#.q speaks nonsense
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hes trying his best
I'm overly exaggerating his typos but ykwim,,
this blog is slowly becoming unintentionally a malleus simp blog and i do not know how to feel about this-
and uh as always rb instead of reposting my art. 🏃♀️💨
#.q's art#.q speaks nonsense#twisted wonderland#twst#twst mc#twst reader#twst yuu#malleus draconia x reader#malleus x mc#twst malleus#malleus x reader#malleus draconia#malleus x yuu#twisted wonderland malleus#grim twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland reader#hes trying his best and im here for it
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on a less serious side, bad and foolish having witnesses who are somewhat normal and regular to their usual strange and deranged antics is so hysterical. bad playing the role of kidnapped and felon this time around, letting himself get captured, pretending to be soooo guilty and talking like he’s actually gonna snitch. foolish doing it half for fun, half for show, because he knows cellbit is the killer already - he just needs nails for bad’s coffin because he’s gonna be the scapegoat, and he’s bored. if they were alone maybe they’d trade more intel - they’re on the same page but can’t exactly confirm nor allude to that with an audience, so it just devolves into their usual antics. meanwhile bagi is sweating and convinced bad is definitely about to spill everything she’s told him, falling for bad’s little ‘oh I’m so easily caught and convinced’ act harder than anyone else, trying to avoid bad’s arrest or worse, cellbit’s - while really what’s going on is bad and foolish’s homoerotic batshit insane cop and robber routine, where you’re not sure if someone’s getting arrested or if they’re about to make out. and aypierre is just there
#like foolish and bad are engaging in the wildest ‘yes and…’ per usual but bagi is normal and genuinely concerned for bad jfjskgkdkej#I love bagi man whenever bad does his usual bit (lying for fun) (pushing buttons) she takes it so seriously like you’ll get used to it soon#and like yeah he did really want some info out of bad their bullshit usually ends in informational exchanges one way or another but like#idk it really is ‘they know eachother better than anyone else’ in the most batshit way possible. immortal nonsense I suppose#bad and foolish who would commit war crimes against one another to the horror of everyone else but that’s just like fun bonding for them#why are they landduo when they should really be batshit fucking insane duo 🤨#mcyt#qsmp#q!bbh#q!foolish#q!bagi#bbh#foolish gamers#oibagi#z speaks
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me when im facing the quencies (thesis questionnaire responses that make no sense) of my acties (writing vague theses questionnaire questions) 🥲
#like#how is it tht two students say tht at home english n spanish is spoken#but in the subsequent q abt anyone in their household being able to speak a lang tht's not english they said no one???#so who is speaking the spanish???#cloud nonsense#like how tf am i supposed to discss tht?????????????
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reminder for st fans that treat ships as a competition to get their asses out of my notes and off my posts, esp salty ha/rrin/groves and self righteous ste/ddi/es, your jokes aren't funny and your stubborn us vs them bullshit is irritating. i ship both and yet somehow some of y'all manage to be mad annoying across both lines, learn to shut up and mind your business
#i ship both but my god are some of yall mad annoying on both sides of it#steds tend to be the loudest toxic bitches#but harrings have such an edgy complex about steds being the 'mainstream popular annoying ship'#steds acts like they figured out how rewrite evangelical talking points for fandom use#while harrings act like those people who refuse to play undertale because 'the fandom is cringe'#lot of steds are dickheads that think their ship makes them morally superior somehow but my god the bitterness is not a good look harrings#anyway reminder that idc how much you love either ship#i will block your ass for being snide and shitty about the other one#steve is holding both billy AND eddie's hands actually fuck you#they share him and swap on saturdays and have group dates on fridays#im gonna start hanging out with only the mung/roves at this rate honest to god#they have taste and aint ever ticked me off over this nonsense#fandom wank#sketchy speaks#side note that this is because of alot of things but modt recently specifically bc of a harring that was being annoying in my notes#and another that was being snide and obnoxious about joe k being generally favorable toward harring#while joe q is tired to death of being asked about steds#like theres a funny joke to be made there sure but god this dude was being annoying about it 'we stay winning losers uwu' style#anyway shut up about ships u dont like thats what i do and wow its so easy fr and its free
