#i didn’t want to create suspense between this next part and the return to the present but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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take me by the heart, take me by the hand // Elijah Mikaelson

A/N: An extension of the blurb I wrote on my blurb night a couple of weeks ago!! My taglists are open! If you would like to be added, drop me an ask and I’ll add you!! I hope you all like!

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x GN!Reader

Warnings: jealousy, soulmates, pining, mutual pining, mentions of food.

Word count: 2.1k

The sun was shining when Elijah Mikaelson began to understand jealousy in its unending torture. He wasn’t used to such an emotion. He wasn’t used to the blind rage that filtered through his body when he caught sight of you laughing with his brother. He wasn’t used to the want that would settle deep within his gut whenever he made you smile, laugh.

He supposed there was a sick juxtaposition in the fact that there he was, a creature of the night, sitting in the sunlight as he watched you laugh along to whatever story Klaus was currently telling.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t felt jealousy before, but Elijah had never experienced it to this extreme where he felt like the villain of a fairytale, desperate to steal the innocent love interest away and keep them for eternity.

“You wrestled a bear!” You gasp, bringing Elijah’s attention back to the room. Your eyes are wide as you hang onto every word of Klaus’ story.

The narrator nods; a smug smile crossing his face as he begins to act out the crux of the story. “We had this newfound strength after we were turned by our mother,” Klaus explains, “And the bear was easily disgruntled, choosing me for its next meal.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, love,” Klaus croons; his smile turning to a smirk as he hears Elijah grit his teeth. “I chose to engage.”

“Why would you choose to do such a thing?” You demand; eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern for Klaus’ ability to make sane decisions. Elijah makes himself turn away; if he could, he would press away the furrow between your brows with a kiss, explaining that his brother was ever the exaggerator as he was an actor.

Klaus shrugs, lounging in his chair with a self-satisfied expression on his face. “Because I could and can,” He answers plainly, catching Elijah’s narrowed gaze from across the room and raising a single eyebrow in challenge.

Elijah doesn’t rise to the bait; doesn’t give himself the chance to. Instead, he leaves the room, feeling your frown on his back with every step he takes away from you.

“Have I done something to offend your brother?” You ask Klaus; your voice small as you stare at the doorway Elijah only walked through moments ago. Elijah had been off with you for weeks; staying in the room with you for limited amounts of time before stalking off to another room. He rarely spoke, but the soft timbre of his voice sent shivers down your spine with every word uttered. You couldn’t bear the thought of having offended the man you found yourself attracted to.

“You’ve done nothing, love,” Klaus reassures in a rare moment of affection. “My older brother just has some issues he needs to work out.”

“Oh,” You reply, falling quiet and remaining so for the rest of your time spent with the supernatural family.

----------

“Are you going to explain what is wrong with you, or are you going to stew in your feelings all night?” Klaus demands of his brother as soon as he enters the room, having seen you off only moments ago. The decanter of whisky sits open on the coffee table; one glass out of the two already filled halfway. Klaus helps himself to the other glass, pouring a knuckle’s length of the amber liquid.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Elijah states airily, bringing his glass to his lips. He knew full well that he was jealous; he knew that was distancing himself from you and his sibling, unable to bear the rising envy clawing at his throat. What pains him most is that he can how his distance affects you, how hurt you look when he returns clipped conversations. The furrow between your brows deepens and he feels like a monster for being the cause of it.

“Your behaviour in front of (Y/N),” Klaus explains, doing his best to keep the anger aimed at his brother at bay. “They think they’ve offended you.”

“(Y/N) could never offend me,” Elijah states vehemently.

“You’re going to have to explain that to them.”

“I will eventually,” Elijah sighs, finishing off his drink and quickly refilling it.

“Whatever it is, brother, you can tell me,” Klaus promises in a rare moment of softness.

“That’s the thing, brother,” Elijah begins, “I don’t know what it is. All I know is that I see you two interacting and I lose my mind to jealousy.”

“Ah,” Klaus whispers, a knowing smile on his face as he places his glass on the table. The younger of the two men stands, clapping his brother on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Klaus finds it hard to keep the smile off his face as he wanders the halls of his New Orleans home. His brother had found his soulmate and hadn’t realised it. Their mother had warned them of such magic; the natural magic of the earth that created two souls to be intertwined perfectly. Outwardly, Klaus didn’t put much stock in the belief, but he had seen his mother turn his siblings into monsters cursed with having to walk the night for an eternity. It would make sense for soulmate magic to enter the Mikaelson home once and for all.

Elijah doesn’t stand from the chair; he remains seated for the night, resting his chin on his hand as he tries to get to grip with the feelings roused in your presence. He can no longer deny the attraction he feels for you; can no longer ignore the fact that he would give everything to wake up in a morning with you beside him, but what he cannot explain is the darkness of the jealousy holding him in its grip.

He only leaves the chair when he hears your voice chiming off the stone walls of the compound they call home. Your laughter lightens the atmosphere of the house; bringing joy to a home that was so used to the darkness of Klaus’ moods.

The kitchen is bright with the morning light as Elijah settles at the table; his gaze already fixed on Klaus and yourself. The former grabbing a box of cereal from the cupboard as you help yourself to the fridge for the milk.

It’s as you sit down that he begins to feel it. The sunlight catches you perfectly; your hair practically soaking up its rays as if you were to become the celestial being itself – the brightness radiating out of you with every laugh, every smile, and every animated gesture of your hands as you tell off Klaus for the fifth time already today. Elijah tightens his hand into a fist in an effort to keep the growing possessiveness at bay.

He didn’t know where it began; this dark urge to possess you. All he knew was that the majority of the time, his thoughts revolved around you along with the word ‘mine’ on repeat. The façade of the gentleman, so carefully crafted after a millennia wandering the earth, began to crumble in your presence. Elijah could feel the green eyed monster clawing its way through his body, its claws sinking in deeper with every friendly glance at any man that wasn’t him.

“It comes with finding your soulmate,” Freya announces to her younger brother; the earthy scent of sage blooming around her as she takes a seat next to him. Elijah raises a single eyebrow in question; not in the mood for futile conversation today. Freya represses the urge to roll her eyes as she elaborates, “The jealousy. The irrational anger. The want. It comes with finding your soulmate.”

“Soulmates are a myth,” Elijah counters, finding his gaze drawn to you – watching you talk to Klaus, laughing at one of his calmer moments. The very action has Elijah clenching his fists to keep the anger at bay.

Freya fixes her younger brother with an unimpressed look. “Elijah, you’re one of the oldest vampires in the world, and I’m a witch. We are the myths whispered around campfires.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Elijah wonders in awe. “I never thought I would have one,” He continues in a softer voice, thinking of his past lovers – they had never made his mind race, or his breath stop in his chest, they were never his last thought at night and his first thought in the morning.

You were, however.

Elijah meets the gaze of his wiser, older sister to find her already watching him with a fond smile on her face. “Go speak to (Y/N),” She urges in a soft voice, “Explain everything.”

With the support of his sister, Elijah makes his way to where you sit with Klaus. His younger brother already regaling you with one of his many stories about his past; the darker parts of each tale hidden away this early in the morning. Klaus pauses his tale as Elijah clears his throat. “Could I have a moment of your time?” Elijah asks of you, glancing between Klaus and yourself. Klaus raises an eyebrow but wisely remains quiet.

“Of course,” You murmur, standing from your chair, following the older gentleman to an alcove just down the hall from the kitchen.

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour,” Elijah starts when he feels certain that his siblings aren’t listening in, “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you in any way over the past couple of months. I’ve been coming to terms with some personal things and Freya, thankfully, explained the cause of such behaviour this morning.”

“Your apology is accepted, Elijah,” You laugh, smiling happily at the taller gentleman, taking note of how he seems closer to the Elijah you have come to know and love. “What did Freya explain if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t mind at all,” He answers, “You’re bound to find out eventually.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Elijah!”

Elijah chuckles, smiling down at you indulgently. “I was jealous,” He explains; his face turning thoughtful. “I couldn’t figure out why. Whenever I saw you speaking or laughing with another man like Klaus or Kol, or even Marcellus though I know he’s happy with Rebekah, I was overcome with such intense jealousy that it was hard for me to get control of.”

“You were jealous?” You splutter, “Of what?”

“Of the men you so easily formed friendships with. I wanted to be the one you smiled at, that you laughed with.”

“I thought you hated me,” You confess timidly. “I thought I had broken an ancient vampire protocol and I had offended you.”

“You could never offend me,” Elijah states, “And I could never hate you, it’s rather the opposite.”

“The opposite?”

Elijah nods. “Freya explained to me the existence of a magic I once believed to not exist. I had never seen it; thus I could never state its truth. It wasn’t until Freya explained that the reason behind my jealousy and dark moods was that you are, indeed, my soulmate did I even remember that such a powerful magic exists on this planet.”

“Soulmate,” You breathe, peering up at Elijah through your lashes, “I’m your soulmate?”

“As I am yours,” Elijah swears, stepping that little bit closer to you.

“Vampires… witches… soulmates,” You whisper, unable to comprehend the change in your belief system.

“You’re not upset, are you?” Elijah asks, reaching for your hand. He need to know your feelings on this; should you not want the bond; he would take a step back. It would hurt, but he would do it for your happiness. Should you accept the bond, he would be a man in possession of the greatest living thing on earth – you.

“I’m not upset,” You promise, smiling at the original vampire, tangling your fingers together.

You place your free hand on Elijah’s chest, fully aware that you would not feel a heart beat under your palm. Even through the designer material of his perfectly tailored suit, you can feel the coolness of his skin and whilst many would be repulsed by the lack of warmth, you only feel further attraction for the man in front of you.

Elijah’s hand covers yours; the action speaking louder than any words could. He can feel the life thrumming through your veins; the vitality that punctuates the air with every breath you take. He feels drunk on his feelings for you; at a loss to understand how your paths crossing months ago could lead to a moment like this.

“I want a forever with you,” You whisper boldly, moving your hand to the back of Elijah’s neck.

“Forever and more,” Elijah promises; sealing the spoken vow with an unhurried kiss.

*****

The Originals taglist: @angelxnaa

Special fic tag: @elijahs-wife

#elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson #Elijah Mikaelson fanfiction #the originals #the originals fanfiction #elijah mikaelson imagines #the originals fanfic

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sturchling · 3 years

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Hi, when you have time, can you make a one shot about the aftermath of Mrs. Martin's intervention and the progress Marinette is making with saying no and not overworking? Has the parents and teachers really learned their lesson or just forgot it over time and went back to their usual habits? What about the classmates react and all? And Lila would try to spin it on her favor as always?

Anyway, I want to see some good salt and consequences if possible

Sorry for the long wait, hope you like it! For anyone curious, this is the original story: Part one

Mrs. Martin was pleased with the progress Marinette had been making with setting limits for herself. Marinette was now able to notice when she was becoming overworked and, while it was still immensely difficult for her to do, was able to tell people no when she was too busy. Marinette still had a long way to go, but this was good progress for only a few months.

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

Marinette’s parents were also much better at not putting so much pressure on their daughter. Now that they realized the damage it had done to Marinette, they made sure to respect when she was to busy with school stuff to lend them a hand in the bakery, and made sure she had plenty of time to work on personal projects or just relax. They respected when Marinette told them no, and that went a long way in helping Marinette get more comfortable with saying it.

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

Mr. Damocles and Mrs. Bustier had been thoroughly reprimanded and retrained. After their trainings, the suspensions that had been placed on them were lifted and they were allowed to return to work. Mr. Damocles had vowed to be better at helping students like Marinette, if only to stay off of Mrs. Martin’s bad side and keep his job. Mrs. Bustier on the other hand was a different story.

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

Mrs. Bustier hadn’t learned anything from the training at all. She was sure that Marinette could handle the workload and was just exaggerating. Once she came back to the classroom, she started asking Marinette to do things for her again. At first, Marinette slipped back into her old ways, agreeing to help with every little thing. But this time her parents noticed her getting stressed, and reminded her to say no. The next day, when Mrs. Bustier asked her to stay after school and organize the work for the next day’s class, Marinette finally told her no. Mrs. Bustier was shocked. Marinette continued to tell Mrs. Bustier no, any time that she felt overworked. Which meant Mrs. Bustier had to start doing the left over work.

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

The class also noticed the change in Marinette. They were used to Marinette helping them with every little thing. Last minute babysitting, needing clothes and banners for various things, or needing baked goods for a fundraiser. Marinette never said no. So when they went to her to ask for costumes for Nino’s next film, they were shocked when she said, “I’m sorry guys, but I can’t. I’m just to busy right now.” Nino tried asking again, sure that Marinette would eventually agree. She always did. “Come on dudette. I really need these costumes.” Marinette shook her head, gathering her things to head home since the final bell just rang. “No. I can’t. I am too busy right now with school work and my other commissions. If you can wait, you are welcome to submit a commission request through my website, and I will get to it when I can. But I can’t just drop everything to make costumes right now. I’m sorry.”

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

Lila tried to turn this into something positive for her, sensing this could help turn the class against Marinette. “Marinette, why won’t you help your friends? Seems pretty selfish to work on commissions for money instead of making costumes for your friends. It isn’t even that much work, I know someone who could get it done in one day, so you should be able to as well.” Marinette turned back around at the door, to face the class again. “First of all, to design and create the five costumes you are asking for in a single night is next to impossible. I would love to meet this friend of yours that is capable of that. Secondly it isn’t selfish to focus on my work. The people who made these requests have paid for my work and it would be irresponsible of me to make them wait any longer than I already have. But if your friend is truly as capable as you say, surely she can help Nino. Problem solved.” Lila paled as she realized she had backed herself into a corner. As Marinette left the classroom, the class turned to Lila and asked her to talk to her friend. “I really need these costumes by the end of tomorrow, so if your friend could start now, that would be great.” Lila, immediately forgetting the lie that got her into this mess in the first place, tried to back out of the situation, saying “Guys, that is a lot to ask of someone to get done in a night. Its just not possible.” The class paused, noticing the contradiction to what Lila had already said. It didn’t take long after that for the class to realize that she is a liar.

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

The class had practically exiled Lila from the class. No one talked to her and just generally ignored her. The class continued to try and get Marinette to help them with projects, thinking that now that the liar had been exposed everything was ok between them. Mrs. Bustier also didn’t get the message yet and continued to ask Marinette for help. One day, after Marinette had once again told her no, Mrs. Bustier pulled her into the hallway. She was lecturing Marinette on the importance of lending a helping hand and being there for those in need. She was so wrapped up in her little monologue that she didn’t notice Mrs. Martin standing behind her. Mrs. Martin had been coming back to her office after lunch when she stumbled upon this scene. To say she was angry was an understatement. She immediately brought Mrs. Bustier to Mr. Damocles, who happened to be meeting with the school board at the time. It didn’t take long for them all to decide that Mrs. Bustier wasn’t going to learn and it was time to let her go. Mrs. Bustier was fired that same day. Marinette’s new teacher was very nice and never asked to much of her. She also didn’t put up with Lila’s lies and quickly revealed her as a liar to Mr. Damocles which resulted in Lila being expelled because of the magnitude of some of her lies. Marinette continued getting better at telling people no, thanks to the support of her parents and Mrs. Martin. And Marinette’s life was all the better for it.

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wedreamedlove · 2 years

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[FIC] I Love You 115 (6/115)

Rating: T Characters: Osborn/Reader Word Count: 1496

Summary: Sometimes you end up getting lost in your own thoughts. But, after meeting Osborn, there's someone who will always give you directions.

A/N: I didn't mention this before, but these stories are not chronological. It could be pre- or post-relationship, literally whatever plot bunny jumps into my head.

"Hmm..."

"..."

"Um..."

"..."

"Ermm..."

"Do you need help?" The man across the table from you finally asks, amusement coloring his voice.

You look up from your struggle with the Korean BBQ menu in your hands to see Osborn resting his chin in one hand and watching you, eyes curved into affectionate arcs without a trace of impatience. You still feel sheepish at your indecisiveness flaring up here though.

"Sorry," you reflexively say, "Am I taking too long?"

"Nope, I'm just wondering what you're torn over."

You place the menu on the table so that he can see it too and point at three items. "I can't decide between the beef belly, pork belly, or miso pork belly."

Osborn nods thoughtfully and then immediately comes to a decision. "Only children need to make choices. We'll order all three."

You blink.

It takes a second for his words to register and you quickly wave your hands to disagree. "Wait, that's too much with everything else we're ordering. What if we can't finish it all? We can't waste food."

"Knowing a certain gluttonous kitten's appetite, I'm worried all this still won't be enough."

"Osborn!" You shoot him a glare at which he has the audacity to chuckle. "I don't eat that much! You're the one who eats that much!"

"Yes, yes, I'm the one who eats too much."

You turn your head, pretending to sulk, but you don't stop him when he slides the menu out from under your hand and waves down a server to place your orders.

After that's done, you feel his gaze return to the side of your face but you continue to look away, sweeping your eyes over the other tables in the restaurant. It's only now that you realize most of the customers seem to be couples; you tell yourself this is because it's late on the weekend and this place has alcoholic drinks, so it's not suitable for families. You definitely aren't feeling your heart clench with nervousness.

Your relationship with Osborn is a strange thing. You know he treats you—and only you—extremely well. You also like him. However, do you like like him? Or are you satisfied with just being close friends? The ambiguous relationship you two have now is comfortable, but everything will change if things become confirmed.

To be honest, you aren't entirely sure what you're anxious over, you just know that getting together will bring along its own set of problems, such as having to think of yourself as part of a pair instead of one person, having to consider the other person's needs, and having to think about the next stages of a relationship and your future together. It's not that you're scared of intimacy but it's also weird to know that someone else will know you in that way. It just brings you back to the question of whether or not you like him enough to want to bare yourself like that and spend the rest of your life with him, or if you just like the concept of him. You can't tell if you fear change or if you have commitment issues.

"Still angry? If you're angry, you can punish me."

Osborn's words guide you out of your thoughts and you feel him reach out and hook the fingers of your hand on the table, squeezing the tips gently. His action makes you think of a dog pressing its wet nose tentatively to its owner's hand.

You turn back to him, raising your eyebrows in a mock imperious manner. "Oh? Voluntarily sending yourself to the chopping block? What do you have in mind?"

"Naturally, it's to be at your service." He holds your eyes long enough for your cheeks to become dusted with red before he continues with a smile in his eyes. "By cooking all the meat for you."

You clear your throat to keep yourself calm and copy his pause to create suspense before finally relenting. "Okay, deal, I'm not angry anymore."

The service at this restaurant is quick and, during this brief interlude, your server returns with platters of the ingredients you both ordered. Osborn keeps true to his word and starts placing the meat on the grill without any hesitation.

Watching his flowing movements, your unconscious sigh of admiration mixes with the sound of sizzling meat. "Osborn."

"Mm?" Osborn looks up curiously from his cooking.

"How do I become as decisive as you?"

His eyes widen slightly, not expecting the sudden question, and then he takes in your expression as if to determine whether this calls for a joke answer or a serious answer. "When you're clear on your likes and dislikes, everything else falls into place."

You frown contemplatively. "I know what I like and dislike though, that's not a problem."

"Want to play a game then?" The steam from the grill blurs the air between you two and you miss the crafty glint in his eyes. "To train your decisiveness."

"What kind of game?" You tilt your head.

"It's simple, I'll ask a question and you'll tell me if you like it or not. But, to make this more exciting, there's going to be a reward and punishment."

You catch the smirk on his lips this time and you narrow your eyes at him. "Go on..."

"If you answer immediately, you'll win one piece of meat. If you can't answer within 2 seconds, then it goes to me."

Osborn turns over the meat on the grill leisurely and by now the fragrant smell of cooked meat surrounds you, making your stomach growl in anticipation. He's making the stakes quite high in this game.

"Wanna play?" Osborn raises his eyebrows in a challenge.

"You're on!"

"We'll start with an easy first question. Ice cream?"

"Like!"

He nods at your instantaneous response and then picks up a slice of meat that has finished cooking and places it in your bowl.

"Cats or dogs?"

You open your mouth and then pause, furrowing your brows. Is it possible to answer both here? But if you absolutely have to choose one then you do lean towards one more...

"Too long," Osborn suddenly says and grabs a meat to place it in his bowl.

"Wait, you cheated! That wasn't a question about liking something or not because I had to choose between two things."

Osborn laughs, "Still counts as making a decision."

You huff at him but you're generous enough to give him this one so he gets some meat at least. The game continues with him asking various questions and you answering as quickly as you can, like whether or not you like rainy days, winter or summer, waking up early or staying up late, etc. Before long all the cooked meat on the grill gets divided between you two, with most of them ending up in your bowl.

"The color blue?"

"Like!"

"Me?"

"Like—" It's too late to take the word back after speaking it, but you still automatically slap a hand over your mouth. You can't deny what you said, but leaving it in the air between you two also seems wrong. Feeling your face turn red, you glare at him, knowing he deliberately set this trap. "OSBORN!"

"Here!" He replies through his laughter, his smile bright and brilliant, and moves the second to last piece of meat into your bowl. "I don't know what you're so flustered over, I like you too."

"You—wait, what?" His words catch you off guard. Does he mean that in the way you think it means? Or is he saying he likes you as a close friend? Was your reaction too excessive and gave away everything? But you don't even know what you truly feel for him.

"You're thinking loud enough for me to hear," Osborn tells you with amusement and then you see him glance at the last slice of meat on the grill. A vague premonition settles on you and you think you know what he's going to ask even before he asks it. "Will you let me be your boyfriend?"

Sure enough, there it is, exactly what you're expecting. But even though you expect it you still don't know what to answer. You open your mouth and hesitate. Is yes or no appropriate here? Your eyes flick to the last meat you'll lose if you don't answer right away and so you bite the bullet and—

Osborn interrupts, "Dummy. While it doesn't hurt to be decisive, you don't need to make instant decisions for everything."

He grabs the last piece of meat and puts it in your bowl and then takes his own bowl, with all its untouched victory pieces, and dumps all those into your bowl too. You watch him do this in a stunned silence and look up just in time to catch his serious eyes on you.

"Take all the time you need. I'm fast enough for the both of us to get us to our destination in time."

#光与夜之恋 #light and night #LN Osborn #LN Xiao Yi #series: i love you 115

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jotunn-loki · 3 years

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no penance due to innocence

FANDOM: tom hiddleston rpf, mcu rpf PAIRING: tom hiddleston/reader RATING: explicit, NS// FW!! WC: 4,544 WARNINGS/K¡NKS: female!reader, professor/student, daddy k¡nk, praise k¡nk, schoolgirl fantasy, age difference/age k¡nk, voice k¡nk, degradation, spanking, dom!hiddles, sub!reader, pain k¡nk, not a warning but hiddles in suit/glasses/beard

SUMMARY: Despite your best interests, you can't help but fantasize about your classics professor, Tom Hiddleston. But as it may seem, your thoughts may not be so fruitless after all...

NOTE: the title is a line from John Donne's poem "to his mistress going to bed" which is partially quoted in this fic--you'll see! imagine Hiddles reciting it hehe. also, i typically don't use "y/n" in my fics, but this fic does use "Miss Y/LN" (your last name) thrice! not in the heat of the smut but near the beginning and end:) enjoy!

It was nearly seven p.m.

Tom Hiddleston, your classics professor, stood at the front of the lecture hall, one hand wrapped elegantly around a remote clicker and the other adjusting his glasses as he spoke.

You loved his voice; everyone in the class did—the smooth richness of it, the authentic Britishness that was so short in supply at your American university, the elegance and intent he put into each and every syllable. He obviously was quite passionate about his subject, which made not only for a fascinating class, but an attentive group of students. You were sure that there was no one in the section who ever dared to not pay attention to his lectures, much less skip it completely. Why would anyone want to miss the crisp tightness of Professor Hiddleston’s custom-tailored suits or the soft unintentional growl in his voice when he read aloud a section from your readings? He was a talented actor in that regard, but you were glad he had never gone into such an industry...otherwise you wouldn’t be able to watch him in class now, listen to him, soaking in every bit of his perfection.

