios- a million different words that you would say to him when you saw him again. Yet, you already knew the moment you saw him, everything that you had planned to say would be forgotten. Eddie always had a way of doing that to you, rendering your brain useless. Thinking back on it now, though, you weren't sure if it was his charm or the drugs.

As the hours passed throughout the day, you did your best to throw yourself into your work- but all you could think about was Eddie. To make matters worse, the day was painfully slow, giving yourself plenty of time to ruminate on your past with him. You had thought it was always so complicated with Eddie, but now that you were a few years older, you realized that you were just two stupid kids; young and absolutely fucking dumb. You blamed Eddie for a lot of things that happened back then, and it took you a long time to realize that the decisions that you had made were your decisions.

But, still, would you have made those decisions on your own?

When you finally got home, the house was empty. Hellfire always started promptly at 4:30 PM and Dustin had already mentioned he was going to just hang out at the library with Mike and Lucas until then. You had a couple of hours to get yourself ready before then, and already you were scrambling through your closet to find the perfect outfit.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath after realizing that it took longer than you wanted to put something together. It'd be okay if you were a few minutes late, right? You could certainly make a statement by making an entrance.

You were panicking, and trying to talk yourself out of it. Your mind was turning against you, planting doubts in every thought, and you were so close to dropping out and finding some excuse to feed Dustin and push it off until the next campaign.

No.

You promised.

Besides, it was inevitable that you would come face to face with Eddie Munson eventually. You were honestly surprised that you hadn't yet and considered yourself fortunate to be able to break up with someone in a small town and not constantly run into them. The phrase, 'might as well get it over with' was the only thing driving you at this point. Dustin's happiness be damned.

Your knuckles were white gripping the steering wheel as you pulled into the Hawkins High School parking lot for the second time in the last month. Which was two times too many, if you were being honest. The pressure in your chest was building with each step towards those double doors, and you were constantly second-guessing your decision. It was not too late to turn around.

The hallways were exactly the same as you remembered, as was the smell. Almost everywhere you looked you could replay the memories in your mind, most of them terrible, but there were a handful of good ones; they usually included Eddie. Your feet carried you to your destination and you approached the door to the classroom with caution. You could hear the commotion through the wooden door and peeked through the small window to see him.

He was smiling and waving his hands in the air, his usual theatrics on full display. Your lips pulled back into your own smile as you watched him; your hand shaking, hovering over the doorknob as you weighed the pros and cons of just opening that door and walking back into his life as if you had never left.

You couldn't.

A sigh escaped your lips as you took a step back from the door. You knew the amount of time and dedication Eddie put into every campaign- you had gotten there too late, an interruption of your caliber could destroy the entire flow of the game. You slid down to the floor and pulled out a book from your bag, knowing that you could be here for hours until the campaign ended.

"That was probably one of the best games we've ever played." You heard a familiar voice as the door opened. "It was short but awesome."

Looking up from your book, you saw Mike Wheeler emerging from the classroom- Dustin and Lucas were close behind. You glanced down at your watch and noticed that three hours had passed.

"Totally," replied Lucas. "Eddie is really good at what he does."

"Hey nerds," you said as you stood to your feet.

"You came!" Dustin exclaimed. "Come on, let me introduce you to-"

"Hey, why don't you go wait for me in the car?" You offered instead, handing him your keys. "I can introduce myself."

His brows came together and he was giving you that look again, "Ohkay? I'll be outside, I guess."

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas headed down the hall towards the exit, still chatting excitedly about their first campaign in the Hellfire Club. You waited for the rest of the kids to empty out of the classroom until there was only one left.

You took a deep breath before you pushed open the door and stepped inside that familiar room. The door closed behind you with a small click, and you were expecting him to turn around. He kept his back towards you, though, picking up the game pieces and putting them away neatly. It was quiet, save for the soft sound of Eddie humming to himself. Just as you had thought earlier, your mind had gone blank, and you were desperately searching for the right words.

Get yourself together, girl.

"Still warping the fragile minds of these young padawans, are we?"

You could see Eddie freeze in place.

"I remember a time, not too long ago, in fact, when you were one of those young padawans, yourself, Lady Henderson." The sound of his voice sent a spark throughout your entire body. He turned to face you, his dark, brown eyes analyzing your every feature. "Oh, how I have counted the days since our last encounter."

"I-I didn't come here to reminisce." All chances of trying to sound confident just went out the window. You struggled to breathe under his gaze, and fuck, if that feeling didn't make you uncomfortable. You had forgotten it- tucked it away, never to be felt again. Yet, there he was, looking as painfully beautiful as ever.

He stalked towards you slowly; step by step, slowly closing the space in-between. "Oh yeah?" He asked. "What did you come here for?"

"D-Dustin."

"Mm, what about him?"

"L-look, Dustin is a smart kid." He nodded in return, taking another step closer. You took one step back but there was nowhere else for you to go, you were backed against the door. "But he's naive and he sees the good in everyone. Even when, sometimes, there isn't any good there."

Eddie stopped inches from you and cocked his head to the side. "You're saying I'm not a good guy?" He placed his hands over his chest. "Breaking my heart again, sweetheart."

"Please," you rolled your eyes. "I did not break your heart."

"You sure?" He asked, taking another step towards you. He was too close, but you were frozen in place. "I was pretty fucking messed up after that."

"Eddie," you placed your hands on his chest to keep him from boxing you against the door. "Your way of life, your choices, they bleed into the lives of the people around you. And I don't want that to happen to Dustin. I don't want him to think that those types of choices are okay just because he looks up to you."

"I'm not as careless as I was back then," He said softly.

"You're not?" You asked, eyes trailing past him to the black lunch box that was sitting on the table behind him. He sighed, knowing that he was busted. "I'm not asking you to change, Munson, because you and I both know that will never happen. Just please, keep it away from my brother."

You turned the handle on the door, opening it behind you before taking a step back into the hallway and getting one last look at Eddie. He would typically use a moment like this to blurt out something adorable and bat his pretty eyes at you to keep you on the hook, but instead, he remained silent; his pitiful, brown eyes watching you as you turned away from him and headed for the parking lot exit.

That wasn't exactly how you wanted things to go, and you cursed yourself all the way to the parking lot. Admittedly, you knew that you had panicked- but how else were you supposed to react when you were quite literally backed into a corner? When you got to your car, Dustin was ready with a thousand questions. You could see him nearly sitting on the edge of the passenger seat, about ready to burst.

"How'd it go?" He asked as you dropped into your seat and you slammed the car door shut behind you.

"I don't want to talk about it," you replied.

"Okay, something is definitely up." He stated. "You have been acting weird ever since I told you that I joined Hellfire."

"It's nothing, Dustin." You snapped and you could see him flinch out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry, just- please drop it."

The drive home was quiet, but again, you could practically hear those gears turning in your brother's head. He didn't stop staring at you until you pulled into the driveway.

"You're not going to drop it, are you?" You asked as you turned the keys back in the ignition.

Dustin was standing outside of the car, holding the door open. "Definitely not," he replied before closing the door and heading toward the house.

#aye part 2 my babies #i hope you guys like this one a little better than the opening chapter #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson drabble #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fan fic #stranger things imagine #joe quinn #joseph quinn

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 1 year

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chapter xviii - gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 5,000+

masterlist

The next week consisted of a new routine.

Y/N would wake up to breakfast being politely brought into her room – despite insisting she could make her own way into the kitchens and save the servants the hassle.

When she emerged from her chambers, there was always at least two hounds waiting outside for Y/N. They followed her around the property, acting as both her companions and guard dogs. The servants and guards around the Forest House seemed shocked to find their High Lord’s blood hounds being pleasant and loyal to someone other than Eris. But Y/N ignored their stares.

After breakfast, Y/N would train with the Weapons Master of Autumn Court, who did not take it easy on her just because she was his High Lord’s mate.

Though he did manage to compliment Y/N on the first day for the previous training she clearly had been given. But for some reason, Y/N stopped herself from saying she was a Valkyrie.

The blood hounds would sit and watch Y/N train. And if she ever got knocked off her feet, they would growl warningly at her assailant. She tried to tell them it was OK, earning her a sad whine from them.

After training, Y/N would go to the main library of the Forest House – because apparently there were nearly a dozen. And there Y/N would research mating bonds, as well as the histories of Autumn Court.

Y/N had asked Lucien to show the library to her. He had quirked an eyebrow at the question, but asked for no further information. And Y/N made sure to memorize the route so she wouldn’t be forced to expose her new habit to any of the servants. Though Y/N doubted that there were many secrets about her in a royal household.

It had been just over a week of this routine when breakfast wasn’t delivered to her room.

Y/N was relieved, thinking that the servants had finally listened to her request and realized that she could find her own breakfast in the kitchens.

But as Y/N opened the room to her bedchambers, she jumped when there was a small female standing in front of her, looking up with an innocent gaze.

She bowed to Y/N, which felt entirely unnecessary. “Pardon the surprise, Lady Y/N. But Lady Leonora hoped you would join her for breakfast this morning.” Then the servant looked over Y/N's shoulder right before a loud thunder struck. “Since the rain will mean you have no training for today.”

Y/N blinked. She had been so delighted with the servants not waiting on her hand-and-foot that she hadn’t even noticed it was raining when she woke up.

Was it really a request from Lady of Autumn? Or was it simply the polite way to tell Y/N to do as she said?

“Right. Yes,” Y/N finally sighed. “You will show me the way?”

“Of course, Lady Y/N.”

She had to stop herself from wincing at the second use of the incorrect title.

“You needn’t call me 'Lady',” Y/N told her softly as they walked through the winding halls of the Forest House. “I am of no noble blood. Just Y/N is fine.”

The servant somehow seemed to expect such a comment and smiled up at her. “But you are the High Lord’s mate. It does not matter where you come from. Even without your connection to our High Lord, you are a hero to most here. Calling you Lady Y/N is the least we could do in return for what you have done for Autumn Court.”

Y/N was taken aback by her words.

Most run from her when they see or hear of her witchcraft. It made them fear and distrust her. But fae were strange beings; they only ever seem enamored with her gifts.

They reached the chambers of Lady Autumn much quicker than Y/N would’ve expected. With how close her own rooms were to hers, she was surprised she hadn’t run into her yet.

The servant gestured to the door, making it clear that she was going to remain in the hall. “She is expecting your arrival. Please.”

Y/N didn’t understand why she suddenly felt so nervous.

It was obvious both Eris and Lucien loved their mother dearly – and were utterly protective of her. But that didn’t prepare Y/N for the type of female Leonora actually was.

Perhaps the centuries of being forced into a marriage with Beron had made her cold and brutal.

But how could such a thing be when Eris and Lucien had both been nothing but kind to her? Surely that kindness came from her.

When Y/N walked in, Leonora immediately rushed to her with a warm smile.

“Y/N, thank you for joining me. I am grateful of the rain, otherwise I would never be able to steal you away from your training. Eris says its quite important to you.”

“T-Thank you for inviting me,” Y/N managed to say. Though it came out almost like a question she was so out of her element.

“I have wanted to come see you and ask how you were acclimating…but Eris is so worried about you being overwhelmed here. I did not want to add to it.”

“Oh,” Y/N blurted out. “I mean, you are not overwhelming me at all, Lady Autumn.”

Leonora tried not to laugh at the title. “Please, none of that. I am Leonora. In fact, I am no longer the Lady of Autumn.”

“Aren’t you still the dowager Lady of Autumn?”

Y/N truly didn’t know. If it was the mortal realm and Leonora had once been Queen, she would’ve become the Dowager Queen.

But everything was a bit different in the fae realm.

Leonora smirked. “If I’m being honest, I don’t really care for titles. I never did. Now, I am simply the mother of the new High Lord.”

Y/N kept waiting to offend, but Leonora seemed to not take anything too seriously. At least not in this moment.

Leonora guided Y/N to what appeared to be her own small living room. “Now, Eris said you prefer coffee in the morning, saving tea for nighttime.”

Y/N had to hide her smirk at the idea that Eris talked about her so much to his mother that such a little detail of her personality would get passed to Leonora.

Then Y/N took in Leonora’s dress. There were no greens or reds or rich browns of the Autumn Court to be seen in her clothes.

No, instead she wore mostly black.

Was she in mourning? Or had this place been her prison for so long that she felt sickened by its uniform?

Servants came out with a silver trey filled with teacups, a kettle, milk, and sugar. But once they set it down on the coffee table before the two ladies, they disappeared entirely.

Leonora gave Y/N a sad but considerate look. “Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable, Y/N?”

Her face got hot with embarrassment. “No! No, sorry! I mean, you must e-excuse me. I…I get very…umm…overwhelmed in such settings. I was never taught any sort of…e-etiquette.”

Leonora immediately knew what Y/N was trying to say and gave her a warm smile before she reached over to place on a hand on hers. “If you ask me, such decorum is a waste of time and effort. Coffee still goes to the same place, no matter how you drink it.”

As if proving her point, Leonora quickly poured herself her own coffee, purposely making it louder and ruder than a polite Lady would.

“Y/N, I didn’t bring you here as some test or to interrogate you. I was just…Well, I was only hoping I could get to know you.”

Suddenly a window flew open, and the wind rushed into the room. It was gentle, not disrupting anything in the room. It simply blew around Y/N’s face, fluttering her hair.

Y/N finally seemed to relax and allowed herself to believe Leonora’s claims.

Leonora slowly started to ask her personal questions – nothing controversial, and absolutely nothing even so much has hinting at her mating bond with Eris.

Leonora seemed fascinated by Y/N being a witch and asked many things about her craft and abilities. Not once did she make Y/N feel like some sort of freak or monster.

It became easier and easier to talk to her.

Now Y/N didn’t know why she expected Leonora to be so stiff and cold. She was the opposite: welcoming, warm, and understanding.

A couple hours had gone by of them just chatting, getting to know one another.

And it had made Y/N feel brave.

“Why do you stay here?” She whispered softly when they found a moment of silence, watching Leonora’s face carefully.

Leonora’s brow furrowed with confusion.

Y/N continued, “Why do you not go to him?”

Leonora nodded slowly, somehow knowing exactly who ‘him’ was. “Eris told me you had a way of knowing things…”

Then she gave her a sad grin. “I fear it is much more complicated than that.”

“Do you no longer love him?” Y/N’s eyes widened, realizing what she blurted out. “I apologize. I am…not good at keeping to my own business.”

“I do,” Leonora surprisingly answered. “Love him still, that is.” She frowned and her eyes stared into nothingness as she got lost in her own mind and heart. “But much has happened. There is so much between us. Beron’s death did not just suddenly rid of us of the centuries we spent apart.”

