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#you simply cannot compete with his gentle and mysterious eyes

scorpionite-astrology · 4 years

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How is seen your brother/sister?

As you may know the 3rd house represent also the house of siblings along with communication and neighborhood. The planets (and to an extent asteroids) can describe what type of person is your sister/brother and how the surroundings perceive them. Aspects can be also very important as well the signs in order to have a clear picture how their behavior is and how it affected you.

Sun in the 3rd: You could have a sibling who has strong Leo energy or can be someone who is pretty famous in your immediate surroundings. Can be known as a fun-loving and charismatic person, someone who is looked up to and usually who is considered to outshine the second son/daughter. Usually suggest that you can see him as very loving, caring, giving and spoiled. On the bad side can be seen as pretentious and haughty.

Moon in the 3rd: The brother/sister is a chameleon, changeable, sensitive, needy and probably suggest that needs more love or that needs his/her family more then the other children. You can be very protective over them or the other way around, acting as the mother. You could be also more emotionally dependent on him/her the you would ever admit. In the surroundings can be seen as gentle, vulnerable or a mystery. Someone who like the moon, so near but at the same time so far away and unreachable. Often this sibling is the parent you desired to have.

Mercury in the 3rd: It could suggest that you may have twins as sibling who are messy and pestiferous. Very mischievous who like to make jokes and steal stuff from you or use behind your back. Tricksters and verbal. In the community can be seen as cunning and clever, probably with many enemies and admirers, probably they could be seen as a fraud or have issues with their reputation. They also can be knows as the smart sibling who doesn’t do well at school. Usually also suggest that to be their younger sibling.

Venus in the 3rd: The sibling usually is very fair and liked, seems tranquil, or generally could be seen as the favorite one or the one to be spoil rotten. Can be also quite distant and beautiful which can be also the description of your neighborhood. Usually his the one who be prone to envy or the seek all the attention to themselves which is a point in common with the sun. Your sibling can also be know to had various relationships or to be someone who loves more to work then actually study. In the worst cases suggests a passive aggressive sibling with a knack of getting what they wants with their charms.

Mars in the 3rd: The sibling will be very competitive, headstrong, forceful and even jealous of you. Is someone who always compares themselves with you and could try to belittle you or to compete with you for the love of your parents. Usually can be very verbally or physically violent toward you which means that usually is the bully sibling who defends you from other bullies. In the neighborhood can be seen as really harsh, strong, who can stand his/her ground, but also can be seen as too hard on their fellow brother/sister.

Jupiter in the 3rd: This sibling is best known to be the funniest and the most free spirited of the bunch. Can be the one who is fiercely independent and adventurous, probably a trouble-maker and the one who caused their parents to be called at school for something that they do or said. Usually you could see your sibling luckier then you or to have a wide circle. It also suggest a very good relationship with you and the fact that bring you genuinely good vibes and love even if they can be quite devilish with their knack to create havoc just for the sake of having fun. Probably is the one who invited you to eat or to travel together or who decided to travel early in their years.

Uranus in the 3rd: The sibling is felt like a cool guy with you have the most exhilarating times but at the same time you find hard to click with. Can be quite rebellious and defiant of their parents usually provoking them and their choices. As much someone consider them pretty much the weird and uncaring siblings, actually it could manifest as someone who cares a lot about being seen and supported which usually is not the case. They also have a revolutionary sprit and thus they can be known in the neighborhood to have joined political factions usually of the the left party. Their groundbreaking views probably could make them seen by their parents to be the too much independent or hard to understand.

Neptune in the 3rd: Neptune is kinda tricky here. The sibling could be not your real sibling by blood. Later in life you could find them to be adopted or to find that you have one who was sent away for no particular reason. If that is not the case usually this make for a sympathetic brother/sister who cannot really be trusted and everything has to be taken with a pinch of salt. in the worst of cases can be junkie, a party lover, a musician wanna be. In the neighborhood they couldn’t be taken seriously or they actually are seen as confused or simply addicted, at times forgetting their kind nature. You could feel the need to take care of your sibling because of their problems or inability to live in the realty.

Pluto in the 3rd: The question is do your really know your sibling? Have you tried to understand who he/she is? Usually it implies a really misunderstood, secretive, traumatized, survivor singling who has seen the worst and had to face many things in life. Usually is seen always as an intruder in the family or someone who is quite scary because they can be quite the force to destroy what you always believe in. You could see him/her as the demon brother that you love and hate, who is trashed by the community and who discriminate him because is intense or not someone who goes with the flow. Usually also intends a strained relationship with your brother/sister who may decide to close all the contacts because of something in their childhood has being done to her/him.

Saturn in the 3rd: Usually the sibling is mature, much older and in a way of a different mindset, the one taking more after their father. Usually is seen as the one who early on takes on the role of working in order to be self-sufficient and in the case one of their parents could dead, they could become the providing factor in the family. Usually is seen as respected and serious, not someone easy to get along with but who cares a lot about traditions. In the worst cases can be a sibling envious of the success of the other or of yours.

Lilith in the 3rd: Usually this is meant more for a sister then a brother since Lilith is the matriarch of female power. The sister can be pretty much temperamental, volitive, forceful and not an easy person to get along. She may have been victim of lies regarding their promiscuity or she was actually seen as a whore because of that. Usually also means that this sibling can be unpredictable, abusive or scary in your eyes which most of the time is. Also suggest a very possessive relationship towards you and can be seen as quite smart and sophisticated. The cousins could also see her as dominating and who attacks their sibling in order to showcase their power.

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maomao-words · 4 years

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Inspiration hit me a few days ago and all I felt like doing was write for the MLQC fandom! (=・ω・=)

So here I am! I will hopefully post some of my other writings soon too!

But for now, I hope you enjoy these (●'◡'●)ﾉ

MLQC Boys as Bodyguards: (Victor, Lucien, Kiro and Gavin)

Victor:

Weapons: A handgun equipped with a silencer and a katana which has your initials engraved on its black handle.

Background: Victor is the top ranked bodyguard known in the high society. Your family had to go through a prolonged battle of wits and money with numerous other important figures just to be able to hire Victor as your bodyguard. Dominating and commanding, Victor’s distinct aura screams authority and power for all who lay their eyes on him. Just his name is enough to deter countless of those who were planning to harm you. Those stupid enough to still risk attacking with Victor at your side simply dug their own graves and were not even able to get any information on your whereabouts, let alone spill your blood.

Fighting style: Victor does not mess around. His words are the law and the law you shall follow. He has been handed the duty of protecting you and he has no intention of wasting his time on indulging you in your risky adventures and whimsical decisions. He gets to decide everything that concerns your safety and all you have to do, in order to continue surviving, is to obey his orders. An advice? Do not attempt to rebel against him. It will only result in him convincing your father to leave you in charge of several business-related projects that will bound you to your office for no less than six months.

With his intricate network of acquaintances and allies of important and powerful figures, it is only rarely that Victor gets to fight directly in order to protect you. Victor is highly skilled in predicting threats and eliminating them before they even fully manifest. In those scarce moments where an enemy is powerful enough to get near you, Victor is considered as the last and ultimate defense line. He likes to execute his attacks silently and calmly. One shot to the heart will quickly seal the deal, save Victor’s efforts and protect you from needless scenes of blood and violence. Many enemies have mistaken the handgun as Victor’s main weapon, disregarding the katana as a mere ornament, and focused most of their manpower on disarming him. This mistake is what usually leads to their complete annihilation. Victor’s katana which he carries with him at all times is in fact his cherished lifeline as it is efficient, practical and does not run out of lethality.

Off duty: Victor’s off duty routine is not that far from his day to day habitual activities. He remains in full control of all things and does not seem to recognize the real meaning of being off the clock. The one thing that does change, however, is that Victor gets sweeter and gentler with you. If you have been an obedient master for the past few days, Victor will make sure to reward you with a taste of his cooking which you absolutely love.

With Victor at your side, just sit back and relax since danger is no longer a possible happening in your world. I do hope however that you are ready to pay the “price” of this absolute safety as Victor is not cheap by all means.

Lucien:

Weapons: A sniper rifle with a high-precision for ranged attacks and a handgun for close combat.

Background: Lucien is the bodyguard you cannot read most. At days, you even wonder whether he is really on your side or simply lurking in your shadows to eventually kill you. His eyes betray none of his thoughts and his hands, cold yet tender as they wrap around your waist to guide you through dangerous situations, seem to be always covered in blood yet somehow still feel as gentle as a feather on your skin. Lucien is a riddle that you are ready to spend your whole life solving, even if the chances of winning are close to none.

Fighting Style: Lucien mostly prefers to situate himself in the shadows of the roof a tall building and strike the enemy with one shot of his rifle from a distance. Lucien is known to dislike close combat; a fact several of your enemies sought to exploit only to discover that Lucien is as merciless with his fists as he is with his rifle. He just dislikes getting blood on his suit and would prefer to avoid that.

Mysterious and charming, you will not be able to get your eyes off of Lucien no matter how much his actions scream treason and suspicion. Because no matter how much his plots and schemes seem to be leading you to death, he will always appear at the very last second and gets you out of harm’s way, with a gorgeous smile in tow. Lucien’s existence is like a deadly poison to you, and you are just addicted to him.

Off duty: Lucien’s role in your life extends from a talented bodyguard and assassin to your own personal butler. He takes care of delivering and managing all the important papers and documents sent to you and even offers his own advice on different business-related matters. He also manages your personal schedule and private affairs, from meals and sleeping times to clothing choices and hairdresser appointments. Lucien is a highly qualified aid so do listen carefully to him. You will not regret following the plans he draw. Despite it all, however, there are also moments where Lucien seems to open up to you, moments where his eyes, usually two bottomless voids of blackness, suddenly clear up and his smile gets softer as he gazes at you cooking or playfully petting his cat. Those moments, although scarce and rare, are your most cherished possessions and you won’t exchange them for the world.

With Lucien by your side, you must get used to courting danger. Just never question why you are enjoying hell as you keep on dancing with the devil.

Kiro:

Weapons: A mini laptop and a dagger with a golden handle with your initials engraved on it. He also carries a handgun in case of emergencies.

