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americaswritings · 7 months

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Voices of Roses and Ruin

Warnings: Psychological torture, manipulation, Coriolanus being himself

Summary: Coriolanus is forced to watch the gamemaker use his voice against you in the arena.

Words: around 2k

Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/N: I watched TBOSAS yesterday and yeah don't judge me but young Snow is hot and I shipped him and Lucy Gray a lot (until it all went downhill cough cough). Obviously he's horrible and does many unspeakable things later (!!!). But I think the idea of a love story between a mentor and their tribute has so much potential and when I saw the birds in the film I thought of this idea.

This is written from Coriolanus perspective (I haven't read the book yet. I just bought it and I'm so excited to read it!). I obviously wanted this to be about real feelings, but I tried to stay true to his character so there are some 'questionable' and alarming thoughts and motifs in here.

Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here

Part II | Masterlist

Coriolanus had thought watching you in the arena, alone and scared, hiding from a pack of murders that were hunting for your life was among the worst things he had ever gone through, but nothing could have prepared him for the Gamemaker’s new horrendous plan.

He was tired, just as you were, but refused to go home like most students had done. Instead his head was resting in his hand as he kept watching your sleeping form, as if he could protect you if he just kept his eyes on the screen and on the lookout for a potential threat.

He wouldn’t be able to do anything for you, if the pack of murders found you. He couldn’t warn you or give you advice.

All he could do was sit here and watch and he found himself thinking if this was not the worst torture of them all; being trapped here while you were out there and all he could do was watch.

You were trembling in your sleep, if from the cold or fear he didn’t know, but he kept his expression carefully guarded as he felt his own heart breaking bits by bits.

Even there covered in dirt, with your hair a wild mess and your clothes strained with mud you looked breathtaking to him.

You were pretty, there was no denying that. Everyone else saw it too. He saw it in the way heads turned for you, men‘s eyes raking over your body like you were theirs to take.

He hated it, every part of it.

They all deserved to die.

But it wasn’t your looks that had drawn his attention to you. What had fascinated him. He liked to think he wasn‘t shallow like most people and blinded by pretty things.

No, what has drawn him to you was the way you carried yourself. The confidence you wore like an amour. Yet you were breakable at the same time.

You seemed to be made up of duality; strong but so weak, fierce but uncertain, opinionated but withdrawn, stubborn but helpless.

You were a dangerous little thing and a petite fragile flower at once. Drawing all eyes on you but forgotten due to your ordinariness by most after a moment.

Not by him though. To him you could never be ordinary.

It was frustrating and captivating and alluring.

Naturally, his constant worry for you since you had entered the arena stemmed from his will to get the scholarship. It was what he deserved and he would claim it.

Tht was why he was so engaged in saving you, not because of the deep unease he felt when he saw you in that arena, your eyes drifting around frantically until they passed a camera and he could have sworn they had locked on his for a moment.

It had nothing to do with the way his whole body seemed to light up when you smiled or the invisible pull he felt towards you when you were in the same room as him.

He definitely didn’t want to kiss you and he didn’t dream about you since the reaping, when his eyes had fallen on you for the first time and he had only thought one thing: You’re mine now.

Mine to claim, to showcase, to protect.

He had gone into the mentorship thinking he would use you to serve him and his purpose of getting what he deserved, but as he watched you now, still rooted in his chair although a deep exhaustion weighted down his body, he knew he was serving you.

Being here with you every second of the way. Vowing to protect you. Whatever it took.

You awoke from your restless sleep right before the screaming started. In an instant you were up, your eyes widened in panic as you gazed around, trying to locate the source. With the rest of the students that had stayed Coriolanus flinched in his seat, leaning forward to try and help you figure this out.

As quickly as it had started the screaming stopped and for a moment you were one, both breathing and blinking heavily as your mind tried to make sense of what happened.

And then he heard a voice. His voice. “Follow me.”

He forgot to breathe for a moment as he stared at what was happening in pure shock. You seemed just as confused, turning around in circles as you tried to find him there.

„Coriolanus?”, you whispered and took a step forward, towards the voice. “Follow me”, it whispered again and he watched you do.

No, no, no.

Around him he heard chuckles from the other students, but he drowned them out. All he could focus on was you, following his voice through the darkness. “Where are you?”, you hissed, your eyes darting around. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here for you.”

He sank lower in his seat, wishing himself somewhere else. It wasn’t him saying the words, obviously, but it was his voice and everyone could hear it, see you follow it.

He hoped people would laugh about you. About your nativity and the brilliant idea of the gamemaker to use your mentors voice against you. Hell, he didn’t even care, if they thought you might have a silly little crush on him and the gamemaker used it against you.

Because if people knew the whole truth, he couldn’t imagine the catastrophe that would follow.

The truth that there was something between the two of you, the mentor and the tribute. That it was something he couldn’t explain, but had let him do dangerous things. Break rules. Forget himself.

The truth that this might not be him speaking those words now, but that he had spoken them to you once. Had they been listening all this time?

His stomach twist in terror as he tried to remember all you had shared with each other, all he had said to you. Promised you.

It would ruin him.

“I can’t see you”, you whispered now, being led further into darkness.

Damn it, think! He wanted to yell at you. It’s not me. I’m not there.

There was no reason for him to be there.

Except…there was.

“I’m here to see you. I won’t let anything happen to you!”

“How cute”, one girl hissed in his ear, but he remained stoic. “She’s as dumb as they come”, another said and he wanted to punch her. Enjoy the feeling of triumph when she looked at him in horror and didn’t dare open her mouth again.

“Looks like you’re guiding her straight to her own death. How ironic.”

And it was ironic.

Maybe in his attempt to protect you, save you, all he had done was ruined your one chance.

All he had said to you to make you trust him and then because he hadn’t been able to stop himself were used against you now and all he could do was watch. Keeping his face carefully blank he shut out their voices. They didn’t matter.

Finally he saw you hesitate. Maybe you had remembered his exact words or maybe you realized that you weren��t getting anywhere. That if it truly was him he would have just stepped out of the shadows and shown his face. “Is this real?”

Oh how funny it was to the people around him. He hated them all. Every single one.

Your words hit a mark. They pierced right through his heart, because he had said them to you. Whispered them. Before your farewell, when he had visited you one last time.

Your faces had only been separated by a few inches and he had fought the urge to kiss you right there and then. But he couldn’t.

Because of everything, but also because it felt too much like goodbye. It was stupid, but if he didn’t give into the temptation then, a part of him hoped it meant you would come back to him.

That your chapter wasn’t over, your story just starting. He would kiss you when you won. When there was a chance for a future with you.

Still those words had escaped his mouth, like he needed the reassurance that you felt the same way. That this meant something, so much that it was worth the risk.

Coriolanus leaned forward in his seat, hope blossoming in his chest. He didn’t know why whatever game they were playing with you hadn’t affected the other tributes yet, but he was sure their time would come.

And right now it seemed you wouldn’t fall for their tricks. Because there could come no answer to your question, as he had been the one asking it.

But he had underestimated the gamemakers.

Instead of a reply there came a scream and then a groan. “Coriolanus?” “Help me!”, he heard himself yelp. What?! He had never sounded like that.

But then flashes came back to him. The bombs. How the arena had collapsed, almost burying him alive. He would have died there, if it hadn’t been for you.

You had saved him.

But how in the hell did they get his voice now?!

“Coriolanus!”

Gone was the glimpse of hesitance and suspicion and you began sprinting into the direction the voice was coming from.

No!

He watched with dread as you ran directly towards the sound. It’s not real, he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear him but desperately hoping somehow his words would reach you.

When you stumbled upon a clearing you jerked to a stop, twisting and turning, your gaze furiously searching for something.

“Coriolanus! Tell me where you are!” But he could only hear his own painful screams, in between pleading for your help. Sounds he was certain he had never made.

What was this?

With a stab of pain he saw your face was tearstained. You were crying. For him. For someone from the capitol.

Was this what the gamemaker wanted?

Whatever you did or said would never matter again.

All everyone would see when they looked at you now was the broken girl in a dark forest, all alone and desperate and crying for a man she never stood a chance with.

A man who knew hunger just as you did, who in a way fought for survival every day too. But they would never see that, because unlike you he wouldn’t let them. Where you had no choice, he still had one. And he was watching that one chance crumble in front of him.

Flashes of a better life filled his mind.

A house. Plates of food. Tigris smiling. His uniform, a real one made from the finest materials hanging draped neatly over a chair. Laughter echoing through the corridors and then a flash of your face as you stepped into the room, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you leaned over the desk to peek a look at what he was working on.

It was the life they deserved, he deserved, if he got the scholarship. But you were there too. Alive and well, just as breathtaking. And you were his.

There had never been the choice between the scholarship and you, because they were one. Your life was connected to it and so his was to yours.

But now he could loose both and he felt the agony of that thought travel through his whole body.

The screaming seemed to be everywhere and he watched helplessly as you bent forward, covering your ears. All he wanted was to get the screaming to stop, wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was okay.

Instead he forced a neutral expression on his face, as if seeing you break didn’t break him the same way and pray for this hell to end.

Part II

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ssahotchnerr · 6 months

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could we maybe get some momfriend!reader and jack dynamics, maybe from before her and Aaron were even together?

something special

<333 cw; fem!bau!reader, very tiny blood description (& yes i know you're supposed to wash a paper cut right away but for the sake of the setting and aaron being cute i didn't include that step 😭), mentions of haley, mutual pining

"whatcha drawing?" you asked mid-writing, your pen flying across your paper but still finding the opportunity to peek over.

"spiderman and superman." jack replied happily, switching from a red to a blue crayon. "see, they're teaming up to fight the bad guy because he keeps doin' crimes."

about an hour or so ago, jessica had dropped off jack at the bau. long story short; she was called into work urgently and with aaron in a meeting, you were quick to volunteer yourself to keep him company. rather than cramming into the small space of your desk, and jack potentially hearing conversations or details not fit for a six year old, you've made home in the roundtable room. you could work, jack could color.

you had also fired off a quick text to aaron; letting him know jack was with you, a brief synopsis of the situation and where he could find you both once his meeting concluded. it had, and he was about to join, but found himself pausing outside the door, listening to your easy, lighthearted conversation for just a moment.

when it came to you and jack, there was just something about it. something extraordinarily special.

"i see," you nodded along to jack's words, an encouraging smile on your face. "that's really good. since when did you become an artist?"