And that, truly, was the reason that you loved this class most of all. While you were ashamed to admit it, after the seventy-five minutes you spent in the Intro to British Literature lecture, your underwear was always slightly damp as you rose from your seat and tried to ignore your mortification as you passed by the man you couldn’t stop thinking about on the way out of the door, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, Professor.”

It was the same now, and you could barely focus on the class’s content while Professor Hiddleston turned from one completely filled up white board to the next, giving you a splendid view of his glorious tight ass. You shifted in your seat in what you hoped was an inconspicuous way and turned away. This was getting out of hand. You almost were wondering if you needed to drop the class altogether, purely for your own sanity.

But then again—if every student in the class did that, there would be no one left in the section.

Now Professor Hiddleston was running a hand over his beautiful dirty blonde beard, thinking for a moment before he wrote the next name upon the board. John Donne, it read, and you suddenly remembered the poem you had been assigned to read the night prior. It was short, less than one hundred lines, which had lent for easy reading, even for the turn of the sixteenth century. But that wasn’t, of course, what had drawn your attention. The poem was unashamedly erotic, a scene about undressing, a mistress and her lover, vulnerability between them both.

And now, to your absolute undoing, Professor Hiddleston had decided that it was a good idea to read it aloud. You could barely breathe as he spoke, as he again, acted, the poetry, each line sending you further into a frenzy. Around you, the class held its collective breath as well, creating an unnatural silence. Not even a paper moved, nor did a pen drop.

“...shew / thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence / there is no penance due to innocence / to teach thee, I am naked first; why then / what needst thou have more covering than a man,” Hiddleston finished with a flourish, a slight smirk on those perfect lips. His eyes roved around the room thoughtfully, that smirk dissolving into an unabashed grin. “Quite the charmer, Donne thought himself to be,” he added with a laugh. “We can thank him for that.”

Suddenly, his eyes locked with yours, and you could have sworn that he swallowed as he looked at you. Or perhaps that was just a stupid hope. You twisted your lips and looked away abruptly, missing the narrowing of his eyes and the way his hand ran down his tie and fiddled with its tip.

Soon enough, class was over, the hour just passed, and you gathered your things, stuffing the poems you had printed out into your bag and rising from your seat with a grimace. Your body had found itself aroused. Again. Thankfully, now that your day was finished, you’d be able to make it back to the dorms with minimal consequence, and you knew it would be a few hours before your roommate to return, so you’d have a solid amount of time to...get your professor off of your mind.

But as you turned the corner from the descending steps between the rows of chairs towards the door, a voice cleared itself behind you. Heart pumping, you pivoted to find Professor Hiddleston standing there, one hand rolling up the sleeves of his crisp shirt up to his elbows, revealing lean but corded muscle there under smooth pale skin.

“Y-yes, Professor?” you asked him, trying not to let your voice shake. It was almost as if he could read your thoughts, sense that you were clearly horny and in need of leaving the fucking lecture hall.

“I need to speak with you privately,” he murmured, and you couldn’t help but clench tightly and swallow.

“About what, sir?” you asked.

Hiddleston smiled. “Just grades. Your recent performance.” Seeing your confounded face, he added, “Nothing serious, of course.”

Slowly, you nodded. “When should I come?”

You didn’t miss the slip there, the unintentional double-meaning, but as it would seem, neither did he, as Hiddleston’s pleasant smile slid into a heavily lidded smirk, one eyebrow raising.

No. It couldn’t be. Professor fucking Hiddleston—into you? Just another one of his sophomore students who was most likely taking the course solely for a humanities credit? Granted, you were not one of those—you loved classic English prose and poetry, but it was such a large class that most of them were not that into the subject.

“Right now,” Professor Hiddleston said then, gesturing for you to follow him. Eyes widening, your hand tightened around the strap of your bag and you waited for him to gather his teaching materials before you both left the lecture hall promptly.

His office was not far, only a few floors up. Luckily, you did not have far to go, as it was in the same building, and so you did not have to dwell in the anxious interim stage for long.

The office itself was spacious and graciously private, with a large modern window that looked out onto the urban campus of your university, and a shade that was currently rolled up to the top. There was a large mahogany desk as well, old-fashioned as you had expected, and a luxurious chair that sat behind it. A plush violet-colored rug laid on the floor as well, completing the look.

You had been purposefully avoiding office hours for this class all semester, unable to trust yourself in such close proximity to your professor. It seems that your goal had now been foiled by the man himself. Oh, well. Hopefully this would be quick, and you wouldn’t have to endure this torture for long.

Sighing, Hiddleston sat himself down behind his desk and rolled the chair away from it, hands steepled with his elbows on his thighs. His thighs... which were currently separated far apart in the most attractive manspread you’d ever seen, no matter what an oxymoron that may have been in any other situation. But not in this one. Not here, with Professor Hiddleston, alone.

This man who you could guess was around forty years old. This man who was probably over twenty years your senior. Unwittingly, the thought sent another stroke of heat down to your pussy. Oh, god. Biting your lip, you waited for him to speak.

He seemed to enjoy holding you in suspense for a moment, that infuriating grin still plastered across that handsome face. “You must have wondered why I called you here.”

“Yes, sir.”

At that, his grin disappeared, and something else crossed his face instead, something much darker, much hungrier. “I do love it when you call me that.”

You gulped. “What’s that, Professor?”

“Either of those,” he replied, that familiar growl filling his voice. “And you must know by now that I don’t give a damn about your grades. That is your own business...besides, you are doing excellently in my class.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say, so you just smiled and crossed your hands behind your back.

“No...you’re here because you are far too distracting. It’s causing me problems during lectures. That is an issue,” Hiddleston said, spreading his legs even wider.

“I...hadn’t noticed that, sir.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he replied simply, that prim accent making it all the better. “I wouldn’t be a good lecturer if I allowed myself to be easily affected by a student...even if you are as stunning as you are.” His eyes flashed. “I wonder...are you doing this on purpose, darling?”

Mouth parting, you shook your head.

“Mm,” Hiddleston murmured, scratching the side of his beard slowly. “I don’t know about that. Are you sure?”

“Why would I be so willing to entice you, Professor?” you asked him, willing yourself not to collapse where you stood.

Hiddleston dropped his hand and ran it instead along the inside of his thigh. Your eyes widened and you had to avert your gaze. “Because you want me as much as I have lusted after you,” he said huskily in reply.

When you didn’t respond, throat too tight to speak, he stood, edging around the side of his desk. “Admit it, Miss Y/LN,” he said sternly.

He was so close to you now, just an inch away. You could barely intake breath—no, scratch that, you couldn’t breathe at all.

After a painful moment, you nodded.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“Yes,” you squeaked, eyes flitting to his, a bright, intense blue.

“Yes, what?”

Steeling yourself, you brought your hand to his chest. “Yes, Professor Hiddleston.”

“Good girl.”

You clenched again, barely withholding an audible moan. Still, Hiddleston had spotted your near slip, and he grinned, bringing one of his large hands to cover yours where it was placed on his chest and entwine both of your fingers. “Say yes to me, then. And I will give you what you so crave.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. “Yes, Professor Hiddleston. Please.”

“That’s my good girl,” he said again. “Now. Undress.”

You gawked at him. “Excuse me?”

Hiddleston snatched both of your wrists then, pulling you right to his chest so that your bodies were pressed together. “You do want me to fuck you, Miss Y/LN, don’t you?”

Quickly, you nodded.

“Then do as I say,” he hissed.

You complied easily, removing first your bag from your shoulders and then your light jacket. You hesitated only a moment before sliding your fingers under the hem of your shirt and lifting it from your head, exposing your skin to the slight chill of the room. Still, everything inside you was fire, and it only burned hotter as Hiddleston inhaled deeply, taking in the sight of your breasts, hidden only by the bra that cupped them gently. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “Just like I imagined.”

Your breath quickened at that. It was terribly gratifying to know that he had fantasized about you, his student, just as you had fantasized about him, your professor. So you smiled at him through your lashes, putting on a facade of demureness.

“Now, don’t give me that,” Hiddleston automatically smirked, grabbing your jaw and holding it tightly. He leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “I know how dirty your thoughts have been, my dear, and it would be a lie for you to pretend otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

Unable to help yourself, you whimpered. Beside your ear, Professor Hiddleston laughed. “Whore.”

You held your breath as he then unbuckled your bra, the garment in his hands looking like it belonged there—and leaving your breasts bare. “Professor,” you murmured as he leaned forward, cupping both of them in his large hands and placing a kiss to each nipple. “Professor—fuck—”

CRACK.

There was a sharp stinging feeling on your ass, and you realized that Hiddleston had just spanked you—actually spanked you—and was now leaning onto his desk casually again, this time with a stormy expression on his face. His chin tilted upwards in disgust as he said, “Such foul language. When have I ever tolerated that, little one?”

When you didn’t answer, he raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t rhetorical.”

“You didn’t, sir,” you said meekly, grimacing from the pain. You could only imagine what it would have felt like without clothing to cover the sensitive skin of your ass.

“Hence why I needed to punish you,” Professor Hiddleston said matter-of-factly, which somehow only turned you on even further. His confident nonchalance made you want to kneel before him and unbuckle those perfectly-pressed trousers, but you managed to hold yourself together.

It wasn’t long before you were standing before him naked, trying fruitlessly to hold in a tremble as Professor Hiddleston circled your body, eyeing every part of you. “So,” he said when he’d finally turned to face you eye-to-eye again. “You not only are extremely intelligent, but you are a goddess among humans. You look so innocent, but I know you aren’t. Not with those eyes.”

It was true. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from looking at him the way you had been doing all semester.

“Intelligent, sir?”

Hiddleston smiled gently and stepped toward you, finally encircling you in his arms. His hands, placed firmly on your upper back, slowly slid down to cup your ass, pulling you against his form. You could feel the strain of his crotch there, and your heart pounded at the thought. You still couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“Yes, intelligent,” Hiddleston murmured, brushing a light kiss on your cheek, your jaw, your lips. “Your textual analysis of Much Ado About Nothing a few months ago was one of the best interpretations I’d ever seen.”

Had it been? You’d only been commenting about the way that it had impacted modern fictional tropes and set up socially acceptable gender roles in romance, but you supposed that it had been written in such a way that had greatly pleased Professor Hiddleston.

“Do not be so hard on yourself,” he said then, as if he could sense your thoughts. “Truly...you are a pleasure to have in class.”

You felt your body tense at the way he said ‘pleasure,’ for he certainly knew what he was doing. “Even if I am distracting to you?” you asked.

“Especially when you are distracting to me.”

With that, he pinched your ass firmly between two large fingers and you yelped, flinching into his arms. You felt the outline of his hard cock in his trousers again and squirmed against it, desperately needing friction. “P-Professor—”

He tsked quietly. “Such a cockslut you are, my little schoolgirl begging for me,” Hiddleston tutted. You felt your arousal even stronger as your mind filled with the fantasy he had planted there, imaging yourself in high stockings and a short skirt, a pure virgin teenager with no experience.

Luckily, that was not the case, but he was your professor, and if anyone found out that he’d fucked you, you’d both be in serious trouble. It only made the whole thing more exciting.

“Please, fuck me,” you whimpered. “Professor, I need you—”

“What did I say about foul language, little girl?” Hiddleston said sharply. “Or do you think yourself above such formalities and rules now that you are standing naked like a filthy whore in my office?”

You moaned, and without warning, Professor Hiddleston threw you against the dark mahogany desk so that you were facing away from him, clapping a hand across your ass again. Your eyes watered from the sudden pain, but you only bit your lip, loving every bit of it.

Hiddleston leaned over you so that you could feel his hardness against your body again and tilted your tear-stained face towards him. You watched him remove his glasses silently and place them beside you on his desk, smirking all the while. “You are going to count for me now, alright, my dear?”

You nodded, tensing your body in preparation.

And then it came without warning, his hand on your backside with a sharp cracking sound, leaving the feeling of fire against your skin. You cried out in pain, and Professor Hiddleston cleared his throat.

Oh. “One,” you whispered quietly. “But, Professor Hiddleston, won’t anyone hear?”

He let out a soft laugh at that. “I’ve been tenured here long enough that no one else of importance is in the vicinity, little one. But who knows…”

With a self-satisfied laugh, he spanked you again.

“T-Two,” you said.

Crack. “Three.”

Crack. “Four.”

Crack. “Five.”

With each spank, your voice grew stronger, more sturdy, and you relished in the sting of your ass stuck out behind you and caressed by your professor’s hands. He was rubbing it now, a gentle reprieve before he hit you again, this one harder than the rest.

You shrieked and gripped the edge of the desk, feeling the wetness of your cunt moistening your legs. “Oh, Professor Hiddleston,” you moaned. “Hit me harder, please, Daddy—”

The word slipped out of your mouth without expectation from either you or him, and you immediately stilled, feeling embarrassment cloud your senses.

“You are a kinky bitch,” Hiddleston murmured softly, and he ran a hand along the top of your head, even as you lay panting over the edge of his desk. It made you feel lesser, somehow, and you wanted that. You needed it.

“Be a good girl then, and take what Daddy gives you.”

The spank following was the hardest of them all, making you buck into the desk in all its force. “T-Tom!” you cried. You needed release, now, and him building you up was starting to irritate you.

“One more,” he said through gritted teeth, and you tensed as a final slap hit your backside, causing your eyes to water in pain as you heaved against the desk, nearly bringing you over the edge in and of itself.

“I can’t wait to see that bruise up nicely,” said Professor Hiddleston smugly, flipping you over as you let out a pained hiss. “And now that you’ve been adequately punished, I will give you what you’ve been longing for.”

You let out a long sound, something that was a mix between a contented sigh and a broken moan, and watched as he tore off his belt buckle and pulled out his cock, hard and weeping and flushed a very eager red. “Ready, darling?”

You nodded quickly before your nerves could get the better of you.

He raised his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“Yes, Daddy,” you murmured, still feeling the familiar tendrils of embarrassment creeping across your neck.

Professor Hiddleston—Tom—smirked and spread your legs with each of those gorgeous large hands, gripping the flesh of your thighs. Between them, you were on fire, evidenced further by the wetness dripping from your core.

“Oh, my dear,” Tom whispered with an air of disappointment, though it was impossible not to see how pleased he was. “You’re so wet.”

“Mm—” was all you could say. With him standing over you, eyes boring into your pussy and flitting back to your face every few moments it was all you could do not to scream.

Suddenly his fingers were upon you—within you, and you let out a long moan as he pumped them deftly, the other hand gripping his own cock. As you panted, completely at his whims, Tom grunted, his eyes fluttering closed.

But then, just as you felt yourself reach your peak, body begging to throw itself off into the abyss, he stopped. “Daddy,” you whined, pouting at him. “Why did you stop?”

“I had to, little one,” he murmured gently, running his hand along the inside of your thigh and sending shivers across your skin. But though you bucked your hips forward into his touch, Tom didn’t continue, only let out a smug chuckle. “I want this to take a long time, my dear. I want every part of your body to remember that I was here. I want it to know—I want you to know—that it belongs to me. Understand?”

You swallowed. “Yes, Professor Hiddleston.”

“Good.” The word was sharp, succinct, radiating with pure dominance. You clenched at the sound of it.

And unfortunately for you, your professor had witnessed that with his very own eyes. Immediately, you felt a sharp sting against the same spot on your thigh where he’d just been caressing, and you squealed. “Professor!”

“Whore,” he spat, pushing your upper body flat onto the desk. “I told you that you needed to be patient, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy…”

“And you disobeyed me,” he replied calmly. “So you deserved that, little one.”

You let out a small sound of assent and he kissed your lips softly. “Now, let’s continue. You’re doing so well, my darling.”

He slid those fingers along the inside of your thigh and caressed the sensitive skin where your legs met your cunt, tickling your skin. You tried to hold in a laugh and failed, a small hiccup escaping your lips. Tom glanced up at you and smirked. “My poor little girl,” he teased.

You smiled at him and bit your lip. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

You couldn’t help the whine that slipped into your voice. Honestly, it awed you. Less than an hour ago you were afraid to even make eye contact with Professor Hiddleston for fear of your own sexual desires; now you were sitting on his expensive desk bare naked with your legs spread for him and pussy dripping with unquenched arousal. Still, he refused to bring you release.

“Will you please fuck me?” you asked him softly, sweetly. “I need your cock, Professor.”

You could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he tried to hide the way your words affected him, So you pushed out your bottom lip and bared your breasts forward to him for good measure. “ Please.”

Where he had been gentle and sensitive a moment ago, Tom was no longer holding back. “What happened to ‘you need to be patient?’” you hissed as he flipped you over, bending you over the desk as he’d done before.

“Hush, my little whore,” Tom grunted as he shifted behind you, and you could feel the head of his cock nudging at your entrance impatiently. Hypocrisy at its finest, but you couldn’t care less. “You’re going to take all of me, and I will be merciless,” Tom whispered as he took your hands and pinned them beneath his own on the desk. “Do you understand?”

You nodded, difficult as the action was in your current position.

“No,” Tom said softly. “I don’t think you do.” He sighed dramatically as he pinched the spare skin on your hip, making you squeak in pleasure. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, gravellier...that same cadence he had when he’d read some of those poems. “You’re going to take every inch of my cock, and it’s going to be painful for you, my dear. But I’m not going to go slow, not going to rest and wait for you to adjust. And only when you’re begging for me, crying for me like the whore you are will I finally let you come.”

“Oh, Tom,” you moaned and he chucked. “Yes, that’s right, baby. Moan my name. I haven’t even entered you yet.”

You couldn’t even feel the embarrassment hit your mind; you were too fazed over with the anticipation of him fucking you. “Please—”

Then he was pushing into you, and you groaned in pain. He had been right—this was unlike any other man you’d previously fucked. He was large, but just perfectly so; you felt as if the pain inside your cunt should live there forever. His hips snapped as he thrusted into you again, and you pushed your ass into the air to get more friction. “Oh, Professor Hiddleston—”

“Yes, fuck yes,” he panted as his thrusts sped up, and he moved one hand off of yours to finger at your clit. Sensation flooded you, and you cried out again. You could feel the warmth and power of his body behind you, even through the now-sweaty formal shirt he wore. And you could feel the coolness of the desk against your skin, and the rising pleasure throughout your body. “Tom, fuck—”

“Remember what I said?” he growled. “Beg.”

You couldn’t resist. “Please, Daddy, let me come! I want to come so bad around your cock, Professor. Fill me up—please—”

He grunted in pleasure at your words, and you ground into his fingers where they worked at your clit as he continued to pound into you. Each thrust sent you higher, hitting your g-spot just perfectly. “That’s my good girl,” Tom cooed gently, such a contrast to the violet strokes of his body. “You’re doing so well for Daddy. See how well you take my cock? That’s right, little one. Keep grinding into me. Such a good whore—”

At that, you moaned, grimacing in pleasure. “Can I come yet, Daddy?”

“Not yet, my darling,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I need you to be louder for me. I need everyone to know that you belong to me. That you’re my little cockslut who’s only taking this class so you can fuck your professor like a filthy whore.”

“Please let me come, sir!” you cried, bucking into him. You let out a loud cry as he nipped at your shoulder, teeth digging into your skin. “Yes, my good girl. Scream for me.”

“Tom!” you shouted. A shudder coursed through you at the possibility of someone hearing you, but in your haze of pleasure, you could barely notice. “Professor, please—”

Finally, he chuckled, and his thumb pressed tightly into your clit. “Come,” he commanded in a low voice, and you did, gasping as you rolled against his touch and felt his cock find release within your walls and he cried out your name.

“ Tom ,” you moaned, eyes rolling backwards. “Oh, Tom… ”

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, caressing your neck with his free hand. “My sweet darling.”

You were both breathing hard, covered in sweat, and an utter mess against the rich wood of Professor Hiddleston’s desk. “I’m—I’m sorry,” you stuttered, coming back to your senses. “I...didn’t realize. This all happened so fast…”

But to your surprise, Tom only chuckled, helping you to stand and wrapping his arms around you. “No, my dear. This isn’t over yet.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You swallowed, feeling a pleasant flush spread across your body as you met his gaze. “So…”

Tom smiled. “I will see you on Tuesday, Miss Y/LN.”

As disheveled as you were, and most likely smelling of sex as you left his office, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that had risen within you. You would see him again, and soon.

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

A/N: thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, likes - all appreciated! this fic is also posted on ao3 under the same name (via my username MavenMorozova). give it some love there if you’d like!

TAGS: let me know if you want me to make a taglist!

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x ofc #hiddles #tom hiddleston fanfiction #hiddles fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfic #hiddles x reader #tom hiddleston smut #professor hiddleston #fanfic by maven #mine #mcu rpf #tom hiddleston x yn

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hellowkatey · 3 years

Text

Ghosts of the Past: the continuation

A continuation of what happens after Obi-Wan sees Nield twenty years after Melida/Daan. Anakin finds out his former master's rough apprenticeship beginnings, Obi-Wan faces some unexpected consequences of his past when Ahsoks gets hurt, and Nield addresses some regrets.

Read ch. 1 here | Read it all on AO3

Anakin is in the middle of combing droid parts and blaster dust out of his hair when there's a knock at his door. Considering Ahsoka is having a sleepover with Barriss, he just spoke to Padmé and she is at her apartment waiting for him, and Obi-Wan is supposed to be on a campaign, he has no idea who could be showing up at his door this late at night.

Watch it be a council member giving me some random task that'll ruin my night with Padmé.

The door buzzes open, and he's surprised to find it is indeed a council member ready to interrupt the night with his wife. The council member being Obi-Wan.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Hello to you, too, Anakin."

"Aren't you supposed to be in the middle of a battle?"

It looks like he's just walked off the battlefield. His robes are dirty and singed in places where blasters blew right through the material. He at least took off his armor, but from the dirt still smeared across his cheek, that's pretty much all he's done. Anakin's confusion quickly turns into concern. It's unlike Obi-Wan to show up anywhere looking rough for wear, even if it's just to see him. The knight's worry raises as he realizes his master grips a handle of Corellian whiskey in his right hand.

"Ended the battle early," he says distantly. His eyes are a little glassy and cheeks tinged pink. "Are you going to invite me in or do you want your dinner in the hallway?"

"Dinner?" Anakin looks to his former master's other hand and realizes he's also holding two bags of Dex's take-out. "Oh. Right, sorry," he steps back, and Obi-Wan strides into his apartment.

He's acting weird. That as much is obvious. Anakin tries to brush up against his master's shields to get a feel for his mood, but they're tighter than usual. Another red flag.

"The 212th was granted a week of leave before our next campaign," Obi-Wan explains, setting down the bottle and bags on Anakin's table. Anakin slips into his usual chair as Obi-Wan sets a bag of food in front of him. "Their's starts tomorrow, but Cody took over the debriefing so I could make it back early." Obi-Wan sits now, unwrapping his own burger. He stops when he realizes Anakin is still staring at him, food untouched. "What, do you not order a double burger and curly fries anymore?"

"What's going on?"

The Jedi Master raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Can I not come visit my former padawan?"

"Are you seriously going to act like you aren't being weird right now?"

"I'm acting as I normally do, Anakin."

"You left the front early and you started drinking without me. What's wrong, Obi-Wan?"

Anakin expects him to get defensive. Expects him to turn on Master Mode and lecture him about respect or whatever. But instead, Obi-Wan sighs and sets down his burger.

"I want to tell you a story, Anakin. A story that..." his eyes flicker to the bottle of whiskey, "requires a little bit of loosening up on my end."

Somehow him being honest is more worrisome than if he did get defensive and lie about it. So Anakin stops arguing with him, nods, and goes to the kitchen. He takes the moment to send his wife a quick message that he would probably not make it over for the night since Obi-Wan needs some company. Padmé will understand. Anakin returns with two cups, one with ice and the other with ice and some cola. He hands the one with only ice to Obi-Wan.