Y/N gave her a sympathetic look. “He loves you still. It’s so strong that it’s all they tell me about him.” She grasped Leonora’s hand. “He’s waited for you all this time…what’s a little bit more? But you should only go to him when you are ready.”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the entrance of the chambers.

A servant came out of nowhere to answer it and immediately stepped aside to let them in.

A male servant entered and bowed to them.

“Pardon the intrusion. The High Lord wishes to see you.”

“Of course,” Leonora nodded and stood.

The servant cleared his throat awkwardly. “The High Lord has actually requested both of you, Lady of Autumn. Lady Y/N is to join us, as well.”

The two females shared a look.

“It will be quite alright, dear.” Leonora told Y/N with a reassuring smile.

––

Y/N and Leonora were escorted to the great hall, where Eris stood around a giant round table with his advisors.

The High Lord did a double take as soon as he spotted Y/N’s entrance.

The servant bowed his head to Eris. “Lady of Autumn and Lady Y/N, High Lord. As requested.”

Eris nodded his thanks.

All of his advisors stared at Y/N. Apparently they were used to Leonora, and almost ignored her presence entirely after bowing their greetings.

Y/N shifted her weight nervously, but kept her head high.

Was she finally being punished for helping usurp Beron Vanserra? Despite helping crown Eris, was there consequences for her to face?

She didn't know the laws of the fae realm.

An advisor cleared his throat and looked to Eris calmly. “I believe it would be best for you to explain, High Lord.”

Eris glared at his table. “Would it? Because I have made it clear what my position is on the matter.”

That was when Y/N noticed Eris was clutching a letter in his hand – quite violently by the look of his white knuckled grip.

Eris sighed and looked at only Y/N, stepping away from the table to get closer to her.

“The other High Lords of Prythian have finally decided to acknowledge Beron’s demise. When word reached that two Night Court Illyrians and Lady Death had come to our aid, it has made them…concerned.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “It was Rhysand who sent them…why does he not answer for their involvement?”

“He will be questioned, as well. There will be a meeting of the High Lords in two day’s time. But they have…requested that you also attend.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped slightly. “Me?” She looked around at the advisors. “But how…how do they even know of my existence?”

Eris frowned. “Those still loyal to Beron made sure to spread the news of the witch who cursed Autumn Court.” Then he hesitated before adding, “But the news of my mate has also become…known.”

Of course it has. That was why she was stuck here, wasn’t it?

Eris stepped closer to Y/N with a look of determination. “You do not have to go.”

But Y/N swallowed and glanced at his advisors. Clearly they didn’t agree with that option.

“I-I have a choice?” She asked so only he and Leonora could hear.

“Of course you do,” Eris answered, as if it were obvious.

“But…I don’t understand what they want from me.”

Eris frowned. “They wish to question you about the night of the usurping. The other High Lords are weary about Rhysand’s aid. They see it as a move for him to take over other courts – or at least an effort to force other High Lords to give him something in return.”

Y/N’s eyes darkened. “You mean they wish to interrogate me. They don’t trust my role in all this.”

“I will not allow it. I will be there the entire time, as will my mother.” Then he snapped a warning glare at his advisors before once again adding, “But the choice remains your own.”

Y/N took in a deep breath. “I will attend the meeting.”

—🍁—🍁—🍁—

The meeting of the High Lords took place in Summer Court, which Y/N learned still had somewhat of a contentious relationship with Night Court after they stole a forbidden book.

Y/N had asked the wind to tell her everything it could to prepare for her for this meeting. If she was going to be interrogated – even if Eris promised to prevent such a thing – she wanted to know any secret she could about these High Lords.

Leonora’s handmaidens had woken Y/N up, insisting on helping her get ready. They did her hair and makeup. Then they put her into a dress that was the colors of Autumn Court, but clearly a lighter fabric to deal with the warm and beachy climate of Summer Court.

But when Y/N met Leonora in the hallway, she was surprised to find the former High Lady in a gold and white gown. She'd been expecting another conservative black dress. But now it was clear that Leonora was sending a message to her past lover.

Leonora smirked, knowing exactly what Y/N had figured out. “I think there is no longer a reason for subtly, do you not agree?”

Y/N gave a shy smile and nodded in agreement.

“Come. Eris is waiting for us in the great hall.”

When the two females arrived, Eris did a double take at Y/N’s appearance.

“Did we do well, my son?” Leonora asked him teasingly.

Eris tried to glare at his mother, but it mostly looked like amusement.

He cleared his throat and stepped towards them, offering his hands to winnow them. “Let us get this over with, shall we?”

Y/N couldn’t decide which she hated more: winnowing or flying. But the winnowing left her feeling rather disoriented.

They had arrived at an entryway of a palace. Y/N assumed it was the home of High Lord Tarquin – or one of his homes.

But then she heard the waves and the squeaks of seagulls. And she turned to see one of the most beautiful views she’d ever laid eyes on.

Immediately she felt a sheen of sweat cover her skin. Yes, the views of the ocean were beautiful. But Y/N was not meant for such a warm climate. Already, she wished to return to the brisk air of Autumn.

“High Lord Eris, Consort Leonora, and Lady Y/N,” the servant greeted them with a bow. “The other High Lords have just arrived. Please, follow me.”

Y/N was surprised to find Eris’ arm extended for her to take. Leonora walked behind them, clearly trying to show that she was no longer the Lady of Autumn.

There were seats set in a circle in what appeared to be an open room to the elements, surrounded by high, white arches that offered a perfect view of the ocean. Y/N could still perfectly hear the soft crashing of the waves.

Y/N hated that they were the last to arrive. She was sure Eris did it as some sort of power move. But it meant that everyone stared at their arrival.

She knew that Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta would all be here. But Y/N couldn’t find it in herself to even so much as look at them.

Tarquin stood at their approach and gestured to the only empty seat left in the circle. “Thank you for coming, Eris.”

With a snap of his finger, Eris magically placed an identical chair next to his own and gestured for Y/N to sit in it. Leonora seemed to have no intention of sitting and stood behind them, gently propping her hand on the edge of her sons chair.

To Y/N, it was a polite gesture for Eris. But really it was a show of irritation that Y/N was not important enough to receive her own place in the circle – despite being a High Lord’s mate.

Y/N noticed that Tamlin – Feyre’s ex-lover – had even managed to show up. Apparently he had failed over and over again to tend to his duties as High Lord of Spring.

“Let us not waste time,” Tarquin began, eyeing Eris closely. “You can understand how the recent events in Autumn have made the rest of us weary.”

“I am not the first High Lord to usurp the throne,” Eris answered boredly. “I was not aware all of you were so allegiant to Beron.”

“It is not your usurping. It is how you involved the Night Court in your attack against your own father,” Thesan commented.

“I did not ask for their aid,” Eris answered instantly. “They came to save Y/N, not help with my effort to take the throne.”

“Ahh, yes. The witch,” Helion hummed with amusement.

The High Lord of Day Court looked Y/N up and down, as if it would solve her mystery for him.

“We came to Y/N’s aid because she is our friend and a fellow Valkyrie,” Nesta chimed in coldly. “Her gifts sent us a warning that she was in danger, that Beron had captured her.”

“To cross Court lines to aid in foreign affairs is a risky one at best,” Tarquin answered.

“Perhaps we should ask the witch of what happened to her that night,” Helion pushed with subtle amusement.

“The witch has a name,” Eris hissed. “And it would be wise of you to use it.”

Helion’s gaze snapped to Leonora, only for a second. Then he nodded his head. “My apologies. Y/N, would you step forward please?"

Y/N’s teeth ground together as she stood from her chair and stepped into the circle.

“Why don’t you tell us about your journey?” Helion requested gently.

“I lived on my own in the Mortal Realm…until I was captured by fae – amongst other women and children. It had become clear that we were being traded to wealthy fae, who wished to use humans as they pleased. I will let all of your imaginations come up with what exactly that meant. I attacked my captors as we passed through Autumn Court, and told the others to run for their lives. That is when…when Eris found me.”

With the wave of his hand, Eris magically dropped a pile of papers beside Y/N.

“What is this?” Rhysand spoke for the first time.

Eris tilted his head. “Documents, proving that Beron was aiding wealthy merchants from the Continent in trading mortals as slaves. They were being brought to the Middle to be sold to the highest bidder and transported across the sea. Y/N was not the first to be taken – but she was the first to escape and save the rest of the victims in her party.”

“Everyone here knows this is not the only evil Beron has released onto Prythian,” Eris added for good measure.

Helion's gaze darkened as it once again flickered to Leonora. Surely he was imagining all the abuse his past lover had endured by the hands of Beron Vanserra.

He was the first to break the tense silence. “No one here believes that Beron was a just and rightful ruler.”

Once again, his gaze snapped momentarily to Leonora.

“Rhysand aided my cause because I asked him to protect my mate with his life," Eris announced. "Night Court was the safest place for her."

“Why not go to another Court?” Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, asked.

“The Archeron sisters were once mortals. My brother is an emissary there. The Night Court was well aware of my plans to usurp Beron. They understood more than anyone why I could not leave my mate just anywhere to be protected from my father.”

“And what did you promise Rhysand in return?” Kallias urged.

“Autumn’s loyalty and aid – when it would be mine to give,” Eris announced. “But Night Court did not request this of me, I offered it freely.” Eris shifted in his seat awkwardly. “I was a male…desperate to protect my mate.”

It took all of Y/N’s strength not to turn around to see Eris’ face as he spoke of what he did to protect her. She could only stare at the ground, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Y/N became one of us,” Feyre spoke for the first time. “We would have protected any innocent with or without the promise of Autumn’s loyalty.”

“And are you innocent?” Tamlin also broke his silence, glaring at Y/N as if she had personality offended him. “You are a witch, after all.”

But Y/N would not take it. “Careful how you speak to me, High Lord Tamlin.” Her eyes darkened. “Or you risk exposing secrets you wish to keep locked away. I know more of you than you could ever know of me.”

She couldn’t see it, but Eris grinned at his mate with pride.

“Y/N is not like the witches we have heard about,” Rhysand chimed in. “She comes from a coven who wished to keep to themselves, only revealing themselves to aid others. That was proven when she risked her life to save our son.”

“Which was also an attack set by Beron,” Eris noted darkly.

Feyre and Rhysand sat up straighter.

Azriel and Cassian’s fists tightened at their sides.

Nesta looked…murderous.

If Beron still lived, Y/N was sure that Nesta would have singlehandedly killed him after hearing such news.

“The slave trade was not Beron’s only evil dealings. He planned on kidnapping Nyx, fearful of the power the child would grow to have. Whether he planned on keeping the child hostage for his own use or selling him to the Continent, I do not know. The assailants were no soldiers of mine, but they were of the Autumn Court.”

“It would appear it was time for Beron Vanserra’s demise,” Helion declared darkly.

“It should have happened long ago,” Eris answered back.

“What power do you possess, Y/N?” Thesan asked with curiosity. “Your coven has hidden themselves rather well.

Tamlin leaned forward in his seat, eyeing Y/N with suspicion. “The only witches I know of are desperate for power. They will kill whatever innocents they can find, and consume their blood.”

Y/N had been waiting for such a question – dreading it, actually.

The thing was, she did not even know what she was capable of any longer. A new power had been unleashed inside her. Whether it was during life or death situations only, she did not know. But she feared losing control of it.

“She is not a subject to be studied!” Eris snapped before Y/N could even think of a response to the question that felt more like an accusation. “Y/N has been through enough, and I will not allow her to be poked and prodded for your own curiosities.”

Helion also came to her defense and claimed, “She is not the first of her kind. I have met other witches like her in my life. Their hearts are true and they hold no evil.” Then he smirked. “But none were as powerful as it seems you are, Y/N. Curious that the Cauldron chose a mortal witch for a High Lord’s mate.”

“That is enough discussion of our bond,” Eris interrupted, leaving no room for argument. Then he addressed the circle of High Lords and Ladies. “Are you all content now?”

“It is clear Night Court has no ploys to take over other courts,” Kallias nodded. “And I for one think Prythian is better off with Beron dead. Leave Eris to handle his court. He has a long journey ahead of him, gaining the favor of his fae.”

Everyone else nodded in agreement.

As everyone rose, some started quietly talking amongst themselves.

Y/N watched as Helion locked eyes with Leonora. It was clear that he wanted to go to to her. He took half a step in her direction, but something made him hesitate.

She was so distracted with the interaction, that she hadn’t seen her friends of the Night Court – if that’s even what they were to her anymore. Y/N still hadn’t figured it out.

After Eris insisted he’d promised something in return for them all looking after her, Y/N felt like perhaps she’d been too harsh with assuming they had been using her for their own gain.

Feyre stepped forward first, with a cautious warmth. “I am glad to see you well after the attack, Y/N.”

Then Y/N suddenly felt a warmth behind her. Eris was right behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body at her back.

He wasn’t going to interrupt or cease the conversation, but he wanted her to know he was there for her.

“Y/N, you must understand, we never wanted to keep any secrets from you,” Feyre continued.

“For what it’s worth,” Eris muttered quietly to her. “I forbid them from telling you the truth. I thought things would be easier that way.”

Y/N nodded slowly.

Nesta and Cassian looked desperate for her forgiveness. Azriel watched her with a sadness in his gaze that he hid from everyone else quite well.

“Everyone misses your store,” Cassian chimed in with a gentle smile. “Velaris’ isn’t the same without your witchcraft and medicine.”

“Velaris isn’t the same without you,” Nesta corrected.

Y/N took in a deep and shaky breath. “T-T-Thank you for taking me in,” she looked into all their eyes as she said it. “Deep down, I always knew even if Eris hadn’t promised you what he did, you still would have treated me as one of your own.”

A wave of relief seemed to wash over the five of them.

“But I wish to stay in Autumn Court,” she continued. “Until it’s safe for me to return to the Mortal Realm, that is.”

Y/N tried to pretend that she couldn’t feel Eris’ entire body tense at the second part.

“I hope we can continue to be friends,” she ended softly.

“Of course, Y/N.” Rhysand answered immediately. “And you are always welcome in Night Court, whenever you wish to visit.”

Nesta stepped forward. “And perhaps we could…visit you in Autumn.”

Y/N nodded. But then quickly looked back at Eris for confirmation, as if he would take away such a privilege.

He simply nodded, as well.

Nesta hurriedly added. “Gwyn and Emerie said they wish to write to you, as well.”

Y/N grinned. “I would like that very much.”

“Are you keeping up your training?” Cassian asked with a smirk.

“Of course,” Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully. “Eris has his Weapon’s Master training me every morning. Soon I’ll have mastered the fight strategies of Illyrians, Valkyries, and Autumn Court.” She quirked an eyebrow for good measure.

