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easy-there-leftovers · 1 year

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I See You, Darling (3)

[Astarion x reader] As I mentioned in a previous post, this came along surprisingly easier than the last one. The same can’t be said about the quality though maybe– sorry for that. :,DDD|Word count: 2.6k.|

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, one sex joke (lol), the normal warnings that you’d associate with the game

Part 2 here!!

Next Part here!!

As an outsider to most of everyone’s problems, you find your place by helping in whatever way you can. Even if that may be at the expense of your own comfort, but at least it’s been fun so far.

Alternatively: Reader can't catch a break from anything, can they?

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Being resident camp caretaker was surprising, for lack of a better term. You were away from the stresses of technology, corporate assholes, and disappointing family with your choice to pursue unpractical careers. Instead living the “cottagecore lifestyle” of foraging for food and cooking with a cauldron that those from the digital world claimed to be the best. What they failed to mention were the incessant pests coming in to nibble through rucksacks if you were not careful, and the occasional swarms of ants or flies coming in to nip at your flesh.

The experience was a mixed bag, so it would seem. But the tired smiles that the group would give you when you greet them with a warm and filling meal was always a comfort that you would have.

And it would seem they needed it now more especially than ever.

Your band of misfits planned to venture out and defeat the goblins at their camp in order to aid the tieflings’ journey to Baulder’s Gate. Per your instruction, you convinced the more solipsistic members of the benefits of eradicating the sect. Namely, they wouldn’t hinder you as much in the future if they were taken care of. Hence your plan to slightly increase the amount of portions for supper tonight.

By twilight, you had a good broth steeping in your cauldron. The camp having returned just a few moments prior from an earlier excursion. You were making a pottage that the others have expressed their enjoyment for. A stew of sorts that you had made when you had quite the number of items that would have spoiled before consumption had you not done anything about it. A mixture of fruits and meat, stewed in a consomme of a pig’s head and various mushroom caps.

This time around, you’ll be using fresher ingredients to hopefully lift their spirits.

As you’re chopping up fruits, you think about all that’s happened to you and possible explanations for why your character suddenly ceased to exist in order to make room for you. What’s more is that no matter how many nights pass, you never end up waking from your dream. Which you fear is lasting longer than your usual ones.

Your working theory is that whatever force, be it magic or fate, tethering you to this world is also responsible for removing Tav. Astarion claimed that he couldn’t remember the finer details when you had confronted him. And so you settled with that hypothesis. That like how a thread that unravels opens a seam in a garment, a new thread must be used to darn the cloth together again.

You laugh at the disgustingly poetic analogy you created in your head. You fear that you’re becoming more and more deranged as—

“My, aren’t you busy?” The intrusive voice causes the knife to slip out of your hand a bit, thankfully only cutting off a portion of your index finger’s nail. Your shoulders, that were raised in alarm, release their tension after feeling the sudden chill leave your body.

“Astarion,” Exasperated, you put the knife down on the cutting board to catch your breath for a while.

“I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped sneaking up on me when I’m doing something dangerous.”

The high-elf offers a mischievous smile in response. “Very sorry, pet. But it’s hardly my fault when you’ve barely been paying attention to me.” There’s regret in his words, but not in his tone.

Because while perhaps it’s an odd interest, he enjoys hearing the quickened pace of your heart. The pulse getting louder, as it stays that way for longer.

“I’d feel sorry for doing so if you were too, but you’re not.”

You laugh out, breath still shaky but steadying slowly, as you pick up your knife again.

“I heard you’re part of the encampment that’s finishing off the goblins by midmorn.” Chopping the rest of the fruits, you feel his presence move from behind you to off to your side so you can see him from your peripherals.

“Hm? Yes. Although I would have preferred if we didn’t do this at all. It’s too much work, and the goblins could be entertaining! Killing useful spoils seems like an awful waste.”

This must be the reason why he approached you, to persuade you to call off the hunt. And his unfading smile supports that thought. When you voice said thought, it earns you a playful scoff.

“Don’t you have anything else on your mind other than the parasite lounging in it?”

The mood is light as you say this, the banter welcomed by you both.

And as you continue to converse, a few eyes begin to follow the two of you. They’ve never really seen Astarion interact with you for this long, at least not away from your private spaces. And even less without hushed voices. The interlocution is definitely a welcome spectacle to them.

“On my honor, the only thing on my mind is depraved, carnal lust.” He says, proudly. Gesturing to himself with one hand, and the other held high like he was swearing an oath.

Your closed mouth drops into frown, eyes wide, and your eyebrows skew upwards. A very undignified, but small, squeak coming from the back of your throat. You swore you heard someone groan in disappointment from far away too.

You know full well that the look of shock that you were sporting was by no means attractive, but the flagrant revelation, though not at all out of character, was shocking to have directed towards you. You’ve been trying to romance the elven vampire with your character, only to end up nowhere. Therefore you are completely unsure if the dialogue he was spewing was completely a figment of your imagination, or is, indeed, canon.

The elf in question has seen this expression of yours before. Quite often, too. And while he doesn’t think it a, “pleasant sight,” it is rather… charming to him.

Whether it be on purpose or not, people have the tendency to be on guard around him, preserving any twitch and sound that could give them away to themselves. Not that much had ever evaded him before with his naturally cunning behavior. But this clearly unscripted response, with the blatant confusion swimming in your eyes, is a rather refreshing sight to see.

“I see–” you clear your throat to lower your voice back to its normal octave. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to uh, bring those thoughts into fruition! Uh–,” You slide the rest of the cut fruits off of your cutting board and into the stew.

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me? Something I should know?” You turn to face him. He laughs at first, but then his brows furrow in question, as if he did have something to say and forgot about it or thinks it is no longer an appropriate time to ask. He shakes his head and says something along the lines of, “letting you do all the hard work” and returns to his tent.

But you are not left alone for long as another member of your little ragtag team joins you to ask about dinner. To which you ask them for which meat would be better to toss into it.

—————————

After dinner, your little rapport concerning the plan and new findings with everyone is adjourned. Some thanked you before they left, and others simply walked away. From what you have learned from them, the Archdruid that was taken prisoner by the goblins was named, “Halsin.” He was a topic of interest as they said he might be able to aid you in your search for moonrise and understanding the Mindflayer worms.