Background: Kiro seems to be your best friend who just happens to also be your bodyguard. Right from the start, Kiro seemed to win your heart in a blink of an eye and you formed an inseparable duo ever since. Thanks to his bubbly personality and sunshine-like smile, you just can’t help but smile and giggle whenever you are around Kiro. Nevertheless, despite the numerous years you spent by his side, you are still startled by the drastic changes Kiro display when it is necessary for him to activate his bodyguard mode and discard his tender smile and gentle touches.

Fighting style: Don’t be tempted. Kiro’s lovely smile and gorgeous looks are nothing but a deadly trap for those who wish you harm. Kiro will not hesitate to use them to his benefit, attracting them before slicing their throats with a cold smile on his face. He usually takes care of all threats as soon as they start to bud and before they even reach the range of a kilometer close to you. With his trusty laptop in hand, Kiro will manipulate, hack and destroy whatever he deems dangerous. Your villa’s top notch security is also established and managed by Kiro, so rest assured, no intruder will be able to set foot into your backyard without being shot or electrified to death.

Off duty: Once his job is finished, Kiro will turn back to his sunshine self in a blink of an eye and will turn to you with his twinkling eyes and jumps on you, asking for a bear hug. Kiro’s off duty routine mostly consists in eating unhealthy snacks, watching hero movies with you and challenging you in silly video games. If the coast is safe enough for you to leave the house, Kiro will definitely accompany you to movies, to attraction parks, to zoos and to basically wherever you wish to go. If there is any sign of danger, Kiro will coop up with you at home and keep you entertained all the while keeping an eye out on you and making sure the threat that is forbidding you both from having your usual dates is dead and buried before the 12 hours mark even passes.

I hope you like sugar and fluffy sweets because that’s how life will taste like with Kiro by your side. Ah, but don’t forget! Even teddy bears have sharp claws!

Gavin:

Weapons: A handgun and a mercenary knife with a silver handle that you personally picked for him.

Background: Gavin seems as the calm, collected and detached type of bodyguard at the start. When he first started working for your family, he simply performed his duties to a perfection, protected you to the best of his abilities and then completely detached himself from you as soon as he was off duty. You initially thought that he was uninterested in building an actual relationship with you and respected the distance he drew between you. But as time went by, you discovered that, contrary to your assumptions, Gavin was just too clumsy in his attempt to get close to you and ended up cutting you off instead of bringing you to him. This awkward yet sincere confession came from a very red-faced Gavin as he lay on top of you trying to shield you from bullets. His clumsiness managed to win you heart and your relationship started to change for the better ever since.

Fighting style: Gavin is a proficient all-rounded soldier. He is perfectly capable of tracking and hunting down enemies, leading and coordinating between security teams as well as shielding and protecting allies. Gavin is sure to secure the safety of his client regardless of the threat he faces. He prefers close combat as he is highly competent in hand to hand battles as well as street brawls. He is also extremely skillful with his gun, using it mostly to secure an escape route for you in cases of ambushes and, in extreme situations, shoot down any threat on the spot. Gavin does not kill until he deems the situation necessary. He values human life and continuously encourage you not to hold grudges and not to consider the world as a mere violent and bloody realm.

Off duty: Off duty, Gavin’s more laid back and boyish charms come to the surface. He likes exercising in his free time and welcomes you with open arms if you come to him for private self-defense lessons. Gavin also enjoys playing video games with you and does not hesitate to let you win just to receive one of your hugs as a reward. When it comes to his butler skills, however, he is at the same low level of Kiro. He once attempted to bake a cake for you, ended up burning half of the kitchen’s ceiling and was banned from getting close to a stove for the rest of his life by you.

Just get used to the feeling of safety because Gavin is willing to risk his life for you. So let him spoil you.

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc hcs #mr love victor #mr love lucien #mr love kiro #mr love gavin

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babbushka · 5 years

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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Hoshiai no Sora: Cast Comments

Q & A with the voice actors of the main cast. Translated from the official Twitter. Feel free to point out any corrections, and please check out some of the creators’ accounts:

Akane Kazuki (director)

Itsuka (character designer)

Takeshi (animator)

Kyuujou Kiyo (illustrator)

Takahashi Yuuichi (animator)

MLANG (animator)

Hanae Natsuki-san (voice of Katsuragi Maki)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

At first, I guessed he was a cool and behaved kid, but this changed into the impression that he was a child with no two-facedness to him and a feel-good personality, who firmly conveys his own opinions without being swayed by the people around him. Also, he laughs and makes merry in accordance to his age too, so it is fun to play him.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was part of the soft tennis club, so I am extremely happy to get to perform in this production. Through this series, many things had me thinking, “This happens, this happens” and it makes me reminisce to my school days. I was the vice-president, but our tennis club was not that earnest about competing, so we did not go as far as Shijou Minami Junior High, but I believe the club activities had a similar air to them.

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

This is a work that touches the rare subject of soft tennis, while the number of schools that only have regular tennis gradually increases as one goes from middle to high school. It is a given for people who take part in soft tennis, but the delicate feelings of middle schoolers are also being depicted here through getting quite deep into their core, so I believe this is a series that makes the ones watching feel and think all sorts of things. Please watch over it until the very end.

Hatanaka Tasuku-san (voice of Shinjou Touma)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

Shinjou Touma is a child with an extremely strong sense of responsibility. The environment he grew up in has an influence on this, but he ends up exploding due to shouldering too many things and not knowing how to let it out when it became hard for him... The more I get to know him, the more I feel like giving him a hug. That’s the kind of person he is.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was part of the basket club during my six years from middle to high school and on the bench. That’s why I would let my voice out higher than anyone, and since I could not manage to do anything whenever I entered the court, I would just run, anyhow. The nickname I earned from this was “Runner”. I was neither “center” nor “forward”, just “Runner”.

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

Honestly, I have absolutely no idea of how this work will be receptioned. But I thought, “I want to respond to the things that the director wants to write about and to his passion, from the bottom of my heart”. That’s why I had strong thoughts about getting close to the individuals that appear in this story, being hurt and moving forward together with them, and taking part in this series. I am truly glad to have become involved with it. Please do have expectations for it.

Matsuoka Yoshitsugu-san (voice of Ameno Itsuki)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

He is a boy with a deep darkness to him, except this darkness has a proper reason to be, so I look forward to when people get shocked upon finding that out. He is also a cute boy, so I hope people will enjoy the many emotions, expressions and lines from him.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was in the wind instruments club, but I was always thinking about skipping. There were few guys in it, so whenever classes ended, a senior would often come to pick me up! Like, “Matsuoka! I’ll go with you!!” I really gave him a lot of trouble.

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

It is turning into a story that will not go through conventional methods. Many individuals of all kinds appear in it, but this is a series that depicts each human being very rawly, so I hope people will enjoy this rich story until the end. We also want to perform “Hoshiai no Sora” to our utmost, so we will be in your care from now on too!

Satou Gen-san (voice of Futsu Rintarou)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

Rintarou is a very serious and kindhearted person who can observe his surroundings better than anyone. On one side, he is extremely sensible, overthinks, does not manage to give his opinions and ends up hiding his true thoughts, so when I perform him, I make sure to do it while deciding in my mind, “Don’t leave Rintarou on his own no matter what” and, “Stay close to him until the end”.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I used to belong to the kendou club, but the club activities were aimed to win the nationals, so practice was extremely severe. During practice match expeditions, we would ride in the late-night bus and keep practicing from morning to evening non-stop just like that, and to make our bodies grow bigger, we would eat a mountain of curry, fist-sized minced meat fried cakes and gigantic hot dogs in one go until we got upset stomatches, so I have the strong impression that it was strict and terrible if nothing else.

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

I think its contents resonate with the hearts of both people who are currently students and people who are working as members of society. If they could love the characters of Hoshiai no Sora, who are somewhat heartrending but try to live day by day with utmost effort, I would be really happy.

Toyonaga Toshiyuki-san (voice of Soga Tsubasa)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

I have the impression that he is a child right in the middle of puberty, who ends up saying what he thinks aloud. It feels like he takes a while to find the will to do things, so I think he is simply carefree.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was a ghost member of the basket club. I joined because a girl I liked back then was a member of the female basket club. My motive was impure, huh (laughs).

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

I think it will be pretty impactful for those who watch it thinking that it is an uplifting youth-and-sports thing. It depicts all sorts of problems that actually happen in reality. Please do watch these strong messages with your families; I would be happy if they become a trigger for people to reflect on things.

Satou Keisuke-san (voice of Takenouchi Shingo)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

I thought Shingo was an upfront kid in a very good sense. Also, I felt that, in contrast with his strong-look appearance, he is very considerate of his friends, has a side to him that’s got guts, and is adorable too. I am really looking forward to how he will progress from now on.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was in the basket club, but all I did was slack off. There were only four members and the club activities only included running, and after that, we would do nothing but chat. Then we would run off so that the teacher of that period would not find us out (laughs). I would think, “One way or another, these are also memories of my youth”.

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

Developments that people cannot predict at all are waiting, and they make you extremely anxious. It is fully loaded with obsession for even minute details, so you will be unable to take your eyes off it from the beginning to the end! I hope to enjoy these moments together with everyone. “Hoshiai no Sora” is in your care!

Koyabashi Yuusuke-san (voice of Tsukinose Nao)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

Nao is a child whose appearance and mind are flighty, and also a mysterious kid who speaks of dellusions as if they were actually reality. But during club activities, he makes efforts in his own way so that he will not drag everyone down, so the gap between this and his fickle personality left an impression on me.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was in the wind instruments club. I wanted to play the trumpet, but the pretty senior who was teaching us during the trial enrollment played the horn, so I was swayed by her sweet talk, and before I realized it, I was playing the horn myself (laughs). I should beware of sweet temptations, is what I thought during my middle school years.

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

People might get tripped up if they are watching it thinking that it is an anime where children are enjoyably playing soft tennis to their utmost. It is precisely because those kids are at that age that I would like people to observe thoroughly the depiction of the mindsets they embrace.

