#how many children did she see get sent off to die in the civil wars?

[short-wooloo]

I've seen a few posts about how mandos hate child endangerment...

Guys

That's fanon

There is no indication that mandalorians hate endangering children anymore than any other group, culture, individual or responsible/sensible parent

If anything the opposite might be true, in both canon and legends it seems that mandalorians (the warriors anyways) consider a certain amount of endangerment to be acceptable-if not tacitly encouraged-in child rearing

#this was inspired by a post saying that Satine's hatred of child endangerment is the most mando thing about her #like no #that's not a mando thing #that's a satine thing #and it makes sense #how many children did she see get sent off to die in the civil wars? #and was told it was ok #warrior cultures do not typically place much value in a chid's safety #usually they see that as coddling #and conversly they see endangerment as a good thing because in their eyes it teaches kids to be tough #wooloo-writes #wooloo writes #star wars #sw #mando critical #mandalorian critical #anti mandalorian #anti mandalorians #anti mando

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

How do you think the Cullen's would have turned out if they lived their natural human lives and not forever frozen at an age / the state they were in? For example I think Carlisle would always be kind and tame but perhaps not as idealistic. Rose might grow bitter of the world since even if Royce didn't assault her I can't imagine he would be the loving husband she wanted. Edward, who watched his parents die and was dying himself, might not be as moody and miserable. Who knows about Jasper and Alice and Esme. Emmett would probably stay the same. Bella, if she never met the supernatural, probably would just be a quiet old soul but otherwise not mal adjusted. I can't even guess about Renesmee haha since she has no personality next to being ~inhumanly special.

I mean, sadly, we know the answer: they wouldn't be around very long and would have died miserably. There's no such thing as a natural human life, well, I suppose you can die of old age, but the fate of the Cullens didn't have that in store.

But let's get into it just the same.

Alice

Had James not come across Alice, she likely still would have been turned at some point by her maker, who seems to have been very fond of her. It was just a matter of time. The difference being that, instead of being a newborn completely on her own, her maker would have been there. This is an Alice very unlikely to see Jasper or the Cullens in her future, though who knows, Carlisle and her maker might very well cross paths someday due to the similarity of their work.

But I doubt Alice would ever end up on the diet.

For Alice to remain human, she can never have been sent to that asylum. In which case we have two options a) she's not sent to an asylum b) she's sent to a different asylum.

In the first case, Alice is more than likely murdered by her father. This is what got her sent off in the first place: she was running around town claiming that her father had murdered her mother and now planned to murder her. To shut the hysterical woman up, her father sent her to an insane asylum. Which effectively got her out of his life just as he wished.

If that didn't occur to him, then yes, Alice likely falls gravely ill or has some unfortunate accident that she cannot prevent.

Otherwise, Alice is sent to some other insane asylum, likely still loses all her memories due to electroshock therapy, and probably dies very young due to poor health conditions. The life she does live is utterly miserable.

Bella

Bella dies in a parking lot, she's hit by a truck out of control. Otherwise, Bella dies in Port Angeles, she's raped and her body abandoned in a dumpster. Otherwise, Bella is eaten by a vampire.

And if Bella miraculously survives all of that, I imagine her struggle with depression continues throughout high school and into college. In college, she may meet someone who catches her interest, in which case she becomes completely codependent on them for a sense of validation (as she did Edward and Jacob in canon).

The relationship is a toxic mess, ends in a very messy breakup, and Bella goes through her New Moon phase a bit later. She might finally get therapy and survive this very dangerous phase in her life, at which point, she finally starts the slow recovery from depression.

I imagine Bella will be struggling with depression though for all of her life and, if left untreated, it might very well kill her.

Carlisle

Had Carlisle not been turned this means the vampire likely drained him. Carlisle dies at the head of the mob, this sentences the other Cullens to death as well as now no one will turn them.

Let's say Carlisle wasn't as fast that day. He had a leg cramp, or something. Not being well in front of the others, he's not hit by the vampire first. This increases his chances of death, as the vampire seems to have killed the rest he took a bite of, but he could survive.

Carlisle lives with the haunting guilt that the one time he tracks down a true demon he brought death to his parish. Several died due to his actions, the demon got away, and now there's no sign of it. Carlisle completely and utterly failed.

This is probably the final straw for Carlisle. Demons exist, but they are beyond his capacity to hunt, this is a job for God and not mere mortal men. He stops the demon hunts, stops the witch hunts, and focuses himself strictly on helping the community and preaching.

He lives knowing his father would have continued to be sorely disappointed in everything he does.

Carlisle likely marries within a few years, now that his father is dead and he's the established head of the parish. He may or may not like his wife all that much, but he has a responsibility, and having a wife and children is one of those. I imagine that they either are somewhat fond of each other or quietly tolerate one another.

If Carlisle has a son, the son is trained as a priest, sent to seminary as he was, and set to inherit the parish. If he has only daughters, then it will be her husband who will inherit the parish.

When Carlisle dies he is likely remembered very fondly by the parish for the good he did for the community. No one talks about the demon hunting disaster. He's buried next to his father.

Edward

Edward dies of the Spanish Influenza in 1918.

Had he never caught it, and thus never come across Carlisle, I imagine he lives a somewhat ordinary life. He goes to university somewhere very well established, perhaps even one of the Ivy League schools, I can see him training to become a lawyer. He either joins his father's law firm or, if his father's not a lawyer, some law firm in Chicago where he does quite well for himself.

He probably courts then marries some affluent, well to do, woman who hits all the checkmarks he expects from society. They probably get on quite well.

The market then crashes in 1929, when Edward's only 29 years old, and Edward gets to live through the depression. Edward may be lucky enough to retain his wealthy, however, he very well could not have been. Edward is now unemployed, destitute, and miserable just like the rest of the country.

I imagine this is very hard on him, he becomes very bitter and resentful, and as he desperately tires to find work it just gets worse. Edward becomes mired in cynicism.

Then the war hits, Edward is now 41, and he's too old to enlist in the army. He feels a sense of nostalgic bitterness that, once again, he can't go fight the good fight and has to cheer from the sidelines. Nonetheless, the economy starts to recover thanks to the war, Edward recovers with it and things get better.

Edward lives his ordinary human life and, perhaps, lives to sometime in the 1990's.

Emmett

Emmett is eaten by bears.

Had he not happened to be in the mountains that day then, likely, some other unfortunate accident would have befallen him. He's a mountain man, that's a dangerous life.

He gets eaten by bears, eaten by mountain lions, injured somehow and then dies, hit by a tree that he cut down, there are so many possibilities.

If he does live to an older age then he becomes the gruff mountain man stereotype that we all know. I imagine he remains a very friendly, cheerful, man, probably marries some local girl and has a very large family.

Esme

Esme kills herself. With the death of her child, that was the path she chose, and had she not been turned she would have been successful.

However, had her child lived, I imagine her life would have continued on the path it was on. She would have been a single mother, working as a teacher, and raising her child.

They would have been poor, but Esme seemed determined to make this work, and was doing an excellent job at it.

Perhaps, in time, she would meet the right man and remarry. However, I think that would take a lot of time as the whole issue was that she was hung up on the ideal of Dr. Carlisle Cullen who she met when she was sixteen and never saw again.

Regardless, she's far more of a real person grounded in reality than Esme the vampire ever was.

Jasper

Had Jasper not come across Maria, he likely would have died in the war. Many, many, people died in the civil war, and Jasper would be far from alone in that.

If not, he would have returned to the ravaged south, and likely found himself facing unemployment and very difficult times for wherever he came from.

Jasper would likely pull through, we know he has lived through hell in canon and pulled through there, though changed for life by the horrors of the civil war that will now never quite leave him.

Renesmee

Renesmee is never born. Her father is a demon a hundred years older than her mother. There is no chance that Bella becomes pregnant with Edward's human child, let alone his vampire child.

If Bella does become pregnant with a vampire child, she's likely been raped by Joham. Bella dies in confusion and agony, Renesmee is born into this world utterly alone, is picked up by Serena, and becomes yet another sister of Nahuel's.

Renesmee lives the miserable life that all of Nahuel's siblings do.

Rosalie

Rosalie is gang raped to death by Royce and his friends and dies in agony in an alley. Had she not come across Royce that night then likely, after they marry, he at some point rapes her to death and murders her.

The likelihood of Rosalie, with her parent's ambitions and her looks, of not marrying Royce is very small.

Even then, Royce is in town in general, that means all she needed was one bad night. Which, in canon, she had.

However, let's say she lives and Royce wasn't interested in her hand, she marries option number two. As you note, her marriage still likely isn't fulfilling. Rosalie is there to be beautiful and poised, to have tea with the ladies in society, and watch as a governess raises her children.

This is the world she lives in, and she accepts that, but over time she becomes increasingly bitter and resentful of this thing we call life.

TL;DR Remember, there's no escape from the pit of despair we call Twilight

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #the cullens #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #bella swan #edward cullen #esme cullen #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #jasper whitlock #rensemee cullen #bittemoi

[cblgblog]

Sorry I’m advance but one of my other favorite accounts just reblogged a Tony scene and people are talking about Civil War and how it made them Stan Tony, and how when they watch that movie they hate team cap👀 Then someone was all about how he was sleep deprived and how much pressure he was under and couldn’t understand how people didn’t like Tony because. Someone literally said that when someone says they don’t like Tony in Civil War they say “did you watch the same movie as me.” I’m baffled. Oddly enough someone else said, “he just wants to help everyone.” Sorry for the rant but I think people forget about what the accords are and what it would mean for people. Side note, I hope you’re having a great day/night 😀

No sorry needed!

I feel you man, I do. Honestly, I’ve unfollowed people based on similar posts when I was in especially Done moods, so.

Look on the one hand, the movie would’ve been a narrative failure if everyone was in favor of one side or the other, right? The whole point of the damn thing—besides giving the Mouse overlords more money—was to spark discussion, debate. Which, yeah, we’ll call that the tame description for what actually happened. But just, the thing was meant to split the fanbase so in that regard…winning? Thanks, I guess?

Film is also very obviously subjective, different strokes for different folks, so yeah, ten people can watch a movie and none of them are gonna see the exact same film. Let’s try to remember that this is, in theory anyway, a good thing. I just read a professional film review yesterday where I had the same reaction. What film were you watching, dude? Incidentally his reviewing partner said the same thing.

So honestly, no, they weren’t watching the same film as you or I or anyone else, because everyone brings their own biases and experiences and knowledge and interests into a thing, and that’s always going to flavor how it’s viewed. Again, let’s try to remember that this is good. In theory. Heavy on the theory.

That out of the way? Let’s get into Tony specifically so his uber stans can find this and scream at me on anon as though I just shot RDJ with a nuke.

Oh yeah, he was stressed. Oh, he was sleep deprived. Yeah, I’ve heard that. And that it’s Pepper’s fault, if she hadn’t left the poor baby, if she was there to rein him in, he’d be fine dammit, leave the baby alone!

Here’s the thing. You know who gets a pass on their shit behavior when they’re upset or tired? Actual babies. Actual babies and toddlers, and children, up to a point. Because they actually cannot always help themselves. Their bodies and brains are different, they have not learned better.

When you’re a 50-year-old man who’s supposedly the world’s bestest superhero, who wants, wants to be in charge of protecting the whole world? You need a little more self-control than that. The sleep deprived excuse works if you snap at someone before you’ve had your coffee, not for this. Roseanne Barr didn’t get to blame Ambien for her racism, Tony doesn’t get to handwave CW away because oops, I was tired.

Really? You’re a superhero, dude. Most of your teammates are tired too, that’s part of the gig. If you crash and burn this badly without your afternoon nap, fucking hang up the armor and go back to your billionaire playboy lifestyle.

Speaking of that, sure, right. It’s Pepper’s fault because she left him. Put aside the argument on whether that was justified or not (cough, it was and she should’ve stayed away even though they are adorable together). It’s not Pepper’s job to keep Tony sane. It’s not any partner’s job to do that for anyone. If she wants out, she has a right to that, without Tony going off the rails and blaming it on her. Seriously, he says part of the reason he backed the Accords was to “split the difference” with Pepper.

Dude. You were an asshole and you lost your girl. You destroyed all your suits, turned an emotional and mental corner in IM 3…and then relapsed 4 minutes later I guess because Whedon. Either way, Tony admits himself that he does not want to stop. So instead of doing that, or finding another partner who can accept that, you back an unjust international law that pits you against your team, your supposed friends? Go to therapy, have a pint of ice cream, cry into your pillow, send her more of those strawberries you sent her in IM 2 that she’s allergic to. You don’t go trying to change international law in ways that could ultimately affect millions of people because your girl left you.

Honestly—and thank God they didn’t do this but—the only way the Pepper excuse works in excusing his behavior in any way is if she’d died. Or been severely injured like Happy in IM 3. Still wouldn’t be okay, but, like Quill messing up their chance to stop Thanos because Gamora died, it would’ve been more understandable. Understandable, not excusable, and the way the MCU treats their women as manpain fodder, we’re probably legit lucky we didn’t get this.

As for him wanting to help everyone. He does in fact want that, I think. The problem is that his need to feel like he’s doing that is stronger than his rational mind, or his want to actually help in a constructive way.

Tony is too smart. He’s dumb as hell in many instances, mostly involving people and relationships, but he’s also too smart, and he’s been told for too long that he’s smart, and he’s bought into it. Ultron. Suit of armor around the world, protects the world, no more alien threats. It’s a simple concept on paper that fails in execution. So there are people with dangerous powers. Okay, we’ll make a set of laws to keep them from being dangerous, problem solved. But again, it isn’t.

Tony is not used to problems he cannot solve. He’s a genius, right? He can fix anything. He should be able to fix anything. That’s how he feels. But not everything is zeros and ones and circuits, things that can be fixed mechanically like his armors can. The people he wants to protect are not built that way. But he needs to feel like he’s doing something, because he’s terrified of what happens to the world if he doesn’t. So he creates these simple solutions to complex problems. The suit of armor, the Accords. They sound good in theory, but the problems they’re trying to solve are bigger than they are. And Tony, way back in IM 1, he sat back for years, clueless that his weapons were being used for bad things. He says it to Cap in CW. When he found out what his weapons were being used for, he went in and stopped it. Whether or not he should’ve known that already is a separate issue here. The point here is that when he found out, too late or not, he went in and did something about it.

Tony needs to do something about it. Again, go back to Cap in AoU, Tony’s nightmare sequence. Steve asks Tony why he didn’t save them. Tony’s ultimate nightmare is that he sits back and does nothing, and his inaction causes everyone to die. Which is where you get Ultron. Something he came up with because of what he saw in space in Avengers 1, then doubled down on in AoU. It’s where you get the Accords. Oops, he caused someone to die, he killed Charles Spencer. Must do something about that right now so it doesn’t happen again, and he won’t have to feel this guilt. He should be collaborating with others to come up with solutions (no Bruce in AoU doesn’t count because Bruce was dumb there), or at the very least, taking more time to think through the repercussions of the things he puts out there. But he doesn’t, because he’s got his savior complex that tells him that he alone can and must fix this, and because he’s too dumb to realize how not-smart he is in certain areas.

“We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I’m game.”

Isn’t that what he says in CW, or something very close to it? Whatever form that takes. That’s the issue, right there, whatever form that takes. Realistically, yes, there should be laws regarding people with powers, the same way there are special laws pertaining to people who carry guns, or people who are licensed to fly planes. You have a thing/can do a thing that not everyone else does, so there are regulations pertaining to that thing. Laws change with the times, they always have. Some new technology comes up, eventually there will be laws that regulate it. As there should be, honestly. The issue with the Accords, Steve’s issue with the Accords, was not the basic idea. He says as much. He says that it could work, but there would have to be safeguards. Safeguards that are not in the Accords that Tony wants him to sign.

It's not a matter of oh, fuck the law, there should be no law governing these people, they’re above it. The problem is that the law as it’s presented here is unjust. There’s what, a month between Lagos and Ross coming by to tell them about the Accords? A month is not enough time to properly analyze such a big issue, Especially when you’re reacting out of fear, which is what happened with Lagos. People died because of an Enhanced person, an Avenger, in this case. Lawmakers don’t want that to happen again, they especially don’t want the political shit storm that comes with it. Damn, we look like we were asleep at the switch here, not having anything to throw at this problem earlier. Quick, let’s throw together this thing so no one can say we’re not addressing the problem.

Patriot Act of 2001, anyone? 9/11 happened, the public were rightfully terrified, the US said oh man, these are unprecedented circumstances, we’ve never had this before. Don’t worry though, we’re on this, we’re protecting you. The reality being that that bill simply gave the government too much power, most of it being used against people who were not actually threats, and it’s debatable, to say the very least, whether or not that law helped more than it hurt.

No law is perfect. No law ever will be. It’s not possible. We still have to strive for perfection though, have to aim there so that the laws we get are as close to fair as possible. Tony’s a big deal. If not for his “whatever form that takes” attitude, he might’ve been able to use his influence to pressure lawmakers into coming up with a fairer bill. Hey, I’m me, the public loves me, I will endorse this bill publicly and work on getting the rest of the team to sign, but you need to change this and this and this first, or no deal. Instead, he took the easy way out, the quickest, easiest way for him to feel like he’s atoned for his sins without actually doing anything. Whatever form that takes.

Tony’s not wrong because he backs the creation of a law that addresses these things. He’s wrong because he says himself that he does not care what that law does, specifically, so long as it exists. He’s wrong because he violates said law upteen times during the movie, while preaching to team Cap about what assholes they are for not backing it. He’s wrong because he cares more about feeling as though he’s tackled a problem than he does about taking the time to make sure that the thing he’s proposing is actually a good idea. He’s wrong because of what he does with Bucky, though that’s honestly a separate issue, for the purposes of this discussion.

Anyway, that was longer than I ever wanted it to be. Damn. Next time you see a comment about CW being the reason people stan Tony, just remember there are other people out there who stopped stanning Tony because of that movie. Everyone’s entitled to see a piece of media however they see it, and although the Tony stans are often the loudest, there are plenty of like-minded people out there who share your take on events. Block who you need to, unfollow who you need to, blacklist what you need to, and don’t let them get you down.

Hang in there, and have an awesome day :)

#pro steve rogers #pro team cap #anti tony stark #anti tony stans #anti iron man #anti team iron man

[justfandomtings]

Character study of William murderface

Cw: child abuse, ptsd, trauma, internalized homopobia,ect.

Throughout the show, murderface has been presented as a shitty person that is untalented, leeches off of his friends/ fame, and honestly just seem to have gotten lucky when getting into dethklok.

Which is true, but I want to look in a little deeper why he's like this. (Note:this might be kinda head cannonish. I have some examples from the actual show but since we never got a deep backstory for murderface or get many murderface centric episodes I'll be filling in some empty spaces.)

Murderface in the show

Murderface is extremely self loathing and has had moments where he just goes so hard in on himself.

Season 1 episode 1

We see this in the very beginning when he refers to himself as the 'fat one.'

It could've been played off as a simple joke, which it was in the show for the audience watching. But in the show's universe and for the character, this will be an occurring thing.

This continues in

Season 1 episode 3

It's murderface's birthday and the boys throw murderface a party. During his party murderface is shown complaining and being stand-offish. You would think the last thing he would want is a party, yet he still sends out invites to his bandmates. (Note: noticed how the invites were sent right after murderface left the room? Idk it just seemed like he was embarrassed or scared his bandmates would laugh at him for wanting a birthday party. He even tried to act non chalant when the invite said "come if you want, who gives a piss." when they did throw him a party he still came)

When the boys pulled a little, kinda mean but harmless prank on him, literally giving him the gift of nothing. Murderface was fucking hurt, like genuine tears almost left this man's eyes when he come into his room to get his thing's and 'run away'.

Of course the boys did give murderface an actual gift, which honestly had a lot of thought and effort put into it. This makes murderface cry a tear. (Of blood but you know still a tear)

This is the example of the boy's showing they care for murderface. But even after this big gesture murderface will continue to believe the opposite.

The show continues and we get the first and honestly only backstory for murderface.

Season 1 episode 6

When the boys get a band therapist, we find out the tragic murder/suicide of murderface's parents. His father killing his mother then himself with a chainsaw, this whole thing happens while murderface as a baby sits in his highchair unaware while eating his cereal. This flashback makes murderface kinda sit there in shock as he pisses his pants.

(Note: murderface has said in the show that his appearance was the reason his parents are dead. If that really was the case, why didn't his father kill him or at least killed him after he killed his mother? Why did his father just kill his wife and himself? Never laying a single hand on murderface? Will get back to that later.)

Season 1 episode 9

Bringing up this episode may be confusing to some for bringing this up since it doesn't focus solely on murderface. He doesn't even get that much screen time this episode. But I would like to point out his actions in that episode.

In this episode the boys adopt a young teen boy they name fatty ding dong and raise him as their son for probably couple of weeks. While the boys all had their...interesting way of raising him. Murderface had the most physical fights with fatty ding dong. Mostly when we misbehaved. Like hitting him, shocking him non stop with a tazer, beating him for eating his civil war boots ect.

I just like to point out that murderface was raised by his grandparents. We'll come back to more of that later in the post.

Season 1 episode 11

The band gets reunited with their families and what we see from murderface and his family is that they are very violent towards each other. Murderface tries to choke his grandmother when looking in at her mouth as she chewed. Pickles and Nathan had to snap himself out of it, murderface apologized saying it was his fault for looking to deeply.

Like that was some kind of trigger from his past that made him black out and get violent.

He was also highly against buying his grandfather a wheelchair, only doing so because the boys agreed to be nice towards their family to get them to leave.

Even when they were spending time with each other, they never touched each other William kept his distance. Only ever touching if it was fight related.

In the same episode we see why, Stella was so physically abusive towards murderface, spraying fucking pepper spray into his eyes when he did..nothing? He wasn't aggressive or was even part of the issue. She just attacks him because she had to change his diapers?

This belittlement and physical abuse continues everytime they are together on screen.

So to bring back up season 1 episode 9. With how murderface treated fatty ding dong we can assume that's how we was being treated while under the care of his grandparents. Children soak up things like a sponge. Whether you think they remember it or not. Many psychological reports has shown that children will mimick and repeat behaviors and actions their caretakers do. If it's right or not, children will do things because that's what this adult dose. That's what they see at home. It's normal to them if that is the environment they grow in. Even if the child feels like something is off or wrong. They won't know exactly what is wrong or why because it's all they know.

So if this is how murderface was raised, which highly may be the case since we see Stella physically abuse murderface even as an adult. He might have actually thought this is how you raise a child, this is what you do to a child when they misbehaved. Nobody in his life has corrected murderface or explain to him that this way of discipline isn't ok or even discipline to begin with, it is abuse.

