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jeonggukookies · 29 days

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crown's kingdom || two

summary: now engaged to prince jungkook, you both must figure a way to make this alliance work while your enemies try to tear it apart.

– genre: royalty!au, enemies to lovers!au, prince!jungkook, queen!reader, arranged marriage - fluff/angst

– word count 4637

– warnings: please read note if you haven't read changes

index || one

“Look what we have here.” Despite your eyes being completely shut, you knew who took a seat next to you on the bench by recognizing his voice. “I want to say what a beautiful dress you have on there, but I’m afraid I have to tell you the truth. Your morning dress looks like a tablecloth for afternoon lunch.”

To start off your mornings, you woke up before the sun, craving to have at least an hour alone in the chapel, free from anyone to interrupt your morning meditation and prayers. It was one of the few times when you were alone, not surrounded by any servants or guards. You were able to find solace—until Jungkook came.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of having your presence near me at this time?” You asked politely, still with your eyes closed and your hands pressed together, fingers pointed upwards, deep in prayer.

For the last week, you and Jungkook had been doing an excellent job avoiding each other despite the public announcement of the engagement. You always tried to make your schedule as busy as it could be, not wanting to spend a second alone with him. You filled your time up with more violin lessons and analyzing war strategies and patterns from your father’s old journal. Eventually, you were going to have to interact with Jungkook and fool everyone that the two of you were in love, but you didn’t expect him to find out about your schedule, taking the time to wake up early to come find you in the prayer room.

“Perhaps the dress would be better as a tablecloth,” he suggested, pulling at the puffy sleeves, attempting to get a rise out of you. “And perhaps, you on that particular table.”

“To the Divine Spirit, please forgive me for all I have sinned and will sin.” Opening your eyes, you smacked Jungkook’s arm, annoyed by his antics. With a smirk on his face, he’s chuckling, satisfied to get a reaction out of you.

“It’s almost six in the morning, and you really want to start off the day by pissing me off?” You gritted through your teeth, trying not to raise your voice. “Can you be a pain in the ass somewhere else? And not in this sacred space? A place where I find peace?”

“I quite believe this is the perfect time and place to do it,” he remarked, trying to hide the mischievous smile on his face. “You have to get used to it if we are to be wed soon.”

“Do not remind me of this terrible tragedy.” You groaned. “May we pray that the fates decree our union not come to pass."

He rolled his eyes, annoyed with your response. “Why do you act like a grandma? No one our age speaks like that or wakes up this early to pray! Just say, ‘God, I hope we don’t marry.’”

“Are the words too big for you to understand?” You pushed your lower lip out, pretending to feel bad for him. “Is that why you were engaged to Comet? The girl whose named after her own country but can’t spell her name without help from her tutors? You know stupid plus stupid doesn’t cancel each other out, right?”

“And you know praying every day isn’t going to erase any of the sins you’ve committed in the past, right?” He mocked. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been the last couple of days, and now I realize that I shouldn’t have gone through so many people to find out that you wake up so early to pray. I should have remembered you were so boring.”

You scoffed. “Wow, you must be really thinking about me all the time? To be asking others about my schedule? To be wondering where I am at? You must not have a life, huh?”

“Alright, it’s already been one week, and I’ve had enough. I don’t think I can handle you for the rest of my life.”

“Then do something about it,” you snapped.

“You don’t think I haven’t?” He snapped back, looking at you with the same amount of anger in his eyes. “What do you think I was trying to do for the last week? While you were hiding away in your room, I was trying to secretly change this alliance. Maybe with your help, I can easily break off the engagement and toss you like a pebble in the lake.”

For a moment, you were offended that you were disposable to him, making it seem like you desperately needed him and his country more than he needed you.

You can play this game too, you thought to yourself.

With your index finger, you gestured for him to come closer to you, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “And if you shall give up the position of ruling two countries, maybe even three one day, would the current King of Aurum be happy with that? Could he let you live in peace if you were to ruin the alliance without his permission?”

Jungkook learned his lesson for the day and finally shut his mouth, letting the devotion area be peaceful for the rest of the morning. He put his hands together, silently mouthing along to some basic scriptures.

“Amen,” you whispered, putting your hands together, ready to medicate and pray next to Jungkook.

_________

Dasher, the new Prince of Cometes, could have gone to command his new military forces, started imposing taxes, or simply have done absolutely nothing as his first task as a royal. Instead, he decided the first thing to do was to go to Aurum to renegotiate their alliance as their circumstances had now changed.

After eating breakfast, you were asked to accompany Jungkook to greet the new prince. His parents thought it was a perfect opportunity to showcase the new alliance between the two countries.

“I’m glad you changed out of that old curtain you had earlier,” Jungkook said when you arrived next to his side. The two of you were outside the palace, waiting for the Cometes’s carriage. “You would have made it seem like I downgraded.”

“Well, I sure did.” You forced a smile, looking straight ahead where the horses were coming at a steady pace a few meters away from you. “Don’t understand why I have to be here like I’m you’re fucking babysitter.”

“Here he comes.” You turned your head to look at Jungkook, and you find him already staring back at you. He was holding his breath, having a tense look on his face. It had been a while since you’ve seen Jungkook look this apprehensive. “Can you do this?”

When the two of you were learning all the types of ballroom dances, Jungkook’s face was always pale before he had to perform and get evaluated by our instructor. You knew it wasn’t because he was ten years old, dancing with a girl; he was a perfectionist, afraid to take the wrong step and embarrass himself in front of everyone.

As he had gotten older, he had done a better job at hiding his anxiety, trying to look like the Golden Prince everyone saw him to be. He’s been doing such a great job, that even you forgot he had the capability to be nervous. He wasn’t just a snarky and egomaniacal prince; Jungkook, too, was a human with fears and imperfections.

“Absolutely.” Without giving you any context, you knew what he was asking. He needed your reassurance—that the two of you could convince the future King of Cometes, that your shared hatred will be hidden by the love of your countries. “Don’t be afraid.”

Before the horses came to a complete stop, Jungkook straightened his posture, taking a deep breath. No longer looking nervous, he looked like he was ready to stand his ground, determined to become one of the best kings.

Stepping out of the carriage, a silver-haired man as tall as Jungkook appeared. The man was wearing a close-fitting gray velvet doublet, embellished with white pearls along the seams. With a black linen shirt underneath, the pearls were able to stand out more, showing everyone his new power.

“Prince Jungkook,” the man greeted. “Well isn't it quite lovely to see you again?”

“And now as equals this time, Prince Dasher,” Jungkook slyly commented. “I hope the ride here wasn’t too terrible with all the rain and mud this season.”

“Not at all.” The man turned his focus on you, looking up and down, trying to analyze who you were to stand so close to the Prince of Aurum. “You must be Queen of Caelestia.”

“Please address me as Y/N,” you said politely. “It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Dasher.”

“As to you, Your Grace.” He took a bow, showing his respects. “The rumors must be true then,” he said. “The two of you are going to wed.”

“Unless you’re here to propose to me, then plans can always be altered and rearranged,” Jungkook joked lightly, trying to ease the mood. You bit your lower lip to hold yourself back from laughing at his attempt. The joke itself wasn’t that funny, but the fact that Jungkook thought it was appropriate to say.

“I can assure you that I will not bore you with a proposal of mine.” Dasher took another look at you and Jungkook. He was trying to read the two of you. “And is your bride joining us for our negotiation?”

“She will not,” Jungkook answered right away, not giving you a second to react. There was some hostility in his voice. “Do you request her presence at our meeting between our two countries?”

“Just interesting that the future queen of Aurum will not be there.” Dasher raised his eyebrows. “Unless…”

“Well, we haven’t even decided on invitations! But I promise you that you’ll be one of the first to receive them.” You paused to look at Jungkook, linking your arm to his. “Isn’t that right, Darling?”

He stared back at your eyes, deeply as if he were trying to your deepest, darkest secrets. Letting a small scoff, he smiled and looked back at Dasher. “Well, now that we got introductions out of the way, why don’t we head towards the affairs room to discuss the future of our people?”

________

With the arrival of Prince Dasher, you were expected to attend the evening activities. Typically, the evening activities were full of entertainment like live music, dancing, theater, and more. They were loud and socially draining at times, but you loved going, seeing it as an opportunity to enrich life and cultivate an appreciation for arts and culture.

When walking into the courtiers’ hall, you can tell the King and Queen of Aurum went the extra mile in making tonight’s activities more lavish than usual, catering to their guests. You noticed how there were more servants around, refilling drinks and replacing empty food trays as quickly as they could. They were even using the fancy china that the Queen rarely used, wanting to keep it in mint condition. There were more musicians hired as well. With more musicians, they were able to proudly and loudly play traditional Cometes music, hoping to make the Cometes people feel at home.

There were more people today, all participating in the elegant court dances, and board games and many were socializing, especially the women, probably hoping to find a suitor among the new guests.

“Queen Y/N.” You turned your head to see Kim Taehyung, a Luxuria ambassador who resided in Aurum Court. “It’s a blessing to see you entertained by tonight’s festivities.”

“Well, that can’t be right.” You took a few steps to be face-to-face with him. “Aren’t you always praying for my downfall?”

For the last two years, Kim Taehyung has been a cunning diplomat. On paper, his presence at court might be to handle situations between his country and Aurum, but really, his true mission was to antagonize you at court. Despite his constant terrorizing, you’ve kept your eye on him, following the rule: Keep your friends close and keep your enemies closer.

He chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t seen you around court to give you my congratulations on your engagement to Jungkook.”

“Thank you, Taehyung.” You forced a smile, and he smiled back.

“And how has this engagement been so far?”

“Quite amazing,” you lied. “Thank you for asking.”

“Is that why everyone is talking about Jungkook and your reluctance to marry each other?” He asked. “You know, Luxuria intelligence predicted this happening years ago. That somehow you would find a way to marry the next King of Aurum. That somehow the alliance between Aurum and Cometes would fall through.”

“If you want to take your anger or frustration out on someone for the sudden change, Prince Dasher is present at court today as well.” You pointed in the direction where Dasher was. “Shall I introduce the two of you and be on my way?”

He took a step closer, trying to intimidate you. “How about instead you go on your way back to Caelestia and abandon this alliance with Aurum?”

“Is that a threat?” You asked, raising your eyebrows and letting out a humorless laugh. “Are you seriously threatening me?”

“Not a threat,” he insisted. “Consider this as….a chance to save your country and people.”

The smile disappeared from your face. You gritted through your teeth, “To save my country and my people, I need to take the chance and marry Jungkook for his armies against YOUR people!”

“Then take the first step and go back home,” he suggested.

“And then how long would Luxuria come after my throne?”

He refused to answer your question, changing the subject immediately. “Do not beg for mercy when I have given you the chance to correct yourself.”

“And have you and your queen considered that mercy doesn’t need to be begged if Luxuria would stop sending its forces to my border?”

He looked around, seeing if anyone was watching your interaction with him. He then smiled. “You may have been safe and across the sea all this time, but do not forget, Queen Y/N, even monarchs cannot escape death.”

For a moment, you froze in place, feeling the anger grow inside your body. From a young age, you were taught that monarchs cannot show their emotions, and they shouldn’t especially show it to their enemies.

Before you could react, Jungkook appeared by your side, putting his arm around you, hand on your shoulder. “Darling! Did you see that the servants made pavlova? We have to go get some before it all runs out, especially since these fruits aren’t even in season!”

“Excuse us,” you mumbled under your breath, directed to Taehyung.

Moving his arm, Jungkook then had his hand gently wrapped around your right wrist, pulling you into a private corner away from all the guests. As your back leaned against the wall, Jungkook let go of your wrist and stood directly in front of you, so you were face to face.

“Don’t push me away,” he said in a low voice. “Are you okay?”

“He-he.” Out of nowhere, you started heavily breathing as if there was a limited amount of air in the room. You were unable to finish your thoughts, interrupted by every scenario going through your head. Tears were about to flood your eyes, ready to leave wet trails on your face.

“Look at me,” Jungkook instructed, cupping your face with his hands, his eyes directly piercing into your soul once again. “Repeat after me. You are a queen.”

“Threat-threatened my-“ Jungkook cut you off.

“I am a queen,” he emphasized, repeating himself slowly this time. “Say it with me. I am a queen.”

“I am a queen,” you repeated, trying to believe the truth in those words. A couple more times, you repeated in a hushed tone, “I am a queen.”

“Don’t let anyone see that you’re afraid,” he said after it seemed like you were finally calming down. “Let me be the only person to see you shaking like a small useless chihuahua.”

“Are you calling me—“ He cut you off again, not letting you finish his sentence.

“I know you’re not useless.” His hands held your face a little tighter, still refusing to break eye contact with you. “You’re a queen. You will be remembered as the benevolent queen of three countries one day. And while all of everyone’s great great great grandchildren are learning about you in history books, no one will remember his name. Don’t let him get to you now and let him become a footnote in the future.”

Nodding, a tear slipped, and you quickly felt Jungkook wiping the tear with his thumb, not letting anyone else see a Queen in a vulnerable state. Your breathing was almost back to normal, feeling some comfort from his words.

“Can you do this?” He asked, repeating his question from earlier.

Despite growing up together all these years, you and Jungkook had never been this up close and personal. Even when paired up for ballroom dancing, the two of you danced awkwardly together, barely touching his fingertips. It felt unreal that you and Jungkook were now alone, staring at each other, ignoring the rest of the world around you. “Yes.”

Jungkook stared at you for another two seconds before he realized the position the two of you were in. His grip became stiff and rigid for a moment before he finally removed his hands from your face and cleared his throat, pretending as if he wasn’t trying to protect you in his arms.

“Thanks.” You coughed awkwardly, still standing in front of him. The two of you never shared an intense moment like that before, a moment filled with insecurity, vulnerability, and comfort.