Wyll had also approached you alone after dinner and offhandedly mentioned a dead boar being on the road. He had planned to return to camp with it if it could have been useful, but he had claimed that the animal had been unnervingly light. As if half of its weight was no longer there despite seemingly just keeling over for no reason.

You take note of that in one of your many journals, including additional information about the Archdruid and their kind in general. The book appearing more and more like the game’s quest booklet, with the exception of a few crossouts and colored ink to emphasize each quest’s urgency and relevance to finding a cure. When you successfully rescue the druid of the grove, it seems you will have to move out quite soon after, so you fixed up your pack just a bit to make it easier later on.

You look around, everyone seems to be in their respective areas. Doing whatever it is they usually do with the exception of Astarion. Though he has been known to either sneak off or hide away from time to time in his tent, so you think nothing of it.

You return to the communal chest, tallying up the remaining supplies and inspecting the wares. You sort the tradeable objects in one rucksack and appraise its worth. The chest also has pieces of gold, some that others have placed, and others you picked up and added. You prefer to let the others keep what they think is valuable to them, and only place what they want to share in the vessel.

If the party’s gold ever runs out, you think that the rucksack is worth a few nights of food when you travel out again. Assured by this knowledge, you placed your writing materials back in, closed the chest, and turned in for the night.

Maybe this time, you’ll wake up. But you also don’t really want to. Not just yet.

—————————————

As you slept, you wondered about the longevity of your knowledge of the media. You hadn’t finished the game, and although you’ve accomplished a fair bit of it, you worry about how you will face the events to come. One of the only reasons why you haven’t flinched so much at the terrors that occurred was because you had anticipated them. Braced yourself for the dangers ahead.

You fear what might happen when you no longer have that power at your disposal.

Perhaps it's the worry, perhaps it's the stiff, compact ground that you have yet to be accustomed to sleep on despite the bedroll, or perhaps it's the presence of something suddenly cool that stirs you awake.

But what you did not expect was Astarion’s face hovering over yours to be the reason. Fangs bared, and ready to bite. Your eyes go wide and you let out a small gasp, hands moving up in a gesture akin to clawing at yourself.

The elf realizes that you’re awake now and he curses. Moving away as you scramble upright just like you did all those nights ago. The look of genuine fear at the prospect of being bitten is apparent on your face, and he feels almost guilty to be greeted with it.

“Please, I wasn’t going to hurt you— I just needed, well, blood.” He says it in a panic. Worried that you might run off, losing his only sure chance, and possibly enraging the rest of the camp.

In this moment, you realized the error in your ways. Astarion had been hunting nearly every other night in the same area. And if you were progressing through the events like how the game did, he couldn’t have had the time nor energy to venture too far after feeding from most of the creatures in the vicinity.

‘The exsanguinated boar…’ You remember.

“You’ve been feeding on animals for the past few nights, haven’t you?”

“It seems like word got around then.” Although unknowingly, he’s referencing what Wyll delivered to you earlier in the night.

“I’m not some monster, I feed on boars, deer, kobolds– whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now. And with the damned excursion,” He stops himself, complaining is only doing worse for his condition.

“It’s not enough. I feel so…weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” You’re conflicted. You had no problem offering yourself as your character for him to feed on, but even witnessing that through a disconnected screen was enough to make you feel uncomfortable imagining it. You care about him, want to give him what he deserves, but this…

What’s more is that you know what he’s saying is necessary, not at all overstating how dire his need to satiate his hunger is, making it all the more difficult.

He needs to convince you, if he wants to continue on, that is. Without the presence of the illithid, he resorts to more practical means of doing so. Similar to what he did to many.

Noticing the slight tremor of your hands, he takes the chance to slowly kneel down on your bedroll. Closing the distance between you. He takes your hand, now rougher from the work you do, and meets your shaken gaze with his dark eyes.

“Please. I only need a taste, I swear.” He had meant to tell you before dinner, had he not felt the eyes of the others on the two of you. This discovery is not lost on you. He needs you specifically. And you realize it's out of convenience because you’re an expendable resource. If you pass, the group can venture on, but he also still needs you alive for whatever reason. He can’t have the others finding out, not until they trust him.

He needs you to trust him. And this is the only way you can help him in this moment.

With that, you strengthen your resolve.

“I…I trust you, Astarion. But no more than what you need.” A dangerous bet, but you hope it would be worth it.

“Really? I–”

“Can I trust you on that?” The shock on his face fades, and he agrees.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” You lay down, preparing yourself to faint during the process and allowing your blood to flow throughout your body. He observes the rapid movement of your eyes as he drapes himself above you. Your sight flitting from anywhere but him and then returning all the same. No doubt that you fear being at his mercy.

He feels almost sorry that you have to do this for him.

So he graces you with what mercy he can give.

The bite is quick. You would have felt the flesh of your neck parting for him, had he not done so. You feel tears prick at your eyes and start to feel the area from your neck and upwards go cold.

A momentary, sharp pain, that lulls to a chilling numbness in what seems like a matter of seconds.

You feel his body start to grow warmer at your expense and you feel satisfied knowing that you could help him.

When he doesn't stop, you start to worry.

Your breath catches in staccato beats, pulse quickening in tandem. You try to stop him, hands coming up to push or tug, but the heavy sensation that washes over you only permits them to find purchase on his form.

You try to speak, but it seems as if the common tongue does not reach him.

Your mind goes into overdrive, all of a sudden it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore and genuine fear courses through your veins.

You need him to stop, and you try to think of more efficient ways of doing so.

But your mind starts slowing as well. The pain has certainly faded, but the presence of the vampire at your throat reminds you in case you’ve forgotten.

As a last ditch effort, you try to use whatever might appeal to him, to break him out of the trance that he was in from finally replenishing himself.

“Isalhal–” One of the few Elvish words you recalled.

The effort thankfully makes him pull back in shock, stopping him. Your eyes finally close, thankful for the reprieve you're finally granted. You hear a distant, “thank you,” and a more distant “shit” before rest takes over.