“She will be a fearsome thing,” Eris muttered.

Y/N didn’t expect such a compliment – especially from him and especially in front of such an audience.

Her face got hot from it.

But when she looked up, Feyre and Cassian all seemed to be trying to hide their amusement.

“We will send you the rest of your things by the end of the night,” Rhysand told her.

“Oh, there’s no need. Eris has given me more than enough clothing.”

For some reason, it seemed wrong to take all those fanciful gifts Rhysand had insisted on gifting her after the attack on Nyx. It felt even more wrong to wear such things in a foreign court – and in front of her mate.

But Eris didn’t seem to think so. “My servants will be waiting for their arrival.”

Y/N’s brows raised in surprise. “But…if it’s not too much trouble to ask, I’d like my supplies and merchandise from my store.”

“Of course,” Rhysand said with a slight bow of his head.

Leonora finally stepped toward the group. “Time to go?” She asked her son.

He nodded.

When Y/N turned back to her friends, they gave her an encouraging look.

“We will see you soon,” Feyre insisted.

With that, Eris winnowed the three of them back to Autumn Court.

Leonora already started to make her way to the dining room, leaving the two of them alone.

“I really don’t need all those gifts Rhysand gave me,” Y/N insisted hurriedly. “They were beautiful, but they weren’t very…me.”

Eris shrugged. “You can sell them all before returning to the Mortal Realm. Open a new shop without trouble.”

Y/N couldn’t understand why her heart sunk at his suggestion. Was he really so on board with her leaving and returning to the Mortal Realm? Did he not want her here at all? But that’s what she wanted, right? To be left alone and back in her old life of solitude and secrecy?

-----

OK. This is quite long. Don't really know how that happened. But let me know what you thought! Everyone be like @pancakefancake

Chapter XIX

#acotar #a court of thorns & roses #gust & flame #eris vanserra #eris #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #autumn court #lady of autumn #high lord of autumn court #prythian #high lords of prythian

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astrumark · 1 year

Text

── CHECKMATE, I COULDN'T LOSE ★.

PAIRING: aegon ii targaryen x female reader.

SUMMARY: frustrated by your unsuccessful attempts to charm prince aemond, you should have known not to turn to prince aegon.

WARNINGS: fluff kinda, curse words.

WC: 3.4K

You have put so much effort into your looks for the evening, so specific when you ordered a new gown for the most high-priced seamstress from King's Landing. Your sleep the previous night had been uncomfortable as you went to bed with the tightest buns to achieve luscious and perfect hair. Getting ready had been exhausting as well, the dress buttons and ribbons were too complicated and tight, your skin was scrubbed almost raw, and the strong fragrance splashed over your body made you sneeze repeatedly. You'd gone as far as wandering around the city to find good and reliable pastes, powders, and paints, something you have never tried before, though a few of your friends loved to use them. Your eyelids were painted blue and cheeks a faint tone of red.

And in all honesty, you were looking splendid. Almost all eyes were on you the moment you stepped into the ballroom, many lords gawking and immediately asking you to spare them a dance. No matter where you went, heads turned in your direction. But not his.

The reason for all of your pampering barely glanced your way, except when you acknowledged him and curtseyed. But you didn't give up. At some point you approached him in the corner, and asked questions, trying to strike up a conversation. You tried to talk about topics you believed he was interested in, dragons, sword training, history and philosophy, and more. He didn't even pretend to be interested, his violet eye focused on everyone around the room but you, his responses guttural. It felt as if you were talking to a wall, and you started to feel fidgety, gulping down all the wine goblets that passed in front of you carried by servants.

You hated wine, the taste of it was too bitter and strong, but it was a good distraction to your pounding heart and dizzy head, certain you were embarrassing yourself. Although distasteful in the beginning, the warmth the wine provided in your chest was welcoming, and after a few more cups, the most you have ever consumed in your life, you felt yourself loosening up. You were completely conscious, but your body and mind seemed to be a lot lighter than usual.

Reuniting all of your courage, perhaps fueled by the wine, once you ran out of topics, you decided to test your luck. It went against all of the etiquette lessons, and it might as well be humiliating, but you doubted Aemond would brag about such a thing. You had hoped for him to ask the question, but each new celebration, and even his lack of initiating a simple conversation with you, proved that it would be unlikely. So instead, you sighed and did it.

"Would you like to dance, my Prince?"

He finally looked at you, his face as blank as an unpainted canvas, so emotionless it made your skin crawl and heartbeat quicken so much you could hear the blood rushing in your ears. It was only seconds before he blinked slowly and answered, but it could've been hours, anticipation eating you inside out.

"I do not enjoy dancing, my lady."

You didn't move a muscle, an uncomfortable silence pairing between the two of you, your mouth slightly agape and mind fumbling to find a response. Suddenly, the music and chatter around you sounded much louder. There was a heavy sense of shame, certainly, but underneath it, there was also an odd relief, doubt no more weighing on your shoulders. He did not wish to dance.

"I understand," You said as composed as you could as if it was a casual offer and didn't hurt your heart deeply. "If you will excuse me." You curtseyed once again and got away, not waiting to see or hear his response.

Body aflame, your eyes searched for an exit with purpose, the room now too crowded for you. All the lightness of the liquor disappeared and you just felt heavy and uncomfortable, throat drying out and chest tightening.

If one asked when you fell in love with Aemond Targaryen, you would not be able to pinpoint it. Most likely around the age of ten and two, when your eyes could not help but look for the usually staid prince. Although even earlier in your childhood, when you were just small things sprinting around the castle with a few missing teeth, you considered him the coolest of all your acquaintances. Why you hold such feelings for him for so long was an even harder question, you do not know. Maybe you fantasized about him too much before bed, deep in your illusion. You have tried to discount those feelings and surpass them but to no avail. It was as if you were sick, and there was no antidote. Maybe that was your curse, to forever long for someone you could never have.

You rushed to where you knew there were huge double doors, now covered by dark green curtains for the decorations of the ball. Fresh air would probably do you some good. Closing the doors, you stopped dead in your tracks as you spotted the back of the head of a certain silver-haired, the strands cut short.

"Seven, did you bathe in a tub of fragrance?" Aegon didn't attempt to look at you.

Groaning, you stepped further into the balcony, making your way to his side. Unsurprisingly, Aegon was drinking, a jar of wine upon the balustrade, and silver cup in hand. You supported your elbows on the structure of stone, breathing in the cold wind that caressed your face. Countless stars and a full moon graced the dark blue sky.

Despite your wishes, you have grown used to Aegon's presence in the last few months due to some unfortunate circumstances, and pairing it with the fact you cared very little about his opinion of you or how unrefined he might think you are, there was no reluctance about what you said next, frustration clear in your voice, now unusually slurred.

"How can I charm Aemond?"

Aegon snickered. "Oh. Yes, well, don't expect me to help," He shook his head, looking at you up and down. "Though I am certain you will find your way anywise."

"You seriously cannot be solicitous for once in your life, Aegon?" You crossed your arms in annoyance.

"Why do you assume I need to be solicitous?" Aegon scoffed. "You seem quite charming, I am sure you can find out how to get his… favor."

"You are his brother! You could at least offer me some advice."

"Alright, I will offer you one piece of advice," He took a big gulp of wine, his lips glistening with the liquid. "Don't act so desperate," He smirked. "And that's all you are getting. "

You rolled your eyes, facing the city ahead of you again. "You are of no use."

"That's not what your sister told me." He laughed cynically. "If you want to succeed, then you have to do it alone. Can't have it all spoon-fed to you, can you?" He leans against the railing, staring at you with a mischievous grin.

Oh yes, your sister, who's been sneaking around with Aegon for a few moons now, and essentially dragging you into her rendezvous as well. She always used you to cover and support her claims to your parents, a habit of hers. It wasn't even constant, their trysts. You doubt your sister could remain interested in just one man for more than a few weeks. However, you didn't have much of a choice other than being her accomplice and helping in her escapades, as you would never purposely have her get into complicated and shameful situations.

"I would rather have it spoon-fed, thank you."

Aegon chuckled. "Then, I wish you good fortune with charming my brother," He winked. "Just remember that you will get nowhere without the right attitude." He nudged you.

Your eyes came back to his face as your eyebrows knitted together. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you could be the most beautiful woman in the world, but it means nothing if you don't carry yourself right. Aemond won't be charmed by looks alone. You will have to give him more than that."

You nodded. "Yes, he is not an easily impressed man," You sighed exasperatedly. "It would all be so much easier if I fancied you instead."

"Now, that's very presumptuous of you to say. Why would you think I am easier?" The tone of his voice was exaggeratedly offended. "Maybe I am the hardest to charm."

"If you were the hardest, half the women of King's Landing wouldn't be able to say they have laid with you, would they?" You cocked your head. "Or are all of them just awfully skilled?"

His smirk faltered for a second and he narrowed his eyes, leaving his cup behind. "Is that so, my fair lady?" He stepped closer to you, which made you turn your body towards him. "You have heard rumors? And who are you to say they are true? Besides your lovely sister, of course. Or do you prefer to believe them because it's convenient?"

You scoffed, shaking your head. If he truly believes his well-known behavior could be easily denied, he was delusional. "Rumors do come from somewhere, my Prince, and since we are talking about attitudes, you do not act any different than a… man-whore."

Aegon smiled disturbingly calmly at you, but his gaze was piercing. "Oh, do you get to decide that? Or are you judging so you can feel better about yourself in your righteousness?" He taunted you.

You chuckled incredulously at how he tried to change the topic from him to you, to give him some merit, he was not awful at it. And someone who doesn't know any better could easily be fooled by his falsely insulted speech, as he definitely sounds like he believes his words, but you're very aware of who he is.

"I can often see the disdain in your eyes… You must think every woman who's ever come close to me has some kind of hold on me, isn't that right?" He approached you even more, so much you took a hesitant step back. "What would you even know about me?"

The sharpness of his words made you shiver, but you did not falter. "Fair, I do not know you much despite your reputation, but what I know certainly precedes it. It's a quick observation, it would be easier to charm you other than Aemond. Don't take offense."

He laughed mockingly. "Well, then I challenge you to prove it," His smile turned almost cruel. "Let actions speak, and we shall see if you are right… or just a foolish, presumptuous woman." He raised his eyebrow in defiance.

"Prove it?" You repeated his words, brows furrowed.

"You have claimed that I am a man of want," His hand caressed the hilt of Blackfyre absently and your eyes were drawn to the movement, remembering his position. "So prove it. Prove that you are right and I am wrong."

You gulped, finally understanding the meaning of his challenge. "I…"

"Is that the end of your words?" He chuckled again. "You are intimidated now?"

You remained silent, struggling to answer him.

"Tell me, my fair lady, am I wrong?" Aegon opened his arms in invitation while smirking. "Prove me wrong."

Your heart drummed, breath hitching as your eyes remained locked on Aegon and his mocking face. Infuriated, you start to walk towards him, however much slower than you expected, as if your body was not as sure as your mind. The prince observed you like a proper dragon, his eyes twinkling as the purple orbs silently goaded you to continue.

You stopped only inches from him, bodies brushing, and you could feel the scent of wine mixed with an interesting blend of cedarwood, saffron, and magnolia.

"Well? I am waiting." His voice sounded much more raspy now that you were close.

Chewing on your lower lip, you placed your hands on Aegon's chest, moving it up until you clasped them together around his neck as you looked at him with your most innocent doe eyes. However, your voice sounded anything but, now a lot more enticing. "Do you find me beautiful, my lord?"

Aegon chuckled, his heart leaping. Never did he think he would see or have you this way. Too close, and looking at him so adorably. He seized the opportunity to stare at your features, eyes trailing over your face, and he concluded he adored all that he saw, even the tiny flaws that weren't noticeable from afar. He resisted the urge to touch your face, staring at your exposed chest and then back to your eyes. You are beautiful, but that is no wonder, he's been aware of your beauty for a good while now, even if you two are completely different.

Now your sister is a lot more like him, wild and spontaneous, and it was no surprise they found themselves often tangled up in bed. You, on the other hand, though not entirely shy and unafraid of speaking your mind when necessary, was a lot more reserved and dutiful. When he noticed your smitten stares at his younger brother, he thought there couldn't be a better, and boring, match. But Aemond never made a move, and there is no way that he might be clueless about your passion, anyone with eyes, either a pair or just one, could notice that. Much to Aegon's bafflement, he just deliberately ignored you.

"Oh…" He pretended to be in deep thought before smiling teasingly. "How could I not?"

You tried not to show how embarrassed you were by his words and how genuine they sounded, pressing your lips together for a second.

"Well, I think you are a very pretty boy," You leaned even closer. "Those lilac eyes of yours are so enchanting..." You rubbed his cheek admirably.

Aegon shuddered with your closeness paired with the compliments, but he managed to stay still, hands firmly by his sides. He would gladly drown in your warmth and scent on any other occasion, but not right now. He smirked, masking his nervousness with confidence, even if his warm cheeks indicated how affected he was by just a small amount of your attention.

"My fair lady, I do believe you are giving my ego a bit too much validation."

"It is well deserved." Your lips met his cheek in a light kiss, then moved it to his jaw.

Aegon bites his lip to not whimper right there, fist clenched to continue unmoving. Due to his silence and stillness, you continued to kiss his neck, nipping and licking the soft flesh, and you felt surprised to like the taste of him so much.

"What would you say you are doing?" Aegon asked amusingly.

"Nothing." You said nonchalantly against his neck, kissing his throat before moving to the other side of his neck.

Aegon's eyes closed as you continued your ministrations on his neck, kisses getting wetter and sloppily. He grinned, lower abdomen burning, and still fighting the need to touch you. What an agreeable turn of events.

When you finished kissing the left side of his neck and face, your lips found his, unsure what else you could do to stir him up. Aegon didn't move for a while and you prayed that he would react soon, not certain if your pride could handle being rejected twice in the same night. Your fears drifted away the second your tongue brushed his lips and he finally gripped your waist harshly, eagerly returning the kiss with a grunt.

It was ferocious, but mindful, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. You have kissed before, once, and it felt nothing like this. Eerie fitting, balanced, and enjoyable. Your hand caressed his neck, the taste of wine not displeasing to you, not at this moment. It felt as if you were merging into one, drowning in each other's taste. You shouldn't indulge so much, but it was incredible, the attention and intimacy unlocking tons of repressed desires inside you and making your body tingle. A whimper left your lips and your heart thundered inside your chest. You forced yourself to pull away, eyes half-closed, feeling everything twice as strong as you should.

Then, you finally remembered you have won the challenge. Aegon didn't resist you, he was easy to charm. The victorious grin on your face made its way as fast as it disappeared when your eyes focused on the silver-haired man. Looking down at you, the prince looked absurdly delighted.