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put music in my q so i can stop having it in my drafts. thumbs up emoji. (a figaro link broke. i have no idea what song it is. what did i listen to on november 30
#stardust speaking !#mayhaps ill put some memes in there too + some of the uh. finished replies that i nvr proofread...<3 mayhaps ill write some opens. mayhaps#ill finally do some asks here. we dont know#mayhaps ill even q some of my nonsense posts wouldnt that be something (has emu screenshots i havent talked about yet#i need to catch up to some manga & i wanna read natsuyuu and i wanna read a3 and i wanna read mhyk events and i wanna read the main wxs#events for the next one and i wanna (list goes on#i wanna play awl.....................#ANYHOW !!!!!!!!!!! we'll see what happens these weeks hehe hoho
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the █████ urge to peel off your skin to become nothing but a skeleton and a pile of useless flesh
#this is universal#right?#my intrusive thoughts are always about like scraping the meat off my bones#chaotic talks nonsense#q#speaking of though#tw intrusive thoughts#intrusive thoughts#tw violent thoughts#stay safe friends
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i dont expect everyone in the world to be medical experts but ive been seeing a lot of comments surrounding q!quackity after his last stream that have bothered me so i thought id clear a few things up (as someone who suffers from a brain injury).
i dont know if quackity the content creator has done his research into brain science but regardless of the federations canon goal with q!quackity, the brain is an extremely delicate organ and its impossible to surgically alter specific memories or traits. they mightve attempted to achieve something specific with their experimentation on him and regardless of whether or not theyve succeeded, theyve undoubtedly given him a brain injury. a brain injury can be caused by any manner of trauma to the brain and often results in:
nonspecific short and long term memory loss
difficulty comprehending written text
significant difficulty writing
significant difficulty speaking
confusion
psychosis (hallucinations)
emotional lability
bizarre and seemingly nonsensical behaviour
improvement is not a straight line and lapses in different areas of ability can occur at random completely disconnected from each other. q!quackity might have no trouble writing certain phrases one minute then be completely unable to write the next, but he might very well be emotionally sound throughout all of this. he may suffer from a long string of lapses in short term memory but be able to write the entire time - IF this is accurate to real life, which im currently treating it as since his symptoms all match my own.
and i cant believe this has to be said but please try to avoid laughing at any of these symptoms...? these are real effects that brain damage can have and giggling at and infantilising his inability to communicate is cruel. ive seen people making jokes about his "keysmashes" when that is something i myself and many other people with brain damage do when trying to text without realising.
#i wrote this last night and it didnt make any sense so i had to rewrite it rn with a clearer head#thats what i mean by difficulty communicating. sorry if things still dont make sense ive been chipping away at this for 15 hours#mine
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Q!Cellbit’s & Q!Foolish’s relationship is very interesting within the context of the castle building streams: a half baked, very sleepy, analysis.
The thing with their relationship is that Q!Cellbit didn’t need to pretend when he was around Q!Foolish.
As we know, Cellbit was faking about being on the side of the federation while burning every bridge possible in order to be believable. The only exception was Richarlyson & kinda Roier. However, Foolish, of all people, ended up becoming one of the very few people to trust.
Even though Cellbit was very wary of Foolish at the beginning, asking him about what he thinks about the island and Cucurucho before explaining his decision to switch sides after finding out that Foolish is somewhat pro-federation. I think Q!Cellbit is smart enough to figure out that Q!Foolish doesn’t really care about sides as long as it benefits him. While Foolish may say “Go team Cucurucho”, it’s literally just him sucking up to Cucurucho for a cloud (Foolish literally admits to this because he thinks Cellbit could put in a good word to the federation).
