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p-artsypants · 3 years

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I’ll Handle This (7)

I really just want to say thanks. I love this fandom, and I love this story…just the overwhelming excitement for this fic makes me so so happy. Everything that happens is really just me saying ‘whatever, I want to see this’. Does it make sense? Not always. Is everyone completely in character? Maybe. Am I having a blast? Absolutely!

Thank you for all the comments and kudos!

And sorry for the wait. Wedding planning!

In Which Gabriel is Serenaded

(Ao3 | FF.net)

—

Day three, Adrien awoke on the pillow. He was used to it now, officially. How scary a thought!

Plagg had laid out his outfit, thankfully so Adrien could approve, or at least warm up to the idea.

It was one of the shirts that Marinette had Frankensteined together from the pieces they had found. Absolutely gaudy, atrocious, and a pain to look at. Stripes, polka dots, plaid, little patterns of flowers, all saturated as far top right of the Hue/Sat scale as possible.

It would make his father cry. It would set the media into a frenzy. It was glorious, and that scared Adrien.

It scared him that he was starting to come around. He was starting to enjoy this reckless abandon. It was cathartic to watch his world shift and change into something more chaotic, and yet somehow pleasant. Organized Chaos.

Plagg came out of the bathroom, devoid of mohawks or any other bizarre hairstyle he could have done. His hair was just swept to the side, combed, but not gelled, into place.

The perfect amount of wild.

“You don’t have to wake up when I do.” Plagg stated. “I’ll just drop you in my pocket.”

“It’s alright,” Adrien assured, yawning. “I’m used to waking up this early.”

Plagg dressed quickly, and just as he slid into his moccasins, the room glowed red, and heavy bars slammed shut over the windows.

Both Adrien and Plagg jolted in surprise, Adrien falling into panic.

Plagg just scooped him up, and held him to his chest. “Hey kid, it’s alright. You can phase through things. You can escape if you need too.”

This helped calm him down slightly, if ever so minutely. Plagg tucked him into his pocket, and confidently walked downstairs.

Gabriel and Nathalie were waiting for him in the foyer.

“What's the deal, old man?” Plagg asked, bluntly. “Akuma attack?”

“No,” replied Gabriel, his head held high. “You’re grounded. No school. No friends. Nothing.”

Plagg scoffed. “I’m under literal house arrest?! Come on! I have a sleepover at Nino’s tonight!”

“Did you ask if you could attend this sleepover?”

“No. You were going to say no anyways. Better to beg forgiveness then ask permission and all that.”

“Well, that really solidifies my decision to ground you then. You clearly show a clear lack of critical and mature thinking.”

“Ah, a pompous way of calling me stupid, hmm?”

Gabriel frowned harder, a line forming at the corner of his mouth. “I am not calling you stupid. I just don’t see you making good decisions.”

“Gabriel, before this, I wasn’t making any decisions. Everything I did was according to your will. How can you be mad at me at being bad at something I have no practice doing?”

Gabriel’s eye twitched. “First, do not call me by my first name. Second, I have already made up my mind. If I say you’re grounded, then you’re grounded. Deal with it.”

Oh that was not a good answer. He may have well just said, ‘because I say so.’

And Plagg would not stand for it. He wasn’t standing for it anyway, but he’d at least be willing to bargain with Gabriel if he was offering some excuse about safety for his well being or something.

This was just a power trip.

“Fine,” Plagg smiled maliciously. “Lock me in. But you’re locked in with me. And you’re going to hate it.”

“I don’t have time to entertain you, Adrien, go to your room.”

As a kwami who spent most days in Adrien’s bag, Plagg consumed a lot of media. A pair of headphones, an external battery, and a phone that connected to the school’s wifi, Plagg had days to binge all the things that Adrien was interested in.

And some things that Adrien didn’t care about, like historical dramas, documentaries, and recently, musicals. Especially for time periods that he had witnessed and experienced. He wasn’t omnipotent, so seeing what the humans had thought was important during these periods was fascinating.

But I digress.

The point was that Plagg had a song stuck in his head from a musical and the perfect opportunity to use it had just presented itself.

Gabriel had deemed the conversation over and started to walk back to his office.

“Close every door to me,” Plagg sang, in Adrien’s sweet voice.

Gabriel halted, but did not turn around.

“Hide all the world from me.” Plagg took a step towards him, still singing softly. “Bar all the windows and shut out the light.”

Gabriel turned, raising an eyebrow. “If you think serenading me is going to make me change my—“

But Plagg cut him off, raising his voice slightly, “Do what you want with me, hate me and laugh at me.”

Gabriel just stared, and listened.

“Darken my daytime and torture my night…” Plagg came closer, singing with feeling, trying to convey, even for an instance, a flicker of the emotions that Adrien had.

“If my life were important I would ask ‘will I live or die?’ but I know the answers lie far from this world.”

This was horrifying to Gabriel, apparently, as he protested. “Of course your life is important! Why do you think I—“

“Close every door to me, keep those I love from me. Children of Israel are never alone.”

“Children of—what? We’re not even Jewish. What are you singing about?”

“For I know I shall find my own peace of mind. For I have been promised a land of my own.”

Confused, Gabriel just scoffed and started back to his office. Plagg stayed hot on his heels.

“Close every door to me, hide all the world from me.”

Even Gabriel saw the irony of slamming the office door in Adrien’s face, so he resisted, and let his son continue to serenade him into his office.

“Bar all the windows and shut out the light.”

Gabriel stood at his workstation, determined to ignore his son’s weird emotional outburst, and opened his recent project.

“Just give me a number instead of my name. Forget all about me and let me decay.”

Plagg fought the smile of victory when Gabriel hunched his shoulders. Was that guilt on his face? Perhaps Gabriel wasn’t as shallow as Plagg had thought and lyrics like this would get through to him.

“I do not matter, I'm only one person. Destroy me completely, then throw me away.”

And Gabriel sat, staring with his wide gray eyes. His full attention on his son.

“If my life were important I would ask ‘will I live or die?’ But I know the answers lie far from this world.”

Plagg pounded his fists on the workspace, crying out the words with passion, actually making Gabriel jump.

“Close every door to me! Keep those I love from me!” He leapt up on a coffee table, putting his entire body, his very soul into this performance. “Children of Israel are never alone!”

Gabriel couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move?

“For we know we shall find our own peace of mind! For we have been promised a land of our own!” He held out that final note, letting it hang in the air, as Gabriel continued to stare, mouth slightly open.

Truth me told, Plagg was just intending to annoy him to freedom, but had the song choice done more? Did Gabriel finally understand?

“Well,” Gabriel adjusted his glasses. “That was...certainly something. If I knew you could sing like that, I would have tried to find a use for it. Never mind, I’ll add it to your resume now.”

No. It seemed that Gabriel was as stubborn and obtuse as ever.

“Close every door to me,” Plagg began again.

“No no no,” Gabriel spoke over him. “One performance is more than enough.”

“Hide all the world from me.”

“Adrien!”

“Darken my daytime, and torture my night.”

Gabriel groaned, and made an effort to ignore Plagg again. A real effort this time, with no eye contact and no facial expression. When that didn’t work, he moved from his workstation and went to grab Adrien. But Plagg evaded him, continuing to sing, with every grasp.

How many times did he cycle through the song? His throat hurt, as every time he reached the climax, he belted out the notes with passion.

It would be surprising if no one outside could hear him.

He climbed up on a table. “If my life were important I would ask will I live or die—“

“Enough! Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!” Gabriel shouted. “I can’t take this anymore!” He bolted over to the security control panel, and shut off the lock down. The bars on the windows disappeared.

“Go...please, just go.” Gabriel said desperately.

“Cool, thanks dad!” Plagg said cheerfully, skipping out of the room.

Gabriel collapsed onto his workstation.

Whatever tricks Adrien had learned, whatever manipulation guru he had visited, he was good. Very very good. It would take a while to get him back under his thumb. And he might need to resort to more drastic measures.

What was more drastic than putting the house into lockdown? He’d need a little while to contemplate that.

—

Plagg had missed several morning classes thanks to Gabriel’s stunt, but his friends heaved a relaxed sigh when he arrived.

“Hey hey hey!” He sang, coming in the door. “What’s happening, party people?”

“Mr. Agreste!” Miss Mendeleev barked. “You better have a good excuse for being tardy!”

“A great excuse! My dad shut the house down to ground me, and I had to annoy him with Broadway until he opened up. He was a lot more patient than I expected.”

“Are you serious?” Miss Mendeleev asked.

“Madam, do you really think that my father, fashion mogul, would allow me to leave the house like this?” He gestured to his mismatched outfit.

“Point taken. You may take your seat.”

Plagg shot a thumbs up to his friends.

—

After school, the group of four piled into Nino’s family car and headed over to his house.

“I’m so excited! My first sleepover!” The excitement was genuine, as this truly was Plagg’s first sleepover. Of course, his whole life had consisted in sleeping in different places that weren’t his home (the Miracle Box) but the concept of going to a friends house to eat food and gossip all night long was novel and exciting.

“What curfew do you girls have?” Mrs. Lahiffe asked.

“I have until 11,” beamed Alya.

“I have to leave at 9,” Marinette pouted. “I have to help my parents in the bakery tomorrow.”

It was also Ladybug’s solo patrol tonight, Plagg noted to himself. Kind of a saving grace, since Chat certainly wasn’t going to be on it.

“I’ll be sure to count you both for dinner then!” Mrs. Lahiffe chirped.

Adrien had been to Nino’s house a handful of times, all under the pretense of working on homework of course. And it wasn’t a house either, it was an apartment, like most residences in Paris. It was warm, not always clean, and the smell of their cat’s litter was just a hint in the air.

Major Tom was a right good cat. An old gray tabby, who was far too wise for his own good. Plagg had met this family member in person, since the cat was still pretty curious in his age.

As soon as the group of friends entered the apartment, Major Tom stretched and trotted toward them, toward Plagg, and rubbed against his leg.

“Hi Tommy,” Plagg smiled, an inside joke passing between them.

“I swear,” said Nino with defeat. “Major Tom likes you more than anyone else in this house...and you’ve barely met him.”

Plagg just shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a pussy magnet.”

“DUDE! My mom is right there!”

Mrs. Lahiffe was not amused, but the furious giggling from behind him made it all worth it, he supposed.

“Sorry mom, Adrien’s going through a rebellious streak. He doesn’t usually make jokes like that.”

“Yeah, sorry, Uh...I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

Mrs. Lahiffe shook her head. “I noticed your outfit was rather...daring. Is that from your father’s new collection?”

“Nope! This is a Marinette original!”

Marinette smacked him in the arm. “I told you not to associate me with that abomination!” She turned to Mrs. Lahiffe and quickly clarified, “He designed it and I carried out the deed.”

“Oh you kids are so funny!” She laughed. “Well, you didn’t come over to entertain me! Go have fun, I’ll get pizza around 6?”

“Thanks mom!”

“Thanks Mrs. Lahiffe!”

On the way to Nino’s room, he asked. “What movie do you guys want to watch tonight?”

Plagg grinned, “Have you ever seen Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat?”

—

Chapter is kind of short, but I have delayed it long enough, and sleepover shenanigans need their own chapter.

The song Plagg sang was ‘Close Every Door’ from Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #adrienette #chat noir #I'll handle this #fanfiction

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abeautifuldayfortea · 3 years

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Visions of Aman

Summary: The death of Aragorn, the final parting of friends, the reunion of Legolas and Gimli and the passing of the Sindar colony of Ithilien into the west. Written from Legolas’ perspective.

A/N: I chose this particular period in time because I wanted to explore more in depth the reasons why Legolas decided to leave Middle Earth as soon as he learns of Aragorn’s death as it is only fleetingly mentioned in the appendices. This took way too long and I am still far from satisfied with it. I spent two nights trying to decide what the tombs and the burial arrangements would be like (whether the bodies would be set in enclosed tombs or not (and then gave up after going nowhere)). Still, I hope you will enjoy reading it :), I am also very thankful to those readers who were kind enough to leave likes or comments or reblogs on my last fic and to those who didn’t as well, you all make my day, I love reading your comments and reblog tags!

Words: 1379

‘Look!’ he cried. ‘Gulls! They are flying far inland. A wonder they are to me and a trouble to my heart. Never in all my life had I met them, until we came to Pelargir, and there I heard them crying in the air as we rode to the battle of the ships. Then I stood still, forgetting war in Middle-earth; for their wailing voices spoke to me of the Sea. The Sea! Alas! I have not yet beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing, which it is perilous to stir. Alas! for the gulls. No peace shall I have again under beech or under elm.’

‘Say not so!’ said Gimli. ‘There are countless things still to see in Middle-earth, and great works to do. But if all the fair folk take to the Havens, it will be a duller world for those who are doomed to stay.’

‘Dull and dreary indeed!’ said Merry: ‘You must not go to the Havens, Legolas. There will always be some folk, big or little, and even a few wise dwarves like Gimli, who need you. At least I hope so. Though I feel somehow that the worst of this war is still to come. How I wish it was all over, and well over!’

~ Chapter 9 Book 5, Lord of the Rings

There were now no folk, big or little that needed him now. The vision had come to him unbidden as he lay dreaming, wide eyed, gazing up into the many stars of Varda and walked among the strange paths in a place between the gaps of the waking world known only to elves.

Painted within his mind, he saw unbeknownst to him the Hallows of Minas Tirith and within its watchful darkness, three figures arranged abreast upon a great slab of marble each in a peaceful slumber, hands folded atop their chests and garbed in pale raiment. Upon the left he discerned the form of Merry and upon the right lay Pippin, their hair white and their faces lined with the wrinkles of laughter lines and between them, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. At his feet lay folded the standard of Elendil, its seven stars set with gems catching the thin light that filtered in through the barred panels of the mausoleum and flickering with a pale faintness like the slow extinguishing of lamps in the pale dawn.

Legolas reached out with his mind, but he could not find the fëa of the three that lay before him and as his fingers reached out to wake them, he felt no warmth, no gentle stirring of the breath. There was no doubt now, the king had passed out of the world, shepherded to the Halls of Mandos and beyond into an afterlife where he would never follow.

He felt the consuming emptiness of sorrow stir within him like the stoking of an icy fire, leaving him cold and shaking again at the loss of not one but three of his dearest friends. As he turned over onto his side, emerging from his rest he dreamt no more of the fair mallorn trees of Lothlórien in golden autumn nor of the last strongholds of Fangorn in eternal spring or the brilliant halls of Thranduil in their glory before they were diminished. A shadow had fallen on his heart and from afar, the white city itself was shrouded in a suffocating grey mist.

And looking to the west towards the White City of Gondor from his bower in Ithilien he began to sing, weaving the tapestry of stories and the great deeds of his friends in a song that leapt, soaring like the great Eagles in its most glorious retellings and fell tinkling into the deep wells of lamentation. The last of his kin who heard his song quietly removed themselves from their dwellings and were themselves so moved and enamoured that they were said to be brought perforce to mourn for them, although they did not know them. To the ears of Men also the lament came, Aragorn’s people who understood not the winding language of the Sindar but upon listening grovelled and wept, for it awakened the truth within them and none were surprised when they received the black news of his passing the following day.

At the last note, Legolas faltered and verily, he knew the time had come for him to heed at last the haunting cry of the gulls and cross the great western sea.

For three years, he gathered his kindred and together they crafted a mighty ship by the shores of Ithilien, crested by a swan’s head set with silver at the bow. The men of Ithilien looked ever on in awe for they had never seen any ship fairer and the make of it, from its rope and canvas – light and iridescent - to the delicately carved oars in the shape of freshly fallen leaves, were of elvish design and its graceful curves and finish were beyond the work of any man.

As the time grew near to its completion, Legolas sought Gimli at the Glittering Caves, and bade him come with him over the sea and into the west for he could not bear for his closest friend and final living reminder of his time on Middle Earth to be left behind. Just as the Caves themselves had been slowly carved by the dwarrow to reveal its hidden beauty, time had tempered Gimli and although the furnace within his eyes still burned with the ferocity of determination, he looked to be in the winter of his days. His hair was more white than brown and was no longer as spry as he had been in his youthful days sprinting across the fields of Rohan. It was not so difficult to glean a smile from him now for though he had once been grim, the days of the War had been left behind and his people flourished in the new colony under his guidance. All was well and the world seemed all the brighter with Legolas by his side. That night a great feast was set and Legolas was given a place beside Gimli at the high table and much honoured by his hosts.

He laughed and joked that Legolas had found himself more drawn to the underground than any elf there had been before him, his merriment bounding off the stars of the Earth embedded in the vaulted ceiling glimmering and iridescent. Looking high above his head to admire the work of Gimli he was reminded of the seven stars of Elendil, flickering at the feet of Aragorn and he shivered, his quip evaporating on his tongue. The cavern seemed all at once too large and despite the blazing torches, he felt cold and small.

“Gimli, my course is set for the shores of Aman. I walked in my dreams with the music of the waters cradling me, I felt the gentle rocking of a ship beneath my feet and a chorus of voices in the sea winds calling me. Will you sail with me? For there is more that I wish for you and I to see together, fairer than all the gems and treasures of the earth and deeper than the wisdom and thriving loveliness of any wood, so it is told. In such waking sleep the Lady of the Galadhrim came to me and she obtained grace for you to be received in the Blessed Realm even before I knew my own thought.”

Gimli was silent. His dark eyes hardened and he thought long for it was a hard choice to make. He loved the plunging valleys and cutting peaks of Aulë and in his dreams he gazed into the calm waters of the Mirrormere and wandered far underground discovering new places and minerals beyond comprehension, each more delightful than the last as he delved deeper into the very bones of the earth. No greed hid within his heart for he wished only to see the beautiful and learn from the fair. Yet he knew he was ever waning and growing closer to death as the timeless years marched on and if he did not go now, then he would be withdrawn without a choice to Aman by Aulë himself. Either way, his time was drawing thin and he wanted more than ever his friend by his side to ease his passing.

And he agreed, if only to gaze upon the exquisiteness of Galadriel again, to see Valinor in all its glory and to find anew things that lay beyond his wildest imaginings in that far island. His mind was set. Legolas was himself content and relieved for the dwarrow were a stubborn people and he knew that Gimli beheld things in a much different light than he did.

Together, they crossed the rolling plains to Ithilien borne by swift feet of horses to see the grand ship finished and sea ready. And together again, they would sail down the River Anduin on the pale dawn on the third year of the passing of Aragorn, leaving behind them the land of their forefathers, Middle Earth that they were born and raised in.