"Congratulations, you've just proven yourself right, my fair lady," He didn't even try to hide his amusement as he moved away. "It seems I am truly a man of want. How surprising."

Your stomach lurched, your mouth agape in shock as a mortifying shame devoured your whole. This had been his plan all along, he wanted you to kiss him, obviously never truly feeling offended by your words. Aegon had tricked you, and you have fallen into his trap as easily as a rabbit. Seven, you could've vomited.

Embarrassment quickly turned into anger. "You cunt!" You raged, voice rising in a way that made you sound like a squirrel. "How could you do this?! You are so… unscrupulous and vile!"

"I didn't do anything," He laughed derisively, raising his hands in surrender. "You kissed me. I stayed right there, unmoving."

You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration as you paced. "You are terrible!"

"Thank you, my dear." He smirked, supporting his weight on the door.

You rested your hands upon the balustrade, fidgeting them nervously. How could you have been so daft to not notice exactly what he was doing, consciously getting a rise out of you to his benefit? This night was disastrous.

When he spoke next, you jumped. Not expecting him to be so close, his breath tickling the back of your neck as he moved a piece of your hair out of the way. "Would you like to dance with me?"

You sneered as you looked at him over your shoulder, voice dangerously low. "What?"

"You have not danced tonight," He pointed out. "Were you expecting my excuse of a brother to ask you?"

"That does not concern you." You said sharply.

"You are looking far too pretty not to dance."

"There are plenty of men willing to dance with me inside that room."

"None deserving of the honor."

"And you are?" You chuckled humorously.

"Not even in the slightest," He whispered in the shell of your ear, sensuously. "But I can promise not to bore you to death."

"You truly are shameless."

He shrugged. "Be reasonable, my fair lady. It is just, after our shared kiss, is it not?" Your body trembled when he rested his ringed fingers on your lower stomach, pulling your body flush against his chest. "I know you enjoyed it. And I can say I'm as good a dancer as I am a lover."

You concluded you were not in your best state of mind when you didn't refuse immediately. There were no good reasons to accept his invitation, still, you felt tempted to. It is the thrill that he evokes when you are near him that you do not want to let go yet. It's an uncommon emotion for you, but one that reminded you that you were alive. The night had been dreadful already, so honestly, how bad could it be?

Aegon smiled wickedly when you accepted, and extended his hand for you to hold. You ignored the goosebumps that arose on your skin when your hands touched. He led you inside, separating for an instant to go and speak with the musicians.

Multiple eyes watched curiously as you made your way into the dancefloor. The music, of his choice, was soothing and sweet. Your arms were raised and intertwined as you both twirled around slowly, a matching playful grin on your faces as you switched arms and directions.

Aegon meant it when he said he would not bore you to death. To your bewilderment, amongst fluid and precise movements, absolutely worthy of a prince, he also decided to add some childish dance steps. Wriggling his hips or clapping his hands in such a ridiculous way that made you laugh out loud and try it out yourself. In no way suitable for the grand event you were in.

You would've noticed some disapproving looks if your eyes weren't stuck on Aegon. Your dancing seemed effortless, a silent understanding floating between you, along with known giggles.

When he lifted you off the ground, putting you back down slowly as his hand went to the small of your back, you felt yourself getting lost in the lilac of his eyes. Perhaps to never be found again.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic

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anartificialsatellite · 8 months

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I've been thinking about it because I've seen some insightful posts cross my dash recently on related subjects, and I think one of the big sources of bad blood in this fandom stems from an inability to really agree on the fact that we are in the Hetalia fandom and not the Actual Literal Real Life Political Entities Called States/Countries fandom, no matter how much those characters may have their characterization and backstory inspired by aspects of the history and culture of Actual Literal Countries.

What I mean by this is that the expectations people have of how they and others should conceive of, react to, interact with, etc. Hetalia countries are all over the place because some people approach them as if they are characters inspired in some way by aforementioned political concepts and some people approach them as the actual country -- And to complicate this I think most people differ on who, when, where, and to what degree they do this and perhaps more importantly, the degree to which they think other people are or should be doing this.

In essence I think at least this specific issue comes down to an ability to see one's own favorite or least favorite characters or even OCs and know that, you know, this is my country-themed Boy that I am playing with and obviously I know they're not the same thing, yet struggling with the uncertainty of whether other people know that they aren't the same, and rather than saying "Well maybe they're just like me and their opinion and understanding of the Country is more nuanced and complex than their opinion of the Boy," sometimes/often then defaulting to the assumption that they don't have that separation.

And when we assume they don't have that separation, then it follows that there is a direct correlation between how they treat the Boy and how they feel about Actual Country, whether it is in the "i'll excuse the Bad Government and Bad History because I love the Boy" direction or the "I love the Boy because I excuse the Bad Government and Bad History" direction. It means that a difference in interpretation or minor historical inaccuracy suddenly becomes A Big Old Deal because instead of being wrong about a Fake Thing, they are now assumed to also be wrong about a Real Thing (and so probably lots of other real things too) and that is way more important.

And, alright, look, I won't even say that nobody is like that, because I know for a fact there are people with genuine bad opinions about characters who also have those genuine bad opinions about real countries and people from those countries, though I would argue that typically they're in the category of already having had bad opinions before Hetalia. (Those people also tend to be obvious in other ways.) And there are also definitely people who are wrong about history in minor ways who also happen to be wrong about history in big and important ways.

But people come to a fandom for different reasons, and they get different things out of their fandom experiences, and the assumption that we can tell how they feel or how much they know or care about a thing by simply looking at how they play with the characters and concluding there is a 1-to-1 correlation there is not, uh... It's definitely not nice, for one, but it's also not conducive to a welcoming or enjoyable community, and I'll go ahead and say that it's pretty arrogant, too, whether one means to be or not.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt, adjusting our expectations and assumptions, approaching other fans as people who have the same capability we have to differentiate between a Hetalia country character and an Actual Country, and above all presuming good faith unless/until given a reason to think otherwise, would go a long way towards making the fandom experience better, broadly and individually.

#hetaposting #hetalia #it makes me so sad to see how often people say they are afraid to post things or experiment within this fandom #and i've been right there myself many a time #if you have a healthy attitude about this stuff #make an effort not to be deliberately hurtful or antagonistic #then it's all gravy my dudes #or it should be

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 1 year

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The Top Reasons Why You Should Know Geology as a Writer

Hello, lovelies! A project for my Introduction to Geology class was to create a ‘promotion’ of Geology as it can be used for things other then you know, tourism or warning of natural disasters. Me, being the writer, decided to create this post that I will be posting for the fun of it. As this is a creative project, I decided to write it as I normally write posts here on my blog.

First off, writing is a complicated business when it comes down to it. Particularly when you get into the idea of worldbuilding. As someone who has two different worlds I’ve been working on creating, one thing that helps a lot is geology in general. I know, it sounds a bit crazy to think about. But it’s true. Geology is the study of the earth itself, and knowing how the earth works, even if it’s just basic concepts, helps build a world. After all, a town in the mountains and a town by the seaside may suffer from different natural disasters, but it comes from the same thing: the shifting of tectonic plates.

Let’s say that you’re building a world where your main character lives in the mountains. What sort of mountain town? Is it a mining town? Is it a town for tourists? In this little example, I will use a prototype for a story I am working on, where the main character lives in a town with a hot spring. How do hot springs form? Would this affect the area of the mountain town? The answer to this, of course, is geothermal heat that is pushed upwards to the upper crust. Once you know that, trying to figure out the environmental impacts of this occurs next. Then you have to think about the dangers of hot springs and so on, and how the people you have created would react to them.

Hot springs, and in general geothermal sites, have had religious or cultural connections for centuries! Think of all the health gurus talking about going to a hot spring to soak away the pain due to the minerals in a spring. Think of how people will purposely hike to get to a hot springs to soak in! An entire culture can be built around a hot springs to. Communal bathing is quite common across cultures, and a hot springs can be the site for potential political talks or even just a place of relaxation for people.

Adding to the above, you now have a tourism aspect, a possible religious aspect, an environmental concern, and a culture ready to be built up all based on a geological matter! I mean, look at the picture; it’s an image from a national parks website (https://www.nps.gov/subjects/geology/hot-springs.htm if any of you wanna look). We can see how a geological function like a hot spring can affect tourism here! Look at how many people are watching this! Even in a more medieval setting, you can’t doubt people wouldn’t line up to see this!

Let’s continue with another thought, and that is how places tend to end up settled. There are plenty of guidebooks that inform us how, as well, you can look at history! Natural resources are the answer to that, with water being a primary reason behind the settlement of many areas. But there are other resources that may have a settlement show up. Some may be organic, but others would be things such as coal, materials such as stone to create things, or it could be something like gems that people mine for money.

As well, by considering what natural resources are around, you determine more landscape as a result of these. The picture below is a picture of the world’s largest open-pit diamond mine. Imagine that something like this exists in your story.

And how does this happen?

Did you guess geology? You’d be right! Geology is such an ingrained process in world-building that writers don’t tend to see it. And let’s be real, if you have a group of people who live by a mine and a group of people who live by a lake, there are vastly different concerns each other has. This again comes down to the effects geology has on EITHER of these things.

Some writers ignore how geology works. JR Tolkein may have been a fantastic writer, but in the end his ideas on mountains were pretty wrong. Not bad, just wrong. While I’ll never say you can’t bend some rules for the fun of it when writing fantasy, I will say most people enjoy the sprinkling of reality littering the pages of their work rather then not. As well, it’s easier on the writer to.

I mean, I prefer not to wonder what sort of dangers there are in my worlds. If I can take a two-second Google Search to get an idea of it, it’s easier than trying to think of these things myself. Look to the above picture! We now have, in fact, at least 6 (6!!) things to include as worries for your little fishing village on the ocean. And guess what?! TWO of these things are related to geology!

So, to recap so far: Geology can be used to not only give your world either income, but it can also enable you to create a religion based on things around them, it can be used to create interesting landscapes and can give you natural disasters that are connected to said landscapes!

Wanna know what ELSE Geology can be used for?

Naming your little villages and towns. No, I am NOT kidding.

Look, people name places either after relatives, or themselves or they looked around frantically before pointing at the nearest rock and went: ROCK TOWN. Don’t believe me?

In Alberta, we have: High River, Slave Lake, Okotoks (A reference to Big Rock, using the Blackfoot word for rock, "ohkotok"), Diamond Valley, Fox Creek, Milk River, Peace River, Pincher Creek, Rocky Mountain House- the list just goes on and on and on!! And again, GEOLOGY. Struggling with naming your little mountain town? Did you but a mine near it? What does the mine produce? Diamonds?

Boom. Diamondville. It’s that easy when you’ve created the geology of the world, you can just use words from your area! No more hard time thinking about it, just GO FOR IT!

So, in the end: learn geology. It gives you a way to create culture, economic concerns, a name for places and even see what sort of local concerns there are in even the smallest village.

#writing #writing tips #geology #school stuff

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orchestraytedkhaos · 8 months

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Rexsoka. Yeah, it's my ship. Still.

I mainly just lurk here, reading fanfic and enjoying the memes. But the angst of the last few has given me the courage to dive in and say a few words.

First, let me clear the air: Rebels was when I started shipping Rexsoka. Prior to their reunion on that show, it had never ever occurred to me to ship them. Despite having read the novels.

So, yeah, look, I totally get the opposition to shipping early Clone Wars Rex and Ahsoka. She's a child. He's a child too, arguably, although his accelerated maturation makes everything super messy. The military structure and fact that Rex is basically a slave means its got power issues galore. Then for those in the US, there is the whole 18 year old age of consent thing (noting, for good or ill, it's 16 most other places). I get why this squicks people. It's the SanSan of Star Wars.

But people grow up. Even on TV.

Season 7 Ahsoka is 17 going on 18, and effectively an adult. She's commanded armies, and just spent a year living and working independently. She is also obviously mature and, frankly, animated that way. Rex is a long term friend, they love and care for each other, and by the end of the season, she basically risks everything for him, and he for her. The episodes are also written in a very obviously shippy way, with the gazing, the chats, the meaningful converstions, the hand holding and the tears. Not to mention that sad, moonlit reunion in Tales of the Jedi.

And although I dont think it matters much, by this time, even taking Rex at double chronological age, the gap is pretty mild by fantasy standards. 17-18 and about 26, roughly the same as Buffy and age-corrected Angel, and way less than Han and Leia.

Fast forward to Rebels, and we have two mature adults with a shared history and goals, who love, trust and admire each other, share common interests, and are amongst the most important people in each other's lives. It's a believable and natural thing for that to progress to something more. The challenges to their relationship are things like, for Ahsoka, the lingering memory of the Jedi code and Anakin and Padme's destructive passion, and Rex's rapid aging, status and limited life experiences. It is those kinds of emotional and external barriers and their shared trauma that make the romance so interesting.

Season 7 + and Rebels Rexsoka is classic friends to lovers, and one of the nicest, softest and most realistic relationships in Star Wars. The opposition to it, and moraliatic shaming of those who like is, is something I simply don't get. It's bizarre. There are heaps of ships that are far, far more problematic (including Anakin/Padme) that don't get this hate.

Like, anti dudes, what exactly *is* the problem here? I suspect the it's that some people just want to get their hate on.

The recent flashbacks? Yeah, that one on Mandalore complicates thing, but I doubt they had stomping on shippers in mind when they cast Ariana, as I have seen suggested elsewhere. The more likely scenario is that - at about 14 yo when this was filmed - Ariana was totally perfect for the first flashback, and is perfect for playing young Ahsoka going forward. Even setting aside that she is an amazing actress, she's insanely athletic and can duel weild light sabres while knee walking though a twist. She's also already tied to Disney. She wasn't quite right for the part, and, I agree, that does make watching it in light of the fanfic a bit uncomfortable. But, it's not just a shipper issue. Putting an Ahsoka that looks and sounds like that in the episodes with the Martez sisters and Bo Katan is weird af too, and doesn't work. I doubt it is meant to.

Story-wise, the best and only real take is that the flashbacks aren't live action replays. The Mandalore scene doesnt even chronologically match what happened (Ahsoka is so fighting Saxon in that scene, which never happened). They are visions about Ahsoka and Anakin and their relationship, not live action replays. Both remember her as a child caught up in a war. Smoke, the fog of war, flashing lights and dying, faceless clones.

And Anakin and Rex.

What I take from these is that in Ahsoka's mind, and Anakin's too for that matter, Rex is always there for her. Standing in the chaos, calm and confident in himself and in her, and looking badass as heck. With an older Ahsoka it would have absolutely been smoking scene from her pov, and no way was it written otherwise. As an older Ahsoka remembering, it's hot. As younger Ahsoka, he's there as her protector and friend.