Jungkook sighed and looked back at you. Without any verbal confirmation, you knew that he silently agreed that everything would go back to normal, that the two of you would go back to pushing each other’s buttons. “I should get going.”

Before you could say anything, Jungkook started to walk away. He was probably already erasing the moment out of his head.

You had to remind yourself that the two of you will wed for your countries, that it won’t be for true love or happily ever after. It'll be a marriage full of moments like these that will mean nothing to him. And you hoped they would mean nothing to you.

__________

By the next morning, Luxuria went through with their warning and sent their troops to your border, threatening your people.

“Once we received word this morning from your mother, we sent supplies to your troops.” You had barged into the room of affairs, surprising Jungkook and the Queen by your sudden appearance. “They will be there as soon as they can. We sent our fastest rider.”

The King didn’t take his eyes off the document he was reading. It seemed like the King had expected you to come in urgently while the Queen, sitting next to him, was visibly annoyed with your sudden intrusion. Jungkook, standing to the side of the room, looked baffled, unsure if he should laugh at your courage or be displeased.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head. “These supplies will go a long way, but supplies aren’t the only thing we need.”

“Let me guess..You want soldiers?” The King asked, still not looking at you. “I am afraid that I cannot give you men, but you have my deepest sympathy.”

“I am asking for more than sympathy. I need men, or else these supplies are useless.”

“The men that you need are the same men that we cannot give you.” He finally looked up and shrugged his shoulders.

“As Queen, I have the responsibility to find solutions, and that was through our alliance with your country, which you are not honoring.”

“Keep in mind that you are not the only one with a country to think about,” the King replied. “I am putting my country and its people first.”

“I will not forget this when I am both Queen of Caelestia and Aurum,” you challenged. “I will always put my country first. Do not hold me hostage and fulfill this alliance, or let me go.”

“The two of you need to learn this.” The King paused to point at you and Jungkook. “You are royals. You DO NOT have the luxury of doing what you want. You do what is best for your country. Perhaps, the two of you should stop wasting time. Instead of trying to think of ways to get out of your marriage, start taking action.”

“Father, I think we should help.” You took a quick look at Jungkook, surprised by his answer. “If Caelestia loses, that’ll only make Luxuria a bigger threat to our country.”

“Get out. The two of you, out now,” the King firmly demanded.

The sound of the doors slamming behind you echoed throughout the whole castle. You took a deep breath and started walking to your chambers until Jungkook caught up, walking next to you.

“Hey, I think you’re right. I am on your side.”

“You are?” You were taken back from his statement, not expecting him to be on your side for politics. “Why?”

“Because after your country, mine will be next,” Jungkook explained. “By working together, we can slowly defeat the Luxurian military. I just need some time to convince my father.”

Caught up in a moment of joy, you wrapped your arms around Jungkook, pulling him into a tight hug. Your happiness must have overcome the supposed feelings of animosity you had towards him. “Thank you!”

Jungkook hesitantly and slowly embraced you back.

__________

“This must be the day pigs are going to grow wings and fly,” Lady Adoree exaggerated.

Ladies-in-waiting were the Queen’s female companions, typically wealthy noblewomen. They accompanied you, staying by your side for most events. Not only were they your attendants, but they were also your closest friends. And you were the closest to Lady Adoree.

“Trust me, you’re not the only one who’s surprised by all of this,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I’ve been gone for seven days, and somehow, you and Jungkook are engaged to each other.” She had traveled to Aureus, the capital of Aurum, for the last week to meet with her a suitor, which did not end up well. “Then, he’s willingly trying to help you as if he didn’t try to sabotage this alliance or even your whole life here.”

“Excuse me, Lady Adoree.” The two of you were still at the dining table after finishing lunch, catching up. You looked up and saw Prince Dasher waiting behind Lady Adoree’s chair. “Can I please have a moment with your queen?”

“Prince Dasher,” you greeted as Lady Adoree stood up from her chair, allowing Dasher to take her seat. “I thought you were on your way home.”

“Well, it turns out we still have more negotiations with Aurum to discuss, which is delaying our departure,” he said. “It is not a total disaster as I am blessed to spend another second with a beautiful queen.”

“Are these sweet words repeated to every other queen?” You quipped.

“Just you,” he claimed. “No one else can hear those words from me.”

In the corner of your eye, you could see a vein popping out of Lady Adoree’s forehead. She was frowning, not happy that she had given up her seat just for him to be flirty. Lady Adoree hated talking to guys and drove them away just as much as you did.

“I’m not new to this game,” you reminded him. “What is desired from me?”

Prince Dasher leaned into your ear, whispering, “I heard Prince Jungkook cannot give you the help you need for the Luxuria Troops.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to dull up any emotions on your face. “I’m still not hearing what you want from me.”

Instead of verbally answering, Prince Dasher cleared his throat and pushed his chair back, almost hitting Lady Adoree. He then kneeled on his right knee, causing Lady Adoree to gasp loudly.

“What are you doing?!” You growled. “Get up.”

“My desire is you,” he said. “Now I am no longer the King’s Bastard and am finally the legitimate Prince of Cometes. I am here to seek out the best deal and I believe Caelestia is that.”

“To my knowledge, everyone including yourself knows that I am already betrothed!” You looked around, hoping no one else was in the room witnessing this act.

“I can give you the men you need to fight Luxuria,” he promised.

You sighed. “My attention is yours.”

He beamed at your defeat. “Perhaps the dissolution of your alliance with Aurum will help your country, Queen Y/N.”

Your jaw clenched. “And if we were to wed, do you really think Luxuria will just stop?”

“I think you’ve forgotten,” he stressed. “Luxuria and Cometes have been allies for centuries. I hope you consider this offer.”

__________

Jungkook stayed silent.

It was after midnight, and the two of you met in a private room on the other side of the castle, away from everyone else. No one really came to this side of the castle. It was mainly used to have secret meetings, not wanting to be seen by anyone else.

You were pacing around the room, playing with your hands, anxious to hear his thoughts after telling him Prince Dasher’s offer as he sat down on the bench and had his chin resting on his cupped hands together.

“Are you going to say something?” You stopped walking back and forth and came to a stop. “What are you thinking about?”

He sighed before standing back up to face you. “I-I think you should do it.”

“What?” Your heart sank, pain settling in your chest. Despite being the Queen of Caelestia, you viewed Aurum as if it were your home to you. Even though you had no intention of ruling Aurum and this alliance came out of nowhere, you felt a sense of happiness that you could finally give back to the country that gave you everything.

Aurum was a part of you whether you liked it or not, and with Jungkook’s answer, it seemed like Aurum didn’t want you. And that he didn’t want you. There were a bunch of conflicting emotions going through your mind, but you pushed them away, needing to think about your country. “Are you serious?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Think about it, Y/N. How could you pass this up?”

“What happened to being on my side?!” You exclaimed. “And you’re just going to let it go? Just like that.”

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, quickly taking your hands and holding them. “But there’s nothing I can do to change my father’s mind…to help your country. I’ve tried and tried. We are just in this alliance, and you are getting nothing..”

“You don’t want to marry me,” you said bitterly, letting go of his hold. “That’s the real reason, isn’t it?”.

“It’s not that,” Jungkook denied. There was a sense of desperation in his voice. “Believe me, I know I’ve been trying to get out of this alliance. But I’m not telling you to do it because of that. I’m telling you to do this, because this is what is best for your country.”

“Is that really it?”

“You’ve been Queen your whole life. You should have known that alliances can easily shift,” Jungkook quickly snapped, changing his demeanor suddenly. “Your country gets the help it needs, and my country will not be ruled by an Ice Queen.”

And Jungkook walked away like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.

#bts fanfic #bangtanwriters-net #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #crown kingdom #royalty au #jungkook royalty #enemies to lovers #jungkook angst #mine #jungkook x reader

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coccinelle-et-chaton · 2 months

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OK OK I FINISHED BINGING THE ENTIRETY OF NATLA AND I GOTTA SAY IT WAS A GREAT ADAPTATION!!!

Here are my thoughts so far:

The parts where I still had my reservations for the first half were definitely addressed in the second. There were more Kataang beats, especially in the last three episodes.

Please that whole part before the zutara showdown where Aang goes like "go easy, enough ppl have suffered" and zuko is more or less like "lol it's cute u think i'd hold back" and then aang has this proud little smirk like "oh i wasn’t talking to you"😏 Also his proud little smirk when Katara is fighting Pakku PLEASE HE IS GOING TO BE THE PROUDEST BF

They covered the most important points and had a decent few scenes of fan service, loved that.

However, the adaptation is not perfect and there are definitely parts that were lacking, at least to me. Primarily, I think they did our girl Katara a little dirty not emphasizing as much on her arc as opposed to Sokka's, for example, and also the way her ascension to master was pretty telly instead of showy

There was definitely something to love in every episode, but I think the weakest ones have to be Omashu and Spirited Away.

My ABSOULUTE FAVORITE episodes were Into the Dark and Masks. Dallas, Paul, and Gordon did SUCH a great job in them. I cannot WAIT for the proper leaves from the vine scene and also to have more of zuko interacting with aang.

ZUKO IS BABY BOY AND DOES NOT KNOW ANYTHING NOT EVEN ABCs 🥺🥺🥺

My favorite was Zuko by far, yes. I think the performance and the was he was written struck the best balance of that goofiness and tragedy atla is originally known for. That’s not to say the other kids didn't do a good job, but Dallas' Zuko was by far the best imo

I understand now what the showrunners meant by making the show more mature and serious. I cannot say I didn't like it, but I can see it being an acquired taste especially for the part of the fandom that is more purist/demanding. I like that the focus emphasized more on the consequences of war and that it reflected on the cycles of violence and hurt, what they do to a person and how the wounds pass down generationally. I think this emphasis on war, compassion, kindness, all those things are definitely an important message in this time and day. However, it is a little too serious for my taste, PRECISELY because of the times we are living in. Back when the OG came about the world was in a time of relative peace. But now we get pictures of carnage and genocide mixed in with videos of cute puppies, so it's definitely a different place. It was much easier to understand the gravity of the genocidal/bombing scenes imo, almost to a point that they seemed watered down/kid friendly compared to the real thing that we see on our phones everyday. Because of that, I think erring more on the comedy, the balance between what it ACTUALLY means to be hopeful and not just talking about it, is the one thing the show could improve upon for next seasons.

All in all I am VERY pleased with the adaptation. There were moments where I definitely bawled my eyes out, shouted, and laughed the same way I did the first time I watched the show. All I can say is, for those still on the fence about watching it, so long as you go in with an open mind and with the explicit objective of enjoying yourself, it will be a fun watch.

#natla #atla #natla spoilers #atla spoilers #aang #katara #sokka #zuko #kataang #zutara #sukka #suki #uncle iroh #natla review #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender live action #atla live action

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azulyrae · 11 months

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❪ ˙˖ onyx sword of sorrow | azriel.

whenever a girl is brought into the world, the female deities assemble to weep. the sadder her fate, the stronger their tears; the loudest their cries. a cacophony of sorrow, a preach of forgiveness, a grieving sky. and [name] archeron was born during a thunderstorm.

she had fought in labor. clawing, biting, screaming. a cunning, small thing, bloodied and violent and desperate to live. born fighting, cries of lightning, the girl had not stopped to fight ever since. whether it was for the right to be a father’s heir; a mother’s rogue; a sister’s shelter; [name] had never quite managed to be quiet and lenient, polite and selfless. she was no one’s bride; no one’s princess; she was born a king. regardless of the tragedy of womanhood, [name] was the owner of a soul of thunder and lightning and blood.

dodging her mother’s rage; the misery of poverty; the dehumanizing touch of greedy, vile men with sparing coins to spend on a brothel, she thought nothing could break her spirit. there was nothing the world could throw, no pain she could not endure. until the cauldron proved her wrong.

months after the war, [name] had but a despicable power that stole others’ free-will and symbolized the ugliness of her once immaculate soul. she had not an unique form; being the swallow of rain, the dragon of storms, the white-tiger of grief. [name] wished to be anywhere, but inside her own skin. and azriel did not wish to be anywhere his newly-found mate wasn’t.

the shadowsinger and the siren. the spymaster and the storm shifter. broken and burning with rage, striving to heal during a non-conventional espionage training that would grant [name] the means with which to enter montesere’s magical barriers, and tied by an ambiguous deal.

where there is light, there is shadow. [name] was the lightning bolt that sliced the darkness, and azriel could might as well be the one to silence the weeping of the goddesses.

information: azriel/fem!archeron sister. reader with mind control & the ability to shapeshift.

warnings: descriptions of a life of both misery and prostitution. mentions of disgusting men and a brothel. traumas regarding the male touch. canon violence, gore and fighting. mutual-trust that will lead to smut, minors dni.

[𝐈. the pawn.]

[𝐈𝐈. the spy’s gambit.]

[𝐈𝐈𝐈. the knight.]

[𝐈𝐕. the bishop.]

#acotar #azriel #azriel / reader #azriel imagine #azriel imagines #azriel x reader #acomaf #acosf #acowar #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar imagines #acotar imagine

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orchid-n-petals · 8 months

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So I've already shared parts of this on a discord server, but I have to scream about Ketheric Thorm on here as well. Obviously spoilers about the character under the cut! It's a long one.

The entirety of act 2 is about him, right? Jaheira, Shadowheart and numerous other NPCs shit on him for his fickle faith. First Selune, then Shar, then, as we meet him, Myrkul. You hear about his changes of faith on a whim, you hear that he's the person responsible for the shadow curse, he is painted as a villain, plain and simple.

You can figure it out pretty early on that Isobel was resurrected and that she is his daughter; the detail as well that he wants Isobel alive is so on the nose, it gives him away completely but there are still a few questions that remain unanswered, mainly about his faith.