Q!Cellbit has to pretend around people such as Forever & BBH that he no longer cares about leaving the island or solving the mystery. Cellbit doesn’t have to do this around Foolish, the man just wants to make a cool lookin’ castle. Cellbit doesn’t have to worry about burning another bridge because, again, Foolish does not care about choosing sides. Foolish, in every story he plays a part in, only plays favorite sides in order to get something. As along as it does not affect him or his family in any negative way, Foolish could not care less and loves to watch drama unfold in front of him. Foolish literally gives advice to Richarlyson & Leo that you need to be involved enough to hear the drama but not enough to be personally affected.
The fact that Cellbit mentions Foolish in his final message was so bittersweet yet telling, “Tell Foolish that he’s a gem” (or something similar) One of his final, undamaged friendships was some weird himbo he hired to help build a castle for his son. Both Q! & Irl Cellbit grew fond of Foolish during the building streams due to Foolish’s building habits. Whether that be Foolish having meltdowns about whatever was troubling him at the time or Cellbit just hearing him speak absolute nonsense through the walls. Foolish was a sense of normalcy to Cellbit from the time before he made enemies with practically everyone on the server. Foolish was one of those people that wasn’t shut out in Cellbit’s self-destructive path because Cellbit needed his advice on building, but got a crazy, emotional support worker-ant of a friend instead.
Also, Richas telling Foolish that he’s glad his father had someone to keep him grounded instead of going crazy ;-;
#However this doesn’t matter anymore because Cellbit is now “apart of the census bureau”#also another Foolish build will go unused lol#I really hope it gets used in the future as something#qsmp#foolish gamers#cellbit#q!foolish#q!cellbit
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Colson Whitehead on Making Novels Half-Asleep
I deleted my Substack because, you know, its founders are evil. But this post I wrote last October feels relevant for writers going into the New Year. If it's TLDR, skip down to the "What Meant Everything to Me" heading.
Writing with Chronic Fatigue
I went to the Brooklyn Book Festival last weekend! It was pure magic after so many years of being away from the English-speaking book world. I felt like someone on rations finally allowed to eat my fill, gulping down book panels and author talks.
Colson Whitehead Goes to Church
One of my favorite festival events was a talk with Colson Whitehead in the St. Ann and the Holy Trinity Church. I’m a big fan of hosting cultural events in places of worship.
Colson Whitehead imparted insights that felt like gospel for writers. For those unfamiliar, Whitehead has published nine novels, two nonfiction books, and won two Pulitzer prizes. His book The Underground Railroad is one of my favorites of all time.
But I did not always like Whitehead’s work. I first had to read his 2003 essay collection The Colossus of New York in university, and it struck me as self-obsessed, MFA-brand New York nonsense. Like, he romanticized Port Authority, the dirty hellhole bus station where, in 2003, I was an elementary schooler waiting nervously for buses that were always late while getting continuously harassed by grown-man casino gamblers dressed like lumberjacks.
I really hated Whitehead’s cheery romanticizations. I wouldn’t pick up another Whitehead book until 2017.
(^just an HD image of Colson Whitehead)
Add Whitehead to the list of authors who wrote some of my most detested 1-star reads before they published the 5-star books of my heart: NK Jemisin, Maggie Stiefvater, Jeff Vandermeer, Colson Whitehead—almost all of my favorite contemporary writers put out messy, uncompelling books before they entered the realm of the virtuoso.
“I wrote a book called The Intuitionist,” Whitehead said at the church, referring to his debut, “and everyone hated it. So I thought, ‘Okay, I need to do better next time.’”*
It was surreal to hear a writer speak with such open eyes about the trajectory of their own career. Like, I knew I hated Whitehead’s early work. I didn’t realize that he knew it, too.
(It’s worth mentioning that someone who came up to ask Whitehead a question during the Q&A said, “The Intuitionist is my favorite book of all time.”)
But that wasn’t the insight that meant the most to me.
Nothing Is a Joke
Whitehead made joke after joke about chronic fatigue. He never used the words “chronic fatigue”; he never referred to his own health. But he repeatedly described scenarios that resonated with me as someone who lives with fatigue and hypersomnia:
“I spend most of my day just sleeping,” he said. “I mean, coming out here [to the book event]? Really big deal for me. Glad I could make it.”