"You're freaking me out," Anakin says as he adds a small amount of the whiskey to his soda. How the hell can he drink this stuff straight?

His former master smiles. "No need to freak out."

"What is it about?"

"Well if you allow me to speak—"

"Okay, okay. Let's hope this story lives up to the suspense you've created."

Obi-Wan grimaces, taking a long swig of his drink before clearing his throat. "When you were a padawan, you used to always ask me about what missions I was going on when I was your age. Do you remember?"

Anakin leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, but you never actually told me."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "No, I didn't, I know. I always felt bad about not telling you. You were quite the pouter. But I convinced myself that telling you about my early missions would do more harm than good."

"You're freaking me out again, Obi-Wan."

"Just listen. Before the war started, there was a rule that younglings had to be chosen by a Master by the age of thirteen. If not, the youngling was reassigned to one of the other Jedi corps."

"Okay..."

"In my case, I was assigned to the AgriCorps."

Anakin leans forward as disbelief courses through him. "Wait, wh—"

"I aged out," Obi-Wan interrupts, not meeting his eyes anymore. Instead, he stares out the window beyond Anakin. "Qui-Gon considered taking me as his padawan but decided against it. In his words, I had too much anger within me. So the Jedi reassigned me to the AgriCorps on Bandomeer."

Anger? Obi-Wan? "That doesn't make sense."

"It's what happened," Obi-Wan whispers. "I began as a Jedi farmer, and Qui-Gon coincidentally came to Bandomeer for unrelated Jedi business. That in itself is a long story, but I was captured and Qui-Gon came to save me. He then decided to train me."

"Obi-Wan why didn't you tell—"

"This is the preface of my story. So you understand the context of what happens later." Anakin leans back again, biting on the inside of his lip with nervous anticipation. If this is just the background, how bad can the actual story be? "So Qui-Gon and I did not start on a good note. He had no interest in training another student. His last padawan fell to the Dark Side... and was actually the one who captured me on Bandomeer. Needless to say, he was wary of me in the beginning."

"But he warmed up to you, right? You and Master Jinn were close when I met you guys."

Obi-Wan presses his lips into a thin line, finally looking Anakin in the eye again. "Eventually, yes. We found common ground and he grew to be like a father to me. But due to my actions, that did not happen for a few years."

He pauses, taking another sip of his drink, and then gesturing to the untouched Dex's bag. "Your food is going to get cold, you know."

"I know." Anakin ignores the food.

"We were sent on a mission to Melida/Daan," Obi-Wan continues. "It was a planet in the midst of a civil war. The Melida vs. the Daan. Or, so we believed. We were there to retrieve a Jedi that had failed to check-in. She was trying to negotiate peace between these groups, but we discovered it was not just the Melida and the Daan fighting one another. There was a third group. All the children from both sides had left their families and formed their own side. The Young, they called themselves, and their mission was to bring and end to this multi-generational war."

Anakin vaguely recognizes the name Melida/Daan from his history classes but remembers nothing else about it.

"We found the missing Jedi. She was hurt, so Qui-Gon was eager to return to the Temple. But the Young were pleading for our assistance. He told me we couldn't help them. I disagreed, and we had an argument. So he gave me an ultimatum. Either I come with him, or I stay to fight with the Young."

Anakin's eyes grow wide. "Master, you didn't—"

"I stayed."

"But he came back right? He dropped off his friend and came back to help you!"

The silence that falls over the room says what Obi-Wan doesn't. The Jedi Master resumes staring out of the window.

"I fought with the Young for nearly a year."

"How old were you?"

Anakin doesn't like the pause that comes before his master's answer. "Thirteen. Fourteen by the end."

"You were a kid," Anakin mutters in disbelief.

"I was, but... I was one of the eldest. There were seven-year-olds who were wielding blasters. Eleven-year-olds were dying in bombings. Friends that I loved dearly died in my arms, and other friends found ways to blame me for deaths I could not control." Anakin can see the tears brimming in his Master's eyes. His own hands are shaking.

"Qui-Gon did come, though, didn't he?"

"We were so close to peace, but we were only kids. Warfare and diplomacy require different types of decorum. I called the Jedi to help us finally end things. The council sent Qui-Gon."

Anakin deflates.

"We negotiated peace. This time I returned to the Temple with him, but he was not pleased with me. I had made almost all of his worst fears about taking another padawan come true."

"You didn't turn to the Dark Side or anything, though!"

"I left the Order, Anakin," Obi-Wan lets out a shaky breath. "The council was reluctant to accept me back, but thank the Force they did. Qui-Gon on the other hand... He took me on a whim, and when I defied him it was like a slap in the face. I was placed on probation while he decided if he was going to continue as my master. Evidently, he eventually did forgive me, but it was a long, painful road."

Feeling constricted in his seat, Anakin stands, pacing into the living room. He's learned so much information so quickly. That his master almost wasn't a Jedi? Obi-Wan Kenobi, council member and Jedi Master was almost a farmer? Qui-Gon Jinn left his thirteen-year-old padawan in the middle of a war for a year?

It doesn't make sense yet he can feel his former master's anxious energy clouding the Force. He isn't lying. Anakin turns to the man waiting quietly for him to say something. Though he has so many questions, the first that pops out of his mouth is: "Why are you telling me this now?"

"We had a diplomat make an emergency repair stop on my flagship just before this last battle. A representative from what is now Melidaan."

"The... unified planet, then?"

He nods. "His name is Nield, and I fought alongside him in the war. It was the first time I'd seen him since. It was also the first time in years I'd really talked about the war out loud, and... I realized I've been ignoring this for almost twenty years now. I avoiding telling you because I didn't want you to be disappointed in me like Qui-Gon was—"

"Master! Disappointed in you? I would never—"

"You are so much like him, you know," Obi-Wan says with a wistful smile. The glossiness in his eyes is even more prominent as the alcohol starts to settle in.

"You think I'd leave you in a war zone?"

A soft smile appears on his master's face, "Technically you have. On a number of occasions, actually."

"Those were sanctioned abandonments."

Obi-Wan chuckles, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. "You have all his best qualities, Anakin. And some of his more annoying ones, but I've chosen to forgive those."

The knight walks over to the window with his back to Obi-Wan, arms folded across his chest. He's still overwhelmed by this new information. Unsure of how to feel. Sympathetic? No, Obi-Wan hates it when people pity him. Angry? He has the right to be frustrated that Obi-Wan has been lying to him for years. Letting him believe that he was this perfect padawan with a perfect apprenticeship...

But the overwhelming emotion that is hitting Anakin is not pity or anger, but guilt. Because a part of Anakin has always held onto the secret belief that things would be different if Qui-Gon Jinn had lived. That Master Jinn would have understood him in a way that Obi-Wan just can't because he was model Jedi.

He's been wrong all this time.

Anakin is suddenly thrust back to a time when he himself was a padawan feeling the galaxy pull him in a different direction. He told Obi-Wan he was going to leave the Order after their mission. And Obi-Wan still stayed by his side. Still treated him the same and protected him. It was ultimately Obi-Wan's unconditional support that persuaded Anakin to stay with the Jedi. Would Qui-Gon have done the same for me?

For the last ten years, Anakin has told himself that Qui-Gon would have stayed by his side. Now, he isn't so sure.

"I'm sorry," Anakin finally says, slowly turning around. Obi-Wan is quick to rise from his seat and approach him.

"I did not tell you this so you pity me—"

"I'm sorry I doubted you," Obi-Wan falls silent. "And for all the times I pushed you away because I didn't think you understood what it was like to feel like a screw-up... Force, I was horrible sometimes! Why didn't you ever tell me?"

The Master steps closer, placing his hands on Anakin's shoulders. "I truly did not think it would help. Or that you would think I was discounting your feelings, and I would never want to do that."

"What about your feelings?" Obi-Wan swallows hard, obviously not expecting this sort of question. He squeezes Anakin's shoulders, smiling softly.

"I am still learning how to confront them. And this— confiding in you— is part of that process."

Anakin can't hold himself back anymore. He closes the gap between them, throwing his arms around Obi-Wan and hugging him tightly. And Obi-Wan does not hesitate to hug him back.

There was a time when Anakin was a young padawan when he believed his Master was the greatest Jedi who ever lived. Sith Killer with a silver tongue, Obi-Wan Kenobi. A valiant knight and an even better teacher. He's always looked up to Obi-Wan. Saw him as a father figure. Though that giddy feeling of pride for his Master faded as he grew, Anakin feels it now just as he did when he was ten. Obi-Wan is by no means the perfect Jedi he's always believed him to be, but Anakin prefers it that way. Somehow it makes him even better.

______

Waging battles in desolate landscapes was one thing, but when the fighting spreads to urban areas, Obi-Wan is always on edge. There is something fundamentally wrong with tearing through the middle of a city with tanks and cannons. It's so easy to distance oneself from the reality of war. Easy to see the tall buildings and duracrete streets as either cover or a tactical liability. Obi-Wan just sees family homes left vacant. Stores and restaurants ransacked and abandoned. The amount of desolation depends on the length and amount of resistance the locals put up against their Separatist occupation.

And this city has been under the thumb of the droid army since the beginning.

Tesha Prime was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nestled in the middle of Separatist-controlled planets, it stood no chance of maintaining its independence. It's estimated they were under secret occupation as early as the Trade Federation blockade of Naboo, but their pleas for assistance were stifled until recently.

Obi-Wan one came to Tesha Prime as a padawan. One of Qui-Gon's side missions-- he enjoyed their specialty textiles and made a detour to purchase a friend a throw blanket. Its capital of Taloona was a beautiful city, advanced in technology but maintained the vintage glamor and elegance of their Old Republic architecture. Walking the streets now, it pains his heart to see crumbled buildings and durasteel military structures taking over the once picturesque skyline. War has tainted the rich history of this planet. Basically erased it. As the Jedi General moves swiftly through the waves of droids, diverting blaster shots from his valiant soldiers trying to free this city, he cannot help but be reminded of Melida/Daan.

Melida/Daan was an urban planet much like Tesha Prime. Completely different in their architectural inspirations and cultures, but violence does not discriminate. Rubble looks the same no matter what it used to be. He remembers Melida/Daan in the hastily painted graffiti urging for resistance against their aggressors. In the sound of bombs causing duracrete walls to collapse. In the yells of pain and the shouts of orders as medic clones traverse the battlefield to pull their fallen brothers out.

Obi-Wan grimaces, biting on his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood.

Seeing Nield and telling Cody and Anakin about his early exposure to war has brought about an unexpected consequence. Remembering. The nightmares of seeing Cerasi's murder and holding children as their life Forces faded away plagues his nights. Sometimes he will awake with a start, his first instinct to reach beside him where Nield used to sleep an arm's length away. When he doesn't feel a warm presence nearby, Obi-Wan begins to panic until he turns on the light and realizes he is not in the barracks of the Young, but in his quarters aboard his star destroyer. He's not thirteen, he's thirty-six.

Try as he might, though, the memories of his youth are not leaving him alone. He's been distracted by the flashes of Melida/Daan in battle before, but Taloona is messing with his mind more than usual. The city air smells the same. The wrecked streets feel the same beneath his boots. Obi-Wan is just thankful that his training allows him to shove his anxiety aside. He releases it into every moment of calm he can find. He must stay on his game for his men. For the people of Taloona and Tesha Prime.

But it's a shrill gasp of pain exploding through the Force that makes Obi-Wan tunnel. He whirls around from his place atop a fire escape and can see Ahsoka on street level with the 501st's battle route. Her eyes wide and arms wrapped around her chest as her knees buckle and she falls to the ground. The air leaves his lungs as though he's been punched.

"Ahsoka!" he yells as he leaps from the fourth story of the fire escape. The 501st has begun to regroup to compensate, Rex barreling through the crowd to reach her. Obi-Wan gets to her first, pulling himself between her and the front line and tucking her into his lap.

She's so small, he realizes. So young. Barely older than I was.

"You'll be okay," Obi-Wan says, cradling her head in the crook of his arm. He blinks and there's blood everywhere, dear Force, where did this blood come from? He presses his hands to the center of her chest where the blood seems to be pouring out.

"Obi-Wan?" the voice calling his name is distant, but he ignores it. I need to stop the bleeding. He squeezes his eyes shut to keep himself from vomiting.

"Do you hear me? You'll be okay, Cerasi," he whispers.

"Master Obi-Wan?" Louder this time. Closer. A warm palm rests against his cheek and when he opens his eyes Ahsoka is staring up at him with deep concern laced in her features.

She's awake? That can't be! The blaster shot... the blood... No, there is no blood. There never was. Ahsoka is lying in his arms, a scorch mark on the breastplate of her armor, but it didn't go all the way through. He blinks through the tears in his eyes. This is not Melida/Daan. I'm not there anymore. I'm thirty-six, and the war is over. This is the Clone Wars. Ahsoka is Anakin's padawan. I'm not thirteen. Melida/Daan is at peace. Nield is alive and well.

"General?" Another voice. He looks up and realizes he isn't alone. Captain Rex is giving Ahsoka a stim, glancing up at the High General every so often. Cody kneels next to his brother, more focused on Obi-Wan as reality slowly creeps back. Though he cannot see his face beneath his helmet, he can feel Cody's patient understanding. These men unfortunately know the look of someone lost in a time other than the present. And Cody is one of the few that knows exactly where his mind has gone.

"General Kenobi, are you alright?" Cody attempts to get his attention again. This time Obi-Wan nods, trying to relax the tension in his muscles.

"Yes... of course," he looks down at Ahsoka who's hand slips from his cheek. It reminds him too much of the way Cerasi's hand dropped like dead weight as her heart stopped. He shakes away the memory. The stim is setting in, clearing the cloudiness of shock from her eyes. "Are you alright young one?"

"Yes, Master Kenobi, it just surprised me. It's a good thing I had on armor for this battle."

Obi-Wan swallows thickly. The Young never had real armor. On such small bodies and without adequate medical attention, nearly every hit was a lethal one. He smiles, slowly sitting her up. "A very good thing indeed."

The battle felt like it droned on for days. Perhaps because a rotation on Tesha Prime is thirty-four hours. Or because Obi-Wan completely immersed himself in the Force, letting his instincts take charge over his mind. Obviously, his mind was not to be trusted. He's just thankful his brief blur into the past didn't cause more of a scene.

Obi-Wan walks through the aftermath now. The shooting and the bombings have ceased, but sometimes silence isn't any better than the sounds of war. At least focusing on the battle kept his mind occupied. Now he buries himself in his cloak, tucking his hands away so nobody can see they're still shaking.

"Master Kenobi?" the voice is soft, unimposing. Obi-Wan turns to find Ahsoka standing a few paces away. She's out of the armor now and in her usual clothing. Like Obi-Wan, her cloak is draped around her as the night finally settles in to cool the heat of the day. Despite the scare from earlier, she looks unharmed.

But she looks younger than Obi-Wan usually notices her to be. Maybe it's the too-big cloak that swallows her lanky adolescent figure. Or the timidness on her face that is not characteristic of his grand padawan.

"Yes, Padawan? How are you feeling?"

She catches up to him and matches his pace. The Togruta shrugs.

"Tired. A little sore, but Kix says none of my ribs are broken. Just a little bruised."

"And Anakin, have you seen him yet?" Anakin took charge of the air raid, leaving Ahsoka to command the troops from the ground. Obi-Wan hasn't run into him yet, but he expects his former padawan to come looking for him once word gets around about Ahsoka's close call and Obi-Wan's... strong reaction.

Ahsoka shakes her head. "No, but he commed me. The fighters are just going to go back to the hangers. The battle went on for so long they need to refuel."

Obi-Wan pinches the hairs on his chin. "Of course, smart of him. No need to waste fuel to land and take off again," he glances over at the padawan with a playful smirk. "Though don't tell him I said he was smart. After the stunts he pulled in the air, the last thing he needs is an ego boost." The padawan chuckles softly, but her smile fades quickly. They walk in silence for a few moments before Obi-Wan rocks into her to nudge her to the side. "I can tell something is troubling you, young one."

"Master Kenobi... who is Cerasi?"

Obi-Wan's own smile disappears. "Where did you... hear that name?"

"You called me Cerasi... when I was shot. I didn't even realize it at first, but I remembered and... I don't mean to pry, and you don't have to tell me, I was just curious--"

"It's alright Ahsoka," he stops her rambling, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. They stop walking in the middle of a market square and he leads her to sit on the edge of a large fountain. It has long run dry and is half-decimated, but it is a place to stop. "Cerasi was a good friend of mine. And she... was hurt in a very similar way to you, but unfortunately, she did not have armor to protect her."

"So she's..."

Obi-Wan nods.

The padawan exhales shakily, her fingers brushing against the place the blaster would have hit her. "Were you... there when it happened?"

He nods. "I was."

Her hand rests over his and she squeezes his fingers. "I'm sorry about your friend, Master Kenobi."

"It was a long time ago. I'm not sure why I said her name."

"It happens. Sometimes I almost accidentally call you Master Skywalker. Or I call Anakin Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan smiles. "Oh, I bet he hates it when you do that."

"I keep telling him it's a compliment but he doesn't want to hear it."

They both laugh. Obi-Wan lets the peace and lightness of the moment settle around his body like a warm blanket. While he hates the fact that padawans are fighting in this war, he also loves their resilient presence. Ahsoka never fails to make him feel better, even when she isn't actively trying to.

"I'm glad you're okay, Ahsoka. Though I will be more insistent you wear that armor from now on. We can send your measurements to have you properly outfitted in gear that won't hinder your saber technique."

"But Master, then I won't have a good reason to not wear it."

"But it'll make your Grandmaster worry about you less."

Ahsoka sighs dramatically. "In that case, I guess I could learn to work around it."

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and tucks his hands back into the sleeves of his cloak. "I swear, you and Anakin are going to be the death of me one day."

"Not if you wear your armor, Master," she says with a wry smile. Ahsoka glances at her comm and stands.

"Is Anakin asking where you are?"

"Rex. I told him I'd help with the med evacs," her blue eyes flicker up. The universal silent plead for dismissal.

"Go on," the general nods.

"Are you sure you're okay, Master Kenobi? I can tell Rex I'm sitting with you."

He stands and places a hand on her shoulder. "I am. We can talk more after dinner."

Ahsoka smiles and takes off running back toward the evac zone. Her cloak billows behind her as she disappears around the corner. The Jedi Master exhales a deep breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

_______

Nield, two drinks already warm in his belly, walks into the quiet cantina with the perfect amount of confidence to get through what he's about to do. It doesn't take long for his gaze to rest on the two cloaked figures seated at the bar. Before he can convince himself otherwise, the diplomat crosses where the two men are seated.

When he ran into Obi-Wan Kenobi two standard months ago, Nield was shocked at how the scrawny Jedi had changed after so many years. While it should not have been a surprise— he himself had changed quite a bit as well— in his head, Obi-Wan was still a thirteen-year-old with a horrible haircut and a pretentious amount of self-importance. (Nield has been to enough therapy since his warring days to realize his hatred of the young Jedi was a lot of his own projection. It did not change the way his mind remembered the boy that was once his companion.)

But alas, Kenobi grew up into a Jedi Master and a High General. When they spoke those months ago, Nield congratulated him on achieving his Jedi rank. They spent many nights during the war talking about the people they wanted to become once the fighting was resolved. Nield remembered Obi-Wan's anxieties over whether or not he would try to return to the Order that left him behind.

He questioned the second rank he had achieved, though. High General of the Grand Army of the Republic. Nield wasn't questioning his qualifications— Kenobi was a natural-born leader, even as a kid. There was no doubt he excelled at his position. What he questioned was why. Why would he want to take on that role again?

That led to a much longer explanation. One that Nield walked away deciding the answer his old friend was avoiding was simply: I did not want to go to war again, I had to.

Obi-Wan, of course, had the same question for him. Travel the galaxy was his previous answer to the question: who do I want to be when I'm not fighting a damned civil war? It wasn't what he told the others of The Young, but a secret desire he confided in Obi-Wan while they chatted to keep one another awake on watches. Nield wanted to be a nomad. He wanted his home to be among the stars rather than a planet or civilization.

"And you became a representative for the very planet you wanted to put behind you forever," Obi-Wan had said with the same smugness Nield gave him.

"I do get to travel."

"I suppose. But it isn't living among the stars."

They ended the night with the conclusion that they both failed their childhood dreams in some ways. But what is adulthood, if not living to find things to regret?

For Nield, he ironically walked away from his reunion with Obi-Wan with new regrets. Which is what brings him to this random cantina on Keitrum.

He doesn't need to try and get the attention of the Jedi General— as he approaches, Obi-Wan Kenobi's stool swivels around. There's confusion in his tired eyes and furrowed brow, and then he relaxes, a small smile on his lips.

"What a surprise," he muses, causing his companion to also turn around. Nield recognizes the shaggy dark hair and piercing gaze of General Anakin Skywalker almost immediately. "What brings you to Keitrum, old friend?"

"Definitely not the same reasons as you," Nield says tightly, eyeing the armor they were keeping hidden beneath their billowing robes. Well-used armor, tainted with dried blood and oil stains. Obi-Wan is clad in a more complete ensemble of shoulder, chest, arm, and leg pieces, while the younger General appears to only sport the shoulder and chest armor. Oh, the false security of youth. They look as though they came straight from the battlefield to grab a celebratory drink. Nield suspects that is exactly the case.

"Friend of yours, Master?" Skywalker says, curious eyes flickering between the two of them.

"Something of the sort," Obi-Wan replies, leaning back so they can see one another. "Anakin, this is Nield, a Representative of Melidaan. I met him—"

"When you were part of The Young?" The wide-eyed General finishes, suddenly looking his age. Nield raises an eyebrow at Kenobi. So you told him after all.

"Yes, we... fought together."

"And against one another," Nield adds.

"Yes, that too, I suppose."

Nield settles down on the opposite side of Kenobi and listens as he explains to the young man the nature of their... history. Though Obi-Wan gives him a charitable amount of leeway and understanding for his actions, Nield can't help the guilt that builds as the story goes on.

Especially as Skywalker keeps looking his way with increasing outrage and obvious protectiveness over his former Master.

"...after Cerasi... died," Obi-Wan says in a softer voice. "we had very different approaches on how to proceed."

"You wanted revenge?" Anakin asks Nield with off-putting intensity. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"I was angry," he glances at Obi-Wan. "I thought about it a lot, though. How the people who killed her needed to pay. Obi-Wan had to help me get out of that mindset. It wasn't what she would have wanted."

Now it's Obi-Wan's turn to look surprised. They'd avoided recounting the specifics of the war when they last talked, and that's exactly what Nield regretted. He never got to tell Obi-Wan he's sorry for the way their friendship splintered back then. The war, the death— it changed him for the worse. It aged his soul, made his heart turn to stone. It took many, many years to come back from the shell of a person he became.

"We were kids," Obi-Wan whispers, a creak in his tone.

"I'm still sorry. You did nothing but help us when nobody else would. You were always one of us, no matter what I said as a punk kid. You were one of us, and honestly, the best of us. Your name still comes up among those of us that remain."

The Jedi Master stares at him for a long moment before staring down at his drink as he swirls it. Skywalker assumes being a wallflower, switching between fiddling with the commlink on his wrist and monitoring his Master's facial expressions.

"How many?"

"About half from when we last saw you." A moment of silence. Nield lets out a breath and then continues. "Not all gone, just not living on Melidaan anymore. They attended university. Traveled. Got married and moved away."

Neither say it, but he knows they both are thinking it. We fought so hard for a peaceful home. Leaving seemed like a dishonor to those who died with the dream of growing old on the land they left their family for.

But Obi-Wan left too. And Nield does not actually blame him nor anyone else for leaving.

"I hope they're well."

Skywalker's hand suddenly clasps Kenobi's shoulder. "Ahoska and the men are here. I'm gonna go tell them to put their drinks on your tab."

"Anakin, don't you dare, the accounting department was so angry with me last time!" he calls after him, but the young General has already disappeared into the thickening crowd. Obi-Wan sighs and looks back at Nield who can't help the amusement on his face.