So, we are to believe with the information we have now. Is that murderface was most likely abused as a child, probably all the way up till he was able to get away from them and join dethklok.

With this information we can apply this to his behavior in the show. A side effect from child abuse is suicidal behavior. Throughout the show Murderface would now and then casually commit about hurting or killing himself.

Season 1 episode 2

Murderface casually states if it'll be brutal enough for him to just take his life after Nathan deltes another record. Or when the boys kindly ask him to stop eating beans, he gets oddly emotional and says he'll just starve to death then.

Another effect from child abuse is eating disorders and obesity.

You already know this a big part of murderface's character. There are times where he's seen constantly eating junk food, to eating nothing and just drinking coffee, to the doctor pointing out the back of his teeth are decaying. And murderface informs him it's from throwing up his food.

He also gets teased for his weight being called chubby and fat, ect. Murderface has a hard time with his weight, his excessive eating may even be seen as an unhealthy coping mechanism.

Other effects such as aggressive behavior, low self esteem, dissociation, ect. Is also shown within the show.

Season 1 episode 15

Murderface gets into a motorcycle accident and is sent into the hospital. This near death experience gets him on a religious journey. Maybe to find answers to certain questions or possibly wondering where he was going to go if he did die? Is he a good person, why do certain things happen to people, what's the meaning of life?

He asked the guys if he really deserved to live. Does he really deserve to be brought onto this world, being a part of a pretty good and rare type of life.

The boys being emotionally closed off don't really answer his question. They honestly brush it off but they do go along with murderface on his spiritual journey.

He eventually chooses no religion, but I feel that near death experience stuck with him. He either decided that life was too short so might as well live it, or a more cynical view on life. That it's meaningless then who cares if he died?

Season 2 episode 11

This is probably an episode where murderface was the most sad and self loathing. (This and another episode I can't wait to get to) after his concert, he felt pretty shitty with the outcome and had lead him to feel that he does not deserve the life he has now and wonders why he even shows his face. Just wanting the spot light for one.

Which is really interesting. Because comparing season 1 with the other 3. Murderface in season one had...fans. There were people who genuinely liked him. The prime example is his birthday episode.

When he had a solo, just like in season 2 episode 11. People were cheering his name. Practically screaming at the rooftops for him. So what happened?

We already know that murderface is the least liked member of the band, but even then he still had fans. Hell people committed terrorists attacks just for him on his birthday.

Maybe it was just a loud minority? Who knows, but if in the show as time went on less and less people had him as his favorite or even just liked him would probably get him really insecure.

After the concert failure, Charles let's him host a Nas car event. Which I'd think would've gone actually well if you know, the dethklok curse wasn't a thing.

Also as murderface was planning the event people around him didn't really support him or help him out. Which is mostly murderface's fault, he has a lack of focus and doesn't really plan things through. This is a good reason for partners and others outside wanting to work with dethklok not want to work with murderface. It costs money and a lot of time to do all the things related to dethklok. And murderface's flakeyness is a valid reason for business and others to not have faith in him when related to these things.

BUT! (This is a little bit of projection here) as someone who also has a lack of focus and hard time to get things done. That doesn't mean I don't want to do said thing, that doesn't mean I want to waste others time. I simply have a hard time focusing, I need structure and that little reminder to get things done. But the difference between me and murderface is that I'm not a billionaire.

I am not apart of a popular metal band, with all the money in the world, with a manager that will clean up every little mess I make.

I have more risk, whatever I fuck up will effect me. I will suffer the consequences. Murderface won't. (Also he's a fictional character..so reality won't have any affect on him lol)

But yea, I believe if murderface would suffer from his consequences then he'd be a bit more on things. Also I feel murderface's mental health issues play a huge role in things.

His fear that he's not good enough, eating disorders, ect. Can really mess up your focus.

So, now to the infamous episode. Dethvanity.

Season 4 episode 8

In this episode Murderface in nominated for the most brutal looking award and this. Fucks. Him. Up.

So much so that he actually hallucinates his bandmates and Charles calling him ugly and other things that they never even said.

When he goes to the plastic surgeon, he tells him. A complete stranger, that he hates himself. For murderface to actually admit this deep issue that he's been keeping deep down. For him to show vulnerability to a stranger is pretty sad.

When he goes to Nathan to borrow money, he tells a story of a 'boy' that was so ugly that he's driven his parents to murder suicide. Again he's calling himself ugly and blaming himself for his parents death. (Were going to get back to that too.)

After murderface gets the surgery he days dream about what would happen if he was beautiful. Finally being accepted and able to say fuck you to all those that were shit to him.

Of course, it doesn't end like that. He's face gets infected and is even more ugly than before.

This episode was pretty messed up. Murderface didn't get what he thought would give him validation, he looks down on himself more, and he is humiliated front of 100s of people.

This whole shit show probably validated all the negative thoughts he had for himself.

Next we'll talk about his internalized homopobia. Murderface...is definitely..not straight. He's not gay either he does have sexual attraction to women but his uncomfortably and very interesting moments and visions say he might like more than just that.

Season 2 episode 5

Murderface has a weird thing with eating 'penis' shaped objects or watching other eating said shaped objects.

He has a lot of weird moments where he gets really close to one of his bandmates and just whispers something in their ear. Specifically Pickles and Skwisgaar.

He just said fuck it and tried to bang toki while they were in the submarine.

Had hallucinations of cutting between women, men, animals, even his own grandmother and was distraught when he had a small moment of admitting he way gay.

There's no real specific reason why or how murderface is this scared of being gay. But I feel it may also be with how he grew up. He was probably been told it was wrong to be gay and how immoral it was to like men and you'll burn in hell if you do. Also being gay wouldn't be 'brutal' or 'manly'.

And not to shit on metal heads but you know. They're not the...most..exclusive group of people.

I think murderface is scared to accept he's gay because his grandparents made him feel he would be a bad person if he was or get kicked out of the band if he was.

So, after all I laid on the table, let's wrap this up. Back to the blaming himself of his parents deth. I believe, Williams parents didn't kill/murder themselves because he has ugly. I like to think the opposite, I believe his parents actually dearly cared for him. I think his father had some serious mental issues or something else pushed him over the edge.

It could be anything really, maybe his dad was crazy, maybe it had something to do with the curse. I like to think they both cared for him his dad just..idk snapped.

I'm assuming murderface's grandparents are his dads parents. And seeing how they treated murderface they most definitely treated his dad the same.

Or, it wasn't murder/suicide at all. Buckle in because it's all tv theory over here. I have a hard time to believe that murderface remembered, in such detail in fact. How his parents died, in the flashback he looks to be 7 to 8 months? Traumatic event yes, but there's no way a baby can remember such a thing.

I think, Stella lied to murderface about how his parents died. I think it was just some evil twisted thing she said to make murderface feel terrible about himself. His parents probably unfortunately died in say a car accident or health related issues. But the main thing is how guilty murderface feels, how terrible he feels that he thinks he was the reason he killed his parents when that's far from the truth.

It was either an unfortunate accident or his father killing themselves. But it is not murderface's fault.

The physical abuse from his grandparents, the guilt of believing he's the reason for his parents death, his aggressive internalized homopobia, lack of support, the bullying from his bandmates, body issues/eating disorder, and it just keeps going.

It's no fucking wonder why the man is like this. Don't get me wrong, murderface is an asshole and is responsible for most of his actions.

But that's still a lot of shit for someone to go through.

That's all I have, this is really long. But I hoped you like this little thread. There's still more to his character but this is long enough.

#metalocalypse #william murderface #dethklok

[drwcn]

... You know, I was just thinking about Hua Mulan ChengQing AU. Hahah, ha. This movie is SOMETHING. Handkerchiefs are necessary.

oh I HEARD? but idk if i wanna see it. I’ve seen other things Liu Yifei (Mulan) was in and i don’t really like her? 

NOTE: OKAY so there were some confusion!!! Before ppl get offended, anon and I are taking about two different movies. The one that anon is saying is good is Mulan (2009) an original Chinese movie BC I had been asking ppl where to watch it and received many inbox msgs about it. The Disney film is what I won't be watching for so many reasons, including bc I know the actress's work and is just unimpressed by her in general on top of all the other reasons.

Oh boy, but like...what IF it’s reverse!Mulan, aka matriarchal society. Where Jiang Cheng is the “sneak into the army for my family c”!Mulan and Wen Qing is the “I wanted to be a doctor but then the Fire Nation exploded in on itself”!Shang. And I worldbuilded for no reason...

tw: minor character death (suicide). un-beta-ed, unedited, unproof-read, we die like nmj

WEN QING

Wen Ruohan was never supposed to be the Emperor, Wen Qing’s mother once told her, but the imperial court had allowed him to inherit because his late Empress Mother had no daughters to inherit the throne. As long as WRH promised to father daughters and pass on through them, then the Wen dynasty legacy would be preserved. 

“What did his wife say, that her children must take his last name?” Wen Qing had asked her mother, wide eyed and curious. Her mother had shrugged and said, “Well some women don’t mind, I guess, especially if it meant her children would be heiress of the throne.” 

Wen Qing had frowned at that. What’s so bad about children taking their father’s name, she wondered. Men may not be allowed the same liberties as women, may not attend public school or join the army or hold court with the Empress, but they were still children’s parents. Not all women agreed on this of course, but that was the way of their world. 

Her father died of consumption some years after Wen Ning was born, but Mother never took a second husband or a concubine. Wen Qing liked that about her mother. Brave, loyal, true. 

Wen Qing’s mother, Dafan-junwang, a distant relation to the throne, was a renowned marshal, hailing from a proud line of generals and marshals, trusted by the Wen imperial family as protectors of the realm, without fear of usurpation. The people whispered that Wen Qing had much to live up to, if she were to inherit her mother’s duchy and hold a command of her own. 

Wen Qing never had much interest in war or martial arts, but she learned, trained, practiced and perfected her skills because she could never bear the thought of letting her mother down. In her heart (and in her free time), she learned the science and art known by father. He was a quiet man, a physician (quite skilled too), before he married her mother. He wasn’t what her grandparents would have wanted for their daughter, but Mother had been adamant. 

Wen Qing’s mother hadn’t been good at expressing her love, but she did love her husband. Very much. Mother was only ever soft around Father, and Wen Qing only knew this because she’d seen them hold hands when they thought no one was watching. 

Wen Ning, being the son of a wealthy aristocratic family, was destined to marry well when he came of age. Unlike girls, boys weren’t allowed to attend publicly funded scholarly schools or martial academies. Wealthy and noble families however were able to afford private tutors for their sons, so that they would know the four arts (play the qin, weiqi, literature, and art) and be elegant, competent husbands for their wives. If Wen Ning was competent enough, charming enough, and gave his wife daughters (because everyone knew it’s the men who control the sex of the baby), then she would be faithful to him -> at least that’s what their nanny said. 

“How did they know, that men determined the sex of the baby?” Wen Qing asked her mother one evening when she turned thirteen and was given The Talk. 

Her mother tilted her head and said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “My dear, women are the earth, we grow and birth life. Men are like the seeds. If you plant an apricot tree, the earth will nourish it and let it flourish, but the fruit will always be apricots, you will never have peaches.” 

Once, Wen Qing had asked her mother if she could be a physician instead, if Wen Ning could take her place as general. Her mother had given her a very stern look and said, “No only is your brother of a sickly disposition, but you are my daughter. The duchy and my command can only be inherited by you. For your country, you do not have a choice.” 

Wen Qing conceded, because she was good.

The days dragged on, and slowly it was becoming clear Wen Ruohan would have no daughters. Not only so, the sons he fathered were ill-mannered and haughty, unfit to rule. Wen Ruohan’s mind, too, was slowly leaving him, due to unknown reasons. The ministers of the court and notabilities of the peerage urged Wen Ruohan to take on the daughter of his cousin born of his maternal aunt, and to groom her as heir. This brought on much discontent from Wen Roohan’s two princes, who aligned themselves with lurking enemies from the north, and before anyone could mitigate the situation, the country was thrust into a full blown civil war. 

Every bit her mother’s daughter, Wen Qing did not hesitate to mount her horse and ride off into battle. She had her duties and she would serve until her death. 

Jiang Wanyin had a very pretty face - she would reflect in retrospect. Perhaps that was why she believed him when he showed up at her camp with a conscription missive claiming to be his older sister Jiang Yanli. 

JIANG CHENG

The Jiang family was a wealthy merchant family situated southeast of the capital, in the province of Yunmeng. The current head of family is Jiang Ziyuan, known for her sharp business mind and sharp ways with her sword.  

(the only reason i’m switching Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan’s last name is because it’s a matriarchal society, and Yu Cheng and Yu Yanli sounds way too awful as names, but Yu Fengmian and Jiang Ziyuan are actually not bad.) 

There was a rumour that her husband Yu Fengmian of a Meishan Yu clan, had betrayed her with a wandering traveler from the pugilist world named Cangse...something something, and that he had fathered a son with her out of wedlock. If it were true, then by the conventions of the land, Jiang Ziyuan would have every legal right to divorce Yu Fengmian and send him back to his family to live out the rest of his days in seclusion, shame and repentance. 

But when Yu Fengmian came to her with the little Wei Ying, freshly orphaned, Yu Ziyuan turned the boy this way and that, examined him for “abnormalities” and nodded. Then she summoned her son, and said to him, “Our manor purchased  some new indentured servants. This boys is yours from now on, he is your responsibility. Keep him in line, find some uses for him, or get rid of him.” 

Jiang Cheng looked to his big sister, but his sister just shook her head. Not quite understanding what was happening, or why his father was bowed down on the floor, Jiang Cheng took his new “servant” and left. 

Watching them go, Jiang Yanli then turned to her mother and said, “Muqin, if I may be so bold, I have an idea.” 

Jiang Yanli was not the heiress that Jiang Ziyuan had hoped for. Though incredibly intelligent, Jiang Yanli was of poor health and not suited for martial training. Jiang Ziyuan had been quite troubled by this for some time, fearing others would cause trouble once Jiang Yanli inherits. However, she was also hesitant to train her son Jiang Cheng, even though he showed both interest and aptitude. It was not often that well to do families would want to take on a too “rambunctious” boy as groom for their daughters. Yet to leave Jiang Yanli without close protection... 

“Are you thinking that boy...” 

Jiang Yanli nodded. “Father denies being Wei Ying’s paternal parent, but surely tongues will waggle regardless. Mother, you are within your right to dismiss father, but he is still my father, and if not for me, think of A-Cheng. One day he will marry, and what family would want a son with a disgraced sire. Wei Ying looks healthy and strong; as I am unfortunately unable to train with the sword, mother may yet train him. Surely you’re not worried about his future marriage prospects. Perhaps it is better yet that he never marries, for he will remain close to Lotus Pier and serve at my side.” 

Jiang Ziyuan listened to Jiang Yanli’s words and decided that her daughter made very valid points. Her relationship with her husband could never be repaired but she had her children’s future to consider. 

And yet happiness would not last for long. Two months after Jiang Yanli’s sixteenth’s birthday, she received news that her mother’s private boat, which she used to inspect her properties, had capsized in a terrible monsoon storm, killing everyone on board.  

After the news reached Lotus Pier, Yu Fengmian took his own life in the dead of night, leaving a letter stating that he had owed Jiang Ziyuan too much to repay, that though Wei Ying was not his son, he had kept secrets from her that he swore he would not reveal in this life. Now that she’s gone, he would keep her company in her journey to the beyond. 

The Jiangs mourned, but they survived.

Then when the boys turned seventeen, war broke out over the lands, and the conscription missives arrived demanding one female from every household. Jiang Cheng panicked. Wei Wuxian had been sent to Gusu on business and would not return for some time. The military missive was time sensitive, so Jiang Cheng didn’t have another choice...besides it’s not like A-Jie’s matchmaking attempts for him had been all that successful...he was next to blacklisted anyway after his last debacle with the Qin girl. 

Jiang Cheng decided that he could pass as a woman if he dressed properly and redid his hair, but his voice...he'd just have to pretend he could not speak. That way, no one would know. 

WQ: “Who are you?” 

JC *hands her his letter* 

WQ: “Jiang Yanli? The Yunmeng Jiangs? Of Lotus Pier?” 

JC: *nods*

Her subordinate, “I didn’t know Jiang Ziyuan’s daughter was mute, they only said she was of poor health.” 

-

Luo “Mianmian” Qingyang finds out first. 

Mianmian: *GASP and points* You’re a man! 

JC: *covers his body* SHH!!! Turn around! Don’t look at me! *turns to look away*

Mianmian: *naked by the river ready for a bath but too shocked to move* but, but, but, how?? How did we not know????

JC: Mianmian - no- Lt. Luo, please don’t tell the Young Marshal! Please, I only came so my sister wouldn’t have to -

MM: Cowardice! It is every woman’s sworn duty to - 

JC: My sister is of very delicate health. She won’t survive! She’s my late mother’s only daughter, if she dies... I’m expendable. I don’t mind being cannon fodder, please don’t report me. 

-

JC shivering in the snow. “You said you trust Yanli! Why should Wanyin be any different?!” 

WQ stood impassively over him with a sword at his neck. Then, she closed her eyes and turned away. “A life for a life. My debt is paid.” 

---

JYL: *Proud* “A-Cheng helped secure the future of our nation. The adopted young crown princess was too young to rule without a loyal regent, and Wen Ruohan’s sons colluded with outside forces...it would have been chaos. Millions would have died.” 

WWX *teasing* “Sure he brought home a sword, if you ask me he should’ve brought home a wife!”

---

JC, “W-would you like to stay for dinner - ” 

WWX: WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER? 

JC: Wei Wuxian! She’s regent now, be respectful!” 

WQ: Dinner...sounds lovely. 

#cql #the untamed #chengqing #wen qing #jiang cheng #corie fics #Anonymous #corie replies #cql ideas

[secret-engima]

....I lied. If you’re still doing the title thing - if I go down gonna burn with the sun

I thought there was a few more title asks still lurking in here for me to answer. *cracks knuckles* RAMBLE TIME.

-Star Wars AU. Star Wars FFXV sorta-x-over AU where the Astrals decide that Aera and Ardyn deserve a chance at happiness, just not on Eos, and therefore go YEET. The Force, finding these two wayward and powerful souls is like- Sure okay and boom. Ardyn and Aera are reborn in a galaxy far, far away.

-Purely not coincidentally, far away, on different worlds and in different star systems, one Satine Kryze and one Obi-Wan Kenobi take their first breaths.

-Yes I’m serious.

-This would be- SUCH a chaotic fixit AU, both because Aera loves peace but she is NO pacifist and not about to let an entire Culture DIE just because some so called New Mandalorians cannot see the dangers of burying their own past. Two because- well.

-Ardyn has already BEEN a Chosen One and an Accursed, a Hero and a Villain. He has walked the path to salvation and damnation both and seen the worst sides of himself and humanity, and for all they look different, every species in the galaxy isn’t far different from humanity in those regards.

-Obi-Wan Kenobi grows up in the Jedi Temple and he is a Troublesome Child. Too quiet and too reckless by turns, a smile that could melt butter and a tongue that can strip flesh from the backs of whatever bully goes after him this time. The Jedi ... worry. He is Dark, they whisper, was born with shreds of Darkness in his soul. He is manipulative, they worry, he has a temper, they gossip.

-Ardyn hears them all and inside a part of him screams. Because of course he is Dark, they did not have their souls swallowed by a plague for others’ sake, were not consumed with madness until dying (being freed) at the hands of a nephew two thousand years removed. As for manipulation ... he doesn’t mean to. It’s just ... he’s so much OLDER than the other children mentally, older even than any Jedi there (even YODA), he can’t help it that he thinks rings around people sometimes, or that he is so in tune with the Force (with a galaxy-spanning magic that burns beneath his skin like a hundred newborn suns that he keeps buried so the Jedi will not sense it so clearly, will not know how strong and old he really is inside) that he can practically read minds and knows what to say to get the best outcome. He has a temper. Who doesn’t? You try being reborn after a lifetime of AGONY and see how patient you are with petty morons and small minded bullies.

-He says none of those things, and when his time grows near to be sent away without a Master, he does not fight it.

-He looks at the shadow of Qui Gon Jinn in the doorway and something in the Force ... sings. Sad and soft. It speaks of heartache and betrayal and a fear of being hurt again. Ardyn can almost FEEL the two paths branching away under his feet, one with Qui Gon in it, and one without, and he does not know which one will bring him less pain.

-Ardyn does not try to impress anyone in the sparring ring, but after he is done, he slips away. He finds Jinn in the garden, trying to meditate, and settles down across from him without invitation.

-Qui Gon opens his eyes in annoyance. He knows that the Council wants him to take a Padawan, and that this one is almost at the age of being moved to the Corps. He expects the boy to beg to become a Padawan, or to try to impress him somehow.

-Instead the boy just smiles, thin and sharp and knowing in a way that makes Qui Gon feel ... exposed. Like every thought and wound in his heart is on display for this child, “The Council wants you to take a Padawan. That’s why they keep making you watch us.” It’s a statement, not a question.

-Qui Gon raises an eyebrow, “And you think I should take you?”

-The boy shrugs, but his blue eyes are still sharp as knives behind his friendly mien and Qui Gon doesn’t like the feeling crawling up his spine, “That’s your choice to make and yours alone. There’s nothing I can say to change your mind one way or the other.”

-“Then why are you here?” He asks suspiciously.

-“Because you’re lonely, and it makes the Force feel sad.” The answer is so blunt, so sure of itself. Qui Gon feels his stomach twist, and old anger makes him snappish without meaning to be (he’s heard of this boy as well, he’s heard that he’s got a manipulative streak and a tendency to twist his Force empathy to his own ends, he’s heard many things).

-(Qui Gon forgets that it is not a good idea, to base judgement on rumors) “I am not, and if I was, I would not need your company to ease it.”

-Obi-Wan Kenobi, Initiate of the Jedi Temple Ardyn Lucis Caelum, Sage and Healer King and Accursed, tilts his head thoughtfully, then nods and stands up, “Then I will take my leave. Take care of yourself, Master Jinn.”

-Initiate Kenobi Ardyn the Accursed and Healer King walks away, and a breath later the Living Force twists, like the snapping of cables, and Qui Gon gets the fleeting, distinct impression that he has failed some kind of very important test.

-Ardyn is assigned to the AgraCorps. A life as a farmer for others awaits him.

-The day before he’s to be shipped off, he walks out one of the Temple’s side-entrances and into the underbelly of Coruscant with only the clothes on his back. He doesn’t look back even once. It takes until the next day for anyone (for his friends, if he can call them friends when they are so much YOUNGER and painfully more innocent than him) to miss him. It takes another day for the Jedi to realize Obi-Wan Kenobi is well and truly missing.