It is said by the men who watched on that day that not one of the travellers heading toward the distant shores of Aman ever looked back, only onwards to where their final journey would take them...

And some who looked closely would have seen that among the host of elves on the ship stood an elderly dwarf beside his friend at the bow.

#argorn #elessar #legolas #lotr elves #gimli son of gloin #gimli #lotr #lotr fanfic #ithilien #valinor #aman #galadriel #lotr dwarves #dwarves #mirkwood elves #gondor #glittering caves #gigolas

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cl-01-kestis · 4 years

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My Little Rebel - Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Female Rebel!Reader | Part 5

Summary: after a successful get away with the help of a surprising ally, Cal helps you get back to Yavin and finally confesses his feelings.

Warnings: Sexual tension tbh

So far, Cal’s escape plan was going surprisingly well, you managed to slip into many hiding spots and sneak around the hanger for a short while before even remotely getting close to the Tie Fighter.

The hanger was thankfully quiet, the occasional purge trooper stalked the area as well as a few stormtroopers, blasters clung tight to their white chest plates as they skulked about. It was risky trying to blend in in a room so white. You still wore your green uniform from the Rebel attack on Yavin and it amped up your appearance even more. You couldn’t take down a stormtrooper, take his armour and use it to blend in, that was too obvious. You just stuck to following Cal as best as you could without being seen.

You quickly and hastily walked up the stairs to the boarding dock, Cal’s hand was intertwined with yours as he dragged you along the platform and finally reached the Tie furthest away from you. Cal signaled for you to duck down and hide for a few moments as he prepared the Tie for flight and fumbled with the control panel on the side of the railing.

“Come on...” He mumbled to himself, eyebrows furrowed as he put all his concentration into hijacking the Tie quickly and carefully. Your head whipped back and forth from Cal to the stairs, biting your nails nervously as time passed, the tension increasing as one of the doors around the platform opened, revealing none other than the Purge Trooper you met a while back, Costra. Your first reaction would’ve been to panic, but you tilted your head to the side as he jumped when he saw you and Cal, walking towards you instead of shooting either of you with his blaster.

“Excuse me, Eleventh Brother-“ The Purge Trooper barely even finished his sentence as the tip of a scarlet lightsaber was pointed right at his neck.

“Wait! I can help you” Costra put his hands up after cautiously placing his double sided spear on the ground, his hands raising up to take off his black and red helmet. You stood up and smiled at Cal, looking around to make sure no one saw you as you nodded at Costra.

“Cal, it’s okay, I know him” You reassured the Inquisitor who’s yellow eyes were bright with warning and unease. Cal looked into your eyes, wincing as he saw you were telling the truth and hesitantly lowered his lightsaber from Costra’s neck.

You looked back to the Purge Trooper, smiling as you came face to face with a Mirialan with light yellow skin and blue eyes, black hair shaped into a buzz cut. Cal inspected Costra intensely, looking him up and down with narrow eyes until he let out a sigh and pointed to the doors.

“Make sure no one comes through those doors, if so, warn me” Cal ordered, earning a sharp ‘yes sir’ from Costra who held his helmet to his hip and picked his spear back up, walking back a bit to avoid suspicion and putting back on his helmet. You nodded to Costra, offering him a kind, grateful smile.

“Thank you” You whispered, seeing Costra nod in reply as he clung to his spear tightly, looking around and slacking his posture so he didn’t look as tense. You looked back at Cal, creeping forward to see how he was doing and realising he was fumbling with the buttons and getting frustrated. You chuckled, nudging him to the with your hip and positioning yourself in front of the panel.

“Allow me” You said, making Cal smirk and roll his eyes before turning around and looking at Costra to give you space to do your thing. It was moments like these where you thanked the Maker and your mother for your skills in engineering and mechanics. It barely took you a few seconds until the hatch of the Tie opened and the curling cables disconnected from underneath the ship.

“We gotta move” You whispered to Cal who nodded and ran up to the Tie, ushering him into the cramped ship and turning around to give Costra a final glance.

“I’ll never forget this day, Costra, thank you” You walked up to him and hugged him quickly, patting his back and afraid of what might happen if you left him here. Costra hugged you back, careful that the ends of his spear wouldn’t electrocute you. You hesitantly pulled away, patting Costras shoulder before running back to the Tie and getting inside. Costra walked up to the panel as soon as the Tie’s hatch shut over.

Inside the Tie, you and Cal were struggling to share a seat as he fired up the engine and his fingers pressed many different interesting-looking buttons. There were to many, it made your head hurt looking at all the switches. You fought the urge to fiddle with them though, it took a lot not to ask Cal all about the functions of the Tie. You’d never been in one after all, so this was a whole new experience for you.

Cal detached the ship from the docks and immediately flew out of the hanger, the loud roar of the ship echoing as you looked out the back of the ship, trying to find Costra. The Imperial base grew smaller and smaller, right up until you were exiting the atmosphere and it was nothing but a spec within the land of the planet it was located on. You recognised the planet, you could tell it was Endor because of the endless green coating the planets -or in fact moons - surface. You’d been to Endor once within your career as a Rebel, you were called in as backup for a ground battle between the Rebels, Ewoks, and Imperials.

You shifted in your seat.

“That’s my leg” Cal scoffed, moving his thigh and spreading it slightly, causing your hips to accidentally slide between his legs. You were mortified at the amount of personal space within the Tie, the air was stuffy and you were getting hot by being so close to Cal, sharing body heat which didn’t seem to help.

“You know, you could sit here, it would be more comfy and less cramped” Cal winked at you, tongue sliding over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened and triggered a harsh blush on your face. You looked away from Cal and outside the Tie windshield, both of you were surrounded by stars as the ship flew in any direction. Cal stopped steering as you flew in and out of light speed to get away from Endor and avoid being caught by any Imperial squadron.

You had to admit, his lap was comfortable, but he was a cocky son of a bitch. You knew him for such a short time but you felt like you already knew every little quirk about him, from the soft gestures to the winks and devious smirks that made your stomach flutter. Even down to the way his attitude changed as soon as his eyes landed on you, or when others were around; like inside the prison. There were a few days where he unintentionally hurt your feelings by acting so cold and blunt towards you in front of the purge troopers and sometimes another Inquisitor if they were passing by. But he’d make up for it with soft apologies and sweet words that were nothing but white noise to you.

“Is this okay?” You grumbled, adjusting yourself so your back was against Cal’s chest and you were positioned between his legs, your head level with his neck as he steered the Tie.

“Of course it is, are you comfortable?” Cal chuckled, leaning his head down and wrapping his free arm around your waist as his breath flushed against the skin on your revealed neck. You nodded shyly, consumed by the sudden silence within the cramped Tie and feeling Cal’s arms tighten around your waist.

Your breathing could be heard, heart pounding in your ears as you felt Cal’s face move down to the place between your shoulder and neck, his rough lips pressing a feather light kiss onto your skin which was rising with goosebumps. You held back a whimper at the feeling of his lips skimming against your neck, peppering soft kisses on at random areas around the side of your neck and shoulder. Cal rubbed circles in the sides of your hips, soothing you and trying to diffuse the tension somehow, but he was only making it worse. Your thighs clung together and you felt like you were burning, not specifying where, but you felt like you were about to combust with the gentle sensations Cal was giving you.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against Cal as he continued trailing his lips along your hot skin, smiling as you felt him shift around in your thoughts to see what you were thinking, to see if you were comfortable with what was going on. His lips curled against your skin, feeling the enjoyment you got from his soft touches and leaning up from your neck.

“You’re trembling, gorgeous” Cal’s voice was different than before, more deep and husky as he whispered close to your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t realise it until now, but he was right. Your body was shaking with adrenaline as a result of Cal’s intimate actions and you felt embarrassed by it. You probably looked strange from his point of view, but you don’t to this stuff, you don’t spend time romancing with other people and you haven’t ever been with anyone before. So this was all new to you.

“I-I just don’t do this stuff” You mumbled, a hint of humiliation lacing its way into your quiet and shy voice that made Cal smile and nod.

“I understand, do you want me to stop?” Cal asked with a genuine tone to his voice, leaning his head back so it hit the neck rest of the pilot chair, offering you space which was the opposite of what you wanted to happen. You turned your head around to look at Cal, back still against his chest as he looked down at you with a comforting smile.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it” You whispered, eyes connected to his golden ones that glistened with some form of mischief as he ran his tongue along his lips and his smile disappeared, replaced with a conflicted expression as his eyes clouded with shadow. His heart was racing, you could feel it on your back.

“(Y/N)... I- I’m afraid that I might not be able to... let you go if I continue” Cal said, his voice was shaky and he started to shiver behind you as he held you tightly and bit down on his lip to stop it from quivering. You immediately shifted in your seat, turning your torso around to face the Inquisitor who’s eyes were glassy with unexpected tears.

“I think you and I both know we can’t let each other go, after everything that’s happened” You cupped Cal’s scarred face, he flinched momentarily but soon relaxed and pressed his cheek into your palm, closing his eyes and feeling the force course throughout you both.

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight, not again” Cal mumbled, sounding like he was on the edge of bursting into tears as he leaned his head forward slightly, your foreheads touching and lips inches away as he sniffed and held in his emotions.

“Ever since the day I met you I’ve been so attached, I never knew what love was supposed to feel like... I was taken from my parents at a young age, the Inquisitors don’t know how to love, and I was raised to resist such emotions... but then you come along and make me feel something I can’t put my finger on” A tear rolled down Cal’s cheek as he confessed his emotions, gloved hand resting over your own on his cheek. You stared at Cal with wide eyes, stinging with hot tears as you tried processing what he just told you.

“It hurts to be away from you” Was the last thing Cal said before he let his emotions out and started sobbing uncontrollably. You acted as quickly as you could and wrapped your arms around Cal’s neck, bringing him in for a warm and tight embrace. He held your waist and buried his head in your chest as he continued to cry, his sobs full of pain and fear.

“Please don’t cry Cal, I love you- I don’t want to see you upset” Your voice wobbled as you yourself tried containing your sadness towards the fact that a man you truly cared and loved was breaking down in front of you.

It felt good to think that, it felt fantastic to say it. You loved Cal, it felt like a lifetime ago that you two met but it was barely a month ago.

The Inquisitor raised his head and his sobs paused briefly, large eyes staring up at you as he processed your words and smiled.

“You love me?” He asked, blinking the tears away as you nodded and chuckled.

“I love you, Cal, I really do” You confirmed, earning a beautiful smile from Cal who chuckled happily before his gloved hand raised to cup your cheek and bring you close.

You felt your heart stop as your lips met Cal’s in a soft and emotional kiss. His lips felt so soft against yours, so right.

It felt so relieving to finally kiss him after so long of denying your feelings towards him. The spark between you and Cal finally flourished and set off after so long of putting up with tension that was getting to a point when it was unbearable. You never thought you’d fall in love with someone as evil as an Inquisitor, but then again, the galaxy is full of surprises.

#cal kestis x reader #star wars #cal kestis x you #jedi fallen order #fallen order

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croctears · 3 years

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a part two to this maybe? dk, again this is unedited and i’m trying my hand at a more flowery language. hopefully it isn’t too flowery lolol.

the cultural terms are further explained at the bottom.

Envy, with its tendrils green with jealousy, wraps itself snug around our little beating heart. Yet we continue to let it consume us, basking and boasting in the covetous desires. And again, do we have the capacity to ingest the wants of the human soul?

“They’re so pretty!”

Cherry blossom petals frolicked to the lilt of the wind in merry pink blushes, kissing the tips of her fingers. They slipped by cheekily, never getting caught, leaving only the tickle of velvet left as the aftertaste. Hsien-Chen sighed. It was the first spring since they moved to the capital; the flowers here are different from the ones in the countryside.

Her little sister ran ahead, giggling in glee. Two small buns sat atop her head, thin hair pulled tightly in a clean, smooth updo. The smile stretching across her face was far wider than any of Hsien-Chen’s when she was that age—not that she could remember ever being this carefree. After one fateful meeting with a messenger of Death ( her mother sobbed over her for days, thanking the Heavens and Yánluówáng for being merciful and not taking her daughter away), Hsien-Chen became a silent child.

According to Mama, she’d met Heibai Wuchang, more specifically the white counterpart of the duo; Xiè Bì'ān, the White Guard.

“No, you’re mistaken,” Her mother had shaken her head, frowning at Hsien-Chen’s recounting of the event. “That’s not a woman, and you’re lucky you didn’t meet Fàn Wújiù instead.”

Was she supposed to be grateful? Grateful that the White Guard, Xie, had taught her to make amends and become a better version of whoever she was going to grow up as?

She should be thankful for an opportunity many hadn't had the chance to get.

But why is it still so difficult to be angelic?

Round and round it goes, slippery and thick—soft as the finest silk in China, lithe as the strings of guzheng. Round and round envy goes, around the souls of men. Do we not notice it, or do we take no notice of it?

Hsien-Chen swallowed a lump of saliva lodging in the ridges of her throat. Her hands shook, palms sticky with sweat. Tucking the piece of parchment into the elaborated pieces of her robes, she hurried across the study room, sock-covered feet making no noise against the smooth wooden paneling.

She couldn’t believe she was going to cheat.

On a national exam, no less.

Pinpricks of moisture dotted her forehead, satin clothes sticking to her underarms. Hsien-Chen shook her head firmly.

No, it’s not her fault she’s always second to that Luo family’s brat. They are better off than her parents, providing him with more possibilities and renowned tutors when she only had herself to depend on. Was it wrong to sneak in answers she already read through? It was merely referencing.

Tighter and tighter, over the limbs and minds. Tighter and tighter envy’s fingers gripped our souls, dragging down, down, down. Tight was the constraints, yet our eyes were still clouded with discontent.

“Did you hear? The daughter of the Wang family had four wedding proposals today! One of them is a son of a businessman.” Hsien-Chen’s companion exhaled dreamily. “She’s beautiful, it’s no wonder!”

Hsien-Chen snorted, wringing her arm out of her friend’s hold.

“She’s your neighbour, isn’t she? The Wangs’ young miss.” Her friend asked. An innocent question that made her blood boil to a degree she never knew was possible.

Oh, how Hsien-Chen hated that girl next door. Always adorned with bracelets, necklaces. On her dainty feet always a pair of expensive embroidered shoes, no less than a noblewoman’s. And as if her being spoiled wasn’t enough, the girl was born with such elegant features, big brown eyes, small upturned nose with pink lips.

Oh, how Hsien-Chen hated her. They’re the same age, but Wang Jing appeared to be on a whole other level. And she knew, no matter how hard she tries, she’ll never reach that league. Her chest tightened, breaths coming in short angry heaves.

“She’s fooling around with their gardener’s son.” Hsien-Chen blurted without thinking. Whether it was true or not was up to the discernment of those who heard.

“What?” A handkerchief covered her friend’s face, widened eyes barely containing the disgust and excitement at the unexpected news. “That’s so wrong! Such a disgrace. Don’t you think people should know about this?”

Hsien-Chen shrugged. “Do what you will.”

Deeper and deeper envy hauls men, smooth and gracious through the waves. Deeper and deeper our beings go, into the sea of envy’s poison. Can we swim, or are we nonchalant with our foreboding demise?

“I wish I never had you!” Hsien-Chen screamed, clutching her head. Hysterics enveloped her, lashing out at the crying boy. Her son. Her older daughter held him protectively, hand rubbing furiously at her tear-streaked face.

A raised hand. A sharp smack. The boy wailed, clutching his red face.

“Mama, stop!”

“You too! I hope you die along with your good-for-nothing father!”

The vase broke, shards flying as Hsien-Chen swept more decorations off the shelves. Her children cried louder and louder and—

“Stop crying! I’m leaving. I’m leaving! I deserve better than this life!”

The slam of the door silenced the young ones for a moment and Hsien-Chen could feel the cogs of her brain turning again. Children were noisy, or her children were noisy. Lan’s kids were docile beings, same goes for Yi’s twin boys. Filial, gentle souls, unlike hers.

How she despised her children, her simpleton husband.

How she despised her life.

The back room was serene enough for her to collect her thoughts, a tired groan escaping her chapped lips as she sank down to the dusty floor.

Despair. That was the word for what she was feeling.

Despair, resentment, bitterness.

Envy.

“I’m better off dead.”

“Sure you are.”

“Who are you?” She whipped around in shock, clutching her heart. In front of her was a man, young and tall. He had an air of masculine handsomeness, the kind you normally feel around young warriors or generals. An austere smile danced on his thin lips, bulging biceps placing down a heavy-looking mirror in front of her.

“Who are you?” She repeated.

“I believe a mirror was supposed to be delivered here.”

“I believe not.” Hsien-Chen crossed her arms, shooting him her best scowl.

“Are you sure?”

He pulled the cloth off, and the mirror. The mirror was…

The mirror was the exact same one. The one she saw in the storeroom of the old couple her mother worked for. The same mirror Xiè Bì'ān showed her future.

“No,” Hsien-Chen shuddered, backing away from him. “Is this a joke to you?”

“You’ve met my partner, I believe. Xiè Bì'ān.” The man was grim, unsmiling. “I too should believe you know who I am.”

“Fàn Wújiù?” It came out a frightened squeak, quivering with dense fear.

“My partner has a kind soul. Me? Not so much.” The Black Guard of the Heibai Wuchang muttered. “He did warn you many years ago. That was your chance.”

Hsien-Chen fell to her knees. “But my family…”

He laughed scornfully. “Weren’t you wishing they were dead a few minutes ago?”

“Please sir! Please just—,” Hsien-Chen felt tongue-tied. What was she even begging for? A second shot at life? She already knew an opportunity like that, an opportunity many hadn’t had a chance to get would be better off not given to her.

She’d already wasted the first one.

“Is your- is your friend here?”

The Black Guard was stern, but nodded. “Outside.”

And true enough, the White Guard was standing there, hands behind his back. He had seemed like a woman to five-year-old Hsien-Chen, but now, she saw clearly he was a man. Albeit slender with delicate features, his elegant stance was somber once he spotted her.

Hsien-Chen was mildly surprised that he was taller than the other guard.

“It’s your time now child.”

“I know.” Hsien-Chen wrung her hands nervously. “I think I just want to say I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For wasting your time. You could’ve gone to another child. Maybe they’d listen to you.”

Xiè Bì'ān brushed back his hair. “It was fate. There’s nothing to be done now. Don’t fret.”