You worry about waking up tomorrow.

But for now, you’re thankful that Astarion will be able to fight well.

For himself and for everyone else’s sake.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, and @auszimbo for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #aware!astarion #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#bg3 x reader

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assortedseaglass · 9 months

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🌟Mistletoe | Yuletide🌟

Michael Gavey x Fem!Reader

Summary: Michael's Christmas plans are scuppered, but a chance encounter lifts his hopes for the New Year.

Content: Fluff, Language.

Yuletide Masterlist

December 15th. The night of the Catton Christmas party in Brasenose College. Term ended a week ago, but the prospect of partying with the university’s hottest boy and his gaggle of gorgeous followers was too delicious to pass up. Freshers to third-years clamoured to rub shoulders with the prime ministers and business men of tomorrow. Any way to get your foot in the door, and maybe some Christmas action too.

The single-pane windows of the old college dorm room rattled to the beat of NOW XMAS, and each time the door opened a pair of drunk undergrads tumbled into the quadrangle.

The latest two, a straw-haired girl in a Juicy Couture tracksuit and a burly boy wearing a rugby polo, stumbled from the old double doors leading to the common room. On their way, between sloppy kiss and over the top giggles, they bumped into a solitary figure.

“Sorry, mate,” the drunk boy said, watching the other young man through alcohol-heavy eyes. The girl beside him eyed the stranger and snorted. “Merry Christmas.”

Hands tucked into his pockets, scarf wrapped neatly around his neck, Michael Gavey stumbled. The pair got no reply, only a cold glance of annoyance as he made for his dorm.

Gold, string-light bulbs decorated Brasenose quadrangle, tacky Christmas trees were perched in various student windows, and the saccharine chorus of Band Aid 20 was shouted from the common room.

Michael didn’t hate Christmas. He quite enjoyed the fuss from his aunties and the jumpers his grandmother bought him. His mum snuck extra roasties onto his plate and his dad made a point to buy him each year’s Telegraph Quiz Book. This year would surely be even better. The pride on his family’s faces, each asking about his first term at Oxford. First one in his family to go to university and he gets into Oxford.

It was precisely because he liked Christmas that this one was so miserable. Michael was neither surprised nor upset when he checked his pigeonhole that morning to see no invitation to the Catton Christmas part. Him and Oliver. A pair of nobodies.

He took the new Nokia his dad got him for his A Levels out of his pocket. No texts. Punching the numbered keys, he sent one to Oliver.

Back at BC. Mince pies and port ready.

The corridor to his dorm room was empty. With the turn of his key, he opened the door. The room was cold. The ancient radiator was ticking into life and the old windows were beginning to fog with condensation. On top of his stack of maths textbooks a bottle of unopened port gleamed.

Turning on his bedside lamp, Michael gathered two dusty glasses his mother insisted he pack with him, and from his Tesco bag produced a pack of mince pies. He placed them on a paper plate and emptied the rest of the carrier bag (wallet, keys, pencil case, workbook) next to the E45 cream and battered copy of GH Hardy’s biography.

The Nokia buzzed aggressively on the table. Removing his scarf, Michael checked the screen. It was from Oliver. He unlocked the phone and checked the small envelope icon.

Something’s come up, sorry.

Michael slumped on the bed. His thumb hovered over the keypad.

Get a better offer, did you?

He deleted the text, locked the screen and threw it on the cheap duvet.

The others would still be at the pub. He could just go back and meet them there. Could, were it not for his pride. It just wasn’t the same, a group of people forced together, as opposed to those who found each other.

The pub was full of his fellow mathematics students. Spotty, eager to please and reeking of desperation to prove themselves. Michael didn’t need to. He watched as they fought for Professor Mathison’s attention, keen to discuss tutorial projects and career prospects. Mathison was already keenly aware of Michael, judging by the way his jaw dropped when Michael recited the Lagrangian form to the last letter.

With Oliver it was different. They were two outsiders, making their way in a world entirely foreign to their own, their intellect their only way in. Now it seemed the friendship Michael was working so hard to cultivate with Oliver was slipping away.

He stared at the empty glasses. Fuck it. Pouring a little too much port in one of the glasses, Michael stuffed a mince pie into his mouth, grabbed another and made for the door.

The air was crisp, but mild for mid-December. The music of the Catton party across the quadrangle had mellowed, and through the misty windows Michael could make out shapes dancing close together, swaying slowly.

A pang of jealousy twisted in his naval and he twitched awkwardly. He wondered what it would be like, having another body pressed against his. Or rather, to have someone want to be that close to him. His mind flashed to the French girl in tutorial. She’d pressed her leg against his at the pub when Mathison mentioned a partnered project for the new year, and when he’d looked down, he saw her fingers brushing the cuff of his jumper. He’d flinched away.

Everyone was doing it. Quick flings with no regard for consequence. He supposed he could do it too. With the French girl, or the girl with agoraphobia. Lord knows, she was getting as much action as he was. But there was something in his studious nature, his desire for knowledge, that meant he had to be consumed by knowing someone fully, or nothing at all.

Perching his bony bottom on the cold concrete step under an old brick archway, Michael took a gulp of port and began on the mince pie. He took the top off, ate it, and thought of his grandfather, and how he would add brandy butter before replacing the pastry cover. He ate the rest quickly and sipped his port slowly, thinking over the last term. The successes; far and away the best student on the course, and the failures; one (?) friend. It was as he did this that the door behind him opened.

“Shit, sorry! Didn’t see you there!” You hadn’t done anything wrong. Not opened the door on his back or tripped over him. Michael waved his hand noncommittally and without answer. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

He looked up at this. An old grey coat at least a size too big was wrapped around you, a scarf pulled up to your nose and muffling your voice. Michael couldn’t make much of you out, just the eyes peering down at him from above the scarf, but he could tell you were beaming at him. Why?

He gestured to the cold step. You sat beside him, gave him a bright smile that didn’t falter when he stared at you a little too long, and turned to look at the night beyond the small archway.

“Pretty, aren’t they? All the lights?” Michael didn’t respond. He shifted his body slightly away from yours and took another sip of port. You weren’t deterred. “You a Billy-no-mates too then?”