-Deep in Coruscant’s seedy side, at the dockyards manned by those who are less than concerned with legality, a boy in ratty (stolen) clothes asks to be taken aboard as a maintenance worker. He calls himself Ardyn Izunia, and there are no Force Sensitives close enough to feel the sunlike fire burning in his blood as he smiles.

-Skip forward several years and Satine Kryze (Aera) is on the run from Death Watch, civil war is on the horizon and her father asks for Jedi protection to keep her safe.

-The bounty hunter who calls himself Adagium finds her first.

-A sword that glitters like blood and cuts through metal like a lightsaber (that hums-hums-hums with magic none but a Force sensitive can see blazing like bloody fire down the ancient blade) finishes off the Death Watch assassin that Satine hadn’t had the chance to shoot yet, and under his hood, Adagium smiles. Satine stills, head tilted as if listening, then she collapses into the teenage bounty hunter’s arms in joyous tears. Adagium- Ardyn- holds her close and cries with her.

- “I finally found you, My Aera,” he breathes and for a moment he lets his magic loose and it burns like the sun through the Force, lancing through the growing shadows in the Force like they’re fragile paper and somewhere far away Sidious feels Doom™ crawl violently up his spine.

-Aka that Fixit AU where Aera is a Mand’alor that DOES want peace for her people but NOT at the cost of burning history to the ground (or being defenseless, she has died to the sword once already she will not go quietly into the night a second time, not if she has to paint the walls in blood to protect her life and the lives of her people), the Jedi are Confused™, and Ardyn is incredibly content to be Aera’s former bounty hunter trophy husband with a tendency to adopt strays (read: Anakin and Shmi who he frees as well as Anakin kthanks, and quite possibly Savage and Feral too tho no one is quite sure how) until the Clone Wars start and Ardyn takes one (1) look at the war and goes: ah. I know this plan. This is a stupid plan. And all of Sidious’s plans go fwoosh.

-Because I’m sorry but there is no way you can convince me that Ardyn wouldn’t EAT SIDIOUS ALIVE in any kind of fight, mental, physical, Force, or tactical. This man is 2k years old. It took Sidious until he was an old sack of bones to get his Empire and that was with GENERATIONS of Sith serving as his foundation, and then he got yote down a reactor shaft by his minion 19-25 years later. Ardyn was able to manipulate an entire Empire into engineering its destruction and fulfill ALL HIS REVENGE GOALS (giving Bahamut a headache, driving the world to darkness and ruin, and ending the line of Lucis Caelum INCLUDING HIMSELF) in like- 30-40 years. While MENTALLY AND PHYSICALLY ILL thanks to the Scourge. Fully healthy and in control of himself and with people (Aera) to protect? Sidious would just be fresh meat.

-Also Ardyn adopts a bunch of the clones, possibly all the clones, on the excuse that since they were raised by Mandalorian trainers they count as Mandalorians and as genetic sons of Jango Fett that makes the Mandalorian CITIZENS by BIRTHRIGHT and the Republic can only watch in confusion as their army gets mass adopted by the Mand’alor’s trophy husband who also exposed their new Chancellor as a Sith. Bail Organa, the new Chancellor, may or may not be sweating quietly at the thought of accidentally gaining the ire of the so called Trophy Husband because he’s smarter than most and knows that Ardyn is Very Very Dangerous.

-Also also Qui Gon doesn’t die somehow because I do really like him and I think he’s a good Jedi, just not a good fit for Ardyn as a master.

#Secret Engima Rambles #Burn With the Sun verse #Ardyn Izunia #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x satine #ardyn x aera #oh no new au

[wayward-mikaelson]

In an AU scenario, where Baron Zemo's family survived the Sokovia disaster somehow, how could Captain America: Civil War play out if he and his family just took priority on taking care of each other rather than seek revenge towards anyone?

Also could you tag my message, the first and the next, I sent so I can see them on the happyhoganon tag?

Before we get into Civil War, let’s talk about Zemo for a minute because he did play a big part in Civil War and could still play a part in Civil War if his family didn’t die. Now a quick background on MCU Zemo.

We all know that Zemo was in EKO Scorpion-the Sokovian kill squad. Meaning, for those who don’t know, he’s just as good at killing people as any assassins are. Falcon and the Winter Soldier showed that to us in Episode Three Power Broker with the fight scene we were given. Since Zemo was a part of a kill squad we can assume that he had missions/deployments occasionally. Very common, his wife and son are used to it because he always came home in one piece. We also know he loved his wife and son very dearly. He was a good husband and a good father—He knew his son's favorite candy and knew that his son wanted an Xbox. He would literally do just about anything for them. Including death as we see in Civil War.

Now, let’s start with Zemo in Sokovia before we touch up on anything Civil War related.

Zemo and his EKO team are sent to defend the Battle of Sokovia. Instead of sending them outside of Novi Grad, he sends them to Riga where they would be safe from all the fighting if it were to make it out that far. Before being sent off to Riga, Zemo promises his family he will catch up to them as soon as he is able. During the evacuation, Zemo and his squad are told to evacuate as well. Zemo get’s whatever car he could get his hands on, hot wires it and speeds his way towards his family. In the rearview mirror, he can see part of his county begin to rise and part of him wants to pull over and watch. But something deep in his gut told him not to.

By the time he arrived in Riga, the devastation of Sokovia had spread worldwide. An entire country was blown to bits and wiped off the face of the Earth. Nothing remained except for the hundreds of lives that were lost.

Zemo volunteered to help with the search and rescue and when he arrived at what was left of Sokovia, he knew he made the right choice to get his family out of the entire country. Their home was nothing more than firewood now. Only a small handful of survivors were found under the rubble in the two days that it took to uncover all the bodies.

A year later, Zemo and a group of survivors go to New York to talk to Tony and Steve about what they could have done differently the moment the battle was over. “Many lives could have still been saved,” Zemo told the two men in front of him. So, Tony, Steve and Zemo talked about what they could do in the future.

But that didn’t stop other countries from drawing up the Sokovia Accords and presenting them to the Avengers after what happened in Lagos. Tony felt like he didn’t have a choice to sign. Natasha as well. Steve doesn’t sign at all because of the same reasons in Civil War.

Instead of a bomb killing T’Chaka, he has a heart attack and dies. Making T’Challa more eagared to get the Accords signed and finalized. T’Challa does what it takes.

Now, Steve finds out Tony let Ross take Wanda. Steve is mad that it happened. He enlists the help of Maria Hill and pulls Clint out of retirement. They track the transport bus down and Clint pops one the tires, making the bus swerve around. As they are getting Wanda off the buss and out of the straight jacket and shock collar, T’Challa comes to try and stop it but is bested by Clint and one of his shocking arrows.

Everyone meets up at the airport like they do in the movie, including Zemo. Steve felt that he would be a great asset to their cause and once he explained everything, Zemo was on his side.

Steve convinces Tony to let them go and before they go, it’s Natasha who reveals that Bucky is Tony’s parents' killer. She explained that after SHIELD/Hydra fell, she combed every single file that Hydra had and she discovered that it was Bucky who killed Howard and Maria Stark.

A fight breaks out because Tony couldn’t keep a level head and not only wants Wanda back, he wants Bucky to pay for the murder of his parents. As the fighting gets more intense, it’s Zemo and Clint that tell Steve that he and Bucky need to get Wanda out of there and leave the rest of them.

As the three of them run to the hanger, they are cornered by Tony. Tony at this point doesn’t care about Wanda. He’s willing to let Wanda go with Steve. He wants Bucky at this point. He wants Bucky to pay for what he did. He wants Bucky to feel what he felt when he lost his parents. But really, Tony can’t do that. Bucky already knows he lost too much.

Steve, of course, says no. Tony is ready to fight Steve until Wanda gets in the way. At this point, Tony’s brain is clouded and he can’t think straight. Tony’s ready to blast Wanda until Vision comes and puts his hand through Tony using the Mind Stone. Giving The trio enough time to leave.

The trio ends up in some random country in a nearby village. The villagers are welcoming and allow the three of them to stay for as long as they like. For the next few months, Wanda helps Bucky erase everything that Hydra did to him after telling Steve about his code words. Soon, Vision shows up with Sam and Natasha, who he broke free from prison.

Steve asked why he did what he did, Vision only answered “It was the right thing to do.”

Vision and Wanda go their separate ways. Sam goes his separate way. Natasha mentions something about a family and leaves. Steve and Bucky are left by themselves until it’s time to rescue Wanda and Vision from Thanos’s children. And it’s Rhodey who suggest they go to Wakanda to see if they can save Vision.

***

A/N: I'll be honest, I wrote this and rewrote this several times before I was happy with it. I do believe that if Zemo didn't break up the Avengers that it would be Natasha to break the news that it was Bucky who killed Howard and Maria Stark. I also believe that Vision would have some sort of "change of heart" after protecting Wanda and running with her. Bucky of course had to play a part cause Civil War isn't Civil War without Bucky so Steve just ended up finding him. Zemo does his part for family and to try and prevent something like Sokovia from happening again.

#happyhoganon #Marvel #mcu #Marvel au #mcu au #Captain America Civil War #Baron Zemo #Stever Rogers #Tony Stark #Wanda Maximoff #Bucky Barnes #AU #Captain America #Iron Man #Vision

[pizzagrlmeetsboy1980]

So many people have given me feed back on the Alan and Sarah have 4 evil children AU so I made some more vignettes!

How Alan responded each time to Sarah telling him she was pregnant.

Oliver: Was absolutely elated. It meant he would appear as a family man and would be more likely to get re-elected.

Marie: Was overjoyed. Didn’t know he was going to be ousted though. Was in awe that he had a girl and liked that she looked like Sarah from day 1

Constance: Was happy, told Sarah that this was it. No more children. Was hoping that this would be another boy, but was happy none the less.

Grace: A surprise! He was furious. How could Sarah be so forgetful?! How hard is it to take a damn pill?! Another child, it threw his plans completely out of whack and that new yacht he was wanting would have to wait. However the moment he first held Grace he knew she was going to be special. But no more. Sarah’s getting her tubes tied.

...

Connie: Honestly, what kind of night vision goggles are these?! I can’t see a thing!!

Gervais: *takes them and looks at them* These are regular binoculars..

Connie: Then why is Dad always using them at night?..

-Awkward silence from all of them-

Connie:...Oh.

...

Oliver: *dangling keys at Marie* Do you need a ride home or is your trust-fund prince taking you to the local stupor?

Marie: I never should have pulled you out of the pool that one time..

...

Leslie( Pier’s and Clarissa’s middle child. 14): I worked all summer for these arms! Why won’t Constance notice them?

Oliver: You shouldn’t have stopped. You look like a potted plant that’s barren.. also you’re never going to get my parents permission to date my most problematic sister. *lights a cigarette*

Leslie: Why not?!

Oliver: *takes a drag* Because my father hates The Gentry. Sir Leslie. He hates it when blokes just get handed things without working for them.

Girl: Oliver!...Here. I did your biology homework.

Oliver: Aww..thank you, Darling. Shall I see you at lunch?

Girl: Sure..*giggles and walks on*

Leslie: Who was that?

Oliver: Hell if I know.

...

-A girl has threatened to beat up Connie for running her mouth. Leslie is trying to save her but it does not go as planned-

Leslie: ...Honestly why must we fight, ladies? We are the children of the most powerful people in Great Britain. What on earth could we possibly want for? After all Neville Chamberlain once said : “I am myself a man of peace to the depths of my soul. Armed conflict between nations is a nightmare to me; but if I were convinced that any nation had made up its mind to dominate the world by fear of its force, I should feel that it must be resisted...”

-Girl punches him in the gut and falls to the ground-

-Oliver steps over him-

Oliver: Yes, but Winston Churchill said: “Those who can win a war well can rarely make a good peace, and those who could make a good peace would never have won the war."...You have a mean right hook. I like that. Oliver B’Stard. Future MP, current president of the Senior Cla-

-Girl knees him in the groin, he’s now on the floor with Leslie. Both groaning-

The girl’s father has requested to speak with Alan and Sarah.

Alan: “There is no need to fuss. We will have a civilized discussion..Pay attention, Oliver this is how -adults- handle things.”

Oliver: “If her parents are anything like her you might want to keep a reasonable distance. I’m still recovering...oh..here Mum..”

-Oliver reaches into his pants and pulls out a bag of frozen peas-

Sarah: Here. Thaw out these carrots while you’re at it. -hands him the bag and he slides them under his belt making a tiny noise of relief-

-Sometime later-

Girl’s father: As a doctor I can tell you it would be in your incredibly unstable child’s best interest if she were immediately sedated sent to a personal care home.

Oliver: -Watching from the stairs with his siblings. chuckles. Knowing how this will end now. Accepts the bag of popcorn Connie gives him-

Alan: Oh really? It’s my understanding that your child is jealous of mine. I mean...look at my wife...look at me..she comes from incredible stock. She’s going to be naturally beautiful and popular..if ..a bit of a late bloomer..

Constance: -offended gasp-

Girl’s Father: You know what? All of your children are spoiled, problematic derelicts and they’ve done nothing but bring the academy into a further social decline since they arrived!

Sarah: -stands up- ...I would tread lightly, Doctor..you’re standing in a mansion full of guns, explosive devices and illegal immigrant ex-assassins from Russia working as our house staff...

Marie: I thought there was something off about Mrs.Gorbachev..

Girl’s Father: I knew you B’Stard’s were evil but raising children to be evil?...I‘lol report you all to the school board...

Alan:...Now now..let’s not get hasty...-Alan reaches into his jacket-

Connie: Aw here it comes. I bet it’ll be 12,000

Marie: No more than 10

Oliver: He’s made Dad pretty mad. I say 3

Grace: I think it’s a gun. -points at Alan having a gun-

Oliver:..Well. That’s certainly new.

..

Sarah is watching Grace play with William, Pier’s youngest son who is one year older than Grace.

Sarah: Alan...come here. Look at Grace playing with William Fletcher-Dervish.

Alan: Another one? They just keep spawning like Sea lamprey..

Sarah: Watch her. She’s being incredibly demanding and bossy. I don’t like that one bit..

Alan: Oh dear, I wonder who she inherited -that- from.

-She glares at him-

Alan: But I can see your point...She won’t attract a husband with that attitude.

Sarah: She’s seven years old!

Alan: And that’s my point, we’ve got to get on this NOW, Sarah. I mean by the time she turns 21 who knows what society will look like. We have to have submissive conservative women or the Tories will die out!

....

One of their children is in trouble

Alan:...Alright Sarah. Which one is it?

Sarah: It’s Oliver.

Alan: Oliver?! He’s the good one! I mean..Marie will probably get pregnant before she’s 21, Connie will marry the first bloke that gives her attention and Grace will probably be in prison before she’s 13 for money laundering or leading an organized crime syndicate. He’s the only one that has a future!

Sarah: Alan! Surely you have more faith in your daughters than that.

Alan:...I would if it were legal to keep them at home until I find suitable husbands for them. That was the plan when I was Protector..BUT NoOoOoooo. This is the 20th century women are “liberated”. They get to pick their -own- husbands.

Sarah: Do you know who you sound like?....My father. You forget..I got to pick you...*rubs noses with him*

Alan: *pushes her away* I’ve had a bitch of a day, Sarah. Don’t tell me things like that....and our marriage was a strategic masterpiece, Darling. I only hope Oliver finds -his- Sarah one day...hopefully one that doesn’t try to kill him all the time. I’d like my name to live on.

Sarah: I’m only stating the truth, Darling. Just admit it. You’re protective over them. It’s okay to love them. I love them...sometimes.

Alan:...*sighs...running a hand over his face* ....What did he do?...

Sarah: He was caught in the girl’s locker room. Showering with the girl’s field hockey team.

*Alan grins and nods approvingly*

*Sarah crosses her arms and rolls her eyes*

Alan: Oh, that’s just a healthy growing boy’s habit, Darling. I was doing the same thing at his age. Except I showered with the future homemakers club. A conservative boy’s fantasy come true...

Sarah: You were showering with them because they couldn’t tell you were a BOY.

Alan: Your point? I still got to see 12 naked girls all at once.

...

Sarah: Marie...that Diamond bracelet is lovely where did you get it?

Marie: Oh. I bought it with the money Daddy gave me to breakup with Brian.

Sarah: Aah. I see. Seems it wasn’t serious as you thought?

Marie: Oh no. I really just wanted this bracelet and I knew you and Daddy would never give me the money to get it so I fake-dated Brian Crippen and poof!...Bribe money. Bracelet. Pity though I don’t think I’ll be able pull it off twice

Sarah:...Marie...That’s ..brilliant. I’m so proud.

#the new statesman #au #alan b’stard #sarah B’Stard #fankids #Rik Mayall

[babbushka]

All My Stars (1/3)

The year is 1346. War ravages the land, and you are torn from your family to reside with the royal household of the Organas until it is safe. However you know there are more plots at play here, and you feel bitter and alone, until one mysterious Knight clad all in black bursts through the doors of the great hall, and into your heart, forever.

A Kylo Ren x Reader Medieval AU

Word count: 14.5k ; Warnings: N*FW

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

You did not know how it began, or when, the siege. All you know is there is smoke from flame all around you, as arrows with burning ends fire through the sky, pierce the exposed flesh of man and woman alike.

There are screams of terror in the air, and you look around frantically, lost and afraid – for it is the English, and they have come to take the castle. Smoke and ash stings your eyes and it is dark, so dark, and you cannot see as you run blindly into the fray, careful not to trip over the bodies of those which lay strewn on the ground, crimson seeping through their smocks.

A choir somewhere in the distance sings, and you fear that it is God herself calling you, telling you your time is up. When a hand grasps around your wrist, you shout, attempt to wrangle yourself away, for you know the punishment women are put through as a prisoner of war and you would rather die than give a man such satisfaction.

You raise your hand to punch, but the smoke clears enough for you to see it is just your father.

“You must go.” He shouts, voice loud and commanding as he must compete with the sounds of war, the raging clank and crash of metal upon metal, of horses whinnying and the sobs of children.

“But I – ”

“(Y/N) I do not care, your life is in danger here.” Your father pleads as he drags you through the raging town, through the scrimmage.

You panic, terrified of being sent away. For that has been the plan, has always been the plan, should the English invade.  

“And will my life fare better in Alderaan? Pray tell father, what is there to say the English may not find me?” You plant your feet and beg, fall to your knees before your father and beg, “Please, I would rather stay with my family, my friends! I do not know this Queen as you do, have not once met her ward.”

Your father is normally a most compassionate man, but as he hauls you to your feet and whistles for your horse, you know this is a losing battle.

“You know her enough to be housed and fed, you will accept her hospitality with grace, and you will hire a bodyguard, one who is capable. We will pay him handsomely, and he will protect you.” He holds you close, whispers into your ear so that only you may hear him, “When I die, you will become Queen, (Y/N). I need you safe, above all else, no matter the cost.”

The embrace is not one of length, but there is comfort nonetheless. You sigh, choke on the smoke, and mount your steed, Agnes. She is a beautiful horse with chocolate hair, and she is known as the fastest in France. Her hooves dig into the earth, she is anxious to flee.

“I will write to you when I have arrived.” You say, tears streaming down your face, getting a last glimpse at your father, for he may not come out of this war alive.

“Thank you.” He says, but there is no joy in his eyes when he does.

He slaps the horse’s hide, and your cloak billows behind you as she takes off at full speed, away from your home, away from your life. You steal a glance over your shoulder and watch as your father runs back into the fire, into the fray.

Marseille burns.

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

It takes three days to reach the city limits of Alderaan. Three days of solitary riding, of not another living soul. You eat the bread that has been packed for you, pick the fruits of trees you pass. The countryside is beautiful, this you cannot deny, not with the way the sky is so blue, and the grass is so green.

When you approach the gates of the castle, you are welcomed with such an immediacy that it sours your stomach. You had wished to perhaps have a moment to rest, to catch your breath. Instead there is a committee awaiting you at the gate, all dressed in regal finery that puts your soot stained kirtle to shame.

A squire offers you his hand as you dismount from Agnes, holds you steady while you walk the few stairs they have placed at your feet. You think that is unnecessary, you have jumped from many a horse in your day, but you do your best to simply smile despite the tumultuous past few days.

“Announcing the presence of her royal highness, Princess (Y/N), Lady of Krakow.” The squire says, and everyone bows.

All except for Queen Leia, who is in attendance and dressed with such wealth that you wonder if she put it all on at once for the occasion, or if she simply dresses like this on a daily basis. Her hair is braided and pinned in thick loops at her ears, covered by a pearl encrusted crispinette. Her veil is studded with diamonds as it flows in the gentle breeze, and her surcoat is a deep blue and gold silk damask.

You feel wholly inadequate in your linen kirtle, hair left hanging in one long braid down your back. But then again, she had not been the one fleeing a crumbling city.

You curtsy before her with all the civility you can muster.  

“Your Majesty, it is with most sincerity that I thank you for welcoming me to your home.” You say, and for some reason, she chuckles.

“The pleasure is entirely mine.” She says, allowing you to rise as she gestures to the other members who have awaited your arrival. “May I introduce you to my dear brother, His Grace Lord Luke, and my ward, Sir Poe Dameron, Lord and Heir Apparent of Alderaan.”

He preens under the introduction, no doubt ego stroked by the many title he holds. You regard him carefully, take note of the way his tousled hair curls this way and that, his sharp jawline in desperate need of a shave. He holds himself with far too high regard, if the way his chest is puffed and his shoulders are square is anything to go by.

“Sir Dameron, I have heard many a thing about you.” You curtsy, and Poe flashes you a smile that is blindingly white.

“All good I hope.” He says with a playful grin, but you find yourself not in the mood to jest.  

“Of course.” You say instead, hoping to not encourage anymore of that for the evening.

The Queen snaps her fingers and a beautiful woman nearly a foot taller than you steps forward. Her blonde hair is pale where you can see it poking out from under her veil.

“And this is Gwendoline, she is to be your lady’s maid for the duration of your stay.” Queen Leia says, and you are thrilled to be in the company of a woman relatively your age.

“Hello Gwendoline. Did my father mention to you at all how long that might be?” You ask, startling the committee, who all look among one another with murmurs and hesitation in their eyes, “Forgive me, I was told very little as you can imagine, my departure was made with great haste.”

You attempt a smile at them, though your face stings from the wind of three days on horseback.

“There was no mention of any length of time.” The Bishop says, hands steeped in front of him in great contemplation, “In fact, we were hoping, that perhaps you and Sir Dameron would find companionship within one another. That perhaps you would like to remain here, once the fighting is over.”

The announcement of this news has your eyebrows raising – of all the sneaky plots!

“I am aware you are in need of a bodyguard.” Sir Dameron pipes up, but you simply look him up and down.