"since always." jack grinned proudly.

"then you have to promise you'll make me a drawing soon. my desk is pretty boring, i need something to brighten it up." you held out your pinky, eyebrows raised. "promise?"

"i promise." jack linked his pinky with yours, and turned back to his masterpiece with renewed vigor.

a sense of warmth filled aaron's chest, the ends of his lips turning upwards into a faint smile at the natural bond you and jack had developed so quickly, over the course of a few weeks. deciding it was as good a time as ever to join, aaron reached out to fully open the door when a wince-gasp came from jack, stopping him.

"oh no," your head turned. "paper cut?"

jack nodded meekly, grimacing as his gaze shifted to you. his big, sweet eyes were tearful, "it stings."

"can i see?" he offered his hand limply, hanging downwards at the wrist. you cradled his small hand in yours; it was just a tiny cut - no more than a few centimeters, a faint line of red gradually seeping to the surface.

"hm, well," you huffed a breath, turning his hand face-up face-down - vaguely exaggerating the examination. you got up to retrieve the first-aid kit stationed in the room, aaron sidestepping a bit to keep out of potential view. "i think luck was on your side today, i don't think we'll have to amputate this time." you spoke with an airy tone, quick to bring light to the situation. it worked, jack stifling a laugh as you retook your seat. "nothing a bandaid can't fix."

there was the click of kit opening, a slight shuffle of what sounded like paper.

"and don't tell anyone i told you this," you applied a bit of ointment onto the bandaid before wrapping it onto his finger - not too tight or too loose, all to avoid cutting off circulation and to let the wound breathe. "we gotta keep extra band aids around because your dad always seems to get one himself."

"dad gets paper cuts? really?" jack's eyes widened in surprise.

just as his son, a breathless chuckle exited aaron; that wasn't necessarily true, but your intentions were clear: cheering jack up.

in addition, the last time he had heard someone talking to or interacting with jack like this - empathetically, attentively, motherly, was, well... haley.

it touched the usually unattended part of his heart that had been vastly empty since the divorce. since that one, horrible day. while the emptiness still lingered, you had made a pull at it. for a moment, you had healed it, even.

again, there was just something special about you. and again, the only way aaron could describe it was extraordinary.

"really." you nodded convincingly, tossing the little plastic scraps into the nearby trash bin, giving top of jack's hand a consoling pat. "it happens all the time."

aaron mentally rolled his eyes at that, a smile itching at his lips.

jack picked up his brown crayon, pain forgotten, eager to get back to his drawing. "i'm gonna draw daddy and put a bandaid on him. he's a superhero too, y'know?"

"yeah," your smile was rather bashful, your tone of voice so admirable it caused a blush to rise in aaron's cheek. "i know."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

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casualheizouenjoyers · 1 year

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- secrets i have held in my heart

featuring: jing yuan, bailu, yanqing, reader

warnings: a bit angsty ig, hanahaki au, blood, sickness, throwing up, coughing and just general sick stuff

Orchids grow where others cannot.

This phrase reigns especially true when orchids begin to grow in your body. Scratching your throat and clogging up your lungs.

You try to laugh it off as a small cough, a small sickness, as if the whole thing didn’t fill you with dread when you thought about the invasive plant infesting your every breath.

It isn’t until finally you violently cough over your sink that a bloodied white orchid petal came fluttering out.

Were… you some form of mara struck? You wondered in confusion at the collection of petals that grew with each hack of your lungs.

The high elder —Bailu— immediately takes up your case. Which is potentially concerning as you’ve gone to about possibly any doctor that will see you for some kind of explanation to your floral fever and none of them have had anything good to say.

In fact, they have nothing to say about your illness. No one knew what was causing the orchids to bloom, making a home of your decaying body; a pretty parasite taking you ahold.

The little Vidyadhara girl frowned upon seeing the collection of whole flowers and crumbled petals, all coated with a splattered layer of dried blood.

Bailu’s eyes squinted as she observed the floral.

Perhaps, it was some kind of achievement that you had every doctor and healer on the luofu stumped at your conditions?

It isn’t until you’re coughing out another flower, this time red covering it was still vibrant and liquid, that the healer decided you were some form of mara struck and needed to be monitored closely. Even as she wrote out her prescription and made you promise to come back the next week, you could tell she wasn’t too sure about what she was saying.

That did absolutely nothing to calm your nerves.

You go home after collecting your prescription and puke out leaves and stems along with the flowers.

Despite your sickness, work is work, you decided, and working as a tutor was fulfilling for you. You hope —prayed— that the sight of your favorite student, Yanqing, would bring you some form of joy. The lesson went smoothly, though it was clear your student’s mind was up in the clouds, but you didn’t comment about it as yours was rooted deep elsewhere.��

With the closing of the textbook, Yanqing’s eyes light up.

“Can we swordfight now?” The teenaged boy asked.

You almost said no.

You had realized early on that Yanqing would do his work and pay attention better if you found a way to relate it to swordsmanship, or if you promised that the two of you would spar a little after a lesson.

There was a growing weakness in your body. It seemed that describing the flowers as a parasite wasn’t inaccurate, as every day went on you felt them drain the energy out of you.

Yanqing waited for your response.

You nodded, standing up and picking up your sword from where it rested on a wall. Once, you had used it as a cloud knight, now it only ever saw use when teaching the blonde boy.

Yanqing excitedly ran to the other side of the room, drawing his sword and getting into position. He paused, looking over at you.

When did your eyes become so sunken in? Your hand shook as you held your sword up and it became increasingly clear to Yanqing that you were in no position to swordfight.

Your student called out your name, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I— Give me a moment—” You called out, placing a hand on your head as a sudden headache came, making your vision blur and your legs lose balance as you head tumbling for the floor.

Yanqing tossed his sword far away as he slid to catch you.

Bailu is halfway through her yearly appointment with the general when you come in with Yanqing by your side.

You mumbled apologies for the interruption and swore on your life you were fine.

You had honestly not realized how bad things had gotten in the few days from the last time you had seen the healer.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of Jing Yuan.

The orchid also fluttered out of your mouth in a set of coughs that leave you out of breath on the ground, Yanqing down at your side again.

There are multiple voices speaking but your mind can focus on none of them.

Jing Yuan helped you up and you feel your heart clench up as a choke comes to your throat.

More orchids.

He whispered to you in a soft voice, trying to help you through this coughing fit as Yanqing explained the situation that had happened just a few minutes before.

Bailu watched this, shock painted on the girls face as she realized two truths.

You were indeed mara struck, just with a rare mutation that had gone out thousands of years ago.

You were also in love with the general

and it was going to be the death of you.

#piers writes #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #hsr #hsr fic #hanahaki au #gender neutral reader #a little angst as a treat #teehee #who wrote this broooo #part two when #??#dont ask me

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coquelicoq · 11 months

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justice of toren collecting songs and one esk/breq constantly humming/singing them is such a good detail and ann leckie does so much with it. an incomplete list:

justice of toren's eager collection of songs is part and parcel of its violent destruction of cultures: these songs are cultural artifacts that it only learns because of its presence on those worlds during their conquest, and in many cases breq is the only one to remember them because their people have died out due to that violence. JoT preserves cultural artifacts for its own use at the same time it directly contributes to the need for that preservation in the first place.

the matter-of-fact way in which this is narrated to us gives us information about JoT's stance on respect and imperialism - that is, contrasted with other characters who look down on the conquered cultures, JoT does actually seem to appreciate their value. and yet it communicates to us no sense of remorse over its role in their genocide.

singing can be a communal activity. this allows us to feel the difference between one esk's multiple bodies singing together in harmony/in a round vs. breq singing alone. this has emotional weight, is an evocative image, and illustrates quite nicely some of the logistic considerations of having one vs. multiple bodies.

the constant humming/singing is extremely notable and idiosyncratic according to other characters, which is a dangerous combination for someone who's supposed to be undercover, so it adds a lil bit of fun suspense for us.

the fact that no one ever figures out breq's identity despite this giveaway tells us something about the other characters' attitudes towards artificial intelligences (though see below about seivarden).

the fact that it's so idiosyncratic also tells us something about the ability of individual AIs to have personalities that distinguish them from other AIs, and the fact that one esk sings constantly but two esk doesn't tells us something about the ability of different ancillary decades that are all part of the same AI to have distinguishing characteristics. this is very relevant to, and illustrative of, the series' thematic throughlines around identity, personality, continuity, etc.

the fact that breq personally has a bad voice also serves multiple purposes. because breq and seivarden both believe that the medic could have chosen a body with a good voice if she had wanted to, we can infer something about how ancillary bodies work, how much the AI (and, by extension, its medics) knows about the individual capabilities of those bodies while they're in suspension, and what kinds of things the AI can and can't control once it has unfrozen and taken over a body.

we can also draw conclusions about the medic that chose that body and about intracrew relations on that ship.

breq's bad voice creates moments of humor and irony in the narrative, such as when breq's constant singing - aka the most obvious clue that she is one esk - is precisely what makes seivarden so sure that breq can't be one esk, because no esk medic would use a body with a bad voice for an ancillary.

constant singing/humming imposes itself on the shared soundscape, meaning other people can't easily avoid it and it has the potential to annoy them, especially if the voice itself has annoying qualities. the reactions of other characters to the frequency and/or quality of this verbal tic tells us something about the level of affection those characters have for one esk or breq.

because singing involves words, the meaning of the lyrics being sung can be used to advance the plot, communicate things about specific characters, create irony in juxtaposition with what's happening on the page, etc.

i especially like what's done with the lyric "it all goes around". it's woven throughout the story in such a way as to manifest its own meaning (the repetition of "it all goes around" is, itself, an example of something going around). by repeating the lyric, breq is the one making it true, and i would argue that her repetition of this particular lyric about things orbiting other things contributes to, and/or is a sign of, her growing understanding of the necessity/reality of interdependence and her place in that framework/her role in constructing it, or in other words, the extent of her own agency and the rights and obligations it confers upon her.

because the singing/humming is a constant, background, automatic action, it only ceases when breq is experiencing a strong emotion. from this we are able to infer things about the emotional state of our famously-omits-details-about-her-emotional-state narrator based on other characters' comments about whether or not she is currently doing this thing.

we also aren't even aware that breq is doing it constantly until another character says so. on a narrative level, this serves the dual purpose of making sure we know about how much she hums AND of reminding us that she's not telling us everything.

the humming is not mentioned constantly even though it is happening constantly - this helps us forget in between mentions that it's going on while also simultaneously reinforcing just how constant it must be, so constant that to mention it every time it happens would be like narrating every time she breathes in or out. whenever someone brings it up, we are reminded anew that something has been happening all along that we forgot about. this means that ann leckie is able, by leaving information out, to hammer home to us how much we are not being told.

through this one character trait, ann leckie efficiently and elegantly communicates not just aspects of character but also of setting, plot, tone, theme, and narrative. there's no extraneous exposition just to tell us about the song collection or singing; everything that tells us about it is serving other functions in the narrative as well. the ways in which she manifests this one character trait in the universe and in the narrative contribute to and exemplify both the story itself and the method of its telling.