“It’s Norman-no-mates-”

“I don’t think it matters.” You cut him off. “Well?”

Michael turned his face to you. You were still watching the lights but sensed him looking at you. In turn, you looked back at him, unabashed and direct.

“I might have mates waiting inside.”

“You might, but you don’t. You’re out here drinking wine,”

“Port.”

“Port’s just fortified wine. Drinking on your own when everyone’s off partying.”

Michael didn’t blink as he watched you. You weren’t being cruel by making him feel bad for his social ineptitude. Nor were you prying into what it was that made him so deplorable to seemingly everyone in college. No. You were just stating the facts. Michael loved facts.

“NFI.”

“Snap.” You held out your hand and gave him your name. Michael’s heart didn’t leap, but it did give a strange sort of jolt.

“Michael Gavey.” He shook yours and his mouth twitched when you gave him a firm smile.

“What about you? Why are you sitting on a cold step with a stranger?”

“Mate’s back there screaming at her fella cos he necked some girl in Exeter after a Hooch too many.”

“Let me guess, Business Management?”

“The very same.”

There was a contented silence a while. Michael sipped his port and watched you from the corner of his eye. The fingerless gloves you wore were fraying a little. Everything looked second hand. From your slightly battered Mary Janes and baggy jeans to the bag by your feet. Even the scarf still wrapped around your neck. The hair there was bunching under the fabric and a few wisps kept sticking to your lip gloss. Too pretty to be sitting with him, and too rough around the edges to be the usual Catton-fodder.

Michael licked his lips. “What are you reading?” Please be something good.

“Computer Sciences.” Merry fucking Christmas. “You?”

“Maths.”

“Ah, we could have done with you at the pub quiz! ‘How many birds in total are there in the twelve days o-’”

“One-hundred and eighty-four.” Michael rattled off as though the answer was a grocery list. You stared at him, an impressed smile playing at the corner of your mouth. Michael’s heart vaulted that time. He wanted more.

“Ask me anything. I can do any sum.”

You eyed him with barely supressed glee. “Twelve times thirty-one.”

“Three-hundred and seventy-two. Come on, ask me something harder.”

“Three-hundred and seventy-two times eight.”

“Harder.”

“Times twenty-three?”

“Harder.”

You almost shouted with excitement. “Three-hundred and seventy-two times forty-seven!”

“Seventeen-thousand, four hundred and eighty-four.”

You giggled and let out a low whistle. “Fuck me,”

Yes please.

A broad flush spread across Michael’s cheeks and he licked his lips again. “I can also-”

“Better check madam is ok,” your eyes indicated behind you as you took you phone from your pocket. The white light from the small screen was garish amongst the soft golds of the Christmas lights, and Michael’s heart sank as he watched you scroll through your contacts list. So many names. He’d give anything to be among.

He didn’t pay attention to anything you were saying as you chatted to your friend. The shine of your lip gloss beneath the fairy lights was too mesmerising. Michael raised his port glass to his lips, took a sip and let the glass linger there as you ended your call. He was entranced.

“Love you, mate. Alright, chat tomorrow.” You sighed as you hung up and looked at Michael. “Home for me, I think.”

As you stood, Michael did too, pulling his trousers up and tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Michael.” You shook his free hand again and took the port from the other. He watched, agog, as you downed it in one. “Graham’s? Very nice.” You passed him the empty glass and began making your way to the end of the archway. He followed you like a shadow.

At the end of the passageway into the old quadrangle you turned to face him. “What are you doing for Christmas, Michael?”

“Home,” his voice was unnaturally high and he coughed. “Home, to see family but not much else.”

“And new year?”

“Seeing some boring old school friends then back here before term st-starts-starts,” you were leaning towards him. With no hint of shyness, and perhaps a little too forcefully, you kissed him. You pulled back, smiling.

“What was that for?” The surprise of your lips on his made him shout, and it sounded more hysterical than genuine shock and curiosity.

“Mistletoe,” you stated simply, pointing at the small poesy hanging from the archway.

Michael coughed. “Of course, yeah. Thank you.” He made an odd movement and almost clicked his heels. You laughed again, turning into the dark night.

“See you in the new year, Michael.” Your voice echoed off the old stone walls. Just as Michael expected, you sounded so certain. In all your ten minutes of knowing each other, he’d learned that about you. The statement wasn’t speculation or conjecture. It was a fact. Michael loved facts.

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope it's been a kind and calm one. H x

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

#ewan mitchell #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #ewan mitchell x reader #mistletoe #saltburn #OI SALTBURN PEEPS #if you're fed up with the lack of oliver and felix fanfic #write your own and leave us to thirst over the nerd in peace #merry christmas!#hilde's twelve days of christmas

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wrenwrongs · 8 months

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revenge tastes sweeter on another mans lips

Felix Catton/Michael Gavey

Summary: Felix wants to get back at Oliver for lying to him. Michael wants to get back at Oliver for ditching him. They both want to make out by the end.

Words: 1.8k

Tags: fake friendship

Felix hadn’t planned for this.

After discovering that Oliver had lied to him about his life, Felix had returned to Saltburn alone, leaving Oliver with his loving, and more notably living, parents.

The nights grew shorter, signaling the end of summer. The new term had begun, and Felix felt a twist in his gut at the thought of seeing Oliver once again in lecture. Anger soon began to overtake the hurt of betrayal. With the anger came the want for revenge. And so, the idea came that he could wave everything Oliver wanted from him in front of him and give it to someone else. Someone that would umbrage Quick the most. Felix knew just that person: Michael Gavey.

What he didn’t expect was for the little shit to fight him on it so much. Felix had approached Michael in the Radcliffe Camera; Michael's apparent favorite library in Oxford and the most reliable place to find him. Felix watched him from a distance before approaching. The last time he had paid Gavey any mind was the outburst at dinner on the first night of Freshers' Week. Now that Felix got a good look at him, he took notice of the sharp angle of his lantern jaw and the truly hideous jumper he wore.

“What do you want?” Michael didn’t even look up from his notes as Felix stood on the opposite side of the table. Not one to be deterred from getting what he wants Felix answers,

“A few of us are going out for a drink this Friday, to celebrate the start of our second year. I was wondering if you’d like to join us.”