"So that's Anakin Skywalker."

"In all his glory, yes."

"He reminds me of you as a kid."

"Oh Force, don't tell him that. I'll never hear the end of it."

Nield laughs. "I'm glad I got to meet him. Put a face to your stories."

"I take it meeting my former padawan is not the reason you have come out of your way to find me. Nor is this the coincidence you make it out to be."

"Perceptive as always. I just realized we skirted around the obvious when we last spoke. Pretended that I didn't alienate you from the Young after you devoted everything to help us."

"Like I said earlier, we were kids, Nield."

"And like I also said earlier, I'm sorry. That's why I wanted to see you again."

Obi-Wan smiles, holding out his hand. Nield shakes it. "I'm sorry too, old friend. I'm glad we got to see one another again because I needed to thank you. You and one of my officers convinced me to finally tell Anakin about the war."

"How'd he react?"

"Better than I anticipated. But now every free moment has turned into storytime."

Nield recalls the few fond moments of the war when Obi-Wan would sit in the center of the room and tell all the younger kids a bedtime story. An attempt to thwart the nightmares away. "You were always good at telling stories."

"Apparently so. I usually draw quite an audience."

"It helps though. Talking about it. Doesn't it?"

The Jedi General nods. "For the most part. Though I see our war everywhere, now."

"The dreams?" Nield asks. Obi-Wan frowns. That's a yes. "The war can't be helping. Every time a speeder backfired I thought I was..."

"Back there again," The Jedi finishes for him. "Yes... Our recent terrestrial battles have not been helping."

Nield cannot imagine what it must be like to be back in the middle of a warzone. The fact the galaxy is at war at all was enough of a trigger for the flashbacks to his youth. It's why he takes his duty as a representative so seriously. He will do anything and everything to keep his home away from this conflict.

But his friend does not have that luxury. Nield waits for Kenobi to meet his eyes again.

"It still affects me, too. Bad days come out of nowhere. No matter how many times people tell me 'recovery isn't linear' it still surprises me. But before I knew it, I had more good days than bad and even the bad days didn't compare to what they used to be. It'll get better, Obi-Wan. I promise you it will."

Obi-Wan holds his stare. He's harder to read now than when he was thirteen, but Nield can still recognize the look in the Jedi's eye when he trusts someone. Though Nield doesn't feel he deserves this trust, for Obi-Wan's sake he's glad he's willing to listen.

"I will remember that," the Jedi says softly. "Thank you."

Nield raises the drink that was placed before him at some point. Obi-Wan does the same. The words come tumbling out before he can think of anything else to say. "To our brothers and sisters in the trenches... and the pursuit of peace."

The chant feels acidic on his tongue.

"We fight for our future, and the lives those who have died deserved," Obi-Wan continues. He hasn't forgotten it either.

"To unity."

"To freedom."

"To the Young," they say together, voices barely carrying beyond the space between them. Their cups clink together, and for a moment they're back in the lookout station. Kenobi, Nield, Cerasi, and half a bottle of red wine they found when pillaging an abandoned home for supplies. They didn't actually drink the wine-- it was obviously rancid. But that cheer they made up between giggles and dares to taste the sour beverage became their battle cry.

He tries to sip his brew but it tastes like that damn expired wine. For some reason, that makes him smile. Somehow the moments Nield cherishes the most lie among the worst points of his life. Perhaps because Cerasi never made it past the war to record over the old memories with new ones. Perhaps because Obi-Wan disappeared before Nield could come to his senses.

But for some reason, he's been granted another chance. Nield isn't sure what he did to deserve such a gift, but he'll accept it. Kenobi sits next to him, washing away the bittersweet chant of their youth with a brew.

Another survivor, and now, a friend once again.

#ghosts of the past #anakin #jedi apprentice #melida/daan #if you saw this saying im gonna post it in 3 parts no you didn't #i figured out the problem

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muertawrites · 4 years

Text

Two Halves - Chapter Three (Zuko x Reader)

Part Two

Word Count: 2,450

Author’s Note: Something very important to note about this series is that in it Zuko has very long hair. I’m talking like feudal era Japan hair (use this post from @frogydraws for reference. It is *chef’s kiss* gorgeous). Also, I feel like I’m missing people who asked to be on the tag list - if you asked but don’t see your name, PLEASE direct message me so I can fix that! Other than that I don’t have much else to say about this chapter. It’s mostly exposition but who doesn’t love some good plot speculation?

~ Muerta

Everyone gathers in a sitting room in Zuko’s personal wing of the palace, clustered in groups or pairs in an attempt to create some sense of comfort after the night’s discord. Katara, Aang, and Sokka gather in the center of the room - their typical formation, still very much a reflex due to years of working as a team. You sit with Iroh and Toph to one side of the room, Iroh sharing a chaise with you and Toph seated on the floor beside you, one hand laid protectively over the top of your foot. Zuko stands at the room’s fireplace, passing a ball of flame between his hands; you watch him closely, already innately drawn to him as your partner, noting that while the others (mainly Katara, Aang, and Sokka) discuss the evening’s events, attempting to formulate a plan for whatever should come next, he remains silent, secluded deep within his own thoughts. He looks every part the leader you’re now married to, in a way you hoped you’d only see much later in your relationship.

“It had to be someone within the palace,” Sokka states. “The gates were too heavily guarded for anyone to get in from the outside.”

“But how could they commit a murder without being seen?” Aang wonders. “There were too many people around for something like that to go unnoticed.”

“That’s just the thing,” Katara counters. “There were enough people to create a big enough distraction that nobody saw until whoever did it wanted us to.”

“And we’re absolutely positive it was that specific guy who was the target?” Sokka proposes. “It wasn’t just a random attack to make a statement against the whole government?”

“No,” Zuko chimes in. “They meant to kill him. When I proposed making someone from outside the Fire Nation queen, he was the only one in favor of the idea. He convinced the rest of the board to support me.”

“Do you think maybe they wanted to make a statement against just you, then?” Aang asks.

“It wasn’t just a statement,” you tell him, speaking for the first time since entering the room. Everyone turns their heads towards you; the only one who doesn’t show any surprise is Zuko. “It was a threat, meant for both of us.”

“And probably on behalf of Ozai or Azula,” Toph adds.

“Do you think he’d really still have followers within the palace?” Katara questions. “Everyone who served him was imprisoned after the war.”

“It’s possible,” Zuko responds. “My father radicalized more people than we could possibly know of. I expected his resistance at some point.”

“If Ozai intended to stage any resistance, he would have done it much more gruesomely,” Iroh interjects. “He wouldn’t have wasted time with threats. He would have killed one or both of you, if not everyone in attendance tonight.”

“But who else could hold that much of a grudge against not only the Fire Nation, but the alliance with an outsider?” Sokka asks.

“It could be someone from the Water Tribe,” you suggest. Your words are deadpanned and grim. “It’s very possible they see this as another form of colonization.”

“Nobody else from either tribe is here, though,” Katara says. “It’s just me and Sokka.”

“I don’t think they’d be here officially if they planned to kill someone,” Aang reasons. “If it was someone from the Water Tribe, they’re probably in disguise.”

“They couldn’t have been,” Sokka replies. “They’d have to have been inside the palace, and nobody got in without official documentation.”

“Our concern right now should not be the manhunt,” Iroh speaks up in his firm, tepid way. “It should be the safety of our loved ones; our lord and lady especially.”

“He’s right,” Toph agrees. She stands, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I think she should stay with me tonight. I have the best chance of seeing someone and stopping them before they can do any harm.”

“She’s staying with me,” Zuko quips.

The entire room falls into a heavy silence, the air itself seeming to drop to the floor. Everyone stares at Zuko in shock, yourself included.

“We’re married,” he explains. “It’s our responsibility to look after each other. She’ll stay with me in my chambers.”

Five sets of eyes shift to focus on you. You meet Zuko’s gaze, the steely determination within them only serving to remind you of the bond you now share. You nod, keeping your eyes locked with his as you speak.

“It’s okay,” you affirm. “I’ll stay with him.”

After a few more minutes of deliberation, everyone parts ways for the night - Sokka is sent with Katara and Aang to provide them extra defense, and Toph goes with you and Zuko, moved to the guest chamber just outside his sleeping quarters so she can monitor any movement that happens during the night.

You follow Zuko into his rooms, arms linked together in a mutual nervous embrace. His chambers are divided into three spaces; two rooms connected by a sitting room and a large, covered porch. Zuko leads you down a short hall off the right side of the sitting room, opening a set of doors to reveal an ornate bedroom - your things rest at the foot of the four poster bed, your sleeping clothes already laid out on the mattress.

“This used to be a sunroom,” Zuko tells you. “But I had it converted into a bedroom. I figured it would be weird sleeping together, but also weird keeping you in your own wing across the palace, so… this seemed like a good way to be close to each other without making it too awkward.”

You squeeze his arm in a gentle, appreciative hug, turning to look up at him.

“Thank you,” you say. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

Zuko nods, laying one of his hands over where yours rests on his bicep.

“Let’s get changed,” he murmurs. “I’ll call for some tea and we can try to have a normal night.”

He leaves you, and you draw the curtains of the room’s sweeping windows so you can dress in peace; one side overlooks a garden courtyard, while the other gives a view of the ocean beyond the palace’s farthest wall. The sights are stunning, but the suspense you feel building in the pit of your stomach makes it hard to enjoy them in full.

Your hands shake as you undress, letting the layers of your wedding robes drop to the floor and leave you naked at the foot of the bed. You stare down at your night dress, the pristine white fabric glaring virginally up at you. You warily slide yourself into it, then cross the room to the vanity that’s been set to the left of the bed.

You can hardly control the shiver of your fingers as they work the beads out of your hair, taking the freed locks behind your head into the single braid you typically sleep in. You stare at yourself in the mirror, clutching the totems Katara gave you to your chest; your eyes are wide, your cheeks sunken, your knuckles white. A small voice, somewhere in the far reaches of your mind where the sound can hardly carry, tells you to have faith in your new husband; he’s treated you with nothing but kindness since even before the moment you set foot on his soil, and has showed nothing but the utmost respect for you - he wouldn’t be the man your family loved and trusted with your life if he shifted his behavior in such a sudden, drastic way by forcing you into his bed.

Despite these cries of reason, all you can hear is the voice of the beautician who prepared you for tonight - she hovers behind you in the mirror, her face contorted into a heinous, scowling grin as she cackles with laughter. She reminds you of the children you’re meant to bear, her nails digging into your shoulders as she goes on to tell you that, as the Firelord’s wife, he’s entitled to all the pleasure your body can give him, and will take it at any cost.

Your terror turns the man who’s been so endlessly sweet to you into a monster.

Through the bedroom doors, you hear a servant enter with a tray of tea, followed by Zuko’s gentle voice thanking them. You swallow, taking the strands of beads in your hands and twining them together, forming a necklace which you place over your head and tuck into the front of your night dress. After a few deep, quivering breaths, you stand, making your way out to the shared sitting room.

Zuko sits on the side of the room closest to his bedroom, head turned towards the now lit fireplace and eyes lost within its glow, his gaze distant and glazed with worry; he snaps back to the present when he notices you enter, giving you a faint, slightly defeated smile. His military uniform has been replaced with a simple set of pajamas and a robe, his long hair free from its knot, now hanging loosely about his shoulders and down his chest; he’s even more handsome this way, his features contoured by the darkness of the room and the light of the fire. You feel a rush of lightheadedness as you lower yourself across from him, nervously returning his smile.

“Uncle took the liberty of preparing our tea,” Zuko greets you. His voice is soft and welcoming, tinged with a mirth that feels almost ironic given the circumstances. “He didn’t want to subject you to my awful cooking skills so early in the marriage.”

You huff amusedly, sharing a genuine smile with him as he serves you. You sip the scalding liquid slowly, letting it ease down your throat and warm you from the inside out; it relaxes you, the shaking in your limbs disappearing.

“I’m glad we have him,” you say. “I don’t think we’d know what to do with ourselves otherwise.”

Zuko chuckles, his grin causing a manic tremble to erupt in your chest.

“He’s definitely the romantic one in the family,” he agrees. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you since he met you. I think if he were forty years younger, he’d have married you before I could.”

You giggle, a timid blush coloring your cheeks.

“I never thought I’d be so popular among Fire Nation men,” you tease.

Zuko smiles, wistfully and exhaustedly, letting out a soft breath of laughter; you can tell the nights events anchor his thoughts.

“I’m sorry tonight ended the way it did,” he tells you. “I wanted your arrival to be a source of happiness for our people. Maybe I was too hopeful.”

You sigh heavily, running a finger along the brim of your teacup as he meets your eyes; you can tell he blames himself for what happened.

“A hundred years of hatred doesn’t end in a decade,” you console him. “It isn’t just here, either - many people in the Water Tribe feel just as divisive as people do here.”

You cautiously reach forward and take his hand, letting your thumb stroke over his knuckles. His fingers tighten around your palm, and you can feel every callous and scar that marks his alabaster skin.

“We have to stand together,” you say. “We have to show the world that we can overcome the past; that things are different now, for the better.”

Zuko nods, raising the back of your hand to his lips and pressing a light, tender kiss to the knuckle of your forefinger. He smiles faintly, letting his mouth linger on the bone for a long moment before placing your hand back where it was on his knee, still twined with his.

“I really did make the right choice in a queen,” he muses. Heat spreads across your skin, your lips curling up slightly at his endearing remark.

“It’s late,” Zuko says after a beat, letting his fingers slip away from yours. “We should both get some rest.”

He stands, leaning over you and placing a docile hand at the back of your head. Your heart leaps from your chest and into your throat, your fingers curling to grip the skirt of your night dress as anxiety rushes to your head. You deny every instinct you have that tells you to fend him off. If this is when he chooses to take you, you have no choice but to go willingly - you can’t form any rifts in a relationship that’s already somewhat fragile, especially when doing so would mean driving a wedge through the center of an already divided country.

Zuko lowers himself and rests his lips to your forehead, etching the phantom of a kiss just below your hairline; he parts almost as soon as he arrives, leaving you dazed and flustered in his wake.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs, offering his arm to help you to your feet. You accept it, feeling much smaller beside him than you did only hours before. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You each return to your respective bedrooms, your legs floating towards your bed of their own accord and dropping you backward onto the mattress. You stare up at the sheer, billowing canopy hung from the ceiling as the shivering in your limbs returns, your body completely unable to accommodate with what your mind can barely seem to process.

He didn’t force himself onto you. He didn’t violate the comfort between you simply for the sake of tradition and lineage. The extreme relief you feel is overwhelming, so much so that you think you might throw up or faint.

You fall asleep to the sound of the ocean beyond the palace walls, the danger that looms within them doing little to deter the peace that washes over you as you drift into a pleasant dream.

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#muerta's works #two halves #zuko #prince zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #zuko fanfic #zuko fanfiction #prince zuko fanfic #prince zuko fanfiction #atla fanfic #slow burn

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years

Text

The Silmarillion as a TV/Netflix Show (Part 1)

I have lots of thoughts on this.

I envision it as five seasons on ten episodes each. You could also go the route of The Untamed and just have 50-odd episodes without splitting it into seasons, but I like the way the seasonal structure allows you to create suspense and build up to end-of-season climaxes. (Yes, I’m influenced by GOT in this.)

I don’t know how realistic any of this is in terms of timelines, but it’s an entertaining and enjoyable way to express some of my ideas about the narrative of The Silmarillion.

The layout would be:

Season 1: Events in Valinor through to the Return and the rescue of Maedhros from Thangorodrim

Season 2: The Siege of Angband through to the early parts of the Dagor Bragollach and Fall of Fingolfin

Season 3: The latter parts of the Dagor Bragollach, the tale of Beren and Lúthien and everything associated with it, and the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Season 4: The Fall of Beleriand, ending with the Voyage of Eärendil and the decision of the Valar to go to war.

Season 5: The War of Wrath

Rough description:

Season 1

The most difficult part of this series is definitely the beginning, because the level of conflict and danger at the beginning is much, much lower than what will exist later on: the characters are effectively living in paradise. Plus the House of Finwë is a large cast to introduce all at once. You’re effective starting what will be a giant fantasy epic with at least a half season of family/political drama. But both the first season of GOT and the school-drama section of The Untamed managed this, so it is possible.

So there are major decisions that needs to be made regarding 1) precisely where to start and 2) how much you want to communicate via flashback. You could start with the Statue of Finwë and Míriel and the remarriage of Finwë, and have comparatively limited flashbacks to the Great Journey and the death of Míriel. Or you could start in the early-mid stages of the Unrest of the Noldor and have more extensive flashbacks showing the characters’ earlier relationships to each other and how they’ve changed (or not) between then and now. The latter is appealing because it drops you right in the middle of the drama and avoids issues around long timelines. If you start with the remarriage of Finwë then you have to go from Fingolfin and Finarfin not yet being born, to being children, to having children of their own, to their children being adults, all in the space of about five episodes; and I think that would be difficult for the audience. And TV shows have certainly managed to be successful by doing a half-present/half-past structure for their episodes.

The second major challenge is Melkor’s parole. You have to make it convincing. If his conflict-mongering and evil is too apparent, not only the Valar but all the main cast look like morons. It has to be subtle. It has to be mixed with actions that genuinely appear helpful and positive. It has to be the kind of thing that looks clearer in retrospect.

My ideas on the first six episodes are vague, but I have much more concrete views on the last four, and especially the last three.

Episode 7 would be the Darkening of Valinor. It ends with Fëanor hearing of Finwë’s death.

Episode 8 (entitled Spirit of Fire) is the linchpin of the story. It covers the Speech of Fëanor in Tirion, the Oath, the departure of the Noldor, the Kinslaying, the Doom, the burning of the ships, Dagor-nuin-Giliath, Fëanor’s death, and - preferably - Maedhros’ capture. (Now that I write it down...that’s a lot. Maybe that couldn’t all be realistically fit into one episode. Well, make it a 90-minute or two-hour episode if you have to; this needs to all be one piece.)

The goal of the episode is to take the audience on the same emotional journey as the Noldor - more specifically, the same emotional journey as an average follower of the Fëanorians. You’re angry, you’re disoriented, the world’s been upturned, the Valar are doing a whole lot of nothing, and Fëanor shows up and says We’re going to hunt down this bastard and destroy him, and then we’re going to forge our own destiny. At this point the bulk of the audience should be on his side, either enthusiastically (if they liked him before) or grudgingly (if they didn’t). And then the blows come one after another - the Kinslaying (but we had to leave somehow!), the Doom (the Valar are being obstructionist!), and ship-burning (wait, what?), Fëanor’s death (what?! now!? what now?), and the sinking realization that you’re separated from the bulk of your army, alienated from anyone who would help you, directionless, facing a massive and apparently unassailable enemy fortress. That you’ve thrown away all your morals and principles just to get yourself into, as Sam Gamgee would say, ‘a fix’.

The music needs to back up this emotional journey. There will be established musical motifs by this point, and you want to have the musical motif associated with Fëanor used throughout, but notes from Morgoth’s theme mixed in at key moments, subtly at first (the Oath) and then becoming more noticeable (Alqualondë, Losgar).

Episode 9 is the counterpart to Episode 8, and essentially involves the Fëanorians being, in effect, bailed out of their situation by everyone else: specifically, it covers the Crossing of the Helcaraxë by Fingolfin’s host and the creation of the Sun and Moon by the Valar and Maiar. (Granted, the goal of the Fingolfinian army is definitely not ‘help the Fëanorians’ at this point - they’re mad as hell - but their arrival nonetheless signals a definite improvement in the situation.) The timelines of the book need to be condensed here - having these events take years or decades would only confuse the audience. It ends with the sunrise and Fingolfin’s arrival at Mithrim.

If Maedhros’ capture didn’t fit into the last episode, it can go at the beginning of this episode.

Episode 10 covers some small-scale non-lethal conflicts between the Fëanorians and Fingolfinians, just to get across that the situation is dangerously strained; followed by Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros, Maedhros’ abdication, and the beginnings of reconciliation between the two groups.

This forms a natural conclusion to the story of the Return, and a good endpoint for the first season, setting up the next season’s focus on the war against Morgoth.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #adaptation #fëanor #finwë #indis #fingolfin #maedhros #fingon

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alilbitofdoodles · 4 years

Text

Helping what Ales you

Paring: TC Meliodas x Goddess Elizabeth Word Count : 1.5K Warnings : Use of Alcohol, Language, Meliodas being in denial about how much he loves Elizabeth, and lots of fluff. Summary: Amusing, he thinks and he’s overcome with the sudden urge of defiling her purity. A demon luring a goddess into inebriation. The thought was fun and he knew it’d be quite the sight; his uptight little goddess would be red-faced and fumbling all over herself. Ao3 Link: 📖

It was chaotic to say the least. The sort of chaos that came with unrelenting fun and celebration. The tavern was erupting with hollers and cheers and almost every patron sported a puffy red face and wide toothed smile. Humans were a pathetic race, but they boasted of brewing up a delicious ale sweeter and more intoxicating than anything ever created.

The amber liquid thickly trails down his tongue and coats Meliodas’ mouth with a slight burning sensation as he swallows. He slams his stein onto the worn-down wooden table – the damn thing had given him splinters – and bitterly wonders how they managed to call this an ale.

He was on his twentieth round and yet the man hungered for more. It was pitiful, really, calling this watered down tea of fermented gruit an alcohol. But still, he effortlessly chugs it down without much interest. He was utterly disappointed (a common feeling he’s begun to notice much too often).

“Ah, this is where you’ve been hiding.” a gentle voice disrupts his thoughts.

He takes a pause as to not immediately gag at the sight. It was that annoying goddess. She’d been tailing him since their last meeting and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. Maybe he shouldn’t have spared her life. She’s like a lost kitten constantly nipping at his heels for attention. “Get lost, little goddess.”

She only smiles, radiant and pure, in response to his aggression and it only infuriates him more. “What a lovely nickname. I would prefer it if you called me Elizabeth, but Little Goddess is wonderful as well.”

Elizabeth pulls up a chair next to him and watches him with curious eyes. “What is that you’re drinking?”

Meliodas snorts, “What? Alcohol? You don’t have this in your wretched realm?”

She tilts her head, her silvery hair spilling over her shoulders, and Meliodas tries not to stare too hard. The sight of her porcelain, unblemished skin was quite a tempting sight. Maybe the alcohol was affecting him more than he’d thought.

“I know of it.” She clarifies, “But our people always referred to it as poison. Why would anyone ever willingly ingest it?”

Amusing, he thinks and he’s overcome with the sudden urge of defiling her purity. A demon luring a goddess into inebriation. The thought was fun and he knew it’d be quite the sight; his uptight little goddess would be red-faced and fumbling all over herself.

“Drink it and find out why.” Meliodas shoves the wooden cup to her face, hovering the rim before her mouth, and Elizabeth purses her lips.

“Um…” her blue eyes glance to the side.

“Afraid of a human drink, little goddess?” He teases and his smirk only grows wider.

A light blush dusts her cheeks and Elizabeth fidgets in her seat. “Not that but...wouldn’t this be an, uhm, i-indirect kiss?”

“Of course not!” Meliodas sputters, “Dammit, just drink!” The heat he feels on his cheeks is unrelenting, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He growls, motioning to the cup once more. If he backed off now it’ll only make him seem like a coward.

“Ah...thank you, I shall partake...” Elizabeth whispers, then takes the cup from his hands.

When their fingertips met, he could almost feel her heat through his gloves. Instinctively he pulls his hand back as if he were nearly burned by flames. That brief contact had intoxicated more than the alcohol itself. He needed to keep his guard up around this one.

Elizabeth takes a meek sip and he watches closely. The thought of an indirect kiss crosses his mind one more before he drives it away. “So? Still think it’s poison?”

“Ngh…” Her little tongue peeks out from between two plump lips and Meliodas licks his own rough, chapped ones. “It’s a little bitter than what I’m used to, but it certainly has its own appeal.”