#and the singing/humming is only one example of how leckie is doing this!#the ubiquitous she/her usage that is actually radchaai-specific is another #imperial radch #storytelling #my posts #i have been writing sooo many drafts lately and it's stressing me out that i just keep making more without posting the old ones #so i'm posting this!!! probably i'll reread this tomorrow and be like girl have you heard of editing?#but i have to get something out the door or i will drive myself crazy #i hope this is at least somewhat coherent lol #f

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cambion-companion · 6 months

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Possession

Caring at all is caring too much.

I've never written from Raphael's perspective...at least not for this long. The idea just came to me last night. He is a very possessive and proud creature. I had to wonder how he'd react if Tav yanked on that chain a little.

Raphael x Tav (female) | drabble | Raphael POV

Caring at all was caring too much. The twisting knife of jealously lodged in Raphael’s chest.

He lounged upon silken pillows, a cup of wine held idly in hand, surrounded by doe-eyed doting mortals all wanting something from him.

Not her. The nymph of his orisons who now swept in a dance some meters away, her vivid satin skirts swirling with each twirl only to come close and hug her body at the end of each enticing movement.

Raphael took a sip of wine, the bitter draught staining his lips maroon.

She was taken up into the arms of a green dragonborn, the large clawed hands dipping too low upon her form, feeling the curve of her-

The pain of shattered glass piercing the palm of his hand registered in Raphael’s mind. He was yet loathe to tear his gaze away from her, yet left little choice as the courtiers surrounding him began to make a fuss akin to a gaggle of hens upon seeing a fox.

Red blood was pooling in Raphael’s palm. “Hush.” Was all he said to the women and men attending him, the word commanding immediate silence. He plucked the remnants of the ruined crystal from his hand idly, smirking slightly.

Raphael pushed aside offered hands of help, magic lighting his fingertips as he healed himself. His brow darkened and his eyes smoldered as he trapped her again within line of sight.

She had come to the end of her dance, in more ways than one Raphael mused, and was now leaning up to kiss the cheek of the scaled interloper.

Unacceptable.

Raphael stood, abruptly. His anger spread around him like a cloud of brimstone. The mortals surrounding him scattered.

Raphael approached her slowly, as a stalking cat does its prey. Her attention was drawn, recognition flashed in her eyes. Those lovely eyes in which Raphael desired to only ever see his own reflection.

Before she could speak, though those lush lips of hers did part, Raphael stroked his hand down her side to rest atop her hip. With a gentle movement belying his true intent he pulled her to him. “What is a little bird doing straying so far from her cage.” He purred against her hair, feeling the change in her body, the tensing of her muscles beneath thin fabric.

“It is a gilded cage at best.” Tav replied. Her eyes narrowing in challenge. Just the way which had first drawn him to her. “Besides, I am not beholden to you.”

“Then why do you not walk away?” Raphael coaxed her to sway with him, in a dance more fitted to lovers. Their movements guided by the new music lilting from musicians atop the raised dais.

Tav hesitated. “We have a contract.”

“Which you are no closer to fulfilling.” The glow from the many candles and torches flickered and shone off the polished floor. Raphael turned his face in, closing his eyes as he inhaled her scent. Allowing himself one moment to forget his turmoil. “Least of all in the arms of a potential paramour.”

“Then what are you?”

Raphael smiled, loathe to admire her bravery in quibbling with him. He looked down upon her upturned face, caught between the desire to take her in his hands and kiss the soul right from her mouth or rake his claws down the soft skin of her back.

His deep eyes showed nothing of this conflict. With care he replied. “I am your master.” He held her tighter as she began to revile. “You are the brightest of my treasures. You will tarnish from all this inaction, and no longer be my favorite.”

The muscles of her neck tightened, drawing his gaze to the mark her vampire companion had made there. Raphael wanted to swoop down, as a fell eagle to a mouse, and replace the scar with one of his own design.

“I will go, then.” Tav seemed to take his warning to heart. She was defiant yet not to the point of becoming a fool.

“Good girl.” Raphael smiled, smugly aware of the effect such praise had upon her. “When you return, we will feast.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Raphael held her for a moment more, the moment fleeting as a crystalline flake of ice falling unguided from the sky.

Then he let her go. Grimacing only when she had turned away. His fingers still itching to bury themselves in her in myriad ways.

Raphael returned to his lounging, his little flock of admirers slowly trickling back. With effort, Raphael pulled his thoughts back into careful order. He would not allow himself to submit to the chaos she stirred within him. He had many deals being laid at his feet, and eager souls practically throwing themselves at him. It was business as usual.

#raphael bg3 #raphael fanfic #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #bg3 #bg3 drabble #raphael baldur's gate 3

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iamfitzwilliamdarcy · 19 days

Text

ok the evolution of Katniss and having kids post:

Katniss is thinking from the earliest moments of the book how she never wants kids. This is Chapter 1, even before the Reaping, when Gale mentions running away, if they didn't have so many kids, obviously here, he's referencing their siblings, but then this exchange happens:

"I never want to have kids," I say. "I might, if we didn't live here," says Gale. "But you do," I say, irritated. "Forget it," he snaps back.

This is literally page 9 in my copy from the library. Katniss has been thinking about how much they provide for their siblings already and she's also just given us exposition on her own parents-- her grief for her father and her resentment of her mother; it's also setting Gale up as a potential romantic partner, which Katniss readily rejects and is confused by the conversation at all (girly, you brought it up)

Again, in the first book, Katniss thinks she will never have children. This is nearing the end of the games-- it's just her and Peeta and Cato left-- and while Peeta sleeps, she lets herself for the first time think about making it home and what her future would be.

I think of Haymitch with all his money. What did his life become? HE lives alone, no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that. 'But you won't be alone,"I whisper to myself. I have my mother and Prim. Well, for the time being. And then... I don't want to think about then, when Prim has grown up, my mother passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into this world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kids' names would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear I'll never let that happen.

I included the long version and not just the part about never marrying, because Katniss recognizes she risks being alone forever. For her, even though it's terrible, it's better than having a child in this world, a world that is so horrific and threatening. She also automatically links marriage to having kids (as is natural), which complicates her relationships with both Gale and Peeta.

Catching Fire starts with a similar vein, but one Katniss now has to confront-- in order to keep those she loves safe, she will have to marry Peeta and live happily ever after with him. She wonders if President Snow will insist on them having babies, thinks it's likely a child of hers will end up in the arena because Victors' children sometimes do and Gale suspects the drawings are rigged. She reflects again on Haymitch's situation --unmarried, no children, wasted all the time-- and likens it to self-imposed solitary confinement.

Later, we get the fake baby drop, of course, and Katniss, processing, thinks "Isn't it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future-- the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now couldn't it? If I hadn't spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family"

We're still on the same track, the recognition of her fear of having kids in the world she lives in. Interestingly, I think it's still a loss of her children to the Games, but a less painful one-- nonexistent, possible children that she'll never have.

Peeta later is trying to convince Katniss to be the one of them to survive by talking about her family back home, and when he doesn't mention the pregnancy, she knows he's being sincere. He even mentions Gale and Katniss takes it in a way that means he would be okay if she wanted to be with Gale. He transitions back to playing the Games by telling Katniss, "You're going to make a great mother you know."

Katniss then wonders if it could be more than just a Games manipulation-- "Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if thatw as it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that was never part of my plan."

It's HERE that we get a bit of a kicker-- she thinks about how of the two of them, Peet is the one who should be a parent. And she imagines his children--

As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta's child could be safe.

I think it's the first time she's considered the possibility of a safe child, and it has to be Peeta's child. This isn't something she ever imagines about anyone else, even when she thinks about running away with Gale.

Children are a sign of hope, of a possibility of living in a world where they won't be sacrificed on the altars of the Capitol. In Mockingjay, Katniss frequently notes that District 13 has very few children, especially following an illness, and that children appear to be prized -- it's partially why it's hard for her to initially accept that the rebels would bomb children- recklessly, wastefully

But it's the epilogue of Mockingjay, where this all culminates-- where her hope finds fruition. She says "Peeta wanted them so badly," but it takes years for her stop dreaming and start trusting that she's made that world, where her children, where Peeta's children "take the words of the song for granted"

It's a perfect ending, because from the start Katniss has denied herself even the hope of children, develops to thinking maybe that it could be possible one day-- for someone as good as Peeta, and that maybe his children could be safe, at least-- and in the end, his children--her own children--are no longer a hope, but Real.

#the hunger games #katniss everdeen #everlark #long post #thg

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daenysx · 1 year

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Could you write modern Aemond with his pregnant wife when he is anxious about becoming a father cause he thinks he has a potential to become like Viserys and she reassures him it won't happen and the fact that she always sees the best in him just melts his heart?

thank you for this request, i hope you like it!!

requests are open!!

my masterlist

good for you

you ease off modern!aemond's worries about being a father like viserys.

it's a beautiful evening as the moon makes itself visible in the sky and leaves lovely shades of purple behind. you are standing in your balcony when you hear footsteps behind you, you turn around only to find your husband aemond targaryen walking towards you.

he doesn't wear his suit and tie, his black shirt's top buttons are open and he gets rid of his eyepatch.

he looks tired but he can't help his smile when he sees you waiting for him with open arms. he closes the distance and holds you in his arms.

"i think my belly starts getting our way, love."

you laugh as he touches your belly, leans into you and presses a soft kiss to it. your fingers are on his hair as he sits down on the chair and pulls you to him.

"tired?"

he nods. "it was a long day with aegon."

"aegon? you must be exhausted then." you laugh, kiss his forehead.