“You must think I’m stupid." Michael sneered. "As if I would fall for that.”

Felix’s jaw clenched in annoyance. He took a breath before speaking, “I-”

“You can leave now.” Michael cut him off. “Unless you have something that’s actually worth my time.”

“Fine,” Felix leaned over the table and set his palms on either side of Michael’s books. Michael finally looked up, their noses still a rule's length away but closer than they had ever been before. “I want to piss off Oliver Quick. He ditched you to hang out with my friends and I, why not get back at him?”

“What did he do to make you so piqued?”

“He lied to me. Told me a sob story about his life so I would pity him. Those connections he wanted? They’re all yours. All the parties, the holidays abroad, everything.”

Michael was still skeptical, but hesitantly agreed.

And so, for the indefinite future, and to the bewilderment of everyone around them, Michael Gavey was roped into Felix Catton’s inner circle. Though, it was not without a fly in the ointment. Michael being that fly.

Felix had expected the lack of social skills. Michael laughed too hard at the wrong times and always managed to say the wrong thing. It was like watching an alien pretending to be human. Normally, that would be fine, entertaining even. Felix didn't need him to be likeable, he needed him to be present. But Gavey seemed determined to fray every one of Felix's nerves.

Felix had offered him opportunities that most people could only dream of. And yet, Michael insisted on rebuking him at every turn. He rejected party invitations, refused to buy his round when they went out for drinks, and he got along miserably with Farleigh and Venetia. The only time he listened to Felix was during an Alumni event. Michael followed Felix's advice on how to ingratiate himself fairly well. Felix had to admit, when Michael is in his element and chooses not to be a self-important dick, he could be quite charming. In his own strange way.

Gavey made it clear that he was only in this to get back at Oliver and to further his career. He didn't lie about a rough home life, as evidenced by the fact he laughed in Felix's face when the latter invited him to Saltburn over break. Even looking Felix dead in the eye to tell him that no amount of charity cases would make him a good person. It was a welcome change from Oliver. Who had clung to him like a parasite and did anything that he could to keep Felix's attention. Michael wanted as little to do with Felix as possible.

And that pissed Felix off more than anything. No matter how nice and patient Felix was, Michael spat in his face. The fucking nerve. He wanted to strangle him.

Things changed when Felix realized he needed a tutor. He liked to think he held his own in his studies. Never the best, never the worst. That is, until the 73% on his latest statistics assignment. Maths had never been his strength, but he was at least capable of an 80. He supposed he could just pay a professional tutor. They would no doubt be better teachers, not to mention better company.

This time Felix found Michael at a hole-in-the-wall cafe. It looked run down, but it was empty and quiet. Aside from the lone barista who disappeared after handing him his drink, it was just him and Michael.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t bother each other outside of what was necessary.” Michael said before he could even sit down.

Felix sighed heavily, “I need your help with statistics."

“Of course, that’s why. No. I won’t do your work for you.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Felix said, offended by the accusation. It was Michael's fault Felix was struggling anyway. Felix had never had someone infest his mind like this. Lectures were drowned out by thoughts of Michael’s deceptively strong hands and the skin of his neck that looked like it bruised easily. “I’m not asking you to do the work. I haven’t been able to focus lately, and I just need someone to walk me through it again.”

“Fine, sit.” Felix sat in the seat across from Michael. Michael snatched the paper from his fingers and started explaining everything Felix had done wrong.

Felix realized it was the first time they had spoken one on one, without any performance for those around them. He quite liked Michael’s voice when it wasn’t mocking him. Felix repressed a groan at the realization that the idea of Michael mocking him could very well be the next reason he loses focus in lecture. It was late afternoon by the time they had gone over the assignment, and to Michael’s shock Felix grasped the material with little issue.

When Felix returned from getting refills of their drinks Michael asked the question that had been eating at him, “You said before Oliver lied so that you would pity him, what did you mean?”

Felix told him everything about last summer. How Oliver lied to him and the feeling of danger he got from the look in Oliver’s eyes when he realized he was exposed.

“What a fucking lunatic.”

The ghost of a smirk appeared on Michael’s face as Felix let out a snort. He nodded in agreement as he spun his pencil between his fingers. Suddenly curious, Felix asked, “What about your parents?”

“My mum lives in Maidstone<sup>1</sup>. We’re close.” Felix supposed that was why Michael preferred to go home during break.

“Your father?”

“He died when I was twelve.” Felix looked up the obituary later that night. Michael was telling the truth.

Fearful of losing this tentative armistice, Felix took a chance, “Come to my party this Friday.” Michael moved to reject him, but Felix continued, “If you hate it, fine. I’ll never bother you with it again, but just once. Give it a chance.”

Michael was strange and he refused to listen to anyone correcting his behavior. That weird little head wiggle he did after making a joke. The disturbed way he ate, as if he intentionally found the most incorrect way to eat a given food. It intrigued Felix. Every bizarre little quirk he learned made him itch for more. Months had passed since their agreement started and Felix had yet to lose interest. Worse yet, his interest grew. As evidenced by the bottle of lube by his bed side that mocked him. It got so much use, but so little action. He knew he had to do something about it.

Oxford wasn’t known for being a party school, but Felix was not going to let that stop him. His eyes scanning the room every few minutes. He had assumed Michael had blown him off, skipped the party to spend another night studying at the library. As he had been doing more often as of late. Finally, Felix caught the light reflecting off a familiar pair of glasses. Michael sat in the corner, nursing a beer. Wearing a tragic pair of khakis and a t-shirt with text reading “sometimes I go off on a” followed by an image of a tangent graph. His shirt was fucking hideous. Felix briefly considered ripping it off of him in offense.

He pushed through the bodies in between them and sat next to Michael, just close enough for their thighs to brush.

“Havin fun?” he asked, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“No.” Michael coughed from the smoke. “Everyone here is incredibly dull, I’m not sure why I expected otherwise.”

Felix quickly snuffed it and turned back to Michael, “You just gotta let loose. I’d be happy to show you how.” A cheeky grin graced his lips and his head lolled towards Michael.

Michael grimaced, “I think I’d rather head out.”