A wicked smile returns to his face as his mind begins to concoct a devious plan. “Say, Little Goddess, care to make a wager?”

“What for?” She asks pointedly.

“Relax, it’s all in good fun.” he began, almost carefully. “We’ll just see who can drink the most.”

“Mmm.” she agreed softly, “Wager implies a winner and loser, though. What’s at stake?” Ah, always a smart one. Meliodas found he didn’t desist that side of her. It was one of her more admirable qualities. She always appeared so quiet and benevolent, but deep down he knew her to be quite analytical.

“Simple, you win and I finally address you with your name. If I win, however, “ he pauses for suspense and watches her reaction (that intense look in her eyes whenever she was serious always gave him shivers). “You leave me alone. Once and for all.”

“Meliodas,” Elizabeth sweetly called, egging him on, “Don’t you think you’re being a little too confident?”

He suppresses the urge to belt out in a hearty roar of laughter. His little goddess thinking she can outdrink him? She never ceases to amuse him. “I have confidence with the skill to back it up. Try not to bore me.”

Before he can gloat any further, his green eyes widened and he’s taken back by surprise. Meliodas’ breathing hitches when he sees her swallowing up the cup of ale in large, languid gulps. A small stream begins to run down her chin and holy shit she’s holding her liquor down like a pro and it’s honestly fucking hot.

But a man never backs down from a challenge so he rips his gaze from her captivating form and begins drinking to his heart’s content.

---

Meliodas had emptied his 2,512th cup of alcohol — at some point they had to offer them wine since the tavern was running out of spirits. He hastily wipes his mouth with a grunt. Certainly that goddess wasn’t used to drinking, but he had underestimated her ability. She had matched him drink for drink, barrel for barrel, and they were bound to drink this establishment dry at this rate.

A part of him was infuriated at his misjudgment, but there was also a stronger part, welling up like a warmth in his chest, that held a certain special respect for her. He’s getting dangerously close to his limit and so he stealthy glances at her to see if she’s the same.

“Get Well.” A small halo of light glitters from her fingertips and it’s as if any trace of drunkenness on her was gone.

The revelation hangs heavy in the air. Shit. He’d nearly forgotten that absurd ark power of theirs could cure almost everything. At this rate she’s sure to overtake him.

Meliodas jolts alive and begins haphazardly chugging once more. Dread immediately seeps into his bones as he realizes just how much he fucked up. What concerned him the most, though, was how serious she was taking this little competition of theirs. Was she so determined to beat him that she’d resort to using her magical energy? It’s obvious to him that she was serious about this and the reason why she would be pricked at him uncomfortably like a splinter.

Did she want to be called Elizabeth that badly? Or was there some other reason she had in mind...

Meliodas threw more gold coins at the table demanding more drinks. He wasn’t going to bother himself with the small details. This was a battle and he was going to win, just as he always has.

“Don’t overdo it, Meliodas.” She chided placidly and her sobriety pissed him off.

He grits his teeth. “I can still – ugh – g-go on!” He snaps back, but inwardly cringes at the slur of his words. He’s actually getting drunk for once and he feels like an utter fool.

“Meliodas, please.” She pleads and sets down her drink. Then carefully, as to not scare him in his drunken stupor, Elizabeth takes his head in both her hands and presses him into her bosom.

“Dammit, what the fuck are you doing?” he huffed under his breath, limbs too wobbly to put up much of a fight. Before he could protest more, he feels her fingers smoothing down his hair in calming stokes and immediately he melts into her hold. Her hands had no right feeling that wonderful. Long nails gently massage at his scalp and he nearly groans at the sensual feeling. Maybe she was casting a healing spell of sorts? He couldn’t sense her magical energy, but he couldn’t fathom what other reason there could be.

Regardless, he could feel the stress and tension leaving his body and in turn becoming more soothed and relaxed. As odd as it was, he had begun to enjoy the affection. Meliodas closes his eyes and leans into the warmth of her body. It’s softness had been calling out to him ever since he first laid eyes on her. He hates to admit it, but Elizabeth’s presence had really grown on him. Like sailors to the north star or a moth to a flame, he’d always subconsciously seek her out. And now, only in his honest and inebriated state, does he understand why.

Just this once, Meliodas thinks, I’ll let Elizabeth have her way.

#melizabeth #elizabeth liones #meliodas #my fics #my edits #no proofreading we die like men #me like if Elizabeth can cast “Be Well” on herself does this mean she can outdrink Meliodas?? 😳😂

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mediaevalmusereads · 3 years

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Bringing Down the Duke. By Evie Dunmore. New York: Berkley, 2019.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: historical romance

Part of a Series? Yes, A League of Extraordinary Women #1

Summary: England, 1879. Annabelle Archer, the brilliant but destitute daughter of a country vicar, has earned herself a place among the first cohort of female students at the renowned University of Oxford. In return for her scholarship, she must support the rising women's suffrage movement. Her charge: recruit men of influence to champion their cause. Her target: Sebastian Devereux, the cold and calculating Duke of Montgomery who steers Britain's politics at the Queen's command. Her challenge: not to give in to the powerful attraction she can't deny for the man who opposes everything she stands for. Sebastian is appalled to find a suffragist squad has infiltrated his ducal home, but the real threat is his impossible feelings for green-eyed beauty Annabelle. He is looking for a wife of equal standing to secure the legacy he has worked so hard to rebuild, not an outspoken commoner who could never be his duchess. But he wouldn't be the greatest strategist of the Kingdom if he couldn't claim this alluring bluestocking without the promise of a ring...or could he? Locked in a battle with rising passion and a will matching her own, Annabelle will learn just what it takes to topple a duke...

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: graphic sexual content, sexism/misogyny, attempted sexual assault

Overview: I learned about this book while searching around for romances in the vein of The Suffragette Scandal. Overall, I found Bringing Down the Duke fairly fun; it features a badass heroine, a hero who doesn’t give off violent alpha male vibes, and a plot that addresses real issues like class and gender equality. I only give this book 3 stars, however, because I think the plot could have been organized better, and I think the romance gets a little frustrating after about the halfway point. Still, if you’re just starting to read romance and aren’t sure about what level of physical intimacy you’re willing to tolerate, this book might be a good starter.

Writing: Dunmore’s prose is fairly laid-back and easy to understand, so if you’re looking for a light read, this book might fit the bill for you.

I do think, however, that Dunmore could have crafted her narrative and used her prose to reinforce the theme of independence vs safety. While this theme comes up a number of times, I always felt it was an afterthought because so many things were happening in the book, and I would have liked to see Dunmore pull back and really make the whole narrative (and use language, metaphor, etc) about this conflict.

Plot: The non-romance plot of this book follows Annabelle - a bluestocking who is given a full scholarship to Oxford on the condition that she support the suffragette movement. She is allowed to go on the condition that she send her cousin 2 pounds per month to pay for a housekeeper (which he will be lacking if Annabelle goes away), and as she tries to balance school, work, and activism, she is tasked with “infiltrating” the Duke of Montgomery’s home in hopes of winning him to the suffragette cause. Of course, shenanigans ensue from there.

What I really enjoyed about this plot was the ambition. I liked reading about the class and gender barriers that Annabelle had to navigate, and I liked that her political ambitions were at odds with the Duke’s personal ones. However, such a wide range of conflicts meant that not all plot threads were explored to the degree I would have liked. It seemed like characters were pulled in a lot of different directions, and that these non-romance plots took a backseat when it was least appropriate. The Duke’s New Year’s Eve party, for example, is supposed to be this big political move for the Duke to show his commitment to the Queen and the Tories, but we never see him put things in place or pull some social strings to line everything up, and we never see the party used as a crisis point in the political plot. Instead, it passes in the space of only a few pages and is mainly used as an opportunity for Annabelle and the Duke to become intimate. I would have instead liked to see it be this moment where the plot as a whole takes a turn: maybe everything is going well until the Duke realizes his feelings for Annabelle as well as the actions of his younger brother throw the whole party (and his political ambitions) into jeopardy. In short, I felt like events could have been moved around to make them more narratively impactful, rather than everything happening at a somewhat leisurely and meandering pace.

On a related note, I didn’t feel like the plot as a whole had many elements of suspense, nor did they really build on each other. As a result, the plot seemed to lack shape; there wasn’t really a rising action, and I was never sure what characters were going to do next (which was frustrating, rather than exciting). I think this could have been improved if we had seen Annabelle take a more active role in trying to manipulate the Duke. As the book stands, Annabelle seems to simply inhabit the Duke’s house and “wins” him over by being defiant. I think I would have liked to see her try more purposeful techniques, like going through his things to try to get information on him, having more political or philosophical conversations, etc. Something to drive the suffragette narrative forward and perhaps set up a moment when Annabelle has to reveal that she’s been trying to spy on him or something.

Characters: Annabelle, our heroine, is a fun character to follow. She’s smart, hardworking, and generous with regards to her friends. I liked that she wasn’t presented as this superwoman who could do everything, but was doing her best to balance all the demands made on her. While I think all of Annabelle’s actions were believable and she was a fairly complex character, I also think Dunmore was trying to do too much with her. Not only is Annabelle trying to balance her studies and her activism while struggling with poverty, but she also has a secret from her past which must be dealt with. Personally, I found it all a little much. I think Annabelle’s past and her financial obligations to her cousin could have been cut, placing more emphasis on the pressures of staying in school or becoming destitute. The conflict for her, then, would be something like the risks that come with being an independent woman, and how her entanglement with the Duke raises new risks.

Sebastian, our hero, in interesting in that he is stoic and single-minded without being a huge jerk. He’s completely obsessed with winning back his family’s estate, and he lets that obsession compromise his political and moral beliefs (though not to the point where he’s openly hostile towards women or anything like that - more like he’s willing to support the Tory party because he has been promised the return of his estate if they win the election). I liked that much of his personal growth had to do with deciding what it was he valued more: his family’s reputation or his personal happiness and being on the right side of history.

Supporting characters were fun and enriched the narrative. Annabelle’s suffragette friends were a lovely support system, and I adored the moments when they rallied to help Annabelle in moments of trouble. Sebastian’s brother, Peregrine, was a nice foil to the Duke and I liked that he was irresponsible and impulsive without being a total rake. Jenkins, Annabelle’s professor, was also an interesting character to have in the mix, especially when he became more involved in creating points of tension towards the end, and I liked that he was bookish and eccentric without being cold and self-important.

Romance: Annabelle and Sebastian’s romance is... ok. There were things about it I liked, and things I found frustrating. I really liked their banter and that they were intellectual matches for each other. I also liked that the barrier to them being together was rooted in class and the conflict between personal desire and family obligation. I also appreciated that the romance seemed to build naturally; while physical attraction was present, it wasn’t like Sebastian saw her and popped a boner and that’s what set everything off. Their relationship developed slower and I found it much more believable than some other romances.

What I didn’t like, however, was that after about the book’s halfway point, the relationship seemed to plateau and it became a matter of Annabelle and Sebastian splitting up, chancing upon each other in public, feelings erupt, then they do something intimate and split up again. I would have much rather have had something like a clean break at the 3/4 mark in the book: the two realize they can’t be together in the way they want, so Annabelle leaves and focuses on her activism/studies. During that time, things happen that challenge Sebastian’s commitment to his family legacy, but he doesn’t go seek Annabelle out. Maybe Annabelle instead gets an offer that would make her more financially stable (or more secure in her place at Oxford), so then she can go back to Sebastian, etc etc (I’m thinking about how the class barrier is handled in Jane Eyre here, if you can’t tell). It would have gotten rid of the annoying miscommunication incident towards the end, and instead would have forced some more meaningful development and not a “will they or won’t they” string of events.

TL;DR: Bringing Down the Duke is a bit of a narrative mess, but nevertheless fun and entertaining. With likeable characters, a believable romance, and meaningful themes, I would recommend this book for those just starting out in romance or to those who want romances written with contemporary readers (and sensibilities) in mind.

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erin-bo-berin · 4 years

Text

Darkest Storms & Brightest Rainbows (Part 1)

MASTERLIST

Part 2

Part 3

Hard Love (unoffical part 4)

Finally, the first part of my “Cat fic” is here! I kept some lines and plot lines from the show, but I also added some different elements. For example, there’s a lot of scenes/references from Entropy and Date Night later on, but I didn’t include much from Red Light. You’ll soon see why.

I began this at the end of last year and didn’t think it would see the light of day as it wasn’t going anywhere. But after some inspiration, I finally finished it. I decided to break it into three parts in honor of the three Cat episodes. Besides, if I had wrote one long fic it would’ve probably been around 15k words. Anyway, this way I can leave you guys hanging in suspense for a little bit (mwhaha 😏). Lastly, I just wanted to say I chose this title for this 3-parter because the characters go through some dark storms but also experience some bright rainbows along the way throughout this story. Enough of my rambling, I hope you all enjoy. 🥰

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (part 1 only has some angst)

Word Count: 4,143

It’s truly fascinating how one small drop can create a ripple in the water.

That was what meeting Spencer Reid was like.

It was a typical day at work at the coffee shop you’d been employed at for almost a year. Life had slowly been getting somewhat back to normal for you. It had been a hard previous year when you lost both parents to a car crash. Living alone was difficult, but you were making it work.

It was like a breath of fresh air to find work in a DC neighborhood cafe. You loved being able to form relationships with some frequent customers and hear about their days; it was surprisingly very cathartic to connect with so many people after feeling so much loss.

There had been a small breather between waves of numerous customers when he had first appeared at your counter for a coffee.

His order was just as unique as he was; coffee with whole milk and a little bit of honey.

He was cute. He was really cute.

His shaggy brown hair was probably just a touch too long and in need of a cut, but his loose curls made it work and it looked good on him. He had light eyes that would shift from green to brown, depending on how the sun shone through the window next to the counter and a smile so bright it rivaled the sun’s rays.

Something else you’d noticed, he was tall. Possibly 6 feet, if you were to guess. With a lean frame and a slight shyness about him, you were instantly intrigued.

You saw him more often, never managing to get his name, but managing to pick up the tiniest details about him.

There was a slight cleft to his chin, a shadow of a feature that was dominant in some others, but only was fully shown on him at certain angles.

The same went for the chameleon like dimples he sported, only showing up now and then. Every time, they made your stomach flutter, just about as much as he did.

He had a smattering of freckles that you could mainly see only up close. Not the usual freckles that would be across the bridge of the nose and cheeks on an average person, but random ones. A few under the outer corner of one eye, a lone one on the far side of his forehead, one on the side of his cheek, just along his cheekbone, another larger one on the opposite side just underneath his earlobe, plus many more tiny ones scattered everywhere.

Everything about him was unique.

His hands were large and gentle, always carefully handing you money for his drink and taking his order from you.

He was sweet and always polite, asking you how your day was going, wishing you a good day when he left.

He also had these small habits of licking his lips or squinting his eyes just the tiniest bit, without even being aware of the actions.

It was actually a bit pathetic how much you’d learned about this stranger yet couldn’t even muster up the courage to ask for his name.

It was one day, maybe six months after you’d first met the handsome stranger when you decided to take a chance.

He’d come in bright and early before 8 am dressed in gray dress pants, a purple dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a two toned purple tie. Slung across his body and resting on his hip was his usual tan satchel that you’d seen him with every day. You didn’t even have a clue what his job was.

“Morning,” he greeted with a bright smile.

You greeted him back, automatically reaching for his coffee that’d you’d been in the midst of preparing.

“Large coffee, whole milk and honey?”

“As always,” he chuckled.

Unlike other larger chains, it wasn’t a normal thing to label a person’s drink with their name, so it wasn’t easy to find out his name; hence why you still hadn’t learned it.

You were fastening the lid, about to hand it to him when you asked.

“Um, just out of curiosity, who would this coffee be labeled for?”

The minute the words were out of your mouth you wanted to take them back. It sounded so awkward and weird. Labeled for? You wanted to hit yourself.

A small smile tugged on his lips.

“Spencer. Nice to meet you—” he paused, waiting for you to fill in with your name.

“Y/N.”

He took his drink, turning to leave before pausing.

“Have a great day, Y/N.”

Less than a month later, you’d gone on your first date with Spencer.

•

Three years later, life looked a lot different.

You no longer worked at the coffee shop, but now worked from home. It took a little time, but you eventually found out you had a passion for being a social media manager for different brands. You loved social media and posting content for brands was rather fun.

You and Spencer had hit it off during that first date, considering you’d been dating for almost three years now.

As much as you missed your previous work family, you had a big new family that you’d come to be an (unofficial) part of, within these last few years.

You had finally found out after a few dates that Spencer worked for the FBI in a unit called the Behavioral Analysis Unit as a profiler; a position that uses an art of studying behavior and a lot of psychology to catch killers. It was interesting, but dangerous work. It did come with some good things though, like a work family that was like a real family. You, too, had grown close to his team members through the last few years. They were like the family you had desperately needed since your parents’ passing.

It wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows in the BAU between the long hours and dangerous cases, but you were always there for Spencer. You were so proud of him and impressed by how good he was at his job; you were also proud to call him your boyfriend.

Recently, the BAU was dealing with a group of assassins, some that were hired through the deepest parts of the dark web. It had begun with one hit man that specialized in making his hits look like accidents. He had been seeking revenge on his customers and that led to the BAU discovering that there were a whole network of hitmen, each known for their own method of killing.

There was a chemist.

A sniper.

A bomber.

And the deadliest of them all, Ms. .45.

A black widow, Spencer called her.

She’d been the only one to evade capture and Spencer was going to be the one to lure her out.

You were freaked, to put it mildly. Just from what Spencer had told you about this woman, you knew dangerous didn’t even begin to describe her.

Unlike her former “co-workers”, she liked to be up close and personal with her targets. She played her games and when she was done, she’d shoot them without a morsel of guilt to drag her conscious down.

“Spencer, I really don’t think you should do this.”

You were sitting on the bed, watching him loosen his tie as he simultaneously told you about this case and changed out of his work clothes.

“Y/N, it’s better if I do it,” he said, turning to face you, his tie now hanging undone around his neck.

“Why you though?”

It wasn’t often that you argued and you couldn’t exactly count this as a fight, but you both definitely stood on opposite sides of this matter.

“I’m the closest to her age on the team. If anything goes wrong, she’ll be most likely to negotiate with a peer.”

“But Spencer,” you frowned, “I don’t like the sound of how dangerous she is. If she believes that you’re a client, she could kill you.”

“We aren’t going to let it get that far,” he assured, sitting down on the side of the bed, next to you.

“I just worry about you, always being in dangerous situations. I know it’s just a part of dating someone who works in your profession, but what if something happens to you?”

You can’t help the tiny crack of emotion in your voice and he pulls you into his arms.

“Nothing will happen to me, okay?”

You nodded into his chest and he pulled back, frowning at you.

“I don’t like to see you sad. I want to see that pretty smile of yours.”

His fingers tickled your side and you tried to hold back the laugh bubbling in your throat. You were extremely ticklish and he only ever used that against you at a time like this.

“Stop,” you squealed, trying to wriggle away from his touch, but he kept tickling you.

“Nope, not a chance,” he grinned.

You fell back on the bed, laughing and squirming as he continued his tickle torture.

“There we go,” he smiled, satisfied, “There’s that smile.”

You grinned more shyly as he cupped your face with his hand and kissed you gently.

“Just be safe, okay?”

“Always.”

He kissed you again, his lips parting from yours to trail down your jaw to your neck.

“Is this your way of distracting me?” you chuckled.

“Hmm, maybe,” he smirked.

“No complaints from this corner.”

His lips returned to yours, kissing you with such intensity, it left you breathless for a moment. Your lips moved with his, your hands tangled in his hair.

The rest of the evening was spent doing nothing other than a little fooling around.

•

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Garcia asked.

On the screen of her computer you saw Spencer entering the restaurant and speaking to the hostess before being seated.

“I’m sure,” came a moment later.

“We’ll protect him Y/N.”

This statement came from Aaron Hotchner—Hotch for short—, Spencer’s boss. You were grateful that Hotch had even let you be here, yet still the dread twisted in your stomach.

Garcia had hacked into the cameras to allow you three to see what was going on during this take down. Spencer sat facing the camera.

Only moments after he’d been seated at the table did a petite woman walk up.

She was slim with a short, angled cut. Her dark hair seemed to be in perfect place, just like the fake smile she was showing. She was dressed in a form fitting teal, sleeveless dress. The bottom was embellished in some sort of sparkling beads or perhaps rhinestones. She looked harmless enough, but you knew better. Looks could be very deceiving.

“Reid, we have you over her left shoulder. Do you copy?”

You watch as your boyfriend briefly glances straight towards the camera and taps a quick, stealthy answer on the table, with two fingers.

“I already hate her,” you glowered at the screen, watching as her hand lingered on his arm, seduction written all over her face.

“Put the claws away tiger,” Penelope muttered.

“So, how far along is your wife?” the hit woman you now know was named Cat, asked.

You watch Spencer swallow nervously, playing the part of an apprehensive first time customer.

“A few months. Do you, uh mind if we don’t talk about her?”

Cat was quiet for a moment. You can’t see her face, but somehow you just know she’s studying him.

“Let me see your ring.”

He furrowed his brows, but took it off handing it to her.

“You say you’ve been married for four years, right Spencer?” She studies the band, turning it over in her hand.

“Yeah.”

“For a 24 karat ring, it sure looks rather cheap. Apparently she loves you as much as you love her,” she tossed the ring on the table with a clank.

“Also, if it were four years old, it’d look more worn, don’t you think?”

You hear a click over the audio. It sounded suspiciously like a gun cocking and your eyes widened in horror.

Penelope gasped.

“Is that what I think it was?”

“Yes,” Hotch answered her, “She knows.”

“You’re not married Spencer.” Her gun was pointing at him under the table, unbeknownst to the other diners in the restaurant.

“And guess what? I didn’t walk into your trap. You walked into mine.”

“Oh no,” Penelope breathed.

“I’ve got a gun pointed at your crotch right now, Spencer. What’s to stop me from taking you and the little ones out right now? It’d be such a shame; doesn’t Y/N want kids?”

“Hotch,” you growled, “He didn’t sign up for this.”

“He knows what he’s doing. Let him handle this. If it truly becomes a dire situation, we have backup in there with him.”

You pick at your nails, tuning back into Spencer and Cat’s conversation.

He ignored her remark, continuing to stare her down.

“You honestly think I’m dumb enough to waltz in here thinking you’re just another deadbeat asshole that’s tired of his wife? I know way more than you think I do. The BAU is the only one that got this close to us. But I’m still the only one left,” she smirked.

“Doesn’t mean anything. I’m good at what I do,” Spencer retorted.

“Tell me. Are you this cocky with Y/N?”

Your eyes narrowed, glaring at the screen.

“I’d love to shove my foot right up her-”

“Y/N,” Hotch chided.

“Sorry.”

She’d scooted around the booth closer to him, her hand sliding into his suit jacket and down his button down shirt. You couldn’t clearly see what she was doing, but you got the general idea. He jumped when her hand brushed his crotch before reaching into the waist of his pants, pulling out his gun with a smirk.

“So tell me, did you actually knock her up or was that just part of your cover? I mean unless you’re here to put a hit on her which is totally fine by me. I’m not one for commitment either.”

“You leave her out of this,” he growled, glaring at her.

“I bet you’re wondering how I know about her, right? Probably the same way I know that Blondie over there is part of your team, just waiting to take me down. Am I right?”

Spencer stayed quiet, his gaze hard on her.

“Do me a favor and tell her to take a hike will you?”

“Stand down,” Hotch says from next to you. You know enough about the plan to know that the entire team can hear messages from him here at the BAU.

You watched as JJ set the drink she’d been sipping on, down on the bar. She’d dressed in leather pants, a low cut black top with a quarter length sleeved, maroon fur jacket over it to appear as just another fancy dinner guest. She passed their table before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Thanks for playing, sweetie,” Cat smiled at her disappearing form.

“Now, tell me more about yourself Spencer. Why don’t you?”