And then you get to the mausoleum and the picture assembles; this entire tragedy, the death of hundreds if not thousands and the complete ruination of a landscape was all, ALL because you had this absolutely wrenched, heartbroken father who had lost everything and nobody answered his grief. He was left woefully alone, the Goddess whose daughter his daughter was involved with did nothing to save Isobel.

Imagine outliving your wife and your daughter. Imagine dedicating your life to fight the Lady of Loss, your Lady of Silver's enemy, and then be left so completely alone and in silence with your grief, with your loss. It's so, so poetic how and why he turned from Selune, and it's so understandable as well; he broke. His spirit completely broke. He couldn't deal with that void of having lost the only two important people in his life, seemingly undeservedly so. He was going mad with this and a lot of his ire was likely targeted at Aylin who, in his eye, represented Selune; she's literally her daughter, after all, and it was implied that even before the deaths of his family, he sort of saw Aylin courting Isobel as Selune taking his daughter from him, despite his service. This relationship was clearly not seen by him as a boon of "giving his daughter to the Moon-maiden".

His ways in the past clearly didn't spare him from tragedy and having to cope with it (which he clearly didn't, he snapped under the weight of his grief). He was clearly angry and unable to do anything, furious and helpless, which is a dangerous combination. A good part of his first change of heart must have been fuelled by a sense of revenge.

But then Shar didn't provide any balm to his aching heart either. If you read his letters in Grymforge and in act 2, he is so focused on enacting the will of Shar because he believes that healing lies in oblivion. Everything would be easier if he could just forget, if the damn world could just forget, if nothing was remembered because without Melodia and Isobel, nothing was worth remembering.

Then came Myrkul. Literally the only god who was not only able, but WILLING to give back his daughter to him. Imagine spending your all, EVERYTHING you have to serve two gods who would not give a single shit about the greatest suffering in your life. You were basically nothing, your loyalty didn't matter for shit, everything that was taken from you amounted to no recognition whatsoever: you should simply cope and seethe. Your grief will not simply go unanswered (which is not inherently antagonising) but ignored.

And then comes this supposedly evil entity who can alleviate your pain just like that, snap of a finger and it's a done deal.

I am so serious when I say that I believe Ketheric's main incentive was to extend Aylin's immortality to Isobel as well. You can read in her diary that she feels a taint after having came back, and there are things not even Selune can cleanse, but at this point, Ketheric doesn't care about Selune, vengeance is secondary if not tertiary, he's done that war during his Shar years and what did it give him? Literally nothing.

He doesn't even care about the fact that Isobel is still her cleric. He cares about the single most important fact: Isobel is back. Life is worth living again, there is something for him, and it was not Selune or Shar who gave it to him but Myrkul, and for this singular gift, he would raze the world for the Lord of Bones. Like people can clown on him for being disloyal but the man has the loyalty of a dog bonded to its owner.

He is powerful and is willing to go to insane lengths for crumbs. What is raising a single life for a god? Nothing. It has happened and it will happen again. But Ketheric will go to the ends of the earth to serve the single god who actually listened to him. The one god who didn't ignore him.

He knows that what he does is not the morally upright thing! He is so insanely self-aware that allying with Orin and Gortash and doing this entire plot with them only to then betray them is morally reprehensible at the best of times, he knows that people hate him, etc-etc. He was a Selunite at one point and he's not stupid. He just doesn't care; it could be literal Asmodeus and he wouldn't care as long as he got what he wanted, no matter the price.

He is probably the only one from the three of the chosen who has complete clarity over his situation, he almost sways (if you pass the check during his confrontation), he is not an inherently evil man blinded by power.

But he is inherently loyal to those deserving, and as of the story's standing, completely broken by his grief. In his eyes, at this point, the only one deserving loyalty is the one who actually listened to him. Isobel lives. It doesn't matter that she hates him, that his entire life has fallen apart, that literally nothing else that is good has come of it, because Isobel lives.

I don't think he regrets a single thing. His consciousness might tear at him at the end, but I believe he would do everything over again, exactly as he did, because in the end, his daughter was brought back. Because what would a grieving, broken parent give to bring back their child? Everything. Absolutely everything. And it's such a simply given answer, no second thoughts, no doubts.

Nobody can tell me that this man is fickle. Nobody. This man was willing to burn the world to the ground, create a Boudica destruction layer all by himself for the one single thing he wanted. For any God that would listen.

I don't know, I just have a lot of thoughts about his character.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #ketheric thorm #and I also have a lot of thoughts of how Aylin foils him #I fully believe that he was in the right in the capacity that he switched around his gods when he was literally ignored despite his life's #work. despite all that he has given. I think it's reasonable to expect in the world of gods who actively meddle in mortal affairs on their #whims and make shit worse that in just one single case they would. idk. NOT expect one of their devotees to remain blindly loyal to them #after their prayers go unanswered. like yes; go and try your luck elsewhere because this devotion of yours is clearly being taken for #granted. you get NOTHING out of your worship. you can't even sleep well because your loved ones are dead and you are expected to just what?#deal with it on your own? and remain loyal? why?#some sense of 'honour'?#I really like this depiction of faith actually. I really like when clerics and paladins are given agency and critical thought that hey!#this is actually giving me nothing despite me dedicating my entire life to it! and I have only one of it so why not take it somewhere where #it's actually valued. you know. as a treat.#I *personally* much more prefer this depiction of a crisis of faith than what we got with Shadowheart or Lae'zel; their stories are very #interesting on their own but I think throwing yourself from one end to the other not because you actually have a goal that it could serve #but because you are desperate for a purpose #is a slightly less potent character narrative than having an actual goal yourself. not by much but by a little.#again #PERSONALLY

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celestialsister0918 · 4 months

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Fireside: A Sirius Black Christmas Oneshot

Happy holidays, loves! Here is a gift for my Sirius Black friends. Tumblr exclusive for now, probably cross-posted to my AO3 and Wattpad eventually.

A few warnings— it’s EXPLICIT smut. 18+ interaction only, please.

It’s a Sirius x You (fem-reader) fic, but you have a House. It was necessary for the plot. Hopefully you are House-flexible or can be for the next 6k+ words.

Get warm and cozy and enjoy… and please let me know what you think… reblogs are much appreciated, as are likes and comments. I love chatting with readers and fellow Sirius lovers.

You stood at the doorway to Number Twelve with your heart beating wildly against your chest. Harry and the other students had left for second term just a few short hours ago, with the Weasleys close behind. They were giving Arthur the chance to continue his recovery at the Burrow, hoping to speed his efforts with the comforts of home rather than the sullen, dreary darkness of Grimmauld Place. At least that’s what you’d overheard in their whispers after last night’s dinner, which had followed the last meeting of the Order for the year.

The whispers, of course, were for the benefit of the one inhabitant of the house who wasn’t granted the choice of leaving. No matter how dark and dreary, no matter how much his spirits needed lifting. And they certainly seemed to need lifting last night. As soon as the meeting had adjourned, Sirius Black retreated upstairs with nary a goodbye. Harry had seemed disappointed at this. It was only natural he’d want to soak up every minute possible with his godfather before returning to Hogwarts. But Black had fallen prey to another “fit of the sullens,” as Molly liked to label them with a disapproving shake of her head.

You understood those types of fits all too well, having suffered your own tragedies throughout the Wizarding Wars, as well as typical adolescent heartaches and disappointments that seemed to continue into your early adult years too. Maybe you simply took things too seriously. Life just seemed to come easy to more carefree witches and the wizards that worshiped them. You’d heard stories that Sirius Black himself used to fall into that lighthearted, devil-may-care category many years ago. But he’d experienced unimaginable darkness, and you knew the last thing he needed was to hide away alone, even if he fought you tooth and nail over it.

With a sharp intake of breath, you broke through the warded door with charms meant only for official gatherings of the Order. You prayed to the gods that there wasn’t some terrible punishment for doing so. You sighed with relief when you were greeted only by the eerie silence of cold, dark air— which was a sound unto itself, strange as that seemed. The familiar dank smell filled your nostrils, but it didn’t bother you. It simply set the ambience of a home filled with magic and mystery and stories, dreaded though some of them may be. The walls were alive with history, and there was something intriguingly romantic about the place, if you were honest. You knew the man you were about to encounter would adamantly disagree and would probably throw you out on your arse for thinking so. You’d be sure to keep your strange admiration for the place to yourself for a while, at least until he warmed up to you a bit.

That could take awhile indeed, you thought grimly. Rather than start on such a task right away, you chose to descend to the kitchen and make yourself a calming cup of tea. Perhaps a drop or two of schnapps for some liquid courage were in order also. As the kettle warmed, you made your way to the flocked tree in the rear of the kitchen and smiled as you studied the ornaments there. Sirius himself had conjured and crafted most of them just days earlier, when he’d been noticeably more joyful. The anticipation of Christmas had lifted him out of his funk, and he’d been determined to replace his family’s fancy heirloom ornaments with much more colorful, animated, and exciting ones. You enjoyed examining them while you waited for the kettle to whistle. They were a glimpse into his true self— the fun, whimsical side you always heard about in tales from the older Order members.

You’d seen that side a bit in your interactions with him so far. He had a certain glint in his eye as he teased you for your lack of coordination, which coincidentally had landed you in his lap one evening when you’d hooked the toe of your boot unceremoniously under the crossbar of the wooden kitchen bench.

“I- I’m so sorry,” you had stammered, your face painfully hot. He’d caught you with an arm scooped under your back.

“I’m not,” he’d quipped back with a glimmer in his blue gray eyes. And he’d given your thigh a couple quick pats with his large palm, just fatherly enough that you weren’t quite sure if he saw you as a cute, clumsy, overgrown kid— or something a bit sexier, as that glimmer in his eye along with his comment might have suggested.

Subsequent meetings were difficult after that fateful fall. You couldn’t stop your eyes from straying in his direction. In spite of his scraggly, unkept stubble and perhaps accelerated aging from Azkaban, he was undoubtedly a beautiful man. The Black family genetics were famous for a reason. Their symmetry and grace, smooth skin, full and shiny hair, and silky, aristocratic voices were mesmerizing. It was no wonder they drifted toward the Dark Arts; with gifts like that, they could clearly coerce lesser mortals into doing anything.

Sirius was made only more handsome by the tattoos that covered the previews of skin he revealed— a sexy “fuck you” to the house, the Black family line, and anyone who may chide him for daring to be different. You admired the confidence his swaths of ink portrayed, and each passing meeting made you yearn to study them up close. For academic purposes, of course. Continuing education in Ancient Runes. Field work.

“Do you not take sugar in your tea?”

The voice was quite light and innocent, but it startled you so much you spilled said tea straight through the holes of your wool sweater.

“Fuck!” you hissed. “You scared me, Black.”

He smiled and strode behind you, reaching around your front to grasp a kitchen rag that hung from the lower cupboard handle. He spun you around with hands on your upper arms and promptly began absorbing the spill. Of course he could have taken care of it with a mere wand wave. Interesting that he chose the more manual route.

“I scared you?” Sirius mused. “And to think you’re the one breaking and entering and stealing my tea. Which, strangely, you’re sipping black at the moment. Is this because you don’t know where to find the proper accompaniments, or are you simply that odd?”

“Simply that odd, I’m afraid,” you admitted, leaning back against the wooden counter with legs outstretched. “I like it black. Enjoy the flavor.”

This was met with a slightly arched eyebrow, but he recovered quickly and reached around you again to grab his own mug.

“I prefer it quite sweet, and loaded with cream, personally,” Sirius commented, voice still maddeningly silky and light. It tickled over your eardrums like a melody. His tongue snaked out as he tilted the mug to his lips and slurped.

“Don’t you Blacks have to attend some finishing school before you’re sent to Hogwarts?” you teased him. “Don’t they teach you not to slurp there?”

Sirius didn't miss a beat. “You’ll find I’m a bit of a dog, darling. I’m rather noisy and messy with my mouth.”

That rush of heat filled your cheeks again, and you found yourself trembling a little with adrenaline at how quickly things had escalated. Or did they? The conversation was quite innocent, on a service level. Perhaps your building desire for him had you reading things that weren’t there. You decided to change the subject and try to calm your racing blood.

“You seem quite a bit… happier… than the other day,” you offered as he continued to enjoy his tea. “Did you have a nice day today?”

Sirius seemed to snort. “I had a fucking awful day. How could I have anything but in a place like this?”

“I’m sure it’s not so bad, with the right company,” you pointed out nervously, suddenly scared you might piss him off enough that he’d order you to leave.

“I’ve had nothing but company for weeks,” he replied. “It can help, I suppose. But I’m still trapped.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say to this, so you busied yourself with your own mug, roving the kitchen slowly to avoid eye contact while you plotted where to go next.

“Is that why you’re here?” Sirius continued softly. “Do you believe you’re the ‘right company?’” His expression seemed skeptical.

You shrugged shakily. “I— I dunno. I guess I just thought… you shouldn’t be alone. I… I like being alone occasionally. But you… you don’t really seem like that type.”

“Not a bit,” he agreed. “But it’s not just about the company. It’s about experiences. And I’ve experienced everything there is to do here. Millions of miserable times over.”

You bit your lip, knowing you could never be so bold as to suggest novel experiences he might try. You were pretty sure he hadn’t had many of those— if any— within these walls. Not with multitudes of pureblood portraits staring him down. Of course he very well could have fooled around with pureblood girls here growing up, right? Just because he wasn’t a supremacist like his forebears didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a dip in the pureblood pool from time to time.

“So,” he continued, addressing you by your name as he crept closer, step by step. “What experiences are you bringing with your company? How will you keep me from being bored?” His eyebrows arched and narrowed adorably with his words as he challenged you.