“Yes, I have been tasked with finding one.” You remark, not wanting to give him the wrong idea.

“We have many strong men in the village, I am certain you’ll find one sooner than you think.” Sir Dameron mistakes your indifference for, well, you don’t know actually. But it irritates you.

This whole situation irritates you. You wish you could go home, back to Poland where there are no wars, you wish you had never agreed to vacation in France.

Gwendoline must notice your discomfort, for she steps in between you and the royalty with a deep curtsey as to not be rude.

“The poor girl must be exhausted, may I show her her rooms?” She asks, and you could practically cry with gratitude at the suggestion.

“An excellent idea Gwendoline, yes why not. There will be plenty of time to talk at dinner, we’ve prepared a banquet in honor of your arrival.” Queen Leia says with a happy grin, jolly for an excuse to celebrate.

“That is most kind, thank you. I will be ready promptly.” You say, before following Gwendoline through the castle gates and across the grounds.

“Thank you.” You whisper as you catch up with her, hoping the wind does not carry your words backwards.

“My pleasure. They’ve been talking about you for days you know.” She informs, and you groan.

“Have they?” You ask, afraid of what sort of conversations they must have entertained themselves with.

“Yes, the Queen is particularly interested in how you get along with Sir Dameron.” She says, and your worst fear has come true. The expression on your face makes Gwendoline laugh brightly, and she shares a knowing glance when she says, “Well…he’s got nice teeth.”

Gwendoline leads you into the castle and up the stairs, and you pay little attention only except for the route to your room so that you may come and go as you please in the coming days. In no time at all, you have ascended up to the third floor, where Gwendoline stops in front of a grand wooden door.

“Here we are, your bedchambers.” She announces with great anticipation as she pushes down on the door handle and allows you to step inside.

It is dark and warm inside the bedchambers, a comforting difference from the bright windy day. The room is lit only by candles on iron stands, but there is enough light to feel perfectly cozy. The floors are made of stone as are the walls, but both are decorated with fine fabrics. A carpet stretches from underneath the bed, and there are beautifully woven tapestries hanging on the North and South facing walls of the room.

The bed is a large wooden thing, red linen curtains tied back from the canopy to create a familiar French draping effect. There are chairs near the fire pit, and a canopied basin for washing, which is such a luxury, particularly after the past few days, that it brings tears to your eyes.

“Who else has stayed here? In the past I mean.” You ask, wondering who had such lavish taste.

“No one, your highness. This room was previously used for storage, but I believe we did a decent job turning it into a bedroom.” Gwendoline responds, and you feel guilty suddenly – that all of this was put together just for you.

“It’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful.” You are in awe as you approach the bed, “I’ve never had a room that was mine and mine alone.”

This was true, although it was never something you had said aloud before. The homes in which you have stayed all were so old, all had held many secrets, had housed many lords and ladies alike. To have a room which is all your own is a rarity, one that you are ashamed to have gawked at.

“I am so very glad to hear that, you know I was thinking perhaps if you would be amendable to it, I could take you on a tour of the castle tomorrow, allow you to become acquainted with it.” Gwendoline offers, “Queen Leia wants Sir Dameron to accompany you, but I can make an excuse.”

“I would be forever in your debt if you would.” You take her hands in your own, and your lady’s maid smiles, goes to the trunk which you have brought with you.

“Consider it done. Now what would you like to wear to dinner?” She asks.

You decide to dress in the finest clothes you own – a deep red kirtle and a golden silk surcoat which has all heads turned towards you as you walk with Gwendoline through the castle hall. Your hair is brushed, re-braided, and pinned under a jewel encrusted veil. You are practically dripping with finery, wanting to not only make a good impression on the country’s most noble, but also to reclaim some sense of your own royalty.

The feast is a grand event, the hall practically filled to the brim with many a man and woman from all classes of society. The musicians are playing a lively tune, one that has you tapping your feet as you sit at the high table. You long to join the dancers in the middle of the floor, who laugh and cheer along with the flutes and lyres, the drums and dulcimers.  

“Does the princess find the spread pleasing?” Sir Dameron asks, and you find yourself in increasingly good spirits.

“Oh very much so, thank you! You can imagine after the trip I have had, a dinner like this is most impressive.” You smile, not wanting to be so unpleasant, especially not when you were about to have your first real meal in days.

This pleases the Queen, and she raises her pewter goblet to yours from where she sits at the high table, taps it against yours in a sign of good will and cheer.

“Excellent! I notice you brought very little with you, please know that anything is yours for the taking, both within the castle walls and in the village, if it would amuse you so.” She says, gesturing to the people below.

“I appreciate such an offer but I don’t think it wise to steal things from people in a land I am not from.” You say, trying your best to remain friendly.

It works, for the Queen lets out a hearty laugh, takes another sip of her wine.

“Oh it has been so long since we have had such a beautiful young lady within these castle walls, and one with a sense of humor on that!” She says loudly, and you are modest enough to evade the compliment.

“A cursory glance tells me that there are many beautiful young ladies in attendance this evening.” You point out.

“But only one of royal blood.” Queen Leia winks, and you concede.

“I suppose so.” You say, already preparing for this conversation to turn.

“I agree wholeheartedly with the fair Princess,” Sir Dameron says, twirling his butter knife around and around his fingers. “I have never once seen a young lady that I did not find beautiful.”

“And yet – he is still unmarried!” Queen Leia teases, and ah yes, there it is.

“Perhaps he is saving himself for love.” You say, and you swear, swear that for a moment, Sir Dameron’s face flushes red, swear that he glances over in the direction of a handsome nobleman who sits at the far end of the high table.

Interesting, you think as you smile into your pewter cup, very interesting.

Queen Leia does not catch the glance, nor does she find your comment amusing.

“Oh don’t be foolish, love.” She scoffs as she plucks lamb meat from its shank, “There is no place for love in marriage.”

“What a miserable wedding that must be then, when it does occur.” You can’t help but remark, offended that she holds romance in such little regard.

You have always thought that there be no better reason to marry than for love. Not courtly love, for that was filled with adultery and lies – no, true love, pure and simple. Good love, just love. Not an arrangement of money or power, and not the flowery poetics of dashing knights. No, your heart resided in the placement of your own hands, you would give it only to one who is truly deserving of it, which is why –  

“I must make it known to you, you are considered quite a rarity, being so old and so unmarried.” Queen Leia points out, and though it is a rude statement, for really you are not so old, you are aware that princesses do not typically make it past fifteen without a husband to their name.

“A rarity I am fortunate to hold, my sovereignty does not necessarily rely on a marital connection, something you are familiar with I believe, your Majesty.” You say, and that causes a slight murmur at the table, for you know she has been without a husband for many many years. You realize you have won this back and forth, and fortunately the musicians have struck up a tune that you cannot ignore. “Oh I love this song, would you please excuse me?”

You stand from the high table and practically jump down the steps on the side of the platform, not sparing a second glance to the Queen who is no doubt shaking her head at you.

You lose yourself in the dance, hands held with other maidens and women of gentry who weave and bob their way through open arms of friends and sisters alike. The musicians and their tabor pipes play a jaunty tune that has the spirits high, and there is laughter and dancing, from all throughout the hall. The warmth from both the spiced wine and the thrill of the activity fills you with a pleasant mood, forgetting entirely about the ever-charming Sir Dameron, or his pestering guardians.

Filled with such pleasantry, you begin to sing a simple tune that all the women know, one of longing for love, one of yearning for a courtly romance. The women which surround you sing the repeating words, and you cannot help but find it ironic, cannot help but find it satirical, for the Queen sings too, no doubt assuming you must mean her ward.

Yet you sing with a falsely cheerful smile, laughing as the wine flows from your tongue, as you and your newfound friends dance round and round, a healthy blush atop your cheeks:

I find myself in times of darkness longing for a knight, sir knight,

When rain is dense and snow is cold I long for such a knight.

I find myself in times of stress hoping for a knight, sir knight,

To come and aid my aching heart if only for a night.

At this the men cheer and jeer and whistle and wink, and you cannot help but laugh for surely they must know they would never qualify for such a position, nor any position they may hope to choose. The women exchange knowing glances, and you pretend to swoon and pretend to sigh, and all the while the music is only growing higher and higher. The noblemen stomp their feet in rhythm and time, they clap their hands as around and around you dance.

I find myself yearning for love,

For I am a maiden, I am a maiden.

And though I have mind of mine own still I long,

For I am a maiden, I am a maiden.

You twirl and twirl around and around, growing ever more dizzy as the song comes to a close, and you close your eyes to allow yourself the feeling of being whisked away, as if you were on horseback headed back home, as if your home were not ravaged by English bows and swords.

And once I find him I shall keep him safe and warm,

And I will hold him close and long

For I am a maiden, I am a maiden,

And he will be my knight!

And just when the last word has been spoken, just as the applause and the cheers have erupted, all at once, the music comes to a startling halt.

The doors to the great hall have been flung open, and heads whip around, nobles clamor over one another to get some small sight at the interruption, hands already drawing their swords. Someone holds you close against their chest in a protective manner, but you push them away with a hand to their face, eager to see for yourself.

It is a knight, that much is clear. A knight who must be nearly seven heads tall, nearly two men wide. He is clad from head to toe in black armor, and this has everyone deathly still, for there was little good that could come from such a man, such an imposing figure swathed in glinting metal.

And imposing he is, standing taller than the tallest nobleman, taller than Sir Dameron, who valiantly rushes to the front of the crowd that has formed, breaks through the lines that have split to allow this man passage. You await with bated breath, as does everyone else, the only sound the heavy thud of his footsteps.

It is the Queen herself, who first speaks, who breaks the silence.

“Who dares interrupt this merry occasion?” She demands to know standing from her throne, all eyes flitting between her and this figure.

It is clear he is not there to slaughter them all, for if he had, he would not have made such an appearance. He is also alone, a detail you find particularly interesting. Men of such great stature seldom traveled alone, and they certainly did not barge into such a situation where they were to be grossly outnumbered.

The nobles all gasp with shock as the knight lifts gloved hands to remove his helmet, when the face of the man is revealed – long dark hair tumbles out of its hold in graceful waves, framing a face split in two by a scar that has marred and twisted his cheek. It is a rugged thing, which makes its end at the tip of his browbone and disappears into his collar to travel who knows how far down his neck. Even from your spot amongst the crowd you can see his face clearly. His eyes are hard and his brow is set, as is the downward turn of his plush lips, lips your eyes find themselves drawn to.

He is handsome, you decide, for what other word could be apt, so applicable than this?

You dare not move one inch, one step, for his jaw shifts, powerful muscles tensing as he prepares to speak, and you would rather have your hands whipped with reeds than ruin this moment. It seems as though the hall is in agreement, and everyone is on the edge of their seats, on the tips of their toes, waiting waiting waiting.

“My name is Sir Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren.” His voice carries loud and true, a baritone that settles right into your chest, slides between your ribs like a blade warmed from the coals, and no one knows what this means, as Ren is not a familiar name, not in this part of the country. He expands upon himself, and you almost do not hear the words, instead only focusing on the sound – the sound that comes from his lips, that wash over you so rich and deep. “Formerly Benjamin Organa, son of Leia and Han, son of Bail and Breha, son of Anakin and Padme.”

The man can barely get the last of his ancestors out before there is an uproar, before the noblemen and women overlap one another, voices stacked on top of gasps of shock, too much noise.

“But that’s – ” One man tries to do the math, tries to put two and two together.

“It can’t be!” Another exclaims, for they have reached their conclusion sooner than their friend.

“Benjamin died he – ” A woman shakes her head, disbelieving, as a drunkard stands atop a table, sword drawn and pointed in the knight’s direction.

“Imposter!” He shouts, and the crowd joins in, the mob chanting chanting chanting.

The Queen has none of it, slams her goblet down on the wooden table and barks out a,

“Silence!” To which the crowd obeys. Chastised, they simmer down, and you hold your breath, never once looking away from this man, especially not when Leia asks, “Why have you come, Sir Ren?”

She has a white knuckle grip on her fork and goblet, her frown set in a hard line. You wonder what has happened, for a mother to regard her son in such a way, for it is undeniable that that is who this is.

Sir Ren raises his sword and points it just above Leia’s head, to the crown.

It is clear, clear what he desires, clear he is laying his claim to the throne – by all rights it is his, much to the immediate dismay of those loyal to Sir Dameron, to he who is next in line.

Or rather, was.

“This is an outrage!” Dameron himself explodes in a fit of tantrum, slamming his own fist down against the table he has moved near.

Sir Ren simply regards him, and you regard Sir Ren, and the whole world seems to come to a stand-still.

“Two weeks.” The knight in black announces, and there it was, that rich voice once again. You hadn’t imagined it, the depth of it, hadn’t concocted it, and you hang onto those words as Dameron sneers, as he draws his own sword and lunges over the table.

He is exceptionally brash and you truly cannot help but roll your eyes, particularly as he comes to stand in front of you, some grand display at chivalry, at protection. You do not want it, nor did you ask for it, and there is a loose chuckle or two from deep within the mob, as you elbow your way back in front once more, not wanting to be shrouded behind him.

Sir Ren takes notice of this, and while he does not smile at your display of bravery, his eyes smolder at you in a way that has your knees growing weak.

“Why not take it now, if you are so confident that it is yours?” Dameron taunts, twirls his sword in his hand, assumes a fighting stance.

Sir Ren simply regards him, looks him up and down, and with the smallest shake of his head warns,

“Don’t tempt me.”

And it is this threat, that Sir Ren would happily lunge at Dameron’s throat, that calls for an outcry once more, for men and women alike to gasp and break into a loud chatter, everyone moving, everyone speaking, everyone launching straight to gossip.

Everyone, that it is, but you.

For you stare straight and true at the knight, at Sir Ren. You find you cannot take your eyes off of him, find you cannot look away, and why should you? He is so easy on the eyes, from the wide expanse of his chest to the dots that mark his face. You cannot tell if it is the wine, or the dancing, or the adrenaline that pumps through your veins, but you buck up the courage to shove your way through the rowdy dining hall, beg your pardon as you make your way towards him.

“Sir Ren!” You call out, and those in attendance of the feast watch you chase after him with wide eyes.

And it is a chase indeed, for Sir Ren is walking quickly away from you, and his legs are so very long. He is fast despite his armor, and you have to truly pick up the pace in order to catch him.

“Sir Ren, please wait!” You shout, and he stills.

You run across the grounds to where he was just about to mount his horse, a huge creature with hair as black as night. You are impressed, for horses did not grow this large, not at least any horse you have ever seen. Sir Ren is staring at you with wide eyes, and up close he is incredibly striking.

So much so, that you simply stare back at him for a moment, and you wonder if he will speak. You try and reclaim your breath from the sprint, but by the time you are of even breathing once more, he still has not so much as opened his mouth.

“I am in need of a bodyguard, for I am a lone maiden in a strange land. There are men after me, an army waging war on my Uncle. Please forgive my directness, but it would be an honor if you would assume the role of my protector.” You curtsey deeply, but still he does not speak.

When you rise, he is looking at you with bewilderment, and you worry you have offended him somehow.

“I can pay you handsomely – well! I can pay you well, for your efforts. And you may stay within the castle walls with me, a far cry better than being exposed to the elements, do you not think?” You blush, your slip of the tongue no doubt making you look foolish in his eyes.

When he still does not speak, you sigh, defeated. You did not know what had compelled you to ask this man, this stranger in the first place, and your heart sinks that you will now have to turn your attention to Sir Dameron, ask for his protection instead.

“She’s beautiful.” You say, in regards to the horse, who chuffs in surprise at being regarded at all.

You curtsy once more and turn to walk away, when you hear him take a step towards you.

“That color – ” He says, and his voice is deep as ever, deep as it was in the hall, but now ten times less loud, ten times more soft. “It suits you very well.”

You grin, and offer him your arm.

He only stares at it, remains frozen in place. You smile, wondering if he has ever been in the presence of a lady before, and tentatively, ever so carefully, you reach for his hand. It is balled into a tight fist, even as you wind your arm through his.

You glance up at him silently, giving him nothing but a smile, and though he does not smile back at you, he does walk with you back towards the castle.

You avoid the path of the great hall, for this is news you would not like to break so soon, not after such a declaration as Sir Ren’s. You care little about the impact this will have, instead grateful that such a strong and physically imposing man as this has agreed to watch over you, protect you.

He is even larger up close, as you have him pressed against your side, arms intertwined. He carries his helmet underneath his freed arm, and you cannot help but think how impressive it is that he walks with such ease in all of this plating and mail.

The walk is silent as you arrive at your bedchambers, and you unlock the door with the key Gwendoline gave you before you left for the feast.  

You release his arm, and turn the handle open.

“Please, come in?” You ask softly, for something about this man speaks to you, something tells you that he needs to be regarded with gentleness and care. A paradoxical wish, you think, but one you are more than happy to fulfill.

He shakes his head, throat bobbing. Ah, he is truly chivalrous then, you think with a smile, and simply nod.

“Will you sleep?” You ask, but your knight only shrugs, words still evading him. “I shall wish you only a good night then, rather than pleasant dreams.”

He is still looking at you when you close the door between your bodies. You wonder if he will truly stand there all night, truly be on the defense until the sun comes up – and then continue to do so forever more. You have no money to give him now, not at this moment, for your fleeing was one which did not afford the luxury of time to grab your purse.

You sleep with the sound of his voice in your head, and you find that despite it all, you have pleasant dreams.

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

In the morning, he is indeed there, and when you greet him he only silently regards you with a nod of his head. You could burst into happiness at the sight of him, for now you can see his face in the daytime, can see every mole and beauty mark than dapples his cheek, can see just how warm and brown his eyes are.

You offer your arm to him once more, and cannot contain a happy laugh when he accepts it gracefully, fist still balled in his leather glove as it rests underneath your hand. You will have to work on that, you decide, him not being so tense.

But then again, tension is a good thing for a guard to have, is it not?

Sir Ren opens the door to the great hall when you descend the stairs together, allows you to enter first and follows shortly after. It is just the royal family and the servants which dine today, all the other attendees of the feast long gone and enjoying a meal in their own home. You are glad for the minimal audience, for when Sir Ren’s presence is known, you are both met with gasps of shock.

Sir Dameron, in his courageous fashion, leaps over the high table and rolls to a standing position, sword drawn dramatically.

“My fair princess! Look out, there is a monster behind you.” He bares his teeth at Sir Ren, but neither of you are nonplussed.

“Where? Oh, Sir Ren? If he be a monster he is not one to me, it would be rather counterproductive for I have hired him as my guard.” You say with ease, causing the royal family to go deathly still.

“You have done what?” Bishop Luke asks, as Sir Ren follows you up the steps to the high table, stands behind you without a word.

“Found a bodyguard. You were correct Sir Dameron, finding a capable man was more than easy.” You answer, speaking in the direction of the silver knight whose sword has gone limp at his side in confusion and dismay.

“You cannot be serious, this is – this is treason!” Dameron stutters and stammers, and you laugh without regard to anyone or anything as you bite into an apple.

“Oh no it is not, I did not hire him to murder you – unless you aim to harm me.” You say, making the man go bright red.

“I would never.” He announces, tousles his hair.

“Glad that’s settled then.” You reply evenly, offering Sir Ren an apple from the pile.

He takes it gratefully, bites into it. You get a glimpse of his teeth, they are pearly white but crooked in all manner of direction, and you give him an encouraging smile, when he catches you looking, for you find those teeth endearing.

“Lady (Y/N) you must know the implications of this decision.” The Queen says lowly, and you have half a mind to demand what her problem with her son is.

“And what might those be?” You challenge, growing weary of this, of her.

“You have allowed him entry into the castle!” She hisses, face turning red with anger at your feigned ignorance, and that is where you snap.

“I believe Sir Ren to be a man of his word. He said two weeks, and in two weeks you should worry. For now, I have already sent word to my father and he will no doubt respond with a contracted payment. It is finished, you cannot change my mind.” You say, angry and annoyed, good mood of the morning ruined.

“I will not permit it.” Queen Leia announces, stands up in rage.

“Then I shall tell my father you have rejected me from your home and forced me to live out in the wilderness, and when he is finished fighting the war in France, he will surely set his eyes on you.” You are just as fiery, and when you stand it is with defiance.

“I swear upon my brother’s life – ” Queen Leia says lowly.

“Hey.” Bishop Luke interrupts to complain.

“That if anything happens to my ward while this, this monster is here, he will be executed without trial.” Queen Leia says, and you don’t know why but you grow increasingly defensive over this man, this utter stranger.

“Then you would do to keep a close eye on him.” You say, stepping dangerously close to her, invading her personal space before grabbing a loaf of bread and many wedges of cheese from the table and announcing, “I believe I will have my breakfast out of doors today.”

The entire hall watches as you storm out, as Sir Ren follows closely behind, as you fling the doors open and slam them shut, trying your best not to let your rage show as you put distance between yourself and the castle.

It is beautiful out, the weather pleasant and mild, not nearly as windy as it was yesterday. Your veil does flutter in the breeze, hair kept securely beneath it, even though you long to let it free.

Sir Ren is silent beside you, although he does offer you his arm this time, and you grin up at him as you accept it.

“That went well, don’t you think?” You ask, not expecting an answer. “You must tell me if I annoy you with my conversation, the last thing I would want is to drive you away.”

He only shakes his head, and you take that as a good sign. You didn’t anticipate him being this shy, this reserved. You hum a tune for a little while as you walk the grounds, looking for a nice place to set down and finish your breakfast.

“You caused quite the stir at the table!” A familiar voice sounds, and you turn to see your lady’s maid shaking her head with awe.

“Good morning Gwendoline, I presume you’ve heard the news then?” You tease, for of course she had heard.

“Even the servants are talking, what a bold move.” Gwendoline chuckles, and it feels good to laugh with her, feels good to have a friend, even one made so new, and under such stressful circumstances.

“Let’s give them something more to discuss then, hm?” You ask, glancing up at your bodyguard who’s arm is still looped within your own, something that does not go unnoticed by Gwendoline, “Sir Ren will be accompanying us on our tour of the castle.”

The castle is much larger than you anticipated, and it takes all day for you to go through it.

Gwendoline is a godsend, she takes you through every single floor, all three of them, and then through to the basement and up to the roof. It is truly a grand fortress, with power displayed at every opportunity. There are castle guards and military means practically at every door on the first floor, who guard the storerooms and the throne room and the great hall all alike.

You wonder if anyone has been fired, for surely such a guard would not have let Sir Ren burst through into the feast, not without a fight anyway. You wonder if they had, and Sir Ren had simply killed them. But no, you decide, for there would have been blood on his armor last night, and you had seen none.

The second floor is where the servants life, and you are introduced to them all. From the stableboys to the laundrymaids, you greet them one by one. You are surprised to learn you’re the first noble or royal to do such a thing, for you consider it only common decency to acquaint yourself with the people who serve you.