Her lips parted, then she closed it again. She could see Manchurian cranes against the orange-daubed skies, fishermen’s songs loud enough for her to hear.

Her husband must be coming home any moment now.

“What would I be if I had listened to you then?” She turned to face the white-clad man, but he refused to answer.

“You have to come now.”

“I guess we are arresting you right now.” Fàn Wújiù nodded to his partner.

Hsien-Chen stretched out her hand, hoping to feel the plush texture of the cherry blossom once more.

“I guess this is it.”

So indeed, the waves roll, swallowing the cries of regret and frantic yelps of realisation. For it is too late if we notice at the brink of death, now may we rest well in the icy comfort of envy’s clasp.

first off, this story takes place during the qing dynasty, after the imperial examinations were passed for women.

i'm personally not taoist, but had derived lots of taoist myths as inspiration! partly bc i'd grown up listening to these stories (: i hope you learn a thing or two about Chinese culture, though my version in this story is definitely tweaked.

Heibai Wuchang is "Black and White Impermanence" literally, and are deities in Chinese folk religion that escorts souls to the underworld. grim reaper, if you may. the white counterpart is Xie Bi'an while the black counterpart is Fan Wujiu.

as for Yánluówáng, he's the king of the taoist underworld. the mirror that is referenced in my previous story, Mirror of Retribution is a mirror used by the Yánluówáng to judge dead souls when dealing out punishments.

#writing #writing community #writeblr #writers community #writer #ayo im struggling so hard with this istg #i cant get the words to flow bc guess what #yeah ive been coding for the past month and all i can think of are python string commands #一croctalks #一crocwrites

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adelindschade · 3 years

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Inspired by THIS scene and how much Cece & Schmidt (New Girl) remind of Anthony & Kate in a modern sense (waggles fingers to Bridgerton & Sons AU plotted and published for all to cherish by @newtonsheffield)

I just had to write. How else is a girl to celebrate her two days off?? Enjoy the shenanigans. Script was slightly tweaked. 1,930 word count!

A STIFF SITUATION (KATE X ANTHONY EDITION)

He wished he had opened his eyes when Anthony heard the very sharp click of the door handle turn. He would’ve anticipated who if he only spied sooner the figure crossing the panel of glass. Unfortunately, he prided his lids open too late, and he went rigid with the worst kind of anxiety.

Don’t be his brother. Don’t be his brother.

A fitted jogger suit came into view. Slimming. Stunning.

A curtain of hair wisped from shoulder to shoulder – long and dark and tied up into a ponytail, like a perfect waterfall.

Thank God.

Kate.

“Oh my God!”

He couldn’t help himself. It was a guttural reaction.

The groan was much louder than he anticipated, prompting her to pause under the arch with the most perplexed expression.

It was kind of cute, especially when no words came out of her mouth despite it being ajar.

“Are you serious right now?” He exasperated.

She blinked.

He continued before she could interject, more so to acquit himself than anything.

“How is it you still look this good under fluorescent lights?”

“I’m so, so sorry,” she began to pour out, a mix of panic and remorse. It didn’t suit her, he thought with furrowed brows. That wasn’t his Kate.

She had all but pushed the rolling divider that separated them to the wall in her haste to meet his side. “This is all my fault!”

Just as she took in his bedridden form cloaked with an unbecoming hospital gown, her big brown eyes descended to the cast of shame. The brazen baby blue ice pack atop it was another insult. He tried to suppress a wince as she herself paused mid-sentence.

“I thought-” she had just begun before her eyes settled. Her face contorted into heavy confusion. “What happened?” She asked, more sternly than before.

“Yeah,” he stammered, unable to form words. He had yet to master a reply despite having all morning to formulate something. He swallowed but it sounded by a grunt. “Um,” he prolonged, “here’s the thing… Um, this is embarrassing…”

The words were evading him and looking up at her inquisitive expression did little to help. God, how was it she looked this good, this cute, and also simultaneously this gorgeous all at once after jogging in summer heat?

He tried to talk with his hands, palm out but even then, his message fell flat. She was not impressed and hiked a brow. His lips were reluctantly to take over.

“I broke my penis.”

Really, the placement of the cast should have implied as much.

Honestly, the woman was designed to torture him. Both physical and mentally. First, she broke it, and now she was making him voice it aloud. He felt humiliated. And also, oddly beguiled. It should be a badge of honor for someone to ride a dick so hard for it to break.

And she hadn’t even been there to witness the aftermath.

He thought it was a mere cramp. They took a break. She didn’t press the matter further. They slept it off. She left the bed early for her ritual morning jog – how the woman had energy left was beyond his comprehension. The moment he rose, as did his dick, he felt the agony that came – no pun intended – and no sooner did it begin, he foolishly called Benedict to assist him to the nearest hospital since he didn’t want Kate to see him in such disarray.

“You… what…?”

Dear God, she was going to make him repeat it! As if neither believed it in the first place.

“I broke my penis,” he stated more clearly, agitated with the whole fiasco. Why was he placating her part in this? He wasn’t the one that purposely bent it at an unnatural angle!

“Things were just out of control last night,” he explained – even though she was there! Her memory was just as fresh as his! He shouldn’t be the one doing the talking!

“And there was like, this one moment, where it was just…” he rambled both in words and ambiguous hands signs, “I woke up this morning with blinding pain; another moment I was watching myself, remembering last night. I think I finally understand what the tree of life is about.”

She was huffing, looking up and around, just as finished with the situation as he was. That was the Kate he knew – the sarcastic, expressive, and glowing woman he knew and loved. It was an art she could still look so radiant under just unflattering light and miffed with frustration.

“I can’t be certain of this but I’m almost positive your vagina contains a right angle,” he dared to speak into existence, looking at her dead in the eyes.

Anthony was not above Vagina-Blaming.

“I’m leaving,” she declared with a glare. Her arms crossed – damn her – unintentionally lifting the national treasures he considered her breasts. “I can’t believe I came-”

He was speaking over her in protest.

She was leaving. Her back was to him.

“How are you upset right now?”

God – he knew he was in for it given the velocity of her ponytail when it swung back to the other shoulder. Her eyes bore into his, lips curled into a scowl.

“Kate, you did this! What do you want from me?

“I didn’t think this would happen! I don’t want this to be a thing…” she waved between them. He nearly lurched forward; brow raised in disbelief as a swell of reactionary rage began to bubble.

Only, he realized, while Kate’s eyes were on him, she kept gesturing to his castor-padded shaft. She deflated and her voice softened uncharacteristically. “Because” she exhaled, “I like you. A lot. ”

Her head shook, distracted by the tacky tile pattern underneath them. She was comprehending her own words. A betraying smile fixed itself onto her lovely features, however brief it may have been. He saw it – it was there – even if she masked it with a stern line no sooner did it appear. “I can’t just always say what I feel…. It’s just, whatever, Anthony.”

She hid her expressive eyes by looking sideways, purposely avoiding the connection between them. Her words were weak and her posture anxious, shifting from one foot to the another. Always moving, he thought fondly. His Kate was never one to stay still.

“You like me,” he repeated with an unapologetic grin. She loved him. Her loved her. They both knew it. Yet, neither were willing to speak it first. Fortunately, both were happy to set such a slight aside, knowing the truth between them, no matter if silent.

Was it he who made the first move? Likely. Or Kate – she was spontaneous like that.

Either way, he wasn’t complaining when their lips met and skipped passed the gentle delicacies that usually came after a quarrel. Mouth open and tongues in happy collusion, Anthony was quite pleased to revisit where they had last left.

Her hair was just as perfect and silky as he remembered when it wrapped it around his hand and pulled her deeper into their . Her hand on his chest for purchase, striking an electric sensation within him.

A crack disrupted the ambience of the lover’s reunion. A loud, unsettling stiff crack and then the jolting, sharp pain that followed within seconds. Blinding, burning, terrible pain!

He hadn’t even registered how hard her pushed her away but he registered the volume of their combined shouts as he jolted upwards, rigid as humanly possible. His eyes squeezed shut, still processing the intense discomfort that was as sharp as the first.

The pained whine that escaped his throat was too embarrassing for him to admit. Thank the Heaven’s she was the only one to bear witness to such an emasculate scene. She was nearly as rigid as he, coiled defensively in surprise when she took him in.

His voice cracked in between the segment of uncharacteristically high-pitched agony, verifying his worst reality.

His hand slapped the uncomfortable hospital bed in protest simultaneously as she apprehensively poached the question “what happened?”

It was his turn to look away, averting his face to the uninhabited side of the room, and his eyes remained squeezed shut for dear life. His knees were arched and his hands curled into the plastic sheets beneath him.

“Oh my God, why?” he protested, regaining some edge in his voice.

Her hands were up in the air as if surrendering. Her eyes scanned over his form, unsure of what to do next.

“Oh!” he fumbled. His hand jetted out and then returned to his hair, combing his back while his body arched instinctively. The pain reverberated and all he could muster was wide, panicked eyes and mouth agape, hoping no more unsettling sounds flushed out.

“Uh…” she chewed over, “what…?”

Her hands crossed and then one rose to her lips for her to anxiously bite at an immaculately polished nail. Then another until both hands concealed her mouth but her eyes were vivid with shock and worry.

“Oh my God, my penis is having a heart attack,” he grumbled back. His hand propelled outwards, halting her from coming closer. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! You got to get out of here!”

“Alright,” she fluttered about, slow to turn back around. Both of her hands reciprocated the gesture, as if to hold herself at bay until her feet could shuffle the other direction. Purse – where’s her purse? Big, black purse – can’t miss it– ah! There!

He wasn’t sure what words he was trying to verbalize. It was all a stuttered mess until she began to bend down to grab her oversized bag near the door.

Then his reaction was visceral.

“Don’t bend over!”

She nearly jumped out of her skin and looked at him, aghast.

“For crying out loud,” he lamented, averting his eyes to the ceiling. “Are you nuts?” He tried his best to blink the image away. Her pert little ass – not really, not little – ugh, forget it! But he couldn’t!

Thankfully, her hefty purse consumed the upper half of her body, concealing her blessed breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he cracked apologetically. His eyes were pleading. “It’s the yoga pants!”

She was awkwardly shifting from the room to the hallway, weaving in and out as she scrambled to retreat.

“I’m sorry for this,” she rushed out the words until her entire body was outside his room. Still, her head poked through, and then pass by the glass where her words were still quite clear. “I like you!” she tried to end on a good note, offering a smile through the pane.

“I like you, too, so much,” he assured, however gravel and pain he sounded. She was still peeking through the glass, optimistic and glowing and loving…

“Call a nurse!” he pleaded aloud, leaning outwards to project his voice. “A male nurse! Probably a heavy-set male nurse would be nice!”

She was contorting her body awkwardly to muster a wave, not quite ready to depart. The bag was still in her arms, obstructing her chest. God Bless her. He never thought he’d say such a thing regarding her heavenly bosom but now was not the time.

“Bye,” her muffled voice sang sweetly from afar.

He was lurching more outwardly now, to the point of yelling.

“Describe it to them as like uh… as uh…battered highway cone!” He pushed out hurriedly once she was out of frame.

He leaned back, eyes squeezed and body tight. He winced multiple times in a row. He uttered another unbecoming groan, flinching as he verbalized just sounds of peak discomfort.

#this scene was peak comedy #I had to write my take on it #kathony #kanthony #Bridgerton and sons #modern bridgerton #Bridgerton au #THERE ARE SO MANY TAGS TO ACCOUNT FOR #Kate sheffield #Kate sharma #btw cece is perfect representation of peak Kate energy #Anthony bridgerton #drabble #mine #fanfiction

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dessam · 4 years

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A little pre-Weapon XI AU thing centered around the retelling of how Devin died and the half-truths Max likes to spin.

Warnings for violence, blood mention, and backstabbing

Or: if two Plumbers were on a mission escaping a heliokinetic psychopath and one shot the other in the back would that be fucked up or what?

The universe always seemed to get the last laugh in, no matter what Devin was doing.

“Max, he’s getting closer!”

Whether it was trying to make breakfast only to realize he didn’t have any eggs, or attempting to stop a galactic warlord from consuming stars on the weekend, he was always somehow the butt of a sick joke.

This joke’s name was Ragnarok, and Devin wanted nothing more than to wash his hands of the monster. He’d also like to wash his hands of the stupid, stupid man in the co-pilot’s seat next to him.

“Ship won’t go any faster, Devin!” Max hollers back.

Rolling his eyes, Devin mutters under his breath: “Have you tried flapping your arms?”

His current partner - a certain Magister Maxwell Tennyson - seems to find the whole bit some sort of joke, and was laughing through their last narrow escape from Ragnarok. Tennyson isn’t at all perturbed by the villain rapidly gaining on them, and a little voice in the back of Devin’s mind pipes up to remind him: you can’t trust a single one of them, not even your partner.

Which, obviously, was a lesson he had known long before he became a Red Spot, but was now a mantra he spoke every single time an incident like this happened.

Of all the bloody people to be partnered with, Maxwell Tennyson was a name at the bottom of a long, long list of Plumbers that--

“You with me?”

A voice cuts through Devin’s thoughts, and his partner is looking at him from the corner of his eye, grinning.

“What?” He says shortly, on edge.

“I said: Ragnarok really wants what we took, huh?”

Devin bites his tongue, resists the urge to snarl back that it’s his fault they’re in this bloody mess, that they had the element of stealth right until Max had to blunder their escape and alert every being with working cochlear nerves they were onboard Ragnarok’s ship.

“We couldn’t let him slaughter six billion people just to get his hands on the Sun’s energy,” he says instead, shooting Max a mocking grin. “Not my fault he didn’t like you stealing the key that activated his energy vortex. You’re welcome, by the way, for me bailing you out of there.”

Max’s expression falls immediately, eyes snapping forward and hands tensing on the ship’s controls, all comradery gone. Devin’s partner was never very good at saying thank you.

CRACK

Lurching in his seat with a grunt, the bulkhead rattles around Devin as the nav system sputters and whines before fading, and he watches with dread as glowing instruments suddenly wink out one by one, the ship going dark.

Next to him, frantically flicking switches and checking the backup system as it flashes a warning red, Max looks at Devin with wide eyes.

“Blast took out our engine couplings, our shields...we’re dead in space.”

Oh so slowly, a shadow overtakes them, plunging their vessel into darkness.

Swallowing hard, Devin tests the controls, tries to think of their fastest way out of here, all while Max just stares dumbfounded up at the massive ship overtaking them.

There’s a hissing vhmm from the rear door, and Devin glances back as the massive form of Ragnarok materializes in a blue haze onto their ship.

Red eyes boring into his own, the warlord sneers at the two Plumbers, back straightened and fists clenched at his sides.

“Where did you hide my key?” He speaks in a low snarl, lip curling back to reveal ugly yellowed teeth.

Devin shares a short look with Max, sees the gears turning in his partner’s brain.

Fuck this, he decides.

Standing and drawing both of his blasters, Devin unloads shot after shot at the ship’s newest arrival, and the human next to him takes just a moment longer before standing and unloading the clip of his weapon at Ragnarok just the same.

Ragnarok seems unperturbed, smoke clearing as the plasmabolts fizzle out, not a scratch on him. Devin growls, lunging behind cover with Max just as a vibrant yellow blast from Ragnarok takes out their ship’s main console with a resounding BOOM!

The blue halogen lights of the backup systems flicker before maintaining, secondary life support still online and running smoothly.

It does little to calm Devin’s nerves as he presses his back to the offhand weapon’s console, and glances to Max at his side.

His partner looks pale, staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched and right hand clutching his blaster. Devin watches him reload the clip in one movement without looking, recognizing the confirmed remaining charge of the weapon: seventy-three percent, glowing in luminous green.

“I’m going to go for the Null Void projector,” he grips Max’s arm for a moment, forcing the human to look at him. “Cover me, understand?”

“Devin, wait--”

But he’s already up, sprinting towards the main weapon rack on the far wall, ducking under another blast from Ragnarok that singes the hair on the back of his neck. Behind him, he can hear Max swear something in terran before more plasmabolts are fired off, and Ragnarok roars in frustration.

Devin slams his hand on the access panel, snatches the mobile Null Void projector from its rack just as another blast nearly takes him out, the explosion throwing him back against the port window and sending the Null Void projector clattering into the corner.

“Devin!” Max hollars, lunging out from behind cover and sending another round of bolts at Ragnarok.

The heliokinetic monster is grinning now, yellow energy glowing in his palms as he slowly stalks towards Max, and Devin has a split second to think before he focuses on an exposed electrical panel inches away.

Bingo.

Yanking a glove off with his teeth, he grabs one of the loose wires as he stands and lets the raw energy pulse through his body, instantly feeling woozy.

He only needs a short charge - thirty-five hundred watts should be enough - and the electricity extends from the fingertips of his left hand to the fingertips to his right hand, gathering at his wrist. Devin narrows his eyes, focuses, and fires.

A sharp blast of energy sparks off, lancing out to strike Ragnarok square in the back.

He screams, sinks to one knee, and Devin grins in triumph, dropping the wire.

The heavy smell of ozone hangs in the cockpit, and he tries to shake off the last jitters of electricity sparking off his hands before snatching the Null Void projector off the floor, levelling it at Ragnarok’s torso.

“Any last words?” He asks, unable to help the smug smile that crosses his face.

“You will know true suffering, Osmosian,” Ragnarok spits, pupils dots in a sea of dark red and yellow as he stares unblinking back at Devin. “This isn’t over, none of it. As long as you’re alive--”

Devin scoffs, flicks the trigger, and Ragnarok’s words turn to an enraged scream as he’s sucked backwards through the warped portal of the Null Void.

“Blah blah blah, you'll rue the day, et cetera. I’ve heard it all before.” Devin grins, sheathing the Null Void projector and inspecting the dark smear where Ragnarok once stood.

He can hear his partner stand, and turns to double-check their nav system.

“Computers will need a reboot, but we should still be able to get a signal out for pickup. Could be worse, I suppose.” He sighs, drags a hand down his face, feels the start of a migraine coming on. “Not a bad shot, eh Max--?”

POW!

Blindingly white-hot pain overtakes him as he hears the sound of a blaster go off. Staggering, falling to one knee, hysteria instantly grips Devin’s mind.

I’ve been shot. Max shot me.

His thoughts are confirmed as he collapses onto his side, glancing up blearily at the shape of his partner, silhouetted by the ship’s overhead lights.

“I’m sorry, Devin, I’m so sorry. I had my orders.” Max rasps out, crouching beside him, taking one of his hands in his own.