"have you eaten anything?"

you nod. "yes, i made something with chicken but it wasn't like real food you know, just something spicy and crazy thing i craved suddenly. if you're hungry we can-"

he cuts your sentence with a soft smile. "no, it's fine my love, i don't feel like eating now. would you like to go to bed?"

you think it's a bit early but he is tired and you can sleep anytime you want as a fact of pregnancy, you hold his hand and lead him to bed.

he is exhausted but he can't find sleep. he rubs circles on your swollen belly as you sleep soundly in his arms. his beautiful wife, carrying a baby. he must be the luckiest man, he feels that way.

however, every beautiful thought in aemond targaryen's mind leads to a dark one as well.

he can't help it, thinking about his own childhood. when he is a man grown, he doesn't think about his past. he doesn't want to. he wants to be a strong man who can take care of himself. a man who doesn't need a father to protect him.

viserys was never there. he wasn't there for aemond's big moments, he wasn't proud, he wasn't protective. he wasn't a good father. aemond doesn't even know what it means to be a good father.

he is scared.

what if his baby would think of the same things about him?

he doesn't want to fail his unborn baby. he doesn't want to fail you, his pretty girl who is always there for him and always supportive. he would die if he ever let you down.

he doesn't realize his hands are shaking.

he lets his thoughts cover his mind. he has always hated failure. he always wanted to be good. he is afraid of his future, he is afraid of not meeting your expectations, he is afraid of being like viserys.

you blink slowly, his hands stop drawing circles. you realize he loses sleep over his thoughts, an inevitable habit of your husband. you turn to face him in bed and he looks at you.

"what's wrong, baby? why didn't you sleep?"

he loosens his hold, looking at you.

"my mind is-there is too much i think about, my love."

"do you want to talk about them?"

he kisses your hair affectionally.

"you'll say they're stupid and i shouldn't think about them."

you chuckle. "that's quite presumptuous of you. maybe i will say they are true?"

"no way, babygirl. i know my wife."

"come on, tell me. i'm fully awake."

he looks at your pretty face, curious and ready to make him relieve of his thoughts. you are always the only person who brings him comfort. he knows you will ease his worries this time as well because when have you ever failed?

"i always think of our baby. being a father, being a father like my father and i'd hate to be like him. i don't- i don't want to be like him."

you understand. you don't know viserys targaryen too well but you know his effects on your husband.

"i want to be good for you. i want to be the best. i will never let you go and i will never leave you alone like he always did to us but still- it keeps me awake, what if i can't?"

you stroke his hair as he speaks and try to gather your thoughts when he finishes.

"well, you were right about the part that they are stupid and you shouldn't think about them."

that puts a smile on his face. he just waits for your pretty mind to find the right words.

"i can understand anything you feel, anything you think. but you should know that you are not alone in this. we'll learn it together, my love. you think i know how to be the perfect mother?"

he blinks. "i know i'm not alone in this but it's just- hard to ignore baby. i don't really have the best role model for this, you know."

"even the way you lose sleep over it shows how much you care. come on, we both know when we have our baby we will try our best to learn how to be parents. you will fix me, i will fix you. just like everything, my love."

he wants to believe you, your sweet words and your reassuring smile. he wants to be good. for you, for the baby. he wants his baby to be proud of him as a father. he wants you to be proud.

"are we clear or should i think of another way to convince you?"

"hmm, and what would that way be?"

you smile, pull him to yourself and kiss him. he gives a quick reaction and holds your cheeks. he kisses you until your lips are swollen. he slowly lets you go, trying to catch his breath.

"do you want to go back to sleeping? and really sleeping aemond, not watching the ceiling until your eyes close."

he smirks. "when you say my name instead of your usual sweet words, it makes me feel like i'm in big trouble."

"you'll be in real trouble if you don't fall asleep with me right now."

"yes, princess."

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #modern!aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond one eye

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personwhowrites · 1 year

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Hi! I wanna say I really love your work and it look cool and wicked.

Can you do TF141 + König x reader

Where they meet the new recruit who is totally a badass. (Like Alice from Resident Evil) and the gangs are inspired seeing her in action taking down the enemy. Take all the time you need, no need to rush.

I hope this what you had in mind! I am so sorry for not writing on Tuesday, I been working on this for a while now! Thank you for your patience and request! -E <3

Wc: 2k+

Tw: Knife, hand to hand combat, mentions of blood, dead body, Slightly guilt?, some fluff<not really>, mentions of bombs, slightly panic attack? Jumping out of stuff, terrible writing.

Beyond the mission

You entered the briefing room as Laswell called out, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. They all fell silent as Laswell introduced you to them.

"This is X," Laswell says, pointing to you and offering you a seat next to her. "X is a highly trustworthy person, and I've been waiting for all of you to meet them. X, this is task force 141, and König. You'll be joining them for a mission."

You give them a nod and take the seat next to Laswell. You wait for her to continue with the plan, your eyes wandering over to König. His height surprises you, along with the strange mask covering his face. He is not the only one in the group wearing a mask; another member has a skull mask on. It seems like you stared at the man with the skull mask for a bit too long, as your gaze meets his. He crosses his arms and leans back, continuing to hold your gaze. Eventually, you break eye contact as Laswell hands you a file.

"Information about the case and your role in it," Laswell says, looking at you. "X, I know you prefer working alone, but for this mission, you'll need to work with a team."

"Laswell, you know I don't do well with this 'team' stuff," you say, annoyed as you begin to look through the file. "Especially if the mission involves infiltrating the enemy's base."

"That's why you'll learn under my command," someone speaks up, causing you to quickly look up. "I'm Price, your captain."

"I know who you all are, I read your information on my way to the base," you respond quickly and look to Laswell. "Kate, I can't do this with so many people."

“I can’t pull you out of this one X.” Laswell says shaking her head. “Your skills are needed heavily on this mission.”

You sigh and set the file down, already feeling annoyed by the mission and hoping it would end soon. Working with a team was the last thing you ever wanted in life. You only care about your own safety, while it is your job to keep people safe, not everyone is expected to do that 24/7.

"You said you already knew who we are," Price says, breaking your train of thoughts. "How did you get our information?"

"With good skills in pickpocketing and hacking, you can do anything," you say, crossing your arms in front of your chest. "Let's just get this done, so we don't have to worry about this problem getting worse."

"Speaking like a true team member," Laswell says, patting your back. "I'll leave you all to discuss the matter. Price, let me know when you're all set to leave."

"Will do," Price responds, watching Laswell leave the room. "Now, everyone, we are going to ignore everything that's in this file."

"What?" König says, surprised. "Sir, we can't clearly-"

"Now you're speaking my language!" You smile and close the file. "I might have misjudged you, Captain."

“Gaz watch the door and Soap close the blinds to this room.” Price orders making slightly smile more, seeing actual order was nice. “Now, X right?”

“That’s correct.” You reply looking at him. “I’m guessing you want my idea in how we can sneak in?”

“A woman that can read my mind.” Price chuckles for a moment and then stops. His face becoming serious. “Well?”

"The layout features two entrances, two floors are show..but seems that their could be potentially a hidden third floor located underground..” You pause for a moment and then sigh. “Which may contain sensitive information and be highly secure."

"We can sweep each floor, starting by first floor, we can then move to the second floor and possibly have two people search for the entrence to the third floor." Price says in an ordering tone."We have six people on the team, we can split into three groups of two people each."

"I can go alone," you say, causing Price to shake his head. "I think it's best if two people go by themselves, it'll be more efficient and we can split up and keep watch for the other group."

"Agreed," a deep and husky British voice says, sending shivers down your spine. "It would be beneficial for us, captain."

"Fine," Price says, causing you to relax. "X and Ghost will go alone. Now, let's get our gear and be ready to leave in ten minutes."

Everyone nods to Price and exits the briefing room. The teams were already assigned. Gaz is with Price, Soap is with König and you and Ghost are alone. It seems straightforward, even for Laswell who isn't privy to the full plan.

—

As you enter the base, you aim your gun around, following behind Ghost. Everything seems normal until someone takes notice of your group's presence. You quickly pull out your knife and throw it past Price and König, then run up to the enemy and pin them against the wall. You take the knife out their arm and cut their throat, causing blood to spill on your hands. König quickly shoots someone nearby and the others begin firing at the enemies. The first floor is filled with the sounds of bullets hitting the floor and the smell of blood. It's a chaotic and bloody entrance for sure.

"Bloody hell," Price exclaimed, "All of you, be alert. We are not splitting up under any circumstances." Price quickly reloaded their gun, the sound of the chamber clicking into place filling the room. You couldn't help but sigh at the seriousness of the situation, knowing that things were about to get dangerous. "Alright, everyone, get ready," Price continued, "We are heading to the second floor. Keep your eyes and ears open, and stay alert." Price's voice was firm and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

As you heard Price's command, you decided to act on your own, ignoring the order to stick together, and rushed upstairs, eager to take on the enemy. However, as soon as you reached the second floor, you were met with a hail of bullets, forcing you to quickly dodge and weave your way through the barrage of gunfire.

You managed to find temporary refuge behind a door, but you soon realize that you weren't alone. An enemy was approaching, armed with a genie knife, ready to attack you.

"We don't have to do this," you said, trying to diffuse the situation. "Please, I don't want to hurt you." You said as you closed the door behind you, in an attempt to keep the enemy away, and also to give you some time to think.

The enemy, however, didn't seem to hear your words and kept advancing, the genie knife in hand, ready to strike. You quickly back away, trying to put some distance between you and the enemy, but you soon found yourself backed against the door with nowhere else to go.

As the enemy swung the knife at you, you realized that there was no reasoning with them. They didn't care about themselves or the consequences of their actions. They were focused solely on their mission and taking you out. In that moment you understood that you have to defend yourself, you have to protect your life. You need to take action, be ready to defend yourself with whatever means necessary. You prepared yourself mentally and physically, as you have to be ready for the next move that the enemy will make.

The enemy quickly overpowered you, pinning you against the wall, the knife now inches away from your face. But you were not going to give up that easily, you quickly used your combat training and press your knee on the enemy's crouch. Applying unwelcoming pressure, causing them to back off and drop the knife away from them.

You took this opportunity to tackle them, and grabbing the knife in the process. You were now in control of the situation and the weapon. However, in the midst of the struggle, you were unaware of the door being opened by one of your teammates, soap. They were witnessing the situation and was ready to intervene if needed.

With the enemy subdued, you raise the knife up and stab their chest multiple times, letting some blood splash on your face. As you did this, you could feel the adrenaline pumping through your body, a mix of fear, anger, and satisfaction. You felt victorious, but also a sense of guilt and remorse.