And everyone laughed, but I don’t think that’s the kind of joke you make unless you mean it. I don’t think it would even dawn on a non-fatigued individual to make it.
What Meant Everything to Me
When Whitehead described his writing process, he said he writes about eight pages a week.
Eight pages a week.
Estimating 250 words/page, that’s 2,000 words per week. Or as he said, “32 pages per month, 320 pages after ten months. I find it adds up.”
He writes, he said, about three days each week. So that’s a little over 600 words each time he sits down to write.
To put this into perspective: If I write fewer than 2,000 words in a single writing session, I don’t consider it to have been a proper session. In less than a month, hundreds of thousands of people will join in NaNoWriMo and try to write at least 1,666 words every day for a month straight.
We live in a world where writers are encouraged to crank it way, way up, sacrificing what writing actually is in an attempt to maximize monetization of a craft that is not easily monetized. Romance writers give advice online for how to write just one draft of a book, no revision needed. Self-publishing writers crank out novella after novella to feed to the Kindle Unlimited machine. Everyone wants to be done with their book in a month. Memes proliferate in which writers scold themselves for daydreaming, plotting, outlining—for doing anything at all that isn’t literal putting words to the page, as if those other things weren’t integral to novel-making.
I thought I was immune to that hustle-and-grind mindset, because I know what writing a book actually entails for me and I have no intention of cranking out a first-draft story for KDP.
But I had never once considered giving myself the patient grace that Colson Whitehead shows himself.
“I don’t push myself,” he said. “Writing is hard work. On days when I’m not up to it, I revise instead. Just tinker with my last paragraphs.”
He joked about how, during the pandemic, he had to write his novels while his young son was at home. Whitehead said he usually writes a paragraph or two, and then sleeps for a few hours.
Daddy, why are you always in the dark? his son asked during the lockdown.
It’s part of my process! he joked. But I think he also meant it.
Novel Advice
He’s not the first writer to give this advice; this isn’t the first time I’ve heard it. Maggie Stiefvater wrote her first book only on Wednesday evenings, raising her children and working the rest of the time. Terry Pratchett wrote 400 words each day before he became a full-time writer.
But these are stories of pre-success, the ways we need to struggle when our creative lives are stuffed into the spare corners of our weeks. And when your week doesn’t have spare corners because you’re barely trudging on as it is, that advice doesn’t feel encouraging.
But Colson Whitehead is already successful. And this is still how he allots his writing time: In low-pressure, long-term, sustainable accumulations.
2,000 words a week.
I’ve known for a long time that I can no longer wait for healthy, clearheaded days to write. I don’t have them anymore. But it sort of sounds like Colson Whitehead doesn’t have many of them to spare, either, and yet he wrote the most energetic Harlem heist book I could ever want (Harlem Shuffle). He wrote the most literary zombie apocalypse book imaginable (Zone One). He has an oeuvre that brought enough readers to fill church pews, the line to see him wrapping all around the block. And he built this work, according to him, in between long naps.
In fact, his writing style probably hinges on his method. He’d be writing very different kinds of books if he wrote quickly. His just-a-few-paragraphs-a-day approach*** is probably how he writes descriptions with so many precise details, like these images of a party-supply store after the apocalypse hits:
The unit had completed a sweep of a party-supply store, a narrow nook on Reade that had been washed off Broadway into a low-rent eddy. Dusty costumes hung from the ceiling as if on meat hooks: cowboys and robots from chart-busting sci-fi trilogies, ethnically obscure kiddie-show mascots, jungle beasts with long tails intended for the flirty tickling of faces. Kingdoms’ worth of princesses and their plastic accoutrements, stamped out on the royal assembly line, and the requisite Naughty Nurse suspended in the dead air, tilting in her rounds. Do Not Expose to Open Flame. For Amusement Only. The masks had been made in Korea, delivering back to the West the faces they had given the rest of the globe: presidents, screen stars, and mass murderers. The rubber filament inevitably snapped from the staple after five minutes. The graft wouldn’t take.