Devin almost wants to laugh, or scream. To tell Max he’s a brainwashed idiot, that things didn’t have to be like this, that he could’ve found another way. Really, he doesn’t even know why he’s surprised at this point.

“Orders, eh?” He chokes out, tasting copper. “So Ragnarok was a distraction, to get me to slip up?”

Max shakes his head, squeezes Devin’s hand.

“No. Ragnarok was...he was supposed to finish you off back on his ship, quick and clean. But if you want something done right…Devin, I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know,” Devin gasps, agony shooting through his body with each syllable. “Max just, please, promise me one thing.”

His partner squeezes his hand a little tighter, nodding.

“Tell my wife and son I love them.”

Any compassion drains from Max’s face, taken over by horror and dawning realization.

“Your what.”

Devin grins, finally knowing he got the last laugh in. Fuck you, universe.

#max tennyson is a liar and a backstabbing loser #ain't that just the way #there's more to come #ben 10 #Weapon XI AU #writing #fanfiction #my writing #devin levin #max tennyson #maxwell tennyson #blood mention #violence #murder

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fruit-teeth · 3 years

Text

Matters of Time and Fate (Chapter 18)

(quick author’s note: hi! This chapter is not new, I wrote it over a month ago but I finally posting it here. Chapter 19 will be out at some point...I’m working on it, I swear. Anyway, hope you enjoy, but trigger warning: this chapter deals substance/alcohol abuse and mentions of childhood trauma. If that bothers you, read with caution or maybe just skip this chapter. Thanks!)

A mysterious bowl of pistachios sat out on the table - mysterious in the sense that Olivia had not actually seen anyone put them out, yet they were there, and they’d been there for a while. Olivia picked one out of the bowl and looked it over, before cracking the shell to reveal the nut inside.

She remembered how her father used to eat these, and that sometimes he would share them with her on late nights they stayed up to finish her lessons. Now, though, the pistachio did not taste the way she recalled pistachios tasting, and she spat it out right after taking a bite of it. Setting the bowl down, she leaned against the table, pursing her lips together as she realized that the world had become incredibly different ever since her father died.

Just then, something clattered upstairs, and Olivia could hear Sniper yelling, “Oh, piss! No! Hell…”

Intrigued, Olivia got back up and headed up the stairs, curious to know what the matter was.

In one of the bedrooms, Sniper had set up a tower of crates, but clearly, they had not been as steady as he thought. They had toppled over and onto the floor, and one of them also knocked down some trinkets on a nearby counter. As Olivia peeked in through the doorway, she could see Sniper kneeling on the floor, collecting the items he knocked down while muttering to himself.

“What are you doing?” she asked after a moment, stepping into the room.

Sniper startled, turning around to look at Olivia. “Oh! Hey, uh, I didn’t expect to see you there,”

Olivia took a moment to look all around the room, just observing. “Are those your guns?” she pointed out Sniper’s weapon cases, which were stacked beside the window.

“Oh, I…” Sniper nodded, moving closer to Olivia. “Yeah…look, it's nothing that concerns you, alright?”

This statement piqued Olivia’s interest right away, her eyes getting wide. “What happened? Are you gonna get to shoot someone?”

Sniper started to answer, “Well, I dunno if—”

“Can I watch?” Olivia cut him off, a glint of something Sniper did not like in her eyes.

Before he could try and dissolve the situation, however, a pair of footsteps came stumbling up the stairs, and Lar-Nah soon appeared in the doorway. When Olivia looked up at her, she noticed that she was smiling, but it was a dazed, sleepy smile. Not only that, but she smelled like some strange kind of chemical, and though the scent wasn’t terribly strong, it made Olivia take a step back while wrinkling her nose.

“What are you kids doing?” Lar-Nah slurred, her body leaning against the doorframe.

Olivia tilted her head at the sight of Lar-Nah, watching her in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, rather blunt.

Lar-Nah giggled again. “Nothing is wrong! Nothing is wrong…”

Sniper’s mouth hung open for a moment before he growled and stormed up to his mother, snatching up her wrist. “Are you drunk!?”

“Don’t touch me!” Lar-Nah yelped, her expression suddenly changing to one of anger. She tugged her wrist away from him, staggering back. “Why do you care, anyway…?”

Across the hall, the other bedroom door opened, and Demoman emerged with a basket of clothes. Upon noticing him, Sniper called out, “Did my mom get into your scrumpy!?”

Demo froze in confusion. “What!? No way in hell would I just leave my—”

Lar-Nah waved him off. “No, no, no…no,” she reached into the pocket of the long coat she was wearing, and she produced a now mostly empty bottle of cough syrup. “I tried to get into your masked friend’s wine stash, but I couldn’t get the combination lock…he knows how to keep a secure lock! Anyway, luckily the doctor had this, and this is the greatest kind of cough syrup I have ever had,”

Sniper yanked the bottle out of her hand, staring at her in disbelief. “Are…are you bloody serious right now!?”

Olivia took a few steps back, just observing the interaction in silence. Lar-Nah blinked, and then replied simply, “Yes, I did drink that, yes,”

“How could you!?” Sniper’s voice pitched a little, but he did not back down. “We give you a place to stay, food, people to be with, and then you do…you do this!? You drink bloody cough syrup, out of everything!?”

Lar-Nah only shook her head, not wanting to make eye contact with her son. “You sound like my mother,”

“Good!” Sniper snapped at her, his hand tightening around the bottle. “At least one of us is being responsible around here…”

At that, Demo noticed Olivia watching this interaction, and he quickly grabbed her by the hand to take her into the hallway. “Aye, lassie! Best we step out for a bit…”

Olivia resisted him at first, but then gave in and allowed him to take her down the hallway and towards the stairs. She continued listening, though: the tone of Lar-Nah’s voice changed, and she suddenly began yelling back at Sniper.

“And who are you to tell me how to live my life!?” Lar-Nah barked back at him. “This isn’t your body, you son of a…”

“Son of a what?” Sniper crossed his arms. When she didn’t answer, he prompted her again. “Son of a what? No, finish that thought!”

From the room next door, Scout could be heard pounding on the wall. “Hey! Shut up!”

Lar-Nah stumbled towards the wall, sneering out at him, “Oh, shut up, eh? Is that how you talk to women? Your mother must be proud…”

“That’s something a nerd would say!” Scout yelled back.

Before Lar-Nah could say or do anything else, the amount of cough-syrup she’d consumed began to make her head throb, and she struggled to stay on her feet but failed. She collapsed right in front of Sniper and onto the floor, creating a loud ‘thud’ as her body met the wood panels.

Sniper huffed, dropping down and yanking Lar-Nah up to her feet. “Oh, get up! Bloody hell, you’re a mess…”

He dragged her into the adjacent bathroom, ignoring Scout (who at this point had come out of the other room to watch the scene unfold) and closing the door behind them.

Once he was alone with his mother, Sniper felt the anger and bitterness he’d been feeling for the past few months start to seep out of him, and it was then that he began to rant, not caring if his mother was conscious enough to understand him.

“I didn’t have to bring you here,” he growled, carrying her to the tub and setting her down inside of it. “I have a mom – she’s the one who raised me, she’s the one who taught me how to be a good bloke, how to ride a bike, how to read…but she’s gone, now,”

Sniper paused, watching Lar-Nah for a moment. She appeared to have passed out, her head laid back and her eyes shut. He continued. “All you did was give birth to me. Maybe I just…maybe I just thought you’d be here for me, in the way she was. But I was wrong…” he grabbed the showerhead off the wall, switching the water on. “First day here, and you get piss-drunk on cough syrup!”

He turned the showerhead and began spraying her with the cold water in an attempt to sober her up. He knew she would not have the best reaction to this, but he didn’t expect her to react the way she did. The moment the cold water contacted her body, Lar-Nah let out a blood-curdling shriek, waving her hands wildly and scrambling to get away. Sniper almost felt guilty for doing this, but he didn’t stop. Something about this was strangely cathartic for him, and he tilted the showerhead to get some of the chilled water onto her face.

Lar-Nah tried to stand up but slipped, falling flat onto her back with another loud yell. Yet instead of trying to escape again, she curled up into a ball and began to sob, her whole body shaking and her eyes wide open. When Sniper saw this, he shut off the water instantly, realizing something was terribly wrong. He stood there, showerhead in hand, watching as Lar-Nah shook like a leaf and sobbed, her face contorted into one of panic.

She began whispering something, and as Sniper leaned down to listen, he could make out some words:

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry, I won’t do it again…” she whispered, just barely audible. She sounded almost like a scared child, and she repeated, “I won’t do it again…I’m sorry, Auntie, I’m so sorry…”

Sniper wondered for a moment if maybe she was faking this to get sympathy out of him, but when he reached down and touched her shoulder, he felt right away how tense her muscles had become. This was serious, and without thinking, he pulled her out of the tub and carefully laid her down onto the bathmat.

Lar-Nah yelped again, but Sniper quickly grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around her, rubbing her shoulder with one hand. “Hey…” he swallowed, trying to sound comforting. “I-it’s okay, Mom…”

As Lar-Nah continued to sob quietly, Sniper sat with her on the bathroom floor, trying his best to put her at ease by rubbing her shoulders. When she pulled the towel tighter around herself, Sniper spoke gently, “You’re not there, mom. You’re here…”

The sobs simmered down to a low whimper, before stopping entirely. Lar-Nah caught her breath, and after a few seconds, she lifted her head. There was a look of confusion on her face, and she looked down at her soaking wet clothes and the towel wrapped around herself. She then looked to Sniper, searching his face for answers.

“What happened?” she asked after a moment, squinting. “Am I hungover again…?”

Sniper tried to think of how to respond. “Uh…sort of,” he moved back, giving her some personal space but also wanting to keep an eye on her. “Do you…not remember what just…?”

Before he could finish, the door opened, and Medic stepped in. “Goodness!” he exclaimed, taking in the sight of Lar-Nah. “What happened here!? Tavish told me you drank a bottle of cough syrup!”

“Oh…” the memory came back to Lar-Nah, and she refused to meet Medic’s gaze. “I…did, yes. I did do that,”

Sniper watched her expression as she spoke, and this time, he saw the pain in her eyes. She was running from something, and he could see that, now.

Medic just sighed, walking closer and helping Lar-Nah up. “Come with me…that cough syrup is my own invention! It works well, but it is meant for sick people only,”

“That’s me,” Lar-Nah murmured, following Medic downstairs to the lab.

Sniper followed close behind, and as he watched his mother, he suddenly felt like the world did not feel the way it did before.

Olivia had heard most of the commotion, but Demo had distracted her with another crossword puzzle to keep her from watching the incident. At some point, though, Demo had left the living room, meaning that Olivia was alone again.

She set the crossword to the side, getting up to investigate whatever the adults were up to. Sniper had guns with him, and it seemed like Scout had been busy with something, too…something was afoot, and she was curious to figure out what it was. At that moment, though, Heavy seemingly came out of nowhere and placed his hand on Olivia’s shoulder.

“What you doing, little Olivia?” he asked her, leaning down to brush a few wisps of hair away from her forehead.

Olivia pursed her lips together, rocking on her heels. “I wanna see the guns…”

Heavy’s expression changed, and he frowned. “Guns? Why guns?”

“Well…” she turned to look up at him. “Sniper had guns in his room, and he looked like he was gonna do something with them. Is he gonna shoot someone?”

Heavy took a long breath, keeping his hand on Olivia’s shoulder. After a moment, he answered, “We should hope we will not need to shoot. You are little, do not want you get hurt…”

Olivia gasped a little at that, suddenly excited. “Is there gonna be a fight?” before Heavy could reply, Olivia jumped up and ran to the front door. “I wanna help! I wanna fight, too!”

Horrified, Heavy rushed over and plucked her away from the door, exclaiming, “Olivia! No!”

Olivia squirmed in his grip, grunting and flailing her hands. “What!? I wanna fight! I wanna—”

Heavy set Olivia down on the sofa, and he sat beside her, taking her hands into his. “Olivia,” he began, his tone low and serious. “You are too little for fighting. Is not your job,”

Olivia crossed her arms, scowling. “But daddy says if I fight, guys won’t wanna fight back because they won’t hurt me—”

“Your father was wrong,” Heavy cut her off, and he moved closer to make sure Olivia understood him. “Very wrong,”

“But it worked!” Olivia insisted. “Saxton didn’t wanna fight me, those other guys weren’t gonna do it either!”

Heavy sighed. “Olivia…there are some men, very bad men, who do not care that you are so small,”

Olivia paused, watching Heavy’s face and seeing how drastically his expression had changed. She went quiet, before asking, “What?”

Heavy clasped his hands around hers, and he began, “I was small, one time…bad men came to our village, took everything, killed my father…” he paused, hoping this story wouldn’t be too upsetting for Olivia, but she only stared silently up at him. He continued. “I did not think they would hurt me, or my sisters. I was wrong…”

“What’d they do?” Olivia asked, suddenly feeling quite uneasy.

Heavy shook his head. “It does not matter. Was long time ago. But, little Olivia…” he tucked his finger beneath her chin, looking her in the eyes. “Men like them…they are more, always more. And they do not care how little their enemy may be…they do not care. They would hurt you, and not care,”

Olivia stared down at her hands, noticing how they were shaking all of a sudden. “That’s not…that’s not what daddy told me…”

“I know,” Heavy squeezed her hand. “But I have seen war. Is no place for a little one,”

The clock on the wall ticked in a quiet rhythm as Heavy and Olivia sat in silence. After a moment, Olivia murmured, “I wish I wasn’t so little…”

“You will not always be,” Heavy assured her, pulling her into his lap. “But is okay to be little…”

Olivia laid her head on his chest, and she let out a sad little sigh. “I feel scared,” she admitted softly. “But I don’t wanna be scared,”

Heavy felt his heart ache when she said that, and he placed his hand on her back to reassure her. “Is okay…you are protected. We will keep you safe,” he pulled away, and he gave her a small smile. “You like books? Like to read?”

“Oh,” Olivia thought about it, and then nodded. “Yeah, I can read. Daddy taught me how to,”

“Good,” Heavy turned around, reaching for the bookshelf behind him. “Let us see…ah! Fairytales!” he pulled out a large book titled, 100 Classic Fairytales and then handed it to Olivia. “Here! You want to read?”

Olivia took a moment to just look over the book’s front cover. It was beautifully decorated, with gold trimmings and sweet animal characters, and while Olivia was interested in it, she felt as though she were missing something.

“Yeah, but…” she looked up at Heavy, moving closer to him. “Can you…read it with me?”

Heavy paused, but he nodded, settling down against the couch with her. “Of course. We read together, yes?”

As Heavy opened the book and began to read with Olivia, his heartache still did not go away. Olivia did not deserve this: she did not deserve to feel afraid of these strange, threatening men. Heavy remembered when his sisters were younger, around Olivia’s age, and how growing up in such violent circumstances had affected them later in their lives. Olivia deserved better, and Heavy knew he and the others had to do better for her.

#writing #my writing #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 olivia mann #tf2 sniper #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 demoman #tf2 scout #tf2 lar-nah #ask to tag #addiction tw #abuse tw #i mean its referenced but still #long post

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yourlocalenglishmajor · 3 years

Text

Commonplace Book

Hello everyone! This is my first post on this blog, and it is going to be a project for my college English course! Feel free to read through it if you’re interested; if not, that’s okay, this is really just for my professor ^^

Piece 1: “Big Guns, Small Dicks”

Unfortunately, this piece does not have a specific author or creator; I found it on State Street in Madison last summer. It is an anonymous piece of graffiti that speaks to the movement it was created during. For those who may be less familiar with Madison, Wisconsin, it is considered a very liberal and even leftist city, especially with how frequent and powerful the Black Lives Matter protests were. This was created during those protests, as well as hundreds of other works all along historic State Street. As ACAB - All Cops Are Bastards - protests went hand in hand (usually) with BLM protests, the phrase “Big guns, small dicks” is a jibe at the police and its racist foundations and use of excessive force.

It best relates to class through the conversations about race and equity we’ve had. Our readings have been centered around a diverse cast of authors instead of the one viewpoint of the cisgender, heterosexual white man, which is something the BLM movement also aimed to achieve. In addition, although it has not been a focal topic yet, we have talked about police brutality and how it impacts POC most; another key point of the BLM movement. Lastly, we talked about what mythic America, or the American Dream, really is, and why it is never realized for so many people. The Black Lives Matter movement is all about how the American Dream is something almost no one can truly achieve, and how it leads to othering and a sense of disillusionment with the effectiveness of our society.

Piece 2: Vonnegut’s Slapstick

For my second piece, I chose to utilize a work of a famous satire writer to draw comparisons to our coursework. As for the image, I took a picture of the copy I own and edited it. Kurt Vonnegut’s Slapstick centers around two twins who are geniuses together, but entirely stupid on their own; they are neglected by their parents, who are a family of renown and ashamed of having deformed children. Their parents look at them as if they are to be pitied for the very nature of their existence. They use this to sneak around and live lives of luxury, continuing this ruse of being entirely stupid so that they may live as freely as possible in their circumstances.

In this work, the children are quite literally tossed in a house and locked away to prevent others from seeing them; this is something I personally connect to the concept of silencing, which happened frequently during the BLM movement. Protesters, peaceful or not, were arrested; protests were escalated by cops far more often than by protesters, but that was generally ignored and used as a way to disregard the protests as nothing more than “riots”; large platforms such as Twitter and Instagram incorrectly labelled some posts as “misinformation”. Voices were silenced all over the internet. In addition, some white allies were not using their platforms to actually help/spread information, but were using them to spew white guilt and accomplish very little. As L. Ayu Saraswati says in her textbook Introduction to Women’s, Gender & Sexuality Studies, Interdisciplinary and Intersectional Approaches, “Guilt as a response to...racism...does very little to contribute to efforts toward social change as it recenters whiteness” (page 15), basically saying yes, these folks are speaking their mind and are at least partially aware of their privilege, but their feelings of guilt without taking action are not actually doing anything to help what they feel guilty for.

Piece 3: The Hymn to Demeter

My last selection will be an ancient work known as the Hymn to Demeter, and the version I am using is translated by Gregory Nagy. I am using this statue of Demeter and Persephone as the visual accompaniment to this analysis. This piece was originally written to be performed orally by a poet/performer as praise to Demeter. It details the kidnapping of Persephone, Demeter’s daughter, and the subsequent founding of the Cult of Demeter in the city Eleusis.