"What the fuck.." soap exclaimed, looking at you with shock and horror in their eyes.

They were taken aback by the scene before them, the enemy lying on the ground, covered in blood and the knife still in your hand.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be emotionless, your expression was blank, and your eyes were empty. You were still in shock from what had just happened, processing the events and the emotions that came with it. You get up, trying to shake off the feeling of the weight of what you had just done.

"Jesus," soap murmured, as they take in the sight.

They were at a loss for words, not sure what to say or how to react. They knew that the situation was intense and that you had to defend yourself, but still, the sight was unsettling.

Price enters the room and sees the gruesome sight, the enemy lying motionless on the ground, covered in blood and the knife still in your hand. They immediately understood what had happened, and how intense the situation was.

As you back away from the body, Price could see the weight of what had just happened in your eyes, the shock and the guilt.Price didn't say anything, just nod to acknowledge what had happened. They knew that their team had taken out the rest of the enemies on the second floor, and now it was a matter of securing the area and making sure that there were no other threats.

You move past them, looking around, taking in the destruction and the aftermath of the fight. The sight of all the bodies, the smell of gunpowder, and the sound of silence filled the room.

"Cleared the first floor," Ghost said behind you, speaking to Price. "We found the room with the information. Gaz downloaded everything we needed."

You heard the words but your mind was still processing the recent event, trying to make sense of what just happened. Ghost's words brought you back to the present, reminding you of the objective and mission. You took a deep breath, try to shake off the recent event, and focus on the task at hand.

"Good," Price says, still looking at you. "Who placed the bombs?"

"I did, captain," König says, looking over at the dead body, taking responsibility for his actions. "Our helicopter is awaiting us, captain."

"Let's go," Gaz calls out from the stairs, "We don't have much time till they set off, captain. I have a feeling some of the enemies got away."

Price nods, understanding the urgency of the situation. They quickly give orders to the team to leave the building, and to move quickly to the helicopter, that was awaiting for them.

—

The helicopter ride was silent, as you all sat there with your own thoughts, processing the events that just transpired. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts, the weight of what just happened hanging heavily in the air. You stared at your hands, replaying the events in your head, feeling a mix of emotions.

But after a moment, you finally snapped out of the sorrow, and the weight of the recent events began to lift. You couldn't help but smile a bit, feeling relieved that it was over. Price noticed your change in expression and cleared their throat, grabbing your attention.

"Where did you learn to do such a brutal thing?" Price says, his tone demanding and making you feel anger fuming inside of you. "Answer me, X."

You met his gaze, your own expression now hardening as you got ready to reply.

"When you work alone, you learn stuff." You say softly looking at him.

Price was taken aback by your reply, he probably wasn't expecting that answer. He probably thought that you have some sort of training or special forces background. But the reality is that your training is the result of the situations you have been in, the fight for survival and the need to protect yourself.

"Stop the helicopter," you said, your voice firm and commanding, indicating that you wanted to get off the helicopter.

"We are in the middle of nowhere, X." Gaz calls out from the passenger seat, "There's no base or towns near here!"

"This is my stop!" you said, getting up from your seat. König quickly puts his arm out, stopping you. "I know this area like the back of my hand,"

"You aren't leaving," Ghost says, making you stop and look at him. "No one is, until we get to the base."

You could see the determination in Ghost's eyes, he was in command mode now, but you were not going to let anyone stop you. You pushed König's arm out of the way and grab your gear, quickly moving to the door of the helicopter. You opened the door, and without hesitation, you jump out as Price yelled your code name. König gets up from his seat, hitting his head on the ceiling, startled by your sudden move.

Soap immediately rushes to the open door, only to see a parachute blocking the sight of you. They knew then that you had planned this and you were determined to leave. They knew that this was not something that they could stop you from doing.

As you drift away from the helicopter, you could see your team looking at you in shock and confusion, but you didn't care, you knew that you had to do this. You had to be alone, to process the recent events and to think about your next move.

You were aware that your actions might have consequences, but you felt that it was necessary. You pull the cord and your parachute opened, allowing you to drift safely to the ground. As you landed, you felt a sense of freedom wash over you, knowing that you were finally alone, and that you could finally think and process everything that had just happened.

"She has a parachute!" Soap yelled, trying to calm down the men, who were startled and confused by your sudden move. "Captain?"

Price sits back and shakes his head, "Leave her, I know Laswell will have her around," he says with a sigh. "That woman is crazy."

It is clear that your actions caught them by surprise and they may not agree with your decision but they knew that they had to respect it. They knew that you have your own way of handling things, and they had to trust that you knew what you were doing.

They also knew that you have a reputation of being a skilled and capable operative, who have gone on solo missions before, you have the knowledge and the experience to handle yourself.

As you watch the helicopter vanish from your sight, a sense of relief washed over you. You were finally alone, and you could finally take a moment to process everything that had just happened. You felt the weight of the recent events lift, and you couldn't help but smile.

You take a deep breath, feeling the fresh air fill your lungs and the warmth of the sun on your skin. You lay down on the grass, enjoying the moment of peace, and taking in the beauty of your surroundings. The sounds of nature, the rustling of the leaves, and the chirping of the birds all helped to calm your mind and ease your soul.

You knew that you still have a lot to think about, a lot of decisions to make, and a lot of things to process. But for now, you were content to enjoy the moment, and to take a break from the chaos and violence of the mission. You close your eyes, letting yourself relax and drift away in the peacefulness.

—

Months passed, and no one had heard from you. Laswell never informed the team what happened to you, if you had ever reported back to her or if you had gone on another mission. The team couldn't help but wonder about your whereabouts and what had become of you. They couldn't help but think about the way you had defeated an enemy, with no hesitation, no pity in your eyes, just emptiness, and a clear mode of self-preservation.

They thought about the times Soap would mention your code name, and how you always seemed to be one step ahead of the enemy. They couldn't help but admire your skills and your determination.

Until one day, out of the blue, you showed up in the briefing room, with Laswell awaiting the team.

Price was pleased to see you, relieved that you were okay and that nothing had happened to you. He was curious to know where you have been and what had happened during your time away, but he also knew that it was not the right time to ask.

Soap, on the other hand, was head over heels to see you, he couldn't help but smile when you entered the room, he had missed your presence and your skills. He couldn't stop himself from trying to imitate the move you did on the enemy, many times, yet he could never land it right.

"The Cartel has attacked again, this time getting the British involved," Laswell says, handing everyone a file. "We need to take out the leader, and put an end to this once and for all. X, you will lead this mission, and work with the team to take out the leader and dismantle the cartel. Then, you will return back to the base, where we will debrief and plan the next move."

"Is X joining our team?" Gaz says, raising an eyebrow as he notices the uniform, "I don't have anything against it if she is."

"Please, call me Y/n." You say getting up from your seat. "Excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

"Y/n, sit your ass back down," Price orders you firmly. "You will listen to your captain, and you will follow orders. We are a team, and we need to work together to succeed."

A small smile spread across your lips as you took in the new team you found yourself in. You were excited to explore the new world of teamwork, and see what kind of adventures awaited you. You look at the men in front of you, all of them delighted and happy to accept you into the team. You knew that it would take time for everyone to adjust, but who knows what kind of adventures could await you now?

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tenderlady · 5 months

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Hi there! A while ago, you said in your tags to this post that you believe David Lynch would be one of the best suited directors for making a movie about the Beatles. What can I say, I've been thinking about this ever since, vaguely-yet-passionately agreeing, without putting my thoughts into actual sentences...Would you mind elaborating?

You ever get an ask so good you have to break out your laptop to type up your thoughts with greater alacrity?

My friends and I have this concept that we call "trapdoors," which are basically concepts or things that, if brought up in conversation, will cause whoever is talking to you to tumble into an abyss of information that you are duty-bound to provide. Beatles biopics happen to be one of mine, so if you would like to join me in the abyss, the trapdoor is under the cut.

I actually have a few working directors that I think would do a great job with a Beatles movie, including Sofia Coppola, Peter Greenaway, Park Chan-wook, and even, potentially, Martin Scorsese. But the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that the best-suited director working today for making a Beatles movie is actually David Lynch.

I think a lot of this ultimately comes down to what you want from a Beatles biopic, and what you haven't liked about Beatles movies in the past. For me, I'm tired of Beatles-biopic-as-hagiography and I want more stories that approach them as fully-rounded people. And one thing that is very specific to me personally is that I'm interested in the moments when the Beatles story has occasionally tilted toward the magical and mysterious, for lack of better phrasing. So an ideal Beatles biopic, for me, would be one that is dedicated to showing the Beatles themselves as holistic human beings and doesn't shy away from showcasing their bad behavior, but also one that is concerned with portraying those magical realist elements that I find so fascinating.

Enter David Lynch. Lynch has a well-documented fascination with the pop culture of the mid-20th century and an interestingly sumptuous eye toward production design (I'm thinking about the ambiguously midcentury setting of Blue Velvet in particular here), so I think at the bare minimum, if he were to make a Beatles movie, it would look right. But I'm more interested in Lynch's directorial choices and pet themes than I am in how his films look.

Much of his work is concerned with fame, be it the attainment of it or what it means to have it (ex: Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire), and also with the production of art and what it does to our psyches to create (ditto the above examples). These themes would obviously come to bear in any serious film about the Beatles, but I think David Lynch has historically had interesting things to say about these topics.

Lynch's films (and work in general) often veer into horror in their sudden depictions of graphic violence and sexuality, but that would actually be a more realistic depiction of the Beatles' history than most of what we've gotten. I think a gritty, Wild at Heart-style Lynch movie about Hamburg could be very fun. The leather and the 50s and the weird sex stuff of all of it is very Lynch, but all very true to the reality of what the Beatles' lives were like. Their story is full of these seemingly random spurts of violence (Stu getting kicked in the head, the Bob Wooler incident, the cherry bomb at the concert, John's murder, George's stabbing, just to name a few), to the point where reading about them can feel occasionally Lynchian in itself.