“How much have you had to drink? I’ll walk you back to your college.” Michael gave him a strange look; Felix had obviously drunk more than him. But Felix slung an arm around Michael’s shoulders which seemed to short-circuit Michael’s brain and shut down any argument he had.

The walk was quick with the night air biting at Felix’s exposed skin. He had neglected to bring a jacket, and Michael seemed to have no intention of sharing his. It wasn’t long before they reached Michaels room.

As Michael unlocked his door he said, “I think Oliver has stopped caring. We don’t need to keep up this ruse.”

“I think so too,” Felix slid his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The two stared at each other as neither moved to leave. Felix leaned closer, arm resting on the door frame. His nose brushed Michaels and the shorter boy recoiled. Felix could see the walls that had only just lowered springing back up.

“You’re drunk.”

“Sobered up on the walk over.” He could tell Michael wasn’t used to looking up at people. Startlingly blue eyes blinking wide up at him.

“You’re pulling something.”

“To what end?

“I don’t know.” Michael’s teeth were gritted, voice strained. Felix swears he can see tears threatening to make themselves known.

“Could you just not argue with me for once?”

Michael grabbed him by his collar and kissed him. Felix was caught off guard but wrapped his arms around Michael to keep him close. It was obvious that Michael had little to no experience, But Felix loved a good project.

#felix catton x michael gavey #michael gavey #felix catton #my posts #s: fic

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hardly-an-escape · 5 months

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last line tag game, thanks @fulcrvm for tagging me!

I'm going to cheat a little bit because this is not actually the last line I wrote – which is from the untitled Geraskier fic I'm not writing* and is simply too rough and unedited to allow to see the light of day – but it is a very recent one. it's a bit from chapter two of would you go along with someone like me?

Hob groaned again. “I imagine you want me to ask you what’s wrong,” Morpheus said, still not looking up. “I am a fool,” Hob said dismally. “A fool and a buffoon. A nincompoop, even.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m even doing here, mate, I really do. I mean who am I kidding? I’m almost thirty two years old and I’m sitting in these fresher history lectures and fucking Stephanie is running rings around me. Have I told you about Stephanie? She’s nineteen. Nineteen, Morpheus. We have, like, three classes together, and she’s kicking my arse, she has her entire career planned out, all the way to a Ph-bloody-D, and I can’t remember whether ‘Ottoman’ has one T or two.” “Two.” “I know that, you insufferable git, I’m trying to have an existential crisis here.” “Ah. And is that happening concurrently with your one-sided competition with a child? Or does one precede the other?”

I'm not making any promises about when it will be done, because I know myself too well for that. but I've been making progress, at least!

no-pressure tags for @cuubism @landwriter @five-and-dimes and @omgcinnamoncakes and anyone who reads this and wants an excuse to share a line!

*astute readers may already suspect that this is a lie. I am, in fact, writing it.

#tag game #my writing #would you go along with someone like me?

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asukaskerian · 1 year

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🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

🌀 this is the suburban ot4 summary that reads like a stupid book blurb but it's all i have atm :

Ichigo and Orihime were high school sweethearts and now they're a respectable young married couple with a suburban house and a child. They are sweet and loving and supportive and there is nothing missing in their life. Nope! Nothing.

Nelliel and Grimmjow sure as hell aren't married, and never mind being respectable in any way, but they managed to breed somehow so they're gonna have to deal with that. As soon as they manage to deal with being jobless and evicted.

Surely that pair of naive normies they had a pretty bad run-in with as teenagers are not going to be of any help, though... Wait... Huh.

Oh.

🌧️ same fic!

Before they know it, it's the weekend. Nelliel and Grimmjow haven't been kicked out yet.

It's coming, she knows better than to think it's not, but so far nobody has brought it up again.

"Because Princess is scared of confrontation and Hubby's coddling her," Grimmjow mutters. Nelliel scowls, but can't really refute that. She doesn't know them enough, for one thing.

"Or maybe they're just nice," she tries anyway, on principle.

He arches his eyebrow, and doesn't say 'isn't that what I just said?', but she hears it anyway.

But he doesn't say it.

Her shoulders slump; the fight goes out of her. "We can't count on that lasting," she mumbles, but really, she has no better idea than to keep being friendly and a good guest. It makes her feel less guilty, but only so much.

"Who the fuck is counting on it?" Grimmjow shoots back, and sits at the other end of the futon, his back three-quarters turned away and just as slumped.

He's about to go out and look for a job once again. Nelliel went out yesterday and the day before that to look into administrative solutions, financial aids, social services, but today's a Saturday. None of that will be open, and anyway they're missing so much damn paperwork; it'll take months at best to sort out.

So far their best option is to play model guests and pray.

"Worst thing is I like them," she can't help admitting. They're so damn sweet. It'd be easier if she had to put it on, if she didn't have to care that they're going to run out of pity at some point.

She's expecting a snappy retort, or an eyeroll, or a "I really don't", but Grimmjow doesn't say anything, just stands up all at once and goes looking for a fresher shirt. Her chest squeezes with -- something unpleasant, frustrated and off-balance, like she's being ignored. Abandoned.

"Grim--"

"I know that."

His voice is so rough, it sounds like it should hurt his throat.

"I'm fucking trying, alright? Ain't gonna ruin this for you."

He's not looking at her, just digging into his suitcase with every muscle tight, twitchy movements like a leashed beast.

She has no idea how to sort that out. She just -- why does he keep missing the point, why does he make it sound like he's martyring himself, god, she fucking hates it. She stands, too, fists clenched. Watches his shoulders tense, watches him fail to turn to face her.

She works on her breathing. She's better than this; than always sniping. She wants to be, she knows she is, can be, it's so pleasant and, and normal to hang out with Orihime, like she was never a half-gaijin orphan dragged straight down to the underbelly of society, clinging as hard as she could to what should be. Like they're just two office ladies giggling over the coffee machine, two neighbors with matching little houses trading hair care tips and career advice.

She wants to be calm, and fair, and happy.