When Persephone is first kidnapped, it is said that “she cried with a piercing voice, / Calling upon her father, the son of Kronos, the highest and the best. / But not one of the immortal ones, or of human mortals, / heard her voice” (lines 20-23). To me, this draws clear parallels with the silencing of victims of police brutality and their families. Public outrage did nothing to bring accountability to Breonna Taylor’s killers or the flawed justice system that let them get away with it. The victim’s family was silenced and the movement to convict her killers has died down since it happened almost a year ago.

Additionally, it is later revealed to Demeter through Rhea that this kidnapping was not only endorsed by but planned by Zeus himself. As Greek households were patriarchal, it was not uncommon for a father to arrange a relationship/marriage without informing the daughter or allowing the daughter to meet her betrothed first. This endorsed act of violence can also be paralleled to the actions of the police; their brutality is actively supported by a flawed, racist justice system, just as the actions of Hades were actively supported by the all-powerful Zeus. What’s more, nobody stood up to Zeus or questioned his actions because of all the power he has, which is another perfect example of how this parallel functions.

Lastly, Demeter’s pure rage and grief is reminiscent of the rage and grief of the black mothers who lost their children to police brutality. Last semester, I attended a Theater of War performance known as “Antigone in Ferguson”, and after the performance was over, there was a discussion led by a panel of educators and victims of police brutality. Several of them were mothers who told painful stories of how their children, usually sons, were murdered and how they are still trying to find a way to keep living. Their powerful grief is parallel to Demeter’s; the only difference is that Demeter gets her child back.

A Meta-Commentary

My process in finding these works and deciding which would draw the best parallels was to find a bunch of subjects I thought would work well and then cut down on them. I knew the “big guns, small dicks” would be included for sure, as it was an image I took myself and had good parallels to draw right off the bat. It’s a good way to catch someone’s attention! And the message is powerful. Seeing all the graffiti on State Street last summer was impactful, but this simple phrase stood out to me and was (I believe) the only picture I took out of all the graffiti down there. The Kurt Vonnegut work I included because I like the comparison between how the twins are treated in the book and how folks who were active and open about their opinions were silenced; also, I’d be lying if I failed to mention that part of the reason is because I adore Kurt Vonnegut and wanted to find a way to bring a work of his into this. My third choice, the Hymn to Demeter, was chosen because it’s a cool way to connect one of my other classes to this one. In addition, it’s a good piece to reinterpret as an allegory for how the justice system enables the wrong people and fails the right ones.

Also, although I did not choose many direct quotes, I think the parallels I drew between the content of these works is substantial! I put a lot of thought into how I worded things and what content actually related best to the works of this class, specifically the themes we’ve discovered so far in Claudia Rankine’s Citizen. The heaviness of the book relates well to the power behind each of these pieces, especially the first one, as the message is plain and simple but impactful. The prose and structure of Rankine’s work is incredibly unique and not directly paralleled in any of the pieces I chose; however, the Hymn to Demeter is written in a very specific structure that is almost poetry? It’s a very confusing structure, because it does not seem to have any meter or consistency, but is still patterned in a specific way. This may be a result of translation, it may have been intentionally created this way by the original writer (who is not known; the transcript of this hymn was found in a stable in Moscow in 1777), or it could be a byproduct of the format itself as a hymn. The repetition Rankine takes advantage of in Citizen is actually something Vonnegut is known for as well. Several of his works have anaphoric phrases; Slaughterhouse V has both “po-tee-weet” and “and so it goes”, and Slapstick has the comedic “hi-ho”, used as a way to break the tension of the work, as it is supposed to be satire. This repetition and the more casual grammar these authors both share give their works a heavy feeling (cut far more frequently in Vonnegut’s than in Rankine’s) that also works as a conversational element, making both of the works feel like the audience is also in the narrative itself.

Commonplacing is a valuable step in making powerful literature more accessible to people! Providing unique and interesting analysis of a work makes it much easier for people to casually consume! Additionally, using platforms like Tumblr for this analysis makes things even more accessible, as anyone can see it and Tumblr allows posts to be any length! Opening thoughtful literature and analysis to the public like this also allows for good, guided conversation on a variety of subjects, and creates interest for the works in their entirety. This can easily inspire people to pick up a copy of their own of any of these works if someone is interested enough in how these can be interpreted! (If any of you are interested in the Hymn to Demeter, I used the one found at this website , it’s free ^-^)

A big thank you to any of you who read this all the way through (including you, professor)! I’ll be doing more fun and less serious literary analysis on this account as well, so if that’s something you’re interested in, stay tuned!

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mari-beau · 4 years

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The Right Thing

FANDOM: LOST IN SPACE (2018)

GENRE: Romance, Drama, (a little) Humor

TIMELINE: Between Season 1 & Season 2

CHARACTERS: Don, Judy, Debbie

PAIRING: Don/Judy

RATING: PG/T (References to adult situations; nothing graphic)

WORDS: 1681

SUMMARY: Ever since meeting the Robinsons, Don West has found himself struggling to do the right thing. Judy, in particular puts his conscience to the test. (Sort of an explanation for the shift in Don/Judy dynamic between season one and season two)

Author’s Note: The reboot series is so satisfying that I never thought I'd feel the need to write fanfiction for it. But alas, I did find myself greatly missing Don & Judy's banter in season two. Honestly, they could've left it at friendly teasing and I would've loved it. Anyway, my brain felt the need to explain why it disappeared between seasons.

...

Don West’s com beeped just as he was elbow deep in the coolant system, making him start and hit his head on the edge of the metal panel. He cursed as Judy Robinson’s voice crackled over the device.

/Don, I need your help with something./

The pain made him wince as he rubbed at the back of his head, but he pressed a button on his wrist com. “What is it, doc?”

/Um… some sort of malfunction… in my room./

Don closed his eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, glared at the patched system that was barely holding it together, and replied. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

/Thanks./

“Robinsons… gonna work me to death,” he told Debbie. The chicken cocked her head, obviously not falling for his griping. “What? Don’t look at me like that.”

He picked up the pet hen he’d never intended to be anything more than a future meal and made his way through the jupiter that had become his home over the past few months. Debbie didn’t even squirm when he carried her now. He thought she rather liked it. But when he set her down in his room and told her to be good while he helped Judy, she gave him a scathing chicken glare.

“It won’t be long,” he said. “I promise.”

She clucked and showed him her feathered backside as she went for her food dish.

“Don’t be jealous. There’s plenty of Don West to go around.”

/Don, where are you?/ Judy’s voice rang out more clearly over his com this time. There was a bit of an edge to it that had him in a partial jog as he hurried to her room.

Her door was closed. He frowned, raised his hand to press the chime but it slid open before he could press the button. Judy’s attractive face appeared, her big dark eyes skimming over him and then glancing up and down the hall.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

“I-” Before he could finish pointing out that it had only been two minutes, the young doctor grabbed the front of his t-shirt and yanked him into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Judy…” He drawled her name in warning, wrapping his hand around her wrist, but she kept her fingers twisted up in his shirt and yanked on it, hard, pulling him down and crashing her lips against his.

Her kisses were electric. Just like her. Vibrant, scintillating. Irresistible. They had a tantalizing exuberance that he only remembered last experiencing when he was in his early twenties, over a decade ago. Son of a-

He broke off the kiss, tried to ignore the bewildered hurt in her eyes as he placed his hands on her shoulders to push her away.

“What’s wrong?” Her chin lifted in that stubborn bravado way of hers. “Did I interrupt something important? I thought you were just tinkering with-”

“That’s... uh… That’s not it.”

She raised her eyebrows, those perfect, kissable lips of hers pursing.

“We shouldn’t…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. He wasn’t used to refusing female attention. And more than that, he liked Judy. A lot. “I mean you’re…”

She silenced him with a glare. But he knew better anyway than to tell her she was only 19, too young, not an adult. Because she was one of the most responsible, wise, compassionate, badass people he’d ever met. Hell, she was more of an adult than him. He also should know better than to point out that her parents wouldn’t approve, would probably kill him. Because Judy herself would kill him for making such an intimation, that she wasn’t capable of making decisions for herself, that she didn’t consider every situation thoroughly before choosing a course of action. He knew better, and yet…

“Coward.” She caught his gaze. And damn, she was beautiful when she was fierce. And Judy Robinson was always fierce. “You’re afraid of getting close to anyone. But whether you like it or not, this family cares about you. And you care about us. And you care about me.” She stepped in closer, her breasts -which he tried desperately not to think about- brushed against his chest. “And you like kissing me.”

She pulled him down into another kiss. He opened his mouth to her, unable to resist the intrepid probing of her lips, her tongue. And she was delicious. Not just sweet, but complex. Judy Robinson was so complex, so interesting. So… so… Oh, god, so good.

Her hands had flattened against his stomach, were roaming up to his shoulders. She had skilled doctor’s hands, and so many parts of him wanted to discover just how skilled they were at tasks besides medicine. They slid back down his chest, fingernails scraping through the soft fabric of his t-shirt, raising goosebumps across his skin, making him groan into her mouth that continued to devour him. His own hands gripped her hips reflexively. She had such a feminine, athletic body, strong and beautiful, and pleasing to the touch. So strong.

She’d backed him against the cot, pushed him to sit on it, giving his tingling mouth a break. Oh, hell, he was aroused. He needed to put a stop to this before things really- Damn!

Judy was up in his lap, straddling his legs, moving in for more devastating kissing, kissing that would doubtless lead to more than kissing, which he couldn’t allow. She was 19 and the Robinsons’ daughter. He liked them. He liked her. He turned his head, thwarted her hungry mouth, but only momentarily, for she kissed and nipped along his jawline instead.

She was certainly a woman who went after what she wanted. Only, he couldn’t give it to her.

He grabbed her shoulders and held her away from him… Well, partly away from him. There were still portions of their bodies in dangerously close proximity. She made a frustrated noise, and gave him her biggest pleading puppy dog eyes. But they weren’t going to work this time. Because the right thing to do was to stop this, stop her randomly calling him for secret rendezvous, pulling him into vacant corners for stolen kisses, looking at him like she might just be-

“You’re a smart young woman, Judy,” he said. “I mean, I have my moments of genius...”

He winked at her, making her smile. She stroked the nape of his neck, affection warming her features. He ignored how much he liked her gentler attention, because he had a point to get across.

“But you’re way smarter than me, doc. You must know that the only reason you want me is because I’m the only option here.”

Her soft, dangerously affectionate look hardened and he knew he was one small prod away from waking her stubborn temper. But it had to be done.

“It’s probably been awhile for you. Hell, it’s been awhile for me, too. But you can do better than me, princess. And when you get out of here, get to where you’re going in life, there will be some fancy pants egghead waiting for you.”

“Just… Just shut up, Don. You don’t know what you’re talking about!” There was a pink hue coloring the gorgeous brown skin of her face. Her lips screwed up, a line forming between her brows. Her thinking face. She took a deep breath, met his gaze directly. Her eyes were always almost unbearably intense, showing all of her passion and intelligence. She wet her lips, surprising him with the nervous gesture.

“I’m not desperate for physical companionship. I genuinely like you, Don West. And if you can’t believe that…” Her eyes shimmered, but she was still wearing her tough face. “I’m sad for you.”

She removed herself from his lap, and it was a loss that made the bottom drop out of his stomach. She walked towards the door, not looking at him, an obvious dismissal.

It was for the best. It was.

“Oh, and Don…” He paused, so close that the scent of her, somehow fresh despite months of recycled air, filled his head. Her warm, dark eyes met his. “You would’ve been my first…”

“Fi-irst?” He nearly choked on the question, felt his mouth go dry. But felt his uncertainty fade ever so slightly. He had done the right thing, putting a stop to this… whatever it was between the young doctor and himself.

Wait. Was her mouth twitching?

“I didn’t mean like that,” she said. Then all amusement fled her. “I’ve just never felt…”

She closed her eyes, huffed, her cheeks turning pink again. He couldn’t blame her, he was feeling heat creep up his own neck and face. Their interactions always had been primarily light-hearted teasing and fiery exchanges. Deep discussions of feelings was not on his favorite things list, either.

“I think I could fall in love with you,” she said, her eyes finally daring to find his. She was so beautiful. Why did she have to be so beautiful, inside and out? So brave and strong and noble. So stubborn and mouthy. So Robinson.

“Oh, princess. I already love you.” The words were hard to get out, hard to say, and they emerged in a whisper he could barely hear himself. “But I love all of you stupid Robinsons. And I won’t do anything to hurt any of you.”

He jabbed the door control with his thumb. He needed to get out of there, away from her, the summer-breeze scent of her hair and skin, the consuming depth of her warm dark eyes, the pull of her kissable lips and smart mouth…

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said. He turned to give her a bittersweet smile, finding her standing tall with her arms crossed in front of her chest, that adorable set to her jaw. A warrior through-and-through. “I’m tougher than you think. Even if things didn’t work out...”

“I know you’re tough, Judy. You’ll get over me in no time. But I can’t lose the Robinsons.”

Don West walked out the door.

He’d done the right thing.

END. .... A/N: I actually hate criticisms of fictional (or real) relationships based on age differences. If they are two adults, then age is not what matters, not as much as compatibility, respect, etc. But at the same time, I would've been okay with Don & Judy just being friends, and wish TPTB had kept that teasing banter of theirs! My brain felt like putting a romantic-based reason for their shift in interaction in there. Maybe just to have fun with them, Judy as an aggressive partner (once she makes up her mind she wants him) and Don having to pull back because of his growing attachment to the whole clan.

#lost in space #fanfiction #fanfic #don west #judy robinson #don x judy #debbie the chicken #fix-it fic #lost in space season 2

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mcusoulmateau · 3 years

Text

Jane Foster, the Consultant

(If this looks a bit familiar, it’s because a version of this has been put on AO3. But I’m reworking it, taking Jane in new, more canon-divergent directions.)

It could be worse, Jane tells herself. There are whispers that one girl in her grade has a mark in hieroglyphics. Some people say that Brittany and James only broke up because James’s mark came in with a boy’s name. And everyone knows that Coach Fowler has no mark and is bitter about it.

Still. “Thor” is pretty bad, and it’s not even in English. She spends a whole day in the library just trying to decode the not-English-alphabet language on her arm before she knows for sure what the name even is.

Jane’s best friend suggests that she travel to Scandinavia for a better chance at finding a Thor. Jane shrugs the suggestion off and keeps dating her not-Thor boyfriend, a sweet boy called Brandon.

But Jane Foster is not one of the brightest minds of her age because she can forget about an idea. The same obsession that drives her to excel at astrophysics also compels her to learn everything she can about her would-be soulmate. The only Thor she has even heard of is a pagan god, so that’s where she starts.

She is by no means religious, but these stories give her a feeling of home that she has never found outside of research. Just like writing papers and entering centuries-long academic discourse, myths give her a community and a sense that some knowledge belongs uniquely to her. On Thursdays, she feels something that might be her soul. If Thor is Jane’s and Thursday is Thor’s day, then it follows that it is also Jane’s day.

The romantic in her wins out, and Jane studies abroad in her junior year of college. She bounces across Europe, meeting a handful of Thors but never hers. One is the young son of an archeology professor, a little boy whose mother convinces her to tough out the double major and to keep studying the ancient Norse. Jane babysits little Thor and loses herself in his mother’s library after he falls asleep. Another Thor is an old man who bartends at a pub she frequents, and he tells her about the myths so precious the Nazis invaded to dig them up.

That catches Jane’s attention, and before she knows it, she’s submitting her thesis proposal about the Nazi incursion in a tiny town in Norway.

Uncovering the Mystery of Tønsberg:

Norse Mythology, HYDRA, and the Impossible Advancements of the Nazi Science Division

It’s a wild thing, she knows, not like her neat lab experiments. This is photographs of Johann Schmidt’s personal belongings, taped interviews with Dr. Armin Zola before his death, centuries-old poetry and stories about Odin and his treasures, interviews and diaries from the Tønsberg survivors, photographs and reports from battlefields all over Europe, even an interview she manages to score with Strategic Scientific Reserve officer Margaret “Peggy” Carter. Peggy is not a scientist, but she is an eye witness who affirms many of Jane’s theories. She’s also frustratingly coy.

Still. By the end of it, Jane Foster is so close to reverse-engineering HYDRA’s weapons that it hurts. There’s something, this nameless treasure that holds the secret to Schmidt’s science and Norse mythology, something that gave Schmidt incredible power and that the people of Tønsberg tried desperately to protect. And Jane knows in her bones that Thor is involved. She calls this mysterious MacGuffin “the Cosmic Cube,” even though she’s only 70% sure that it’s even cubic.

In front of a panel of professors and TAs, she begins.

“I did not think it would be possible to write a single thesis that unites my two majors of Physics and Germanic Mythology, the latter of which is a custom program designed for me. Yet, while studying abroad in Norway, I visited several archeological sites with mythological significance, where I discovered the ruin brought on by Nazi Germany. Though the accounts of what Johann Schmidt did to the Norwegians are horrific, it was the stories about Schmidt’s exploits after leaving Norway that caught my attention. Survivors, Allied and Axis alike, all tell of physics-defying weapons wielded by Schmidt and his men. I believe that Schmidt found something in Tønsberg, Norway, something of mythological significance, that gave him and the Nazis a technological edge on the Allies.

“By all accounts, Johann Schmidt, the head of the Nazi Science Division, HYDRA, was obsessed with Norse paganism and mythology. . . .”

When she is done with her speech and accompanying slide projections, most of her professors look impressed. Not convinced, but impressed. They thank her and send her on her way when she is confronted by a woman in a suit.

“Jane Foster,” she says. “My name is Dr. Weaver, of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I’d like to offer you a job.”

She says she can fast-track her for a PhD, get her a spot in her organization’s elite Academy of Science and Technology, maybe give her a chance to study things like the Cosmic Cube. But something about it doesn’t feel right, the fact that she’s never even heard of this organization. And if they know about the Cube, why didn’t she find anything about it when she was researching? And why does Jane get the feeling that if she accepts, she’ll be signing away her freedom?

They compromise, and Jane Foster becomes a consultant of S.H.I.E.L.D. Years pass, and they never call her, and she starts to forget about the shadowy organization. They have better astrophysicists they can call, better experts in Norse myth—why would they bother with a PhD candidate like her? She has better things to think about, like tracking meteorological anomalies and theorizing about interstellar travel.

And then New Mexico happens.