For me, though, the biggest draw of having a Lynch-directed Beatles movie is what Lynch is best known for, which is that dream-(or nightmare) feeling that so much of his work has. Something that drew me to the Beatles as an overeducated adult with lots of music listening behind me now is this strange sense of the mystical that hangs over so much of the Beatles narrative. The story of Paul's premonition of the dream with the gold coins, the John and Paul being mirror images of each other, people in the Beatles circle being visited by dead loved ones in their dreams, John and Paul claiming to have SHARED dreams, the whole Emperor of Eternity thing; like I could go on and on and on. These stories are all so fascinating, but often get underexplored in the (legitimately) very rich text of the Beatles story, so I get it, but I also know that Lynch would see these moments and do something really fucking cool with them.

Primarily, I see a Lynch-directed Beatles biopic going one of three ways: a Blue Velvet-style gothic set during the Beatlemania years about a naive black-Irish twink biting off more than he can chew in the pursuit of fame. David Lynch loves doubles and doppelganger imagery (Mulholland Drive, Twin Peaks, Inland Empire....), so I think he would get a lot of mileage out of the matching Beatle suits and haircuts and all the merch with their likenesses on it. I also want to see some real horror mined out of the hiding in meat vans and getting mauled by girls with scissors trying to cut off your hair for relics. Shit is crazy.

Option two would be a Mulholland Drive-style psychological horror set during the height of the Beatles' Swinging London decadence, like around 1967, potentially including India. It would definitely 100% include the Emperor of Eternity acid trip and would be primarily focused on the strange relationship and identity sublimation between John and Paul. Again, Mulholland Drive-style. Gayest potential option imo.

The last option, and the one that makes the most sense with where Lynch is in his career rn, is a Twin Peaks: The Return-style meditation on nostalgia and memory and time. I think this one would probably be getting a little too close to the present day to be feasible, but I think a lot could be done with the idea of current-day Granddude Paul constantly seeing reproductions of his own younger self and dead friends and lovers everywhere he goes. As much as I love Now & Then, the whole thing does how a weird techno-gothic, Black Mirror sheen to it, one that I think Lynch would recognize and have something to say about. Would this make Paul Coop and John Laura Palmer? Hard to say and much to unpack there, but still.

Regardless: I think David Lynch is the only one out there doing it in a weird, fucked-up way that the Beatles would deserve. (Also he literally got into transcendental meditation because of the Maharishi, so there's definitely some six-degrees-of-Beatles happening there lmao)

If you read all of this, thank you, and I'm sorry, and here is a picture of Kyle MacLachlan as Paul from the David Lynch Beatles biopic that is currently screening in my heart for your trouble

#thanks for the question love!!#i hope this was even remotely close to what you were looking for!!!#i have Much To Say on this topic lmao #lynchian beatles

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boundinparchment · 5 months

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LV

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter on AO3 here. MC's dress || Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich, performed by The Dixie String Quartet is on the Spotify playlist.

You nestled the last pin in your hair and admired your handiwork in the vanity for a moment. Perfect. Nothing would interfere with your mask nor felt uncomfortable.

In the mirror, your eyes flickered to the doorway to your dressing room, where Zandik leaned against the doorframe halfway dressed. He’d been there ever since you began working on your hair, suspenders dangling, only moving his head to momentarily look at something else. Some might have found such moments unnerving, this habit of his to watch and look and listen; for you, his presence was akin to a hug or a kiss on the forehead. Just another demonstration of his affection.

Tonight, you would go without the extra headpieces to conceal yourself. Hiding your hair would only draw more attention, after all, and you were already at the mercy of entering the ball alongside Zandik.

To do anything else, such as enter apart but spend the rest of the evening with him, would only bring more questions.

Hiding you, shielding you and keeping you to himself made sense, once upon a time. Deep down, you were certain Zandik still wanted to. There was a flatness in his bottom lip about the topic and he often held you tighter when you were alone, savoring the private intimacy.

But he, of all people, knew the importance of freedom, of recognizing one’s true nature.

Make-up and hair finished, you rose from the vanity and made your way to the door. You pressed a hand against his chest, his once-soft dark navy shirt stiff under your touch from being starched and ironed. As you cupped his cheek, absently noticing his lack of earring, Zandik turned his head and took your hand in his, reverently pressing a kiss to your palm before his lips hovered over your pulse.

“Go finish getting ready, mon rêve.”

Zandik pursed his lips slightly, lowering his head before he pointedly kissed your wrist again and closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to go. It didn’t take being his soulmate to figure that out. Anyone of his caliber would prefer to be working and making progress over social formalities. As often as he carved out time for you, be it dinner or a training session or simply a quiet evening reading while you played, he sent letters explaining a delay or a missed meal.

“Am I not allowed to savor you?” he asked, his breath tickling your skin. “Before the trappings of formalities take us both?”

You certainly couldn’t argue with that.

He lingered only a second longer before a knock at the door broke the moment like a hammer to a mirror. Zandik gritted his pointed teeth, baring them for a second in a frustrated snarl, as he turned his attention to the sound.

“About time...took long enough...”

You parted, grazing your fingertips across his cheek in apology, and he left to address the interruption.

Left to your own devices, you closed your dressing room door and finished getting ready.

At first, you hadn’t been certain about the lace you picked out on a whim. Columbina sweetly terrorized the shopkeeper so you could browse in peace. Most colors would potentially show through the gown, leaving you with only a few options. The handwoven material was soft against your thighs and waist, the garter belt straps far easier to use than the ones you recalled from home (although perhaps that was simply the benefit of handmade anything).

It felt strange to be without a corset but the dress draped over you and took care of the structure and shape, as discussed with the seamstress. The neckline was twisted and asymmetrical, a swath of fabric covering your left shoulder while your right was bare, save a single strap as delicate as spider’s silk. Your back was bare down to the dip of your waist where a short train fell and pooled behind you.

The dress shimmered and sparkled with the faintest blush. It passed for a soft white, the slightest contrast to Zandik’s crisp and cool preferences.

Your satin heels were simple, as were your earrings. By other standards, including the Tsaritsa’s, you appeared quite plain. But anything beyond the mask in your hand felt excessive, given its prominence.

When you emerged, Zandik was in the sitting room, dressed and idly twirling something between his fingers. He wore mostly white, with the exception of a light blue satin waistcoat, cinched, and a blue and white feather pinned at his lapel. The usual gem worn in his harness was pinned to the center of his white cravat. His inanimate mechanical bird rested over his shoulders, shrouding him in a mantle of feathers. You caught a flash of light blue in the tails of his coat as they curved and fell past his knees.

His lips moved but you didn’t quite catch the sounds he made, the words foreign and low as his ears burned pink. For effect, you gave a small twirl, and it was impossible to miss the sensation of his eyes skimming across your bare back.

“I take it you like it, then?” you said, smiling softly.

Zandik closed the distance between you with slow steps and stopped only when he was just in front of you.

“You look like crystal stardust,” he replied after a beat, lips grazing your forehead. “Similar to when you activate your Vision in a fight. Quite striking.”

He took your hands in his and you felt warm metal slide over your ring finger. When he pulled away, you looked down and found a rectangular aquamarine roughly the size of your last knuckle.

“Zandik, what…”

“I did say it was not the Tsaritsa’s place to determine what jewelry you wore. A ring seemed...efficient. Wouldn’t get in the way of you playing but be enough of a conventional statement to keep others at bay.”

He took your hand in his and ran his gloved thumb over the edge of the stone. It glowed softly, similar to his absent earring and the various ornaments he wore almost daily.

“Whenever I think of you, it glows. It should also be able to carry short messages but that hasn’t been thoroughly tested.”

The glow faded slowly, reluctantly. Zandik let go of your hand and reached into his inner jacket pocket, seeking something.

“I modified the communications technology I used elsewhere. Gemstones prove more...difficult than liquids such as primordial seawater or Irminsul sap, naturally.”

“Presumably, it has a partner?” you asked, eyes flicking from his hand to his face.

You were rewarded with a raised eyebrow. “I can never surprise you anymore, can I?”

His mouth softened into a smile as he found what he was looking for. Zandik extended his hand and you reached out to pick up the cylindrical topaz earring, clear and without inclusions, the perfect shade of golden yellow.

Your power, you, in place of...

Zandik angled his head and you fed the wire through the piercing, securing it when it was seated properly. The curling tendril of his bangs wrapped around it. It didn’t look as out of place as expected, given the golden accents of his suit, but it would be striking for those who knew his usual appearance.

Last night’s dance swam in your head, overriding any remaining anxiety as the topaz in turn began to light up from within.

“Can’t surprise me? Absolutely not true and you know it,” you whispered.

Please with himself, he threw you a playful grin before he slid his mask into place. You did the same, fussing with the straps in hopes your hair wouldn’t be ruined.

Hand in the crook of his arm, the two of you made your way downstairs, ready to get this over with.

Formality dictated that, given you were not publicly known nor the spouse of the Second Harbinger, you were to enter the ball unescorted as any other guest. But Zandik was not one for convention and his enjoyment at the expressions on his colleagues faces was palpable as you descended the stairs together and joined the awaiting Arlecchino, Columbina, and another man with white hair and a single visible eye.

“You’re on time, Doctor. It’s a comfort to know someone can tear you away from that workshop of yours,” the white-haired stranger said.

He approached, his figure as imposing as the Captain’s from what you recalled. Even Zandik had to adjust his neck to look at the other man.

The introduced himself as Pierro and you curtsied, the gesture ingrained in your muscles; in turn, you received warm lips on your knuckles.

“I have not yet had the time to watch you play, as most of my subordinates and Her Majesty have. But hardly a day goes by without your music gracing the halls and I look forward to hearing what you’ve composed.”

“Thank you, Lord Harbinger,” you replied, reminding yourself to soften your smile.

“You’re familiar with the room’s layout, where the orchestra is set up, your cue?”

“Yes, I am, sir.”

He nodded, offered a kind smile, and then said something to Zandik in a tongue you’d never heard before. Your partner clicked his tongue, ears pink, and you caught something pass over Pierro’s expression when he thumped Zandik on the back twice.

“He was the stranger in the desert,” Zandik supplied quietly as Pierro walked away. “One of the few who can say they’ve seen my...evolution, so to speak.”

The rest of the gathering was a blur. Columbina hovered behind you, head on your shoulder as she asked Alecchino if the fabric of your dress was something she should consider next. You suppressed a shudder as you recalled the Third’s kaleidoscope eyes and tried to pair them with a fabric that looked like liquid stardust.

“You certainly would be able to hide not wearing shoes, my dove,” Arlecchino conceded.

To Zandik, the Knave said, “Interesting change, Doctor. I never thought gold was your color.”