I used to imagine Colson Whitehead as just being so impossibly brilliant that he spit this stuff out on the fly, leagues beyond the rest of us mere mortals. Now I see it differently: It happened laboriously, made by a tired, human brain full of faith in its own accumulative productivity.
Going Forward
No more for me, I think, of harsh deadlines and crank-it-out word counts. Instead: I need to provide accommodations for my own writing life. I must consciously factor in my own fatigue and stop demanding that I strain myself in ways unsustainable for a long and fulfilling creative life. Instead: Crank it down. Way down. And take naps between the paragraphs.
2,000 words a week.
Thanks, Colson Whitehead, for being honest about the work. We need more of that in the book world.
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*None of these quotes are verbatim, just based on memory.
**This is similar to how both Donna Tartt and Nabokov have described their own writing processes. Maybe we spend so much time screaming at new writers to “just write” that we don’t talk about how slowness and care may enhance the quality of our prose.
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thinking ab steve seeing sinclair!reader for the first time in this au im thinking ab writing.
shes hanging out in nancys room, her first week back in hawkins in years. dustin leads steve upstairs to mikes room, but he stops just before the door to nancys room to tie his shoe, the younger boy leaving to mikes room since steve said he didnt need to wait. beside him was the muffled sound of stacy q blaring through nancys radio, accompanied by a voice he was sure he had heard before. “so nancy drew, whos the stud?” you say, picking up a polaroid picture of steve that you’d found laying tucked under something in her room. it had ‘1983’ scribbled on it messily “i didnt even know i still had that, god. that, my friend, is steve the hair harrington” hearing his name, steve lingered a little. tying his other shoe for good measure, and to not look like the creep he was definitely being right now. “no fucking way. thats steve harrington? the one who threw up on sarahs desk in the sixth grade?” see, contrary to popular belief, steve hadnt always been hot. he had his awkward phase, which was really the only impression youd had of him so far. he winced at the memory. the sound of nancys laughter filled the room, as he stood up. brushing spare bits of carpet fuzz off of his knees, he could hear muffled conversation going on behind the door, though he stopped paying true attention after the embarrassing trip down memory lane. he was fine for a while, in mikes room helping the boys with some lego project they used as an excuse to hang out some more with steve. hed forgotten all about the conversation he overheard. until the same voice filled his ears again. “hey lucas, i need to be home by nine i have shit to do in the morning, so hurry it up please.” steve had been sure his mouth was agape as he looked at you in the doorway. he wasnt the only one who grew out of the patented sixth grade awkwardness. you smiled at him, and he felt his cheeks heat up. that was when he realized he was still totally being perceived. that and the fact that lucas smacked him hard as hell in his bicep. it didnt hurt necessarily but it was enough to knock him out of his thoughts “steve fucking stop with the sister thing its getting old. and y/n, you cant rush art” “theyre blocks? i- just hurry the hell up.” you said, tapping your imaginary wrist watch. “ i can drive him” steve offered, as the boys all looked at him like he was speaking nonsense. “thatd be great,” you smiled once again, “youre steve harrington right?” you asked. you knew the answer, and he knew you did, but he nodded anyways. “yup. y/n sinclair i assume. its been a minute.” “totally” the interaction was awkward and short, but steve still found himself smiling and nodding like an idiot while you told lucas to call before he left, and told steve the cerfew. it wasn’t until you were halfway out of the door that the boys started harassing him for his obvious new found crush. “first nancy, now this. you are the scum of the earth” “leave him alone he oh so obviously has a type” “we might have to start babysitting you harrington” you laughed it off on your walk back to nancys room that night, but that definitely didnt stop you from letting him kiss you stupid in the back of scoops ahoy two months later.