Cat rested her chin in her hand and watched him, her gun laying by her side where she could have easy access to it.

“Don’t you already know all about me?”

“True,” she made a face, “Then tell me all about me.”

“Well, for one, you’re quite loquacious.”

“I’m gonna pretend that means sexy,” she grinned flirtatiously.

“Gag me with a spoon,” you mumbled.

“Now, like I said,” Cat continued, “Tell me about me.”

“You’re a psychopath that runs a different course than the rest of your fellow hit men. You like to be up close and personal, watch men lie and try to seduce them all before turning on them and killing them. Which in itself speaks to many deep rooted issues.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m just another woman with daddy issues?”

“You said it, not me.”

“So, how exactly did you find me?” She rested her chin on her laced fingers and cocked her head at him.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course.”

“Fine. It all started unraveling when we first took down what we thought was a lone hit man. One who specified in making hits look like accidents.”

You can hear Spencer still talking through the monitor as you paced back and forth behind Hotch and Garcia, your nerves getting the best of you.

You jump when you hear loud feedback from the mic.

“What was that?”

“She muffled the mic. We lost audio,” Penelope grimaced.

On the screen, you can see Cat’s hand on his tie, thumb over the microphone, her mouth moving as she says something to Spencer. He turns in the direction where Rossi was slyly approaching their table.

With a few words that were unheard to the three of you, Rossi backed off, heading towards the kitchen.

“She caught on to Dave being there too,” Hotch mumbled.

“Hotch, this is not going as you planned, is it?”

Your question remained unanswered and by the way his posture remained rigid you knew you were right. That did little to reassure you.

“Entropy reigns supreme in this whole situation,” you grumbled.

You looked over and saw Hotch and Garcia staring at you quizzically.

“What? Isn’t another definition for that, lack of order or predictability or gradual decline into disorder?”

Hotch arched an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe I used it wrong. I’ve heard Spencer use it before. This is why he’s the genius and not me.”

Nothing else was said on the matter as you three’s attention was turned back to the screen where Cat was talking to Spencer again.

“I’ll let that slide considering I learned something important about you.”

“What’s that?” Spencer questioned.

“Your backup. I’ve flushed them out. It’s just you and me now.”

“Guess again, bitch,” you mumbled.

You knew, as well as the rest of the team, that Tara and Morgan were still in there.

“I know you’re stalling, but why?”

“Cause I know there has to be a pretty impressive crowd of agents out front, just waiting to take me down.”

“You’d be correct,” Spencer deadpanned.

“Which is why you’re going to walk me out of here. I get away with no issues and no one gets hurt. If not,” she paused.

She ran her fingertips over the gun that she’d moved to the table, just in his line of sight.

“I have a fully loaded gun that can do quite some damage.”

“You won’t do it though,” he challenged.

“Oh wouldn’t I?”

“No because shooting up a restaurant isn’t your style. You’re more calculated than that. You like less mess, more mind games.”

“So you do understand me, Spencer,” she smirked, “Then you’d understand that I need you to call off all the FBI agents so I can leave quietly.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Spencer shrugged, not breaking his eye contact from her, “I’m not letting you walk out of here if I have to hold you down myself.”

“Would you hold me down and leave bruises that wouldn’t go away?” she purred.

“Is that what you want?”

“I bet that’s what Y/N wants,” Garcia mumbled.

You opened your mouth to respond, not sure if she meant you doing bodily harm to Cat or your wanting Spencer to do that to you.

“Focus,” Hotch reprimanded.

“No, I want the agents cleared.” Her hand tightened on her piece.

“Everyone stand down,” Hotch ordered, “We let her walk. Reid let her go.”

“Well?” Cat pressed.

You saw him bite his lip, clearly trying to make up his mind what to do.

“Reid. Let her go.”

“Spencer?”

Cat was getting annoyed, that much you could tell and you knew she was definitely a person you didn’t piss off.

“Fine, you can go.”

She gathered her things, standing up to leave.

“But you won’t,” Spencer said.

She turned, gazing at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I found your father,” Spencer challenged.

“Reid, what are you doing?” Hotch asked, glancing at Garcia who just shrugged in response.

“Spencer, no,” you whispered, anxiety flooding your senses.

He was playing with fire and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to get burned.

“Tell me where he is,” Cat demanded.

“Sit down and I will.”

You glance at the two next to you.

“This wasn’t part of the plan, was it?”

“No,” came the terse answer from Hotch.

You see her sit once again across from Spencer.

“To prepare for tonight, I had to do my research on you,” he started.

“Is that so?”

“Lewis, Morgan, try to clear out the restaurant as subtly as possible. If this goes wrong, she could start shooting. I don’t want any injuries on my conscience tonight,” Hotch commanded.

You didn’t see their movement on the screen, but within a few minutes there were more than the normal amount of waiters moving along the tables.

“I found your father Cat,” Spencer continued, in effort to distract her.

“You’re lying.”

“Does it look like I’m lying?”

“No, but I know you are because I never mentioned that I found him myself. He’s been dead for years, Spencer.”

You saw her reach for her gun at the exact moment a commotion towards the front of the restaurant broke out. You couldn’t see on screen what was happening, but it was all the distraction she needed.

Hotch was barking orders and you heard Spencer shouting something to Morgan.

It was later you found out that against Lewis and Morgan’s wishes, someone—most likely a waiter—had started freaking out. Whether that caused the following events to happen or not you would never know, but it sure didn’t help them either.

“Oh my god,” Penelope gasped.

Your eyes were glued to the screen and the horrible events that were beginning to unfold.

Cat had Spencer by the arm and her gun was pointed directly at him. She had him in her claws and she wasn’t about to let him go without a fight.

“Get everyone out of here!” Spencer hollered.

You heard the rest of the people fleeing the dining room, Tara aiding them, but you didn’t take your eyes off of Cat and Spencer.

“Well lookie here,” she grinned up at Spencer, “Back where we started. You and me and a gun.”

“We can talk this out,” Morgan said, slowly approaching, his gun still aimed Cat's way.

“I don’t know Agent Morgan,” she smirked, “I don’t like liars. How do I know that Spencer is true to his word? He’s already lied once.”

“Let him go and we’ll talk,” Morgan said.

“It’s too late for that.”

A loud crash came from the front of the restaurant. Distraction number two. You couldn’t tell if it had been planned by Cat or not, either way, it was her perfect moment to strike.

Multiple gunshots sounded.

Time slowed down.

Penelope cried out.

Hotch cursed.

You fell to your knees.

In a split second Cat had shot Spencer and he went down, bright red blood beginning to stain his dress shirt.

Shots were fired from Morgan’s gun. Tara went running after Cat, Morgan went running to Spencer’s side.

There was commotion on the screen. Tara came back in from the direction of the kitchen where Cat had run. Luck must have been on her side because she had disappeared into the night.

Everything changed in one quick moment.

Spencer had been shot and Cat had gotten away.

•

You had no memory of how you’d managed to get from the BAU to the hospital, but here you were, fidgeting in a chair, tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even had a chance to see him before you got to the hospital and you were wracked with worry with how he was.

The last thing you remembered was falling to the floor, your head feeling woozy as you tried to process what was unfolding before your eyes.

Spencer had been rushed into emergency surgery and you waited anxiously with the rest of the team in the waiting room. You were positive you hadn’t stopped shaking since you heard the gun go off.

The awful sound rang in your ears and every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Spencer falling to the ground, blood soaking his shirt.

You looked up when you heard the click of heels and saw JJ coming back with an update on Spencer. The look on her face sent a feeling of cold, icy, fear through your body.

“He didn’t make it,” she whispered.

A buzzing sound rang in your ears and you were sure you’d heard wrong.

“What?” you croaked.

“Spencer’s gone,” she choked out.

The guttural sobs that came from deep within you didn’t even sound human. Your anger and your pain melted into one.

Cat Adams would pay for this.

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214 notes · View notes

wbqotd · 4 years

Note

What could you do for time or days if people live underground with out a Sun to help with time?

Sorry this one took so long to answer. I hope it’s still relevant to you! My advice is under a cut this time since there was a lot to say.

I think there’s a lot of ways you could take this without breaking readers’ suspension of disbelief.

When it comes down to it people still need to sleep and eat at fairly regular intervals. Whether or not you have hours or minutes to measure time with, you can still conceptualise time though patterns of sleeping and eating. A ‘day’ could simply be the period of time a person is awake for after a long period of deep sleep. A ‘morning’ can still be the period of time between waking and a midday meal. Likewise, an ‘afternoon’ can be the period of time between the midday meal and the last meal of the day. That’s not to say you have to make three meals a day and eight hours of unbroken sleep the norm. You could have people eat four meals a day and have a siesta in the middle of the day or make segmented sleep and two meals a day the norm. As long as there’s some kind of pattern, you can use it to split time into pieces.

There’s been a number of studies involving sticking people in caves/underground bunkers and seeing what it does to their circadian rhythms and perception of time. It’s been a while (nearly ten years) since I studied the subject so take this with a big pinch of salt but if I remember correctly one of the big studies (Mills, 1974) suggested that most people will adopt a sleep/wake cycle of just over just under 25 hours when left in the dark without any way of measuring time. I’m sceptical about how applicable the results of studies involving isolated individuals or small groups who’ve lived above ground for most of their lives and are used to a 24-hour day are to a whole society of people living underground for generations. And I’m sure there are criticisms to be made about the reliability and validity of these studies. But I wanted to mention it because it’s somewhere to start if you want some science to base this on.

Of course, on its own, the sleep/eating patterns thing really only works on an individual level. It’s hard to organise a society if your only concept of time is ‘in the morning’ or ‘after lunch’ because even when everyone in a society has a siesta and three meals a day people aren’t going to be doing everything at the same time every day. Such a society could be fun to explore. I imagine people would have to live in small close-knit communities, where everyone you know lives within walking distance and it’s normal to knock on your neighbour’s door if you need something at any time. It’s hard to organise large scale societies without a standardised way of measuring time - imagine trying to run a business or plan a wedding or use public transport without it. Your culture might also place more empathise on certain events then we do. A baby’s first steps might be more important than reaching a first birthday. Menarche might be the indicator that someone is old enough to drink or get married or enter a legal contract. Perhaps a couple can’t divorce unless they’ve lived in separate dwellings for the length of at least one pregnancy, as opposed to something arbitrary like five years?

If you did want to look into real societies that don’t/didn’t have a calendar/clock system, I’d start by researching the Amondawa people. Again, it’s not a perfect parallel and you’ve got to be very very careful about generalising the ‘findings’ that come (Eurocentric) studies of one group of people to other populations, but it’s something to look into if you’re interested.

Now, to answer your actual question: You’ve got a couple of different ways of measuring time without the sun.

Firstly, you could base your measurements of time on natural phenomena. A ‘new year’ could be indicated by something like plants/fungi blooming or fruiting, the mating season of a particular animal, the migration of an animal that lives underground, or an underground lake filling up.

Here’s an example of how something like this might work: Every spring the sun melts the snow on the surface. Water starts to seep into the ground, slowly at first and then faster as the world above gets warmer. You get lakes and streams and waterfalls in the summer. Until eventually all the snow is gone and the streams begin to dry up and the lakes become more shallow. The new year is marked by the return of the first trickle of water in a particular passageway where some legendary event was rumoured to have taken place aeons ago. Once there’s water spotted in that passage, planting season begins because it’s not long before the lake will be full and that can be used to water all those fungi your population relies on for food.

If you use a natural event to mark a new year it’s unlikely that it’ll match up exactly to one of our years or that the length of a year will be exactly equal every year. It also leaves a lot of room for something to go wrong, which can be fun from a writer’s perspective because it can create problems for your characters or inspire further world-building.

Going back to the above example: Imagine this is your system and a volcano went off and covered the Earth with a cloud of ash. The snow doesn’t melt that year. Those underground lakes and passageways don’t fill up. Planting season never comes or perhaps it’s started too late. There’s famine. People turn on each other. Maybe they have to invade another settlement or abandon everything they know for a better life? Or perhaps they run out of safe drinking water before they run out of food? Diseases caused by drinking unsafe water run rampant and kill off most of your population before starvation is an issue…. Things like this can be a part of your plot, but they can also be a part of your backstory or world’s history. If something like that happened previously in your setting it could have changed your fictional society dramatically. Maybe a particular sort of person was blamed for the disaster and that type of person is still persecuted? Maybe your people became more warlike and had to raid other settlements to survive? Maybe efforts were concentrated on developing better irrigation methods? Maybe someone invented a new way of cleaning water? Maybe religious rituals developed in hopes of preventing it from happening again? There’s a lot of ways you take it, whether it happened in the distant past or living memory.

For measuring smaller units of time you can still use most of the methods we use above ground: water clocks, oil/candle clocks, hourglasses, mechanical clocks, quartz clocks and atomic clocks should all still work. I won’t go into detail about these since this already a long post and it’s easy to find more information about them. But I will say that if you use one of the above types of clocks, the units don’t have to match up to our own. You can create fictional units of time if you want to. But you can also translate those units to existing compatible units of time. I’d personally make the units comparable to our own. E.G. I wouldn’t have a character take a nap, eat a meal and take their pet glow-worm for a walk and then call the time-frame they did it in ‘a minute’ or ‘a month’ (unless some magic was at work) but you could call it an hour even it’s not 3,600 atomic seconds long.

If you get creative, you might even find a way for the above to work for longer periods of time. Imagine a giant hourglass that’s turned seven times a ‘year’ or a ‘week’ to mark which god you should be praying to. Or maybe you’ve got a giant mechanical clock in the centre of the town square that’s been counting down to something and chimes every 42 million heartbeats or so. It’s been there so long that no one can remember it’s original purpose but all those small hands are sure helpful for arranging meetups.

Lastly, you can create periods of time through artificial means. The obvious method would be through artificial lighting but sound could work too or even something like set communal eating times can help you keep everyone on a similar schedule. For example, you could dim a large outdoor light for so many hours a day Or you could cut off power completely encourage people to sleep during those hours. You could even have a large city with limited power light up half the city for 13 or so hours while the other half is in darkness and then redirect the power supply so it’s the other way around for the next 13 hours. It could be a lot of fun writing something set in place where you can walk from day to night at will.

I hope that’s given you something to work with. Good luck with your project!

#acecove #writing advice #not a qotd #mod post #death tw

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dreamcatcherfication · 4 years

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Skin Deep - Results Pending

Wow guys! This is the last chapter of Skin Deep before the epilogue, I can’t believe we made it this far! I was going to post this on Friday, but I got backed up working on requests and updating other fics, but we finally made it. Again, I’m very bad at creating an accurate court setting, but I tried my best. Hope you all enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my singular braincell is on holiday.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Talk of sexual abuse, references to panic attacks, attempted assault

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Miss Parr, please sit down,” Judge Cranmer shot her a glare, “We cannot introduce any more evidence into this case unless it has been processed by both parties. You should have brought your evidence to court before we began the trial.”

Stalking forward to the middle of the court, Cathy slammed her phone down in front of Maria and Joan. “That would’ve been impossible your Honor, because this evidence - this conversation happened not even five minutes ago. And I would say it’s a confession, if anything.”

Suddenly, the entire court was interested in what Cathy had to say. “A confession? From who?” Maria asked, picking up the phone.

“From Edmund Howard,” Cathy pointed a finger at the man, waiting for the dramatic gasps of the jury. Instead, she was met with an awkward silence as everyone waited for more information. Slowly dropping her hand with a sheepish shrug, Cathy returned her attention to Cranmer. “If you let us present this to the court, we can get the truth.”

Joan stood up. “We vouch for her,” she shot Cathy an indistinguishable glance out of the corner of her eye. “Whatever the contents of this so-called confession, we will take responsibility for it.”

Rubbing his eyes, Cranmer sighed. “I’m not supposed to be doing this, but fine. Present your evidence to the court.”

“Your Honor, they can’t do that -” Culpeper’s lawyer argued, practically rocketing out of his chair.

Silencing the lawyer with the wave of his hand, Cranmer commanded the court with his voice, “I am allowing it, and you will allow it too, unless there’s something you wish to hide?”

Swallowing thickly, the lawyer shook his head, “No, your Honor,” and sat back down. Culpeper’s eyes hadn’t left Kit, who was curled up in her seat next to Maria and Joan. Cathy noticed the way her eyes roamed over the cracks in the wood table, pretending as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

Tension spread throughout the entire court as Cathy opened her phone, pulling up the video of Edmund and Kit’s argument. When she got a nod of confirmation from Joan and Maria, she hit play.

“Thomas and Francis were doing as I told them. The only way you would ever win is if I do all the hard work for you.”

“You what?”

“We needed that prize money, and the only way you were going to win it was if the judges had a reason to pick you. It’s surprisingly easy to whore you out to these men.”

“It’s my body! You can’t sell me to them for money.”

“I can, I will, and you won’t say anything about it.”

There was silence throughout the court as everyone stared, their eyes divided between Cathy, Kit, and Edmund himself. Everyone was frozen, unsure of what to do. Breaking the moment of suspension, Kit scrambled out of her seat and sprinted out of the room, escaping from the court. Cathy could’ve sworn there were tears in the girl’s eyes, but Kit was gone too quickly to be sure. Without waiting another moment, Anna was out of her seat as well, chasing after Kit while calling her name.

With that, the room fell into chaos. Cranmer tried to scream order, but everyone was freaking out. Aragon and Jane were standing up, looking around for any way to help. Anne was making her way over to Cathy, pushing through jurors who were all demanding to speak to the judge or Culpeper’s lawyer. Culpeper and Dereham were hovering over Culpeper’s lawyer, yelling at him unintelligibly over the sounds of the room. Maria and Joan were trying to get Cranmer’s attention as they held Cathy’s phone between them. “You bitch!” sounded over the waves of voices in the room.

Spinning around, Cathy backed up in fear as Edmund started approaching her. “You’re going to regret this,” he hissed, beelining towards Cathy. Edmund raised his fist, ready to strike Cathy as she looked for any escape from the raging man. The courtroom was crowded and already in chaos, she had nowhere to go.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Anne threatened, stepping in front of Cathy, her eyebrows set in a hard line. “One step closer and I’ll beat you to death you bastard. Do you know what you’ve done to my cousin? Do you know?!”

Edmund didn’t seem the least bit bothered by Anne’s threats. Without a second thought, he hurled a fist at Anne, hoping to smack her right in the cheek. Before his fist could connect, he was yanked back by two sets of hands. Cathy sighed in relief as Maggie and Bessie hauled Edmund away from the two teens. “Let go of me!” Edmund demanded, thrashing in their grips.

As Maggie handcuffed him, Bessie explained, “You’re under arrest Mr. Howard, and you’ve only made it worse by attempting to assault a minor, not to mention the abuse you’ve inflicted upon your own daughter. I suggest letting us handle this unless you want things to get much worse for you.”

Reluctantly, Edmund stopped struggling and let the cops drag him away, but not before shooting one last glare at Cathy and Anne. “Are you okay?” Anne spun around, pulling Cathy into a hug. “What you did was stupid, you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to help Kit. She deserves to be heard, you know that better than anyone Anne,” Cathy mumbled into Anne’s shoulder.

Leaning away from the hug, Anne sighed, her eyes drooping. “I know. Kit deserves the world, and everything keeps getting taken away from her. Believe me, I’m so happy that you can prove those bastards are at fault but… I just don’t want you getting hurt in the process.”

“Well I’m not hurt now, am I?” Cathy quirked an eyebrow, a soft smile splayed across her lips.

Rolling her eyes, Anne gave Cathy a short kiss on the cheek. “Don’t get cheeky with me, Miss Parr.”

Not needing to respond, Cathy simply sunk back into Anne’s arms, relaxing in another hug. A cough brought them back into reality. Turning their attention to Joan, the person who had coughed, Anne slipped her hand into Cathy’s, squeezing it tightly. “What you did was incredibly irresponsible,” Joan started, although her tone wasn’t too serious. Maria was standing off to the side, conversing with Aragon while Jane kept walking towards the door before stopping indecisively. “But I’m glad you did it anyway. None of us wanted to see Katherine suffer, and you may just be the one who’s ended this,” Joan explained.

Cathy tried to focus on her hand in Anne’s. “It’s not a big deal. Anyone would have done it.”

“But you did it,” Maria joined the conversation, her eyes drifting away from Aragon. Jane was still pacing, but Aragon followed Maria into the conversation. She and Anne shared a knowing look, but they said nothing. “I wouldn’t recommend doing something like that again Miss Parr, but thank you.”

Noticing Jane’s pacing, Cathy quickly replied, “You’re welcome,” and broke away from the group. She moved over to Jane and stopped in front of her, forcing the other girl to stop moving around. “Is everything alright Jane?”

“I’m worried about Kit - Katherine,” she admitted.

“You can call her Kit you know,” Cathy offered lightly. “You won’t get yelled at for calling her by a nickname.”

Chuckling nervously, Jane nodded. “Right, well Kit disappeared with Anna and neither of them have come back. I know I’m not particularly close to either of them but I need to know that they’re okay.”

“You aren’t restricted from caring about them,” Cathy was confused by Jane’s perspective. Why did Jane feel like she couldn’t care about Kit and Anna? “Jane, you know you’re allowed to care about people you don’t know, right?”

“Right,” Jane mirrored Cathy, putting on an uncomfortable grin.

Pushing her confusion away, Cathy told herself it wasn’t her place to delve into any of Jane’s inner turmoil. If Jane was going to talk about something, she was going to talk about. If she never did, Cathy didn’t need to know. “Why don’t you come with me to go find them?”

Eyes lighting up, Jane nodded. “Can I?”

“Sure. Let’s get Aragon and Anne to come too,” Cathy tilted her head towards where the two girls were talking with Maria and Joan.

When Anne saw Cathy coming back to her, she opened her arms as an invitation for her girlfriend. “Jane and I are going to go find Kit and Anna, would you want to come with us?” Cathy asked, resting her head on Anne’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we need to find Kit. She has Anna, which is good, but I want to be there for her,” Anne replied, running her hand through Cathy’s hair. The writer wasn’t afraid to admit that she loved when Anne played with her hair, and it never failed to calm down her anxieties.

“Can I come as well?” Aragon asked, watching Cathy and Anne.

When Anne agreed, Maria and Joan took that as their cue to leave. They dismissed the four girls and went to go talk to Judge Cranmer who was already preparing a sentence for Culpeper, Dereham, and Edmund. The four girls made their way out of the courtroom, looking around for any trace of Kit or Anna.

Anne pulled out her phone and dialed Anna’s number, hoping she would pick up. After a couple of rings, the other line picked up with, “Anne? Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine Anna, but we’re trying to find you and Kitty.”

There was an inhale of realization from across the line. “Oh, we’re behind the building. Kit was having a panic attack earlier.”

“But she’s fine now, right!” Anne gasped, starting to jog towards the back doors. Cathy, Jane, and Aragon followed closely behind, listening as best they could to the conversation.

The quartet could practically hear Anna’s shrug over the line. “As fine as she can be. Kit’s not having a panic attack anymore, and that’s what’s most important.”

Anne hung up the phone as she burst out of the doors, spotting Anna and Kitty a few metres away. The four girls jogged over to them, Anne crouching down beside her cousin. Cathy stayed standing with Aragon and Jane, making sure they wouldn’t crowd Kit. “Hey KitKat, how are you doing?” Anne asked as a starting point.

Kit was hugging Anna, her breathing abnormal, but not enough to be a cause for concern. “I’m fine Anne,” she promised, pushing away the worry. “But hearing that conversation… it was a lot.”

Cathy cringed. “I’m sorry Kit, but I had to. Otherwise -”

“Otherwise they would’ve won and no one would ever know that I’m not a whore.”

Aragon frowned from beside Cathy. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Being blunt sometimes helps,” Anna explained, rubbing Kit’s knuckles with her thumb. It was a soothing gesture Cathy had seen her use for as long as they had known each other.

Kit nodded at Anna’s explanation. “She’s right. The sooner I face the reality of it, the sooner I can get up and move on.”