Amasaki Kouhei-san (voice of Ishigami Taiyou)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

I think Taiyou-kun is a gentle child. He cannot decide things on his own, always taking action by matching up with other’s opinions. I felt that the way his Kansai dialect sometimes has a common language ring to it was realistic.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was in the swim club. During summer, we would swim over 10km from morning to evening. We would run the competitive club relays in the PE festival wearing one layer of swimsuit. I think it was an experience I can no longer manage.

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

“Hoshiai no Sora” is a work made extremely carefully, and even during the post-recording, the love I can feel from the creators is huge, so I think it is a very good series. There is not much I can say, so I hope you all can see for your own eyes when you watch it on-air! We will be in your care!

Mineda Mayu-san (voice of Mitsue Kanako)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

When I first saw her, I thought, “I guess she’s a shy and quiet girl?”, but that was splendidly betrayed. Kanako is the type to straightforwardly say what she thinks to the other party, and I think this aspect of hers, in a good sense, reeks of humanity quite a bit.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was the president of the art club, but I would walk around campus after school and observe the activities of other clubs. That includes the soft tennis club and the like. To all the art club members of back then, I’m sorry for being such an undisciplined club president...

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

This story intersects with the many emotions of middle schoolers living in the current era, who might actually exist somewhere within Japan. Also, the sounds of batted balls and squealing of sneakers are very real and have intensity, so I would like people to pay attention to them as well.

Yamaya Yoshitaka-san (voice of Asuka Yuuta)

Q1. Please tells us your impression about the character you play.

He is androgynous and has a soft demeanor, and I think he is truly a boy of kindhearted disposition. He somewhat lacks confidence, so he steps back and has a bird’s-eye view of things, but there is a reason for it. I would like people to pay attention to him along with the other characters’ worries.

Q2. Please tell us a memory of club activities from your middle school days.

I was in the soccer club. I had many experiences, like how plain fun it was kicking the ball, having awkward relationships, and learning the joy of getting sweaty doing practice and winning.

Q3. Leave a message for the people watching the series.

This is not just a multi-protagonist story about the youth of bright and uplifting boys. Troubles and issues that surely exist somewhere out there, though people usually do not try to look at them, are depicted realistically in it, and there were times it made my chest hurt. I want everyone to watch how each of them will face the things they are shouldering until the very end.

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mikaey43 · 4 years

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#16 A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle

Rating: 4/5

Pages: 247 (with “An Appreciation” by Anna Quindlen, and additional content)

Publisher: Squarefish (an imprint of Macmillian)

(I shouldn’t make goals. I’m not good at keeping them. But I digress.) There are books I didn’t read as a kid. They didn’t appeal to me then. I can’t read it with the eyes of a child, but I can still read them. I decided to read the following book before news broke of its theatrical film adaptation—what reader doesn’t. This book has a simple plot, a good cast of characters, character development, and showcases an insight to the goodness of humanity. And above all, it has strong female characters. Not to say that the men are lacking, but it’s always refreshing to read about a girl who simply is. In any genre. I can’t wait to read the other books in this series: A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeline L’Engle.

The plot is simple: after not hearing from Mr. Murry since he went off to work on a top-secret experiment, the mysterious Mrs. Whatsit visits the Murry family one “dark and stormy night” and thrusts our main characters into a journey across the universe.

The story opens with Meg Murry, the eldest of the Murry children. She is the typical awkward mess who excels in the sciences and mathematics but fails in humanities. That is refreshing since usually intelligent female characters are written as being all-around, book-smart girls. It isn’t a bad thing but should not always be the case. Through her journey, Meg comes to understand that a person, even her scientist parents, have both strengths and shortcomings.

Then there’s the youngest and the most brilliant of the Murrys: Charles Wallace. At five years old, he is the most intellectual and wise. The town gossips about him, just as with his father. They presume that because he’s not particularly loquacious he therefore lacks intelligence. But Mrs. Whatsit directs herself to him not just as a mouthpiece but someone who will able to understand the complexity of their mission across the universe.

We also meet sixteen-year-old, Calvin O’Keefe. He is the compassionate son of a family who neglects him, a gifted junior at Meg’s school, and talented athlete. He shares the same gift as Charles Wallace but is more open where Charles is reserved. He is centered and level-headed. He joins them on their mission with no other reason than but that he was “meant” to be at the right time and place.

I don’t focus on too many characters, just those that I feel add significance to the story. I will touch as briefly as I can on Mr. and Mrs. Murry, Mrs. Whatsit, Which, and Who, since I believe they add necessary layers to what is usually a very one-tone genre for middle-grade.

In most young adult fiction, the young protagonist has free rein to push the boundaries as the parents are pushed to the outskirts of the plot. They are often shown as incompetent, not technologically savvy, or just plain “uncool.” In L’Engle’s story, we see not only competent parents with professional careers but who are idolized by their children. L’Engle presents Mr. and Mrs. Murry as what they really are: people. This is what frustrates Meg. She believes her parents are supposed to be different as opposed to the other adults. Meg knows they are a powerhouse couple: intelligent, handsome, and down-to-earth. They are scientists after all, they should be able to solve any kind of problem that comes their way. But they don’t have all the answers and apparently need rescuing too.

Mrs. Murry is a devoted stay-at-home mother and scientist who runs her lab from the basement. She has been somewhat of a “single mother” since her husband went to work on a top-secret assignment years ago. As she awaits her husband’s return, she continues their research, raising their children, all the while trying to find Mr. Murry. But her faith in her husband never waivers. Meg admires her for her strength of character, intelligence, and beauty. Mrs. Murry appears as an unreachable idol because Meg feels she will never attain that level of sophistication.

We know that Mr. Murry, like Mrs. Murry, is a scientist. He has been working on an experiment since Charles was a baby. It is rumored that he abandoned his family for another woman, but his family loves and respects him very much. They believe that he’s working on this experiment. He is thought of as a smart, loving, reasonable, and sensible man.

Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which are harder to explain. They appear from and disappear back to nothing. They are gentle and kind. They also seem to know a lot about human history and its most influential people. They can bend space and therefore transport themselves easily through large distances throughout the universe.

We find out that the “wrinkle in time” makes it possible to travel through space to other worlds. Through this type of travel, we visit four worlds in a “catch and release” fashion. Only visiting the worlds to pick up necessary information without really “exploring” it, but we do meet strange creatures. By the time we finally arrive at Camazotz, ready to explore the world, it turns out to be an imitation of our world. Only difference is that it is almost completely controlled by IT although, there are glimpses of inadvertent freethinkers.

While I usually spotlight a quote, I would like to focus instead on an idea: the examination of conformity versus uniqueness. The reader is warned about its dangers. Mrs. Murry tells Meg that “people are more than just the way they look” (54). This is the most evident in Mrs. Whatsit, Who, and Which. They are more than what they seem but adjusted their true selves since the children go by the preconceived notion of physical sight.

We also know that the trio—while unique—conform. Calvin, idolized by the town for his brilliance in both academics and sports, miserably conforms to his superficial image when he cannot authentically connect with anyone. The opposite goes for Charles. His intelligence is vastly superior to anyone in that town, but because he fears their rejection, he tolerates the town’s opinion that he’s intellectually slow. Finally, Meg tries and wishes she could conform but cannot mold into the small mind of the small town because of her logical, impatient, impulsive, and awkward personality. She is the question itself. Thankfully, the characters begin to deviate from the idea of how they are “seen” and toward how they want to be known. This begins with Mrs. Whatsit transformation to her original form and completed when she reveals that she is a star. This echoes the second part of Mrs. Murry’s explanation that the “difference isn’t physical. It’s in essence.” (54, my emphasis).

When the children travel to Camazotz, Meg physically sees how radical conformity for “normalcy” can get. Not just in appearances but the exact beat (ie: essence) to which the planet marches, plays, “thinks,” and lives. The inescapable humdrum of IT’s beat illustrates how enticing yet lamentable life is when one is programmed to sameness.

Meg must see beyond the physical into essential concepts to free Charles. A lesson Aunt Beast reminds her of before returning to Camazotz: “We look not at the things which are what you call seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporal. But the things which are not seen are eternal.” (205).

The question about conformity is answered. Meg decides to face the evil of “sameness” when IT tries to prove that “equal and alike” are indistinguishable. While everyone is equal in worth for being human, we are not alike in essence. Different is okay. And that is why the Murry family and Calvin O’Keefe hug it out in the middle of the twin's vegetable garden.

There are many things that I like. First, that Meg realizes she has put everyone on pedestals, but it turns out, they are fallible. This lets her be free to finally be whoever she wants to be. This leads me to say how much I loved that the women are given equal footing with their male counterparts. The Mrs. Ws, Mrs. Murry, and Meg have gifted and compassionate teammates. These relationships are built on respect, trust, support, and admiration. Mrs. Murry trusts that Mr. Murry’s lack of communication is due to some unforeseen circumstance. The Mrs. Ws know that with Charles Wallace’s help he will not only interpret their information but use it to guide Calvin and Meg. And Calvin helps center Meg during her thought process. Teamwork. I also liked all the science that L’Engle sprinkles throughout her novel, and how simple she makes it.

And while I liked the idea of the story, there were a few instances that had me refraining from exploring it further. There is the constant world-hopping—which I understand is the whole point—but because we were never in one place for too long, I lacked a connection. Even as the final battle takes place in IT-controlled Camazotz, since it mirrors Earth, it lacks its own personality. And after that final battle, I was left with more questions than answers. The most burning question: what happened to IT? Also: was Camazotz able to rid itself of IT? There’s not much backstory of IT’s conquest of Camazotz. We also don’t know why the Mrs. Ws couldn’t go with Meg to help her. We are tied to the facts of the text, which isn't a bad thing, I guess. After all, their only mission was to find Mr. Murry.

I had originally rated this book a five out of five stars, but because of the world-building I had to knock out a star. I am very glad to have read about a brave girl who rescues her father and gains more understanding of the world she also saves. I did like it from beginning to end and can’t wait to read the rest of the books in the series.