Not that these people serve you, nor would they, if you got your way and Queen Leia did not get hers.

Between the tour and the greeting of all the servants, by the time you are finished with the tour, the sun is down. The three of you steal a bite to eat or two from the storerooms, nothing extravagant, just humble meat and bread, a mug or two of water from the well.

Gwendoline bids you a goodnight once the food has been finished, leaving you and your guard by yourselves.

Sir Ren accompanies you without a word up to your bedchambers, opens your door for you and you step inside.  

“Will you remain outside of my door this evening?” You ask, wondering if you can convince him to come in this time, but he gives you a look that says you cannot. “Good night then, Sir Ren.”

You smile at him and once again he does not smile back – you wonder what it will take for such an expression to grace his face, for surely he would be so much more handsome if he were to smile. You endeavor to see it before the two weeks time is up, a challenge you are happy to accept.

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

The next morning you find him alert and at attention at your door, once Gwnedoline has come in and dressed you for the day. You are wearing your red kirtle, it has been washed freshly and you hope that it pleases the knight.

“You truly did not sleep, did you?” You ask in lieu of a formal greeting, in awe of the way he seemingly needs no rest. “I was hoping to go into the village today, to bring alms to the poor. Will you accompany me?”

He nods, and you happily make your way down the hall to the stables where you and Sir Ren’s horses are safe and warm. It is here that you can see just how magnificent his steed is, how large. Her mane is cropped and braided tightly to her neck, but her eyelashes are long and she huffs happily to see her master.

Agnes is equally pleased to see you, though she is far more proportional to what you consider a normal sized horse. It would seem as though the two horses get along very well, for they can choose wherever they would like to stand, and yet they have chosen to stand next to one another as the stableboy prepares their saddles.

You watch with great interest as Sir Ren holds a hand out to his horse’s mouth, some oats poured into his palm from a sack tucked under his arm. The great beast eats it up happily, and Agnes sees this and demands some as well. You are more than happy to give them to her, your hand accidentally brushing against your knight’s when you reach into the sack he holds.

“You know I must admit, when you first arrived at the great hall the other night it was the first time that I thought this place might hold any interest to me. You and I are alike, you see, we both are alone in this land, but now I think we might be alone together, and wouldn’t that be lovely? To have a friend in one another?” You ask as he offers you a hand to climb aboard your horse, foregoing all propriety and pretending that side saddle does not exist.

You watch as Sir Ren hoists himself up onto his own horse, and you laugh because you must look up at him, even from here, for even his horse is taller than yours. He does not reply as you lead the horses out of the stable, careful to watch your head on the lip of the door.

You refrain from any conversation until your horses have lead you down and away from the castle walls, where you then look to him with some semblance of playful secrecy.

“I suppose you do not do friends, nor was that your intention for coming here. Nonetheless, I do thank you for agreeing to stay with me. Now that we are far enough from the castle I should tell you that it is my hope you may find the opportunity to familiarize yourself with the workings of the kingdom.” You wink, and consider it a victory when Sir Ren raises his eyes in shock.

So shy indeed, you think, with a light blush.

“Tomorrow I thought it might be a nice idea for you to train, if that is something you so desire. I’m sure someone with your…physique requires rigorous training, and I feel poorly for having kept you away from it. I don’t want you to think that just because you are my guard, that you must wait on me hand and foot – I am quite capable.” You assure him.

It is then that a woman darts out from a small farmhouse that marks the edge of the village. You and Sir Ren halt your horses, and the woman curtsys deeply.  

“Lady (Y/N)! It is an honor.” She greets you, breathless.

“Pray tell what is your name?” You ask kindly, flattered by her excitement.

“Rose, your highness, I am Rose.” She curtsys again, a bright flush to her cheeks when she asks, “What brings you to the village?”

“Sir Ren and I have come to deliver food for the hungry, from the feast held in my honor.” You gesture to your knight, and Rose practically trips over herself in embarrassment for forgetting to greet him as well.

“Oh, thank you my Lord and Lady! I shall bring it to them at once.” She says, curtsying deeply once more.

You frown.

“Actually, it would be a privilege if I may do so myself.” You explain, to which her eyes widen nearly comically. “Please, can you point me in the appropriate direction?”

“You are most kind, yes, right this way.” She says, gesturing for you to follow her down a small trodden path through the village.

It is quaint, mostly farmland for a great long while, before breaking into something more civilized. There were small houses and grand buildings, a church of course, a marketplace. People coming and going as they pleased, off to conduct business or tend to the chores of the day. Children ran around in the street, some chased by their fathers, other running loose of their own accord.

“Does the Queen not deliver her alms?” You ask as it becomes clear here is where your leftover food was needed the most.

Both you and Sir Ren get down from your horses, and with discretion, begin to hang out bundles of bread, meat, cheese, and fruit to women and children, men old and young alike. They are grateful for it, but you refuse any thanks.

“Oh no, your highness. No she is far too busy with running things at the castle, she has entrusted me to do such tasks.” Rose shakes her head, “It is why I was prepared to take them for you, you see.”

This disappoints you greatly, and you cannot repress an angered sigh. Not when a small boy with round blue eyes and a dirt smudged face wraps his arms around your middle in a hug.

“I don’t think there is ever such thing as too busy to meet with those less fortunate than you, what say you, Sir Ren?” You ask when the boy runs away, holding the crust of bread above his head like it is some great prize he has won, immediately breaking it into pieces to share it with his friends.

Sir Ren watches the child, and you watch Sir Ren, watch as he approaches the children. At first they are fearful of him, for he is nearly four times their height, but then he crouches down and offers some meat and wrapped fish, and they approach him with ease.

“He doesn’t speak much, does he?” Rose asks you, and you find you cannot look away from him, especially when the young boys grab onto his arms as he stands tall, is strong enough to hold them all up as the children dangle from his armor, laughing and laughing as if this is the most fun they have ever had.

“He doesn’t have to, if he doesn’t wish.” You say softly, blushing when he catches you staring, when you swear you can see a blush of his own creeping across his cheeks.

You turn away, walk with Rose as you deliver more meals from the feast, knowing without a doubt that Sir Ren would soon be behind.

“The village has heard of your scandal, they are up in arms.” Rose says quietly, and you nod.

“Well let us hope we don’t have a revolt on our hands, that would very much dampen my good mood – and the mood of Sir Ren, I’m sure.” You say, making Rose chuckle.

“You jest but I would not put it past them!” She replies seriously, “The Queen’s loyalists are a very rebellious bunch.”

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

The next morning, Sir Ren is at your door, as alert as ever. He also smells heavenly, like he is freshly washed, and even his hair is slightly damp. You wonder when he had the time to bath, and where even. But there he is, and he bows in a greeting to you, a greeting which makes you smile.

Just for fun, you curtsey to him in the hopes he might smile back at you, but he does not. Still, there is warmth in his eyes and you find that is just as acceptable – for the moment.

“Are you prepared to train today? I have brought my needle and thread, I should hope to embroider something while you spend the day completing your regiment.” You say, and this intrigues him, he perks up slightly and tries to steal a peek at the piece of fabric you have secured inside a very small hoop.

“Oh no you mustn’t look! It is a surprise.” You laugh, and he scowls, only making you more charmed.

You cannot show him, for it is a gift you hope to give him, a favor you hope he will wear when he engages in the tournament, the duel against Sir Dameron.

You walk arm in arm down the hall as per usual, down the stairs and onto the castle grounds, until he finds a spot he likes best.

“Please, do as you must, don’t mind me one bit, I shall just sit here without a word – pretend I am not here.” You say when he has chosen one such place, a large stretch of field with green grass that swayed in the breeze.

You sit in the grass, careful of any dirt that might stain your surcoat, and set to work on your embroidery. You had chosen a long strip of ribbon, one that you hoped would be long enough to wrap around his upper arm, for his biceps looked so large. You had been secretly trying to measure how wide his muscles might be with each morning as you hooked your arm in his, and each and every time, you came away more and more impressed.

An impression which was only growing, when you saw just what this training regiment entailed. Even back home you paid no attention to the knights which littered your lawn, so you really had no idea what it might have even been, but you certainly did not expect this, did not expect the sparks which flew off of a stone wall as Sir Ren climbed his way up it.

He has found two walls close enough together, and in full armor he wedges himself between them, braces his hands and feet and, much like a spider would, climbs the wall. Once at the top, he jumps down and rolls upright with grace, drawing the attention of many a lord and lady alike.

After five times climbing the wall, he whistles for his horse, which comes running and running at high speed from the stables. You stop your embroidery work for a moment, fearful that the horse is going to run him down, when he simply begins running alongside her, grabs a hold of the saddle horn and swings himself up onto the horse.

Cheers erupt behind you, and you realize he had gathered a small crowd, mostly of women who have come to stand or sit near you to admire him.

You feel a sense of both pride and jealousy, as you cheer along. He is your guard after-all.

Sir Ren repeats this motion again and again, jumping down from his horse and then back onto her, and you try your very best not to laugh, for the poor beast looks thoroughly annoyed with him! You wonder just how heavy that armor is, even for so large a horse there are limits.

You attempt to embroider once more when he dismounts for the final time, choosing now to somersault round and round the grass in a fashion that you think looks altogether very silly, but is still a great feat, one which you are sure you could not complete covered in so much metal.

The pattern you have chosen is that of your initials, a decorative monogram in colors you think would suit him – black and red. You are nearly half-way finished with the letter of your first name, when he begins the stone throw.

If the wall climb and the horse vaulting were impressive, this was downright awe-inspiring. You did not know how he did it, how he had the strength, but you watch with a dropped jaw as he lifts a large rock from the earth, one you were sure had been placed there by the gods of old themselves, lifts it high above his head.

When he tosses it, the earth shakes as it lands, shakes enough that you drop your needle from the force of it.

You are openly gawking at him now, taking in the sight of him, of his form. You wish you could see what was held beneath his armor, particularly how his muscles might strain from the weight of the stone as he fetches it once more, tosses it high into the air and lets it land once more.

You are shocked, that a man could possess such strength – absolutely floored. You strain to look at his thighs, at his shoulders, but they are a mystery to you, one that makes you hot. Oh you are hot all over, from the way he lifts the stone with ease, from the way he so nonchalantly chucks it across the field.

Your breathing quickens and you can feel your face flushing, can feel a low and delicious throb between your legs when you hear the grunt of his labor, the effort he puts behind the third, fourth, fifth throw. You lick the sweat off of your upper lip, and have to adjust your skirt so that you might press your legs together.

When he bends over to pick it up again, and you see the firm expanse of his ass through his trousers where his chainmail has ridden up, you cannot stop a groan from escaping from your lips. Some of the ladies do the same, but it is your groan that distracts him – and he drops the heavy rock, immediately wincing and stumbling backwards so that it may not crush his foot.

You are up in an instant, embroidery tossed aside as the women gasp in fear.

“Sir Ren!” You shout, running running running towards him, your skirt gathered up in your hands, heart thudding wildly. You feel awful, for this is your fault, as he inspects his hand. “Are you alright?”

You pry his fist open and see a gash through the leather of his gloves, and you cup a hand over your mouth in fear for him.

“Lady (Y/N), it’s fine, tis but a scratch – ” he tries to assure you, shocking you further with his speech, his voice even and calm, a soothing baritone.

You waste no time in reaching down beneath your kirtle to your linen smock, tear a strip right from the hem, and wind it around his hand.

“I will not stand by and watch you bleed.” You say at once, heart hammering in your chest.

You quickly tie the linen strip around his hand, for it is too difficult to take off his glove, not when the top of his hand is protected by chainmail and plate. You press your fingers to the wound, applying an even pressure and you will the bleeding to stop.

“You have ruined your dress.” He says, and you look up at him, find his face leaning down so so close to yours.

“If it has helped you, then it is not ruined.” You whisper, searching his eyes. In the daylight like this, they are the most beautiful liquid brown, like chocolate only warmer. He is so close to you, and he licks his lips, prominent adam’s apple bobbing up and down, his own breathing hard. You do not know if it is from his workout or your presence, but it does not matter. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He says, and your eyes flutter closed at the sound of his voice, your hands clasp over his in an affectionate and caring gesture. He brings his other hand to your cheek, “I have endured much worse than this.”

“Just because you have endured worse does not mean this cannot still hurt.” You say, and he blinks, rapidly.

“Thank you.” He replies, and the words sound strange coming from his lips, as if he has not said them before, or at least for a long time.

You wonder if, before you, there had been anyone to tend to his wounds, no matter how great or small.

“Can you go on like this?” You ask, not wanting to let go of his hand, so you don’t. He notices, and you think, you think think think you see the barest hint of a smile, but it is gone before it has even arrived.

So close, you think to yourself, as you let yourself grin, telling him that you know, you saw it, even if he hadn’t wanted you to. He looks up at the crowd which is watching them both, gossiping between one another, and he looks back at you.

“Yes, I was hoping to exercise Sam, if you would come riding with me.” He asks.

Sam! What a lovely name for a horse, you think, as you nod, as he pulls you by the hand to his horse who looks as if she’s about to kick him in the gut for being so heavy. He hoists you up onto her saddle, and jumps up onto her as well, behind you, arms winding around your middle.

He snaps the reigns and off Sam rides, galloping and galloping down the field, through the castle gates and into the woods beyond.

It is freeing, to go so fast! To fly through the earth like there be no restrictions, no war miles and miles away. Your veil whips around from the speed of Sam’s hooves, and carefully you remove it so it does not rip from your head, does not accidentally smack Sir Ren in the face. With your hair freed you feel as though all the weight of the world has left your shoulders, and you whoop and laugh as you duck beneath branches and brace yourself as Sam jumps over dips and gaps in the earth.

Sir Ren is a solid, sturdy wall behind you, your back pulled against his chest as he practically encases your body. His chin rests on your shoulder, and though you know it is because that is the only place where he can really see, it still feels intimate in the most wonderous of ways.

You travel over the farmlands and through the woods, past a clearing and all the way down to the shoreline, where waves crash against craggy cliffs, and the misty spray of the ocean catches in rainbows overhead.  

But like all good things, this does not last, and soon the day grows long, and your stomachs grow hungry. You wish you had brought food for a picnic, but alas, lunch must be had, and that meant returning to the castle. No one bothers you this time when you enter the great hall, for lunch has already been served, and the royal family is nowhere in sight. Still the servants bring you food, and you enjoy your meal in companionable silence.

When the day has finished and Sir Ren accompanies you to your room, you are glad to see that someone, likely Gwendoline, has found your embroidery and has placed it on your bed. You regard Sir Ren, regard the way that he is standing ever closer to you with your arm in his, and you hope – dare to hope, that perhaps this will be the night you lure him into your bedchambers.

“I have never had such fun in all my life!” You exclaim, a sudden rush of adrenaline flooding through you.

Sir Ren seems to know, knows what you’re playing at, and he only opens your door for you.

“Good night, Lady (Y/N).” He says, his tone teasing and playful in a way that has your hopes so so so high.

“Won’t you come in?” You ask, pout, plead, trying to do your worst.

“You know I cannot.” He shakes his head, and you let out a dramatic sigh.

“But I am asking so nicely.” You say, to which he simply raises a brow, unamused. This is a lie of course, you can tell he is amused, there is just something preventing him from expressing it so. “Will you be here? When I wake up?” You whisper, hoping to not have pushed too far.

“Of course.” He says with a nod, as he de-tangles his arm from yours with a simple, “Sleep well.”

He closes the door and closes himself off to you, and you cannot help but be a little disappointed. Did he perhaps find you unattractive? No, not with the way his gaze lingered upon you so. Was it your arrangement, a guard and the object of his protection? Was it because you were to pay him? You didn’t want him to think you were paying for his affections, for that certainly was not the case.

But, you hoped…hoped that affections were indeed there.

You undressed carefully, slowly, remembering the events of the day, of the past few days. How he was so strong, so clearly physically powerful. That low throb began once more between your legs, and you figure that no one is around, no one will know if you indulge yourself some pleasure – as long as you keep quiet, as long as you do not disturb Sir Ren.

He is just outside your door, and this thrills you, thrills you that he could come in at any moment, should he choose. The invitation is there, you have given it so many times now, have meant it each time you gave it. The door is unlocked, it would be so easy for him to come inside.

You let your mind wander as your feet carry you to your bed, as you climb underneath your covers and stick your fingers in your mouth, wet them generously with saliva, though you know you won’t be needing it, for your pussy is already so slick, so wet for Sir Ren.

You concoct a fantasy, that it is his fingers touching you, that he accepts your invitation and removes all his armor, all his layers, and climbs atop you, touches and touches and touches you. You roll over onto your stomach so that your face might be pushed into your pillow, sounds muffled.

In the fantasy, he has pulled you onto your hands and knees, has your ass propped up as he explores your body from behind. Your hips push and pull against your hand and you stroke yourself, short nails dragging just so on the walls of your cunt, sending little ripples of pleasure through your spine.

It makes you hazy, dizzy, tingly, the thought that perhaps he would kiss your back, between your shoulder blades, would grasp your hair in one of his large hands, would use it as though it were reigns. You moan into your pillow at the thought of riding him, of straddling his thighs and rolling your hips above his as his cock splits you in two – for surely it must be proportional to the rest of him, and the rest of him is so very large.

When you come, it is as though all of the tension from the past few days has melted away, pouring out of you and coating your fingers. You relish the glow for a long while, until it lulls, and you drift off to sleep with a smile on your face.

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

You awake to the sound of softly chirping birds, the free larks and farm roosters deciding that it was time to once again greet the day, rousing most everyone along with them. You are giddy, wake up with something of a smile on your face, for you know that when you open the door to your bedchambers there will be your guard, and you have many a question for him, many a story to tell him. You have grown accustomed to this, to these morning conversations, and even though he is of few words himself, there is a warmth that he provides when he is near that you decide you cannot go without.

Through a back passage in the room comes your lady in waiting, and your newfound friend, Gwendoline.

“You look like you have slept well my lady.” She greets you with a bow, and you throw the sheets off of your body, clutch a pillow to your chest.

“I had the most wonderful of dreams, and am very much looking forward to the day – did you have a pleasant evening?” You ask, and Gwendoline smiles.

“I did, you are most kind to ask. May I help you dress?” She asks, and you are grateful that she is not in the mood to talk today. Your longing for conversation belongs with Sir Ren, no matter how interesting Gwendoline may be.

“Please.” You nod, as you rise from your bed clad only in your loose linen smock.

Your bare feet are warmed by the handwoven carpet that covers the stone flooring of your bedchambers. Gwendoline rummages through your trunk and retrieves a pair of woolen hose, a natural, unbleached color that matched the smock. She hands them to you and you slide them up your legs, securing them just below the knee with garters of braided tape. This pair are not so thick, and you stretch your legs out to admire the shape of your calves, wondering if perhaps Sir Ren wore hose beneath his armor.

“Which pair of shoes would you like today, my lady?” She asks, and while you normally could not care less, you chose carefully this morning.

“I think the brown. I aim to wear my red kirtle and I feel they would pair nicely, don’t you think?” You ask, and Gwendoline concurs as she fetches the leather slippers, positions them on your feet and closes the golden buckle around your ankle.

“A wise choice indeed.” She agrees, and you wonder if she’s only agreeing because to do so otherwise might get her in trouble. Nevertheless, she removes the red kirtle from the trunk where it had been neatly folded.

Sir Ren has complimented this kirtle, you think warmly. Through his compliment, it was quickly becoming your most favorite, and you hold your arms above your head so that Gwendoline might slip the garment over your frame.

This particular one was made from red silk, with a beautifully embroidered brocade decorating the neckline and cuffs. The embroidery was done with red and pink threads of spun silk, and designed in a floral pattern that you felt appropriate for the summertime.

Gwendoline clasps the neckline shut with a gold and jewel encrusted brooch, and was about to slide the highly ornate and decorative surcoat over your head when you shake your head.

“No, I should like to have a casual day, if I might.” You say as you walk towards the spotted mirror.

It was simply too hot for all the regalia of the surcoat and cloak, this was summer after-all, you were no longer living in the eternal permafrost of France in the wintertime. You regard yourself in the mirror, smooth the silk over your curves and you reach for a golden braided belt to tighten the kirtle around your wait, allowing for some definition.

“Her Majesty would not be pleased, if you were not in proper dress.” Gwendoline comes to stand behind you, and through the reflection you see her pale blonde eyebrow raised.

“I am covered sufficiently, am I not?” You ask, stubborn as ever.

“I suppose you are.” Gwendoline says in defeat, not willing to push the issue. So what if the Queen would be displeased? You were not here to befriend her. “Where is that hulking beast you’ve somehow tamed?” Gwendoline asks, throwing you for a moment.

You turn to find her seated in one of the large wooden chairs near your bed, already pulling out a pair of stockings to darn.

“What, you don’t mean Sir Ren.” You frown, and Gwendoline gestures towards your door.

“I do, I did not see him as I passed by your door, is he not supposed to stand watch all evening?” She asks, and suddenly your hopes for a morning conversation are dashed, replaced with the icy drip of dread.

“Gwendoline would you please excuse me – I fear something has happened to him, I must look for him.” You say at once, quickly yanking a comb through your hair that you leave loose, for there is no time to braid and pin it now, not when your guard has gone missing.

Gwendoline does not seem terribly concerned.

“I highly doubt anything could have happened to such a brute, but do as you must.” She sighs.

You do not register her comment until you are already on the other side of the room, hand on the door handle. You hesitate, but ultimately cannot hold your tongue, not when defensiveness strikes up within you.

“He is not a brute.” You say firmly.

You leave Gwendoline in your bedchambers as you unlock your door, and she is correct when she says the man is nowhere to be seen. Panic spikes your chest for a moment, and your feet begin to carry you through the hall, down the stone steps of the castle stairwell, and out a back door which leads to the grounds.

The sky is still pink with the early hour, only just enough light to see by, enough to search for any sign of Sir Ren. You do not see your guard but you do see his steed, and you approach her calmly, not wanting to spook the giant horse.

Tentatively, you reach out a hand and place it on her nose, and she nudges your hand with something that you hope is affection, allowing you to pet the short hairs there.

“Do you know where he’s gone?” You ask, and she only whinnies softly, tosses her head.

You know reasonably that she can’t understand you, that her shaking her head is not her saying no, not really, but you feel disappointed nonetheless. There is a splashing sound suddenly, one that comes from just beyond the line of the trees. That must be him, you think, for no one else would be here so early, certainly not fishing.

Without a second thought you are crossing the expanse of the castle grounds, the distance not so great as to be a deterrent, and you mind your step as you climb through bushes and past large mossy stones, to where the splashing only grows louder, and the trickling of a brook becomes ever present.