Grimmjow pisses her off so much some days and the worst thing is, she knows it's a habit she has fallen into, taking things he says just a shade worse than he meant them because sometimes he does mean even worse than that. He's a foul-mouthed bastard who revels in stalking around scaring the normies, who takes people's disapproval as a reason to make them disapprove more, so she always expects it of him.

Now he exists like an animal in a trap, all desperate energy with nowhere to go and despair creeping in, and she did it; she trapped him.

"If it's going to be ruined," she says eventually, after several answers have come to her mind and been released, "then it was going to be ruined anyway. It's still a reprieve. You won't..."

'You won't be the cause of it,' she almost says, but they both know she can't say that and mean it, so she swallows it back.

"If I were alone it might last a few more days, but that's the same end result." She shrugs.

He's trying. She should...

She feels kind of like shit that a part of her is surprised at how hard he's trying. She knows him well enough, she hoped enough, but another part is used to their old rhythms. There's something savagely free and so noble inside him that she wants to tear out of the defensiveness and the cynicism it's buried under. So they get together like a car crash; there are tender moments in the dark, little slices of terribly aching vulnerability, and then it builds up; she pushes him too much, too far out of his comfort zone and they break up.

The break-up sex is always amazing. Then she's angry at herself for a while. Tells herself it's the last time she takes him back. Tells herself she was nosy and judgmental; no wonder he bailed. Tells herself next time she'll be more understanding, more patient. Tells herself he's not interested in getting over his shit and she shouldn't date projects.

Tell herself it'll just be a hookup.

And then he's wild and fun; neither of them ever says sorry, but they don't leave the party when the other one shows up, and then the next party they fuck, and then the next fuck they spend the night. Breaking up like a pressure valve before it gets too much, unsalvageable; not a real ending.

But they're not breaking up now.

She wants to build him up, drag him back and away from the looming implosion; she doesn't know how.

"... I'm going."

She wants to tell him good luck but that's going to sound doubtful, like he needs it. She wants to say she knows he can do it, he's smart and has plenty of skills; he'll hear it like a lie, or like a binding expectation. She wants...

She wants a hug.

She dredges up a smile into her voice, watching him walk through the door. "I'll massage your feet when you come back, yeah?"

He pauses in the corridor, glances over his shoulder, gives a faint, unexpected chuckle. "Oh, I'm gonna hold you to that."

#teaser #writing meme

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interships-ulead · 2 years

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#campus ambassador program #Career Planning for fresher #Freshers job #internship certificate #Online internship #paid internship #online internship with stipend #online internship program #online internship #work from home internship

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agentnico · 5 months

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Abigail (2024) review

Elon Musk lookalike gets mauled by vamps. Shame it’s not a true story.

Plot: A group of would-be criminals kidnaps the 12-year-old daughter of a powerful underworld figure. Holding her for ransom in an isolated mansion, their plan starts to unravel when they discover their young captive is actually a bloodthirsty vampire.

I feel somewhat guilty of including a plot synopsis in this review. Then again, it’s the marketing of the movie that needs to be blamed, as the trailers reveal the fact that the little girl is a killer-vamp. Yet in the movie this fact is kept hidden until about 30 minutes in. I myself don’t like it when I already know what is going while yet the characters just start to scratch their heads wondering what the hell is happening to them. It makes the inevitable reveal unsatisfying seeing as again the trailers have spoiled it already. I of course understand that the job of a trailer is to sell the movie us and make us want to spend our cash to see a ballerina vampire go crazy loco, but then don’t make a good chunk of the movie a pointless mystery to get to that reveal.

Following said reveal however when Abigail uncuffs herself things do get as expected bonkers crazy. Coming from the folks that did Ready or Not, the movie actually shares a lot in its DNA with that film, even with the last close up shot. In Ready or Not we had a group of people inside a mansion trying to kill a helpless young woman and she outsmarted them all. In Abigail it’s reversed as we have a young girl killing a group of people inside a mansion and they try to outplay her. So it’s very much a case of if you liked Ready or Not, chances are you’re in for a good time with this one.

The writers also try to play around a little with vampire pop culture lore, trying to either play along with or debunk certain myths such as stakes to the heart Buffy-style, or the European belief of vampires being allergic to some garlic (vamps can be such sissies). However in doing so they do end up hitting some plot holes, wherein a vampire is technically undead but here the little girl has a heartbeat, pulse and emotions. I don’t know, I get the whole suspension of disbelief and I’m trying to delve into logic of the supernatural, but I really thought that was [insert Deadpool voice] lazy writing. Other than that all the vampire shiz slayed. Loved the special effects, the high levels of ridiculous gore and the creepy yet over-the-top vampire make-up. The movie was also really self aware of the ridiculousness so fits concept and fully embraced the madness of a ballerina vampire.

The cast assembled are all on top form. Dan Stevens continues his banterous cool guy role fresh from Godzilla x Kong, and Kathryn Newton weirdly reminded me of Miley Cyrus here. Not sure why, something do with the make-up. Abigail Weir going from Matilda to killer vamp is honestly a fantastic acting career move from her agent, and Weir nailed it and felt so natural in the role. Kevin Durand as already mentioned looked like a beefed up Elon Musk, only more likeable. Giancarlo Esposito is in this for literally 5 minutes. Barely a cameo.

Ready or Not definitely felt fresher and better of the two, however Abigail is nevertheless a crowd pleasing horror comedy that offers plenty of jokes and slasher gore to please fans of the genre, and Abigail Weir is showcasing herself as a promising new talent.

Overall score: 6/10

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sapphicbookclub · 2 years

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In the Event of Love by Courtney Kae

With her career as a Los Angeles event planner imploding after a tabloid blowup, Morgan Ross isn’t headed home for the holidays so much as in strategic retreat. Breathtaking mountain vistas, quirky townsfolk, and charming small businesses aside, her hometown of Fern Falls is built of one heartbreak on top of another...

Take her one-time best friend turned crush, Rachel Reed. The memory of their perfect, doomed first kiss is still fresh as new-fallen snow. Way fresher than the freezing mud Morgan ends up sprawled in on her very first day back, only to be hauled out via Rachel’s sexy new lumberjane muscles acquired from running her family tree farm.