#a wrinkle in time #time quintet #madeleine l'engle #meg murry #calvin o'keefe #charles wallace murry #camazotz #tesseract #newbery medal

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beaflower77 · 4 years

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Little Bottles Of Oil

“She is out of touch lately, I wonder why?”

Looking toward Gwingnis, the other ellyth replied, “Hmmm, does not look as anything is unusual. Maybe she is getting more sleep at night”

The suggestion was intuitive enough, but, “Oh Come. There is something more to it than that. Really.”, she whispered back. “Look. Do you see it? There! See? She has a little bottle of oil! Where did she retain that from?”

Yes, indeed she did! Gwingnis was given this bottle from someone very special, for these little bottles of bathing oil were highly prized, deemed so expensive and rare, it was highly unusual for many to have them, only one in a rather good position possible might acquire this find. And to gift it to another was indeed most fortunate, adoring and special.

Most had assembled themselves around the center of the bathing area, some had merely intended to sit, wash their dusty tired feet, while others had finished making to leave. Gwingnis had been in a good mood all day. Her brief meetings, flirtations, small encounters with Athlidon were exhilarating, promising. They were secretly courting.

Remembering her solitary, sweet moments with Athlidon, Gwingnis proceeded to enjoy the cascading stream of warm water pouring down her legs, her toes.

Others had been watching her, studying her musings, intrigued by her tiny displays of happiness. Elves are kind, gentle, caring but sometimes they can also exhibit jealous, childish moments. These two obnoxious ellyths wanted to know why Gwingnis was more ethereal lately, more lighthearted. What was causing her undue happiness.

“Go ask her. Ask where she found it, why she has it. See if you can borrow it”

Being shocked at such a task, the other ellyth shook her head. “No. You go ask, you want to know. Perhaps she found it laying about, that does happen you know. You go ask.”

Huffing, the first decided to conquer this little quest and see what exactly was what. “Fine. You will see. She most likely stole it, or found it laying about and took it without finding its proper owner.” Sloshing off to ask, she made her way as best she could through the clear but noisy pool toward her prey.

“Good day Gwingnis,” the younger ellith announced. “You have chosen a nice private spot to bathe,” and she modestly looked over Gwingnis’s belongings, contemplating her next line of questioning.

“Well met, and how are you?” Gwingnis returned the politest of replies, wondering as to the unwanted attention.

Raising her eyebrows, she asks me how I am? Hummff! “I am well, I thank you. Ah, I see you have a little bottle of bathing oil,”as the ellyth tried to give the effect of a smile. “Ah, may I use some? It is quite rare and .. expensive. How did you come by this? This certainly was not given to you, was it?” She poured some onto her hand.

Gwingnis was more than happy to share, why wouldn’t she? Most ellyths were like sisters to each other, especially the ones closest in age or rank. “Of course, why not? Here, you must share some.”

Taking the bottle, tipping it slightly, rubbing a little over her shoulders, arms, she inquired again, “Where did you get this?” The more she became intrigued, the more pushy she became and soon had come to her original conclusion of this little mystery and even bigger blame.

Giving a shy, blushing but heartfelt answer, Gwingnis smiled, “Athlidon gave it to me.”

Eyebrows went high, sky high, “I do not think so,” reproached the ellyth. “Athlidon would not just give this to you. Give this to you?,” she reiterated. “Perhaps he would lend it, let you borrow, but give it? Why? Why would you say that?” The ellyth went further still, “Athlidon is snobby. He would not just give this to you To Anyone. And why you?”

Receiving her answer, this ellyth was disgusted. Quickly finishing her bath, she returned the bottle of oil, heading over toward her friend again. “Athlidon? Gwingnis is delusional! Making things up. She feasted her eyes too long on a long shot and not even one worth the wait. And even if it were true, which it certainly couldn’t be, why Athlidon of all ellon! No. This ellyth is telling stories.” The second ellyth was perplexed. She watched Gwingnis bundle her belongings and leave. She knew her friend had been crass and hurtful.

Gwingnis upon learning this ellyths’ line of thinking and attitude toward her and her Athlidon, was shocked, affronted and not to admit very hurt. Gwingnis opened her mouth, closing it tightly. As much she held such intense internal emotions, she was not one to outwardly complain or despair. She definitely was not one who would compete with this nasty ellyth. Putting out her hands, “Give my bottle back please.” Finishing up quickly, having no more interest in bathing in any proximity of those two, she declared, “You may not speak of Captain Athlidon thus. He is a noble and proud soldier of our city. He fights for our freedom and all who live in Middle Earth. And he did indeed gift this to me.” Finding her towel, taking her personal belongings, Gwingnis walked off, proud of her Athlidon, thinking to herself, you cannot hurt me. Only fools can be made fools of, and I am no fool, unlike you two! Gwingnis finished her toiletry within the confines of her own bedchambers.

They found him reading, sitting by the edge of a thunderous pond, drinking in the warm, midday sun. Wanting to present themselves in the best of lights, they tossed their lovely hair, smoothed down gowns. “Good day Captain Athlidon. You are looking well.”

Looking from his reading of famous past military strategists he nodded dryly, with an air of ownership. “Good day.”

Not exactly knowing how to proceed but still wishing to place blame, the ellyths skirted the issue, just a little. “It is a warm day Captain. Most are bathing to cool themselves. You do not bathe today?”

What were these two playing at? Why do they need to know if I bathe? This is a ridiculous conversation. “I have already bathed,” Athlidon simply stated. “Why should I have to admit this to you?”

The one ellyth looked to the other motioning with her head, “Ah, Captain Athlidon?,” the other began, “There are many ellyths who have bathed also earlier. Some even with bathing oil. Very rare and expensive bathing oil.”

Where was this line of questioning going he wondered? He sighed, “Is that so?” He gave a pert half smile. “What do you care?,” he questioned back.

The first continued, “Well, yes, even some who say … certain bathing oil was given to them by .. you. We of course, naturally declined all manner of talk, being it nonsense. However, there were those who could not but wonder … if this was true?”

Were they baiting him? What did these two sly ones want? He had heard of them before, never one without the other, always trying to be better than others. He would put them straight. These two little nitwits, isn’t that what his friend Beatrice would call them? Well, he must give a reply, a put you in your place reply. And that is what he did. “Is that correct? Well, I did give a bottle of oil to someone. Someone I am extremely fond of. Someone even I love. Someone who has a heart of gold, a bottomless heart of gold. Who is kind, and tender and thoughtful and full of mercy.” Unlike the two of you, he kept to himself.

They stopped. Intently they listened. Wanting to push further, they were halted into Athlidon’s submission.

“In fact,” as he lent down to whisper conspiratorially, “Someone whom I am now courting. Someone whose name is Gwingnis. Does that answer not bring your line of questioning to a conclusion?,” tossing his own hair, as he smiled a little devilish smile and walked away, leaving them alone with mouths pouting.

Bah!, Athlidon said to himself, those two are nothing but trouble. Troublemakers! This is like a school of highs, as Beatrice says. Of course, Athlidon had no idea of what he was talking about, meaning she told him it is sometimes like high school drama queens, where jealous and petty females behaved like silly, little girls with upturned noses, and too high heels to trip and traipse over, not wanting others to outwit them. School of highs indeed! Yes, sometimes these jealous petty attitudes last for years and years after his friend claimed. “Bah!,” again Athlidon voiced to the air.

Leaning against a lonely pillar amidst the gardens, her face shrouded in sadness, Athlidon found her. Slowly coming from behind, he trailed his lovely long fingers over her shoulders, round and down her arms, ending in caressing and twining his fingers within hers. She did not need to look upon her admirer, for she could sense him. Sadly Gwingnis turned and smiled into his shoulder, taking in his scent.

“You are sad. Why? Why is my beauty and delight so sad?,” he questioned.

She did not want to send these burdens his way, he had other cares to think on. The care and keeping of the city and its residents, keeping sharp with weaponry, fighting movements, battle strategies, not to be settled in his thoughts on bathing cares. She needed nevertheless to hear his voice, his encouragements, his kind thoughts, his nothing but love for her. Unbeknownst to them both, the other two jealous and arrogant ellyths had followed and hid themselves behind bushes and tangles, as they had noticed him walking this way. Wanting to know If it really was Gwingnis he heart belonged to.

“I do not wish to burden you,” simply Gwingnis explained.

“Ah, you are not a burden to me, you are my delight. Tell me and we will either by sad together or I shall unburden you of this sadness. Come, tolo, tell me,” he smiled down.

She took but a moment to consider, “At the pool today, some noticed the bottle of oil I had with me. They did not think it mine, only taken, stolen perhaps.”

Looking wide and long at her, Athlidon was angered, if only for a moment before her, to reign in his upset. “I gave this to you. This was never borrowed or stolen. It is yours freely.” He looked upon her with hurt, and understood the earlier approaches. “Do not let them upset you. They are silly, little ellyths, no more than younglings, Jealous. They have no maturity yet.” Caressing her face, he raised her chin up, kissed her tenderly. Turning her then around to face the drifting clouds, pointing them out, “Look. Look how they move, these clouds. They are here one moment, and there another. It is like life. Life moves along from one moment to another. It is ever fleeting. Life does not stay still, it is forever fleeing. But we, my little delight, we elves stay still, we are constant, until the time of our passing. Do not let these silly ones toy with your thoughts. It may be hurtful right now, but this is of no consequence to me, to you. I gave you this gift, you know it. That is all that needs to be said.”

Holding her close, they didn’t see the two jealous ones, hiding, overhearing and feeling foolish. How wrong they were, how simple, how foolish. Next time, hopefully, they would think twice before seeking out to blame for what they do not know.

#Elven Fiction #Athlidon and Gwingnis #Life Is Fleeting And This Too Shall Pass #Rewritten July 2020

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foxydivaxx · 5 years

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Bad Blood Chapter 1

Originally, this was meant to be connected to Young Justice: Demigods Arising but I have decided to tweak it a bit and make it the true Demigods Arising story of sorts. This is connected to the Osiris fic and whilst it is kinda Cassie-centric, it also focuses on other characters too.

"Any news about Cassie?"

"Nah. No one has found her yet."