Jane and her intern, who is also her only friend, are chasing an atmospheric disturbance when a man falls out of the sky. A man who looks like all the drawings and paintings from her mythology studies. A man who wields a hammer. A man whose name matches the name on her wrist.

When Thor finally acts reasonable (though if she had traveled lightyears via an Einstein-Rosin Bridge, got hit by a van, tazed, and sedated, she doubts she’d be reasonable), Jane tells him she believes him.

“I know who you are,” she says, “but I don’t know how you are who you are.”

“You’ve heard the tales of me, then?” he asks with that cocky smile.

“Tales? More like myths. Maybe humans believed them, once, but not anymore.”

“But you do.”

“I didn’t until a few hours ago. And it’s only because—” She stops herself, heart pounding. “I don’t want to presume anything. Do your species even have soulmarks? But…” It’s easier if she shows him.

Jane uncovers her wrist and holds it out for Thor to see.

“I am sorry,” he says. “Mine is not a match.”

Her heart plummets. “Can I see? How do I know I can believe you?”

He smiles sadly. “You may. But I would not lie to you, Jane. I do care for you.”

“I do care for you” is hardly the passionate speech Jane has dreamed of hearing from her soulmate. Yet, it is a balm to the wound in her chest, an assurance that things may yet work out.

Thor removes the alien covering from his wrist. On it, in the same alphabet as her own mark, is the name “Loki.”

“Him? Isn’t he—he’s your brother!”

“I do not know why fate gave me his name and not yours, or any other. But my destiny is entwined with his, for good or ill. It would not do to enmesh you in our affairs.”

“But—but you care for me,” she stutters.

“Yes.” He seems to hope she will be satisfied with that answer alone, but when she is not, he continues. “I care for you, Jane Foster, which is why I cannot bring you to Asgard. Only a true match may rule, and I cannot abdicate the throne. You would be in far more danger there—from him, from a thousand others—than you would on Midgard. ”

He’s handsome and kind and dreamy and noble and fascinating and everything she could want in a soulmate. But he’s also an alien and decidedly not a match for her. When Thor leaves Earth, Jane Foster returns to academia. S.H.I.E.L.D. asks for her help with studying the Bifrost and the marks it leaves behind, and the agent who had tried to wipe her research on Thor’s arrival apologizes by giving her access to the Cosmic Cube.

But it turns out that Thor was wrong about at least one thing: Jane Foster is still very much in danger of Loki while on Midgard, especially given her proximity to the Cube.

Perhaps, in another reality, Loki would puppet a different human. Perhaps the Tesseract, the Chitauri invasion, all of it would still play out the same way. Perhaps it makes no cosmic significance that it is Jane Foster who Loki picks to be his influence on Earth.

But it matters to Jane, cosmic significance be damned. For months, she is made and unmade by a stranger, driven by whispers and whims she doesn’t understand. It’s not entirely against her will, either. She has been champing at the bit for a chance to focus exclusively on the Cube for a decade. It just takes a push from Loki for her to seize that opportunity.

It’s a little poetic, in a backwards way, that she should be puppetted by her soulmate’s soulmate. For a normal couple—a true match—one is always controlled by one’s soulmate’s soulmate (i.e. one’s self). But she, with her alien mark and her god inexplicably bound to his brother, she gets this twisted version of a soulmate. If she were herself, she’d be horrified. But the god of mischief in her brain finds it all very amusing.

Besides, there is no time for horror when there is research to be done. Working with the Cube begins to consume her, and Jane—both with and without Loki’s influence—is rather willing to be consumed.

“I understand the ancient Norwegians a lot better now,” she confesses to Dr. Selvig one night over a beer. “Putting the Cube in a church, in a place of honor, revering the ones who sent it as gods.”

“Finding religion, are you?” he asks, only partly joking.

“Maybe. The Cube is beautiful, Erik. Otherworldly. Perfect. It’s an actual four-dimensional shape, and sometimes I feel like I’m on the edge of finally comprehending it. Not just theoretically, but really getting it. If I were the type, I think I’d worship it.”

She isn’t sure how much of her right now is Jane and how much is Loki. Nevertheless, her words are true.

“Anything new to report?”

“It’s more than an energy source, that’s for sure. Maybe the energy output is the most useful attribute, at least for human civilization right now, but I’m almost positive that the thing can warp spacetime. Maybe it makes time loops, maybe it creates tiny wormholes, maybe it can manipulate the space between subatomic particles. But the readings it creates don’t get explained away by energy alone.”

“You think we could see interstellar travel with the Cube.”

“Imagine creating your own Bifrost whenever and wherever you pleased.”

“You’re getting fanciful, Jane. Lost in the Edda.”

“I have never been less lost, Erik. Johann Schmidt died on the Valkyrie with Steve Rogers. Except Rogers isn’t dead, and there’s not a single shred of Schmidt’s remains on that ship. Forensically speaking, there ought be some trace of him, even after seventy years. But there’s not! And the Cube is involved, somehow. I just have to piece this mystery together, like all the others.”

“Your poking at mysteries will be the death of you. And I’m only half charmed and endeared when I say that. The other half of me is quite concerned.”

Jane smiles, though it does not reach her eyes. “It’s not such a bad way to go.”

When she is on the cusp of sleep that night, a whisper creeps into the base of her skull, a primal thought she will only barely remember in the morning: a doorknob in the shape of an otherworldly Cube.

Days later, with the help of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or two, the door opens.

#jane foster #thor

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mystic-kitten-writer · 5 years

Text

Teach Me [M]︳01

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

AU: Greek Mythology (mini-series - 2nd installment)

Genre: Romance/smut

Rating: NSFW

Warning: Dirty talk, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, oral sex (m. receiving), spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (wrap it people!), creampie, public sex (kinda?), very soft humiliation

Words: 10600+

Notes: I present to you the second story of the Greek mythology series! I think I’ve come to the conclusion I like writing rough sex (sue me).

For any new readers - this story is part of a mini-series! Each member has their own story - you don’t have to read each one to understand the general plot. Story order: A Taste of Honey (Jung Hoseok), Teach Me (Kim Namjoon), Flutter (Kim Seokjin).

I hope you all enjoy the story and thank you for all the support - don’t forget to leave a like, comment, or reblog <3

Masterlist ︳Prologue

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

You were everything Namjoon sought after; sexy and intelligent. He watched the way you balanced on your tippy toes, ass sticking out as you placed the dusty books back in their spot one by one. He licked his pouty lips, a grunt leaving him as his hand brushed his growing bulge. He could already see it, the way you squirmed underneath him, your moans. You were stuck up, always acting better than everyone else, but not anymore. He was going to teach you a valuable lesson; you may be the boss of this library but he was the boss of you.

Teach Me ︳Final

No amount of words could describe the distaste and annoyance on your face as Athena patted your shoulder with a taunting grin. Eyes narrowed, nose scrunched up as your lips pressed together out of pure revulsion.

But in all fairness, how else were you expected to react to Athena’s words? You were being forced to teach that God Namjoon, God of that stupid wine grape Agiorgitiko. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t a one-time thing, but a whole week.

That’s right.

Seven.

Bloody.

Days.

Another frustrated sigh left you, causing the grin on Athena’s face to largen. “And what do you expect me to teach him? How to party? Or how to have an orgy?” You spat, crossing your arms in frustration as your tone held more venom than even you expected.

Athena raised a brow at your words before her eyes lit up. As if she finally clued in on something. She stepped forward, crossing her arms as she shook her head, “While he enjoys a good festivity, he’s no fool. He enjoys learning about philosophical topics, even dabbles in literature and mathematics.”

“Great, so I get to teach a God how to count to five?”

“I think he knows how to count, he does have to count how many grapes are hanging on a vine after all.”

Athena’s and your eyes met, a small smile flickering as you laughed at her joke. Athena chuckled, squeezing your shoulders, eyes softening, “You’re my second, the only one I could trust with such a task.”

“I know…” You huffed.

It was foolish to put up such a fight, letting such pointless emotions consume you. But you couldn’t help it, you didn’t like Namjoon one bit.

“Don’t judge him so easily, my pupil.” Athena’s words brought you back to reality, head snapping as you gazed at her. She picked up one of the books that were in your cart, opening it with ease as her eyes scanned the words, “He’s not what he seems. He’s not like other men.”

You scoffed, turning on your heel as you started placing the books that laid in your cart on the shelves, “Trust me, child, I wouldn’t give him access to these libraries if he were.”

She had a point.

You trusted Athena. She was the logic, reason, in this realm.

“…okay…”

The single word left your lips as nothing more but a defeated whisper, placing the last book away, shoulders slumped as you turned to face her once more, “Do you mind listing some of the works he enjoys so I can start formulating a study chart?”

Athena smiled, tapping your forehead with a bounce before walking away, “It’s a free week- he’ll come to you with questions, and all I ask of you is you answer those questions of his truthfully.”

Free-range?

Another tired sigh escaped you, pushing the cart forward as you watched your beloved Goddess walk away. As annoyed as you were, you still moved forward, whisper-shouting, “Safe travels!”

Athena stopped, looking over her shoulder with a devilish grin, a grin you haven’t seen before, “Have fun and don’t be afraid to indulge - submit.”

Your mouth dropped, confusion written all over your face. But before you could blurt out a question, Athena was gone like the wind. What in the world is she talking about?

You didn’t get a single piece of work done all damn day.

Your hands shook, eyes continually flickering back and forth between your work and the damn library entrance. It was silly, how nervous you were to see that damn fool walk through those doors.

But why?

Why was I so nervous?

You didn’t like Namjoon, so infatuation was out the window already. But you couldn’t help but let your mind wander…

Namjoon was handsome.

You’d give him that.

But to be fair, their whole family was gorgeous.

Seven brothers, all Gods of a particular wine grape, all sons to the great God Dionysus. They were initially Demi-Gods, but under Zeus’s authority, he declared them Gods due to their tremendous strength and power.

You shook your head, huffing as you slammed your pen onto the table. You’re giving Namjoon too much credit. Credit that in your books, he didn’t deserve. All Namjoon did was make wine, what was so noble about that?

The sound of the grand doors opening, a struggling groan from the wooden panels slowly being opened echoed throughout the library. There wasn’t a single soul here, it was late in the evening. But word had spread that tomorrow God Dionysus would be hosting a festivity, and it seems everyone decided to take the night to prepare rather than learn.

You pushed yourself back in your chair, walking over to the banister as you looked down at the front entrance. Hands gripped the railing, eyes scanning through the dim light of the candles, he’s here.

In a heartbeat, you began walking towards the staircase, leaving your books and writings behind. The sound of your gentle footsteps seemed to have caught his attention, his dark coloured eyes flickering to you.

God, he was good looking.

Namjoon’s hair was a bit chaotic, a hand gently patting down his lush robes and furs. It must have been windy outside, but your eyes narrowed, spotting something in his hand.

“Wine?” You blurted, cheeks rosy because you uttered out what had been in your mind.

The grin he shot to you, nodding, “A gift. For teaching.” Namjoon spoke, walking forward, arms outstretched as he passed you the bottle. Your hands grasped the gift, eyes scanning the dark red liquid.

You heard about his wine, Agiorgitiko red wine. Rich in flavours with a seamless blend of spice. People would kill to get a sip of such wine, let alone a bottle.

“Thanks…”

His eyes narrowed, undoubtedly seeing your unamused expression, “You don’t drink?”

“It’s a distraction, prevents me from studying.” You scorn.

And for a split moment, you realized your words may have come across a bit too gruelling. Your mouth opened, ready to apologize and re-word the sentence altogether, you were speaking to a God after all, but his voice stopped you, “We’ll see about that.”

“What do you mean?”

God, you hated how smug he was, the damn smirk on his face. Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, nudging his head at a near by table, “Shall we start my lesson?”

The way those words slipped from the tip of his tongue, a huskiness that had you pushing your legs together in pure delight. You detested how much you found him attractive. He had this roughness to him, voice coarse, an alluring gaze, but you pinched your thigh, focus.

You merely nodded your head, and turned on your heel, “What piques your interest today?” You asked, but your tone seemed anything but interested. The sound of his heavy feet trailing behind you, his low breathing, “Honey-nymphs.”

The moment those words left that sinful mouth of his, your feet stopped, grasping the wine bottle tight as you twirled around to face him. And although you were shocked at his response, you were more shocked at how close he was to you. Your body ungracefully bumping into his, the wine swishing obnoxiously loud between your bodies.

Without realizing you inhaled deeply, taking in his rich, husky scent that would’ve had you moaning if you weren’t in utter shock at the moment. Namjoon’s large hands grasped your shoulders, steadying you as your legs failed to keep you balanced, “Falling for me already?” He chuckled, a tongue-in-cheek smile on his face.

Your face went red, pulling away and huffing stridently, “Why were you following me so bloody close?”

“Why did you stop out of nowhere?” He shot back.

You rolled your eyes, fuming to yourself - I’m going to kill him.

“Why, honey-nymphs?” You interrogated, trying to divert the conversation to something else. Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, trailing behind you once again as you searched through the library in search of information regarding Goddess Demeter’s followers.

“My father…he’s throwing a party tomorrow but it’s to mask another objective…”

You looked over your shoulder, gazing at his expression. His brows were pinched together, lips pulled tight as he thought to himself, “What kind of objective?”

Although you hated being noisy, you hated being left in a cliff-hanger more.

There was a reason why you didn’t put a book down until you finished it, or why you always got in trouble with Athena due to your snooping. You loved learning, and that also meant your sense of curiosity bit you in the ass at times.

Your feet stopped, eyes scanning through the endless rows of books, looking for what you needed, “It seems that my brother’s soulmate is a honey-nymph.”

Soulmates…

The concept was not unfamiliar to you, in fact, you spend years studying the ideology of two beings being linked to one another by a mythical bond – a connection of eros, agape, love. But it always applied to humans, and an unanswered question still laid hidden; whether the same concept of soulmates also applied to Gods. You could’ve asked the Goddess Aphrodite for the answer, but something in you told you she wouldn’t spill her secrets willingly.

“What does that have to do with the party tomorrow…?” You muttered, fingers trailing along the spines of the books, feeling their smooth edges tainted with golden ink. “It’s a setup, a way for them to meet up. A secret that only my father, you, and I know.”

The moment your eyes aligned with the book you sought after, your eyes lit up, carefully pulling it off the shelf while balancing the wine, “I believe it to be unwise to tell such an important secret to a mere follower of Athena, don’t you think?” You mused, raising a brow.

But Namjoon just grinned, “Something tells me you’re much more than just a follower.”

The book fell on the table with a loud thud, carefully placing the glass bottle off to the side. “Well, what do you wish to know about honey-nymphs, God Namjoon?” You breathed, opening the book wide.

And just as you turned your back towards him, letting your fingers trail down the inked pages, he pressed himself up against you. His hands firmly planted on the desk on either side of you, acting as if the sudden action was anything but out of the norm.

The shiver that ran up your spine, feeling him so close, his hot breath ghosting your exposed neck. You found yourself once again pressing your legs together, the same desire that sneaked through from earlier making another grand appearance, but this time stronger.

“I want to know about their real personalities, what they like, what makes them smile, and what makes them tick.” He grunted, but the way he spoke into your ear, made it seem like it wasn’t so much about honey-nymphs as he was directing the question to you.

The sound of the light breeze hitting the windows made you wake up, your face rosy as you felt his heat radiating off him. And to make it worse, you relished in it.

“E-excuse me God Namjoon, with all due respect, you don’t have to be so close to read.” You stuttered, trying to gain control of the situation again. He chuckled, and in a bold move, rested his chin on your shoulder, “I know, but I can see a lot better from here.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you read like this with Athena.” You shot back. He huffed reluctantly, pulling back and standing beside you. It was crazy how cold you suddenly felt after just a few mere seconds of his body pressed against yours.

With an excessive amount of force, your hands flipped through the pages of the book, trying to hinder the unnecessary tension that seemingly built out of nowhere. “W-well, honey-nymphs are followers of Demeter-”

“Not this nymph…” He muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he watched your finger glide across the page. You opened your mouth to question his statement but quickly pushed it aside. As curious as you were, you wanted to kick him out of here as soon as possible before you did something stupid.

“Their responsibility is to help the bees pollinate. Not many know, but bees are of huge importance in our ecosystem, more than half of our crops rely on bees. If they die…well, I hope Hades’ has enough room for us all.”

Namjoon nodded his head in understanding, “What about their temperament?”

“They’re like us, each nymph has their own personality. But there does seem to be a common characteristic between honey-nymphs. They’re shy, but once you get to know them, they’re a literal ball of sunshine and awfully cheery. Easily mistaken as one of Apollo’s followers.”

Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head as he smiled to himself, “Yeah…I think she’ll be a good match for my brother.”

A soft smile painted your face, observing the way Namjoon chuckled to himself, “I’m guessing he’s energetic?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not smiling.”

“Any other questions?” You hummed, shutting the book softly. But Namjoon just sighed and shook his head, “Not for today, thank you.”

You merely nodded at his words, “I assume I won’t see you tomorrow.”

“And why is that?”

You raised a brow, nudging at the book, “The party’s tomorrow. Don’t you want to meet your future sister-in-law?”

“Yes, but I don’t see why I can’t visit you as well.”

“Because unlike you, I’ll be tucked away in bed.”

“Then do me a favour, and come to the party.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you picked up the book and started walking off to place it away. And as expected, you could feel his footsteps, “I don’t do parties. I’m a scholar, not a maenad.”

And just as you were about to turn on your heel, away from him, he gently gripped your wrist, making you look at him, “Then at least drink the wine.”

“About that, take it back, give it to someone who would appreciate it. I don’t drink.” You insisted, but Namjoon shook his head. The way his long boney fingers tapped along your wrist, grinning madly as he stepped closer, “Drink it because from now on, you’ll be receiving one every day.”

“That’s a waste!”

“Not in my eyes.” He retorted. And just like that, he stepped back, his hand letting go and bowing down. Your eyes widen at his gesture, not once has a God ever bowed down to a mere follower like yourself, and to be fair, a God shouldn’t have to bow down to anyone besides other Gods.

But Namjoon laid a hand on his chest with a smirk as he watched the way you flushed at his gesture, “I expect to see you, here, in this library, in the night. Till tomorrow.”

How badly you wanted to bite his ear off, argue that there was no way in bloody Hades you were going to stay up, waiting for him. But Namjoon spun on his heel, opening the doors wide as he shuffled away with ease.

You eyed the bottle of wine on the desk, and with much annoyance, grabbed it and stormed off to lock up the library doors.

I hate that man, with a passion.