Carefully you hide yourself behind the trunk of a large tree and you must cover your mouth so that he may not hear your gasp, for Sir Ren is bathing in the brook – completely in the nude.

You have never seen your knight without his armor before.

Ever.

The most you have been so lucky to feast your eyes upon has only been his face, his hands ever elusive beneath leather gloves, the rest of him shrouded in mystery. Yet here he is now, the brook just barely covering his hips, and your mouth waters, for he is so much more impressive than you thought possible. You had been under the false pretense that it was his armor which made him so broad – and now you know this is not the case, that the armor does nothing to exaggerate his figure.

He stands with his back to you, as he scoops water into his cupped palms and douses his head with it. His wet hair is impossibly dark, and you are somehow close enough to catch the enticing sight of the water cascading down his body in rivulets as he scoops more and more. The water runs off in clear bubbles, foam that collects atop the water, and you recognize that as soap. You wonder what soap he uses.

Your intrigue only grows further when you see him procure the bar of soap from an anchored stone which he has placed it on, watch as he uses it to scrub his skin, generating more and more of the froth. But soon your interest in the soap dissipates as you fixate on a much more tantalizing sight – the extremely well defined muscles of his back and shoulders.

You cannot see his front, but his back flexes and the pink skin of scar tissue stretches with the movement. There are many, too many, and you frown when you realize the pain he has endured to earn them. One is large and cuts his back nearly in half, another wraps around his shoulder, presumably this scar is connected to the one on his face, but you cannot be sure.

Something in you shouts loudly to turn around and retreat back to the castle, that this is unfair, improper. You have little shame on a typical occasion, but this was spying, was unwarranted.

A larger part of you is bold, and you decide that it cannot be spying if you make yourself known, so with a thudding chest you step from around the tree trunk, the sound of your shoes snapping twigs underneath your foot more than enough to alert Sir Ren of your presence.

He whips around at once, somehow has a dagger in his hand, and your breath catches, for now that he is facing you, you are exposed to the sight of his sculpted chest, the strong thickness of his middle. Your eyes cannot help but travel downwards, where there is a thatch of black hair that disappears beneath the water.

“Lady (Y/N)!” Sir Ren reacts quickly upon seeing you, upon recognizing you. He dunks himself beneath the water, submerges himself fully, so that only his head and shoulders stick out. He flushes bright red, and averts his gaze, as though he were the one who has stumbled across you.

“Call me (Y/N).” You say, and he just gulps.

“Forgive me, I did not think you would wake this early – what are you doing?” He asks, cutting himself off abruptly as he takes notice of you undoing your golden belt, slipping out of your shoes.

“Is it not obvious? I am joining you.” You ask with a smile, unclasping your brooch and pulling the kirtle over your shoulders and off of your body, folding it atop of your jewelry so that the pieces may be hidden.

Sir Ren grows more and more alarmed, particularly when you undo the tape that holds up your hose, making something of a show of rolling the wool down down down your leg, folding those carefully as well.

“You can’t.” He protests, voice deep and soft, shy. “It’s cold.” He says, although you doubt that.

“I never minded the cold much.” You give a cheeky wink, “Besides, I very much fancy a swim.”

You keep your smock on, a sham of an attempt at modesty as you wade into the water. The closer and closer you get to him, the further he backs away, until he cannot back away any further, his back hitting the bank across the narrow brook.

“You smell marvelous, pray tell what do you use?” You ask when you crowd up against him, your smock soaked through entirely.

You hope he notices, hope he catches a glimpse of your body through the fabric, for the unbleached linen has a habit of going transparent, of clinging to your figure when it is wet. You hope he is looking, hope that he is appreciative of your form, for what other reason could there be for him to lick his lips just so?

“Lemon juice and snake oil.” He says, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse, like he hasn’t prepared to use it.

You decide to tease him for a moment or two, and you float on your back, laying yourself horizontally atop the water so that he might see all of you, might feel the tendrils of your hair brush against his waist as the gentle current ebbs and flows.

“I thought I recognized the lemon, but I must admit I don’t know how one would procure oil from a snake. I imagine it’s a very dangerous endeavor, but knowing you, I’m sure it is one that you handle with grace.  I’m very impressed to find you using soap – not to say that I thought you were dirty! It’s just many men I’ve encountered have no comprehension of cleanliness. I suspect it’s why illness has begun to creep up across the country.” You resume a standing position, remembering his injury.

“How is your hand?” You ask, only to find Sir Ren staring at you.

Your hair, now sopping wet has splayed across your shoulders and followed the swell of your breasts, where Kylo is desperately trying to avoid looking. You do him no favors, and take a deep inhale, and he is entranced by the way your ribcage expands. You do it again, and he tears his gaze away, having completely missed your question.

“What?” He asks, voice thick, and you can’t help but feel the smallest bit victorious.

Still, your concern is genuine, the torn strip missing from your smock brushes against your calf under the water, a testament to that.

“Your hand, from yesterday? I worry about it, your wound.” You say, and the gears turn in Sir Ren’s head, until he finally understands.

“It’s all healed, here,” He offers you his hand palm side up, with a soft, “See?”

It is an invitation, this you know, to hold his hand. You do not waste a moment to slide your palms underneath his knuckles, to push his hand up out of the water so that you might have a better look. Indeed the cut is healed, now no more than a faint line. Relief floods you, and even once you have inspected his wound, you do not let him go.

“I have never seen your hands before.” You say quietly, sliding one of your palms to smooth over his, sandwiching his great big hand in between yours, clasping yours around it. You bring the hand up to your lips and in the most gentle press of affection you can muster, bestow a kiss to his fingertips. He is still, so still, and you cannot tell if you are afraid of him bolting, or if it is he who is afraid of scaring you. “In fact, I cannot help but feel as though I have never seen you before.”

And Sir Ren withdraws his hand from your loose grasp with that, rough calloused skin slipping away from yours as he steps away from you with great pain in his face.

“I am sorry you are seeing me now.” He admits, a deep scowl pinching his brow.

You follow after him, not wanting to be so far, not wanting to be far at all, and the water sloshes around you as you try to understand his meaning.

“What on Earth makes you say such a thing? Do you think I find you repulsive?” You ask, wondering what you had said, what you had done, but he only shakes his head and huffs to himself, trying to find the words.

“Why should you not?” He settles on, not daring to look at you. You can see the clenching of his jaw, and wish for nothing more than to soothe him, particularly when he grits out, “I have been made aware…that my features are less than pleasant to look at.”

And anger flares up inside your stomach then, a belly full of flame which you want to spit like dragonfire. You cup his cheek in your own hand, the cheek with the scar to show that you are not one who holds those same opinions.

“Whoever has poisoned you with these falsehoods should be hanged for this crime they have committed against your confidence.” You condemn them with every fiber of your being, for who could say such a thing, such a lie?

This close his features appear to you as nothing other than handsome, captivatingly beautiful. His hair, although hanging flat from being sopping wet is luscious and glossy, no doubt from the oils he uses. His ears, though they may stick out, are perfectly symmetrical and you find you adore them, now that you see them for the first time, now that they are not hidden behind his raven locks. His nose is proud and strong, his eyes are warm and kind. He is kissed by the heavens, for constellations have been sprinkled across his skin, from the spots that pepper his face to the dusting atop his shoulders and chest.

“It would not do to hang the Queen.” He says softly, so soft that you nearly miss it. But you do catch it, and the anger morphs into misery on his behalf, as your heart breaks for him.

“Sir Ren.” You whisper, and damn but you could cry, what a horrible thing for a mother to say, how cruel.

You realize then, just how close you are to one another, wading there in the brook. You realize you could kiss him – you want to kiss him. And it seems as though, for just a moment, he wants to kiss you too, if the way he lets his eyes close, the way he wets his lips are any indication.

You close yours as well, and are about to close the gap between your bodies – when there is the rapid sound of footsteps approaching, snapping twigs underneath feet, and Sir Ren springs into action.

He wraps a strong arm around your middle and pulls you flush against his chest with enough force to knock the wind out of you, as he spins to grab his sword which rests just on the bank. The entire mood has shifted, and the softness in your knight has vanished, replaced instead with a vicious bark, one that was not nearly as bad as his bite.

“Who goes there?” He commands, “Show yourself!”

Out from the brush appear three young boys, and any fear you felt evaporates.

“We beg your pardon oh Knight!” They all clamor to apologize, bowing and bowing for they know they are in the presence of nobility, of royalty.

“It’s just some children, no doubt fooling around.” You say, but this does not stop you from clinging to him, does not stop your arms from winding around his neck.  

“Find another place to jest.” he orders, and there is an authority in his voice that has you biting your lip.

“Yes sir, of course sir.” The kids bow once more before sprinting off into the direction they came, scared shitless.

Once the kids are gone does Sir Ren seem to realize what he has done, how he has embraced you so.

“Please forgive me, I did not mean to – ” He panics, eyes wide, as he drops his sword on the bank of the river, immediately tries to detangle himself from you.

“Do not apologize, Sir Ren. I take no offense to this.” You interrupt him, both his words and actions, as your arms only tighten around his neck.

You hold your breath as his hands smooth across your soaked smock, and you almost have half a mind to pull the thing off entirely, for you wish to feel his hands on your bare skin desperately.

Your noses are touching, this is how close you are, so close you must go nearly cross eyed to look at him. There is no one now, no one to interrupt you, should he place a kiss upon your lips. He licks his, bites at his bottom lip with those crooked teeth that you so adore, but when he leans in it is only to place his forehead against yours.

“We must dress, no doubt someone will be looking for you.” He murmurs, and your heart sinks slightly.

“Let them look a little longer, I wish to spend my time with you.” You say, and this confuses him, you see pain in his eyes when he sets them on yours.

“Why?” He asks, and this question feels so genuine that your heart now truly breaks, breaks for him, for how can he not see his own worth? How, when he was so worthy?

“I believe there is more to you than what meets the eye.” You answer, because it is true.

“What if there isn’t?” He asks, but you only shake your head, rub your nose against his.

“Why don’t you let me decide that, hm?” You whisper, and this makes him huff, and you wonder if it is a laugh, as you chase his gaze when he looks away from you.

“You’re stubborn.” He says finally, and you grin, tip your head back all the way so that the water might wet it once again, and he supports your back as you do, gets an eyeful of your chest as you do.

“Thank you.” You say with a laugh, for you would rather be a stubborn girl than one with less will.

Soon you will dry off and re-dress, and no doubt Gwendoline will be angry at you for ruining her work on your hair, but this feels like a step, a monumental step, and you feel closer than ever before to your guard, your knight, Sir Ren.

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

Tagging some pals! If you would like to be put on the taglist, or taken off of it, please let me know! <33 @adamsnackdriver​ @dreamboatdriver​ @kyloxfem​ @autumnlovesadam​ @solotriplets​ @driverficarchive​ @kylo-renne​ @formerly-anonhamster​ @thepilotanon​ @joannapenguin​ @whiskey-bumblebee​ @passengereve​ @venusianmaiden​ @callmehopeless​ @sarcasticallyhateful​ @ilikebritsandbands​ @tinyplanet-explorers​ @kittyofalltrades​ @princessofpow​ @softcrybabykid​ @inkstaineddaughter​

#reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo/reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #medieval au #medieval fic #my writing #historical accuracy #historical fic #knight kylo #medieval knights #knights and ladies #all my stars

[breakingbadfics]

Thought Experiment. Part 1.

or “How would I have done it” 

So The Sith Resurgence is a petty bashfic driven purely by a desire to spit in the face of canon, but specifically ReyLo Shippers, specifically the Kylo Ren/Ben Solo lovers of the ship. The plot is hollow, the only characters given any consideration of depth are the romantic leads making the supporting characters even more bereft of substance. and in trying to fix certain things with in the canon it somehow has even less than canon

What does a good version of this look like? 

“Course Correction”

So lets start with an easy version of this question. The story is sitting at 35 chapters as of my writing this section of the essay. 

Lets say Hypothetically Lily Orchard reached out to me to outline the final arc for the story. How would I do that? 

So as of the end of chapter 35 these things happen 

Kylo Ren is intending to fake the return of Emperor Palpatine. 

Aliana and Rey have just gotten married

Rey’s growth in power has been climbing and causing concern among her friends for her safety. 

The First Order know the location of the Resistance’s new base after they survived the events of episode 8

There is still some sort of conflict between Aliana, Rey, and Leia.

Kylo Ren is Angling towards setting up the fall of the republic. 

Rey and Aliana are sent to Nathema  reinforce the extraction of child recruits from The First Order. 

I’m missing something I’m sure, but we’re moving forward from these points. 

Chapter 36 begins with Aliana and Rey arriving on Nathema, They do the fighting, clear out the base, begin the evacuations and save a bunch of children. During this The Message is sent out to all First Order bases. The Emperor has returned from the dead. 

On Nathema The Message arriving causes a shift in the morale of the fighting and while Rey and Aliana make it out in time along with any resistance back up they had, but everyone is ratttled. 

in spite of that Aliana is basically no-selling the threat of The Emperor’s return. and while Rey is also nervous about it Aliana assuages those fears by explaining that, that wasn’t Palpatine at all. Because there was no shock in the force. If Darth Sidious had cheated death, it would have been something everyone force sensitive could have felt, and would have been felt long before the emperor even composed the message. 

And so Chapter 36 ends

Chapter 37 

With the force bond having been unblocked Kylo Ren was able to detect Rey had left the Resistance base. And in an impulse chose to personally lead an attack on the base. During this he made sure to have The Message from The Emperor sent out 

During the attack a lot of casualties occur, but The Core Cast srvives but the big casualty is that Kylo Ren slashed a path through and took out his mother. 

the rest of the story is trying to recuperate and then convey that Palpatine’s message was fabricated as propaganda. 

during all this it’s decided amongst the remaining resistance that when they make the retaliatory strike it has to be the final blow that sets off the collapse of the first order. 

Chapter 38

Aliana and Rey train more, Rey start learning various Sith Techniques. 

Captain Phasma leading the last remnants of The Knights of Ren reveal themselves to have been waiting in hiding, they’re further accompanied by a collection of bounty hunters aiming to overwhelm the jedi and the sith through sheer numbers and power. 

It is not an easy fight but Phasma’s attack force is defeated and the captain is forced to retreat as one of the sole survivors of this attack. The victory is owed in both to Rey and Aliana’s capabilities as a unit as well as Finn and the remaining Resistance assisting where it counts. 

--

Kylo Ren is continuing his own private solo training and has found a collection of sith holocrons in Snokes original private quarters that have aided in honing his skills.. 

The First Order itself has made an order for all forces across the galaxy to return to the original coordinates of Star Killer Base.

once the full force of The First Order arrives in one place the plan is revealed that they intend to pull a full final assault on The Republic, intent to basically glass the surface of Corruscant. 

Chapter 39

The First Order again. 

They are preparted to set out only to find themselves faced with The Resistance and The Sith Fleet having arrived to make their own final attack. 

The fight begins

During all this Rey, Aliana, and friends infiltrate the lead ship with intent to find and eliminate the leaders of the first order. 

The eventual final confrontation between Kylo Ren, Aliana, and Rey happens. 

And Then everythings for a moment as hundred of thousands of Imperial Star Destroyers warp in from nowhere. And start attacking both sides. 

A mesage relayed across all channels. 

Emperor Palpatine is actually somehow alive, and has arrived to reclaim control of his fleet. 

Chapter 40 

Emperor Palpatine’s message is simple; he’s returned to take his throne as ruler of the galaxy. To the Resistance he demands surrender so that their deaths may be quick and merciful. To The First Order a message to stand down, declare fealty to him or die. 

The entirety of the battle as far as the fleets go dissolves into chaos and immediately Rose and Holdo declare a fall back and as many people in the resistance get out, leaving the first order and imperial forces to engage in a massive civil war. 

While this is happening Aliana and Rey are trying to gauge what to do while also fighting Kylo Ren, only for Kylo Ren to get shot in the back of the head by General Hux, who retreats to take his side with the empire. 

Aliana and Rey spend the rest of the chapter escaping and being very very angry they were denied the catharsis of killing Kylo Ren 

Chapter 41 

everyone is panicking. 

The resistance is down to their last legs and the entire galaxy is with little hope 

meanwhile Hux and Phasma are called forth to see The Emperor personally. where it is explained that even in spite of the unifying desire to re-establish the empire the first order was not the entirety of the remaining imperial forced and some chose to quietly seek out planets known to be inhabited by the dark side of the force. during this a ritual was carried out to allow a suitable individual to become the vessel for the emperor. The Emperor is basically wearing full fitting body armor at all times. but basically he’s inhabiting the body of a Galen Marek clone. 

Oh also Hux is executed, because the emperor saw what he did to Kylo Ren who was the acting supreme leader of the First Order, and so determined Hux to be not trustworthy. 

The resistance are still having doubts to their abilities now that they’re low on forces. further faith in Aliana is wavering due to the whole “I’d know if the emperor was back” blowing up in her face. 

However because Palpatines Message was delivered across the galaxy, and on all channels they get a message from The Senate that basically declares that they’re going all in on the resistance and fully endorsing them. planets from across all systems as well as former rebel alliance members are en route to bolster their forces. it is now a full scale war to snuff out The Imperial Remnant. 

Chapter 42.  

Aliana and Rey are declared high generals with only Holdo and Rose Tico holding equal authority to them 

The Resistance manage to find the current whereabouts of the emperor. 

They set out to finally put an end to his reign of terror once and for all. 

Chapter 43 

Rey, Aliana, and crew launch a strike on Emperor Palpatines personal cruiser. 

It’s revealed that Palpatine has “resurrected” Kylo Ren. though no more than a puppet to act as an extention of Palpatines will. 

The final fight for the fate of the galaxy and the right to be The one true sith lord begins. 

Chapter 44 

The fight happens.

 Rey fights the husk of Kylo Ren, The final step in Rey Beniko’s empowerment, destroying and ending the life of her abuser, lamenting only in that the soul of kylo ren never occupied the husk so she couldn’t revel in the end of his pathetic existance. 

Aliana and Palpatine fight, The right to call themselves the True and Rightful Sith Lord. Palpatine almost wins, even with the act of the fight becoming a one on two drag out brawl between the two lovers and the emperor.

However Galen Marek proper, and Finn arrive, and proceed to even the odds in a 4 on 1 fight.

As one last attempt at a moral blow is Palpatine reveals that somewhere along in the past he set up an arranged marriage with the Beniko line of sith lords something that had been set up several hundred of years back somewhere between lana and aliana’s grandmother. The suitor was a member of his bloodline which he says to be rey. And that in falling for one another they’ve played into his plans to the letter 

Aliana, does not care. Murders palpatine, and as to whether or not he was telling the truth. No one cares about that either. taking it as an attempt to fuck with the both of them 

Chapter 45

The story ends with the usual “where are they now” 

Finn and Poe get married, Rey and Aliana adopt. under the leadership of Holdo and Rose The Resistance slides back into being the officially backed “Rebel Alliance” hunting down the last remnants of the first order and the empire with the full scope of the republic military 

The future for Force users is made a little more weird because the sith and the jedi are effectively the same thing trying with what ever opposes them being recognized as extremists of both sides

Somewhere the sole remnants of the first order and empire gather quietly to lick their wounds, lead by “Supreme Leaderl Phasma”  as a potential sequel bait

The story ends with Rey and Aliana drinking wine. and a toast to the future. 

#The Sith Resurgence #star wars fanfiction #lily orchard

[alleycat97]

Before There Was Us

Pairing: MC x Kamilah

Tag list: @themaskedanon @onyxgaytrash @kamilahslittlehoe @kelseyapperson @lightning-fury @beyondthenakedeye28 @wildsayeed @scarlet-letter-a0114 @mrskamilxh if you want to be added or removed let me know!

...

It was just a typical Thursday night for Kamilah, number 107,328 to be exact, but who was counting? There was no more days to her. She didn’t live by a calendar anymore, there was no need, the sun rose and set each day, nothing more or less.

Kamilah typically came home from work to work, a solitude she grew use to in her many years of being alone. Except a horrific cough coming from her master suite made her alter her typical plans.

She entered the room and set her eyes on the source, Amy. Amy, the mortal, the one who came into Kamilah’s life and completely stole her heart and ran with it. The young woman had Kamilah bad, something the vampire was trying to come to terms with after being alone for over a century.

She sat down on the bed next to Amy and instinctfully placed her hand on her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible. I think I’m dying.” Amy winced as she tried to sit up, Kamilah holding her down.

“No. You need to relax and rest.”

“I’m tired of being here...” Amy whined causing Kamilah to laugh.

“Well I don’t want to tell you I told you so, but what did I say?”

Amy groaned recalling the other night. She wanted to go bar hopping with Lily but Kamilah insisted she stay in due to the rain and flu going around. Amy insisted she was immune and went anyway. After the 4th bar and way too many shots later she was stumbling around outside waiting for Kamilah to pick her up...in the rain.

Amy just slid further into the bed in defeat not wanting to admit that Kamilah was right, she would die before she would let her have that satisfaction.

Kamilah just laughed and kissed Amy’s forehead before rising to leave. “I’ll be back in a bit, I’ll just be in my office.” She couldn’t be too hard on her. She knew what the culture was like today and young adults of Amy’s age all did these things. Except it was very different from when she was that age, she just wanted Amy to be happy.

“Kami?” Amy called out in a tone that usually gets her anything she wants.

Kamilah stopped in the threshold, “Yes habibti?”

“Can you tell me about Egypt?”

Kamilah made her way back to the bed, she knew it would come eventually, but didn’t really want it to, not wanting to recall the past.

“I don’t know Amy. It was so many years ago. I don’t think I can recall it.” She lied crawling into the bed to join Amy who instinctfully latched on.

“Please....” Amy insisted.

“Ok let’s see...Well you know of my twin brother and being Cleopatras cousin.”

“Was she your first cousin?” Amy asked.

“Well then we didn’t call them that, but yes. Her father, the one who gave Lysimachus the horse, and my mother were siblings.”

“That’s so cool! Tell me about Cleopatra! I bet you guys were like partners in crime!” Amy said getting excited.

“Well early we were pretty close. Especially when my mother passed. We would play by the Nile with the other children. Cleopatra even talked me into wrestling against the boys.”

“So that’s we’re you get your tough act from.” Amy replied.

“Cleopatra was the more exciting one as kids. She was older than me but she was smart and cunning and would do anything.”

Kamilah took a minute to just sit back and enjoy the memory’s. “A lot was expected of us even as children. Her father, Ptolemy Xll was very strict. We did have fun but we also worked like any other. He went easier on Cleopatra because he was her favorite child.”

“What about your father?” Amy inquired.