Tim sighs. It has been a month since Cassie disappeared after her humiliating defeat to Vanessa for the Wonder Girl title. Part of her regrets that decision to have said duel take place. She made that decision not considering what Cassie was going through then. The poor girl lost her then boyfriend Conner Kent and later got dumped by him. Sure, Conner returned but their relationship soon turned toxic to the point where the two engaged in a physical altercation in the School Hall that caused Cassie to get suspended for two weeks. As a result of this, Diana decided to punish her not taking into consideration Cassie’s physical and mental exhaustion at that point. According to Tatiana, Cassie overtrained herself and that led to Cassie’s humiliating defeat.

And now it is too late, Cassie has gone and would never return and if she ever returns, the girl would have joined the Dark Side which should not surprise anyone given her heritage and the negative influence of people like Ares. As if that wasn't bad enough, Cassie's younger twin sister Tatiana also followed suit.

Adding more to the Cassie mystery is that she immediately deleted all her social media accounts on the same day as her defeat. That alone alarmed everyone as it is a well-known fact that Cassie loved taking selfies and playing around on social media and often talks to fans on there. But now that her presence is no longer felt, many began to panic, feeling that the poor girl might have committed suicide. This naturally led to the #JusticeForCassie campaign and #WonderWomanCancelled movement.

Please let Cassie not be dead.

Meanwhile in her room, Barbara was going through some files that she managed to dig up about HIVE case. So far she had managed to find some leads. Heck she can even say that she is far more competent and smarter than the entire Team as they are all a bunch of little kids. What was Batman thinking of putting little kids on a superhero team? Ok they are young kids, but they still could qualify for a wannabe superhero team since they all wear stupid outlandish costumes and use silly codenames, themselves and the so-called adults that call themselves Justice League. Seriously, what the fuck is that fucked up shit? Worst of the bunch as far as she is concerned is none other than Wonder Woman's little sidekick Cassie Sandsmark better known as Wonder Girl.

That girl is such a tragic trainwreck and a bitch. What did Tim and Conner ever see in her? What really pisses her off about the brat is that the girl reminds her of the stupid alien that Dick dated years ago. What was her name again? Oh yes Starfire. More like Hofire. Both of them are disgustingly beautiful. Starfire is a bit better because at least she can kick some ass. Cassie is completely useless that one forgets that she is supposed to be a fucking demigoddess yet someone like Damian can whoop her ass. She should even be able to go toe to toe with Supergirl and give her a nasty beatdown but nope, she gets her ass handed to her. Plus she dared to steal her Dickie from her.

Where did Diana find this child again? Oh yes, Diana did not find her instead the child fucking inserted herself into the Wonder Woman narrative just like Damian forced his way into the Robin title and never once earned nor deserved a single shit till recently. When will those brats learn? No wonder some people wished for Vanessa to take over as Wonder Girl. Ironically said girl is now Wonder Girl now how hilarious.

And alas, poor Cassie has disappeared and is nowhere to be seen. Well GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE! Barbara cackles evilly as she still plays around on her system.

Meanwhile at Gateway city, Tatiana was in her room with tears in her eyes whilst Donna comforts her. Cassie disappeared immediately after that defeat. One could understand why because that sort of defeat is very humiliating especially when the very girl that caused most of the unneeded drama in your life is responsible for it.

Making matters worse is the fact that many thought that Cassie was an irresponsible person and therefore unworthy to be Wonder Girl. This has been an ongoing debate for the past couple years. Sure Cassie has a temper but she can actually control said temper for the most part. The only reason that said rage has become more pronounced is as a result of Ares’ evil manipulation of his sister; something Diana and Zeus himself warned Cassie about.

Cassie naturally took the bait since she had lost her powers during that time, not like anyone could blame her. Still the fact that many people bashed her for this, Diana included was horrible. Now after years of hypocrisy on the side of the heroes, no one should be surprised if Cassie suddenly and openly denounces them and exposes all their secrets or even goes all Superboy Prime on them or worse commit suicide.

Donna sighed. Sure Cassie has some shortcomings but Diana herself is a hypocrite, in fact everyone has been hypocritical when it comes to Cassie. A lot of the criticism being leveled upon the girl might as well be applied to other heroes as well like Conner or Tim for instance.

Ironically said hypocrisy has been thrown at Amon aka Osiris several times which is why said boy has distanced himself from the superhero community recently. Black Adam openly lambasted the League and everyone else for that and rightfully so.

I hope you find happiness and peace Cassie.

Just then Donna’s phone rings. She checks the phone and discovers that it is Kori calling her. She then answers the call. “Hi Kori.”

“Donna....you have to come down here quick!!”

A couple miles in New York, Cassie is standing on top of a rooftop, preparing to throw herself down and commit suicide. Now one would find it laughable since she is meant to be a demigoddess, until they realize one disturbing detailing: Cassie lost her powers yet again during the duel and has remained powerless ever since.

The rest of the Team bursts through the door. “CASSIE DON’T!!” Conner shouts. Cassie turns around with tears in her eyes. The others begin to feel guilty for making her feel that way.

“There is nothing left for me here. You have all made it clear that I do not belong here. So why waste my time when I can just elsewhere and find peace. Heck even Hell is more peaceful than here. I cannot stay with the gods because of they are going through their own drama and are killing each other anyway.”

She takes a couple steps back. “Cassie I understand why you are mad at us and you have every right to hate us. But I want you to know that there are people that still love you regardless.” Kori says in the most gentle way possible.

It was at that moment that Cassie literally explodes. “LIES!! PURE UTTER LIES!! IF YOU ALL REALLY CARED, YOU WOULD HAVE ALLOWED ME TO PROPERLY EXPLAINED MYSELF!! YOU WOULD NOT HAVE ENCOURAGED TIM OR ANYONE TO BE ABUSIVE TO ME!!! YOU WOULD HAVE STOPPED BABS WHEN YOU SPREAD HER FILTHY GOSSIP ABOUT ME AND ALL OF YOU JOINED IN TO SLUTSHAME ME FOR YOUR PLEASURE!! YOU ARE AS BAD AS THE MEDIA!! PURE UTTER HYPOCRITES WHO ONLY CARE ABOUT HOOTING THEIR HORNS!! NOW I CAN SEE WHY PEOPLE LIKE JASON TURNED THEIR BACKS ON HUMANITY AND CHOSE TO DO HARDCORE JUSTICE!! YOU MOTHERFUCKERS ARE NOT SO DIFFERENT FROM THE VERY FOOLS WE HAVE BEEN FIGHTING FROM YEARS!!”

Everyone keeps quiet. Cassie clearly had been waiting for this moment and she has now gotten an audience. “Oh and speaking of failures, how many times have we been supposedly, not I used supposedly in quotation marks here because that shows how stupid you all are, were ahead of the bad guys only for them to outsmart us and somehow win?”

Dick and Kaldur exchange looks. “You know, had it not been for my father, I would have rotted in jail. Oh and special shoutout to the Black Adam family, the only family that ever truly cared about me. Plus of course Donna and Tatiana. The rest of you can go fuck yourselves and leave me be!!” She turns her back to them and ignores them as she walks over to the edge.

“Cassie wait...”

She stops and turns around as Vanessa walks in. “Cassie, listen I know you are mad. If you want to lash out. Take it out on me.” she says calmly, hands raised. Before anyone could say anything, Cassie stomps towards her so-called rival and aims a punch at Vanessa who does nothing to stop her.

Fortunately for her, Cassie stops mid-punch and drops to her knees and begins to break down in tears. Vanessa bends down and hugs her predecessor. “Listen Cass. No matter what anyone else says, you will always be Wonder Girl. In fact you are way better than I am. I do not like the great divide that Diana has created. There are other ways this could have been done.” she says. Cassie simply sobs, feeling very bad for lashing out.

“I...I’m so sorry...”

Vanessa smiles softly. “You do not have to apologise. We are both victims in this. Besides, I told Diana that I quit.” Cassie stares at her in disbelief. ”You did not have to.”

“Yet I did.”

Cassie shakes her head. “No. You remain Wonder Girl.” Cassie then smiles. “Besides, you earned it anyways.” Vanessa giggles and hugs her back. Everyone heaves a sigh of relief.

Osiris who had just arrived makes a slow descent next to them. “Cass, I understand you hate everyone and whatnot but if you throw yourself down there, chances are you might end up worse than Todd the moment they choose to bring you back from the dead. Or if you choose down a dark path now, you might end up the way Adam did years ago.”

The girl simply nods. “ I might as well go clear my mind of things for a while.”

He comes closer to her. “You know, you could have simply asked and I would gladly take you home with me so that you can get some breathing space since quite frankly, you need some of that.’ She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.’ She wraps her arms around his neck with him wrapping his arms aorund her securely and together they fly away.

“Wait....that was it?“ says Garfield, earning a smack across the head from Raven. “Oww!!” he grumbles. Tim meanwhile stares up at the sky with jealousy in his eyes which is funny considering his relationship with Stephanie.

So she has choosen him hm? This whole shit was a setup to make that announcement.

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crystal-siren · 6 years

Text

A Bright Beginning (Obi-Wan x Reader) Pt.2/3

Requested by the lovely @dovies666, hope you like it :)

Part 1

“There’s a corner of my heart that is yours. And I don’t mean for now, or until I’ve found somebody else, I mean forever. I mean to say that whether I fall in love a thousand times over or once or never again, there’ll always be a small quiet place in my heart that belongs only to you. ~ Beau Taplin || The Corner

The human mind is truly the scariest thing of all and right now Y/N was convinced that her’s was playing tricks on her.

Down in the Archives, Y/N had been sent by her Master to locate and retrieve information on a planetary system called Ryloth. Y/N had never been to the system but Master Tahl had, and unless they were being sent on a mission there, Y/N had no idea as to why her Master would send her down there.

“Ryloth you say?” Jedi Archivist Jocasta Nu cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

Nodding, Y/N opened her mouth to answer when...

“Y/N you in here?” A familiar voice reached her ears and her eyes widened.

“Obi-Wan?” Y/N’s attention switched to the direction from which his voice came. Turning away from the Archivist, Y/N’s eyes swept the entirety of the Archive hall. “Where are you?” She was confused as to why she had not been notified of his return.