He stopped just short of invading your space, so you could still view him easily from head to toe. He wore a thick velvet robe in deep burgundy overtop a black and green pinstripe shirt that was honestly a bit… Slytherin-like, when taken in isolation. Perhaps he hadn’t invested in a new wardrobe upon his return and simply relied on the house’s contents. But it suited him nonetheless— this regal contrast of the two houses adorned with his double Albert chain and shiny brown dress shoes. Of course the colors were befitting the season as well, a reminder that Christmas joy still lingered in the air, if one looked for it. You imagined that the house once saw splendid Christmas feasts— glittering, elegant affairs filled with firelight and extravagance as the Wizarding World’s upper crust filled every floor. Personally you enjoyed picturing something more intimate, more cozy, within those old walls.

“Let’s light a fire,” you suggested, setting your teacup down and leading the way to the parlor.

Sirius scoffed behind you but followed nonetheless. “Why would we do that? The entirety of the house is under a warming charm, darling.”

“Hogwarts has fires in the common rooms, does it not? They were nice.”

“Nice, but obviously unnecessary,” he continued practically.

“You need some actual warmth in this place,” you insisted, setting to work lighting the floo. “The kind of warmth that feels good on the inside too. Comfort. A glow.”

“You’re a Hufflepuff, aren’t you?” Sirius asked with a snicker, reclining in a large, faded velvet armchair. He spread his legs in a wide slouch, and you couldn’t help but gaze downward at the movement. Thick, ribbed corduroy slacks hugged thin legs and tapered down to fine silk socks, above which you saw the faintest glimpse of pale skin and dark hair.

“What does my house matter?” you returned in a non-answer. The fire roared to life in the large black marble, and instead of joining him in the companion armchair, you chose to settle on the rug right in front of the flames. Your skin was already on fire, of course, from the turn-on of his earlier proximity and banter. But the added warmth felt nice, and you hugged your knees to your chest.

“Your house doesn’t matter,” he agreed. Just simply a guess. Now, what about that experience you’re going to offer me? Still waiting for an answer on that one.” Sirius rested an elbow on the chair arm, his fingers toying with the ends of his long mustache where it met the unruly stubble on his chin.

“Come down here with me. This is an experience,” you responded, patting the empty space next to you on the rug. It was thick and smooth, richly woven, and of course very expensive. You could feel thick loops of fine threads beneath your fingers as you traced its intricate pattern.

“Sitting by a fire?” Sirius asked incredulously. But he did make a move to join you, settling down in the spot you indicated and then shifting closer. His robe brushed the sleeve of your sweater, and he made no move to back away.

“Well, what kind of experience did you have in mind?” you shot back.

Sirius shrugged innocently, eyes twinkling in the dim light. “No idea, love. You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep, remember? Don’t you have a plan for these things? Or are they spontaneous? Maybe you’re a Gryffindor then?”

You gave a small smile, refusing to answer the question. Instead you studied the details of his face you’d never noticed from afar, features augmented by the dancing shadows of light. He had a very well defined facial muscle that gave an intermittent sexy twitch. And another defined crease on the underneath of his nose that made you curious if you had one; you had always just envisioned it to be smooth. But most magnificent was the way the firelight bounced off of every soft curl — a bountiful dark mahogany crown that would be the envy of any woman alive. You longed to run your hands through it, betting it was even more luxurious than the tapestry rug beneath your increasingly aroused bottom half.

“I’m beginning to feel rather exposed,” Sirius declared, amused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been examined in such detail before. Is this for ‘science,’ as the Muggles say?”

You cleared your throat nervously. “Uh, yes. Wizarding genetics, I guess. You’re just very… impressive.” You winced at the terrible recovery.

Sirius responded with a sweep of a tattooed hand over your cheek. “I’m flattered, coming from a witch as exquisite as yourself. Not to mention young. I believe I have quite a few years on you, yes?”

Your heartbeat was painfully audible as you tried to craft an answer. His fingers still explored your face, alternating with occasional twists of an adjacent lock of your hair. Each sweep of his skin over yours seemed to make your veins tremble.

You truly didn’t know how to respond. Your Muggle friend had once informed you that the term for your specific brand of fixation was “daddy kink,” but you weren’t sure admitting that would do you any favors. You liked how his touch was so self-assured, and the richness of his scent, and how he always knew what to say without hesitation. You liked how the hard lines of his face and hands denoted strength and experience. And you liked how he made you feel small and fragile and protected just by being near you. You wished you could tell him all that without sounding ridiculous. But you were fairly certain you were already communicating it with your parted lips, panting breath, and love-drunk eyes.

“You are going to make my night interesting after all, aren’t you, little one?” Sirius husked, and the bud between your legs danced frantically up and down in response. How did he know to call you that? Your eyes closed with the dizziness of your anticipation, and the hand that had drifted so gently over your cheek now rested fully on your throat. His scent became even more pronounced, alerting you to his closeness just before his mustache tickled your upper lip in the briefest of warnings.

The kiss he gave you was chaste and just enough for you to learn the shape of his lips before he pulled away.

“If you don’t want this, you need to tell me,” Sirius said, his voice low as it drifted directly across your ear. “I’ll stop if you ask me to— at any point. But this is the only asking I’ll be doing myself. Once I begin, you’ll find I’m far too busy to stop and check in.”

His forehead rested gently on yours, his deep blue eyes smoky in the dim light.

“Busy doing what?” you whispered— half teasingly, half desperate for the fire between your legs to be stoked by all the dirty things he would promise.

Sirius chuckled lowly. “You like dirty talk, little one?”

Your affirmative answer came as a whimper, which elicited another devilish chuckle from his lips.

“Very well,” he said silkily. He punctuated the words with another firm kiss on your lips, this time allowing the very tip of his tongue to trace the outline of the bottom one before planting light kisses along your jawline to your earlobe. He paused there, allowing a breath to tickle your ear before he spoke.

“I am going to make every part of your body come alive, as if I cast a spell. But there will be no wand— only my hands, my mouth, my voice. I will make your delicious cunt so wet it will be weeping for my cock. Then I will bury it in you so deep you scream… so loud you’ll wake every portrait in this house and make them curse your sweet, beautiful name. You will ride my cock for as many mind-numbing orgasms as your body can handle, then I will take my pleasure and fill you so full of my seed that it trickles down these soft, smooth thighs all day long tomorrow. You’ll feel it and remember me, and you’ll want it all over again.”

Sirius accompanied his filthy murmurings with firm strokes to your inner thigh, hand already buried inside your skirt. You let out an almost agonized groan in response— all intelligible communication now impossible. Your body literally shook just from his promises, and you knew the look you gave him as he came to a kneel on the rug was one of complete and utter submission.

His hands came beneath your head to cradle it, hands swept in the tangle of your hair as kisses became more insistent, open-mouthed, and allowed you taste the salt and firewhisky on his breath. His tongue explored in gentle licks followed by long sweeps of your mouth, as if it was truly a mission to discover inner parts of you and not just kissing.

You became eager for his hands to move elsewhere, but they still held your head still for his mouth to continue its wicked work. His kisses made your head spin, but the rest of your body felt in heat and neglected. You came to your knees yourself, hands introducing themselves to the sturdy velvet of his jacket, your legs making a move to straddle one of his trousered thighs. He let out a low laugh.

“So eager,” he chastised. “I’m the one who hasn’t shagged in fourteen years, yet I’m the one demonstrating all the patience.”

“I want you!” you defended yourself breathlessly, not even caring if you sounded desperate now. You just needed relief, and to have this wizard covering every inch of you.

“Ah, there it is. The answer I needed to my question,” he said with a wink. “You needed to give me permission, you know.”

“You have it,” you insisted, and as a visual aid to your words, you took the initiative to shrug out of your own sweater. Your breasts swelled over the cups of your lacy, favorite-colored bra. You noticed Sirius became strangely still at the sight, his mouth parting.

“Fucking beautiful,” he managed to mutter, and he cast his own robe aside to free his movement as he reclined you both onto the rug. His fingers gently slid one strap from your shoulder, replacing it with his mouth and soft whiskers. The detailed attention he paid to a spot as random as your shoulder reminded you of his promise to awaken every part of your body. Sirius planned to make every cell literally beg.

His kisses danced across your collarbone in a similar fashion, tended to the next shoulder, then came to center on your pulse point, where he began a gentle suction. You let out a cry at this and took the chance to enjoy his gorgeous, thick curls while he worked his mouth on your upper body’s most sensitive spot.

“I’m going to have wicked marks if you keep doing that,” you teased with a whisper. Sirius’s nose brushed your earlobe as he went for the other side, sucking the sensitive skin beneath like he was starving.

“Good,” he finally broke to whisper back. “And your neck’s not the only spot I plan to mark you.” He added teeth to the mix now, grazing lightly over your throbbing pulse. Would he bite? Would you even care if he did? But he only threatened such before moving lower, working your arms out of the dangling bra straps to reveal your breasts to him. His breath caught in his chest as he appreciated them with his eyes first before cupping them hard, one in each hand. His rough thumbs drove your nipples into peaks, watching each little bump emerge with fascination.

You observed him with a smile, arms leaned back behind you to prop you up for his amusement. You realized of course that it had been over a decade since he’d played with such toys, and though your body was humming for more, you granted him his boy-like fun. Sirius alternated between circling your nipples into painfully hard peaks and kneading your breasts like dough before finally suckling the left into his mouth. The action caused your eyes to roll back in your head. This wizard knew what he was doing. It was more than just taking the soft, pliable tissue into his mouth— he created a firm, merciless suction whose movements echoed between your thighs in violent waves. Your legs parted reflexively, and you grabbed his hand, encouraging it down to feel your burning heat.

“Please touch me,” you begged. “I’m so wet for you.”

Sirius responded to this with a hungry growl, releasing your breast to reveal brand new marks as promised. He gave the other another very rough squeeze before grabbing at your skirt, ripping it downward. He sent it hurling away, narrowly missing the fire. The rip of lace echoed through the air as your knickers followed.

“Am I supposed to walk home with no knickers tomorrow?” you mused above the noisy kisses he planted to the soft skin of your stomach.

“You’re not going home tomorrow,” he replied quickly. “And you’ll be naked all day. And you certainly won’t be walking by the time I’m finished with you.”

“Oh, so you— you like it rough then?” you asked between gasps, shuddering as his fingers traced the tops of your inner thighs, which opened to the hot breaths drifting over your sex.

“Not always,” he answered, grinning up at you from between your parted legs. “But the Black family genetics extend to other endowments as well. In both size and stamina. Even sweeter lovemaking can lend itself to the need for pain potions, love. Do you still consent?”

You licked your lips and lowered your eyes, feeling them burn with sultry want. “I thought you weren’t going to ask anymore?”

“Gryffindor chivalry,” he dismissed with an adorable pursing of his lips. “It’s a curse sometimes.”

“Yes, I consent,” you answered with a grin of your own. “But before you touch me like I asked, I want you out of those clothes. I need to see this endowment of which you speak.”

Sirius sat up and gave your thighs a swift tap before closing them. Your own wetness was dripping onto them at this point, and you could smell sex on the air already.

“You don’t believe me?” he inquired with raised brows.

“Well, you know, Gryffindors are fond of bragging…”

Sirius let out a deep laugh. “So I can assume you’re not a Gryffindor, then, with a comment like that.” He stood and began disrobing, his thumbs drifting over the buttons of the dark green shirt. Each tattoo he revealed made you salivate. He wore a thick, shiny belt buckle now displayed over a prominent bulge in his trousers, and you imagined he was growing quite uncomfortable in there.

“Still not telling you my house,” you replied, shifting your closed legs from one side to the other as you watched your strip show, offering him tantalizing glimpses of your cunt and arse but never separating your thighs for a full view. Sirius never took his eyes off of you, and when his trousers swiftly lowered, you were greeted by the surprise of no underwear— followed by the thick, glorious inches of a very hard, uncut, pureblood cock on display. Your jaw dropped open.

“Already opening up for me?” Sirius commented silkily. “Good girl.”

You nodded, ready to have your mouth fucked speechless if that’s what he wanted. But Sirius seemed to have other plans, pouncing back on you in under a second. He parted your legs almost violently, his face voracious as he plunged his nose into your soaking wetness to inhale before licking furiously.

“Oh, fucking gods!” you moaned, arching into his frenzied movements. He was truly very noisy and beast-like with his mouth, as he’d warned. His tongue alternated between flat, all-encompassing licks across your entire slit, and tiny, strong, targeted flicks around your bud. He approached your sensitive, nerve-filled opening with his tongue in a stiff point, swirling it around to beckon wetness from you in droves.

“I’m fucking drowning you down there,” you moaned, arching your back against the soft rug.

“I told you I like loads of sweet cream,” Sirius responded with a murmur. “Keep it coming, love. Soak my face.”

His tongue rammed your g-spot now, his whole stubbled face buried in your cunt. Your smell filled the hot air and was so sexy you wanted some yourself. Sirius seemed in tune with your needs because his fingers found your hole as his tongue drifted upward to concentrate on your swollen bud again.

“Let me taste your fingers,” you whispered.

“So you do like sugar and cream after all?” he chuckled before obliging with a rather rough shove of his soaked digits into your mouth. His wet stubble scratched your face as his words sought your ear. “Or maybe you’re just a very dirty girl.”

You sucked the delicious sweet-salty combo from Sirius’s fingers, offering kitten licks, strong suction, and previews of all the things he could expect once that glorious cock was in your mouth. His hand found its place within your slit again and began purposeful movements, the back of his palm massaging your clit as his fingers found the g-spot again, kneading the spongy, swollen tissue.

“Please fuck me,” you begged. “I need your cock.”

“Oh yeah?” he mused delicately, leveling his heady eyes to yours. “You don’t like what my fingers are doing to you, darling?”

“I love it,” you panted. “But I’m gonna come!”

“Then come, sweetheart. You can still come on my cock. Promise.” Sirius’s hand picked up its pace so any resistance was hopeless. His mouth returned to your neck to secure you in place as the waves took over your body, your whole frame convulsing in one giant shake after another with your beautiful release against his hand. Sirius’s wet mouth closed over yours, his tongue invading as he situated his warm, taut body between your legs. Your bud was still tingling with aftershocks when he touched the head of his cock to it, angling for pressure.