“He was a General for the Army. He was always away fighting and one day he didn’t return. Lysmachus, wanting to be like father, joined the army and went off to fight much to the pleasure of Ptolemy. He took me into the palace and I was an assistant to Cleopatra.”

“Was Eypt violent?”

“Not particularly. If anything it was flourishing. Ancient Eygpy however, is a different story. We had chores yes, the men had to fight, but we were prospering, especially under Cleopatra.”

“Tell me more about her.” Amy said shifting slightly.

“Well Cleopatra was actually from Greek descent. She could speak 7 languages and everyone loved her because she embraced Eyptian culture and opened trade to many Arab nations.”

“So if she was the favorite? What happened to her?”

“Well when she turned 18, her father passed away and she took the throne. Except she had to share it with her younger brother Ptolemy Xlll. They were forced to marry and rule.”

“Oh gross!” Amy squealed. “That’s nasty.”

Kamilah laughed, “It was very common among nobility. He was 10 at the time.”

“Ewww. Please skip this part Kami.”

“You know I was engaged then as well.” Kamilah set the trap, feeling Amy tense, she loved when Amy got jealous.

“Kami. I said skip this part!”

“Oh relax, I’m just teasing. Anyway, after Ptolemy got older her forced Cleopatra and myself out of the palace and took over as ruler.”

“What did you guys do then?”

“Julius Caesar...”

“Ya’ll fucked Julius Caesar!?” Amy said cutting off Kamilah, bolting from her sheets.

“If you would let me finish please, no we didn’t. Well I never did but she did however, but not at this point anyway. He came to the palace and she snuck into the palace inside of a bedroll.

“How did she do that?” Amy quizzed.

“Who do you think rolled her into it?” Kamilah sighed face palming.

“Oh. Right.” Amy said blushing.

“Anyway. She made an alliance with Caesar and the two formed an Army and defeated Ptolemys Army at the Nile. Ptolemy tried to escape and drowned. She took back over the throne.”

“I’m getting bad bitch vibes from her.” Amy awed. “That’s when I officially became Nomarch.” Kamilah added.

“What happened to Julius?”

“He and Cleopatra became an item and she birthed his son Ceasarion. Together she ruled with her son.” Cleopatra visited Rome but always declared to keep Egypt separate.”

“Did Caesar like that?”

“It was merely a political alliance. Caesar needed the grain from Eypgt to feed his people, Cleopatra wanted her throne back. She seduced him to get what they both wanted. She was extremely intelligent.”

“Did she ever speak of Rome?” Amy asked.

“I was there. She took me with her.”

“What!!!!! No way!”

“It was beautiful. The culture, the architecture, it was like a complete other world. But it was also scary and chaotic. The country was on the brink of civil war with the thought of Ceasar becoming the Emperor. Fear lined the streets.”

“Then he got stabbed.” Amy recalled from history class.

“Very good Amy, yes he was murdered and Cleopatra and I returned to Eygpt where she later met Marc Antony.”

“Oh he sounds hot.”

“Oh...he was.” Kamilah smiled remembering. “He was just a smart and witty as Cleopatra, a perfect match.”

“Wait...so who ruled Rome after you guys left?”

“Antony, Caesar’s great nephew Octavian, and Marcus Lepidus, know as the second triumvirate. They hunted the liberators, those who killed Ceasar and formed the Roman Empire. Antony took control of Rome’s eastern provinces, alas, Eygpt.”

“So then he and Cleopatra fell in love?” Amy asked.

“Yes. The three rulers wanted more power and Antony married Octavia, Octavian’s sister, to calm the tension and show his commitment. But he kept up his affair with Cleopatra and had three kids with her.”

“So what were you doing while this was happening?”

“I just served alongside of Cleopatra with the other Nomarchs. I was in charge of a province and I spread Cleopatra’s influence in it.”

“Was it fun? Being so important?”

“Well I don’t know about fun. I had important decisions to make that affected peoples lives.” Kamilah recalled having to make tough decisions that helped shape her into the woman she is now.

“So back to Cleopatra, what happened to her and Antony?”

“Well they decided to strikeagainst Octavian to gain control over Rome that broke into civil war. Antony fought Octavian three times and was finally defeated after all of his men deserted him.”

“They left him?”

“Battle after battle, Antonys much larger Army left him and he was finally defeated without a fight.

“What did he do then?” Amy inquired.

“He fled. He was going to be captured so he ran. He received a letter that Cleopatra was dead, which in reality she locked herself and treasure into her mausoleum. Antony stabbed himself however he didn’t immediately die and found out Cleopatra was alive. He made it to Egypt to see her and eventually die in her arms.”

“Ah how romantic!” Amy cried. “True love!!”

Kamilah continued her story, “With Antony dead, Cleopatra sent Octavian her official word to abdicate her thrown in favor of her son and then took her own life once word had spread that Octavian was coming for her and her treasures to parade her around Rome as symbol of triumph.”

“How exactly did she die?”

“Snake poison.”

“I hate snakes.” Amy said shivering, placing her head in Kamilah’s lap.

“Then Octavian had Caesarion killed and he finally cemented his legacy as the first emperor or Rome and the one and only rightful son of Julius Caesar.”

“Oh. Poor guy. How old was Cleopatra?”

“39.”

“What did you do when you found out she died?” Amy asked.

Kamilah started rubbing Amy’s hair with delicacy,

“I cried. She was like my big sister. I was off training troops when a Roman Legion attacked us. We wouldn’t submit and then I met him...”

“Gaius...” Amy started with anger.

“He attacked and killed all of my soldiers and that’s when he turned me and brainwashed me. We immediately left Egypt and I never returned.”

“Omg Kami...I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok now. I was young and dumb then, I was 34 when I was turned.” Kamilah laughed revealing her age.

“Well we should go back and visit.” Amy said yawning.

Kamilah never thought about it. Eygpt was a special time in her life, she never had anyone to share it with. Maybe it would be fun to go visit and see how much has changed. “I think that would be a great idea Amy. Amy?”

Kamilah said as she stopped rubbing the girls head and watched the younger woman sleep in her lap. She easily removed her head from her lap and quickly got up to change before rejoining her and holding her close.

“Goodnight Habibti.” She said kissing the back of Amy’s neck.

#playchoices #pixelberry #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #a courtesan of rome #acor marc antony #acor cleopatra #acor julius caesar #kamilah sayeed x mc #bloodbound #bloodbound 3 #bloodbound 2 #kamilah sayeed fanfiction

[goldeneyedgirl]

Twificathon: Runaway

For @volturialice​, because she is way too sweet and excited about this fic. (I also found a chunk I have 0 memory of ever writing, but I like it.) This part is really old, and most likely going to be rewritten, especially the part of how mate-bonds work in this ‘verse, because I’m not at all happy with how its discussed here. And with that note, voila!

I could hear Jasper talking to the Cullens as Carlisle examined me.

“I found her wandering in the hills outside L.A,” Jasper said in a low voice. “She seemed to know me, from her dreams, and … begged me, to come with me.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t know why I let her.”

“How long ago was this?” Carlisle asked.

“Three years,” Jasper said.

“Nomadic, I presume?” Carlisle continued. Jasper said nothing, but I felt movement – he must have nodded.

“Pneumonia,” Carlisle said finally. “One of the worst cases I’ve seen. She needs I.V antibiotics. She’s also malnourished and dehydrated. She needs food and bed rest.”

I could feel misery and shame rolling off Jasper. He couldn’t blame himself. It wasn’t his fault. He had protected and cared for me.

“Jas,” I managed.

“Alice.” I felt him take my hand and stroke my face. “It’s okay. We’re with the Cullens. They’re going to take care of you.”

//

I woke up to daylight flooding the bedroom I was set up in. I was tucked into a giant bed, the softest I had ever been in. I was propped up on a pile of cloud-like pillows. Machines were sitting beside the bed, and an I.V. was threaded into my left arm, oxygen tubes threaded into my nose.

I was wearing a soft blue cotton nightgown and socks. My hair had been brushed and braided.

The bedroom was beautiful – the bed was a white timber creation, made with yellow sheets and a floral duvet. Pretty damask white-on-white wallpaper covered the walls, and the paintings were all lovely watercolours.

A woman stuck her head around the door, and looked at me, beaming when she saw my open eyes.

“Hello, Alice. Edward said you were awake,” Esme said sweetly. “Carlisle is at work but should be home soon. I’m Esme.”

“Hello,” I croaked.

“You’re quite ill, Alice. A bad case of pneumonia. We’ve got you on antibiotics, but you need some rest.”

//

“I lived with my grandmother,” I said, my voice hoarse, as I picked at my lunch. “When she died, I was put into foster care.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Esme stroked my hair. “How on earth did you end up with Jasper?”

“I had a vision. I couldn’t stay,” I said simply.

“You were travelling with a vampire, kid,” Emmett’s voice is kind.

“My foster father was going to hurt me,” I said softly. “He thought I was retarded because of the visions. He… he would have killed me. When I saw Jasper, there were lots of choices he had to make. He could have killed me, he could have changed me or he could have protected me. I had to take that chance. Once… once I met Jasper and he didn’t kill me, I started seeing all of you.”

Esme was staring at me with horrified eyes. “I wish we’d known.”

“She can’t stay here,” Rosalie said from the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

Everyone looked at her.

“She’s human. She can’t stay,” Rosalie repeated.

The vision swept me. If Rosalie won, and they did send me away, I’d die alone. I didn’t know where Jasper was in my visions, but I was in the street at night, hit by a car. I lay, bleeding in the street, alone. Dead.

Edward looked at me, alarmed. “She can’t go anywhere, Rosalie,” he said quietly.

//

“Where’s Jasper?” I asked, my voice stony.

I tumbled outside, my socks soaking through as soon as I hit the snow.

“JASPER!” I shrieked. “JASPER!”

“Alice!” Esme and Edward were there, reaching for me.

“JASPER!” I shrieked. He would have been able to hear me. He could hear everything. How many times had he heard my mutters from across a field, and flicked me on the nose, “Don’t sass me, darlin.”

Edward picked me up. “Calm down, Alice,” he murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

“He left me here,” I cried, gasping and croaking. “He left me and didn’t say goodbye.”

What were his last words to me?

“You need help, Alice.”

I struggled a bit in Edward’s grip, but even I knew that it was futile.

//

I could hear them outside my room, where I was curled into a ball, in fresh pyjamas and socks, with my I.V. and oxygen tubes back in place.

“I didn’t notice that he’d taken his things,” Esme was fretting. “He said he needed to hunt.”

“That’s all I heard from him, too,” Edward agreed. “A hunt. He was very conscious that we don’t follow the same diet; he didn’t want to cause us any problems. He was very grateful we were caring for Alice. Nothing else. He will come back.”

“He took his stuff, Edward,” Rosalie rolled her eyes. “He’s dumped the girl on us and hit the road.”

“He won’t leave her,” Edward shot back. “He hates himself at the moment – for how sick Alice was. He tried to do his best, but he had no clue what she needed. Apparently, they had a place – part of an abandoned motel in Vegas – that they set up as a home. But he was worried about the covens there, and they became nomads. He thought it would be safer for them. He was changed during the Civil War; he had no idea of how to provide for a teenage girl.”

“So?” Rosalie snapped.

“Every single thing he thinks about, considers, punishes himself for is because of her. There was a fight in New Orleans a year or so ago, and she ended up lacerating her arm - a major artery. He was the one that stitched her up. Without giving in to the thirst. He ripped the ones that attacked her to shreds.” Edward shook his head. “It’s fascinating, in their heads, how they function.”

“What are you getting at, Edward?” Carlisle asked.

“They’re mated,” Edward said flatly. “I tried to work out if there was something else, any other explanation, but there isn’t.”

“She’s human!” Esme exclaimed as Rosalie snarled, “she’s a child.”

“Oh, he’s never laid his hands on her,” Edward said. “He probably doesn’t even know it yet.” I could hear the discomfort in his voice. “She’s human and she hasn’t reached, uh, maturity yet. But the connection is definitely there.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Carlisle sounded tired. “In vampires who were changed young. Their mates protect them and provide for them like family until they are sexually mature.”

“So they essentially groom children,” Rosalie said in a deadly voice.

“No, nothing so sinister. The individuals in question are usually around sixteen or seventeen. It’s a mutual thing, an entirely platonic bond that evolves. It’s a natural progression, and entirely consensual. I’ve never seen it between a human and a vampire before, but Edward’s correct – it has all the hallmarks of a bond.”

“But he left her,” Emmett interjected. “If they were mated, how could he just leave her behind?” He sounded bewildered.

“He’s punishing himself. He thinks she’s safer with us, and he’s not convinced that he can adapt to our lifestyle,” Edward said. “And he adores her, but he has no idea how much he needs her.”

“Alice will stay with us,” Carlisle said finally. “She’s still sick and needs a proper place to live. And if she’s been associating with a vampire, she’ll be safer with us. When she’s better, she can join you all at school.”

“A human,” Rosalie said in a flat voice.

“She’ll help our cover,” Esme observed. “We’ll have to provide her with proper food, and she’ll make friends in town…”

“This is going to be a disaster,” Rose muttered.

“She’ll die if we send her away,” Edward retorted. “She had a vision when Rosalie first told her she couldn’t stay. She’d be alone, without Jasper, and she gets killed in a hit and run. She dies alone on a street somewhere, bleeding into the gutter, trying to call for him.”

“If necessary,” Carlisle began slowly, “we can arrange for her to be sent away to boarding school. She’ll be safe there, and our cover is maintained. The lawyers can write up documents to make sure she’s provided for and kept safe.”

“We don’t even know her,” Rosalie hissed.

“She’s one of us, Rosie,” Emmett said gently. “Don’t you feel it? She’s a Cullen.”

“And even if she were a complete stranger, it would be the right thing to do,” Esme said firmly. “She’s a senior anyway – surely it will be safe enough for her to finish high school with us.”

Edward winced. “Uh…”

“They lied to us,” Rosalie’s voice was back to the ‘I told you so’ tone.

“No. She lied to Jasper when they met. She told him she was almost sixteen,” Edward said. “That would have been the deal-breaker for him, if she’d been any younger. Sixteen was old enough to marry and have a family in his day. She would have seen that.”

“How old is she, Edward?” Carlisle asked slowly.

“She was thirteen when she found Jasper. She’s sixteen now,” he said.

“Poor little thing; she must have been so frightened,” Esme murmured.

“Jasper kidnapped a thirteen-year-old child and bonded to her. Lovely. These are really people I want to welcome into my home,” Rosalie spat.

“She didn’t look eighteen,” was all Emmett said.

Carlisle sighed. “Fine. She’ll be a Freshman.”

#twificathon2020 #my fic #wip: runaway #fic: runaway #alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fic #the new chunk i found i'm on the fence about #i need to study it anthropologist style for awhile

[eatsockss]

Irondad and SteveTony Fic Recs!!

I decided to do a fic rec list bc i always see them and am So Grateful for them, esp rn bc everybody’s quarantined so what else is there to do but read fanfic. these are some of my favorite fics/some of the fics I read recently and just have open in safari rn. they’re mostly angst or whump ngl bc that’s my favorite but,,,, enjoy!

Irondad

ever in your favor by @iron--spider

Summary: Peter startles awake when someone shakes him. “Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.” He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

Note: this is probably my favorite ever irondad fic so like ,,, ummm ,,, Please read this

lay your weary head to rest by @the-great-escapism

Summary: “Please.” He means to say it loudly, with confidence, but it comes out as nothing more than a raspy whisper. His ears are ringing painfully, and his head feels like it’s going to explode. It hurts and hurts and hurts. “M-May,” Peter cries out to no one, feeling like a child. “Tony. Please, ‘m so tired.” He inhales and chokes on his tears. He can’t tell if it’s his imagination or not, but he’s pretty sure he hears a laugh. In which Peter gets kidnapped, and that's not even the worst part. The worst part is he's not allowed to sleep.

Priorities by JLMonroe1234

Summary: Tony had been in the cave for a month. Waiting. Planning. Healing. Biding his time until his creation would be ready and durable enough to get him home. With Yinsen's help and Tony's expertise, he would save them both. But when an injured teenager is brought into the mix, Tony must reevaluate his priorities and decide what's more important; a speedy escape, or rescuing the boy with the spider tattoo?

Return to Normal by Singing_Sirens

Summary: On his first day back, he didn’t expect the stares. Well, he expected some stares, but he didn’t think the entire hallway would just… stop. But that’s what they did. They froze, jaws hanging open, eyes wide, as he lowered his head and curled in on himself. He pushed through the attention. He set his jaw and marched forward, because he had been through worse in the last year.

Patient by alifetime

Summary: Just because Tony has retired as an Avenger, does not mean he still doesn’t have a business to run with Pepper. Since both his oldest children cannot always babysit for Morgan, he hires a babysitter. Harley didn’t really know what to think of the babysitter, and always kept a protective eye on Morgan. But she had told him that Skip was nice. She always seems to be smiling and happy whenever Skip comes to stay. It didn’t filter his concern. So when he goes college, he demands that Peter keeps an eye on him. Peter liked Skip. Until he didn’t. However, he will do anything to keep his brother and sister safe.

Identity Theft by KitCat992

Summary: It's been months since the events of Civil War, and the Avengers are doing their best to remain a team, having promised to forgive and forget. Unfortunately for them, Tony Stark's latest invention has been stolen and recovering it causes tension to reappear. Meanwhile, in Queens, Peter Parker has two main priorities on his plate — complete his midterm finals, and track down a fishbowl wearing criminal that may or may not lead him right into the hands of the Avengers. Somehow between all of this, Spider-man's identity is revealed to the Avengers, Steve and Tony's friendship may permanently be damaged due to continued hidden secrets, and Happy struggles to buy a youth-sized casket for Peter's funeral. Things were a lot easier when they were fighting over Bucky Barnes. (Or: The Avengers welcome Peter into their crazy superhero family and will do anything to protect him.) Shameless Peter whump and Protective Tony Stark.

the second law of thermodynamics by fourleafchloe

Summary: It happens the same way it always does. (It's just discipline. It's not that bad. It's fine, Peter is fine, he'll be fine--) Except he really isn't fine, and Tony knows something's up, and Peter's house of cards is falling apart, and so the story goes. — separate from other fics in the series. a recovery story full of soft irondad, found families, and (eventually) tons of fluff.

Note: this is part of a series of separate irondad fics, each one of them is incredible, so go check out this entire series.

how can the body die? (you tell me, everything) by @madasthesea

Summary: Tony felt panic creep up his spine. Something was occurring to him, slowly percolating in the back of his mind. “You said the stinger got you. Is Scorpion’s stinger venomous?” “I don’t—” Peter cut off as he groaned, the muscles in his jaw tight. “I don’t know. He upgraded—he was faster. Bigger. I—I thought I could beat him.”

oh, darling. by luna_e_stelle

Summary: "Peter?" Tony’s voice wavered with an urgency that cut through the thick haze in Peter’s mind. There was so much emotion in that one word that Peter wondered how he had ever doubted that Tony loved him. They had never said it out loud, just showed it in a way that spoke louder than words ever could. — Peter is taken, and he tries to find his way back home.

whumptober series by @iron--spider

Summary: 10 fics that fulfill whumptober prompts (i could many choose one so just go read the whole series)

Pieces of Echoes by @geekymoviemom

Summary: this is like a rewrite of the MCU integrating most of the storylines So Seamlessly with SuperFamily. Amazing series.

uneasy lies the head by @tnyystark

Summary: Two thoughts come to Peter, both at a breakneck speed he can barely handle. One: the world now thinks he is responsible for the attack in London. And Prague. And Venice. And the murder - murder; as if the man is really dead; as if the universe is kind enough to let that happen - of Mysterio. And two: the world now knows who he is.

Long Shadows by Black_Briar

Summary: Peter comes into contact with a foreign substance on a mission, and things only get worse from there.

I’ll Be Your Home (Forever and Always) by ScarletPotter

Summary: Peter didn't plan on being kidnapped, it all just sorta, maybe, happened? Peter was on his way to meet Ned when suddenly everything goes dark. When he wakes up he's restrained to a table and a man introduces himself to be Quentin Beck, and that he's going to kill him.

god did not craft us as alters, but as dying gods by helloitisafellowgay

Summary: Peter Parker is not immune to trauma. Far from it, in fact. (With great power comes great responsibility, Peter.) So when the building collapses, when the dilapidated remains of metal and concrete, and later searing scraps of plane, fall around him? Well, this is practically nothing. Practically. He’s fine, really. It just gets a little hard to breathe sometimes. Like, when he follows Happy into Stark Tower through the parking garage. Or when he turns on the news while doing homework and sees reports of a plane crash. And sure, the small fire that broke out in the chemistry lab had sent his heart racing and caused sweat to bead on the back of his neck until even Ned asked if he was okay, but it’s nothing to worry about. Regardless, he knows where those come from. But this? In which Skip Westcott is a repressed memory, until he returns.

Note: favorite fic title!

Stony

my heart is driftwood, floating down your coast by @kapteniron

Summary: Tonight, there’s a stranger in his backseat. That’s not unusual. He’s also sad. That’s not unusual either. What is unusual is that the stranger is silent. (One night, a stranger enters Steve's taxi. Nothing is the same again.)

Forever Linked by ashes0909 and athletiger

Summary: Before the door even clicked shut, he opened his mouth to let the pink petals flutter to the ground. In the center of all this mess was a single rose, not yet bloomed, but Tony knew, deep down, what this meant. But they were only teammates for sure; nothing else will go further. — “You have Hanahaki?” she asked, barely more than a whisper. He fisted out the petal from his pocket and held it out to her. “If that’s what would cause this to come out of my throat.”

Steve Rogers’ Guide to Wooing Tony Stark by Tonks22

Summary: Steve tries to woo Tony. Steve is not very good at it. Tony is oblivious.

Blue Lips, Blue Veins by @romanoff

Summary: Tony Stark is Iron Man. Before that, he was an man with bigger heart than brain. Before that, he was an asshole with a bigger mouth than sense. And before that, he was was a scared little boy. Not that it matters. Stark's always have had iron in their backbone.

Note: this is more of a character study of Tony Stark but it’s Incredible. Cannot recommend this enough.

The Butterfly Effect by @itsallavengers

Summary: While fighting with Loki, Steve Rogers from 2012 hears the two simple words: "Bucky's alive." And the whole universe ripples with the aftershocks.

Going Steady by @itsallavengers

Summary: Steve has a soft spot for the sound of Tony's heart

Hide A Heart Of War by RayShippouUchiha

Summary: “You’ve got war in your heart boy,” Howard sneers, “don’t ever try and pretend to be anything but what you are.” Tony feels the familiar burn of a flower mark being etched into his skin but he doesn’t look, doesn’t try and check to see what it is. Instead he keeps his eyes on Howard and his hands cupped around his bleeding mouth and nose.