“Y/N, Padawan Kenobi is off-planet.” Master Nu’s voice came from behind her and brought her attention back to her.

“Then why did I hear him ?” Y/N raised her eyebrows in anticipation for a believable answer. “Surely you heard it too.”

“No one but me called you, Padawan Y/L/N,” the Archivist spoke as if to a youngling.

“Are you saying that I imagined it?” Even Y/N was surprised at the challenging tone of her voice.

“It is possible, yes.”

Unable to think of any coherent reply, Y/N bowed quickly to the Jedi Master before hurrying out of the Archives, the requested information forgotten.

~ ~ ~

Obi-Wan could honestly say he was glad to see Tatooine fade behind them as they plotted a course back to the Capital.

His mind wandered back to the brief conversation he had had with his Master about his adversary. What if what Y/N had told him somehow coincided with all this? Obi-Wan shuddered to think of the possibility. Surely they would have at least sensed the return of the Sith, beings as powerful as they could hardly slip under the radar, as it were.

The possibility that his Master’s attacker had been a Sith was daunting enough, let alone the thought they had not seen the last of him. The sooner they arrived back at the Capital, the better.

His thoughts unwittingly turned to Y/N. How was she handling all this? No doubt made harder by what she already knew. She was passionate, and would no doubt keep pushing until someone listened to her and heeded what she was saying.

“You must learn to control your thoughts my young Padawan,” Qui-Gon’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, “lest the Council should catch wind of their nature.”

Choosing not to say anything, Obi-Wan greeted his Master with a slight bow.

“You are right to worry, young Y/N carries a heavy burden,” Qui-Gon moved to stand beside his apprentice. “You must see to it that she does not carry it alone.” If he noticed Obi-Wan’s confused and questioning look, he said nothing.

“What of the Council?” Obi-Wan asked, changing the subject ever-so-slightly. “Will they believe you?”

“There’s no telling of what they will or will not do,” Qui-Gon answered, “but we must have faith that the Force will guide their decision.”

“But Master,” Obi-Wa turned slightly to face Qui-Gon, “what if they simply brush it aside? For surely they would have forewarned us.”

“I cannot speak for the Council, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon paused a little before continuing, “but I sense your reluctance to bring this matter to them. Why is that?”

Obi-Wan did not answer right away, but when he did, his voice was quieter than before. “Y/N has already tried, but they would not listen.”

“Ah. Yes.” Qui-Gon sounded thoughtful. He knew, as well as Obi-Wan, what the voices meant. “She has a powerful gift, one that has not been seen or heard of before. It is likely that only a small portion of the Council believes her, but not enough to give her the support she needs.”

“Do you think she knows this?” If not, then Obi-Wan knew that as soon as they reached the Capital, it would be the first thing he would tell her.

“It is unlikely.” Qui-Gon’s answer seemed to end the conversation.

Then, another thought crossed Obi-Wan’s mind. “What of the boy? Anakin. What is to become of him ?”

“He will come with us to the Temple once we reach Coruscant.”

“To be trained?”

Qui-Gon glanced at his apprentice and sighed. “That is for the Council to decide.”

~ ~ ~

Walking alongside her Master, Y/N’s mind wandered back to the incident in the Archives. If Master Tahl knew anything about it, she hadn’t said anything.

Her attention was brought back to the present when she noticed a change in her surroundings. They stood at the entrance to one of the Temple’s numerous training salles. “Master?” She looked up in confusion at the woman next to her.

“It’s been a while since you have had any practice in dueling.” Tahl shrugged off her robe. “Your mind has been elsewhere of late. I need it to be here, in the present.”

Sighing, Y/N slipped her robe off and made to retrieve a training saber when her Master stopped her. “It’s time you trained with a real one.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in what her Master was saying. She may have assembled her own lightsaber but she had never used it. “Master, are you sure this is wise ?”

“Would I suggest it if it were not?” Tahl smiled at her apprentice.

“No,” Y/N returned the expression, “I suppose not.”

Unhooking her saber from her belt, she waited for her Master to do the same.

Y/N was grateful that she and her Master were the only occupants in the salle. Her cheeks were flushed red and she could feel the sweat run down her spine. Her Master had proved to her, once again, that she had a lot to learn.

Deactivating their respective weapons, the pair retrieved their robes.

“You did well, Y/N. If you continue like that, you’ll be competing in the trials in next to no time.”

Y/N felt her cheeks redden even more, if that was at all possible. “Thank you Master, truly, and I apologise.”

Slipping her robe over her tall frame, Tahl looked down at her Padawan, confused. “Whatever for?”

“My state of mind, Master.” Y/N ducked her head and looked down at her feet. “I have been distracted lately. I shall endeavour to exercise more control.”

Tahl smiled down at the young woman. “You need not apologise my young Padawan. You carry the burden of the future. It is not a light one, nor will it ever be. In time you will see that you need not carry it alone.” She lay gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Master?” Y/N asked, confused as to her Master’s meaning.

“You have friends Y/N,” Tahl explained. “Let them help you, let me help you. That is why I am here.”

Y/N smiled and nodded. “Thank you Master.”

“You are a good student, Y/N.” Her hand moved to gently cup Y/N’s cheek, “I am so very proud of you. Never forget that.”

Y/N nodded and pulled on her own robe before following her Master out of the salle and into the hallway beyond.

~ ~ ~

Never had Coruscant looked more beautiful. But then again, in Obi-Wan’s view every planet was beautiful compared with the one they had just left.

Disembarking with his Master, Obi-Wan waited patiently while Qui-Gon spoke with the Queen and her Captain.

His thoughts drifted to Y/N and to what her reaction would be once he had told her the good news. Thoughts that were soon interrupted with the return of his Master. His eyes narrowed in confusion as he watched Anakin go with the Queen instead of Qui-Gon.

Contemplating whether or not to address the matter, Obi-Wan followed his Master to the transport that would take them to the Temple.

The journey was a short one.

Climbing the steps to the main entrance, Obi-Wan glanced at his Master and for once in their time together, he wanted to know what he was thinking.

Upon entering the temple, he and Qui-Gon immediately made their way to the turbolift that would take them to the Council chambers.

It was then that he noticed two approaching figures, one distinctly shorter than the other and a small smile soon formed.

Why Master Tahl had insisted they go for a walk, Y/N had not the slightest idea. Her arms and legs were aching from the training session and she was trying hard not to grimace with every step.

“Y/N?”

She froze. Her legs refused to move and her eyes widened as she took in the speaker. Not again, please not again.

Obi-Wan was confused. Why had Y/N stopped as soon as she heard him call to her? Why did she look at him with wide, disbelieving eyes? He hadn’t been gone that long, surely.

Approaching her, he addressed her a second time, “Y/N?”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut for a split second before opening them again. No, this couldn’t be happening. Casting an apologetic glance her Master’s way, she turned on her heels and walked swiftly the way she had come, not once looking back.

“Come Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon’s calm voice pulled him from his confused trance. What had gotten into her?

Shaking his head to clear it, he followed his Master into the turbolift.

~ ~ ~

Obi-Wan stood silently beside his Master as their mission so far was reported to the Council. He looked at each of the Council members in turn as his Master spoke, he studied them as a distraction. Y/N’s behaviour upon seeing him disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

His attention was pulled back to the present when he heard his Master describe their situation on Tatooine and in particular, his mysterious attacker.

“He had all the lightsaber fighting capabilities and the moves of the Jedi, only faster and more aggressive. My only conclusion... is that it was a Sith Lord.”

Sith. So Y/N was right. Was this what she had heard his Master say? Was this what had led her to believe that something dark was on the horizon?

“Impossible! The Sith are extinct! They have been for nearly a millenium.” One of the Council members, Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke up.

“I agree. The Sith would not have returned without us sensing it.” Obi-Wan’s attention was drawn to the second speaker, the Korun Jedi Master, Mace Windu.

This is how he imagined it must have gone when Y/N would have spoken to them about what she had heard. Denial and dismissing.

His thoughts were interrupted when at last, Yoda spoke, “Hard to see, the dark side is. We must investigate further before drawing a conclusion to the identity of your adversary.” His words gave the young Padawan hope that perhaps Master Yoda was among the few that believed Y/N.

Taking these words as a dismissal, Obi-Wan bowed and turned to leave but soon noticed that his Master had not moved, it seemed as though he had more to say, about what, Obi-Wan had a suspicion.

It seemed the Council noticed this too. Master Yoda spoke up, perhaps voicing the thoughts of his fellow Council Members. “Master Qui-Gon. More to say have you ?”

His Master nodded and folded his hands within the wide sleeves of his robe. “With your permission, my Master, I have encountered a vergence in the Force.”

Obi-Wan’s apprehension turned into curiosity at how this situation would turn out.

“A vergence, you say?” It seemed that Qui-Gon had indeed snagged their attention.

Even that of Master Windu, who lent forward ever-so-slightly. “Located around a person?”

Encouraged by their questions, Qui-Gon continued, “ A boy. His cells have the highest concentration of midi-chlorians I have seen in a life-form. It was possible he was concieved by the midi-chlorians.“

His statement was met with silence and Obi-Wan held his breath.

At last Master Windu broke the heavy silence, “you refer to the prophecy of The One who will bring balance to the Force. You believe it's this boy?”

Obi-Wan glanced between the two Masters, what answer would his Master give that wouldn’t sound too much like a presumption?

“I don’t presume-” Qui-Gon was cut off by Master Yoda.

“But you do. Revealed your opinion is.”

“I request the boy be tested Master.”

It was all Obi-Wan could do from openly staring at his Master in shock. What was he thinking?

His panicked thoughts were interrupted by Master Yoda addressing his Master. “Oh. Trained as a Jedi, you request for him, hmm?”

Despite being put on the spot, as it were, Qui-Gon remained as calm as ever. His answer was evidence of that, “finding him was the will of the Force, I have no doubt of that.”

Silence answered him for a short while as the Council seemed to come to a decision. Master Windu spoke for them, “bring him before us then.” He sounded somewhat resigned.

Eyeing his Master, Obi-Wan waited until he had bowed before following him from the Council chamber.