His girthy shaft sought its spot between your glistening lower lips, hips driving the thick tip up against the underside of your clit, and his hard, veiny surface sliding against your still swollen vulva. Sirius wasn’t going to let the pressure ease for even a minute, making sure to build another climax even stronger than the first for his cock to work you through.

“Inside me, please!” you breathed into his mouth.

“I think you can come just like this, darling,” he argued. “Don’t you?” The ridge of his cockhead massaged your clit furiously with his back and forth, and your body gushed messily all over his shaft. Your nails made deep half moons in his tattooed shoulders.

“Y— yes, I can come for you.” You arched up to grind into his impossibly hard length, seeking the rhythm and friction you needed to push over the edge. It required wild gyration and complete abandonment of any self consciousness. Your breasts bounced against his chest, and you clung so tightly to him to ground yourself that your nose was buried in his curls, smelling his animalic musk.

You screamed as you reached peak again, the tremors tinier this time but still exquisite. Exhausted, you fell limply to the rug and took him with you, giving grateful caresses to the smooth skin of his back. Of course you were still aware of his inches throbbing against your thigh, and you knew you had to summon more energy if you were going to give Sirius the satisfaction he needed. The man hadn’t lain with a woman in nearly a decade and a half, and you wanted his cock thoroughly and ecstatically drained. You’d be lying, though, if your twice-satisfied cunt wasn’t worried about such a massive invasion. Your gratitude for the blissful, explosive orgasms aside— you kind of wish he’d honored your request and fucked you when you were swollen, open, and on fire.

Sirius raised himself on his elbows, gazing down at you with a lazy smile.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that, Slytherin girl?”

You blinked and jumped. “What?”

Sirius gnawed at his lip and continued to grin, deep blue eyes sparkling. “You heard me.”

“What makes you say that?” you demanded. “You haven’t even guessed Ravenclaw yet!”

“You let me fuck you way too dumb to be a ‘Claw, and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pointed out. “I’ve had my fair share of Ravenclaw witches, and they never quite know when to shut up, Merlin love them.”

“Hey, Slytherins are smart too,” you said with a narrowed brow before you could stop yourself.

Sirius gave a hard smack to your arse before pulling you onto your side, his erection buried in your stomach. You laid breasts to chest, feet and legs entangled, faces flush.

“Tell me,” he said with a slight scowl. “How did they let another Slytherin into the Order? Do they not have standards anymore?”

“Oh, fuck you, Black,” you muttered.

“You’re still doing that, darling, don’t worry. No slithering your way out of that one. You know I’m just trying to rile you up and get you going again so you can handle my cock. Maybe a hate-fuck would be a nice game, now that our alliances are on the table? Would you like that?” His fingers tickled down your ribs and hips before finding the triangle he sought, just his fingertips easing lower to scissor your bud.

“Our ‘alliances’ are the same, you prick,” you laughed, accepting his fingers with an approving arch of your hips.

“Yes, but this new tidbit makes it so much more fun,” he insisted. “You’ve delivered on that new experience I wanted. A fine Christmas present indeed.”

“So this is your first time with a Slytherin?” you asked, doing nothing to hide your pride at that possibility.

“Virgin,” Sirius confirmed with a nod. “As if twelve years in Azkaban didn’t revirginize me enough, this makes it official. Now, show me what I’ve been missing.” He collapsed rather dramatically on the rug, hand behind his head, curls strewn about the intricate paisley pattern. His body was breathtaking— glowing in the firelight, each turn of muscle accentuated by shadow, each tattoo taking turns in the spotlight with the maneuver of flames. And at the center of the beauty was that cock, which hadn’t lost a bit of wind with this latest reveal of information. A generous leak of precum glistened at the tip, and you lowered your mouth to drink it in, your hair tickling his thighs. The first taste left you craving more, and your mouth slid over his huge shaft like a sleeve, locking him in your throat. You heard a grunt of shock escape his mouth.

“Fuck, that was fast,” Sirius groaned.

You eased off of him teasingly, lips forming an up and down suction which you accompanied with twists of your hand. He tasted positively feral yet clean and refined, just as you would have imagined. His tip leaked loads into your mouth, feeling like it would burst at any second if it weren’t for his exceptional control.

“Mmm… you taste good, Black,” you moaned approvingly. “Almost good enough that I’d settle for your load in my mouth if I didn’t want you to fuck my pussy so badly.”

“On your knees, fucking snake cunt,” he ordered with a wink, the fact that it was a game unmistakable. You gave one long, final suck up his shaft and gave a squeeze to his balls, drawing another deep groan from him.

In an instant Sirius’s hands were in your hips, holding you in place while his dripping head found your center. He was right— the banter had you on fire again, and your swollen walls took every inch of him as he pushed inside without hesitation.

“Ahhhh!” you cried out, unable to help yourself. His hips were a frenzy, abandoning every bit of his previous control now that he was within your tightness. Your breasts bounced in mad circles with the force of his pounding, and sure enough, you could hear the portraits stirring down the hall from the primal noises the two of you made.

“Oh, Sirius, yes,” you breathed, enjoying the repeated raking of his tip, ridge, and underside along your spongy, swollen front wall. He knew just how much to drag back and surge forward, never breaking the rhythm you needed to build to another crest in a matter of minutes. His chest was sweaty when it made contact with your back, and he occasionally dropped open-mouthed kisses to the skin of your shoulder blades with his forward surges. Every so often he broke his rigid support on the rug to squeeze your breasts, kneading them so tightly you knew you’d have bruises for weeks.

“Feel good, love?” he husked, and you knew he knew full well you were beyond good. His ego just wanted to hear it.

“Yes, Sirius. Fuck yes. Please come inside me.”

And it was truly your foremost want in that moment — to fill his hot cum paint your insides and have the satisfaction of giving him what he’d needed for so long. He renewed his lock tight grip on your hips and granted your request, resuming the pounding of your g-spot but faster now, the friction very much for his benefit— with yours as a mere pleasant side effect.

“Fuck, yes, I’m gonna fill you so full,” he promised breathily. “And you better come for me again. You better scream.”

You reached around to toy with your clit and make sure you obeyed his command, but he swatted your hand away and replaced it with his own, his fingers taking on a rhythm to match his snapping hips. All you could do was let out a long stream of moans and buck furiously in return, knowing that chasing your own pleasure would only increase his. His escalated moans confirmed he was approaching release, and you grinned as you picked up the pace even more feverishly, wanting to torture it out of him.

“Fucking GODS!!!” Sirius yelled, and he emptied into you with one hot jet after another, so much it ran right back out over his trembling cock. You kept your pace even after his cock stilled, the added lubricant from his release making easy work of your movements. The thought of being filled with him made your orgasm deliciously hot and dirty as your walls burned with pain and need. Sirius recovered enough to resume the pace of his fingers on your clit, and you spilled over the edge, lurching forward in a series of shakes that wracked your entire body.

You fell forward onto your belly, a mess dripping from your insides, your muscles and bones useless, your skin bruised. It was every way you should feel after a proper fuck. Your brain positively hummed with endorphins, and you breathed in the deliciousness of your combined sex on the air. You could hear Sirius struggling to regain his breath behind you, and you knew he looked sexy as fuck back there. But you were too exhausted to lift yourself up and look.

You weren’t even sure how much time had passed when you felt his arms encircle you, along with the cold rush of air as he lifted you from the warmth of the rug. He wasn’t a huge man, though you’d heard from other Order members that he was considerably stronger now than when he’d escaped the sea prison two years ago. He carried you easily up multiple twists of stairs until you reached a Gryffindor red room on the very top level. Then Sirius nestled you gingerly into a brightly colored duvet.

“Will you be able to sleep with this much red, or should I move you to the green room next door?” he asked dryly, shuffling his naked body next to yours and leaving you little choice in the matter.

“Well, it is Christmastime,” you reminded him sleepily. “The two play rather nicely together right now.”

Sirius responded by nuzzling into your shoulder, his whiskers scratching tiny red prickles into your skin.

#orderofthephoenix #older sirius black #post azkaban sirius #gary oldman #sirius black x you #sirius black one shot #sirius black x y/n #smut #christmas smut #sirius black smut #sirius black imagine #oneshot #grimmauld place

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moonlit-imagines · 4 months

Text

Headcanons for being another displaced Padawan with Cal Kestis

Cal Kestis x jedi!reader

warnings: angst, STAR WARS JEDI SURVIVOR SPOILERS

a/n:

prompt:

you and cal went way back

like, jedi padawan back

so after the purge, about five years later, you guys reunited by chance. thanks to cere junda, no less

and, god, seeing someone so familiar after trying to get by on your own, someone who knew the feeling of the trajectory of your life being thrown off before you were ready, that wasn’t easy to come by

“you’re here” -cal

“i’m here” -you

“we survived” -cal

“just barely” -you

cere was delighted that the two of you could have lifted each other’s spirits so much, which was very much needed in desperate times, as you two were just given a very important mission by a former jedi master in your order

you and cal kicked some serious ass together, helping one another relearn old lessons your masters had taught during your youth

“i think running across walls was the hardest thing i was ever taught” -you

“it took me forever to get that right! i could only get two steps in before i plummeted to the floor!” -cal

you shared a lot of stories and emotions during travels, in private

and not all of them were positive, but this was the first chance you’d had in five years to face these emotions, to air out your feelings

“do you miss the clones? i was so fond of our battalion, they were always so kind to me” -you

“i think…i think that was the worst part. the people who defended us in battle, gave me pep talks before training, always there, that same face at every turn suddenly behind the blaster that was meant to put me down” -cal

“i miss them” -you

cal and you had your missions together…and separately. you’d be on one planet and he on the other, trying to race the empire and inquisitors to the holocron

“it could happen all over again” -you

“it could be the key to saving the galaxy” -cal

“or we’d be creating a generational tragedy” -you

“so would the empire” -cal

“you’ve got me there” -you

cal gifting you ponchos from his travels (lol)

“any chance you like pink?” -cal

“well…” -you

braving zeffo alone while you knew cal was somewhere far more dangerous, you had a bad feeling about it

but your teachings from the order were always the same, no attachment. mission first, feelings second…no, last

but on cal’s adventure, he found merrin, a nightsister from dathomir

you hadn’t seen any nightsisters since ventress, which did happen to make you feel a bit off

“cal…you sure?” -you

“trust me, y/n. things have changed. merrin is just like us” -cal

“cal told me much about you. another survivor. a pleasure” -merrin

you and merrin grew quite close actually

she was truly spectacular, and swapping stories with her was sort of educational

“wait…the jedi responsible for the nightsister genocide? you said lightsabers, plural? how many?” -you

“four” -merrin

“two green, two blue?” -you

“precisely. how did you know?” -merrin

“hang on, no way—” -cal

“my master killed him shortly before we were split up…when the clones turned” -you

“grevious? really? master kenobi finally got him?” -cal

“who is this ‘grevious?’” -merrin

“general grevious, he was a separatist general—a cyborg. he wasn’t a jedi, he stole lightsabers from his kills. he ordered the attack on your home” -cal

“i’m so sorry, merrin” -you

you three were still healing from many scars, but doing it together was much more achievable than trying alone

it was a wonder you even made it to fortress inquisitorius

you, cal, cere. all three of you fought like hell to save those kids.

now, cal and you, you two had much different perspectives than say, cere or trilla

displaced padawans. little guidance. cal was barely old enough to even be a padawan learner, but times were desperate and the order called upon the youngling to start quite early. you were in a similar boat. it made you two see eye to eye better than most

trilla, a padawan with much more training and insight, one who was failed by the order that she was most loyal to. failed by her own master.

cere, a devout jedi master who failed many people who were counting on her. who lost herself to a side of herself that every jedi is supposed to fight.

and just before any resolution could come of all of you together, the famed and feared darth vader showed himself

and the sinking feeling you felt before he arrived froze you

“what is it, y/n? y/n?” -cere

*ominous breathing sounds*

you shook off the feeling, fleeing instead

cal and you were split up when you swore vader made a point to hold you back

“run cal! get out of here!” -you

“y/n l/n, i was hoping i would see you” -vader “where is obi-wan?!”

“i thought you were dead” -you

“is that what he told you?” -vader

“you’re going to kill me to get back at him? i haven’t seen him since the purge, anakin! i left!” -you

“there is no anakin!” -vader “did you leave, or did he leave you?”

“are you just going to let cal get away?” -you

“he can’t get far” -vader

“my journey is not important to you” -you

“you are like me, y/n. obi-wan failed us. these inquisitors are weak, impressionable, disposable. but i know how you think. i know how he thinks. i give you the opportunity to join me. fight with me.” -vader

“i saw the holotapes, anakin. i saw what you did to the younglings and i will not let you do it again. we are not alike, obi-wan did not fail me. i took a page out of ahsoka’s book, i found my own path. and it is not beside you.” -you

“this is not over, y/n. i trust you’ll find your way out” -vader, force pushing you off a ledge

you did find you way back out and merrin was quick to save you before going back for cal

you were left completely unharmed, as well, which was quite the surprise to everyone else

“what happened back there, y/n?” -cal

“nothing i’d like to relive” -you

cal nodded and let it go, focusing on the holocron floating before you all

your mind kept replaying memories as they discussed what to do with it

memories of anakin’s massacre. vader’s speech. younglings you couldn’t save. luke and leia somewhere across the galaxy. the inquisitors.

“destroy it.” -you

in one quick swipe, cal took his lightsaber to the glowing blue cube. no questions asked

and from there on, it was no longer about the order. you remembered why you left in the first place. the purge, the politics, your master couldn’t contain himself. your troops turned their blasters on you. everything you were taught was bantha fodder. and you were just a padawan

it was now about disassembling. scaring the people in power while giving the little guy some hope.