Do I do ever think this ship will play out on screen? Not, no explicitly. And, yeah, it probably is harder now because of that vision (although if they ever do film a younger Ahsoka series, they will undoubtedly be casting a young actor for Rex, and Ariana will, by then, be 18). But I don't think that was intentional, and I don't think that much has changed. It was always intended to be an "open for interpretation" relationship, written with the possibility not excluded. And I am good with that. Perhaps I even prefer it. Star Wars has a truly dreadful record with romance and, besides, too often cementing subtle or ust-based ships kill them. I just hope this hasn't, because it's still my ship and I love it.

#rexsoka #That flashback/vision #I am not shipping Ariana's Ahsoka #captain rex #Rex x Ahsoka #ahsoka #Rexsoka #star wars tcw #ahsoka is seventeen in the siege of mandalore #ahsoka tano

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loopy777 · 4 months

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The new “I Am Zuko” book implied that him and Mai met at Ember Island as kids and soon after became childhood sweethearts. What are your thoughts on this new canon Maiko crumb?

For easy reference, I found the page in question. And for posterity, here's the quote:

Something else I learned about was love. Azula's friend Mai and I had known each other as kids when my family vacationed at a beach house on Ember Island. My journey took me back to that island, and back to Mai.

It might be adding a few complications to the history we had before. Not that complications are bad!

The previous uncomplicated lore, as referenced directly in this quote, was that Mai had always been Azula's friend, and so we had all assumed that either Mai was a designated playmate for Azula or else they met at school. Either way, Zuko had to meet Mai through Azula, usually assumed to be a playdate visit of some kind. It's notable, though, that Mai was always said to be roughly a year older than Azula and Ty Lee both, so either Mai was one of the older kids in that class, or there were other circumstances that put Mai into their orbit.

Now, we could still keep that aspect prioritized if we want; Zuko could have met Mai because Azula brought her friend(s) along on an Ember Island vacation. However, I don't think that's what's being implied by this quote. "[We] had known each other as kids" doesn't seem to suggest a first meeting; it sounds more like an ongoing relationship. And if Mai is already Azula's friend, then Zuko's and Mai's interactions surely aren't going to just be limited to Ember Island. So the implication is that Zuko knew Mai this way before Azula got involved.

'The Beach' gives us flashbacks to Zuko's fond memories of the place (and here's where it gets awkward with this new info, as I'd expect Mai to be part of those flashbacks, despite the focus on his family), but the only ones we can confirm as taking place on Ember Island itself seem to show Zuko as a baby:

The others, showing an older Zuko, take place in some kind of thick grassy area that doesn't look like any parts of the island we were shown. So, maybe baby!Zuko and baby!Mai were tots when they met. Zuko is 1-2 years older than Mai, so we are talking babies babies, not fan-speak for someone younger than 17. Yet Zuko at least remembers these moments (if we take the flashbacks as his literal memories), so maybe we can't go by the art on that. Maybe it's metaphorical and his baby-ness is just to show his youth and innocence. But I doubt Mai would be old enough to remember such a thing. And maybe that's okay, since the "I Am Zuko" book is very obviously from his POV, so his memories are the only ones we can go by, anyway.

But, again, if we go by what's implied in the language of "[we] had known each other," they weren't just babies playing next to each other in the sand while barely old enough to comprehend each other's existence. They must have been older. But if that's the case, then where was Azula in all this? Well, Zuko is 2-3 years older than her and Mai is roughly a year older than her, so perhaps Azula was too young to be concerned about other kids at that point or otherwise not interested in being social.

So the implication of those 22 words I have spent six paragraphs and two pictures (so far) analyzing is that Zuko and Mai had a real childhood friendship which predates Azula's involvement. Zuko has 'priority' in the matter of Mai over his sister, which ties neatly to who Mai eventually sides with his over Azula.

But does that undermine the existing narrative? That Mai, at the Boiling Rock, performed this great romantic act of courage and defied her dangerous master for this boy who taught her the power of hope again? If she was always truly Zuko's friend, does that make her act weaker?

I don't think so, myself.

I think it fits neatly with the idea of Azula competing with Zuko at every available opportunity, as influenced by their father and Fire Nation culture. Azula eventually saw something Zuko had -- a friend -- and decided to take it from him. Either Zuko didn't put up a fight or lost that battle. And Azula proceeded to lord her victory over him by having his former friend trailing behind her like a servant. Even when Mai and Zuko started a romance, Azula continued to maintain control, as shown off by the picnic scene where she orders Mai away with a veiled command and gets secret side-eye from Mai in return.

It's a handy little way to explain Zuko's own lack of visible friends. Maybe he didn't bother trying to make such connections with other people after Azula stole one of his first friends. It's also a convenient little excuse for how Azula pulled in a girl about a year older into her friend circle; they don't need to be in the same classes at the academy because Azula already knew Mai through Zuko.

And Mai clearly gave in to this little conflict between Zuko and Azula, so her later showing the courage to stand with Zuko at the critical moment still has the power of a good character arc. I don't think it makes her arc stronger, but neither do I think it weakens it. It just adds a little more texture, which of course is always welcome to shippers and fanfic-writers.

It does raise the question, though, of why Zuko had to meet Mai on Ember Island when she lives across the street from him. But it's not anything insurmountable, as her family is clearly depicted as on the rise when we're first introduced to them in 'Return to Omashu,' so perhaps they were rich enough to visit Ember Island but didn't yet live near the palace or even in the Caldera. Perhaps their arrival in the capital, and Mai entering the Academy, is what prompted Azula to make her move and steal Zuko's friend. If Mai spent the formative years of her childhood elsewhere, it would explain a little more why she was so bored that she taught herself throw knives. Azula tends to make lives interesting, I would think.

So there we go. One page in a Little Golden Book gave us all those thoughts. Not a bad investment.

However, I doubt we'll see any further explanation or acknowledgement of any of this in official fiction. From the quotes we've gotten, the Avatar Studios folk and especially The Mike and The Bryan seem to favor a loose continuity that isn't getting hung up on the details.

But this is certainly something us fans can run with. I'm already brainstorming ideas for some way to make use of this in a comedic fanfic. ;)

#zumai #maiko #zuko #mai #mai avatar #mai and zuko

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trickstarbrave · 6 months

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hi im on my bullshit making up random aus again

this is steren! not his main story either. i might write up his main story in bits and pieces at some point. but this is an au bc i wanna see him happy with his parents.

so he's getting dropped in @mulberrycafe's vivi's world. sorry kid, azura will grant your wish but not how you're thinking

obligatory picture of steren and some background info from this post. and bonus baby picture.

this is just part 1. part 2 will be the gang dealing with an unconscious dunmer who fsr has a moon and star ring of his own and nerevar's sword. which will be uh. concerning.

(also i didnt proofread this :'D)

Falling to his knees, Steren coughed up a bit of blood, willing the last of his magicka into a healing spell to keep his organs stable.

It hadn’t been an easy battle, both physically or emotionally.

Dagoth Ur, after all, had at one point been his father.

Fate was cruel like that. His first lifetime he spent his whole, although very short, life chasing after his father and his legacy. He felt alienated in House Indoril, and when rumors stirred he might be of an unsavory bloodline no one dared name, things became more complicated for him. When he was a young adult--when he should be just spreading his wings and leaving to the world--he had found documents that were to be burned from the sinful Sixth House.

Documents that clearly defined that he was born from Voryn Dagoth. Born from a supposed fling he refused to name and died shortly after childbirth that the Lord of House Dagoth refused to let rot and instead welcomed as a legitimate son with open arms. It seemed to go along with his memories too--hazy, faint things from when he was such a young child. Memories of a golden skinned mer with long black hair that would hold him close, laughing with mirth and pride, calling him ‘little star’.

Steren then went to Vivec for answers. They were all on the first council when the war broke out. It was impossible the living god didn’t know his father was Voryn Dagoth. He demanded answers--why was his father killed? Who was his mother? Was she really dead? Did she miss him? Did he have any other relatives--aunts and uncles in other houses who knew who he was? Why had his whole house been destroyed and they shoved him into Indoril in secret?

But Vivec had refused to answer.

When Steren was young, the warrior-poet was oddly close to him. He still lived in Mournhold, having not yet built his temple in the Ascadian Isles, and welcomed Steren almost like a mentor. Encouraged his magic and swordsmanship, and assured him there was a place for him in the world. But when Steren knew the truth, the god’s eyes had gotten cold and hard.

“What good would come if I told you everything?” Was Vivec’s answer. “House Dagoth fell because they were traitors. Voryn Dagoth had betrayed our people and fought against us in the war that destroyed parts of Vvardenfell. Even Red Mountain spewed fire in anger.” His words only fanned the flames of resentment more and more for the young dunmer in front of him. “If there were relatives who could take you, I would have gladly let them. And no matter how much I tell you of your birth, of that accursed house, it will not undo that tragedy. It will not bring your parents back.”

It was the truth, in a way. A painful truth Steren had refused to accept. He grew up isolated and lonely, wanting nothing more than to belong. Wanting nothing more than to know his history. Something to call his own. A relic from his parents. A memory to cling to. Proof that, at some point, in some way, he was loved like he always craved.

And Steren chased answers until he died tragically, killed in a landslide as he tried and failed to get into an old House Dagoth outpost to look for hints of the stronghold’s location. He had barely gotten married and had a son himself, who no doubt had to grow up without him.

And in Steren’s second life that tragedy never really ended.

He was orphaned in Cyrodiil, not even knowing who his parents were, kicked out once he was the age of majority for a mer. And with little life skills, he had resorted to taking whatever work he could. He hadn’t intended to get mixed up in anything illegal--that would be stupid. But the imperial guards didn’t much care about his ignorance when they rounded up everyone involved in the smuggling operation. Steren pled his innocence: he thought it was just unloading cargo off a ship. How was he supposed to know it was smuggled goods? But the law didn’t care much about it at the time. He was to serve his sentence of five years since he had no money to pay a fine.

Only to, after one year, be shipped off to Morrowind, unknowing what events would unfold.

Another cough, and a bit more blood spilled onto the volcanic rock. He felt so warm here. The lava below was making him sweat like when he had corpus fever, but he didn’t have the strength to stand up and leave.

“Steren,” Nerevar’s voice spoke to him, kneeling beside him and trying in vain to wipe his brow. It wasn’t entirely unappreciated; while Nerevar couldn’t really touch him, the spectral presence gave a faint, cool sensation on his sweaty skin. “It’ll be alright--” Nerevar was always quick to reassure and help him. “Do you have a potion or two?”

At the very least, in this lifetime he found the answers he sought--his other parent had been none other that Nerevar. Steren had been born of a fling--a quiet, drunken affair neither of the two had expected anything else from. Nerevar had told him as such, but that they both loved Steren very dearly regardless. That Nerevar had loved Voryn, even if he couldn’t say so openly. The hortator had run off after discovering the pregnancy, ignorant to what the dwemer were getting up to, to have Steren in secret under the excuse of going on a pilgrimage to Azura, and handed Steren off to Voryn to raise.

And after his death Nerevar couldn’t bear leaving his child alone. Reincarnation and prophecy be damned; his son was alone in the world. Nerevar had wanted Voryn to raise him so he was always looked after and loved by at least one of his fathers, and now with Voryn dead Nerevar would take up that role. Yet, he was powerless to speak to Steren--to answer his questions and protect him like he always wanted. And with that regret he continued to watch over Steren’s child. Then Steren’s child’s child. All the way until Steren was reborn to a dying mother fleeing persecution in the Illiac Bay.

Steren had a feeling his dad was going to have to see him die all over again, once again helpless to stop it. The Moon-and-Star ring let him speak with and see Nerevar, but there was only so much a ghost could do.

“I used the last of them…” Steren admitted. He had just enough to barely survive the fight, gulping them down while he dodged attack after attack.

“Recall amulet?” Nerevar replied, and Steren tried to get the energy to dig through his pack. If he could pull out an amulet or scroll he could use that to get into town--limp his way to a healer or general goods seller for a few potions to stabilize himself.

But then there was a spectral blue light that didn’t match the golden glow of Nerevar, and a woman’s voice spoke to him.

“Well done.” She was smiling affectionately, but Steren kind of wanted to curse her out. “With this, Morrowind has been saved. And Nerevar’s soul might rest.”

“Azura--” Nerevar scowled in response.

“It has been over three millennia, hortator.” Azura’s smooth reply came. “Are you not tired of this tragedy?”

“My son still needs me--”

“Your power wanes even now, and you know this.” Azura’s reply came. “A soul should not be as active as yours is, haunting the living. You do not rest in the home of your ancestors. You do not rest even in Moonshadow.” Steren’s eyes widened. “Through force of will you have continued on, but I know internally you weep for the sharmat’s death.” Nerevar looked away now, still scowling. “Your soul cannot survive much longer without a rest. You will cease to be.”

Steren didn’t want to say goodbye either. Tears were running down his face at the news, but he nodded his head.

“Go.” Steren forced a smile.

“Steren--”

“I don’t want to be responsible for the death of both of my fathers.” He had admitted. “If you leave now, it won’t be goodbye forever, right?”

The look Nerevar gave him was indescribably painful.

“I’ll see you again one day, right?” Nerevar wrapped his arms around him, trying in vain to hold him tight. “And I’ll give you a real hug then, Dad.” He wanted to hold Nerevar back in return, but he had long since learned he couldn’t. Only in his dreams could he. But the cool embrace was oddly soothing.

“Of course.” Nerevar shook with sobs himself. “I’ll be waiting for you, little star. With open arms.”

With that, the golden light faded, as Nerevar pressed his hand to his cheek, smiling at him the best he could through his own ghostly tears.

And then it was just Steren and Azura in the chamber now.

“You have done well, righting the wrongs of the past.” Azura smiled again. “You are truly a precious child to undertake this monumental task. And to you I am eternally grateful.” She should be, honestly. Nerevar couldn’t be reborn to do it, so here he was answering for the sins of his fathers, correcting their wrongs and setting everything back on course. He got the divine disease, went through hell and back, and had to kill one of his fathers with his own hands and blasphemous tools.

“I can grant you whatever wish you desire.” Azura’s presence was even warmer as she came close, though given the heat of the heart chamber he wished it wasn’t; he missed the cool, spectral touch of his father already. Yet, despite the pain clouding his senses, he tried to think. A daedric prince offering a favor was a big deal. Many would wish for pleasures beyond their wildest dreams, or fame and future. His whole family line had been cursed with rotten luck, and he could finally make something of himself…

Yet, none of that had any appeal. To be honest, before being shipped off to Morrowind he had no idea what to do with his life. Given he hadn’t even reached his 100th year and was still barely an adult by dunmer standards, he thought he would have some time to figure it out. And now that he saw his past life and finally learned all he wanted to and more…

Well. He didn’t know what he wanted from life. How was he supposed to go on alone, even with wealth and fame? All he would be thinking about is, in the afterlife his fathers might be waiting for him.