~ ~ ~

Y/N ran as far and fast as she could, not giving any thought as to how she appeared. How could her mind do this to her? How dare it!

Knowing that it would be too obvious if she went to her quarters, Y/N headed in the direction of one of the more isolated gardens within the temple. Being around nature often helped her clear her head and to think.

All but collapsing on the nearest bench, Y/N attempted to calm herself. Nothing seemed to work, she kept hearing his voice in her head as if on repeat. In any other circumstance she would have been overjoyed to see him.

~ ~ ~

Both Jedi took a lungful of the cool early-evening air. They now stood on one of the Temple’s many balconies, overlooking the planet-wide city, the rays of the setting sun reflecting off the many glass surfaces.

“The boy will not pass the Council’s test Master,” Obi-Wan kept his gaze on city-scape before him, his voice steady and certain. “He is too old.”

Qui-Gon was undeterred by his Padawan’s words. “Anakin will become a Jedi,” he too was certain, perhaps even more so. “I promise you.”

Groaning inwardly, Obi-Wan turned slightly to face his Master. “Do not defy the Council, Master. Not again.” Qui-Gon could have very well been on the Council by now, had it not been for obvious reasons.

“I shall do what I must Obi-Wan,” the tell-tale calmness was still there, as well as the certainty. “As must you.”

“Me?” Confusion coloured his tone.

“Do you think me blind my young Padawan?” Qui-Gon’s lips quirked up in a slight smile. “I do not know her as well as you, but I believe that one does not greet friends as she did.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as he took his Master’s meaning. Quickly schooling his expression and reigning in his thoughts, he looked up at his Master. “I believe she was just surprised.”

“Surprised enough to freeze up and then take off in the opposite direction?”

“What is this all about Master?”

Qui-Gon paused before answering. “During the briefing with the Council, you were the most distracted I’ve seen in a long time, if at all.”

Obi-Wan said nothing.

“Find her. Set things straight. You never know when you might get the chance again.”

Obi-Wan was at war with himself. Should he go and enquire after her? Or should he leave it be and wait for her to explain things?

“Go. Obi-Wan,” it was as though Qui-Gon read his thoughts, which he sometimes did.

Without a word, he bowed respectfully to his Master before leaving the balcony and going in search of her. Worry for her seeped into his thoughts, what could possibly have happened that made her react like that?

He tried not to seem too desperate in his search, but he could not find her anywhere, even her Master did not know her location.

It was then that he remembered something she had told him years before. Something about nature. Nature. That was it. Having narrowed down his search somewhat, he tried not to appear too eager.

~ ~ ~

The cool night air washed over Y/N as she sat beneath a small tree. She had finally managed to get her thoughts in some kind of order. She could almost laugh at the irony of her situation. The one person that usually helped her focus was the reason for her not being able to do so.

“Well that’s just typical isn’t it?” She murmured to herself and sighed heavily.

“What is?”

In an instant she was on her feet. Taking on a defensive stance, she backed away from him and shook her head. “No. This isn’t happening. It isn’t real.”

Obi-Wan didn’t think it was possible for him to get even more confused. “Why wouldn’t it be?” He asked her.

“You’re not really here. You’re off-world. I saw you off myself.” She spoke quickly, something she never did unless she was particularly nervous or frightened.

“I’ve come back,” he spoke slowly and moved cautiously towards her.

“Don’t do that,” she backed away the more he advanced. “Don’t try and convince me you’re real.”

“But I am.”

Y/N glanced nervously at the entrance to the garden, as though someone lurked there, listening.

Not knowing what else to do, he reached out and gently took one of her hands in his own. He expected her to recoil, but she simply stood there and slowly moved her eyes down until they rested on their joined hands.

Y/N’s lips moved as though she was speaking, but no sound came out. Her eyes moved from their hands and up to his face. Narrowing her eyes, she seemed to assess him. “If you are what you say you are, how did, how did you find me?”

“I asked everyone I came across, even Master Tahl. But she knew not where you were. I then remembered something you told me long ago,” a small smile accompanied his next words. “You said, ‘I can only ever truly clear my mind and focus my thoughts if I am around nature in its purest form’. That helped me to narrow my search.”

Y/N felt the unfamiliar sting of tears. “You remember that?” For her it was always a surprise when anyone remembered anything about her.

“Of course I do,” Obi-Wan nodded and gently squeezed her hand. “The things you say are often hard to forget.”

This seemed to convince her. Letting go of his hand, Y/N threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “You came back.” Her voice was muffled and her tears soaked into the thick material of his robes.

Ignoring his loyalty to the Code for just this once, Obi-Wan gently wrapped both arms around her waist and simply held her. “Of course I came back. I promised didn’t I?”

To be continued...

Part 3

#star wars #prequels #the phantom menace #reader insert #obi-wan X reader #Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #qui-gon jinn #beau taplin

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conalldonnacha · 3 years

Text

Conall “Donnacha” Kilmartin

DoB: 29 September Age: 52 Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Not anyone’s business Zone: 2 Employment: CHQS Zone 2 Director Personality: Gentle, restrained, calming to be around | withdrawn, sharp-tongued, vicious (situationally)

Bio:

The hard world of zone 2 has made everyone Conall has ever known a hard, hollow soul. Much the same was expected of her as she grew up. Her family was neither powerful nor capable, the gang they ran with was middling at best, frequently suffering heavy losses to lives and territories. For a brief moment, her uncle served as a unifying leader, temporarily gaining them ground and resources, but even this eventually flagged. Life took its toll, and it would have been too easy for Conall to follow, but much to the mystery of everyone who knew her, she didn’t. As a young man, her voice remained as tender as it had been when she was a toddler, her hair remained long and uncut, somehow silken and free of tangles. As a boy, she had once found a tiny flower growing in between some toppled bricks. Picking it seemed too cruel, but the consideration was wasted. Her brother found it and stomped it to pieces.

You cannot be gentle without fear. Conall has long adorned herself with flowers, accessorized with the nicer greenery. Her brother, however, learned a peculiar lesson after 3 months of explicable rashes on his legs. It only occurred to him what the cause might be when the rashes suddenly faded around the same time Conall was moved from laundry duty to hunting. A lesson long taught yet unforgotten until the day her brother died. Every lesson she’s had to teach since has been done in a similar way. Those who have witnessed her violence directly (mostly animals, but not entirely) have not lived to divulge the experience. Conall’s particular style of close combat is not without its consequences. The mysterious wounds she sometimes sports are a better indicator of the fate of a troublemaker than their sudden and unexplained absence.

Leadership is neither something she aspires to nor rejects, it simply comes as a consequence of demanding respect. Quite by accident, she eventually rose to the same position her uncle had once held, and held it for longer. Without the greedy aggression that drove others to careless territory and resource grabs, the moves she directed were more careful, controlled, and intentional. More likely to succeed. As a consequence, Conall taught many that more was not always better, that strategy often prevailed. Those who did not learn the lesson simply ceased to be, their absence largely unremarked upon.

Resources are not uncommon in zone 2, it’s simply a matter of learning how to extract them. Though she would not know the word “botanist” for many more years, her interest in the natural world served as a boon to those who followed her. Conall was quick to discover those plants whose nuts could be ground into protein-rich meal when meat was scarce, the berries whose flavors best preserved meat into the harsher months. It was this exact knowledge that gave her pause the day she found a sapling she did not recognize.

Small and struggling, it had produced a single fruit, a vibrant yellow hardly seen in anything but the flowers she privately cultivated. It felt a shame to take it, but curiosity overcame. The juice inside stung a cut on her hand from an early encounter with a deer, and though the taste was tart, it was tempered by a vibrant sweetness. The flesh was pulpy and soft and stuck in her teeth, and though it felt familiar to some small pitiful fruits she tended to avoid, it was exceptional and unusual in every way. And there was only one.

Over the months, Conall kept a close eye on the small tree. Hunting expeditions curiously stopped moving into that area, the small patch of forest almost entirely forgotten with time. One day, as she dropped in to visit her charge, Conall observed two small flower buds on one branch. Over the next several days, they bloomed into small white flowers with thin, curled petals. The scent of them recalled the fruit the tree had previously born.

And then one day, one of the blossoms was gone.

Determined to find the culprit and furious at the fate of her precious ward, Conall spent countless hours in hiding, observing the tree, waiting. But nothing changed. In time, she would come to realize there was no hope of catching CHQS security in the act, but at the time, the not knowing was infuriating like nothing had ever been. But what could she do?

She could move the tree.

More so than anything before, securing a safe place to cultivate the tree required a flex of her social prowess, but in a few days, she had acquired an abandoned building in which to hide her treasure. A few individuals hankering to prove their loyalty as a response to some recent wrath asked no questions of their new assignment. With incredible caution and practiced hands, the small fruit tree was stolen away to a new location, where Conall observed that it looked rather lonely by itself.

Acquiring more plants to cultivate alongside the tree also provided a good cover story. It was unreasonable to dedicate bodies to the care of a pet project. But to safeguard resources? That was another story. She was quick to fill the abandoned building with the most useful of local vegetation, pleased to find that the large glass windows created a welcoming environment and encouraged growth. The guards protecting the new project never noticed when the tree went missing, but it haunted Conall for months.

Even if the original purpose of her garden had mysteriously vanished, the benefits of her new undertaking could not be denied. Resources were more plentiful than ever before and questions soon faded, her people hesitant to doubt a good thing. Though thoughts of the fruit tree followed her, Conall dedicated newfound energy into her garden.

When the recruiter found her, it was hard to say whether Conall was terribly surprised. An explanation and feigned apology were offered for the missing tree - a Meyer lemon tree from zone 3 - but more useful than this, she was offered an opportunity.

Conall didn’t care much for the kitchens in Convergence, overrun with unfamiliar things and foods she did not recognize. The gardens, however… plants she recognized from her home, dying and failing in the dead soils, began to flourish under her care. Balancing the needs of a new job with the care of her people was… difficult, to say the least, but Conall eventually found a balance, using her time at Convergence to absorb as much as possible about the new worlds she had been exposed to. For years, she cultivated food for the kitchens at Convergence while maintaining power over her people, leading them to historic levels of wealth and comfort. It was when her clan was engaged in a border skirmish near CHQS that pulled her away from work that management really paid attention to her. Yet another opportunity presented itself.