“Of course it is, Arl,” Columbina chimed in. “It’s not like Regrator has a monopoly on a color. Besides, our Doctor looks quite healthy now, wouldn’t you say? A little less sallow? Happy, even?”

Zandik let a breath out of his nose. “Is that so?”

You stifled a laugh and were thankful that, not long after, you followed the expected protocol and found yourself in the center of the ball room. You weren’t the only guest (Capitano, Pantalone, and even Sandrone were not unaccompanied), which you were thankful for, but their faces were exposed, known.

Zandik flexed and you squeezed his arm in return as you settled into position awaiting the Tsaritsa. The Archon was escorted by Pierro, her dress as light as air despite the volume of the layers. The fabric whispered against the floor in the hushed silence.

She addressed the guests with a quiet but warm authority, not unlike how she first greeted you. Compared to the performances from Focalors in the Opera Epiclese, the Tsaritsa’s praise of Her Harbingers was grounded, full of pride and yet never reaching the fantastical exaggerations the Hydro Archon was prone to. The Tsaritsa’s eyes sparkled as much as the shining star on the sash, pinned over her heart as always, but there was a falsehood to it; a layer of ice that would never truly thaw.

You hoped your composition captured her oxymoronic nature.

Following your verbal cue, you stepped away from Zandik and passed through the crowd on the edge of the ballroom, escorted by one of your usual companions. Columbina floated ahead of you, her soft slippers gliding over the polished floor. A sea of familiar faces awaited you as you took your position and picked up the baton waiting for you.

You couldn’t use the one Zandik made for you, not without the risk of summoning your claymore over the heads of your musicians.

Percussion and strings came first to create a subtle yet solid foundation of the rhythm. A single woodwind picked up their cue, joined after a bar by the rest of their section for a warm, if melancholic beginning. Flutes picked up and carried the tune not unlike the birds that always welcomed the sun whenever it broke through the icy clouds every morning.

You wove the string section in, rounding out the composition. Grandiose in the middle, you gestured for a little more volume, listening carefully for any off rhythm or out of tune. Columbina’s harmonic vibrato rang through, an eerie chill dancing along the melody.

Everyone hit their climactic cue as practiced, as perfected, and relief flooded you. Halfway done.

Without an idea of what was happening behind you, you could only move forward and continue to pull everything together, beat by beat. Natural instinct took over, nerves steeled, and you let the notes envelope you as you moved everyone into the next section.

Your arms ached not due to exhaustion from conducting but longing. The last time you’d performed for an audience properly was lackluster, a shadow of your skills and heart, the strings on your cello more akin to sand between your fingers. A distant memory that felt so far away now. You felt full, proud, in the same way you did when you slashed your claymore through a mech and allowed your Vision’s energy to pass through you.

In this moment, every note, every gesture, was tangible, real. Coaxed and carried into the air, nurtured by the musician and by you, given a purpose and a place to exist.

You guided everyone into the final bar and closed the song with a flourish, the last of the brass section echoing off the walls of the ballroom. Applause exploded as everyone returned to rest position and you smiled, ushering everyone to stand and bow. Your success was theirs as well and when you turned to gaze out at the crowd, you caught a glassiness to the Tsaritsa’s expression that hadn’t been there before.

You turned and arranged the sheet music for the other conductor as you thanked everyone; there was little time for much else when you’d invigorated the crowd.

Expectations were shattered.

And now the evening was yours to enjoy.

Even when you were apart from Zandik, however temporary, the air felt charged. You half expected lightning to strike at any moment as eyes lingered on you. The Second was immediately swept up into conversations that were directly related to ongoing events. He was spared a single moment to congratulate you before his attention was divided, the vein in his neck prominent from annoyance.

Columbina pulled you along, Arlecchino never far behind, wine glass in one hand as the Third prattled away. The Dove kept most at bay, deterring only the brave or the foolish who wanted to ask about your education, your connection to the Doctor; what kind of person were you to write a musical composition and yet accompany a man so logical and cold that he often spent such events looking for a victim to toy with all evening?

Sandrone approached you only once, not deigning to look at your companions, and congratulated you in a tone you recognized as polite disdain. It was the same kind of placating that you received in Fontaine, a falsehood that exposed itself as the words were spoken. She, too, was among those who did not understand why, precisely, the Doctor would have brought you back with him. A musician with a talent for composition, who wielded a weapon on occasion, was nothing special.

There were others better suited to his interests, his passions, she said in closing; you smiled enigmatically into your glass and wished her a good evening.

The cognitive dissonance would disappear eventually once your soulmate finished his social rounds.

“Is she always like that?” you asked the two Harbingers.

“Weirdly possessive and thinking highly of herself? Yes,” Arlecchino replied. “Her mechanical knowledge is rivaled only by Dottore’s but she can never quite position herself to climb higher. I suppose that’s what happens when you shed your humanity and limit yourself to being a puppeteer of other marionettes though.”

Soon enough, however, the Third and Fourth had their own duties to tend to. Across the room, you watched Zandik’s earring glow faintly, and he turned to look at you for a moment. He nodded in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. You would be reunited soon enough.

You looked around and made your way to the perimeter of the ballroom, where tables and chairs were set up to allow guests to rest. Not far from you, you caught sight of a large figure overlooking the room, his black uniform cutting a striking contrast against the white and gilded décor of the wall behind him.

Greeting him with a curtsy, the Captain nodded to you in silence and then returned his gaze to the rest of the room.

“You are the talk of the evening, Maestra. I hope you do not allow common gossip to concern you tonight.”

The Captain was a man of little words and yet when he spoke, he always managed to make the most poignant remarks.

“I cannot recall the last time nasha Tsaritsa and her Jester smiled as they danced,” the Harbinger continued. “She lost her true ability to love when Celestia took her beloved Sovereign from her and froze him under the sea. The Doctor is not the only one affected by your presence and skill.”

His head turned and you saw nothing but an inky abyss through the opening of his helmet.

“You would do well to remember that, Maestra.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

He straightened and didn’t speak again, instead continuing through the perimeter, ever vigilant.

Your ring glowed and cast the slightest tint of blue against the glass of sparkling wine as you raised it to your lips. You looked around and nearly jumped when you found Zandik behind you. The Third and Fourth excused themselves with a biting comment about lovebirds and slipped into the crowd.

“I trust you were in good company in my absence?” he asked.

“I was,” you replied, an errant hand reaching out to straight the feather on his lapel. “Finished for the evening?”

“My obligations have been met and I have every intention of spending the rest of the evening uninterrupted.”

Zandik held out a hand in silent request. You abandoned your glass on the nearest table before placing your hand in his and breaking through the throng of people to the dance floor. A jolt jumped through his fingertips to yours and ran up your arm, your heart expanding of its own accord.

Just like the previous night, you fell into rhythm quickly, Zandik precise and in-step as he led. The sensation of eyes crawling up your back, skimming your joined hands and how closely you danced, was offset by the way his scent lingered and how perfect you felt against him. The closest feeling to this was stepping into a warm room on a rainy day or entering your favorite cafe. Being pressed to him, in his arms, was like being home.

Around you, the air felt charged again, only this time you were certain that if it struck, you would die fulfilled.

“You were right,” you murmured as he spun both of you around.

“Of course I was. But what about?”

“I missed it. All of it.”

The hand on your waist moved to your back, fingers pressing into the exposed skin at the small of your back. Words failed to truly encompass what you meant and the thumb stroking your spine reminded you that they weren’t necessary for the man dancing with you.

“You’re talented, rooh 'albi. You don’t need me to tell you that. There is a beauty, a strength, that only comes with wielding that knowledge and hard work. If the cursed principles were so dead-set on pairing me, I’m glad it is to you.”

You settled your head onto his shoulder as best you could, even if it wasn’t befitting of the dance, the bird feathers tickling your nose. His scent was intoxicating, sandalwood and mint and musk, and for the last movements of the song, you pushed out all other noise and sensations except for Zandik.

“Can we go get some air after this?” you asked. “I’m tired of being surrounded.”

Zandik pressed his lips to your ear, his breath hot.

“You read my mind. I’ve just about his my threshold for nonsense for the evening.”

The song ended, and you resisted the urge to kiss him as you pulled away, your faces a hair width apart despite your masks. Not here, you reminded yourself, even though every part of you burned with something beyond pure need.

Your soul longed to feel his, connect and tangle and weave itself. It was more overpowering than any sensation you’d felt before.

And cut short too soon when a familiar voice sent needles up your spine and broke your reverie.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Maestra?”

In a stupor, you turned your head towards Pantalone, a congenial smile on his lips and his eyes closed; he wore the face of a host pleased with his guests’ experiences.

You hadn’t seen the banker all evening, actually, now that you considered it, o ther than the line-up at the beginning. It was only polite that you danced with Zandik’s closest colleague, regardless of your own sentiments. Your partner had yet to let you go and if you truly had a choice, you would have preferred to decline and stay in Zandik’s arms.

But there were eyes on you and gossip spread quicker than wildfire.

“My pleasure, Lord Harbinger. But only the one.”

Zandik relented and you took your position with Pantalone as the next song began. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched blue hair and bird feathers as the other Harbinger moved about the room.

Did he suspect his colleague, you wondered. You’d told Zandik of your experiences, how cautious you preferred to be around the banker as of late, and he was no stranger to Pantalone’s machinations, either.

The banker led you in the dance in a familiar tug that made your stomach drop to your feet. He was on beat, smooth in his steps, but he expected you to follow him. You stiffened considerably, grateful that his gloved hands never seemed to touch your bare skin other than your hand.

“A wonderful performance, as expected,” Pantalone said. “You managed to pull a smile from Her Majesty, one that hasn’t been seen in years. A testament to your skill.”

“Thank you, my lord. It wouldn’t have been possible without the musicians I worked with, however. A conductor, let alone the composition itself, is only as good as those playing the music.”

“Ever humble, Maestra. For every commonality, there is a corresponding difference between you and the Doctor. The further you ingratiate yourself, the harder this will be, you know, when those differences truly take root."

You followed his cue to spin you out and when you returned, you narrowly avoided stepping on his toe as a response.

“He forgets himself with you around. I remember what it was to be enamored, attached, bonded. They succumbed to illness long before their time. So long in fact that I cannot remember their face clearly. But I recall their touch, their presence, and you would do well to remember that your Zandik has centuries on you. He will outlast you, surpass you, because that is who he is.”

What was Pantalone getting at?