Note: this is technically Stuckony but,,, it’s rly good so it’s going on the list.

Assorted

a primer for the small weird loves by babyloveparkner

Summary: “What are you—?” “Hold on,” Peter says, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as the pen moves across the page. He rips out another page, then seems to grow frustrated and just opens up his notebook to start writing in it rather than stealing pages out of it. Harley feels stuck, flabbergasted and frozen, and he doesn’t know how long he sits there and watches before Peter lets out a huff and finally leans back, satisfaction in his eyes as he hands it all to Harley, all the scribbled writing and torn pages. “Read these.” Harley blinks once, slow, as he takes the offered notebook with the ripped out papers on top. “What…?” And Peter just smiles and shrugs. “They’re poems,” he says. “I looked some up, wrote down the good parts. Maybe those’ll give you that hopeful feeling that you were looking for.” or: harley runs from a homophobic town and finds solace in poetry and peter parker

the spider-man conspiracy by @tempestaurora

Summary: WHO IS SPIDER-MAN? The screen showed Peter Parker, sixteen years old and determined to prove the identity of Spider-Man over the course of the three-part documentary he was making, unknowing that it would become viral within days of the first part being released. Behind the camera, way off screen, was Harley Keener, Tony Stark’s other prodigy child, grinning like crazy as Peter started the documentary. Only a few people knew what was to come, and those few people were about to have a great few weeks. “My name is Peter Parker, and with the help of my friends, Ned Leeds, Harley Keener, and my Aunt, May Parker, who provided me with a lot of red yarn for this project, we’re going to uncover the identity of Spider-Man.” OR "what if peter just decided to fuck with everyone who didn’t know he was spider man and make a documentary about him trying to uncover the Truth."

5 times Tony kissed Rhodey and the one time Rhodey kissed back by lomku

Summary: Exactly what it says in the title.

Note: I wish I had more Ironhusband fics to rec bc i love them but they aren’t as abundant as Stony fics and the ones i’ve read most recently are Stony.

#fic rec #fic rec list #irondad fics #spiderman fics #stevetony fic #spiderman #spiderman whump #peter parker #iron dad angst #tony stark #iron man #iron husbands #stuckony #stony #stony fic #marvel #mcu fic #mcu

[maaaddiexo]

Chapter Four | Peter Pevensie

[Red Series Book One: Roses]

Synopsis: With World War Two ravaging the world, no one is safe and no one is happy.

Despite their protests, Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie are evacuated from London and sent to live in the English countryside with an old professor. Scared and unhappy, only the youngest Pevensie child remains optimistic and ends up sharing her hope with her siblings in the form of a wardrobe that takes them to Narnia, a different world where they are the only form of hope to bring an end to an evil witch's reign of terror.

Rosemary Bennett has no more hope left in her heart. Her brother and father are off fighting for their country, the former having gone missing months ago, and her mother ignores her, preferring the company of a bottle over her own daughter. Giving up seems the only logical plan of action. But when it finally comes to carrying it out, she's transported to a different world, with talking animals and a prophecy that doesn't involve her. Unsure as to why she is there, she must navigate a new world and ponder the possibility that maybe - just maybe - she doesn't actually want to die.

*Warning: this book deals with depression and suicide. Though mental illness isn't what this story revolves around, the act of suicide and depressive thoughts are intertwined with the plot and act as 'backseat drivers' to the novel.

[Chapter Five] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

Curled up in a chair with a blanket laid over her, Rosemary sipped at her tea, not caring if it burned her tongue and throat because at least she would be warm. Also, if she was going to eat fish, she didn't want any taste buds.

Once Mrs. Beaver was comfortable in the other chair, she turned to Rosemary. "Ask away."

Rosemary had no idea where to start. She was sure she was still in shock, and she was definitely delirious. A beaver was talking for God's sake.

"Are you sure I'm not dead?"

Mrs. Beaver nodded once, sure of herself. "Positive, my dear. You're in Narnia. Why do you believe you're dead?"

Rosemary couldn't immediately bring herself to answer Mrs. Beaver's question. She had no idea her suicide attempt would fail so she was absolutely humiliated by the prospect of failing at the one thing she had been so determined to do. If only Daniel could see her now.

"I jumped," was all she said. Mrs. Beaver clearly understood what the two words meant by the quiet 'oh' that slipped past her lips. "Thank you for saving me though. I know I didn't want to be saved, but I appreciate the gesture all the same."

Mrs. Beaver perked up at that and smiled softly at the Bennett girl. "No disrespect, but even if I did know, I still would've saved you. I haven't known you long but I can already tell that you are a lovely young lady. Someone that I would be proud to call my daughter."

The tears fell suddenly and Rosemary's lower lip wobbled. Mrs. Beaver had no idea how much her words meant to Rosemary. It was her mother's avoidance and ignoring act that had pushed Rosemary to jump off that cliff so even though she hadn't known Mrs. Beaver long, she felt more loved by Mrs. Beaver in that moment than she had in a long time.

"Thank you," Rosemary whispered. "That means a lot."

Mrs. Beaver reached over and patted Rosemary's hand. "Of course my dear. Glad I could make you feel a little better."

Wanting to stop crying and move on from the subject, Rosemary asked another question. "You said we are in Narnia but...I have no idea what or where that is. I don't recall it being on any maps."

"I can't really describe it - Aslan would be the best option - but Narnia isn't on your maps because it belongs to a whole other world."

"How did I get here then? I jumped off a cliff in England and somehow I end up in a completely different world?"

"That is something I don't have the answer to. I wish I did so I could tell you, but I don't. But I do know that Narnia has a will of its own, and if it needs something, it will get that something. I believe that when you jumped off the cliff and into the water below, you were somehow transported to Narnia and came in through the Western River. That's where I found you."

"How do I get back to England?"

"That's a question for Aslan, whom we can try and get you to. Beaver will know more about that so you can ask him when he returns."

"Thank you," Rosemary smiled gratefully over the brim of her cup. "I understand this is a whole other world - still working on the whole believing part - but does it follow a different seasonal pattern? I mean, it's late summer in...my world, but it's winter here."

"Oh, it's been winter for the past hundred years in Narnia. Ever since the White Witch began ruling Narnia. She calls herself the Queen of Narnia but that's just rubbish. Narnia is only ever right and good when a child of Adam and/or Eve is on the throne. Not some stuck up witch."

Rosemary shouldn't have been surprised by the notion of magic in this other world - she was having tea with a talking beaver for Heaven's sake - but she was. The shock obviously hadn't worn off yet.

Rosemary wasn't sure what to say to that. "Well, at least your dam is nice and toasty."

"Yes. I suspect Beaver misses the warm weather so he makes it dreadfully hot in here." Mrs. Beaver made a show of waving her hand like a fan in hopes of cooling herself down and Rosemary giggled.

"Considering I almost froze out there, the blistering heat in here doesn't seem too bad."

"And would you look at that - Beaver's actually helpful for something." That made Rosemary laugh and she had to put her empty cup down before she dropped it. Who knew that some new company would lighten her spirits so much so quickly?

Over the next couple of hours, Mrs. Beaver made a lot of tea for the two of them and she entertained Rosemary with stories of Narnia - both good and bad. She told Rosemary tales that had been passed down over the generations about all sorts of things - Aslan the Lion, dancing trees, mermaids, and more.

By the time the sun had finally disappeared behind the towering trees and the sky began to darken, Mrs. Beaver had begun to pace. "He should've been back an hour ago. Ugh, he's probably out messing around with Badger. They always lose track of time when they're together. Sometimes, I think he's more married to Badger instead of me."

Rosemary recalled playing with Daniel before he left for war. They always lost track of time when they were doing something together - whether it was reading or playing hide-and-seek. "I'm sure that's it Mrs. Beaver. My brother and I were a lot like that too."

The lady beaver paused at the new information. All night, Rosemary had been avoiding talking about her life - aside from mentioning that in her world, everyone was at war. The war to end all wars, Rosemary had called it. But before Mrs. Beaver could ask Rosemary about her brother, she heard voices outside and bristled. "That better be Beaver."

Marching outside, Mrs. Beaver called out, "Beaver, is that you? I've been worried sick! If I find out you've been out with Badger again, I-" Mrs. Beaver lost her voice as not only her husband came into view, but four children. Four human children. Two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve dressed in oversized fur coats trailed after her husband, marveling at the dam. "Those aren't badgers."

"Hello, Darling," Beaver kissed his wife on the cheek but she barely payed attention, moving closer to the four children.

"Oh, I never though I would live to see this day! And now not only Rosemary but you as well!" Quickly changing gears, she swatted her husband on the shoulder before smoothing herself down. "Look at my fur! You couldn't give me ten minutes warning?"

"I'd have given you a week if I thought it would've helped," Beaver teased, snickering behind his paws. Laughter bubbled up in Lucy and she let it loose behind her sleeve. Peter smiled briefly. His mother and father used to tease each other like that before his father went off to war.

"Oh, come inside, and we'll see if we can't get you some food. And there's some civilized company inside so that should cheer you lot up."

"Company?" Beaver gawked, trailing after his wife. "We never have company."

"And yet, now we have two parties. And they're all human!"

"There are other humans here?" Lucy wondered, following after Susan. "Mr. Tumnus made it sound like there weren't any other humans here."

"There aren't - oh, excuse the mess. Rosemary was brought here just like you four were. Except, well, her journey was a little wetter."

Inside, Rosemary had heard the entire conversation - thin walls in a dam, she supposed - and had gotten up from her chair to make some more tea. There was a small hole in the ice by the wall that acted as both the water supply and the way in and out of the water for the Beavers. She dipped the kettle into the water and then moved over to the stove to turn it on. After pulling out as many mugs as there were, she went back to the chair she had spent the last few hours in and pulled the blanket over her shoulders.

By the time the Beavers and Pevensies entered the home, she was already fast asleep.

[Chapter Five] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #peter pevensie #edmund pevensie #susan pevensie #william moseley #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie fanfiction #peter pevensie x oc #peter pevensie x fem!oc #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #love #romance #adventure #fantasy #chronicles of narnia

[nuka-blackwell]

A Whole New World

Nuka is a man who has lived through many moments. With a temper that could rival many this five moments he’s lived through.

TW: War, Death, Slavery, Nothing in detail mainly cause I don’t want to get into the horrid details of it, But it’s part of his almost 800 years

1600’s

Nuka loved plays. Yes the man who had a temper fit for a royal king who didn’t get a dish he wanted liked to sit down and watch plays. Living on his own Nuka heard rumors about Shakespeare and his work. He heard retellings from other vampires and even some humans that saw fit to enter his personal space. 

All of these stories brought Nuka to the United Kingdom. He had been around to listen to Beethoven when he first entered the scene. He sent a letter to Zira,it still only being the two of them at the moment to meet him (even though they were apart there was a connection that Nuka could not avoid) and enjoy the delight that was Shakespeare. 

And colour him, impressed, Nuka had seen many things over his 300 years and he definitely knew this man would reach some type of height but he didn’t know how high exactly until another 400 years.

Nuka’s travel as a solo vampire was about to end and it was a good thing he had enjoyed the art while he had because who knew where his new sister would choose to go for her next 50 years.

1800’s

Slave trade was disgusting to watch and to witness. If it wasn’t for the fact his existence needed to be kept a secret, he was sure there would be no descendants of slave owners today. Nuka removed himself from the workings of the cities and the towns. Living by himself or visiting his Mother or Sister.

No one would even call him the crazy man who lived down the street. If anyone saw him Nuka compelled them to forget. 

But there were days when even Nuka, agent of chaos and who didn’t care for humans couldn’t listen to the screams of terror and pain from others. 

The vampire would silently step onto a slave owner’s land luring out a couple owners. Compelling everyone to forget the night many families were set free due to horrific animal attacks that slaughtered families but left their slaves alone.

If he was feeling generous Nuka would leave everyone with some money and wish the best of luck. He was sure many died like this but at least they had a moment to fight for what they cared about. Zira had given him the chance to fight and in a very different way Nuka had given it to them as well.

 1900’s

There is no war that Nuka participated in. Not without backup. For a nearly 700 year old vampire the man knew his limitations. He wouldn’t die but the horrors he would see, the horrors of children and the blood that was spilled. Even if it was before sundown Nuka knew he would lose himself.

There would be no human that could stop him when that fine string in his mind snapped. And when that string snapped there was no coming back for humanity. Not for him either.

There would be no Zira to reel him back in when the tragedies unfolded. This was not a point in human history that Nuka was strong enough to face by himself. The rage of this vampire sat deep in soul that he crawled back home to Zira following her lead.

If Zira was with him, they would make it through. She would stop him before he lost his mind at the meaningless death. At the wars that happened. For power, for control, for genocide. He could help on the sidelines where he wasn’t expected to kill but instead offer back up to heal and help. It truly was the only way Nuka maintained his sanity during the wars.

1950’s

While Nuka was not mentally sound for the war that didn’t mean he wasn’t sound of mind to pay attention to the civil rights movement. This was something Nuka could participate in without collectively losing him mind.

There were moments of close calls, moments that Nuka nearly ripped multiple heads off but the death that was faced was not at the same level of that of a world war.

Nuka joined in protests and on his nice days shielded those from the attacks of others always turning around with a grin that could shake anyone to the core.

It truly was amazing just how much danger some human could realize they were in, even with Nuka’s baby blues staring down a them.

Sometimes at night he’d choose the person that irritated him the most follow them home and make a snack on them. Media was getting wiser, stories were being connected and Nuka’s own bloodlust had to calm down lest he was to be discovered. Unknown to him in less than two decades he would have another brother and well this solo travelling would end. Of course Nuka never did stop attending protests. He just always had to make sure he was never caught on camera.

2000

The world was collectively freaking out. Even with parties celebrating the new year Nuka hovered in the back on a ski lodge could see the apprehension on so many faces. 

Would the world collapse? Would planes fall out of the sky? Perhaps everything would blow up because the computer’s could handle the change of the new year.

Nuka of course would be fine, so would his family even Kovu. The stupid newborn. But watching all the humans freak out. Well it was better than anything currently on television.

He listened to different conversations. Watched people drink the night away and make decisions they would regret in the morning. It was really the same as any new years that Nuka had watched for the last twenty years except you had a few people crying in the corner. 

Actually that was the same as every year too.

Sipping on his glass of whiskey Nuka stood to make his way to wherever his family was. Sob story as it was they were one and they were in Kovu’s newborn years.

The count started and Nuka barely paid any mind to everyone but when a girl bumped into him he couldn’t help looking her up and down settling on her neck for a moment.

“If we survive this night you should find me after.” Nuka offered setting away as the cheers went up.

Well Lookie Lookie the clocks ticked on.

#bdrplabors

[sapphires-and-gold-fics]

Fictober Day 8: “Can you stay?”

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Characters: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth, Selwyn Tarth

Summary: Civil War au where Brienne is there when Jaime kills Aerys - it's a whole thing that literally no one asked for. Very tame in terms of content.

Notes: Yes, Jaime is short for Jameson. That is what I call him when I'm disappointed in him, or worried about him, or concerned that he's been a blundering idiot about something. Oh, Jameson.

Read on AO3

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Jaime was sure he was dying. He hadn’t planned on it when he’d decided to take down the General, but he supposed it was what he deserved for having fought on the wrong side of the war.

Fighting to “preserve their way of living” was what his father and sister expected of him, even if he’d long ago rejected it for himself. But removing to the city from the plantation was hardly an improvement. If he’d gone north like his brother, perhaps his sister’s claws could have been yanked out. If he’d gone north, perhaps he’d have been on the right side when war came. Instead he’d let his sister walk him down to the enlistment office.

He thought of her when he fought. He couldn’t kill enough make penance for her contrite brand of maliciousness, but maybe if he came out of this alive he could live to see her children, if she ever had any, grow up to be better than their elders. The thought kept him moving, gave him hope. He wanted to live.

But then he was commanded to stand by while General Aerys burned escaped slaves who’d been found trying to cross the border, and he couldn’t proffer up a single valid excuse to himself.

Aerys had claimed to have spotted a Union spy in the woods and he wanted first crack at him. Jaime had followed at a comfortable distance, knowing that this could be his one chance to stop the madness Aerys was often seeing phantoms in the woods, and Jaime knew that this time was no different. As the woods grew denser, Jaime got closer, less comfortable. Close enough to thrust his sword through Aery’s back, but not quite close enough to have spotted the flesh and blood Union soldier that Aerys has been tailing. This time it hadn’t been a hallucination. This soldier had lifted his rifle to his shoulder just as Jaime had dealt the killing blow. As a result, the shot meant for Aerys shattered Jaime’s forearm.

He cried out and tried to regain his sword with his left hand, but he fumbled it and it landed on the ground as Jaime pressed his spine against the nearest tree, in agony. The soldier stepped in front of him and kicked the blade away with his heel, and then peered down at him - his glance heated and clear and blue.

“I saw what you did,” she said - she! Jaime was sure he was dying. “He was tracking me and I finally had a clear shot to defend myself but you killed him, why?”

“You’re a woman? Of course this is how I die.”

“You’re not going to die, it’s just your arm.”

“Says the lunatic who shot me.”

“Why did you do it,” she demanded more urgently.

“He was an evil man.”

“You saved my life.”

“I thought you were a figment of his imagination,” Jaime would have shrugged but for the excruciating pain. He slid to the ground, propped up by the tree. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not. You can make it back to your troops. Find yourself a surgeon.”

He caught her eye - that astonishing blue gaze. “Can you stay? Stay with a dying man. It’s said that drowning makes for a peaceful death.”

“You’re wounded, not drowning.”

“Let me drown in your eyes.”

“You’re delirious. You must be losing a lot of blood.”

She removed his coat and he gritted his teeth, breathing through the pain as best he could. After examining the wound, she removed her own coat and fashioned a sling. He groaned seeing her form through her crisp uniform shirt, the slight narrowing of her waist... he felt himself harden absurdly at the thought of what lay beneath. It had just been too long since he’d beheld a woman that his body must be confused, he thought, even if she did have astonishing eyes.

She worked diligently. “There. Go back to your camp like this. They’ll think you were in a shootout with Union forces and took a coat from the dead for your arm.”

“I’d be labeled a hero. But I’m not. I killed my commander.”

“You had your reasons I think, Captain...?”

“Jameson.”

“You saved my life whatever your intentions were, Captain Jameson.”

He chuckled, “Not - it’s Jaime. Jameson Lannister. Just call me Jaime.”

“Lannister... are you...?”

“If you’re asking after the impish southern abolitionist, that would be my brother, Tyrion. The two of us share a belief system, a moral code, but only one of us was brave enough to act on it before this mess began.”

“Is that what you did today? Act on your beliefs?”

“Is there honor in stabbing a man in the back?”

“There is if the man is wicked.”

“My father would disagree.”

“Go back to your men. Tell them - tell them that you and your commander were set upon.”

“It’s my weapon. They’ll know. They won’t ask why, they’ll just string me up.”

She huffed and seemed to deliberate something rapidly in her mind until finally she put out her left hand. “Let me help you up.”

“I told you, I’m dying.”

“You’re not. You’re going to live. You saved my life and now I want to repay the debt. My camp is... not far. I’ll bring you there.”

“A prisoner? I’m sure one such as you would enjoy seeing me in irons, no thank you.”

“No, not a prisoner. I swear it. My father is the commander of the brigade. I shouldn’t have even been out here. I shouldn’t have strayed. But I had smelled your campfires and I thought if I could just get close enough maybe I could better our chances. Then I saw General Aerys and I knew it was my opportunity to upset the balance. My father will be furious when he finds I’ve gone and yes, bringing back a prisoner might assuage that, but I don’t mind his anger. I will bear it. And when I tell him that you saved my life I swear he will protect you.”

“Why are you on the front at all? What sort of father lets his daughter get so close to danger?”

“What sort of father lets any of his children do so? We’re at war, Captain Lannister. And the more people - men and women - who contribute, the quicker it can be over. Now come, before someone comes after you.”

He took her hand and let her drag him deeper into the forest until they came upon a clearing that opened up directly into General Selwyn Tarth’s camp. When he saw him, Jaime nearly ducked and ran off, but his captor held him firm.

“General.”

“Daughter.”

“I was in the woods, I thought—“

“You didn’t think at all. You might have been killed. And now you come back with a rebel who should be in irons?”

“General, this man saved my life. If not for him, I would have been killed.”

“You were foolish, Brienne.”

Her name was Brienne.

“I know it was foolish to go off, I know that. But General Aerys is dead and I am not, all thanks to Captain Lannister. I have promised him safe passage. He saved my life, we owe him that.”

Selwyn peered at him with eyes like his daughters, but dulled with age and perhaps the sight of too many deaths. “You killed Aerys, boy?”

Jaime looked at the taller man as straight on as he could, his arm throbbing. “I did. I would do it again. He was mad.”

Selwyn suddenly let out a hearty laugh, completely inappropriate for the situation. “That he was, boy.” He studied Jaime, and seemed to notice his makeshift sling for the first time.

“Brienne, fetch a surgeon for the captain.”

“I don’t want to lose my arm.”

“They’ll do what they can. Brienne, go, he’ll be in my tent. And after you’ve done, rouse up some more of your clothes for the boy, let’s make him fit in as best we can.”

The surgeon gave Jaime a choice - keep the arm and be in pain the rest of his life, not to mention risk infection, or lose the arm at the elbow and begin healing properly. He was gripping Brienne’s hand with his left when he let them take the other.

After the next skirmish, Selwyn sent his daughter away, and Jaime with her. He believed that the next battle would be severe and he didn’t wish to risk her. And though he had one arm, Jaime would at least lend her some additional protection. This time it was Jaime dragging her away.

They went first to the field hospital to have his arm checked for infection, and from thence they rode the train north to Boston, or in an approximation of “northbound.” Wartime meant the trains were irregular, and the journey indirect and long.

By the time they arrived at Tyion’s door, the war was nearly over. News from the front was that Selwyn had been right. And that battle had been his last. By that time, Jaime and Brienne had slept curled up on each other’s shoulder for almost three weeks, the only comfort on the long road. Tyrion offered them each a guest room in his home but he suspected correctly that one would have sufficed. They didn’t deny themselves for long. And they married days after their arrival.

Months later they finally got word of his family through his father’s sister - the house and farmlands had been destroyed and his father and sister were presumed dead. Jaime offered his aunt a home in the north but she declined, preferring to stay in the south and help her son’s family navigate this new life and build a new home.

Jaime never returned to the south. He was already home.

#braime #fictober2019 #fictober #brienne x jaime #jaime x brienne #civil war au that no one asked for #civil war au #braime au #got au #ao3 #ao3 link #mine #don't ask me why i did this #north and south #oh jameson #put me back together