“this is a much better gig than obi-wan playing by the rules” -you

“from what you told me, him and anakin never played by the rules” -cal

the name made you shudder, but you pushed past it

“well, anakin was known as the rulebreaker. obi-wan always tried to reel him in. but, i’ve noticed a rule or two that master kenobi had bent” -you

“anakin has a padawan too, right?” -cal

“he did. she was also a rule breaker. when she left the order, i almost followed her. last i heard, she went to mandalore with half of the 501st. i, uh—” -you

“right…” -cal

you were still haunted from the encounter on nurr. still hadn’t told cal and it was eating you up inside.

but the fighting made it feel better

dismantling, stealing, helping

and then merrin left. and cere. and greez settled down. and you and cal were just two makeshift jedi knights with your tragic pasts and your need to keep your place in the galaxy

and keep each other close

but not too close

those rules you followed, the one’s obi-wan followed, you threw them out a long time ago. the jedi order was corrupt. you examined each council master postmortem and decided that they were all flawed despite their rank. you hated them for it.

but decided the one teaching you would follow would be to lose hate, a step to the dark side.

you didn’t really even know at this point, what was the difference between right and wrong anymore

cal and you continued fighting. joined up with saw gerrera. never left each other’s sides

which…sparked feelings you’d never really been taught or told how to deal with

only aversion, really. but it wasn’t like you didn’t really talk about it

“i don’t really see the problem with it. look at everything else we do, that’s not exactly the jedi way” -you

“it’s dangerous” -cal

“love is dangerous?” -you

“attachment is” -cal

“i figured you already had attachments. we were all a crew before this” -you

“i let them all go” -cal

“and you’d let me go?” -you

you began constantly questioning these ways and trying to fight for a new future with cal, without pressing too hard

but it was hard to ignore those feelings and harder to constantly be denied by your old life

and it was harder when the new crew always teased you two

“come on, kestis. if you don’t, i will” -gabs

“yeah, just go for it. who’s it hurting?” -bravo

“i’m just not ready to go there” -cal

you were more bothered than you let on

but you always put the mission first

up until your trip back to coruscant

“this is just a reminder of how little it all matters now. there’s no one left.” -you

“that’s why it matters” -cal

the intensity of this mission made it so it was just the two of you again

and maybe that would spark something…but you doubted it

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @gabile18 // @sweetjedi // @retvenkos // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @dontyousassmeok // @dindjarinsspouse // @zoeyserpentluck // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @sheridans-dynamos // @lady-violet // @simsrecs // @xoxobabydolls // @ruvaakke // @simp-legend // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @your-local-simp0 // @elenavampire21 // @pheonixfire777 //

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis imagine #jfo #sw jfo #star wars survivor #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars #jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi fallen order imagine

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thatscarletflycatcher · 8 months

Text

There's something that has been gnawing at me since I saw some comments on the look-how-they-massacred-them poll for Daniel Sousa -with which I didn't want to engage then and there because I really didn't want to pick up a fight with another Daniel fan, there's few enough of us, but also because the argument was very difficult to articulate.

It is difficult to explain how Daniel Sousa is screwed over by Endgame without making it look like either "he deserved Peggy as a prize" or "he was the perfect prize for Peggy", because it all begins by understanding the experience of WWII and the building of the morale of WWII. Something that Markus and McFeely seemed to perfectly understand in Agent Carter, which inclines me to believe it was specific insistence of the Russos, whose concept of narrative and storytelling is at the level of a belligerent and not very bright 4 year old, that gave us that mindblowingly stupid "happy ending" for Cap and Peggy. Or maybe Markus and McFeely are just arcane creatures, at times intelligent and at times really dumb. Anyways.

Point is that both CATFA and Agent Carter understand that for these characters, fighting WWII is a matter of "each doing their bit", of, as Steve put it in The Avengers, to lay on the barbed wire so the one that comes after you can pass on. And in the process of doing that, you have great loses and suffer great grief. The price of war is immense, and for these people the price of war is the price of freedom (yes, that celebrated Steve speech from CATWS is also sharing in that same spirit. It's kind of impressive how until that awful mess of Endgame, the perspective of Steve as a character from movie to movie is one that addresses how some 1940s things are outdated, but how many others are still relevant and inspiring. It is a surprisingly nuanced take on History, that of course the Russo "Cap is an outdated relic that belongs in the past and should stay there" brothers don't seem to have what's needed to grasp).

In that context, the most coherent tone for Steggy is tragedy. Because that is what happened to many, many, many people during the war. You meet, you fall in love fast, because there is no time. And then suddenly the other is gone, never to come back. And all the promises of youth and life and future the other person represented, are gone with them. People who lived through 2020-2022 have some idea of what it is like for projects, opportunities, and years of your life to just vanish. Now you make that five years, eight months, and to mention "just" the British, 1 out every 100 people live in 1939, dead, and over 350.000 permanently disabled. If you were 20 in 1939, your life would be practically on hold till you were 26. It's a whole lot of grief, and an intense grief, that you don't solve the way you solve a random missing connection in a romcom like Serendipity or The Lake House. Doing so is cheapening and bastardizing the grief and trauma of a whole generation of people in different countries.

So, Agent Carter. Here we have a story focused on a group of people, spies, who, in different fronts and with different outcomes, made it through the war and are now facing this new world they are living in, and all the grief of their respective losses. The focus of the story is Peggy, a woman who, like many others, was allowed a wide range of action during the war, and is now subconsiously perceived as a threat by many of her male coworkers. It's a desperate bid to "go back to the way things were before", and her presence is a constant reminder that they can't.

Sousa occupies a very similar position to Peggy's: he's also a reminder that the war happened and that there is no way back, no magic solution, no pretending. And that's why both are ignored, and displaced, and why both struggle to prove themselves in a subconscious way while living by the continued principle that they are doing their bit. That is their lifeline that keeps them sane and working all throughout s1 of Agent Carter.

That's what we mean when we say Peggy and Sousa are equals, and that Sousa is contented with letting her have the spot; not because he's her inferior or her dependant, but because he's her equal -in intelligence, in ideals, in resourcefulness, in loyalty, but also in their relative positions in the power ladder- and does not feel threatened by her because of it.

(It is in this context, btw, that Peggy's rebuke of Daniel's "rescue" of her in the first episode must be understood. Because she was once treated like any other officer/agent of her same rank, she has knee jerk reactions to both being demeaned and being protected. It's also an important theme of that beginning of the series that Peggy needs to learn to let her friends in, and that she needs their help, and that that doesn't make her too weak to protect and defend them.)

But also, in another way, when we talk about Sousa becoming Peggy's husband, it has to do with the sentiment Krezminsky expresses in the series:

The ship of Steggy had sailed and was gone forever since the moment Steve became the legend in the ice and Peggy "Cap's Girl", this embodiment of the ridiculous damsel in distress we hear in the radio drama that plays on one of the episodes: Peggy fell in love with Steve when he was a scrawny, sickly lad, because she loved the man he was inside, but now forever for the world she is just another superficial, weak girl lusting after the handsome godlike rescuer, the picture of the eugenic dream of the übermensch. In Daniel Peggy loves and finds all the same things she found and loved in Steve, but in a different light, because Sousa is a different person, with a different life story, plus something else: they have both gone through war and its loss and grief, and come to the other side in need of rebuilding and finding new meaning in life and hope for the future.

In a world where the Dark, Tall and Handsome Hero of the Six Pack, Alpha Dominance and Endless Stamina reigns supreme, Sousa as a love interest is a remarkable and -sadly- bold statement about the things that truly matter in finding one's life partner.

So I think here is a reasonable point to start talking about Sousa in Agents of SHIELD. Because here's where someone would rationally say "well, but you see, there he's also chosen as a love interest!", and the reasons why context in AoS changes everything are multiple, so let's go there.

But before that, let me make clear that I do wholeheartedly believe the writers of AoS meant to honor Sousa, and sincerely tried to do their best with what they were given. That doesn't change what the end product ended up doing and saying about him.

Like Peggy is the main character of Agent Carter, so Daisy is the main character of Agents of SHIELD. As much as you can say all the team characters are important and get the focus, Daisy is the one which the narrative insists on making the focal point, as the arcs of several seasons hinge on her, and we are expected to sympathize with her first and foremost in any situation in which she is personally involved. But unlike Peggy, Daisy is a superpowered individual. She's more like Steve than Peggy; she's practically a demigod. She is capable of ripping Earth apart with just her hands. Where Peggy and Sousa were equals in the power ladder in-universe, in AoS the distance between Daisy and Sousa is abysmal. That imbalance is the first thing that leads to Sousa being put in the position of Daisy's Boy. The fact that he ends up in space with Daisy's last minute sister who is ALSO an inhuman does not help things.

As a side note, there's something to be said about futuristic prosthetics in AoS and how they interesect with disability. But I'd rather not get into it because it is a thorny subject and I don't feel qualified to speak of it.

In a different way, Daniel being Peggy's love interest in Agent Carter is balanced out by his having a life of his own and many interactions with other characters throughout the series. He pursues his own lines of investigation, he conducts interrogations of his own, he comes up with plans, he teams up with Krezminsky and with Thompson and in s2 he has downright made a life for himself as chief in California with a fiancé and all. There is a clear sense that he exists as a character outside of pining for Peggy.

In AoS, the opposite happens. Part of it is owed to the writers writing themselves into a corner: to take Sousa out of his timeline, they have to do it in such a way that his disappearance is inconspicuous, which means killing him. They do it the best way they can think of, honoring his alertness and intelligence, by making him realize HYDRA is infiltrated in SHIELD decades before anyone else does. But as a consequence, Sousa becomes the man out of time: there's no future for him, because he has died, and unlike Steve, he's not being brought back because he himself is required. They just save him because they take pity on him and the tragedy of his life. So he has no mission and no significant previous connection with anyone on the team. One of the concrete things in which this is evidenced the most is with the switch from being addressed as chief Sousa to Agent Sousa. He was chief, but between that SHIELD and this SHIELD there's not such a connection by which he can claim that title. There's no subordinates to manage. So he's sort of default-called agent without really being a proper agent.

So the writers choose the fish-out-of-water concept for him. Which is far fetched. This guy lived through wwii in a high spy setting where intelligence has knowledge of powerful interstellar aliens. He's most definitely not bewildered by phone cameras, guys. He would quickly adapt... if, again, you know, he was brought back for a mission. But the reality is that from a Doylist POV, he was brought in to be Daisy's love interest, and the only thing he can offer to her, in this huge power imbalance I have pointed out, is chivalrous manners and quaint WWII style references like when he tells her "Agent Johnson, we are going home"; both can be very charming to a modern woman, but they are things that highlight the cultural and psychological distances that separate them, and make it glaringly obvious that they have barely anything in common.

The series tries desperately to give them common ground in the time-loop episode, with this idea that Daisy is like Peggy because she sacrifices herself for others and to protect others all the time. Which is laughable because, again, in Daisy's condition of beloved main character that embodies the tortured, quasi byronic heroine that we understand to be the hallmark of about one half of the contemporary superhero type, the narrative and the characters in it bend all sorts of ways to accommodate her, not the other way around. Peggy's type is different because it is rooted in that WWII morale/frame I was talking about at the beginning of the post.

As a consequence of all of this, Sousa barely interacts with anyone that isn't Daisy (he has of personal scenes, what? one or two with Coulson, the scene where Jemma gives him a new prosthetic, and then he's given an idea to give to Mac in the finale. I don't remember any other non-Daisy ones), has no unique role to fulfill in the mission (specially because so much of the plan is entwined in Fitz and Jemma's rescue plan that was NOT counting with Sousa) and no personal goal to achieve, which weakens his standing as a character outside the romance plot, and when it comes to the romance plot, he has nothing in common with Daisy, and he brings nothing to the partnership other than... narratively forced love, and chivalrousness.

In the end, Daniel, who was a character and a person of relevance in Agent Carter, is nerfed and turned into a prop for the rushed happily ever after of the main character of AoS. And that, in my books, is being screwed over. That's what makes his becoming Peggy's husband and building a life and a future with her a much better and more preferable outcome for Daniel; he gets to build a life of meaning by his own significant work and significant connections, in his own time and place, with a wife who is his equal and with other people that have lived through the same collective experiences of trauma and grief he did.

#Daniel Sousa #Agent Carter #AoS #meta #peggysous

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bohemian-nights · 1 year

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Arlī(Anew)-Chapter 1

Word Count: ~1,644 words

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest

Description: She was not her uncle’s first choice Naery’s knew that, but she would do her duty.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

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115 AC - Dragonstone

Naerys had been told by her septa that a woman’s place in this world is a precarious thing, but she had not known what it meant until now. She was the blood of old Valyria though she did not feel it. She lacked the true spirit of her dragon rider ancestors. It mattered not now. Today was her wedding day and she had been every inch the Valyrian bride. She knew her duty. Naerys was to be her uncle’s long-awaited prize.

Her uncle’s wife, the Lady Rhea Royce, had died. It had been an accident. Lady Rhea had fallen off her horse and broke her back hawking. A tragedy, but that did not stop the murmurs around court and the Vale. The whispers only grew when her uncle had gone to Runestone to claim his late lady wife’s seat.

The king dismissed them of course. Daemon had been away from the Vale in the Stepstones at the time. Short of him being in two places at once, Lady Rhea’s death was an unfortunate incident. And with it, Daemon was freed from his ill-fated union. Free if he chose to take a woman to wife.

Her uncle did not have to remarry. He was a second son who stood to inherit nothing. Daemon had not been his brother’s heir for years. In that time, king Viserys had more heirs. His eldest daughter had sons of her own now. House Targaryen’s future stood secure, but the prince had made it clear that he intended to marry again.