Your eyes felt heavy as you laid slumped against the wooden desk. A small yawn escaping from you as you fidget around in your seat to find a somewhat comfortable position for your head, but of course, how comfortable can a piece of wood be?

With an internal scream, your head rose, staring aimlessly at the endless rows of books in front of you. Another important note to add to your growing collection of random facts – wooden tables make horrible pillows.

This was insanity.

The bloody owls were wide awake, stars twinkling high above you through the windows as another tired yawn escaped you. You hadn’t even bothered putting on decent clothes, wearing your pyjamas with an old nightgown on top.

You were confident that you wouldn’t dare wait for that ignorant fool to arrive at your library at midnight. Who in their right mind would? But yet here you are, contemplating on whether or not you should try out another stupid hypothesis while you wait for that fool.

God, you hated him.

The way he smiled, his dark eyes, that husky voice of his…

“Sleepy?”

Your eyes widen, nearly jumping out of your seat and heart pounding heavily in your chest. But what ticked you off more was the way Namjoon’s eyes crinkled, entertained at how you cried out in fear at his voice.

Hands swinging to your chest, trying to calm down your erratic heartbeat as you glared at him with such hatred, you knew the God Ares would’ve been proud.

“You scared me!” You screamed, ready to slap the man silly, but Namjoon just laughed.

The way his eyes lit up with delight, cute dimples appearing on his cheeks as he hollered at your mortified expression. You never did notice those dimples of his, and for a split moment, you swear your heart fluttered.

“You just seemed in such a deep thought. I didn’t want to bother you, so who were you thinking about?”

The way your cheeks flushed red as you crossed your arms, standing straight and not bothering to put the chair back into place, “W-what makes you think I was thinking of someone?” You blurted, gazing away from him. But it didn’t matter that you weren’t looking at Namjoon, because just hearing him chuckling had you weak in the knees, “I know that look. That’s the look of someone in love.”

Your head snapped towards him, hands itching to wrap around his neck and strangle him. “You’re wrong. Now, let’s hurry up so I can go to bed.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at him.

But Namjoon just kissed his teeth, still entertained, “I thought you were already going to be in bed? I didn’t think you’d wait for me.”

Nostrils flared as you heaved in annoyance, “I swear, if you don’t pick a damn topic I’m going to kick you out.”

His hands rose upwards, acting as if he surrendered, but the coy grin on his face stayed. “Alright-alright!” Within seconds you turned on your heel, flicking your wrist and beaconing him to speak, “Soulmates.”

And just like last night, you stopped dead in your tracks.

With a turn on your heel, you felt his body crash onto yours, but you also felt a coldness grazing your chest, a faint swishing sound to go along with it. Your hands fell upon his torso, falling headfirst into his chest. “Are you alright?” Namjoon gasped out, a grasp of his pulling you back as his eyes frantically studied you.

But your eyes fell upon his chest once more. He was holding a bottle of wine, how did you not notice before?

“I-I’m fine, sorry.” You muttered because you were utterly embarrassed. And not so much because of the fall, but because you felt the muscles that lurked underneath Namjoon’s silks and furs as you reached out towards him.

You felt every divot, every muscle tense as your body collided against his. Not once did it come across your mind that while he had a handsome face, he had a body to go with it.

Namjoon let out a sigh of relief, taunting slightly as you brushed back your hair into a bun once again, “You really need to stop doing that.” He muttered, head shaking as his eyes still wearily overlooked you.

But without a second thought, you reached forward and grabbed the bottle from his grasp. The way he held it, it was screaming for disaster, was this man always so clumsy? He held the neck of the bottle like it was a toy, not made out of glass that could shatter into a billion pieces. “It’s for you.” He spoke, and your eyes lined up with his once again.

“Thanks…” You muttered softly, cheeks still rosy from the whole situation.

And there you two stood, in awkward silence as you hug the bottle to your chest. The unexplainable euphoria that ran through your body as you held the wine. Were you actually happy that Namjoon gave you a gift? It’s not like you drank anyways, but your fingers anxiously tapped the glass.

You were tired.

That’s why your body was seemingly in high alert to his every stare, every touch. You didn’t like him one bit, it was just you being tired…right?

“S-soulmates. Why do you want to learn about that?” You asked, trying to fill the void of silence with something. As if your words reminded him of the task at hand, he stepped forward, “It’s more of a question than anything.”

“And that question is…?”

“Can two people fall in love with the same person?”

You were in full alert, choking on air at his words. How did this man come up with such questions? Maybe you did judge him a bit too harshly, he was undoubtedly a man with a creative mind. “It’s rare, but not impossible amongst humans-”

“What about Gods?”

“What is this about Namjoon?” you asked with narrowed eyes. His questions were too specific. Was he in love with a woman? Suddenly you felt your heart squeeze - an unexplainable pain in your chest at the thought of him liking someone.

But you pushed the thoughts aside, why am I getting possessive over who Namjoon likes? It has nothing to do with me- “My brothers. It seems they’re both heads over heels with the same woman.”

A sense of relief but also confusion consumed you, “What is with you and love? Is your whole family on a ‘find my soulmate’ field trip?” You grumbled, crossing your arms tightly with the bottle as you watched him. It was really then you saw how tired Namjoon looked, forgetting that he did stay up all night at a party.

His hair was messy, faint under-eye circles as he chuckled at your response. His voice was a bit deeper than usual, a certain gruffness that had your heart pounding. His hoarse voice itself was a sin in so many ways.

“Soon you’re going to come asking about mermaids.” You scoffed, smiling at how Namjoon laughed. His smile brightens, crossing his own arms as he raised a brow, “I was saving that for day four.” Your mouth dropped, “A mermaid? One of your brothers is in love with a bloody mermaid!”

“Tomorrow I thought we could learn about Hades-”

“One of your brother’s is in love with Hades!?”

This time Namjoon bent over laughing, head flung back as he wiped tears from his eyes at your expression, “Not Hades himself, one of his workers. It’s complicated, I don’t even want to try to explain.”

You felt your body hitting the bookshelf, an exhausted sigh escaping you. No wonder this man drinks, I would too if I had to deal with a family like that.

“What about you, were you dreaming about your soulmate?” He teased. Right away the blush you worked so hard on making disappear came fluttering back. “N-no, I told you, I wasn’t thinking about anyone!” You huffed, fingers scratching the glass of the bottle.

Namjoon chuckled, cracking his fingers as he rolled his shoulders back with a sigh, “Let me guess, were you thinking about me?”

“The only thing I fantasize is you leaving.” You shot back, frustration eating you away. Because you were fantasizing about him, as foolish as it was. He was a tick, a damn tick that seemed to infest your mind and have thoughts that only followers of Aphrodite would have the nerve to act upon.

And what made it worse was that Namjoon seemed to see right through your act. He stepped forward leaning, his husky scent engulfing you once more. Your heart fluttered, drunk off his scent alone as he leaned his moist lips towards your ear, “Taste the wine, you’ll enjoy it. I promise.” He purred, only to pull back just as fast.

You swear you’re surprised that the bottle was still intact, not crumbling away under your tight grasp. With a huff, you walked off in sexual frustration towards the entrance of the library, prying the door open for Namjoon to get the bloody hint, “See you tomorrow!” You shouted, only to hear him laughing from behind you.

His torso grazed your back, letting his hands wander along your sides gently. Namjoon’s touch alone made your resolve crumble, gasping softly at how delicate his touches were. He hummed in your ear, voice low and sultry, “By the way, your nightgown is see-through, and I must say – I quite enjoy what I see.”

He didn’t give you a chance to shriek, running off through the open door you held with a light skip.

Your mind was a mess.

Torn between chasing after him and murdering him with your bare hands and wanting to kiss the man to death. He was infuriating, but what was more infuriating was you couldn’t get enough of him.

You slammed the doors shut, locking it before heading to the back of the library, where your quarters lurked. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the other bottle of red wine he left yesterday sitting on your counter, still unopened. You’ve seen Athena drinking plenty of times in the library with Namjoon…And another sigh of frustration left you.

Damn it.

You grabbed the nearest glass and pulled the cork from the bottle in your grasp, letting the scarlet liquid fill the cup. But what caught you off guard was the smell.

It smelt exactly like him, Namjoon in a damn bottle.

You brought the cup to your nose, sniffling the liquid, and a soft moan escaped you. It was like Namjoon was right here, in your kitchenette. And this time, you let all of those sinful desires of yours bubble up.

Your legs pressed together, a need consuming you as you took another sniff, aroused just by the scent – his scent. With a gentle tilt, the cold liquid touched your lips, another content mewl fleeing.

The wine was smooth, going down your throat without any slight burn. So good in fact, that you found yourself taking another swing. The richness of the red liquid, it made your eyes flutter with delight. It wasn’t acidic, but it still held a faint spiciness to it, but the distant flavours of plum helped sweeten it just a tad.

You let the glass leave your mouth begrudgingly, licking your lips - not allowing a single drop go to waste. And it was after you finally came down from your high, you noticed that half of the bottle was already gone. You flushed, realizing how much you did enjoy Namjoon’s wine - Agiorgitiko.

A groan of frustration ate away at you as you reluctantly placed the cork back into the bottle. You couldn’t deny it, the wine was delicious. But it also made the itch between your legs worse.

Everything about him was godly.

And it rubbed you both the wrong and good way.

His deep chuckles, alluring eyes, even his long thin fingers. You blew out the remaining candles and stumbled into your bedroom, head spinning.

Your body fell onto your bed with a soft thud, eyes watching the night sky through your window. The moon was high in the sky, stars twinkling. And it was staring at the beautiful night sky that the realization hit you.

I like Namjoon….

This is all your fault, Athena.

A soft grunt flew, standing on your tippy-toes as you tried to put the book back into place. The sun was shining brightly, and surprisingly, quite a bit of people arrived today. You figured that after the festivity of Dionysus people would’ve slept in, try to sleep their hangover away.

Your fingertips pushed the book, and a satisfied sigh left your lips, perfect.

The sound of your feet hitting the ground firmly resonated, as your eyes shifted once again to the cart beside you. So focused on your work, you failed to notice the set of dark eyes that watched your every move.

Namjoon smiled softly, watching the way you grabbed another book and struggled to put it away. You were quite tall, but the shelves were higher.

The way you leaned your body against the bookshelf, breasts squished and ass sticking out as your fingers wiggled to slide the book into place. Namjoon couldn’t help but groan. You were so damn sexy, and it frustrated him to no ends that you didn’t realize it yourself.

You were maddening, a damn tease and a half.

And the moment Namjoon remembered that sharp tongue of yours, he groaned once again. He found you tempting, and this was something he figured out the moment he set his eyes on you. But just from these two days alone, he realized he wasn’t just physically attracted to you, but more.

Namjoon was addicted – to your personality, that shy smile, and the way your skin turned pink under his gazes. His hand brushed his crotch, already feeling a bulge starting to form, and he bit his lips. He wanted you so damn bad. And he knew he would treat you so damn well, have you a moaning mess and put that sharp tongue to good use.

Because while most men in this God-forsaken realm hated the thought of an independent woman, he loved it. He treasured how smart you were, and struggled to control the urge to pin you up against the bookshelf and take you right then and there whenever you went all teacher on him. You could be talking about dog shit for all he fucking cared - because somehow, you would make that topic seem sexy.

But the moment he saw you bend over, picking up a book that slipped from your fingers, giving him a perfect view of your perky ass, he lost it. Tonight, he’ll make his final move. And hopefully, it wouldn’t backfire in his face.

The book slipped from your fingers, hissing under your breath as the book caused a loud thud to sound off. Talk about listening to the library rules of being quiet.

Without a second thought, you bent over, huffing in frustration as you grabbed the book that slipped from your fingers. And just as you straighten out, a pair of hands upon your hips caused you to jerk forward, bumping into the bookshelf in surprise.

“Be careful.” A deep voice droned into your ear, your body pressed against the shelf. But you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was – because the sound and scent alone had your body heating up.

A soft gasp escaped you, biting your lips as Namjoon’s hot breath hit the back of your exposed neck once again. His scent alone made the thoughts of last night come flashing back. The wine he gave, damn it smelt just like him.

His hands ran up your back, along your sides, the same gentle touch from last night. “W-what are you doing here so early?” You mewled, struggling to get your voice steady under his caresses. You hated it, how much your body yearned for him.

To think that this was the same man who you hated with such passion not even two days ago, now the only desire you had was to feel his fingers move downwards to do unspeakable things. The chuckle, the way his chest rumbled on your back as you gasped breathlessly, “I wanted to visit you, make sure you’re ready for tonight’s lesson.”

Your hands gripped the wooden shelf underneath you, trying to understand his words, “O-of course I’m ready. I’m Athena’s second for a reason.” You spoke, taken pride in your intelligence. But the way Namjoon kissed his teeth into your ear, “Oh no, tonight, I want to teach you something.”

The shiver that ran up your spine, it was wicked.

“Teach me what?” You panted, forgetting that you two were out in public, dozens of people who could easily see you pressed up against the bookshelf, Namjoon pressing himself against you. And you swore, you could feel something hard, something throbbing against your ass.

“Whose boss.” He grunted.

Your knees buckled.

Namjoon pulled away, and with a flick of his wrist, spun you around, your back hitting the bookshelf. Seeing his face, his eyes dilated as he licked those plump lips of his, “See you tonight. And wear what you wore last night, I liked it.” He hummed, before walking away.

Finally, you breathed, observing how he walked away with not a care in the world, as if he didn’t just have you under his finger for a split moment. The gnawing on your lip brought you back to reality, a few innocent bystanders gazing at you and Namjoon with a look of confusion.

Indulge…suddenly that word made too much sense now.

Without realizing it, you found yourself anticipating for Namjoon. The sky was dark, and foolishly, you found yourself twirling the thin fabric of your nightgown in your fingers. It was silly to think that you listened to his words, his plea for you to wear the same lingerie from last night, and a part of you wanted to revolt and wear a suit of damn armour.

But you would also be lying to yourself because you were eager to know what Namjoon could teach you. You were well educated, a living, breathing compilation of useless facts. Yet the urge to understand what Namjoon could show you, something that you didn’t know excited you.

This whole time, you viewed Namjoon with tainted eyes.

You always assumed he would be like every other man who roamed this realm, an absolute sexist jerk. But he wasn’t. He was a flirt, that was for sure, but he did genuinely seem interested in learning, and what was more shocking was he never once undermined you for being a woman with high authority.

If you said stop, he did, hell you kicked the almighty God out of the library last night when he decided to get a bit too handsy with you. And it was because of that, you found yourself fluttering.

“Don’t judge him so easily, my pupil.” – That was what Athena said to you before she left. And now you understood why. Maybe…he wasn’t as bad as he seemed. That while he may be the God of wine, he was still powerful and wise. That he did deserve his title of being a God after all.

Your head fell against the wooden table at which you sat, you were officially crushing on Namjoon. Let Hades take pity over your soul.

The sound of your fingers patting aimlessly drifted throughout the empty library, your eyes started feeling heavy. When is that bloody man going to-

“Miss me?”

Hearing his voice made your body energized, sleepiness disappeared, and suddenly you were on full alert. Your head snapped upwards, looking in front of you to see him with crossed arms, and of course, holding a bottle of wine.

The thoughts of last night came rushing back, how just a sniff of that wine made you press your legs in desire and a wetness pool. He was so damn addictive and frustrating at the same time, always challenging you, keeping you on your toes – and you loved it.

A small scoffed escaped your lips, sitting upwards, “Keep dreaming, I didn’t miss you, I saw you this morning.”

“So I guess I could just leave then-”

“N-no-” you blurted, the word flying out of your mouth before you could process what you had just said. The cocky smirk on his face, the way he stepped forward, letting the bottle swing between his fingers, “What was that? You don’t want me to go sweetheart?” He mused, raising a brow.

The way your cheeks turned a bright red, hearing the way he called you sweetheart, but also the way he strode towards you - like he’s getting ready to bounce.

“W-well why leave when you came all this way already? That would be a waste of time.” You huffed, crossing your arms, keenly walking away from the situation itself, because the itch between your legs was intense.

You could feel your wetness starting to build, so much it stuck to your inner thighs. The sound of him putting the bottle on the table, his footsteps trailing behind you as you hastily walked to whatever bookshelf was close, trying to look somewhat busy.

“You wore the nightgown for me?” Namjoon spoke, a hint of pleasure lingering. Your steps stiffen, itching to slap the man behind you silly, “I wore it because it’s late at night, time for bed.” You shot back, finally coming to a complete stop at a bookshelf, your fingers dragging along the spines of the books. And your eyes widen when you realized what section of literature you decided to stop at - ‘erotica.’

You got to be kidding me.

Namjoon’s hands fell upon your hips, his long fingers digging into the thin material of your dress, “I warned you, this dress is see-through…” He purred into your ear, pressing himself onto you, caught between his body and the novels. And that alone was enough to cause your head to fall, sighing softly as you bit your lips.

The way he trailed up your sides, his lips sweeping against your neck and ear, “Did you taste the wine yet?” He buzzed. You closed your eyes, indulging in the sound of his voice so damn close to you, feeling his massive frame, his scent.

“I-I did.” You moaned breathlessly. Namjoon had this effect, the ability to make you lose all sense of logic. He chuckled deliberately into your ear, his hands moving along your bare arms, goosebumps rising on your skin, “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want another taste?”

You hesitated - you didn’t just want another bottle, you wanted him.

“Yes.”

“Then turn around.”

Namjoon’s hands squeezed your arms, flipping you on your back and slamming you against the bookcase. The books shook at the sheer force, but he didn’t give you a chance to lecture him, because he slammed his lips against yours.

You couldn’t stop the moan that exploded from deep within in, eyes fluttering shut as his hands wrapped around your waist. The way he moved his lips, sloppy and eager, borderline frantic. His wet muscle grazing your lips, urging you to open your mouth and submit, but you weren’t that easy.

He grunted, pushing you firmer against the books, no longer playing nice and letting his teeth brush against your bottom lip. But as he concentrated on the kiss, your hands wandered his body, wrapping around his neck before letting your fingers run wild in his hair. The animalistic groan that he unleashed as you tugged on his hair, panting slightly as his eyes rolled back.

And the sight alone made you mewl, pressing your legs together, feeling the way your wetness dripped down, your core clenching to feel him inside you. He swore under his breath, eyes heavy as he gazed at you, “Why do you hate me so damn much woman?” He huffed, and his question caught you off guard.