“...I just want my parents back.” Steren admitted after a few moments of silence.

“You know I cannot bring back the dead.” Azura frowned.

“I know.” Steren replied. “Instead I’d rather… Just be with them.” It was unspoken what he was asking for, but he thought he implied it well enough:

He was asking for Azura to finally let him rest too. To put him out of his misery. He had done his part, and the kindest thing she could do for him is to finally let him rest peacefully in the presence of his parents. He already made peace with his death on the long trek up Red Mountain, though he never told Nerevar that fact.

After a moment of silence, Azura closed her eyes. “I see.” She approached even closer. “I can reunite you with them then, if that is what you wish.”

“It is.” Steren was certain. Even if she didn’t take his life here, he didn’t expect to live much longer with the injuries he sustained anyways.

“Are you truly prepared to leave this all behind?” She asked again. “There will be no going back.”

“Positive…” Nerevar would lecture him, cursing him to the deadlands and back, but Steren was so very, very tired. He would take the lecture, comfortably in his father’s arms once again, before finally having a nice, long rest.

“Then that shall be my gift to you.”

White was the next thing he could see. All encompassing, painful white, as he quickly went from feeling far too hot to feeling frigid.

And then he was falling. And falling fast. Seren scrambled, activating his slowfall ring, his heart accelerating and lungs still burning. Still, the enchantment could only cushion his fall and try as he might to flail around in the air, to get to dry land he could see, he ended up falling into the water.

“Fuck!” Steren swore. The cold felt like knives digging into his skin, and before he knew it he felt like he was gasping for air, suffocating despite his head being above water, as he continued to flail towards the beach. He climbed himself out of the frigid waves eventually, shivering, now soaking wet.

Azura had promised him he’d get to see his parents, but he never expected Moonshadow or the ancestral realm to be… Cold and snowy. There wasn’t a whole lot of snow in Mournhold after all. Yet here he was, now soaking wet and freezing, snow on the hills he could see.

If he was dead, did it matter if he was cold? That was a question he had. It sure felt like a pressing issue though, so he continued to swear and curse, trying to think. How should he keep warm? He wasn’t used to the cold growing up somewhere subtropical and then being shipped to Vvardenfell where the volcano kept the climate oddly warm compared to the neighboring country of Skyrim.

So he pressed on. Maybe Nerevar wanted to retreat to a colder area of Moonshadow. All Steren needed to do was find a place to warm up and find him.

That was easier said than done though.

He had underestimated the problems with wet clothing. His robe froze, forcing him to discard it, along with a chunk of his armor still stuck to it. He pulled out a cloak, trying to keep warm, but the wind seemed to seep through the fabric to the wet silk under it and still left him shivering. He wandered and wandered, his hands going numb and his head aching like he had a terrible migraine.

And then he started feeling oddly feverish, like he did back in the heart chamber. His clothes felt like they were wet from sweat, trapping the heat against him until it was burning. He would have stripped down more, except he was afraid if he did he would stop moving. He had to keep moving forward. One step after the other. His dad was here, and he didn’t want to stop.

Faintly, he heard people talking. His ears perked up as he blinked. His vision seemed blurry and blown out, stinging from the harsh glare of sunlight on pure white. Yet, over a small hill, he could make out two familiar faces:

A golden skinned chimer in House Indoril armor, white hair, and blue eyes. A dunmer with long, black hair and red eyes, a third eye on his forehead. He knew their voices too--he couldn’t possibly be mistaken. There were other people there but Steren didn’t pay them much mind; his fathers being here, together, was much more important.

“Dad!” Steren called out, his voice hoarse, before coughing again. Sucking in the air to yell felt like needles were pricking his already injured lungs inside and out, but he was so close--! Just a bit further. He willed his numb legs to push him forward through the heavy snow.

Nerevar gave him a confused look, before Steren wrapped his arms around him.

“Woah--” Nerevar stumbled slightly as Steren threw all of his weight onto Nerevar. “Oh gods, he’s freezing!”

“His hair is frozen--” Voryn said, confused and equally concerned for the strange dunmer who seemed delirious from the cold. Yet, Steren could barely even understand the words coming out of their mouths. All he could do was cling to Nerevar, relishing in the fact his dad felt solid and warm under his touch rather than ephemeral and cold.

“Here,” Nerevar unclasped his cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders. “C’mere, let’s get you someplace to warm up, alright?”

#steren #nerevarine #nerevoryn #nerevar #voryn dagoth #my writing #yknow how it is #can you use ephemeral like that. idk

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urbanshaman30 · 6 months

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Happy Posthumous Birthday Christopher John Reuel Tolkien (1924 - 2020), who is the third & youngest son of the author J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973), as well as the editor of much of his father's posthumously published work. He drew the original maps for his father's #TheLordOfTheRings books, which he signed as C.J.R.T.

From a child, Christopher Tolkien had long been part of the critical audience for his father's fiction, such as listening to his father’s tales of Bilbo Baggins, which were published as #TheHobbit. As a teenager and young adult, he offered a lot of feedback on “The Lord of the Rings” during its 15-year development. He also had the task of interpreting his father's sometimes self-contradictory maps of Middle-earth in order to produce the versions that were used in the books. He re-drew the main map in the late 1970’s to clarify the lettering and correct some errors and omissions.

J.R.R. Tolkien had written a large amount of material connected to the Middle-earth legendarium that was not published during his lifetime. He had originally intended to publish #TheSilmarillion along with “The Lord of the Rings”, and parts of it were in a finished state when he died in 1973; but the project was incomplete.

Once referring to his son Christopher as his "chief critic and collaborator", J.R.R. Tolkien had named Christopher his literary executor in his will. With this authority, Christopher organized the masses of his father's unpublished writings, some of which had been written on odd scraps of paper a half-century earlier. Much of the material was handwritten. Complicating matters, his father would sometimes write a newer draft over a half-erased first draft. Also, it was not uncommon for the names of characters routinely changing between the beginning and ending of the same draft.

Christopher worked on the manuscripts and was able to produce an edition of “The Silmarillion” for publication in 1977. His assistant for part of the work was Guy Gavriel Kay, who became a noted fantasy author himself.

“The Silmarillion” was followed by “Unfinished Tales” in 1980 and “The History of Middle-earth” in 12 volumes between 1983 and 1996. Most of the original source-texts have been made public from which “The Silmarillion” was constructed.

In April 2007, Christopher Tolkien published “The Children of Húrin”, whose story his father had brought to a relatively complete stage between 1951 and 1957 before abandoning it. This was one of J.R.R. Tolkien's earliest stories. Its first version dated back to 1918, and several versions were published in “The Silmarillion”, “Unfinished Tales”, and “The History of Middle-earth”.

“The Children of Húrin” is a synthesis of these and other sources. “Beren and Lúthien” is an editorial work and was published as a stand-alone book in 2017. The next year, “The Fall of Gondolin” was published also as an editorial work. “The Children of Húrin”, “Beren and Lúthien”, and “The Fall of Gondolin” make up the three "Great Tales" of the Elder Days, which J.R.R. Tolkien considered to be the biggest stories of the First Age.

Christopher served as chairman of the Tolkien Estate, Ltd., which was the entity formed to handle the business side of his father's literary legacy. He also served as a trustee of the Tolkien Charitable Trust until his retirement in 2018.

In 2001, Christopher expressed doubts over “The Lord of the Rings” film trilogy that was directed by Peter Jackson. He questioned the viability of a film interpretation that retained the essence of the work, but stressed that this was just his opinion. In 2008, he commenced legal proceedings against New Line Cinema, which he claimed owed his family £80 million in unpaid royalties. In September, 2009, he and New Line reached an undisclosed settlement. He also withdrew his legal objection to “The Hobbit” films. But, in a 2012 interview with “Le Monde”, he criticised the films saying, "They gutted the book, making an action film for 15 to 25-year-olds."

#jrr tolkien #silmarillion #the hobbit #the fall of gondolin #christopher tolkien #beren and luthien #children of hurin #lord of the rings #lotr #middle earth

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beardedmrbean · 1 year

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I'm seeing Judao-captelism being use to described Jewish people who voted Republican or dont fully agree with progressive socialist ideology. It's being used by black identitarians and marxists, so hopefully it says that way.

At its core, Judaism is about unity: the unity of the one G‑d, the universe and the unity of all people created in the image of G‑d. And yet, Judaism also gives the ordinary man an irrevocable right to his own property—as we see in the Torah’s division of the Land of Israel to tribes and families, as well as in the command to celebrate the Jubilee year (where all property is returned to its original owners every 50 years). The idea of land ownership by definition creates separation and division within society, contradicting the ideal of unity. How is it possible for us to live with these opposing ideals in our philosophy and practice? ____________________

Goes on with how the 'every 7 years fields are fallowed and whatever grows there is free game' evens thing out.

It's a good read, and I've got no doubt there's 47 Rabbi's with 63 different takes on the matter but it seems to be a reasonable conclusion to me.

I'd love to hear a Jewish perspective from some members of the Jewish community on all this since I'm just a gentile out here trying to do my best to help which lands me in the 'sticking with safer answers' area when complicated situations come up. _______________

As for socialism, I could pull up Marx's take on "The Jewish Question" but it's just easier to paraphrase.

Marx's take was 'I don't mind Jewish people I just wish they weren't so Jewish' basic idea worked out to cultural genocide, everyone has to have the same celebrations, traditions and all that good stuff regardless of the history of that particular group since the group is getting absorbed into the collective.

Hopefully this here will give you the start of some tools to respond if need be, but honestly the thinking I'm having with this is the current mode is Rothschild conspiracies without the Rothschild's.

Jewish people just like everyone else are also individuals and each one will make up their own mind about whatever subjects they want, so you're gonna get these guys.

And folks in the community that actively hate the guy.

People trying to use phrases like Judeo-capitalism just show that they're willing to take a page out of the nazi playbook if it serves their purpose, much like the ones that try to claim the Jewish people today aren't the same as the one's from Jesus's time.

Genetics has proven that one wrong.

#anonymous

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thegreatwicked · 9 months

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Unbreakable Bonds Chapter One

Unbreakable Bonds

A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe.

TheGreatWicked

Summary: In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker successfully resisted the pull of darkness, fulfilling his destiny as the Chosen One to bring balance to the Force, the Jedi Temple is abuzz with discussions about the traditionally forbidden nature of attachments. As Anakin assumes the role of a Jedi Master, his decision to ensure Palpatine's arrest rather than execution sets the tone for a new era.

On the way to an impromptu council meeting, where Anakin now holds a seat as a respected master, Obi-Wan Kenobi experiences an unusual sensation. A mysterious connection tugs at him when he encounters a young boy patiently waiting outside the council chambers. Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, the spotlight is about to shift from Anakin to himself.

As the secrets of Obi-Wan's past unravel, the Jedi Council finds itself thrust into action much sooner than anticipated. The delicate balance of the Force, once maintained by Anakin's choices, now hinges on the unforeseen revelations from Obi-Wan's history. The galaxy is on the brink of change, and the consequences of long-held secrets may reshape the destiny of the Jedi and the Force itself.

Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)

Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.

Chapter One

As the shuttle engines wound down with a soft hum and the ramp descended, the cool artificial air of the planet's capital washed over them. Stepping out onto the platform, the vibrant world of Coruscant was revealed to them in all its bustling, high-tech, and enigmatic glory. It was alive. Speeders zoomed overhead and the crowds of people, more than the boy had ever seen in his life, went about their daily routines. The air was filled with an amalgam of sounds, all intermingled together, forming the city’s pulsing heartbeat. The hum of vehicles, the constant chatter, announcements being read over speakers, droids, and their mechanical workings carrying out their tasks. It was hard to decipher what one person was saying unless they were right next to you.

In the ten years she had been away from the place that had once been her home, the shadows had grown longer and darker. There was something immediately familiar and comforting, yet she knew many things had changed. She wanted to be completely at ease, but such was the fate of those who walked in the boots of a Jedi.

Despite the excitement and anticipation of returning to the homeworld of the Jedi Temple, Cressida was unable to ignore the nervous knot in her stomach. Her many memories of a time from within the temple walls, both glorious and difficult, flooded her mind and left her with dreadful questions. She looked down at the boy who was so enraptured in the world around him, his very presence was a testament to the light that Cressida carried within her. A source of joy and hope that defied the doubts of those who questioned their bond. This day had been coming and she knew it, for despite the knowledge of what had to happen today, she still questioned her place among the ranks of her Jedi brethren. The existence of her son could potentially complicate matters greatly, so much could change today.

She thought of the many times the Jedi Council had granted special permissions for Jedi to have children, there weren't many but it wasn’t unheard of. Still, her own circumstances were vastly different than what had been approved of before. Doubt and worry gnawed at her.

"Are you nervous, Mom?" the boy asked, glancing up at her with a piercing gaze that suggested he knew her innermost thoughts before she could even think them. A presence that was commanding to some, was serene to him, yet it was his deep connection to his mother through their force bond that alerted him to her troubled soul. “Nervous about being home?”

A quick glance at her, if you happened to notice her at all, would make you ask the question of ‘How long has she been there?’ Her demeanor was observant and unassuming, she blended seamlessly into the crowds of people around her, suggesting the shadows were as comforting to her as a blanket. The stormy shade of gray in her eyes seemed to hold the weight of so much, much like heavy rain clouds before a monsoon.

Beside her, the young boy looked up eagerly with the concern of a wise sage and not the eyes of a child, though he was very much a child. A stark contrast to his mother’s shadowy nature, his youthful exuberance radiated from him, reflecting his wonder and carefree nature of the world around him as he saw it.

A soft smile graced her lips as she met his gaze. "No Solan, I'm not nervous. Just happy to be back," her voice warm and soothing. He peered up at her, his sandy hair shifting in the breeze.

"Are you sure, Mom? You look a little... different," he gently prodded, his voice filled with genuine care.

Her smile softened further, and she let out a soft chuckle, appreciating his perceptiveness. "Maybe I am a little nervous. The Jedi way is not always kind to those who stray from its path."

Solan's eyes sparkled with unwavering confidence as he squeezed her hand tighter. "It’s alright, Mom, we're safe now. We'll find our way."