#steve harrington#sinclair!reader#black!reader#steve harrington x reader#stevie#steve harrington x black!reader#x reader#fanfic
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Happy birthday to our idiot, Mammon (lovingly)
yes i am bac k and here to declare i am moronsexual (unfortunately,, no offense to mammon) i forgot that it was his birthday until all of a sudden my obey me app was spamming about his birthday
so uh have this low quality meme and yES i know that we also have hands to pet and love him but i was too lazy to draw
feel free to rb pls just don't repost without my permission,,
#.q's art#.q speaks nonsense#obey me#obey me mc#mammon x mc#mammon x you#mammon avatar of greed#obey me mammon#om! mammon#mammonobeyme#mammon x reader#mammon x y/n#mammon fanart#mammon supremacy#simp for mammon#yes i am moronsexual leave me alone#obey me meme#happy birthday mammon
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first thing fit asks this osito cucuruchito ai motherfucker is ‘do you believe in god’. second thing he asks is what it’s fucking problem is. we are so back
#cant stop the ‘we’re so back it’s so joever’ phrases rip#I cannot wait for the rest of the islanders to come on and feed more absolute nonsense to this fed ai freak#mcyt#qsmp#q!fitmc#fitmc#z speaks
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for a year now we’ve had no choice but to quietly observe everyone selling their soul to q to be part of his ‘awesome’ project, we’ve seen speeches and awards and other nonsense being thrown around. this beautiful project was necessary because q’s nemesis was not english peaking, not spanish speaking, but a secret third thing (French). in his hubris he build the bridge to his own destruction.
Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment
-Rigel
this brings a tear to my eye
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laurenjauregui: Mercury was retrograding hard af yesterday so here’s a second attempt to share with you my latest offering✨🤍 swipe to listen and for a taste of the inspiration behind the artwork. My heart aches for the mothers who have to bury their children, but I find it so beautiful the flowers that are able to bloom even in the darkest spaces. I wrote this song with a prayer in my heart to speak to the nonsense of this all. “The Day The World Will Blow Up” is out now on the incredible platform @even.biz who is creating a space where artists can not only get paid directly for their art in reciprocity and in a way that allows us to take care of ourselves, pay our bills, create more and more content/art and get our teams properly paid. They also have a beautiful space for fans to interact and there’s other goodies available like exclusive content pieces, & a Q &A we’ll be doing in a couple weeks you can sign up for where I’ll be going more in depth and answer any questions yall have about the song/inspiration & the platform. Thank you to my amazing collaborators @mattiusmusic & @moneyjezus and to @zasha.ink Zasha Mallory for the stunning artwork. Like any amazing piece, the more you look at it the more is revealed about how much intention was put into it. The song is $3 on @even.biz the link is wherever you can find it✨ a portion of proceeds will be going to @mecaforpeace & FAH (Fill A Heart) Go FundMe supplying funds to Sudanese families in Egypt destabilized by the violence. I hope you take a second to listen and resonate with the message❤️🔥 for all my feelers who don’t know where to put it, this is for you. ✨🕊✨
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Q: Who is poetry supposed to be interpreted for, or is it intended for a specific audience?
I can only speak for myself but when I started all this I assumed I was writing for the rest of you, “all the world's a stage,” and similar nonsense. It mattered, I thought, if The Reader (that vague, ghostly figure) liked what I had to say. So I fretted and published and rewrote and published and fretted some more … which was fine, since I was in my Glam rock phase, back when Poetry as Performance was pivotal.
[flowers of my youth: alejandra, ziggy, robert, patti, federico.]
Oscar Wilde's cosmic spectacle was fine; as motivations to write went it served me well … right up until my first crisis of the soul, when I discovered to my frustration that Extravaganza, in and of itself, could not speak the truths that I suddenly needed to say.
I think (though there’s no way to prove it) that when poets, first starting out, suddenly stop writing and go off and do something else it’s usually because they find that their whole reason for writing suddenly no longer pleases. What readers I had at the time didn’t enjoy my new poems about dying orphans in Armenia, which led to my botched suicide attempt. “Being sad for a while was one thing, but where was the humor? the erotic? the excess?” Therein lies the tension, I suppose, in the end who am I writing for?
Again, I can only speak for myself but, these days, if I’m not writing for an audience of 1 then I’m probably not writing at all.