Mainly because now that you thought about your reason for disliking him, it was stupid. You bashfully looked away, but he grasped your face with a strength that made your eyes line up, “Because you’re a man.” You blurted.

He grinned, pushing himself against you, and that’s when you felt it - his manhood pulsing underneath his robes, just missing your own heat. A soft moan left you, and he kissed his teeth, “Good observation, I am a male – a 100% if I do say. Now, what does that have to do with hating me?”

“I-I thought you would be like the others, as the God of wine. Lustful, a fool.” You spoke truthfully, quivering at the way he watched your lips move because you were flat out insulting a God. Somehow the fact that he was a God slipped out of your mind far too many times, and if you’re being honest, there were many times he could have unleashed his wrath on you based on the way you spoke.

But instead of getting upset he let out a sigh, “I know…a lot of people think that. Think I’m some lustful man like my father.”

You frowned, realizing the stigma he carried, his whole family in fact. Dionysus was notorious for sleeping around with men and woman, and to judge a man based on others, even you knew better. “I’m sorry and…”

He raised a brow, urging for you to finish your sentence, “I don’t hate you…you just drive me up the bloody wall – literally.” The way he bit his lips, looking down at you, “I’m going to be your teacher tonight, sweetheart.”

And the thought alone made you weak in the knees.

With ease, Namjoon pushed his legs between yours, grinning at the pathetic whimper that escaped your lips, “I promise, I’ll never try to dominate you if you agree to be mine. I’ll let you roam free, do whatever you please, continue serving my dear friend Athena.”

He was asking you for your hand, asking you to be his. But you found yourself shaking your head, “No.”

His eyes narrowed, Namjoon hissing under his breath, “What do you want from me, woman? I’ll do anything-” he groaned, his lips brushing your neck and causing you to shake. You tried helplessly to push your legs together, seeking some sort of relief but his legs prevented such action, “Teach me.”

The way Namjoon’s eyes darken, a stifling grunt leaving him as he watched the way you squirm, “Teach you what.”

“Let me have my way, yes. But when it comes to love – devour me. Consume me. Make me yours.” You purred, letting your nails dig into his hair, tugging at his lush locks, and that alone made him snap. He lifted his knee, rubbing it against your core and causing you to whine out in delight.

Indulge and submit.

Two words you never understood, until you met him.

Submitting is not weakness, it’s not you losing control, because you were willingly letting him devour you. You wanted Namjoon too – and that is not a weakness but strength, power. Because with a flick of your wrist you could make Namjoon stop dead in his tracks, ending this.

That was real power – and he gladly gave it to you.

Namjoon’s knee rubbed teasingly slow, hissing into your ear, “Your soaking wet, I can feel you dripping on my knee. You like this, huh? Getting off on my fucking knee.”

The way he spoke, voice low and coarse as he humiliated you just made you whimper. You unknowingly bucked your hips, gasping as you felt your bundle of nerves hit his thigh. Your eyes rolled back, “Fuck, you love this, huh, sweetheart?”

The way he rubbed his knee got faster, deliberately letting your clit rub against his skin, lips readily nipping at your neck. There was so much stimulation, his hands trailing upwards, cupping your breasts and folding them. Your head swung back, pleasure coursing through your body.

How you dreamt of this, dreamt of him just pinning you up against this bookcase and fucking you stupid.

Your cries got louder, grinding your hips harder against his leg, “Namjoon~.” You gasped, not bothering to hush your moans. It was just him and you in this damn library, you would be as loud as you wanted. The way he always managed to get your clit rolling, nails digging into his skin as you felt a pressure so heavy building in your stomach.

The way your hips bucked, knees giving out and causing you to fall against his knee, “You’re already going to cum for me, sweetheart?” He groaned, enjoying the sound of your whimpers, your weak cries as you shut your eyes. It was everything he fantasized and more, his member getting harder, aching to be inside of you and feel your walls clenching.

Your mouth parted, whining, “N-Namjoon, I’m so close.” You gasped. Fuck, you couldn’t believe it. A whimpering mess from Namjoon’s thigh alone. Your legs trembled, spots flooding your vision despite your shut eyes as the pressure built to a new peak. You were so close, your cries getting louder, his rubbing more furious.

“You think I’m gonna let you cum?” Namjoon whispered into your ear, fingers tugging on your perked nipples through your nightgown. Your back arched, your release coming close, but his words dawned on you, “Please, please Namjoon.” You gasped, head shaking as you struggled to open your eyes.

When your eyes finally did flutter open, and you looked at his face, you almost lost it.

His heavy breathing, eyes half-lidded and cheeks coloured as Namjoon leaned into your body, lost in ecstasy, “After all the damn trouble you put me though, oh this is just the start of your punishment.”

He pulled his knee back, leaving you a soaking mess, cheeks glowing, looking at the sticky chaos all over his legs. Sexual frustration took over, hands hitting his chest in defeat, “You asshole.”

You were so damn close – so bloody close, but Namjoon didn’t seem to care at all. The grip on your breasts became aggressive, puffing as you felt the fabric starting to strain under his touch. “I’m gonna punish you, make sure you learn that I don’t like being teased.”

And that’s when you heard the rip. Your eyes widen, feeling the cold air on your skin, white fibres floating as your dress ripped in half. “M-my dress!” the words flew, gasping as your boobs bounced and Namjoon hungrily pushed his body forward, “Worry about yourself first.”

He gripped your wrists, dragging you away from the bookshelf and leading you to one of the many study desks that littered the area. The red tinge that painted your face spread throughout your body, trying helplessly to cover yourself even just a tiny bit. Namjoon was still fully clothed, still wearing the finest of silks and furs and in your eyes, you seemed very underdressed.

But just as you were about to complain, his lips slammed against yours, shushing your cries for good. He tasted just like his wine, so smooth and addictive – that denied orgasm of yours had you begging already, “Please-please just touch me.” You spoke with jagged breath, struggling to stand up straight as your body leaned against the wooden table.

“I’ll touch you, alright, teach you your first lesson.”

“And what’s that?” You kittenishly spoke, a bit more bite in your voice than needed since you were utter putty in his hands.

“What happens when you tease me – what your punishment is.”

His body sat on the chair, tugging on your wrist harshly, letting your body fall along his lap. The way your ass stuck out in the air, his member poking your lower stomach, itching to be touched had your pussy throbbing with need.

It was such a submissive position and something you never in a million years thought you would ever do. But the way his hands ran down your back, grabbing your ass with such vigour and want, “You don’t know how long I’ve stared at this pretty ass of yours.”

And the thought of him checking you out all this time had your heart fluttering, knowing that he actually sought after you, that you broke this man, a God, and made him work hard. “Are you going to stare at it or punish me?” You huffed, looking over your shoulder and giving him the snarkiest smirk.

The way he bit his lips, his hand falling down on your ass with a smack that bounced off the walls of this library with such volume. You cried out, not anticipating such strength, Namjoon’s hands running over the spot he just hit softly, “How’s that?” He taunted, this time bearing the smirk.

You glared harshly, “That’s all you got?”

Just because you were book smart didn’t mean you knew when to shut your mouth, and this was a perfect example of that. You swore you saw the vein in Namjoon’s neck bulge in infuriation, hand raising high and smacking you once again. You hissed, the pain radiating, but also the pleasure.

The way his hand rose and fell over and over again, your voice shaky as you whimper out in pure delight and anticipation. It was like Namjoon knew, how hard to spank, breathing heavy as his blows never wavered once.

How badly you wanted to turn around and look at his face – you could already image the sweat on his forehead, biting his lips as he watched the way your ass jiggled with each slap. And despite the tears that streamed down your face, you loved it. The pain he inflicted, but also the soothingly rubs he did between.

Ten…twelve…fifteen…eighteen…

“Namjoon~.” You whimpered.

“What’s wrong, is someone tapping out?” He huffed, mocking at the way you trembled over his knees.

It was shameful how wet you were, and you knew you were leaking down your legs and all over his expensive robes. It wasn’t a matter of your body not being able to handle his punishment anymore, but more so you wanted him to just fuck you already.

Without realizing, your legs pressed together, seeking temporary relief, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “Look at you, getting punished and your fucking soaking wet.” He grunted, and instead of receiving another slap, his hands ran down your buttock, only to tease your core.

The sharp gasp that left your lips, eyes fluttering closed as he let his fingers slid over your slit, scooping up all of your wetness. Your hips jumped upwards, squirming, and you could hear him grunt, you’d been teasing his member without realizing.

“Please, just fuck me.” You cried, hands covering your face in frustration, “You want me to fuck you? Then show me how much you want it.” And you didn’t need to be told twice.

In an instant, he tugged on your bun, forcing you to sit up and pushing you down to your knees. The way he sighed contently, your wide eyes looking up at him with such desire that he licked his lips, “Convince me.”

Your hands ran up his legs, feeling the way his thighs tensed, only fueling your urge to make him feel good. Make sure that he realized how good you felt, and how badly you needed him.

But you couldn’t help but smile softly noticing that he undid the stash that wrapped around his waist, slipping the black furs he wore off his body - helping you undress him. With a final tug of your hands along the hemline, you pulled, exposing him fully.

Your jaw shamefully dropped, seeing his cock standing proud, fully erect and already oozing pre-cum. “What you waiting for, sweetheart? Do you want me to fuck you or no?”

And that was all you needed to pounce.

You hands fell on Namjoon’s thighs, your mouth inches away from his member. The head of his dick red, angry and begging to be sucked. Your fingers wrapped along the base, feeling him pulse underneath you, and you dove.

Mouth parted, slipping him between your lips hungrily with a deep suck. Cheeks hollowed, making sure he felt every ridge in your damn mouth. And as your head bobbed down him slowly, your eyes rolled back, because you were hit with a familiar taste.

His bloody wine.

Memories of the way the cold scarlet liquid ran down your throat, the spiciness and hint of plum, without realizing you bounced your head up and down rapidly, not caring at all at the spit that dripped out of your mouth.

His hands tangled themselves in your ruined bun, hips bucking to meet your bobs as he grunted, “Fuck, I thought the followers of Athena are chaste.” And with that comment you pulled away, grinning, “Untrue. Athena is pure, but she doesn’t care what we do in our spare time.”

“So fucking you in her library is okay?”

“As long as it’s after work hours.”

“Fuck your dirty.”

And your lips found it’s way back to him.

Your tongue lapped the head of his dick, engulfing him as you let your teeth slightly graze him - earning a low groan. Your hand moved up and down his shaft because as much as you tried, you struggled to fully down him.

He was unquestionably on the longer side, and that only fueled the thoughts of how deep you’ll feel him inside of you. How Namjoon would hit places utterly unknown to you.

With a deep breath, you swallowed, feeling Namjoon’s legs tense, enjoying the way his cock was clasped in your throat. He moaned, head thrown back and knuckles white as he gripped your hair. His hand shoved your head down on him, pushing himself farther down your throat.

You groaned, choking on his length, causing pleasurable vibrations to course through him. Another fucked out growl escaped him as he let his hips meet your sucks. “F-fuck. I-if you keep that up I’m gonna explode.” He huffed, and just from the way his voice wavered, he was telling the truth.

The pool between your legs was slowly eating you away, wanting frantically to slip a finger inside but you could only image what your punishment would be if Namjoon saw you do that, and right now, you couldn’t handle another punishment of his.

Your tongue licked the head of his dick urgently, loving the way he helplessly bucked underneath you, that a mere follower, was making a God like him come undone.

His breath hitched, hips raised, and before you could swallow him down your throat once again, he pulled away. The way Namjoon’s chest heaved, face blissed out, cheeks crimsoned as he panted, “Fuck. Get up here so I can fuck you senseless.”

You scrambled onto your feet, his hands grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him. “Straddle me.”

With his arms as support, your legs wrapped around his hips, feeling his member lay against your cunt and teasing your clit, “Put it in already.” You moaned, unable to wait any longer.

You’ve dreamt of this, these past days were driving you absolutely insane with lust, but also because you’ve become fond of this God of wine. Namjoon wasn’t who he seemed, and if only you didn’t let your damn attitude get in the way, maybe you could’ve been fucking him this whole week.

With hips raised, Namjoon grabbed your waist to steady you, “Take your time, I didn’t get to stretch you out.” He hummed, and you couldn’t help but let your heart waver at how gentle his tone was. With a weak nod, you grabbed his length and slowly started going down on him.

Your lips parted, a small mewl fleeing as you felt him starting to enter you, stretching you completely. The burning sensation of being spread wide because of him, and you noticed the way Namjoon huffed to himself, seemingly in more pain than you, “What’s wrong?” You gasped, itching yourself on him.

“Trying not to fuck you senseless at the moment.” He grunted, shutting his eyes close. You grinned, and despite the burning stretch, you let your body fall hard on him, the base of his dick and balls slapping against your skin.

The way he groaned, biting his lips so hard you thought he drew blood, “You bitch.” He hissed, and you laughed because you knew what you just did. “Punish me?” You purred, wrapping your arms around his neck, and his eyes narrowed, staring at you with such passion and aggravation, “I think you like being punished.”

“Only if it’s done by you.”

His hands moved away from your waist, down to your ass, grabbing the flesh harshly. You winced, still sore from his smacks, but Namjoon grinned, “You’re not gonna be able to walk for days.”

“Good, wasn’t planning on it anyways.”

And with that, he thrust upwards. You raised your hips up and down to met his jerks, feeling the way he pulled out entirely before slamming back inside of you. Your breath hitched, because fuck. You’ve never felt so damn satisfied.

You could feel every ridge of his member along your walls, clenching him tightly as you bounced on him. His huffing, hands frantically guiding you up and down, pulling you forward and causing your clit to rub along his pelvis. “Damn, Namjoon.” You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, your legs already trembling from the pleasure.

He chuckled, his head falling into your neck, biting your skin crudely, “You like it rough, huh?”

“Fuck, yes.” You mewled, letting your body rest against him weakly as you bounced on him. God, you could feel the way his legs tensed in bliss, fingers digging into your soft flesh and causing bruises to emerge. The lewd sounds of your wetness seeping, his dick slamming back into you.

Skin on skin – it echoed loudly, and you bet that anyone near this damn library would figure out that you two were fucking. Your eyes rolled back, grinding yourself harder, letting your clit rub along Namjoon’s pelvis, giving you that extra kick to bring you to your impending orgasm. “Harder.” You gasped out, riding him frantically.

The need to cum, it was driving you insane. That’s all you wanted, was to cum with Namjoon inside you - feel him explode.

“You’re so damn sexy.” Namjoon panted, and you could tell he was hitting his limit as well. His thrusts become sloppy, huffing into your neck as his hips moved at an inhuman speed. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, a sweaty sheen covering both of your bodies as you rode him.

The knot in your stomach, the knot that you’ve been denied for far too long - desperately wanting to snap, “Please-please, I’m so-so close.” You whimpered. Head spinning, mouth hanging open, not caring at all that you looked like such a mess.

Namjoon groaned watching the way you fucked yourself on him, breasts bouncing, body flushed and twitching. “Fuck look at you-you can’t even open your eyes.”

His harsh words made the knot tighter, moaning, “I-it’s so good.” Namjoon thrust upwards once more, the angle causing him to brush against a particular spot that made you see stars.

You screamed, and you could hear him snicker underneath you, “Found it.”

He didn’t give you a chance to ask what he meant, Namjoon’s hands holding you steady, taking charge and fucking you at such speed and hitting that spot over and over. The way he pounded into you, seeking out his high, chest heaving. Your walls clenched, causing him to grunt passionately.

Your bun came undone, hair flying everywhere as your head fell into his chest, and the release that you’ve long sought after fast approaching, “Fuck you’re so tight, you’re going to cum aren’t you?” He hissed, his hands letting go to only smack your ass.

The whimper that left your lips, unable to speak but just nod, “Fuck, I’m going to cum.” He huffed, and at the sound of his words, you gasped, “Cum inside me, please.”

“You want my cum that bad?”

“Yes, inside, please~.” You whimpered.

Your legs stiffen, eyes struggling to keep open, “I’m going to-I’m going to-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, a cry escaping you as you bit his shoulder, legs trembling and your clit rubbing frantically against his pelvis as your orgasm ripped through you.

Namjoon groaned noisily, feeling the way you tightened, holding him inside of you as he tried to fuck you. His name slipped off your tongue like a song, crying out Namjoon’s name as he thrust, “F-fuck-” he stuttered.

His hips shot forward, planting himself deep inside as you trembled. A sudden warmth shoot inside of you, a desperate cry escaping his lips, head thrown back, breath hitched.

You could feel it, the way his hips sloppily fucked you, riding off his high. Long spurts of his seed filled you, and you could only moan in pleasure. Your chest rose up and down, struggling to control your limbs, shuddering as you milked him dry.

His hands left your ass, still inside of you as he ran his hands up your back - pulling you close. Your face nuzzled his neck. The only thing you could hear was your pants - enjoying his touch, his warmth, his honey skin underneath you as you embraced.

Namjoon’s hand stroked your back, soothing your quivering body, sighing in pleasure. You could still feel him inside of you, hard in length as your wetness and his cum slowly seeped out of you. And while the thought of him releasing inside of you would have disgusted you last week, you were currently basking in it. Blushing as you never felt so close to someone before as you did now.

“So…give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready for round two,” Namjoon muttered. You head shot upwards, looking at with wide eyes and a face of disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re still hard.”

“Are you joking? I have the sexiest woman on my lap, what man wouldn’t be?”

Your cheeks turned pink at his words, not used to such compliments. He gave you cheeky grin, “You’re crazy we aren’t going for another round.”

The way Namjoon lifted his hips, causing a bolt of pleasure to run up your back, gasping softly and eyes fluttering. You didn’t have to look at his face to know he was smirking, “You sure about that?” He mused, slapping your ass and grabbing it lustfully.

You could feel his member twitch inside of you, and you mentally kicked yourself, “…let me lock the library doors at least.” You muttered shyly.

But before you could process what was happening, he stood.

Your arms wrapped around his neck frantically, your body falling into him, his dick hitting new spots inside of you that had you moaning. “W-what are you doing?” You gasped out, Namjoon walking with you wrapped around his waist, balls deep, “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m fucking you to the main doors.”

“N-Namjoon!”

But he just grinned, every step towards the door causing you to bounce, moaning at the pleasure. And although you wanted to slap the man silly for not being able to wait the five minutes it’ll take you to lock the doors and come back you smiled.

“How the pupil has become the teacher…” You muttered.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I have much more to teach you.”

You smiled, “Teach me.”

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