His words brought a sense of peace to Cressida's heart, lightening the weight of her apprehension. She knew he was right, and their bond provided a strength that surpassed any external challenges they might encounter. With renewed determination, she turned her attention to the grandeur of the Jedi Temple that stood before them, its towering spires reaching toward the sky.

"Come, Starlight," she said, "Let me show you the Temple."

As they departed the shuttle they blended in with the crowd seamlessly, their utilitarian attire giving no clue to their identities. A surge of affection rushed through her as she watched her son take in the city's grandeur. She remembered a time when she too looked at the capital with such awe. She reached out and gently clasped his smaller hand in hers, a touch of reassurance amidst the newness that surrounded them. His mismatched eyes widened with awe at the sight of towering skyscrapers that seemed to touch the heavens, he’d never seen such structures. His face lit up with excitement, a youthful curiosity shining through.

With each step, she silently echoed Solan's words, hoping that the council would understand their unique situation and grant their request. And as the temple loomed closer, she whispered to herself, ‘Yes, my dear Solan, everything will be alright. We're finally home.’

OOO

The steps of Obi-Wan and Anakin making their way through the bustling corridors of the Jedi Temple echoed softly off the walls with each footfall, their conversation turned from the nature of this last-minute meeting of masters to more personal matters. Anakin's gait held a touch of restlessness, his thoughts consumed by the impending birth of his and Padmé's children.

"I can't help but feel a bit uneasy," Anakin admitted, his voice laced with vulnerability. "Is it strange that I'm more comfortable on the battlefield than in this new frontier of fatherhood?"

“That is a little strange, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s blue eyes crinkled with amusement. "Really, fatherhood can't be all that scary.” His tone shifted from teasing to a more comforting nature, sensing Akanins worry. “You'll be an exceptional father, just as you've been an exceptional Jedi. Most of the time.” He punctuated his pep talk with a slight jab, and Anakin appreciated the gesture but his unease remained. “Are you honestly going to tell me you would be more comfortable on Geonosis than in the medical wing with a newborn?” Obi-Wan chuckled.

“With Padme by my side, it wasn’t so scary. But this? I feel woefully unprepared.” Anakin huffed out a deep and cumbersome breath.

“Well, it can’t be worse than anything you've accomplished so far. Keep your head, be there for Padme, and do your best to fulfill your duties as a Jedi. The force will be with you in all things just as it has your whole life. Besides, newborns aren’t that hard, they just sleep most of the time.”

Anakin smirked, his expression tinged with mischief. "How about you save the lectures on fatherhood for when you become a father yourself."

"Very amusing, Anakin. What woman would put up with my penchant for adventure?" Memories of Siri, Satine, and Cerasi briefly flashed through Obi-wan’s mind.

Anakin scoffed playfully, knowing full well of the trail of broken hearts Obi-Wan had inadvertently left in his wake. "Oh, I'm sure there's someone out there who can handle you, my friend." Obi-wan shook his head dismissively. The topic of their discussion changed as they continued their strides, “So, you really don’t know why this meeting had been called?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged, “No, I don’t. Why would you think I do?”

Anakin gave him a look that he’d seen a hundred times before “Because you often know more than you say you do.” Obi-Wan chuckled

“Not this time, I’m just as in the dark as you.”

As they approached the Council Chambers, Anakin's eagerness led him to stride ahead, leaving Obi-Wan momentarily behind. His gaze was drawn to a young boy sitting alone on a bench, swinging his legs with an air of lightheartedness. The boy didn't quite fit the image of a Padawan or a youngling, lacking the traditional Jedi braid and attire.

Curiosity piqued, Obi-Wan motioned for Anakin to proceed without him. He approached the boy with a warm smile, his eyes filled with kindness and intrigue. "Hello, there."

The boy turned his gaze toward Obi-Wan, his eyes sparkling with an innocence that seemed at odds with the Jedi Temple's solemnity. "Hello, Master Jedi," he replied, his tone respectful and filled with genuine warmth.

Obi-Wan found himself pleasantly surprised by the boy's polite manners and the observance of his Jedi title. A twinkle of recognition flickered in the depths of the Jedi Master's eyes, though he couldn't quite place it. Their encounter felt oddly familiar.

Engaging in the conversation with a friendly curiosity, Obi-Wan stood before the boy. "Are you waiting for someone, young one?"

The boy nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Yes. I'm waiting for my mother. She's in a meeting with the Grand Master and the High Council. But I think she might be gone for a while.”

“Why’s that?”

“I think she’s in trouble.” There was a slight slump in his posture that denoted an invisible burden he carried.

“Why would your mother be in trouble with the council?” Civilians didn’t answer to the council, he couldn’t imagine a reason for this.

“She’s a Jedi, and Jedi aren’t allowed to have children.”

"What’s your name, young man?" Obi-Wan's brow furrowed slightly, his mind connecting the dots. The boy's presence and the mention of the council stirred a sense of unease within him. Obi-Wan moved to sit beside him.

The boy looked up at Obi-Wan with eager anticipation. "My name is Solan Cael," he answered, his name unfamiliar to the Jedi Master. “What’s yours?”

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi” He held out a hand for Solan to shake but Solan's eyes widened in awe.

“General Kenobi?" he asked, his voice filled with reverence.

Surprised by the recognition, Obi-Wan's curiosity deepened. "Do you know me?"

Solan nodded eagerly, his voice filled with admiration as it trembled in disbelief. “General Kenobi?” Obi-Wan answers him with a warm smile Solan was barely able to contain his surprise. Solan’s excitement was palpable as he turned to face Obi-wan on the bench, his eyes alight with reverence. “Hero of the Clone Wars, you served on Geonosis, you defended Kamino, you defeated General Grievous, you led the 212th Attack Battalion!”

Obi-wan chuckles at hearing of his own exploits with such fervor from one so young, “How do you know of me?”

"My mother told stories about you.” Obi-Wan’s brows shot up in surprise. “She said you weren’t just a skilled warrior but a wise and compassionate Jedi and you stood for what was right. That you fought fearlessly and saved countless lives. She holds you in high regard and she’s told me your stories since I was little."

“I’m honored to have your mother’s high opinion,” Obi-Wan felt flattered by the praise and intrigued by the tales Solan's mother had apparently shared. “Tell me, Solan, do I know your mother?”

“No, I don’t think so.” The nonchalant response left Obi-Wan perplexed. It was true he had a reputation in the Clone Wars but it was still a bit odd for one person to speak of his exploits so fervently with no personal connection.

“What’s your mother’s name?” He was struck by Solan's lack of response. The Jedi Master pressed further, his voice gentle but persistent. “Does your mother know me?” Solan hesitated for a moment, biting his lower lip before his demeanor shifted, and he simply stated that he wasn’t supposed to talk about it, it was a secret.

“Secrets can be burdensome, but necessary. Your mother must trust you a great deal.” Obi-Wan was taken aback, his thoughts racing as he tried to piece together the puzzle of Solan's presence and his mother's connection to the upcoming meeting. “Solan, you said your mother was a Jedi?” The boy nodded but his responses had become very guarded. “Where have you and your mother been if not here at the Temple?”

Solan's eyes darted around and his shoulders slumped in a defensive posture, his excitement had gone and was replaced by an almost paranoia. “I’m not supposed to talk about it…”

Obi-Wan nodded, “I won’t pry your story from you. Your mother obviously trusts you with her secrets and it’s admirable that you guard them so well. Perhaps your mother and I will meet someday and we’ll meet again.” Solan’s eyes shone a bit brighter and he offered a small smile as Obi-Wan stood, “I’m afraid I must leave you here, Solan, but it’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

Realizing his duty called him elsewhere Solan nodded. "May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi," the young boy offered, surprising Obi-Wan once more with his profound farewell.

“And with you, Solan Cael.” Returning the sentiment, Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding lingering in the air. As he rejoined Anakin at the entrance of the Council Chambers, the concerned look on his face did not go unnoticed by his former Padawan.

"Is everything alright?" Anakin asked, a hint of worry coloring his voice.

Obi-Wan rubbed his beard thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the closed doors of the Council Chambers. "I have no idea, but something tells me this meeting is about to bring unexpected revelations."

As the pair entered the council chamber, their footsteps echoed softly in the vast space. The room was brightly lit, with beams of sunlight streaming through the high windows, casting elongated shadows on the polished floor. The atmosphere felt charged, a mixture of anticipation and tension hanging in the air.

There was a figure already present, standing with her back toward Obi-Wan. Her long, auburn hair cascaded down her back in a loose braid, swaying gently as she shifted her weight from one foot to another. She wore attire that deviated from the traditional Jedi robes, opting instead for snug-fitting clothing more akin to that of a smuggler or adventurer. The fabric clung to her form, suggesting a familiarity with warm climates and practicality rather than Jedi decorum. Her skin, kissed by the sun, carried an olive tone that spoke of time spent outdoors.

Obi-Wan's gaze traveled down, and his eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of a lightsaber hilt securely strapped to her leg. It struck him as an unusual placement, different from the customary position on the belt, more befitting of a blaster. His curiosity deepened, and he found himself growing more intrigued by the woman before him.

Her posture was guarded, her body language communicating a wariness that kept her gaze averted from the others present, aside from the Grandmaster Mace Windu. Obi-Wan's attention shifted to the ongoing conversation, noting the in-depth nature of the discussion. It was evident that the meeting had been called abruptly, with the council members already engaged in weighty discourse.

The other masters began to take their seats, some appearing via hologram projections that materialized around the room. The atmosphere remained curious, yet not overtly unusual. The council chamber had witnessed countless deliberations, but this particular gathering held an air of hidden significance. Obi-Wan observed his fellow Jedi, noting the mix of expressions on their faces—concern, intrigue, contemplation, and a sense of duty.

As Obi-Wan and Anakin settled into their respective seats, taking their place among the council members, the woman with the auburn hair maintained her enigmatic stance, her back still turned. Her identity remained shrouded in mystery, an enigma that intrigued Obi-Wan. He silently resolved to discover the reasons behind her presence and the secrets she held, all while fulfilling his duty to the council and the Jedi Order.

The council chamber hummed with anticipation as Mace Windu, the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, took his place at the center of the room. The lighting grew slightly dimmer, focusing the attention on the council members gathered around. The atmosphere became weighted with a mix of curiosity, concern, and a deep sense of responsibility.

Mace's deep voice resonated through the chamber as he began to speak, his tone both commanding and measured. "I thank you all for your promptness in attending this meeting, fellow masters," he said, his eyes scanning each Jedi present. "We find ourselves facing an unusual event that requires the combined wisdom and utmost delicacy in our approach."

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker exchanged glances, their eyes meeting briefly before returning their attention to Mace. Anakin's gaze flickered towards the door, his expression betraying a hint of restlessness, while Obi-Wan responded with a subtle shrug, signaling his own curiosity and readiness for whatever lay ahead.

"The circumstances we face pertain to the child of the Jedi Sentinel among us," Mace continued, his voice carrying a weight of importance. "This Sentinel has entrusted us with a matter of great significance, and it is imperative that we exercise utmost discretion."

The other council members leaned forward, their interest piqued as they absorbed Mace's words. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for further details. It became apparent that only Mace Windu and Yoda possessed prior knowledge of the unfolding events, leaving the rest of the council in a state of eager curiosity.

Mace paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. "We must exercise caution as we navigate this delicate situation," his voice carried a note of gravitas. "Our actions could have far-reaching consequences, not only for the child involved but also for the Jedi Order as a whole. We must proceed with wisdom and compassion."

The council members leaned in, their expressions a mix of anticipation and concern. They were well aware that this was a pivotal moment, a test of their collective judgment and the values they held dear. They yearned for more information, eager to understand the depth and significance of the Sentinel's request.

In the midst of the charged atmosphere, Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged another glance, silently communicating their readiness to face the unknown. They understood that the path ahead was shrouded in mystery and filled with challenges, yet their resolve remained unwavering. They were Jedi, after all, and it was their duty to safeguard the Order and protect those in need.

The council chamber retained its solemn atmosphere as Mace Windu addressed the Sentinel, his voice measured and commanding. "Is the boy with you, Sentinel?" he inquired, his gaze steady and unwavering.

The Sentinel nodded, her eyes briefly meeting Mace's before turning to the doors. With a calm and authoritative tone, Mace beckoned the guards at the door. The large doors swung open, revealing Solan, who quickly came to stand by her side. The boy's face was alight with anticipation, his eyes shining with a youthful curiosity unburdened by the weight of the Jedi Council's presence, he cast a bright smile at Obi-Wan.

Solan's mother gently placed her hand on his shoulder, guiding him forward until he stood before her, positioned where the Grandmaster could better see him. Her touch carried both reassurance and a silent reminder for him to remain composed in the presence of the council.

Mace turned his attention to Solan, his eyes studying the young boy. "Welcome, Solan," he greeted warmly. "Do you know where you are, and who everyone in this room is?"

Solan's gaze moved from Mace to the council members, his face bright and eager. He nodded confidently. "Yes, Grandmaster," he replied. "I'm at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and the people here are the members of the Jedi High Council." He proceeded to name a few individuals, including Mace Windu, Yoda, Obi-Wan, Ki-Adi Mundi, Shaak Ti, Kit Fisto, and Anakin with a sense of familiarity that impressed the council.

Mace's amusement danced in his eyes as he continued his conversation with the boy. "And do you know why you are here, Solan?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Solan glanced at his mother, seeking her guidance. She nodded subtly, encouraging him to speak. The young boy took a step forward and cleared his throat. "I'm ten years old," he began, his voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and seriousness. "My purpose here is to begin my training as a Jedi."

Soft murmurs rippled through the council members, their curiosity and interest piqued by the boy’s candid response. Mace leaned back in his seat, a spark of intrigue glinting in his eyes. "Tell me, Solan," he continued, his tone gentle. "Can you feel the presence of the Force calling to you? Have you ever experienced moments where you've made things happen that you couldn't explain?"

A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Solan's lips as he extended his hand, palm upturned. Behind Mace, an ornate ornament sat on display, an object of intricate craftsmanship. As if responding to Solan's invitation, it shot across the room, propelled by an unseen force, and gently came to rest above Solan's outstretched hand.

Gasps of astonishment escaped from the council members, their eyes widening as they witnessed the display of Solan's burgeoning connection to the Force. Mace Windu's lips curved into a small smile, a mix of admiration and anticipation. The young boy had caught their attention, his journey now intricately woven into the destiny of the Jedi Order.

The council chamber fell into a hushed silence as Mace Windu turned his gaze towards Yoda, seeking the ancient Jedi Master's counsel. Yoda, his expression serene and wise, nodded in acknowledgment, indicating his understanding of the situation unfolding before them.

Mace leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on the Sentinel. "Has the boy's midi-chlorian count been measured?" he asked, his voice steady and purposeful.