Retirement isn’t much of a concept in zone 2, as lives rarely last so long. But with Conall’s rise through the ranks of CHQS, it was hardly possible to maintain leadership in two places at once. So she chose. A lackluster replacement stepped up while Conall “retired” to a quiet life, afforded dignity and privacy. The clan quickly flagged without her guidance, but a new calling drew her attention, and her pity died quickly. Though it took years of dedication and quiet competence, Conall eventually rose to the rank of director. The process of learning the subtle manipulations of the corporate world have provided Conall with an entirely new set of social skills, something that has been quite fun to play with. She still personally oversees cultivation of zone 2 produce, though the kitchen staff are well aware of her affinity for lemon bars.

Headcanons:

Much to the great mystery of everyone else, Conall is always in some way adorned with flowers. Whether woven into her long hair, sewn into her clothes, or embellished into her belongings, they are a recurring theme. Even when they are only motifs, a faint scent is ever-present, ever-changing, and always gently floral.

“Donnacha” is actually her first name, but it is a precious one spoken only to her by only a few individuals throughout her many years. Very few know it and those that do have been made acutely aware of how much they ought to forget it.

Generally speaking, she’s quite lovely to be around. Calm and soft-spoken, her presence puts most at ease. The exception is when she has not been heard or obeyed. Though her calm nature rarely changes, her sharp tongue puts many to rights immediately. Any lingering rebellion or disobedience dies readily at her practiced hands, though this is a process she allows few to witness.

The fastest way into her good graces is with a lemon bar.

Though she cultivates a variety of zone 2 flora, the flowers that constantly adorn her are harvested from the wilds around her home. Somehow it doesn’t feel the same to grow flowers, she’d rather find the beauty of her own world through her own efforts. Plus, it seems cruel to grow something only to kill it.

Though a shrewd leader who scarcely reveals her motivations, her corporate climb at Convergence is not without its purpose. She recognizes the growing instability of her world and hopes to one day have a hand in changing its fate.

Though capable of great violence, she rarely exercises that power. Her power comes most from the respect her manipulations earn her, second from the relationships she forms with people who have no qualms with causing great bodily harm to others.

Her pronouns are something she was given as a child out of spite. Seen initially as weak and incompetant, her brother and uncle mocked her by feminizing her. It was hardly an insult however, as the people in her clan she most admired were the women whose hunting, gathering, and cooking sustained everyone. Though unusual, she embraced the feminine for the rest of her life, especially appreciative of how often it causes others to underestimate her.

Important people:

(UNNAMED), a security guard-turned-manager who has risen through the ranks with her over the years. For every ounce of her quiet calm, they are equally aggressive and quick to anger, and manipulative to boot. Much her gruntwork is carried out by this person, whom she lavishes with positive affirmations and personal flower gifts. The relationship is reciprocal, and those problems they can’t solve with violence, Conall solves for them.

#about #chqs.intro

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ralphmorgan-blog1 · 7 years

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Sadie Robertson Reveals the Dark Secret She Hid From Her Own Mother Until Now& Its Empowering Women Everywhere

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With her passion for pursuing Christ and her zeal for “living original,” Sadie Robertson is a role model for our daughters through and through.

As a part of remaining true to herself and her fans, the 20-year-old has always been an “open book” about the good, the bad AND the ugly in her very public life…but this week, she’s opening up about a topic that she has kept a secret until now.

“Many of you know I am an open book. I share most everything I walk through, but what I’m about to share with you is a particular topic I have always hidden,” she wrote in her blog post titled “I Woke Up Like This.”

Sadie intros her vulnerable post with an admission that she’s going to be “awkwardly honest” because the “‘I woke up like this’ lie is an uncomfortable one” for her to talk about.

The Duck Dynasty star started by sharing the experience she had at a recent photo-shoot that was supposed to be ‘all-natural,’ only to be told by the photographer that she didn’t have ‘the look’ to pull it off:

“I was a little shook by the change of plans the director decided to make by taking one look at me and stating his infamous comment, ‘Oh, no. This girl does not have the face for a no-makeup shoot.’ Ouch. Then, they sent me off for two hours to get my hair and makeup done. Yes, two hours to get that ‘all natural’ look so it could appear that I just happened to wake up like this…FLAWLESS.”

Live Original

“Once they were finally content with the look they had created, it was time for the shoot—but I knew it wasn’t over there,” she added. “They would undoubtedly go in later to Photoshop and edit any and everything that didn’t fit their standard of beauty, such as all those mysterious red dots on my face some of us refer to as pimples.”

But Sadie had one big problem with them projecting her Victoria’s Secret beach-wave curls and perfectly satin complexion as ‘natural.’

“Number one it is not really ‘me,'” she shared. “It is just simply a lie giving everyone something to compare themselves to that they can never compete with. Shoot, I can’t even compete with it.”

She doesn’t want to be the “photo-shopped girl behind the window or the screen” giving girls yet another impossible standard to aspire to, particularly because she’s been “damaged by ‘that girl.'”

“Tbh, I woke up LIKE THIS!”…

Live Original

“It was images like that with false advertisement that sent me down a spiral of trying to obtain an image I did not realize I was never going to be able to reach, because it was not real,” wrote Sadie. “I could have never imagined how much it would cost me to attempt to reach the standard of today’s beauty.”

The “Live Original” writer then transitioned into the meat of her message by exposing a personal struggle that she has “always hidden,” even from her own mother, until now:

“To be completely honest, it is because I did not know how to speak confidently about something that stole my confidence. I’m sure the media is going to love to run wild with this, but it’s part of my story and I feel led to share after recently finding out that 97 % of women have struggled with negative body image issues. It broke my heart, and I truly want to help change that statistic. Warning to all and as you are about to see me speaking from experience, it is not easy to jump to that 3%, but it is possible.

I struggled with an eating problem connected to a negative body image for about a year. It was dark. It was ugly. It was insanely difficult. It was done in secret. It was hidden. I did not even tell my own mother until recently. I thought I had everything under control. Maybe you have been saying that same thing? I didn’t even realize this small problem that I thought I had under control was creating a ripple effect, creating more and more problems, ones I certainly couldn’t control. I became angry with the person I was becoming. My self-worth was demolished, and I began to lose sight of my true identity.”

For a young woman who appeared to be so grounded in her identity, Sadie admits her struggles with fear and anxiety were still very real threats.

“My fear didn’t just stem from one particular thing,” she explained. “It was more of a [byproduct] of the battle happening in my heart and mind. I was trapped in a battle that took place 24/7, and it was one that day by day began to defeat me. My mirror, my pictures, my clothes, and my view were my worst enemies.”

But interestingly enough, during this year-and-a-half timeframe when Sadie was facing one of the fiercest battles in her life, she was helping others forge ahead to victory, making her silent war that much harder to detect.

“During this time I helped lead others into victory over their battles—but little did they know, I was staying behind on the battlefield,” she wrote. “I have heard it said that people develop eating disorders because it is something they can control in their life. That makes so much sense in my case, because during this particular time, so much in my life felt out of my control.”

Sadie then introduced the biggest “plot twist” to her story:

“It was the year after Dancing with the Stars. Shocker, I know. The girl who ‘did it.’ I went to Hollywood and didn’t go crazy for the world to see. I hear it said all of the time, ‘How do all of these young people go to Hollywood and just lose their minds?’ To be honest, I get it. I feel their pain. My struggles and confusion from it all just happened on the inside, rather than the outside for everyone to see—and that can at times make it even worse, because I was able to hide my ugliness on the inside, and that meant no one could call it out. There was no accountability.”

She continued that it’s often on the inside where “the enemy does his best work”:

“It distorts your view of beauty on the outside and the world around you. It distorts everything. Don’t hear me wrong, here—this isn’t really just another message of how your beauty on the inside is more important then the outside. This is a message highlighting how the extent of your ugliness on the inside is the very thing keeping you from experiencing the beauty on the outside.”

Sadie admitted that Satan’s biggest tactic with her was to get her to look at herself and her own imperfections more than her Savior. By getting her to obsess over her thigh gap, waistline and complexion, the enemy was able to take her attention away from the Cross:

“That was the enemy speaking, and when I came into agreement with those thoughts, it stole my perspective. I couldn’t see beauty in my creation, in exercise, in my sisters, in relationships, conversations, the weather, or in the GIFT OF FOOD for crying out loud. I allowed all of my ugly thoughts and insecurities to manifest a spirit of fear, jealousy and deception, and it stopped me from seeing the world around me clearly. My mom always says, ‘Sadie, if you are thinking everyone is looking at you, then you are thinking about yourself too much.'”

Because of this sobering wisdom, Sadie admits this is why she is now comfortable doing an all-natural photoshoot (even at 15 pounds heavier), because it is not all about HER:

“Here’s the funny thing—now I am happy to do an all natural photo-shoot, and the reality is, I am 15 pounds heavier then I was right after dancing with the stars. I literally cannot even wrap my head around how I was once able to get my hands to wrap around my thigh. Girls, hear me when I say this—you could search my heart and put me on a lie detector test, and I’d still tell you that I am happier, and have more joy than ever before. I drank a large mint mocha cooler this morning, while I worshipped and rooted myself in truth, and girls…I am feeling good. If it means being ‘less beautiful’ in the world’s eyes, that’s okay with me. As long as I still get to seek out real beauty—the kind that is found in God’s word, and is painted out in the world before me. I will gladly lay myself down at the feet of the Creator, not only to encounter more of the beauty He created in me but to experience the creation He surrounds me with.”

Sadie closes in charging girls everywhere to release their standard of beauty and embrace the one that God created by reading these Bible verses:

“Brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” Philippians 4:8

“Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” 1 Peter 3:3-4

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.” Psalm 139:14

In bold “Live Original” style, Sadie commands, “Do not just read them once. Cover yourself in them daily, before you cover your face.”

Now that’s some Covergirl wisdom worth SHARING.

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