The small council suggested that a match between the Prince of Dorne’s daughter and the rogue prince would be ideal. She was said to be beautiful, she was an avid rider, her High Valyrian was near perfect, and most importantly she was her father’s heir. A second son could not want more in a bride. Daemon had rejected the match with a chuckle that bounced around the throne room.

A Martell bride would bring him his own seat. It would finally bring Dorne into the fold with the rest of the kingdoms Viserys ruled over, but he had not wanted it. He had already been made to take one wife he did not want. He would not take another. This time around Daemon Targaryen had wanted a wife of his own choosing.

Daemon had informed her uncle’s small council that he wanted a Valyrian wife and Dragonstone. He would take his niece Naerys, his half-brother’s only daughter, to wife. The prince had Caraxes, fought in wars, and he would now have her. His final trophy. A young Targaryen wife. A naive impressionable girl and a seat for them to rule over.

The council had all scoffed at his initial request. “Our niece is too young for you brother,” her uncle, the king, had told him.

“She is not Rhaenyra my prince,” Naerys uncle Lord Corlys Velaryon had chimed in as well. “You will find her wanting.” As she was his ward it was his job to worry over her safety and future marriage prospects.

Daemon’s involvement with the king's heir and oldest daughter, Princess Rhaenyra was an open secret. Though she was herself now married to Lord Corlys son Ser Laenor, with them both being at court it was only a matter of time before the two might rekindle their affections for one another.

Naerys was too sweet. A shy little thing who had seen little of the world outside of Driftmark. She would not be an adequate replacement for the worldly Prince’s true desires. It was not until Daemon threatened to go to Lys, find his mistress, and take her to wife, that the king then conceded much to the disappointment of some at court.

No one had dared to voice their objections once the king agreed to the match apart from the queen and unsurprisingly the princess. Her father had once been the king's hand. Ser Otto Hightower and Daemon had never seen eye to eye. It seemed that the father's grudge had passed onto the daughter. Queen Alicent had tried to remind her husband of his brother’s ways, but the king dismissed her concerns.

Rhaenyra had initially laughed upon hearing the news that Daemon had wanted to take her for a wife. “Let my uncle have his little Targaryen bride,” she had exclaimed with glee to anyone who asked her opinion on the matter. “My dear little cousin and his duties at court should keep Daemon occupied. He will do his duty to his king and his heir.” The meaning was not lost to those around the Red Keep.

“If he wants to plot it will not be easy with the whole court watching him,” the princess had added. Naerys would often find her cousin staring across a room in search of their uncle. The man would sometimes meet her hopeful lilac gaze though his eyes would often drift to a pair of deep violet ones.

Rhaenyra’s tune changed upon finding out that they would not reside in the Red Keep and would be given Dragonstone. She then joined in with Alicent. Naerys own opinion on the match had not been asked for her opinion on her future union with her uncle. In the end, Daemon had gotten what he wanted. A young unspoiled niece for a bride and their family’s seat Dragonstone.

The ceremony itself had been nerve-racking. Her uncle had insisted upon a Valyrian ceremony. Naerys did not know half the words. Her Valyrian had always been less than satisfactory. Daemon had not laughed when she stumbled over the words. He never had when it came to her. Even when her face grew hot at his vulgarity he simply grinned at her.

Naerys had not been able to cut herself nor when the priest had called for the binding. Daemon had to do it for her. Seemingly taking pleasure in her anxiousness as he brought the blade to both of their lips and then hands with a self-satisfied smirk. The feast afterward had been a blur.

“Come here sweetling,” Naerys' new husband had called her once her new lady’s maids had left, breaking her out of her daze. They were alone in her bed chambers. Her uncle had been kind enough to allow the dispensation of the bedding ceremony. There was no need to when they all knew that this marriage would be unlike the prince's first.

Naerys felt the urge to pretend she had not heard him. She had been made to change into a sheer gown that did little to hide her figure. Her aunt Princess Rhaenys had tried to warn her of what might occur on her wedding night, but it did little to calm her. When Daemon called for her again she knew that she could not avoid him.

Naerys reluctantly made her way out from behind her changing screen, her eyes briefly landing on her uncle who stood by her fireplace. The fire's glow bathed him in its warm light and cast shadows across the room. From the corner of her eyes, she could see that her husband's gaze followed her across the room. He did not waste time pulling her into his arms when she finally reached him.

Daemon did not say anything as he stroked her silver curls. For a time they stood in silence. His gaze fell back to the fire. The only thing that could be heard was the crackle of it and the faint sounds of the feast down below.

“I suppose I will need to break you in.” He seemed to be thinking out loud, but that did not stop Naerys from pulling back from him. Daemon did not move to stop her as she turned away to face the side of the room. Her arms came up to cradle herself as her dark eyes landed upon what would soon be her marriage bed.

“Give him heirs Naerys.” Her uncle Ser Vaemond had whispered in her ear before her husband took her away to her new chambers. That is what she was there for. A mere plaything for her uncle. To appease him, birth his children, care for them, and console him when needed.

Naerys was wanted for her blood and what she could offer him with it. She was the blood of the dragon even if she did not feel it. She was a dragon rider. She might have even been queen had her father, but she felt even younger than her sixteen name days at that moment.

“Come niece, I will not harm you.” Naerys turned slightly to see that he held out a pale hand towards her. She hesitated to take it, but her fate was sealed whether she took it or not. She gave into her husband's demand, reaching for his outstretched arm with her small brown one. He laid another kiss on her head when she was close enough. She heard her husband sigh as he pulled her back into him.

“Ao issi gevie byka mēre.” Naerys only made out half of his words.

“Do not worry little wife,” Daemon hummed lightly. He drew circles upon her back with his right hand. It was almost soothing until he began to pull her gown up with his other hand. “I will not mind teaching you.” His hands drifted down to her newly exposed rear making the young bride tense up once more. As she closed her eyes she was confronted with the realization of why they were here, to begin with.

With any luck the sooner they consummate their union, the faster he would leave her and go back to his own quarters. Rhaenyra was with them on Dragonstone. The young bride was not naive. She was not her uncle’s first choice, Naerys knew that, but she would do her duty.

Translations:

Ao issi gevie byka mēre: You are beautiful little one

Ao3 link:

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #house of the dragon #houseofthedragon #hotd #hotd fanfiction #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #posting this before I chicken out #daemon targaryen x black!oc #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen x black!reader #bnhotdfic

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skyeventide · 9 months

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taking a stab at the whole valinor trauma rebirth tragedy thing

without getting into the various iterations of mandos throughout its development, the fact that it shares the etymological root with angband (angamando in quenya) or its use as both a prison/punishment place and as the temporary "afterlife" of elves, I think it should be obvious why "mandos cures everything" doesn't work for most people. it's simply narratively unsatisfying. we know that, technically, spirits are solitary in mandos and don't tend to interact with each other, and we know (iirc) that nienna does most of the healing work, when those spirits don't reflect on things by themselves.

healing in complete isolation might work one rare time, but it's otherwise simply not how healing works, how adjusting to a new life works. being way too in your own head is discouraged. healing all your traumas because a goddess did it via magic counseling gives, at best, uncanny vibes, at worst erases the struggle and journey of adjusting, with help, into the life you're actually living. so people either say that spirits can actually meet in mandos and figure things out among themselves, or subvert the narrative and have people come out of mandos either not truly healed or only partially so, and needing the real living feedback of society to exist within it again. a reading which allows mandos to still function as a recovery, but whose achivement is to "prepare" for the journey of spiritual healing, to bring elves back to a stage where they're able to face the circumstances that generated their trauma (aka the living, embodied world, and maybe more precisely even the people involved in it).

this barely touches on the grievances that dead elves might have with the guys who are running this show. this isn't just feanorian followers (or the exiles more at large) who renounced the valar's authority, it can also be the avari, who now either get valinor or they get valinor. it can be the falathrim, who wanted to go to valinor and lost the chance. it can be those sindar who were waiting for a full intervention from valinor, and it didn't come until earendil came around. it's hard to envision healing within a system when the system itself is what you take issue with. it requires a personal compromise, or an acceptance of the system's authority, and that's simply not always possible, nor can fanworks always easily tackle it — which is also why I think fics where living relatives "bully" or like, strongly entreat, the valar into releasing specific elves from death are popular. it's one way of giving that specific problem a solution, though it may in effect be unrealistic. it's less about realism (I for one don't believe the Valar would ever do that) and more about trying to find a way through wanting to see those characters heal without having to bend and accept the system and its authority.

which also brings me to what comes after and the necessary divide, real or perceived, between people who were always in valinor and people who returned to life after conflict.

to put it simply, making sweeping statements about whether amanyar elves can understand the trauma of exiles and other reborn elves is not possible and in itself pretty silly. even the amanyar themselves don't perceive their experiences of trauma and the darkening in the same way! the teleri refuse to set foot in beleriand despite their own kin being there, and despite the fact that noldor and vanyar embark on a valar-sanctioned war. it's pretty obvious that their own internal experiences and cultural understanding of the darkening or of valar authority is still vastly different, that even going by the imprecise and generalising divide of clan, that trauma was processed differently. or not processed at all.

and then, would those who fight the war of wrath understand the trauma of a continent-wide collapse? yeah, surely in a sense they can, they live through it. but can they understand it from the point of view of a sinda who had lived in beleriand all their life and didn't simply come here with the understanding that this was war? who saw their home be destroyed slowly and painfully, and in the end, when the saving arrives, it's a saving with such an immense and heartbreaking price? maybe they can empathise, maybe they can't. the darkening, by the time of the war of wrath, is no viable term of comparison. even among the living, this isn't cookie-cutter.

so what of those who die and return? I think it's obvious, in the text itself, that someone can go through a death, real of metaphorical, return to their old home which has itself gone through some considerable trauma, and realise that no matter if both you and your home have changed, both have bled, you're still unable to readjust to it the way others can. other people who were with you in your journey can integrate, they find old friends and loves who help them in this. you can't. I'm obviously talking about frodo.

it's not the same for everyone and it will never be. and I do feel as though the reading of valinor being in itself unable to take back people who went through trauma is a push-back against the idea that valinor must inherently be blissful, healing, and perfect; but the text presents us many situations where the environment of valinor plants the seeds of dissatisfaction; the fact that it doesn't work as neatly as it seems is at the core of the early conflict in The Silmarillion (even without pointing out stuff like: troubled people, Frodo included, go to the gardens of Lorien in search of that healing and peace of mind that the rest of the land can't actually provide. it's just a land. it's mostly free of toil because there's literal gods providing things, but it's just a land). valinor is not perfect, but its status as blessed realm invites a certain unease in many readers. I believe this unease leads easily to cotradictory and equally extreme positions, ranging from "no one would or should feel out of place after rebirth" to "actually no one would understand the trauma of someone who died and returned".

plus, of course, the obvious: someone's trauma, collective or individual, and how people process it, doesn't somehow erase someone else's and how they process it. the two things can come in conflict with one another, but they're not, like, mutually exclusive.

#The Silmarillion #Valinor #quenta noldorinwa #I will say I haven't seen these takes #everything is a secondhand account for me

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hashtagloveloses · 7 months

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the theme of loneliness in jujutsu kaisen, and of breaking the cycle that sorcerers should care for one another and fight together......he felt LOVED and NOT ALONE at the end, but still missed geto bc he was the only one who understood him. despite his personal tragedy, he broke the cycle with his actions in the end - his students and colleagues were there cheering him on. the memories/spirits of his dead friends were there to say goodbye. despite all the darkness in the series i do believe it will end on a bittersweet high note bc despite losing the battle he won the war - jujutsu society was changed. he admits to geto, and only geto, that he wasn't strong enough to beat sukuna like he promised but in a way, he will have, because his students will. the society he changed, the people he trained and loved will win and in that way he will win. not just against sukuna but in general.

#original post #jjk spoilers #jjk manga leaks #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #satoru gojo

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somethingclevermahogony · 3 months

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An Introduction to Myself and My WIP!

Hello everyone! A confession, this is actually a re-introduction. I've been here on Tumblr for a little less than a year now, but I haven't been the best about being active, life just sort of got in the way. As such I would like to reintroduce myself and what I've been working on.

For the purposes of Tumblr and in the interest of privacy you can call me C. I am in my mid-twenties, I use he/him pronouns, and I am happily married to my partner, who is also a C. I am queer, as is my partner. I enjoy cooking, fishing, Dnd(ing?), reading, and of course writing.

We both originally come from the US but we are currently living on the east coast of Scotland as I pursue my Msc in Archaeology.

I am trying to be a bit more active on here and I am always open to things like tags and asks, even if it takes me a bit to respond.

I think that's about it for me, and so without further ado let me introduce or reintroduce you to my WIP.

Testaments of the Green Sea

Genre: Epic Fantasy

Themes and Tropes (Or more accurately a random assortment of words vaguely related to the plot): Found Family, immortality, loss, love, war, power, memory, magic, insanity, The passage of time, growing up, queerness in the ancient world, violence, spirits, fantasy outside of medieval europe

Summary: Book one of the Testaments of the Green Sea (The lands of the Green Sea are pictured above) follows the journeys of the giant slave Narul and the princess Ninma. After unexpected tragedy forces the two to flee from the Great city of Labisa, they find themselves on a journey which carries them across the ancient lands of Kishetal. Along the way they encounter spirits, demons, war, gods, pirates, and slavers. TW for death/grief, violence/blood/gore, mental illness, physical illness, abuse, and cannibalism, awkward queerness, secondhand embarrasment etc, etc.

Excerpt( First Paragraph of Chapter 1): The blood dripped into the awaiting bowl, painting its alabaster walls crimson. The slave watched the dark liquid trickle down his arm, skirting past the hairs, rolling veins, and moles. Even after these twenty years of weekly blood lettings, he could not shake a creeping feeling of unease as his eyes followed the sanguine river creeping its way across his arm. His own face gazed back at him from the scarlet pool. He could not meet his own eye, could not stand to look that creature. He turned away.