The Sentinel met Mace's gaze, her own eyes steady and resolute. "Yes, Grandmaster," she replied. "His midi-chlorian count stands at 16,000."

A wave of astonishment rippled through the Council Chamber, spreading like wildfire. The Jedi Masters exchanged whispered conversations, their voices tinged with a mix of disbelief and awe. Even Obi-Wan Kenobi, a seasoned Jedi, found himself momentarily taken aback by the sheer magnitude of Solan's connection to the Force.

Mace, regaining his composure, turned his attention back to Solan. "Can you do anything else, young Solan?" he inquired, his voice filled with a blend of curiosity and anticipation.

Solan nodded earnestly, his bright eyes filled with a sense of wonder. "When I touch objects, Grandmaster," he began, his voice carrying a hint of excitement, "I can see their histories. I can see who held them last and they tell me their stories. I can even share what I see with others through touch." Solan's words hung in the air, permeating the council chamber with a sense of extraordinary possibility. “I can share these visions with my mother too.”

A murmur of astonishment swept through the council members once again, their gazes fixed upon the young boy and his mother. Solan's abilities were beyond anything they had encountered before. The Sentinel nodded, confirming her own possession of the same gift, which had manifested after the child’s birth. The depth and complexity of their bond stirred a sense of reverence among the council.

Solan continued, his voice calm and composed. "I have memories, Grandmaster," he continued his words carrying a weight of ancient wisdom. "Memories of my life before I was born, and memories of my mother carrying me in her womb as though they were my own."

The council members listened intently, their eyes widening as they grasped the significance of Solan's words. The boundaries of time and existence seemed to blur in the face of his extraordinary connection to the Force.

Sensing a trace of doubt among the council members, Solan extended his hand, allowing the object he held to make contact with his skin. "This artifact," he began, his voice filled with a knowing certainty, "once belonged to a great Jedi Master who occupied the seat where Master Yoda now sits. He lived during the time of the Old Republic and passed the object to his Padawan, who tragically lost his life. It was lost until it was returned to the council by an ambassador of Arkanis." Solan's words hung in the air, each one carrying an air of truth. “The Great Master became one with the force.”

The council members exchanged shocked glances, their disbelief transforming into resolute belief. Every word uttered by Solan resonated with undeniable authenticity, revealing the depths of his extraordinary abilities and the vastness of his connection to the Force. The Jedi Order stood at the precipice of a new era, guided by the presence of this enigmatic young boy and his mother, both touched by the Force in ways that defied conventional understanding.

The council chamber was filled with a solemn atmosphere, heavy with the weight of Solan's revelations. Mace Windu, stunned into silence by the young boy's extraordinary abilities, found himself momentarily unable to form words. It was Yoda, the venerable Jedi Master, who broke the silence.

Yoda's ancient voice resonated with a mixture of compassion and curiosity as he addressed the boy. "More to tell us, you have, young Solan. Sense it, I do," he said, his wise eyes fixed upon the boy. “Upon your heart, will you share with the council what weighs?"

Solan took a hesitant step backward, but his mother gently urged him forward once more, her touch conveying both support and encouragement. Taking a deep breath, Solan mustered his courage and spoke. "Sometimes, Master Yoda," he began, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "I have dreams. Dreams of things that have been and some things that have not yet come to pass. They frighten me, and sometimes I wake up screaming and crying." He lowered his head slightly as though ashamed, “I know I’m not supposed to be afraid, but I can’t help it. I don’t know how to make the visions stop, sometimes I get sick when I see things.”

A sense of empathy washed over Obi-Wan Kenobi as he listened to the child’s confession. He had been unaware of the depth of the young boy's experiences and the burdens he had already carried at such a tender age. Obi-Wan's heart went out to Solan, recognizing the tremendous weight that the boy had been shouldering in the shadows.

Solan's shoulders slumped, his gaze now fixed upon the ground as if expecting a reprimand. He took another step back, seeking solace in the presence of his mother, who instinctively rested her hands on his shoulders, offering a comforting embrace.

Yoda approached Solan, his ancient eyes filled with wisdom and compassion. “Feel ashamed for feeling fear do not, a heavy burden, visions of the future are. An absence of courage your fear is not.” He imparted.

Solan looked up, his gaze meeting Yoda's countenance. The burden of shame began to ease from his young shoulders as he absorbed Yoda's words of wisdom. A glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes as if a weight had been lifted from his fragile spirit.

The council members, previously silent witnesses to this intimate exchange, now regarded Solan with newfound understanding. The room itself seemed to radiate a sense of compassion and acceptance. Solan, though still young and vulnerable, had taken a courageous step in revealing his fears and doubts. In the presence of Yoda's wisdom, the young boy's journey toward embracing his own strength and resilience had just begun.

The Council Chamber remained filled with a mix of curiosity and concern as everyone absorbed the weighty revelations brought forth by Solan. Anakin Skywalker, his gaze fixed intently on the young boy, felt a deep connection to him, his own curiosity and investment growing with each passing moment. Yoda, having imparted his wisdom, settled back into his seat, his gaze shifting between Solan and his mother.

Mace Windu, the steady voice of authority, addressed Solan once more, his tone gentle yet inquisitive. "Are you afraid of this room, or the people within it, young Solan?" he asked, his eyes showing genuine concern.

Solan took a moment to gather his thoughts, his small hand tightly grasping his mother's for comfort. "No, Grandmaster," he replied honestly. "I'm not afraid of this room or the people. I'm only afraid for my mother."

The attention of the council now shifted to Solan's mother, the Sentinel. She stood there, her posture strong and unwavering, her gaze fixed on her son with a mix of protective love and determination. The council members regarded her with a renewed sense of interest, recognizing the gravity of her situation.

Mace, his voice carrying a sense of reassurance, spoke directly to Solan. "The council does not punish Jedi for having children," he explained. "However, there are rules in place for a reason, but our greatest concern is for your wellbeing, young Solan."

Solan's gaze narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "You promise?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of caution.

Mace met Solan's gaze with empathy and sincerity. "I promise, young one," he affirmed, his words carrying the weight of his authority. "We are here to guide and protect you."

Another master, his curiosity piqued, interjected with a question. "And what about the identity of the boy’s father?" he asked, directing his inquiry to Mace.

Mace's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he turned his attention toward Solan's mother. It was a question that lingered in the air, drawing the focus towards the woman who had silently stood beside her son throughout the council's deliberations.

Mace's voice was measured as he asked Solan, "Do you know who your father is?"

Solan's gaze dropped to the ground, a tinge of sadness flickering across his young face. "No," he confessed, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and longing.

The council members exchanged knowing glances, their attention now firmly fixed on Solan's mother. The woman stood there, her demeanor revealing a complex blend of strength, determination, and a hidden past that held the answers to Solan's lineage. The council was poised to uncover a truth that could shape the young boy's destiny within the Jedi Order.

The chamber grew increasingly tense as Mace Windu, his voice unwavering, addressed the Sentinel, requesting the identity of Solan's father. The atmosphere in the room shifted as if holding its breath, as all eyes focused on the woman standing beside her son. There was a hint of defensiveness in her posture, barely perceptible to those not paying close attention, but she concealed it well.

The Sentinel met Mace's gaze, her expression guarded yet resolute. "I know who his father is," she replied, her voice carrying a note of conviction. "And he is alive and well."

Solan turned his gaze towards his mother, his curiosity and trepidation evident in his young eyes. The weight of the moment hung in the air as Mace addressed the Sentinel once more, explaining the council's concerns about secrecy and the need for transparency. He tactfully asked her to reveal the identity of Solan's father before the council.

The Sentinel hesitated, her gaze flickering over her shoulder briefly as if seeking an escape. She then spoke, her voice laced with hesitation. "I’d hoped for the opportunity to tell the father in person first," she admitted, her words revealing a hint of vulnerability.

Mace's tone remained firm as he pressed further, his questions became more direct. "Is the father of ill repute or a criminal?" he inquired, his voice tinged with caution.

The defensive edge in the Sentinel's voice became more pronounced as she quickly retorted, "Not a chance."

The tension in the room escalated, the council members keenly attuned to the standoff between Mace and the Sentinel. Mace refused to yield, his determination was evident. He insisted on the revelation of Solan's father's identity before the council.

The Sentinel, realizing her tactics were failing, changed her approach, requesting that she be allowed to tell her son in private, or at least have him leave the room before revealing the truth. Mace remained silent, his patience waning, as he grew tired of the Sentinel's attempts to delay a straightforward answer.

Mace's voice grew firmer as he stated, "You've had ten years to tell Solan his father's identity, and the time for secrets is over."

The Sentinel appeared defeated, her gaze shifting towards her son. She brushed his hair out of his face, giving him a sympathetic look and squeezing his hand, conveying an unspoken reassurance amidst the uncertainty. Solan, his eyes filled with apprehension and confusion, sensed the change in his mother's demeanor and grew visibly nervous.

With a frustrated sigh, the Sentinel finally spoke, her voice laden with a sense of resignation. "Solan Cael," she began, her gaze fixed on her son, before shifting to meet Mace's gaze directly. "Is the son of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Chapter Two

@decembermidnight This one is a long one but lots of Obi-Wan fluff and there IS SMUT COMING.

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wordsintheatmosphere · 21 days

Text

The Problem With A Heart

Series: Touken Ranbu Pairing: Tsurumaru Kuninaga/Saniwa (Female) Rating: G Summary: The problem with being given a physical form is all these new complications that comes with it. As a sword, Tsurumaru has never had to deal with such thoughts before, but things are different now.

—

His master had been gone for a long, long time.

She didn't leave without warning; his master was a responsible owner, and she had written meticulous letters about her reasons for leaving and the duties and responsibilities that were to be handled in her absence. She had been quite detailed in her letters, making sure that the swords under her current ownership were well taken care of and would not encounter too many difficulties; as her last appointed attendant, Tsurumaru couldn't help but smile wryly as he read over them. Despite her efforts, sword spirits were more than capable of looking after themselves and did not require the aid of a human to help them settle. There was no doubt that the sword spirits were much older than she was, than any human could possibly be, and there was little she could offer that they would not be able to do on their own. She of all people would know that, as someone with the power to pull spirits from old, historied objects and embody their essence into a physical form. Even so, Tsurumaru thought as he read over her letters for a countless time, she was quite meticulous in her writing. It was the only way she could show her care for them, in her own human way.

And yet, despite all the detail and attention and underlying anxiousness in her written words, there was no mention of her return. When will she be back? Will she ever be back? The questions that lived in Tsurumaru's mind could not find an answer in all of the pages his master wrote, no matter how many times he read them. He folded the wrinkled paper, textured with his constant touch, and placed it back in the wooden drawer. It hurt him to think that she chose to leave these letters behind instead of facing him, her attendant, who had the right to know. In his mind he knew she wouldn't be able to answer the questions that bothered him even if she were to face him then, but the problem with a heart is that rationalizing these thoughts did not help him in the slightest.

There were many things that her swords chose to do; in a way, it was a welcomed break from all the fighting that they had done. Some chose the time to deepen the friendships between each other, some chose to busy themselves with hobbies or training, and all of them dutifully kept with the responsibilities that their master had detailed in her letters to upkeep their citadel. But for Tsurumaru, the days remained unchanging. There was a restlessness in his heart that blossomed when he read her letter for the first time, a feeling that kept growing with the days that passed peacefully. Was it right for him to feel this way, even in times of peace? He'd thought he would accept it, when he'd left to discover himself on that journey that his master approved of so long ago. It turned out he was still bad at accepting this unchanging landscape—at least, without his master. When he had made his mind up to settle down, it was because he thought he'd be able to be by his master's side, not like this in a place without her. Not like this, alone by himself.

He spent his days wandering the citadel grounds, finding ways to bide his time, and every late afternoon to evening he took to sitting by the front gates alone. When he was asked what he was doing, his answer was that he was bored and simply wished to observe the changing landscape outside of the citadel that was frozen in time without the presence of his master. It was not entirely a lie, but it was not entirely the truth either; his eyes wandered several times down the paths where his master could've taken on the day she decided to leave. It was unfair, the way it was so easy for her to choose to walk down those paths alone, when it was so difficult for him to be stuck here, unable to follow.

It was a clear summer day when he finally saw his master walking down the dirt path. At first he couldn't believe it; many times people had walked down those paths, traveling to their destinations and back, and many times he had watched each of them, each figure of a lady making him hold his breath quietly before releasing it in disappointment. But this time he recognized the style of her clothes, the colour of her hair, and most certainly the way she carried herself with determined purpose, even if her eyes held the weariness of a person that shouldered a heavy burden. When her eyes met his, her steps freezing in surprise, Tsurumaru pulled his hood over his eyes and waited.

He waited. What else could he do, when he had been trapped waiting all this time? When he could hear her hesitant footsteps drawing near him, he rose to his feet. She was so small; he towered over her, the hood that covered his gaze no longer veiling the sharpness in his eyes.

"You're back," he said, and though he was smiling there was an edge to his voice he couldn't contain. She darted her gaze nervously at the sound of it, and if he was in a better mood he would've kicked himself. This was the problem of owning a heart: the absence of a master couldn't bother him when he was simply a sword, but now things were too complicated and he didn't know how to handle these strange and unfamiliar feelings.

"I'm back," she agreed in a quiet, apologetic voice, then added, "how were things while I was gone?"

"While you were gone?" He echoed, the smile not leaving his face though his mind was in a mess; how were things, he had not bothered to keep track despite being her trusted attendant. He only knew of the way her absence had made him feel, how it felt to be left waiting and wondering in a place without her.

"I was dead," he said simply; there was no exaggeration in his voice, because as far as he was concerned it was the truth. "If nothing changes, then it's the same as being dead."

She looked at him then, and the pained look in her eyes melted the ice that frosted his heart ever since the day she left. He pulled her close, his arms enveloping and folding her body against his. She was so small; had anyone ever told her that? It made her look so harmless, but he knew she was anything but. No harmless person could ever leave him feeling so helpless at her absence, or drain the petty anger he'd held onto so tightly with just a look, leaving him feeling pathetic for speaking so coldly to her when she was all he could think about while she was gone.

"I'm sorry, Tsurumaru," she said, voice muffled against his clothes.

"Welcome home," he whispered, when he could finally trust his voice.

#touken ranbu #tsurumaru kuninaga #tsurumaru/saniwa #my fic #oh hey I'm back #Been writing mostly OC stuff then got busy with life #This is actually pretty old #but I haven't posted this before and I thought I should at least keep my writing side-blog updated with my writings #mostly for myself tbh #Anyway this is about the english server's Tsurumaru absence line #The eng server is long gone btw #that is how old this fic is

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