In French, the whiskers of the Weird Sisters,
les Bacchantes, meant plush pubes; or so said
Sarah Bernhardt, saint of Sapphic pleasures.
It was Belle Époque slang, “a lush spread;”
back when Lady Macbeth was still called Camp.
Sex starved starlets chewed more than scenery
with, “shrew'd deceiver,” and, “outrageous vamp/
un'sex me here.” Débauchées. Gay Parée.
Quaint old terms. Like me. You, dear Sarah,
shook your head, though. “Aphrodite's cloven
fern? That's fra Leeds. It's daft innuendoa.
French? Theur wri' porn: schmaltzy, sad, maudlin.”
Schmaltzy? Trust me the dead know. Here Hell's curse
roils each time we poets say, “Damn, new verse!”
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Stars Collided || Twenty
Previous
Lovisa, dressed in a new and clean pale pink dress, with a skirt that was puffy, but still kept her frame visible, it had no sleeves, and so she had paired it with a pair of matching gloves. She wore her hair in a half up, half down, braided bun, style, with two small braids flowing down it, leaving the rest of her curls to air dry, a tiara sat on top of her hair, for the first time in a week.
"I'll make sure to speak to Obi-Wan, soon enough, Snips" Lovisa told Ahsoka, as she stared into her mirror, running her hands down her dress.
"Lovey, there is no need to, I will stay here, as your handmaiden, and then we do not have to be separated from one another."
"Nonsense, you are to be a Jedi, you have the gift, there is no use of it here, or at least, untrained." She took her friends hands in hers. "Ahsoka, you have so much potential, and I believe in you, I will miss you terribly, but knowing what I know about you, and holding you back from it, I would hate myself, and I care more about you and what you can offer the universe, than what you can offer my image."
"Lovey." Ahsoka groaned, wrapping her arms around the Princess's neck, hugging her tightly, and Lovisa followed suit, hugging the girl back, tightly.
Eventually, Lovisa and Ahsoka had made it down to the lunch room, with Threepio walking alongside them both, where everyone had been waiting for her, including Obi-Wan, and Anakin.
"Lovisa, are you done throwing your tantrum?" Her mother asked, linking her fingers together, and resting her chin on them. “There are also to be no dogs, in the dining room.”
"Jobal, my love." Ruwee sighed.
Lovisa didn't reply, as she headed towards her seat, choosing the one next to Anakin.
He got up quickly, to pull it out for her, just as Colo had stepped forward.
But Anakin had been quicker, with a little help from the force, due to only having one arm, but he made sure to look smugly, at the Palace guard, as he pushed her chair back in.
"Thank you, Ani." Lovisa smiled kindly, at the boy, as he sat back down, Threepio had decided to lay down, underneath his owners chair, taking a nap, during their meal.
"Well, it is divine, to have our family united, again, and with two special guests, who helped save my daughter." Ruwee raised his glass, at the two Jedi, and Lovisa's brows had deepened.
"Thank you, your highness, but I fear I could not take any credit, on that, as it was the Princess, who fought bravely, in the arena, and took a stand, during the battle, for she had bested us all, with her skill, and even helped Miss Tano, from danger."
"Ahsoka, is this true?" Jobal faced the handmaiden, that was stationed to the wall, with the two others, waiting to be needed.
"It is, your majesty, if it weren't for Lovisa, I fear I would have been turned into beast chow." Ahsoka bowed her head, taking a step back, after addressing the queen.
"That is wonderful news, Lovey!" Ruwee applauded.
"That was very brave of you, my darling, and I am proud of you, I hope you know that." Jobal told her, earnestly.
Lovisa ignored both her parents, choosing to look away, her arms folded over her chest.
"Master Kenobi, I was hoping to speak to you about a matter of importance, when you have a moment." Lovisa turned to the man.
"Uhm... of course, your highness, perhaps after lunch?" He offered.
"Yes, that will work."
"What's this about, Lovey?" Ruwee asked.
"Hm? Oh, nothing, don't you worry about it, maybe I'll let it slip in the future, but for now, I'd rather keep it from you." She took a sip from her glass.