He dipped you backwards, so low you swore you intended to drop you. For a man with a lithe figure, he had more strength and reflexes than he led on. When you were upright again, you spat the first words that came to mind.

"I don't intend to go anywhere. Face the truth and set aside whatever bias you hold, Lord Harbinger."

"And watch my closest colleague suffer when he experiences the inevitability of the lies you've created? Watch my nation wonder about the mysterious woman who is not a Harbinger but managed to seat herself so closely to the Doctor that she has to be some fearsome entity, bewitching even the Tsaritsa herself? I think not."

The music swelled to a close and Pantalone stepped away almost immediately. He bowed only low enough to be polite, gold eyes glittering through his lashes with malice.

“Enjoy your evening, Maestra.”

You were shaking by the time you wove your way through the crowd, grabbed Zandik’s hand, and found the nearest exit from the ballroom. Both of you found a courtyard, dusted with frost, and stepped outside. The cold air was crisp against your hot skin and grounded you almost instantly despite the goosebumps breaking out across your arms.

“What did he say to you?” Zandik asked firmly as he cast off the feathery mantle and draped the bird over your shoulders.

“That you forget yourself with me present. That you’ll outlive me, that I’m lying to you, worming my way into the Tsaritsa’s favor.” You paused, rounding your shoulders to press your face against the metal bird. “None of it is true. How can he come to such conclusions, Zandik?”

“Whatever nonsense Pantalone said is unique to his situation, one I’ve studied extensively. He’s given me a mouthful of drivel on more than one occasion, rooh 'albi. One’s experiences always color their perspective and they always think they’re right; they cannot see beyond themselves.”

You turned and faced Zandik entirely when his hand reached for you. Instinctively, you cradled his face in both of your hands, feeling the slightest hint of stubble already beginning to grow despite his shave this morning.

“It would be more painful to be apart,” you whispered. “Than to not know what this feels like.”

“A conclusion that doesn’t have enough evidence to support. But it is the driving hypothesis behind why we agreed to explore this, isn’t it?”

“Will you outlive me? Am I condemning you to an existence of absence, mon rêve?”

“I’m hardly immortal. I’ve extended my life and with a handful of exceptions, I’m human. I’ll die one day, same as you.”

Your breaths came out in smokey puffs, the chill burning your nostrils and yet you didn’t want to go back inside. Trembling, you angled your head and captured Zandik’s lips with yours, finding nothing but steady warmth, certainty.

When you opened your mouth, his tongue found yours with reflexive ease, tasting you. You craved more, one hand slipping from his cheek to cradle the back of his head and give yourself a bit of purchase. Hunger, need, far deeper than mere carnality, swirled in your chest.

Zandik broke the kiss first, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a satisfying pop.

“Uncertainty and fear do not become you. Forget the rest. What do you want?”

He breathed the words against the skin of your neck and the courtyard spun around you as his teeth grazed your flesh.

“You. Us. Whatever we carve out of this world for ourselves.”

Zandik peppered kisses along your jaw.

“Then you shall have me, musiqaa ruhi. All of me. Even long after every last star in the sky is gone and we are free of the shackles of fate that tie us together.”

The words carried both of you out of the courtyard and deep into the night, never out of reach of one another.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #genshin impact reader insert #soulmate au

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waxingrunes · 4 months

Note

I’m going to probe into your brain about something because I really enjoy your answers to things and because you seem willing to answer these type of questions I’m taking my shot! Do you think Remus enjoys being a werewolf? Do you think Sirius has ever been scared of him because of it? Do padfoot and moony fight? Slightly more not safe for work but what do you think things are like in bed between then before and after the full moon? You can skip that if you want but I see so many takes I’m curious about yours

I know that it takes a lot of steam to think about these answers so please take your time and feel free to just completely ignore if you don’t have the energy. Thank you for being the way you are and I can’t wait for your next art!!

The way you spelt out the acronym made me laugh. I see you trying to dip under the tumblr patrol. This will end up being a lengthy answer so to avoid taking up an obnoxious space on everyone’s feeds, read on if you’re interested:

To answer your questions in order, I don’t think Remus likes being a werewolf at all. His condition can be an isolating one for many reasons and has very little, if any, benefit. I think Remus has grown up learning to broadly keep himself to himself, keep his head down, and to not cause trouble so as to dissuade any extra attention being drawn to him. Remus is quite a shy, unassuming person by default, and due to the backlash of fear, abuse, and general distaste towards his lycanthropy, he’s built a defence mechanism to mask that shyness which can sometimes come across as standoffish. I think he’s scared of his abilities when the full moon draws in and used to try and compensate for that by making sure he pushed people away, which only leant to further isolation.

I saw this quote somewhere recently which I believe rings true with regard to Remus (and Sirius, but that’s another conversation) ‘to love and to be loved is to rest’. When Remus established himself as a Marauder and grew within the confines of those friendships, it taught him a lot about what it meant to be vulnerable. It taught him trust, and that there are people out there, even in the places he’d least expect it, that will see him for who he is and not what he turns into at the height of every moon.

So no, whilst I don’t think Remus would check the 10 box on a of ‘How Cool Is It To Be A Werewolf’ scale, I think as he made his way through adolescence into a grown man, he’s accepted himself with the aid of human connection; something he denied himself in its authenticity before. He’s learnt that he doesn’t need to do a balancing act of people pleasing and pushing them away in order to protect himself and others.

Is Sirius afraid of Moony? No. I think there’s a natural instinctual element of fear of the unknown in all of us, so when it was confirmed, there was undoubtedly a few ‘what-if’ moments going through his mind. But scared in the sense where he thought Remus would hurt him, no. Whenever Sirius thinks of the full moon, his predominant thoughts are of Remus’ health and the potential fallout after one. He doesn’t picture the creature, he thinks about what that creature is going to do to Remus. His lead emotions are concern and protection, coupled with a wild instinct to make it all go away as quickly as possible and if he can’t do that, then he’s going to make it as easy as possible.

As I say, I don’t think Sirius is scared but I do think he’s logical and he’s not going to show any outward fear when Remus or anyone else is around. Any doubts he’s ever experienced will be privately locked away and mulled over, because he knows how Remus views himself and would rather take the force of the full moon himself than ever add to those insecurities. But he isn’t stupid, and is human at the end of the day. He knows what Remus is capable of when he’s Moony and no matter how gentle a person Remus is, no matter how soft he is at the core, there will always be a very small private part of him that will be on extra alert during each transformation.

Padfoot and Moony always scrap. It’s my impression that Remus would’ve been frenzied at the first couple of meetings and, much like Remus, his wolf’s initial reaction to possible threat would be to either run or challenge. Constantly caught between fight or flight and fight— they did. Those first two or three tussles would’ve been genuine ones whilst the wolf and dog got used to each other. Sirius would be trying to disarm the fight mainly, but give the wolf as good as he got. Despite the size differences, Sirius is scrappy, fast and tactile; his dog is big, but not as big as Moony who is more brute strength over cunning attack. I could actually see Moony being a bit dopey when he’s relaxed.

Going forward from that, any fight between them would be pure puppy play, play fighting that sometimes looked a little too real to an innocent onlooker but was always just stupid scrapping for idle dominance.

I have a hc that Sirius had teased and teased Remus so much one time (because he knew he could, Remus is a soft melt and know it means no harm) about how he won the last ‘three fights Moony, three.’ Pokes him. ‘I know there’s not much muscle to match your size yet but aren’t you supposed to be stronger than me? Am I dealing with a wolf or a cub’. Sirius would make him roll his eyes so hard he nearly lost them, or blush, because he’d grab his thigh under the table and squeeze. Which was meant to be nothing more than a reassuring, I’m just playing Moons, but translated as something much more in Remus’ head.

The teasing continued until Sirius went to try and tackle Remus, not Moony, one night in the common room and because he’d made the mistake of doing it in the couple days before the moon, Remus was less inclined to be so soft and grew bored of the jibe. With a Sirius latched onto his back and a pale, determined forearm around his neck, Remus used his size to his advantage and flung him up and over, flipping him forward with a loud THWOP onto one of the couches. The common room would’ve been half shouts of support for Remus and cheers, etc, whilst Remus leant down close enough only Sirius would hear, and, ‘cub’s getting tired of playtime’. Remus returned the squeeze to his thigh, hard enough to elicit a squeak from an exacerbated Sirius and leave.

James, king of cool, ‘I think that was his equivalent to telling you to go fetch mate’.

A cushion would’ve landed on James’ head shortly thereafter.

As for the acronym :) I think Remus’ mood wouldn’t be fixed to one setting either side of the moon. The moon’s influence would have his senses heightened than normal people at all times, but the closer the full drew in, all of those would be amped up to something that was sometimes unbearable. Other times, it was manageable.

Sometimes he might have experienced a wave of depression and not know how to counteract it, sometimes he might have been more tearful, other times he might’ve been angrier. Overall, I think there’s always a general lack of patience with himself and others in the couple of days leading up. This doesn’t mean he turned into a rude arsehole, but someone who was just a little more worn than usual; I imagine a lot of leg jogging and restlessness, an appetite fit for three grown men, grogginess, inability to sleep or a tendency to oversleep.

Getting to the acronym— I got carried away, apologies. I think in general, there would be a period where it’d feel similar to a rush of hormones and Remus would want to annihilate Sirius. This elicits a behaviour that he’s not always been proud of and sometimes punishes himself for if it’s an aggressive moon, but Sirius is no feather, he is no daisy that feels like he’s been ravaged by a Big Bad Wolf and always reassures him that it’s absolutely fine. More than fine. I believe it took Sirius some time to admit that he actually really fucking loves that side of Remus and will allow himself and Remus, to cave to the animalistic vein that rears its head. There’s no chance of Sirius topping in those days and every chance he’s going to be limping.

Following the moon, I don’t think there would be much libido present on Remus’ side on the most part as his body’s energy is honed in on healing itself back to full strength, and those sorts of things are the last thing on his mind for the following 24-72 hours. Especially if the moon was difficult. However, if there is intimacy in this period it’ll be slow and handsy; lots of hand and mouth action, lots of kissing and touching but nothing too intruding. If penetration is wanted and they are particularly in the mood then Sirius is most likely to top here so he can let Remus relax for a bit while quelling the sexual urge. If Remus tops, it’ll be slow and Sirius would take the lead.

Some chocolate for you for making it to the end.

#ask #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #remus #sirius

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