“That’s a nice way of thinking,” Jane spoke up, her voice hollow.

For some reason, Kit must have sensed the same thing Cathy had in Jane. “Thank you for coming out here Jane.”

Jane averted her eyes, staring at the ground. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m not okay,” Kit admitted. “But I will be. One day.”

For the first time in a long time, Kit’s smile was completely genuine.

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Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree@boleynhowards@annabanana2401@babeebobo@dont-lose-your-queerhead@everything-insanity@mindless-pidgeon@i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six@thedemidisaster@its-totes-gods-will

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #sixfic #skin deep #last part before the epilogue!#beauty queens au #i don't know what other tags to include here #men are assholes #that's a common theme #there's a lot of cursing #well not a ton #but enough that i should warn you #tw: cursing #and then all the trigger warnings at the top

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the-desolated-quill · 4 years

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The Mandalorian Represents Everything I Hate About Disney - Quill’s Scribbles

This post contains spoilers for the first two episodes, if you care about that sort of thing.

Yes, after four months of wallowing in a depressive funk, your lord and saviour the Desolated Quill has returned to (hopefully) start posting semi-regularly again. And what better way to mark my return than by kicking my favourite dead horse Disney.

So what have you been doing since this coronavirus epidemic started? I for one have been spending most of the time trying and failing to persuade my mother not to get a Disney+ subscription. The rise of streaming TV services represent the very height of greed and stupidity within the film and television industry. See it’s not enough for these studios to share their profits with the likes of Netflix and Amazon. Rampant capitalism dictates that they must have every conceivable penny imaginable, hence why we’re seeing the slow gating off of content and the emergence of new streaming platforms like Disney+, Starzplay, DC Universe, HBO Max, Apple TV and YouTube. Yes, even Youtube has a subscription service now. It’s like that episode of Oprah Winfrey. You get a streaming service, you get a streaming service, you get a streaming service, EVERYBODY gets a streaming service! Except the problem is that the reason why Netflix and Amazon took off was because it was convenient to get all of our entertainment from one location. Now with content spread out across multiple platforms, customers are having to pick and choose who to subscribe to as only the very rich can afford to subscribe to everyone. It’s ostensibly a televisual arms race coupled with classism. Make no mistake, the motivation behind the rise of streaming services is not motivated by customer satisfaction nor artistic merit, but rather corporate greed. And Disney is by far the worst offender. There is literally not a single reason why they couldn’t have kept their stuff on Netflix. The only reason Disney+ exists is so that they can get their grubby mitts on even more money than they already have (which is quite a lot).

So my mum got a Disney+ subscription because she never fucking listens to a single word I say and we ended up sitting down to watch the first two episodes of The Mandalorian. The new Star Wars TV spinoff created by Iron Man director Jon Favreau set in-between Return of The Jedi and The Force Awakens.

As much as I have complaints about the way Disney have handled the Star Wars license, I confess I was curious and dare I say even excited about The Mandalorian when it was first announced. I’ve gone on record to say that I didn’t want nor care about a sequel trilogy because, as far as I was concerned, Return Of The Jedi was a perfect ending to the Skywalker saga and we didn’t need to see what happened next. That’s like wondering what happens after Cinderella married Prince Charming. We don’t need to see it. They lived happily ever after. The end. The spinoffs, on the other hand, including the Anthology films and The Mandalorian, I was much more excited for because it was an opportunity to tell different kinds of stories and explore areas of the Star Wars universe we wouldn’t normally get to see in the main films. If the Star Wars franchise has to be expanded upon, I’d rather it was like this. Lets move away from the Skywalkers and the Jedi and concentrate on other stuff. So a space western set after the original trilogy depicting a lone bounty hunter trying to make ends meet after the fall of the Empire was very appealing to me.

Sadly that’s not what I got.

I’ll just be blunt. I saw the first two episodes of The Mandalorian and I didn’t like it very much. It’s not bad as such. It’s competently made. I’ve seen some behind the scenes videos and there’s clearly a lot of talented people working hard on this show. That being said, the story of The Mandalorian is... well... kind of rubbish.

So lets talk about it, shall we?

As far as I’m concerned there are three reasons why The Mandalorian doesn’t work. The first is the complete lack of tension. It’s a problem that’s plagued Star Wars since The Phantom Menace. Despite all the challenges and obstacles that are thrown at the characters, it never seems to affect them or even pose much of a threat. We saw that with Anakin Skywalker in the prequels and Rey in the sequels, and it’s the same here. The Mandalorian is this amazing dude who’s skilled and awesome and the bestest fighter ever. He can take out all these bad guys single-handedly and can do all these cool things. Except none of that is interesting. It’s boring. People like to defend Rey saying she’s no worse than Luke Skywalker, but that’s not true because, unlike Rey, Luke isn’t perfect. He struggles, he makes mistakes, and he grows and evolves over time. Rey is just this perfect woman who can do no wrong and who can pull any random superpower out of her arse for the sake of plot convenience. It’s just bad writing. While The Mandalorian never gets quite as bad as that, there does seem to be this obsession with making this awesome, cool dude, but that ends up coming at the cost of any tension or threat the story could have.

In the first episode, we see his bounty explore his ship. This could have been an opportunity to create some tension. Maybe he could try and sabotage the ship. Or try to escape. Complicate matters for the Mandalorian. But no. The Mandalorian knew what the guy was doing and instantly recaptures him. Same goes for a scene later on when the Mandalorian and some killer robot has to fight a whole army of mercenaries. How are they going to get out of this? Very easily it turns out. Not only do they beat them within a couple of minutes, the mercenaries are also clearly the worst shots ever. The robot is like seven foot tall and moving at the speed of frozen treacle, and yet they don’t manage to land a single hit on the guy. Where’s the suspense? Where’s the danger? By the end of the first episode, I was just bored senseless.

Which leads me to my second biggest problem. The total lack of originality. Is it really too much to ask for someone to actually come up with their own fucking ideas? Literally everything in The Mandalorian is basically nicked wholesale from other, better Star Wars films. The first two planets we visit in episode one are basically variations on Tatooine with the same architecture and everything. There’s even that eye thing that pops out of the door like in Jabba’s Palalce in Return Of The Jedi. Then, to add insult to injury, we then end up on the actual Tatooine (or at least what I assume is the actual Tatooine. I mean there are Jawas). The Mandalorian is like this Frankenstein assembly of Star Wars memorabilia. Everything has been taken from other films when it makes no sense to do so. The Mandalorian freezes his bounties in carbonite, except that was a process specific to Cloud City. Darth Vader improvised a trap using what was at hand to try and catch Luke. He wasn’t even sure if Luke would survive the freezing process, hence why they tested it on Han Solo first. The only reason it’s here in The Mandalorian is for fanwank purposes. Same goes for the stormtroopers. Why the fuck are there stormtroopers?! Remember where we are in the Star Wars story. The Empire has fallen and the New Republic is taking over. Imperialists are going to be pretty unpopular, wouldn’t you say? So why the fuck would you have stormtroopers wandering around in full armour out in the open? It makes zero sense. Even the killer robot is copied whole sale from IG-88 from Empire Strikes Back. Why don’t you come up with your own killer robot design?

Then there’s this little shit:

Yeah, I kind of knew this was coming because I’ve seen the GIFs circulating on Tumblr beforehand, which kind of ruined the ending of the first episode somewhat. But even if I didn’t know this was coming, the ‘twist’ still wouldn’t work because it’s not really a twist if you think about it. What actually happens? The Mandalorian finds the Child and it’s an eighty year old gremlin. Okay. So what? The only reason it’s ‘shocking’ is because it vaguely looks like Yoda. Other than that, who gives a shit? It doesn’t really mean anything.

Which leads me to my third biggest problem. Why should I give a shit about anything that’s going on? What are the stakes? There aren’t any. We don’t know anything about the Mandalorian and we have no reason to care about him or his job. We don’t know anything about the Child or why he’s so important. The only reason people are interested is because it reminds them of the other films. As a story in and of itself, there’s simply nothing there. I don’t know who any of these people are, what they want, why they want it and what will happen if they fail. So why should I give a shit? And nowhere is this more apparent than in the second episode. The Jawas agree to give the Mandalorian’s ship parts back if he retrieves an egg from some monster. Why do they want the egg? I don’t know. I literally have no idea. They never say. And yet that’s what the entire episode revolves around. This isn’t a story. It’s just random stuff happening. And what’s more it has nothing to do with the overall plot. You can literally cut out the entirety of episode two and it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference. Same is true of that annoying fuckface that keeps insisting ‘he has spoken’ (I swear by the end I wanted to kick that old git in the face, he irritated me so much). We waste the second half of the first episode watching the Mandalorian piss about with some toad/horse thing only to then make his way back to the ship on foot in episode two. So what was the fucking point of that then? Why is anything fucking happening?

And this is what perfectly sums up the problems with Star Wars under Disney’s regime. If anything The Mandalorian acts as a microcosm for everything that’s wrong with the current movies and indeed Disney as a company. These movies aren’t movies. They’re products designed to pander to a gullible fanbase’s nostalgia. The entire sequel trilogy was basically the original trilogy repackaged and resold with nothing unique or original to offer. And the reason The Rise Of Skywalker felt so unsatisfying to everyone watching was because the story was never planned. They pivoted it to whatever the focus groups enjoyed about the previous film. That’s why the whole trilogy felt so uneven and directionless. And it’s not just Star Wars. Obviously there’s the live action remakes of the Renaissance movies, now with added nods and winks to meta commentary without actually addressing actual complaints people may have had. This also extends to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. How many of these fucking movies have we had where the bad guy tries to take over the world with an Infinity Stone? Thor: The Dark World and Guardians Of The Galaxy are pretty much the exact same movie. Spider-Man: Far From Home, a film co-produced with Sony, is ostensibly a rehash of Iron Man 3, which in turn had recycled a lot of its story from Pixar’s The Incredibles, another Disney product. Even Black Panther, a movie I absolutely adore, borrows its basic plot structure from Thor: Ragnarok. Disney are so unoriginal and so lazy that they have effectively started cannibalising themselves. The Mandalorian is just the latest example of this. At least with Black Panther you had a talented filmmaker like Ryan Coogler who was able to take these borrowed elements and spin it into something more meaningful and with more emotional impact. At least there was some actual passion put into that film.

People are no doubt going to have a go at me saying I’m being too harsh and that I haven’t given The Mandalorian a fair chance. Well I’m sorry, but I’ve given it two episodes and I’m bored out of my mind. It’s a cynically produced, uninspired load of waffle. I’m not going to waste my time sitting through more episodes in the hopes that it might get good later on. That’s not how good storytelling is supposed to work and it sickens me to think that this has pretty much become the new normal for this industry.

#the mandalorian #star wars #disney+#anti disney #quill's scribbles

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star-spangled-eyes · 4 years

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Winner Take All: Part 6: The Counter

This alternate universe fan fiction uses characters created and owned by Pixelberry Studios. Character names, descriptions and likenesses are owned by Pixelberry Studios. The MC, Bragnae Bennett, and story is created and owned by this author.

Book: The Royal Romance (Alternate Universe)

Alternate Universe Theme: Senior Year of College for Drake, Leo, Bragnae and Madeleine in the United States

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC / Leo Reese x MC (Bragnae Bennett – *pronounced Brawn-yah)

Warnings for this series: NSFW, Adult content, suggestive and strong language, sex

Series Description: Bragnae Bennett sought adventure when she first went off to college. Now, navigating through her senior year, she finds herself befriending two gorgeous guys, Drake Walker and Leo Reese, who engage in a seemingly innocent bet with her during a game of pool that leads to a surprising threesome.

Their intimate evening prompts deeper feelings than they all expected to arise, and Bragnae is suddenly swept up in both of their charms, unique to each man himself. Through the pressures of college, work and maintaining a social life, which man will prevail and win Bragnae's heart?

Master List

A/N: I just wanted to let all my readers know how much I appreciate you! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this little series of mine. If I don’t get a chance to respond to your comments and reblogs, please know that I’m still reading and loving them! Life is pretty busy on my end, so sometimes I don’t always have the opportunity, but I DO appreciate it. I just wanted you to know. So, thank you. Muah! 💋

Warnings for this chapter: NSFW, Adult content, suggestive and strong language, sexual content

Word Count for this chapter: 5957 (Oops… okay, this time… Drake made me do it!)

Setting for this chapter: Drake takes Bragnae out to dinner to explain things.

Permatags: @burnsoslow @cora-nova @dcbbw @thorfosterlove @emceesynonymroll @edgiestwinter @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @msjr0119 @notoriouscs @drakewalker04 @pedudley @desiree-0816 @choices-lurker @kingliam2019 @loveellamae @drakexnadira @flutistbyday2020 @indiana-jr @moonlightgem7

Series Tags: @yukinagato2012 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @nomadics-stuff @ravenpuff02 @texaskitten30 @themadhatter1029 @randomfandomteacher @queenjilian @princessleac1 @seriouslybadchoices

Part 6: The Counter

It had just rained, so the streets were full of puddles as Bragnae made her way over to Mario’s, the Italian restaurant Drake had suggested. She chose to meet him there to avoid replicating what happened with Leo. She wanted to find her own way there and back. Not that she’d be sleeping with Drake tonight, but she didn’t want to be reliant on a man to get her home if things didn’t pan out.

She moved swiftly in her skinny jeans and crimson blouse, and avoided a giant puddle as to save her stilettos from getting drenched. A few patrons walked out of restaurant avoiding the awning over the door that dripped with excess rain water.

As she walked inside, Drake was standing there. He turned to offer her a bright smile. “Hi, Bragnae.”

A sudden chill shot down her spine as he said her name. She wasn’t ‘babe’ or ‘sweetheart’, or any other nickname that Leo liked to use. She was just herself. And she liked that Drake used her name. It meant more.

“Hi, Drake.” She couldn’t help the smile she gave him in return. He looked incredibly handsome with dark jeans and a black polo with the logo of his hockey team embroidered on it. Drake wasn’t the type to get all dressed up, but he was resourceful and could pull off any outfit he could find.

“You look nice,” he told her before planting a sweet kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you,” she blushed a little. “So do you.”

“Our table is ready.” Drake allowed the hostess to seat them, but stayed near Bragnae on the way over. “I requested a round booth. I hope that’s okay.”

She looked to the corner of the room where they were headed, and saw a big red padded booth in the shape of a half circle. They’d be sitting close, and she couldn’t say that she minded. With whatever Drake had to say, he wanted her to be near him when he said it. It was intimate to say the least.

The hostess gave them both menus and allowed them to settle in. Drake slid in next to Bragnae with about three inches between them. She could smell his woodsy cologne, and it was both comforting and ruggedly sensual. They quickly decided on their meals and made small talk until the waitress came back to take their order.

Drake took a sip of the whiskey the waitress had brought him, getting comfortable in the booth. He shifted slightly to face her. “So, thanks again for letting me take you out tonight. I really wanted to explain more of why I wanted to take things slow with you.”

Bragnae drank the red wine from her stemmed glass as he spoke. “I must admit, I’m quite curious as to your definition of slow considering what we’ve already done.” She gave him a cheeky smile.

Drake chuckled. “I know. It must seem ridiculous to you, but there is a legitimate reason behind it.” He paused to take her in. “I told you that I liked you even before the night of the bet. If I would have acted sooner, we never would have had that threesome with Leo. I would have taken you out like I am now, we would have dated and hopefully gotten along enough that you’d want to be in a relationship with me.”

He inhaled a breath before taking another drink. “I don’t like to share, Bragnae. Women, I mean. The truth is, what I wanted to tell you last Friday was that I want to be with you. Not just for sex, but for much more – a deep, meaningful connection. Hell, we’ve been friends for the better part of a year now. We’ve gotten to know each other on a casual level, and now we have a physical bond as well.”

His hand covered hers in her lap. “I want it all. The friendship, the sex, the relationship. You are an amazing person. Funny. Smart. Sexy. I love hanging out with you, and I think about you more than you know.”

Drake’s words floored her. Everything he was offering her, she wanted. A feeling of regret washed over her that they hadn’t had the opportunity to discuss this on Friday before she kicked him out. If she had allowed him to stay, maybe she wouldn’t have gone out with Leo the next night. Maybe she wouldn’t have made the mistake of liking him more than she had only to get her heart broken.

“I thought I might have to compete with Leo for you. He seemed to be into you as well. If I could ask… is he trying to date you, too?”

She thought about her answer. “No.” She wasn’t lying – Leo wasn’t actively trying to date her, but she also wasn’t ready to tell him of her mistake. Bragnae wasn’t over that hurt yet, plus it wasn’t as if she and Drake were in an exclusive relationship when she slept with Leo. She knew Drake deserved to know at some point, but that was her recent past to share when she was ready.

Drake let out a relieved laugh. “That’s good,” he said, scooting closer. “I want to be with you, and see where things go. And if it feels right, then maybe we’d move forward together.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face as he stroked her cheek. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that all of this means more to me than just being physical. Just because we started out with a threesome, doesn’t mean I see you as only a girl who does that.” He swallowed, wetting his lips. His eyes imploring her to understand his careful words. “I care about you, Bragnae.”

Wow. He was being honest and direct, and that was refreshing. “I didn’t think you wanted all of that.” She was stunned, still trying to wrap her mind around his professed feelings.

“That’s why I wanted to be clear about this because up until now, you might have thought that I only wanted to get into your pants. And that wasn’t true at all.” He leaned in a bit, staring deeply into her eyes. His hand still cupping her cheek.

Drake was always someone Bragnae could see herself with. He was kind, motivated, and down to earth. So many days had passed since they met that she wanted him to end the suspense and ask her out. So many times she wanted to feel his lips against hers. And when she finally did… when he held her in his big, strong arms, filling her up with undeniable pleasure, she crashed hard into him emotionally as well as physically.

“That’s what I’ve always wanted. Everything you just said.” She felt herself becoming gradually closer to him. Their faces mere inches apart.

He smiled. “Bragnae, I’d consider myself a lucky man if you’d let me be the one to give you what you wanted.” His eyes dropped to her lips as he whispered. “Will you let me do that?”

He had captivated her in every sense. His words surrounded her like a warm, cozy blanket. His gentle touch soothed her aching heart. His incredible scent intoxicated her. She knew then there were no games being played. He was genuine. He wanted her in every way, and she knew she couldn’t deny him.

Bragnae nodded. Her eyes locked on his mouth as he pulled her into a tender kiss. She sank into his soft lips, feeling the warmth and veracity of his affectionate gesture. Drake had kept a consistent dreamy pace that made the world seem to disappear around them. That was, until she heard the sound of plates being set on their table. They broke apart immediately. Feeling a bit embarrassed, Bragnae avoided eye contact with the waitress, smiling down at the table instead. Drake was an amazing kisser, and she couldn’t wait to experience that again.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waitress said before leaving them.

“Thank you,” Drake replied. He looked over at Bragnae, bringing her hand to his lips with a sweet kiss. He smiled and gave her a wink. She blushed as she straightened in her seat to begin eating.

After they finished eating and paying for their meal, Drake took Bragnae’s hand in his and walked out of the restaurant.

“Where’d you park?” He asked.

“Oh, my car’s being a little sketchy right now, so I just grabbed an Uber.”

“My truck is just down the street. Mind if I give you a lift back home?”

She grinned. “Not at all. Thank you.”

After a short walk, Drake opened the passenger door to his truck waiting for her to get into the cab before closing the door. Her heart swelled at his chivalry. This is what being treated with respect feels like. She was jubilant and filled with resonating peace. Walking over to the driver’s side, Drake climbed into the vehicle and started the engine.

As they started the short drive back to her apartment, he reached over to entwine his fingers with hers again.

“I can take a look at your car sometime, if you want,” he told her.

She loved the feeling of their hands combined. Reveled in it even. “I didn’t know you were a mechanic,” she teased.

He chuckled lightly. “I’m not, but I have some skills in that area. I’m pretty good with my hands.” He squeezed hers for emphasis.

She glanced at him, biting her lower lip. “Good to know.” Turning back to look at the street ahead, she smiled. The thought of his hands working magic on her body was thrilling. Bragnae could feel him looking at her, which made her blush even more.

Soon, they arrived at her place. He opened her door again, and she thanked him. They walked hand in hand up to her apartment, when Bragnae turned her back to the door to face him. She wanted to invite him in, but it was a school night, and she intended to not rush them along. Even though opposing thoughts were currently consuming her mind.

“I had a nice time tonight, Drake. Thank you for inviting me out.”

He casually moved in closer, not quite touching her. “Me too. I’m really looking forward to spending more time with you this way.”

The heat in his eyes mixed with sincerity drew her in immediately. Looping her arms around his neck, she stood on her toes to meet him with an eager kiss – the one she wanted to continue since dinner. His hands found her hips and migrated to the small of her back as he gradually pushed her against the door. She moaned in approval as Drake deepened the kiss by parting her lips with his tongue. Warmth started to build between her legs when his mouth moved more ardently with hers.

Lost in the moment, Bragnae suddenly felt the support against her back give way. She stumbled backwards a bit, but Drake caught her before she fell.

“Looks like the date went well,” Madeleine said from within the apartment.

Breathing heavily from being startled, Bragnae looked over her shoulder at her friend who was standing with a hand on her hip and a teasing smirk on her face.

“It was going well until you opened the door.” Half mocking, half serious, she turned back to Drake who just smiled. “I better call it a night.”

He nodded. “Okay. We should do something this weekend though. You can come over to my place. Maybe we can finish that movie.” He flashed a devilish grin.

“I’d like that.” Blatantly aware that Madeleine was still standing there watching them, she wasn’t sure if Drake wanted her to kiss him or not. Luckily he decided that for her by placing a sweet but brief kiss on her lips.

“I’ll call you. Goodnight ladies.”

Bragnae watched him walk down the sidewalk to his truck before heading inside.

“I take it he’s back in your good graces?” Madeleine asked.

Leaning back against the closed door with a dreamy smile on her face, she barely replied. “He sure is.”

It worked out that Bragnae was given Sunday night off from work. In an effort to spend more time with Drake without worrying about homework that was due by Monday, she got it finished ahead of time. She was due at his place by three o’clock. Excited to be embarking on a new adventure for herself, she couldn’t ignore the nervous feeling she had on her way over to his apartment. His shared apartment…with Leo.

It had been a full week, and she still hadn’t heard from him. Not that she expected to. What Madeleine said about him made sense even though she refused to believe it at first. She felt a connection between them – more than the physical. There was definitely something more. She was still confused, and admittedly still hurt by his actions, but she had to move on from that. It would be tough not to have the closure she desired, but she had no choice.

Bragnae hoped Leo wouldn’t be around, so she could relax and avoid the awkwardness that would certainly be present between them if they came face to face.

She had been to their place before a few times to hang out. It was smaller than hers and Maddie’s, and set up like a bachelor pad. Beer was always stocked in the fridge, paper plates and plastic utensils were used instead of real ones, and there was always some sort of clothing strewn about. She noticed Leo was more so the messy one. Drake wasn’t a clean freak, but he always seemed to have his things in order.

She knocked on the door, and soon Drake answered it.

“Hey, Bennett.” He smiled. “Come on in.”

As she stepped over the threshold, Drake pulled her into his arms and kissed her firmly. She leaned into him indulging in his lips. It was the sort of kiss that let her know he was happy to see her, and she loved that. When she pulled away, she looked up into his warm eyes feeling comfortable and content.

“Well, hello there.” She kissed him again.

“You want something to drink? Water? Beer?”

She giggled at his options. “Water is just fine. I have a feeling I’m going to need it if we keep kissing like that.”

“Water it is.” Smirking, he turned towards the kitchen. “I’ll grab this, and we can watch TV in my room.”

“Okay.” She walked further into his apartment, cautiously. She looked down the hallway and saw the door to Leo’s room was shut. He normally shut his door whether he was there or not, so she was still in the dark. She decided to wait there until Drake returned.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the bottle of water. He had grabbed one for himself as well. Then, he led them to his bedroom.