Draft Status: The second draft of the manuscript is currently being edited, I will be looking for my first round of Beta Readers likely before the end of the year.

This is just part one of a much larger series. My partner is currently working on the beginnings of their own series, set in the same world but 3,000 years in the future, roughly aligning with our own Great War Period. I'm so excited to share more with you, and I love answering questions!

Narul and Ninma courtesy of @faeporcelain

#world building #fantasy #fantasy writing #queer fantasy #worldbuilding #fantasy world #testamentsofthegreensea #narul #fantasy worldbuilding #writing #wip #current wip #kobani questions #fantasy map #if y'all have any questions please ask!#ask #send asks

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wmarximoff · 2 years

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in secret | w. maximoff

summary: after spending all of her youth trapped in HYDRA's labs, Wanda Maximoff had no contact with outsiders, and therefore never knew the nuances of human pleasures. but when a young amateur photographer travels to Sokovia, in secret, Wanda discovers more about herself than she ever has done before.

warnings (18+): mentions of tragedy, sexual discovery, masturbation, mentions of sex, voyeurism.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 2k

A/N: guess who finally saw In Secret? lol

this is basically Wanda's journey of discovery about her sexuality and maybe her body as a whole. it's more of a character study than anything else, really.

|masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

Wanda Maximoff couldn't have pinpointed with unerring clarity the first time that dazzling spark flickered in her fiery center when facing another female figure. When she had started to feel that peculiar way around someone like her – when her gaze had started to take too much of its time just scrutinizing the contours of rosy lips and gentle chins, lingering on the newly conceived idea of the fact that she wanted to touch – she needed to feel – something that she also had.

At some point, as in a summer breeze that comes in the form of an announcement of warm and restrained days, like a verging innocent desire to know something new, the curves of pelvic girdles became more attractive than the prominent muscles and roughness of stubble beard trails, when the softness and the fragility were enough to make her want more of that new idea. For Wanda, there was nothing of an assorted nature that would be able to attract her like that feeling did.

It certainly wasn't, however, during the early years of her pre-adolescence, all carried away in poverty worthy of the structures of a country devastated by war, that she realized this outlandish distinction flourishing within herself. A need. A crave, perhaps. Not like other girls, but for other girls.

At the time, the unfaithful hunger had allowed her senses to arise in no other way than to beg for something other than food to digest within the walls of her stomach; there was no room there to consume the dying butterflies of love, for the hunger was cavernous even when her mother barely tried to keep it from being so – her father worked to keep everyone pleased and healthy, it’s true.

But, at that time, there was a girl a little older than Wanda who lived in the apartment next door, next to that scrawny, tiny room in which she lived huddled together with her parents and her older twin brother – a room that wasn’t quite enough to shelter within itself, in four scraggy walls that barely prevented the frosty draft from outside, the size of a family of four. But they had a small television, a handful of old American sitcoms to watch, and a teenage daughter trying to make sense of the unintelligible.

The Maximoffs made it happen because they had no choice but to share the same bed to stay warm through the cold, algid Sokovian nights. When Wanda had to hug her own hands and only hope she didn’t die of hypothermia overnight.

The neighbor at the time was a rather appealing young woman, tall, typical of Slavic Europe, about nineteen years old, who had been babysitting her and Pietro some seasons before in the summer sun. She was a stunning image that captured the senses of a young Wanda at the height of her fifteen years of age, when things began to blossom like a rosebud and the notion of a child's world was slowly fading away from her cognition, every day a little beyond an ingenuous notion.

When she started fancying to have her own room and own bedsheets like the American kids did in these old shows from the last century – the pinnacle of the American Way of Life, a blatant lie for impressionable eyes –, realizing the unfair limitations of poverty and the true meaning of it in one's life, having lonely teenage nights to discover what hadn't been discovered yet.

There was a need effervescent in Wanda’s spirit, as if her lungs were crying out for oxygen to breathe. It was as if she was shedding her own skin without realizing that she was doing it; until it was too late to turn back. Wanda found the girl buried in the ruins of the popular residence after the second bomb fell on the building's terrace.

Only a pale, unresponsive forearm could be seen dragging itself out of the concrete and splinters, but Wanda recognized the silver bracelet buttoned to the length of her skinny wrist that had sporadically caught her attention when that pretty girl passed her in the hallways, always to offer her a fond, complacent smile that made Wanda's little heart, still so foreign to amorous feelings, flutter strangely when her cheeks heated up like an ignition in a fireplace, burning greedily inside her nerves.

On the lonely teenage nights she liked to daydream about, Wanda began to think about what it would be like to sleep next to the warm body of her striking neighbor; how the silhouette of her sinuous body would look under the covers when it was lit only by the silver moon, and how unsettling her sweet, honeyed scent would be when she bent over her straining guts. It made the hollow half withing her thighs quiver beneath her nightclothes every time.

Maybe she wouldn't snore as much as Pietro did, always so loud and so unkempt, or kick her shins under the thin blankets in her sleep. Her skin would be soft and delicate against the hollow of her calves, like a second mantle, silky and subtle to the touch. Wanda would certainly like to know what her sleepy sighs would sound like tenderly in her ear.

She was armed with the best of intentions when she took the bracelet for herself from that frozen dead arm (unlike the image her unconscious had become accustomed to idealizing in dream lines when flanked by the coming sleep, of that warm forearm encircling her waist and bringing her closer and closer) because she liked that girl enough to keep her memory close even after she passed away.

But crying for her parents, she didn't remember shedding any tears for the girl. She was then made an orphan, after all. She was a lonely girl, absolutely helpless.

Wanda lived to grow beyond the age when her neighbor was faced with the abrupt end of her life robbed by a war she hadn't started, and in which she would never be the one to end it. Even in an orphanage, crammed into a single room in the company of dozens of other little orphans, that girl in the next door still made her think and turn in the uncomfortable sheets overnight.

But she was barely twenty years old when she and Pietro (the orphaned twins then imbued with unusual gifts, Mind Stone energy pulsing in fiery golden color within their blood cells) fled the clutches of the HYDRA organization once and for all, after a few years of a poorly misguided volunteering that only resulted in abilities beyond what a normal human would have, the two of them headed into a world they would no longer see in the same way as they did before.

It didn't take long for Wanda to realize that she didn't truly understand the ranges of her new capabilities and how they shaped and transmuted her as a being, just as she didn't understand that ecstatic feeling that took shape, grew and expanded inside her like a crimson mist. The sun of her childhood had set, and it was time for something new to emerge from her insides.

She wanted to be in Pietro's shoes when he narrated to her, always so pompously, about the secret nocturnal encounters he'd been having with some girl and some other boy in the villages they frequented as they traveled across Sokovia with only each other’s company – the long journey only tarnished with a winding trail of experiences through the still shaken country, Wanda curious, dreamy and experimenting at that point among a collection of shabby maps, disjointed guides and fantasies late at night – every night – as soon as she realized that Pietro was falling asleep.

Wanda couldn't care less about the young man's summaries of what boys were like exposed in the minimal, voluptuous light of a dark room, indeed.

Just how they could be rather filthy when stripped of clothing and guided only by the will of their desires. But something in her craved to know more and more about how a girl reacted to being touched in a way that she had never been touched, nor had she ever touched anyone else before. How would it feel at her fingertips.

So she touched herself in the dead of night, in one of those where Pietro ventured out of their rented room, just rehearsing the idea empirically in her actions.

Idealizing the subtlety of a girl’s gentle touch even though her own probing fingers were amateurish and naively sloppy against the middle of the old sensibility that used to throb between her partially spread legs, so elusive against her panting skin.

There was something wet and pulsing that she brushed lightly with her fingertips, still testing, still knowing, but it caused an awakening of chaos inside her that she didn't want to let go of at that moment.

It felt good, as good as something that shouldn't be that good. If she was a person devout in faith, she figured, maybe it was a sin, because sins seemed to be good to taste. But there was nothing to stop her from moving forward, and everything in her screamed for her to keep going until that knot formed below her belly button came undone.

And then, in a rush of scarlet pleasure that sailed hard through her ruffled veins (her brow furrowed as if in pain, her heart racing like a marathon runner, her wrist aching in that newfound position of the tendons in her joint), with her mouth agape, Wanda understood. She truly did.

It was a sweet secret she had kept to herself. Something she secreted to the four walls of a dark room again, again and again. Everything about it, about the cravings of girls, always seemed to be something to be kept in secret – a secret that no soul seemed to dare to reveal.

A few weeks passed then since a new discovery, you showed up in her life. A photographer from another country, someone at the inn where the two of you temporarily settled down clarified the doubts that were circling Wanda's mind when her mouth opened to ask about you, a foreigner who just didn't seem to be from there – because you really weren't.

You were there to capture on screen the feeling of witnessing the pleasing Sokovian spring landscape, to present the result of a project and get your college degree.

Being a college student, then, you were a couple of years older than she was, but you were a new figure for her to discover and you were just as intriguing in Wanda's eyes as a foreigner could be. You, the idea of what you would be – what you could be –, aroused something exciting inside Wanda.

And she devoted her hidden attention to you like a believer who follows a god, always biting her own lips in a veiled excitement for the times in which you looked so intently with your camera and took a picture of some situation unfolding in your lens, preserved for posteriority in the light of your attentive gaze.

Wanda wanted you to look at her in that same intense way; that you studied her behind a camera and immortalize her in your memory.

She was like a red specter behind you on a particularly warm afternoon, heading into the scrawny beech trees of vegetation that skimmed the edges of that tiny village situated somewhere in the heart of Sokovia.

Like an animal looking for its prey, Wanda followed you along the lines of a shy little bunny, only being guided by the long pauses made by your sloppy feet, all directed to photograph the vibrant landscape or peaceful nature, some humming bird exotic in a funny pose.

Curly trees and elemental rusticities encompassed the natural landscape around you, a mist filled with the slow two-dimensional heat of morning hovering over your slow path, trickling through the tall row of trees clustered before the edge of a silvery-surfaced river like a long mirror.

You had taken a shortcut through the forest overflowing with so many emblems of nature and crossed the river before the dew, and at one point, amidst the vegetation, Wanda got on her knees (her fingers crunching fresh grass between the extensions of silver rings, she on all fours like a child still in the beginnings of that primordial phase of crawling, still not being able to walk properly) behind a tall pasture that served as a direct audience for you, as oblivious as you were just around the corner across the river, so far from the one who wanted you, yet so close that her gaze burned at your silhouette in front of a golden pool of sun.

From somewhere deep within that dark vortex, Wanda felt a new awakening of desire; so monstrous was her appetite for such a distinguish figure that, just a few feet away from her hiding place in the tall vegetation, you only raised your camera before your eyes and then snapped a well-articulated photograph.

Sweat ran in hot drops on the milky pale skin of Wanda’s neck, feeling so suffocated even under the damp shade of tall trees, and a hissing sound broke in the hollow of her parched, parted peach lips as she shifted position on the grass, the hem of the scanty maroon dress clad in the hollow of her crotch skimmed lightly against that secret place of hers reserved for lonely nights only.

“S-shit…” she moaned, half shivering, snatching her lower lip hard between a row of upper incisors.

And Wanda wasn't even at all surprised when she realized that, there, that nerve was throbbing, begging to be brushed again against the thin material of her secondhand dress. She spread her legs a little wider, fitting her pelvis better against the grass, the pale skin of her knees, then scattered here or there with small leaves and twigs, brushing against the grass mat down her inner thighs.

Charm and vulgarity clenched at Wanda's core when it was that she daringly rolled her hips forward one more time, in test form then intentional, only to feel the bun of fabric press against her panties beneath the dark layer of the dress. And it was good.

Then she rolled her hips again. And again. And stronger. And more exasperated. And more excited. And she rode out in search of what she already knew, secretly honoring you, that unknown photographer whose name she didn't even know.

Then Wanda lifted her clouded gaze, tilting her chin at a broken angle, the emerald green veiled by a shroud of sullen need that melted into the anticipation she'd compelled herself to feel, only to find you, right next to her in that bank of the river parallel to the one she was on, fiddling with the camera dangling from your neck, so absorbed in your ecstatic actions.

A nervous lump of hidden arousal formed inside Wanda's larynx – something pressed inside her as the notion descended upon her that you, far away, so beautiful and so immaculate, were just ignorant of her there, brushing nervously with the hollow of her inner thighs against the fabric of her own dress and the dewy grass on the ground like an animal in heat.

There was something bestial about the raw brutality that aroused her; Wanda discovered it there, snarling against her clenched teeth, watching you from afar, the knot about to burst.

“Fuc– fuck–! Fuck!” she grunted as that lump untied, her eyelids partially threatening to close against her eyes that would never dare leave your vision.

As Wanda rode, prolonging that vibrating red burst between her legs as long as possible, she never stopped holding her neck to watch you there, practically salivating, wanting it to be you there beneath her — she could rub herself against your hand, maybe your thigh, or even all over your pretty face.

And something in her shuddered, as you raised your camera in front of her face, even if so far away, and pointed the lens right at the place where she was hidden within the tall grass.

Later, the incitement of an impending night crept in, which dawned behind the avenue, between the tops of comfortable trees and along the green hill where the sun set behind the mounts, in the bliss of a due leisure, to which the moonlight of summer alluded to the amenities surrounding that small Sokovian village.

The candid air was clear, dewy, and humid to the lungs, yet a bit chilly in its European essence. The windows around the inn had all been closed. Wanda was lying on one bed and Pietro on another.

“So,” began the older twin, getting better under his covers, “What did you do this morning when you disappeared? I looked for you everywhere, you know? I was worried.”

And a small smile allowed itself to mischievously slip into Wanda's rosy lips.

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered to her brother, like a child who holds an enigma, “It's a secret.”

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