"Lovisa, you are acting ridiculously childish, there was no ill intention, when we kept Padme and Senator Clovis's blossoming relationship, from you. You're dramatic, you get it from your father, but, being queen won't be awful, I do it, and you don't see me complaining, you will do a wonderful job."
"Except for the small fact, that my parents and sister lied to me! I am not dramatic, and I don't want to be queen!"
"Honey, we're not going anywhere, you won't be queen for a long time, and by then, you may be married, and have your own family, you'll grow mature, and things will change."
"Eurgh, poke my eye out with a fork." Lovisa rolled her eyes, taking another sip from her glass. "Padme, where is your drab of a fiancé?"
"If you must know, he's gone back home, to tell his own family the good news." Padme tried to keep her positive attitude, in front of the guests, instead of snapping at her younger sister, like she wished to.
"What, that they're finally becoming relevant." Lovisa scoffed.
"That's enough." Jobal told her.
"Finally, the food." Ruwee clapped his hands together, as the kitchen staff walked around the table, loading up their plates.
Anakin held his knife in his hand, attempting to cut up his food, with just the one utensil, but had ran into some trouble, though he tried to do it without anyone seeing or noticing.
But of course, Lovisa did.
"Here, let me." She said, in a soft voice, compared to how she had been speaking to her family, since she'd seen them.
"Thank you, Princess." He smiled, as she began to cut up his food.
She smiled back at him, and just the sight of him, seemed to calm down her terrible mood, as she refused to break contact with his eyes, the eyes she could get lost in, for all eternity.
When she had stabbed a piece of steak, he tilted his head, as she fed him, never once looking away from each other.
"The boy can feed himself." Ruwee told his daughter, breaking their silence.
Lovisa dropped her fork, and they both looked away from each other.
The door opened and one of the messengers stormed in.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch, your majesty's." He bowed. "But I was told to bring this to you, as soon as it came."
"Oh, good, bring them here." Jobal, gestured for him to come over, with a hand full of envelopes.
"Whats that, Mother?" Padme asked.
"Just some RSVP's that have been returned, seems it'll be quite the turnout." Jobal said, giddily.
"You're throwing a ball, Jo..." Ruwee asked. "This isn't exactly a time to be throwing a ball, we're in the beginning of a war."
"It's not for a ball, that'll be in a few months, when we announce Lovey as the next heir-"
"Hold on, what?" Lovisa looked back up.
"I'll talk about it, later, when a certain someone, isn't around" She nodded at the obvious.
"I'll figure it out, soon enough." Lovisa raised a brow, poking her food.
After the terrible lunch had finally come to an end, Lovisa had asked Obi-Wan to accompany her on a walk, around the palace gardens.
"What was it that you wanted to discuss, Princess?" Obi-Wan asked, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Well, Master Kenobi, during my "travels" I made a discovery, and I would like to remind you, that one day, I will be your queen, so please keep that in mind, for what I'm about to ask you."
"Will do" He chuckled.
"Uhm... So, I know, typically the Jedi do not recruit anyone over the age of four, in most cases, obviously, Anakin Skywalker was a very different situation. But I have reason to believe that my handmaiden, Ahsoka Tano is strong with the force, and Ani-Anakin supported my claims."
"Hmm, that is curious." He stroked his beard.
"Yes. And I strongly encourage that you take her on, to join the Jedi, or at the very least, train her in the ways, she has all the potential, and I would hate to see it go to waste."
"You care a lot about, Lady Tano, Don't you?"
"I do, Master Kenobi, she's the longest friend I’ve had, and I feel the guilt of her being my handmaiden, a lot, so please."
"I will do what I can, to persuade the council, I promise, your highness" Obi-Wan nodded to her. "Even though you disagree, so openly, I know in time, you will make a wonderful Queen, and leader, I sense it, in the force."
"Just like Anakin is supposed to bring balance to the force." Lovisa joked, side eying him.
"That's what the prophecy says." He sighed, sounding as though he didn't believe it, all too much.
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