Drake allowed her to step in first. It had a lot of gray tones. His royal purple hockey jersey was displayed over his desk chair, a hockey stick was propped up in the corner of his room, and his skates leaned against the door of his closet. He had a poster of The Rolling Stones on his wall, and another of Wayne Gretsky – ‘The Great One’ of professional hockey. Rock n’ Roll and hockey. Two of his favorite things. She liked that about him, plus enjoyed those things as well.

His queen sized bed was made, and it actually smelled good in his room. He hadn’t lit a candle or anything, but just his natural scent mixed with residual cologne collected in the air. It was comforting, much like it was when she had opportunities to nuzzle in close to him.

He sat down on the bed wearing a t-shirt with his hockey team logo on it, and athletic pants. She loved the casual look on him.

“Please join me,” he told her, waving his hand over his bed.

She removed her shoes and climbed towards the head of the bed where he was already propped up against the pillows with a remote in his hand. Bragnae settled in, leaving a few inches of space between them.

“So, you want to finish The Hangover, or find something else to watch?”

“We can finish the movie. It’s a good one.”

He pulled up Netflix on his 40 inch flat screen that was mounted on the wall, and navigated to the film. He fast forwarded it to the point where they had stopped it a week ago, and pressed play. Drake tossed the remote on the bed side table, and situated himself closer to Bragnae.

Their legs touched, which was already thrilling, but then he rested his hand on her thigh, folding his other arm behind his head. He was getting comfortable, so she decided she would too. Shifting a bit on her side, she curled up next to him, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

Even though they had once been far more intimate, for some reason now she felt a little awkward. She fidgeted with her hands, unsure of where to rest them before finally deciding to tuck them up against his side.

But then Drake shifted. “Here, let’s make this easier.” He moved to face her more with an arm behind her head and his other hand resting on her leg again. “Better?”

She smiled. “Yes. Thank you.”

They both turned to watch the movie, but after a minute or so Bragnae looked back at Drake. His side profile was just as stunning as his front. She admired his strong jaw line and longer brown hair that swept back casually, yet still looked like it was meant to be styled that way. She knew he didn’t fuss over his hair. He wasn’t the type of guy to care, but luckily for him his hair naturally looked good no matter what he did. Even when it was a sweaty mess when he took his helmet off after a hockey game, he still looked desirable. How was that fair?

He must have felt her gaze on him, so he turned to her again. “The movie is that way, Bennett,” he teased.

“Maybe I found something better than caught my attention.” A flirtatious grin appeared across her lips.

He gave her a heated look full of excitement. “Oh, so you want to add a little romance to this comedy, then?” He slid a hand to her side as he pressed his body against hers.

Bragnae scooted herself down a bit so she was laying flatter than before. “You could say that.” Cupping the back of his neck, she brought him down to her as they kissed through smiling lips. Her giggle instantly transformed into a moan when he readjusted to cover her body more with his. Their legs entwined. Their chests connected.

Drake’s fingers found the inch of bare skin between her waistband and shirt, and glided his calloused fingertips over her. His touch inspired goosebumps to prickle up throughout her body. And then, there was his tongue. Slow. Methodic. Sensual. He really did know how to use it in a way that made her melt.

She let her fingers dive into his chestnut locks before skimming over his impressive bicep. She squeezed his muscle, delighting in its firmness. Both of their breaths came fast as the passionate moment grew. After another moment, Drake slowed his kisses and pulled up.

He peered over her hungrily. “What do you want, Bragnae?”

She knew he was asking how far she wanted to go in that moment. Thankfully, he was letting her decide that today instead of halting them altogether. Although she ached for him to crawl inside her again, she didn’t want to rush things. She did that with Leo, and it didn’t turn out well. However, she figured she’d offer up a fun alternative.

“Show me what you can do with your hands, and then I’ll show you what I can do with mine.”

He looked at her another moment until the corners of his mouth curled up mischievously. “Okay. I can definitely work with that.” He bent down to capture her lips again. There was a renewed sense of anticipation now that they both knew the parameters.

Once they got back into the groove, Drake’s hand traveled beneath her shirt until he reached the curve of her breast. He massaged her as she exhaled whimpering moans. Her bra stood in his way, but it still felt nice to have him touch her there.

His hand gradually left her chest while he continued to adore her with his mouth. Her body trembled as his fingers dipped below the elastic of her pants, grazing over her mound until he located her clit. Even over her silky panties, she could feel every tantalizing circle he made around her sensitive parts. Her breath caught in her throat as he finally hit the position with his fingers that made her toes curl. He applied pressure and rubbed against her slowly at first.

Drake pulled up to watch her as he increased his speed. She already missed his lips, but now she was able to concentrate on the pleasure he was providing. The warmth was building fast. She clutched his arm, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt sleeve. Her breath quickened.

“Yes, right there,” she whispered desperately. Her eyes closed to help bring the moment closer. She bit her lip in anticipation, and then she found her release. Bragnae’s back arched, bringing her chin up and exposing her neck as she moaned satisfyingly.

Drake slowed his movements to help her ride out the wave, and then rested his hand against her heat as she grew silent. She exhaled shuddering breaths as she floated in the pleasure high he put her in. He bent down to brush his soft lips against her neck as she recovered from her orgasm.

When she relaxed her body again, she pulled him in for a tender kiss. His playful hand wasn’t finished yet, however. As they continued to kiss, he breached the top of her panty line, and sank his hand against her skin. She throbbed against him savoring the skin to skin contact. He had bypassed her swollen clit and instead circled her soaked entrance.

“I did tell you that I was good with my hands, didn’t I?” He asked confidently.

She exhaled a breathy giggle before focusing on his fingers again.

Drake groaned as he dipped his middle finger inside her. She lazily thrusted her hips to feel him more. After a few slow pumps, his finger dragged up to her clit again, using her own natural wetness as lubrication as he rubbed against her skin once more.

The sensitivity had lessened, so as he touched her now the residual pleasure from before pushed her closer to the edge. He had risen up again, letting his eyes rake over her body as he worked. She braced herself on his arm as her body writhed under his determined fondling. This time, the release unfolded rapidly, causing her head to jerk up as she reached the peak of the mountain.

Her cries this time were even louder than before – the blissful feeling was more intense as well. An involuntary smile came to her lips as she looked up at him.

“It’s such a turn on to watch you come,” he said with a smirk.

Feeling incredibly relaxed and satisfied, she giggled. “Well, thank you for making me do it twice. That was very generous of you.”

He slid his hand out of her panties and rested it on her hip. “I’ll make you come as often as you want me to. Seeing you enjoy that pleasure is worth any effort on my part.”

He had a way with words that made her swoon. She pulled him in for another kiss before gently pushing Drake to his back. She threw a leg over his, still on her side, running a hand against his solid chest. Desperate to see his chiseled physique again, she lifted his shirt to reveal his washboard abs.

“I love your muscles.” She outlined his abs with a single finger.

“That’s what working out and playing hockey will do to you.” His eyes followed her hand.

Bragnae peeked at the growing bulge beyond his waist. Grateful he was wearing pants that allowed her easy access, she let her hand slide teasingly slow until she reached his waistband. As she ran a finger beneath it and across his stomach, Drake’s abs flexed.

She locked her eyes with his and smiled before dipping below his pants and briefs to palm his smooth shaft that was hard and ready for her. She wrapped her delicate fingers around him watching his eyes grow darker and his mouth fall open as his breath hitched.

Bragnae pushed his pants down a bit, allowing his erection to spring up freely. He was long and thick – her fingers couldn’t quite reach around his circumference. And it was beautiful. His cock, as lengthy as it was, stood straight, and was perfectly shaped. She had heard stories from Maddie about some awful looking dicks, but the ones she had seen lately, both Leo and Drake’s, were breathtaking. Both by sight and by the way they felt inside her.

In an effort to get a better angle, Bragnae moved to straddle his thighs so she was perched right in front of his cock. She looked at Drake as she took ahold of him again, this time with both hands. His eyes flicked between hers and what she was doing.

With both hands wrapped around him, she began to slowly stroke his shaft up and then down. Drake let out a shuddering breath as she worked in a slight twist of her soft hands paying extra attention to the tip of him. Her long hair rested over one shoulder, falling in her face as she leaned in to increase her speed. She added a slight bounce of her body against his thighs to enhance the experience for him… and herself.

Judging by the tension in his legs, she could tell it felt good, but something inspired her to offer him more. She raised off his legs and scooted her body down a bit as she moved her face closer to his glorious cock. Her eyes locked with his and she saw excitement and desire, but most of all hope that she’d actually go forward on the path her head was taking.

She smiled before lowering her mouth around the tip of him. Still keeping an eye on his face, she watched as his head fell back and his eyes fluttered shut. She had to open her mouth extra wide to really take him in. Using her hands to help stroke him while her mouth and tongue focused on as much of his length as they could, she could hear him breathing heavier now.

“Fuck. You’re really good at that,” he moaned.

Appreciating the validation of her work, she became even more motivated to give him a good show. With her body in a Downward Dog position, her butt stood in the air while her head bobbed up and down. He completely filled her mouth. Her jaw was becoming tired, but she knew it wouldn’t last much longer. Drake had started to thrust his hips beneath her letting her know he was enjoying it.

“That’s it, Bragnae,” he panted. “I’m gonna come.”

Two seconds later, she felt the rush of his hot seed pouring into her mouth. She worked her lips around him until she felt the tension in his body dissipate. Taking every drop he gave her, she swallowed and wiped her mouth before sitting up to face him.

His head was back against the pillows, his eyes shut and the hint of a smile rested on his lips. “Jesus Christ. That felt amazing.” She grinned, tucking him back into his pants.

After another restful moment, his eyes found hers again. “No fair. I didn’t get to use my mouth and tongue.”

She shrugged with a playful smirk. “You gave me two. The least I could do was give you one really good one.”

“I’ll get you next time,” he said with a wink, sitting up to pull her into a crashing kiss. When she pulled away, a surprised expression highlighted her face. “What’s that look for?”

“I just didn’t think you’d want to kiss me after that.” Some of the guys she performed that on in the past had asked her to wash her mouth out first before they kissed again. It didn’t make her feel that great, but she kind of understood why. Although, it never bothered her when they’d want to kiss after reciprocating the effort.

“I’m not one of those assholes.” He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “Plus, there’s a reason why it’s called a job, Bragnae. It’s hard work, and I wanted you to know I appreciated it.”

Smiling, she nuzzled her face against his while he wrapped his arms around her. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I almost unhinged my jaw trying to fit you in.”

Drake laughed. “Well, it worked. It felt incredible, and it was so hot watching you do it.”

“Good.” Feeling pleased with herself and content in his arms, she shifted her head to reach his lips again. She loved the way he kissed so passionately. Even when it was slow and soft, she could feel how heartfelt it was.

“Now, I’m hungry. Want to order Chinese for dinner?”

“Hell yeah!” She excitedly hopped off of him and the bed after he gave her a playful smack on her bottom.

They left his room and went to the kitchen. Drake led her to a drawer that housed menus from various restaurants nearby. Once he retrieved the one he wanted, he splayed the menu over the counter and allowed her to step up to view it.

Bragnae leaned against the counter’s edge looking through the numerous options on the Chinese restaurant’s menu. Drake stood behind her, affectionately keeping her in place with both hands braced on the counter. He was certainly tall enough to look over her shoulder to read at the same time. She liked the feeling of him standing so close and pressing into her. It sent tingles down her spine.

“What sounds good?” He asked, pulling her hair to one side, and laying gentle kisses on her exposed neck.

Her eyes fluttered a bit, and her knees grew weak, but despite the distraction, she steadied herself. “Fried rice is always a good choice.”

“Yeah?” He began to nip at her neck. “With chicken?”

“Mmhmm,” she replied lazily as he kissed the crevice between her neck and jaw.

“What else?”

Her breath quickened. She was enjoying the sensuous movement of his mouth against her skin too much to concentrate on the conversation. Overcome with the urge to kiss him, she spun around and seized his lips. Drake propped her up on the counter, and stood between her widened legs as they kissed more fervently.

“Hey, I got us more beer,” Leo spoke loudly into the apartment as he rounded the corner to the kitchen. “Oh, sorry, bro. I didn’t realize…” his voice trailed off.

Startled by the sound of his voice, Bragnae broke their kiss, and looked behind her to see Leo standing on the other side of the counter. Drake chuckled, but humor was the last thing on her mind. She slid off the counter and faced him. Drake stood behind her again like he did before.

Leo looked stunned. “Bragnae… hi.” It took a long moment before he finally peeled his eyes away from her and landed on Drake instead. “So, are you two a thing, now?” He watched carefully and waited for a response while slowly removing a beer from the case he had just placed on the counter.

Drake squeezed Bragnae’s arm prompting her to look up at him. He smiled and turned back to Leo. “Yeah, I’d say so. A new thing.”

Turning her attention back to Leo, she noticed the muscle in his jaw twitch at Drake’s reply.

Ringing came from Drake’s pocket suddenly, so he retrieved his phone. “It’s my coach. I’ve gotta take this.” He walked off towards the living room leaving Bragnae and Leo to continue staring each other down in the kitchen.

Leo twisted off the cap to the beer in his hand, and took a drink. There was something different in his eyes today compared to the last time she saw him. A week ago, he was avoidant, uncaring and somewhat callous. Now, she saw regret and maybe a little jealousy in his eyes.

Seeing him now made it hurt all over again. She didn’t get the closure she needed from him since he was the one who decided to abruptly end whatever it was that they had without her consent or acceptance. But not wanting him to see that, she decided to take control of the conversation.

“We were about to order Chinese. Do you want some?” Her eyes never left his.

He stood there in contemplative silence for another moment. “No, thanks.” Leo brought the case of beer over to the fridge. After closing the door, he hesitated and opened it again to grab two more beers. “I’m just going to hang out in my room.”

Without another look, he headed off down the hallway to his room, and shut the door behind him. Bragnae fumed inside. He was the one who decided not to hang out with her or call her anymore. So, why the hell was he being so standoffish? What right did he have to still be this self-important? He couldn’t even make small talk with her without running off like the immature little boy that he was.

With her starting to date Drake, she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she’d hang out in their apartment. And Leo would just have to get used to that. She would too, if she were being honest. They were friends before all of this, and now he ruined it. Standing with her back against the counter, she crossed her arms over her chest as she waited for Drake to be done with his phone call.

“Sorry, Bragnae. That was my hockey coach.” Drake set his phone down on the counter, and pulled her in for a sweet kiss, which lifted the raincloud that came in with Leo.

“What did he have to say?”

“He wants me to go to this hockey camp to get ready for the season. Its two weeks long, and about two hours from here.”

“Oh,” she replied. She was disappointed he’d have to be away so soon after they started dating. “When do you have to leave?”

“This Friday after school.”

With the hockey season starting up next month anyway, she figured he’d be busier. “Well, that sounds exciting for you. I’m glad you get to do it, but I’m kind of sad that you’ll be away those two weeks.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her. “Me too. But we’ll make the most of it.”

As she embraced him with her cheek against his chest, Bragnae wondered how much she’d get to talk with Drake while he was away. She even considered driving there in between the weeks he was gone to hang out. Amidst all the positive and healthy plans running through her mind, she still couldn’t escape the awkward encounter with Leo, and trying to assess what it all meant.

#trr #trr choices fanfic #trr drake #trr leo #the royal romance #the royal romance drake #the royal romance fanfic #trr fanfic #drake x mc #drake x bragnae #drake walker #leo reese #bragnae bennett #trr love triangle #TRR Winner Take All Fanfic #italianfood #chinesefood #handy turns to a blowy

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thetypedwriter · 4 years

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The Ruin of Kings Book Review

The Ruin of Kings Book Review by Jenn Lyons

Boy, oh, boy, was this a wild ride.

Those of you who have been following me for a while know that I occasionally delve into adult fiction here and there. I mainly stick to my vegetarian course of YA novels, but every once in a while I can’t help but pick up a slice of bacon, or in this case, an adult fiction book.

Or, even more specifically, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that it’s adult fantasy instead of fiction. High fantasy at that, which is characterized by a whole new world with fantastical elements and not just a novel in the known primary world with fantasy elements.

With that literary lesson out of the way, let me get started.

The Ruin of Kings by Jenn Lyons came recommended by one of my favorite book bloggers, Paperfury. She counted this as one of her most recent book obsessions she couldn’t stop thinking about and in general I trust her judgement (although she was way way off on The Queen of Nothing, yikes).

This massive installment is definitely not the short and sweet page length I’m used to with YA, and neither does it have the comforting and large font that makes me feel like an accomplished reader after just an hour of skimming.

No, this installment is large and beefy and could probably give someone a concussion if you threw it at them, so just keep that in mind.

The whole fantasy revolves around a boy named Khirin. Khirin is your typical fantasy hero, equipped with the luscious blonde hair and the sparkling blue eyes and most importantly, the wickedly sharp tongue reminiscent of a male character from the Cassandra Clare universe.

He’s sharp, he’s witty, he’s charming, and he also has terrible, terrible luck.

Or does he?

When you first meet Khirin he is being sold as a slave to the highest bidder. He’s cold, he’s injured, he’s starving, and he’s broken. You, as a reader at this point, are completely and irrevocably confused.

You’re thinking: Who is this boy? What is happening to him? Why are people betting so much money for him? What’s with this necklace around his neck? Where did he come from? Where are we? What world is this? Where is he going? What the hell is going on???

To say that Lyons starts out strong would be underhanded hyperbole. You are forcibly drop-kicked into the fantasy world of Qurr and its many raging empires and states, and putting them all together is frankly daunting and largely impossible until a good chunk of the book is devoured.

Frankly, I still have trouble figuring out all the locations and gods and god-kings and factions and lore and people and how they’re all related, Game of Thrones style. But that’s part of the fun.

One of my biggest complaints with YA is that the reader is generally treated like they’re pretty stupid.

Often a YA author feels the need to explain every single iteration and modicum of interaction between their characters or spend too much time describing things, and it leaves very little for interpretation or inference on the side of the reader. Lyons is almost the complete opposite, which is as refreshing as it is frustrating.

As you are introduced to Khirin and this gargantuan universe that Lyons has created, you will feel stupid. To be fair, I enjoyed it most of the time. I relished the challenge of learning to differentiate all the different families of the Court of Gems, of distinguishing the Goddess Thaena from the Goddess Tya.

I liked when I was finally able to smugly look at the map at the beginning and recognize all of the city states like Doltar or Kirpis or Manol. I liked when I understood the different races like the Thriss or the vané and the implications of what that meant.

If that was a whole load of word vomit for you, that’s okay.

Again, it’s part of the fun.

What I do want you to get out of this, however, is the knowledge that Lyons has created an expansive universe with multiple creatures, including dragons and witches, rivaling royal families, gods reminiscent of the Greek Gods and their interference with human affairs, a rivaling world split with so many seams that you’re not even sure who to root for, an emperor, magical jewelry, demons and even a dose of piracy and musical competition.

This book honestly has a little of everything — which, to be fair, it should, considering how damn long it takes to get through it’s never-ending pages.

To make this as simplified as possible, the plot goes like this:

Khirin is sold into slavery and finds himself in the hands of a group called the Black Brotherhood. Over time, Khirin learns about this group and their intentions, learns more about himself and the Stone of Shackles (the necklace he wears around his neck), divulges his past and how he got sold into slavery in the first place-his upbringing, his musical talent, his stay at the Blue Palace, his eventual betrayal at the hands of someone he loves.

You learn over the course of each chapter what brought Khirin to his current fate and more of what he is trying to do now,: which is to return home and save the world from the likes of the two main antagonists (although not all of them by any means), Gadrith and Darzin.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that is the most bare- bones summary I have ever written. But honestly, this book is about a hero named Khirin and his adventure to rid the world of evil as he learns about himself and his past.

Like many, many, other books before it, this book explores what it means to be a hero, what it means to be a god, what it means to be involved with the fight of good vs. evil. This book is not special in that sense regarding these themes.

However, there are some really cool aspects of this novel that I thoroughly enjoyed that I’ll relay now that the summary (as condensed as it is, sorry) is out of the way.

The two things I enjoyed most about this book were the writing itself and the POV. Most high fantasy novels that I’ve attempted to read have this ridiculous notion that every character must speak in some dead medieval language rife with historical inaccuracies and banal, clipped speech. Lyons does nothing of the sort.

Her characters are creative and crass and downright funny. The dialogue is immersive and natural and oftentimes, other than the backdrop of a dragon or lizard-people, it felt like two modern-day people were having a conversation, which I greatly appreciated.

Lyons is also a very big fan of building up her writing and then smacking you down at the pinnacle. For example:

“Before us lay the Mother of Trees.

I didn’t understand what I was seeing. I couldn’t comprehend. It just seemed like a humongous wall at first, one that had been built up with palaces and verandas, graceful pavilions, and stained-glass windows glittering like jewels. Only when I looked up could I perceive the sweep of branches, the distance velvet of green leaves. This was a tree to hold up the whole world, the sort of place where Galava must live, if any place were consecrated to her. It seemed ageless and immortal, a tree that had always and would always exist.

Naturally, we were setting it on fire.”

I personally found this style of writing hilarious. Lyons often built up the tension, beauty, or conflict, and then would deliver these one-liners that would leave me gasping with laughter. This creative juxtaposition was super enjoyable and one that made the book a big success for me.

Secondly, while this book is told almost entirely (keyword almost -there are some outlier chapters) from Khirin’s perspective, it technically oscillates between present Khirin and past Khirin.

The whole book switches from one timeline to another every other chapter, with the chapter starting with Khirin being sold into slavery being the “present” and told from Khirin’s first-person POV and then switching the next chapter to his “past” and being told from Khirin’s third-person POV.

I loved this. I thought this was so creative, and up to this point, I have never seen this done in another book. The subtle shift from first to third person every chapter, but still from the perspective of the same character, was so interesting and complex.

I loved that we were simultaneously getting current-day Khirin, but also Khirin from two years ago telling us the events that led up to the present. It was imaginative and intriguing, and I loved trying to fill in the holes before the book presented me with it (which even then was difficult).

In addition, throughout the whole book are also footnotes from another crucial character that offer information, clarification, and also humor. While I’ve primarily read footnotes in academic papers to cite sources or offer commentary, these footnotes were just as fictional as the rest of the story, but offered insight outside of Khirin that was often dripping in sarcasm, irony, or humor.

I thought it was another really creative way for Lyons to get across information without boring everyone half to death or releasing a 100- page guidebook to help you along.

Bottom line, people,: This book isn’t for everyone. High fantasy in general is not for everyone. That’s okay. It’s not usually my taste either, at least not the adult fictional kind, but something about this book really intrigued me.

Moreso than the actual plot, which is confusing, I enjoyed the writing, the suspense, and the act of playing detective. It’s been so long since I’ve read a book that’s made me think this hard, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. That being said, the same praise is a double-edged sword.

If you don’t want to have to think and draw out charts and make graphs on Excel, then perhaps this is not the book for you.

If you don’t like high fantasy or made-up worlds, or very interconnected family dynamics, then this is not the book for you. This book also contains elements that can be triggering to some, like rape, drugs, character death, violence, imprisonment, slavery, etc.

When I say this book has everything, I mean it has everything. And that can be good or bad depending on the person. For me, I liked it. However, I did get frustrated at certain points at the lack of clarification more than once, just for full disclosure.

Recommendation: If you’ve been bereft ever since the Game of Thrones disaster-of-a-finale, then you are not alone. The Ruin of Kings has everything you’ve ever wanted in a high fantasy book: action, kings, queens, palaces, war, dragons, magic and so much more.

This book was creative and funny and complex, and if you’re willing to sink your teeth and time into a universe that demands attention then you’ll find yourself rewarded with a brand-new world to fall in love with and characters that you can’t seem to forget.

Score: 8/10

#the ruin of kings #jenn lyons #popular fiction #books #book blog #book review #fiction #Book Recommendations #booknerd #writing #fantasy #high fantasy

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