When Morgan discovers that the Reeds’ struggling tree farm is the only thing standing between Fern Falls and corporate greed destroying the whole town’s livelihood, she decides she can put heartbreak aside to save the farm by planning her best fundraiser yet. She has all the inspiration for a spectacular event: delicious vanilla lattes, acoustic guitars under majestic pines, a cozy barn surrounded by brilliant stars. But she and Rachel will ABSOLUTELY NOT have a heartwarming holiday happy ending. That would be as unprofessional as it is unlikely. Right?

Genres: contemporary, romance

Get the book from The Book Depository here!

#sapphic books #lgbt books #wlw books #booklr #book recs #contemporary

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wwraithsart · 1 year

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More about...

Gale!

Gale is an octoling in their early 20's. They used to live in inkopolis, where, in high school, they played competitively with their friends. Gale always played the shooter class and almost never branched out, justifying this with an "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" attitude. Their team was moderately successful, competing in dozens of local tournaments, and even making it to larger regional championships.

This team intended to stick together even past high school, but quickly dissolved due to disagreements within the group (among other things). The events that surrounded this falling out somewhat soured ink sports for Gale, so she dropped them and went to community college to pursue a 2-year degree, whilst working regular jobs. Eventually, she began to miss ink sports, but felt as though she couldn't return to it. Besides, she didn't want to confront how rusty she'd gotten from years of inactivity.

Gale eventually became aware of Splatsville, whose popularity was suddenly booming for its much fresher ink sport scene. Seeing this as a chance to kick a growing feeling of boredom and stagnation, as well as reignite an old passion, Gale moved to Splatsville with little to no plan. They were luckily able to secure an apartment and a job selling gear, but they were still essentially starting from square one regarding ink sports.

Gale spent almost all of her free time playing, whether to practice or to make quick cash. They'd even play during lunch breaks, if the map rotation seemed worth it. Slowly, she got back into the groove of ink sports. Because she played so regularly, she frequently saw other regulars in the lobby, and was able to make friends that way.

Currently, Gale plays with a new competitive team (which I do not have a name for yet -_-). It started as a pickup team, but after seeing repeated success, became more permanent. Gale sees this as a second chance to play on a team and is determined to not make the same mistakes she did before-- starting by making an effort to play other weapon classes. She is extremely dedicated. Outside of her ink sport career, she is very sociable and loves talking to people. She is also optimistic and stubborn.

#my art #gale #my ocs #digital art #tbh a little nervous to post this. haha #its just gales backstory #splatoon

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iidigestive-readerii · 2 years

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Partners, Perhaps

To say that they were lovers was a bit of a stretch. Great, wonderful friends that fell into bed together quite often but didn’t go out of their way to see each other, but talked as much as they could. They loved each other dearly and would do anything for each other.

Well…almost anything. Their respective careers were everything to them. It was the core of who they were, probably part of the reason they fell for each other.

Well…definitely part of the reason for her. Obi-Wan would always be her Jedi protector. He’d protected once upon a time during the Civil War, then several times over the years, and of course during the Clone Wars so many times…

Partners, perhaps.

That sounded a bit harsh, when they had never lived together…but life was life, and relationships worked in weird ways. Satine had never concerned herself with the intricitates like the Galaxy did… and now as she breathed a heavy sigh and put head in her hands, she realized she - they - would have too.

“God damn it Obi-Wan.”

With a frustrated huff Satine left the ‘fresher, leaving the evidence behind and went to search for her personal comlink. She wasn't necessarily an organized person, and found the comlink - eventually - in between her couch cushions.

The familiar tone rang for a while once she punched it in, and then eventually an option to leave a voicemail appeared.

She hung up, tossing the comlink on the caf table and sinking into the cushions. There was a part of her that wanted to settle in for a good long sulk, or even ring it again, but it hadn't even been five minutes when the comlink rang again.

"Obi!"

The hologram of Obi-Wan smiled, running a hand through his hair as he walked. "My apologies, dear one. The Council was wrapping up a meeting and I didn't want to cut off Mace. What's - "

"Hi Satine!" Ahsoka popped up, a wide smile on her face. "I got to sit in on a Council meeting - it was so boring! How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well, Ahsoka." Satine had always been fond of the girl, and couldn't be more thankful for her help during the Siege of Mandalore. She had been so relieved when the girl had come back to the Order… losing Ahsoka had broken many spirits. "Congrats on becoming a knight - I'm sorry I couldn't make it there."

"It's okay - your present came though! I planted some already and one of the trees is starting to sprout!"

"I'm glad. I know how much you like the fruits and spices here. It's fitting that you have a green thumb."

"Can't say I have much of one, though I do enjoy the fruits of others labor," Obi-Wan quipped. He waved Ahsoka onwards when he stopped, probably at a nook in one of the many hallways of the Temple. The merry look on his face sobered a bit when he studied her face, worry creasing his brow. "My love, it's what, one in the morning on Sundari? Why are you calling?"

Satine parted her lips, trying to figure out how to respond. "I can't comm a friend to catch up?"

"I don't know how much 'catching up' we can do when we talk most days, time difference aside." Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest. "What's wrong?"

"...do you have anything important today occuring? Anything at all in the next - uhh… few months?"

Obi-Wan pulled his head back, looking puzzled at her question. Holding up a finger to indicate to wait, he took the comlink and cut the signal.

Tears came to her eyes, and she did her best to wipe them away. When the Hologram came back, Satine was doing her best not to sob - from happiness, fear, some guilt - she wasn't sure.

"I found an empty conference room - there's a Senate session I need to head to after lunch in about two hours - Satine?" Obi-Wan asked in alarm. "What is going on, are you well? Did something happen?"

"Oh something happened," Satine muttered. "Not sure I would have planned it this way."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant."

There was silence from the other end. Obi-Wan stared, and for a moment she wondered if the hologram had froze. Technology could only go so far. Eventually he left out a bit of a laugh, blinking several times and leaning back in the seat. "What - wow, uh that's - that's wonderful - I mean, if you want to keep it of course - oh my goodness, how - you're always on birth control how?"

Satine had to smile at his excited - and maybe a little panicked - ramblings. "I decided to stop using it, remember? Wanted to give my body a break from an internal one, just use it as needed… I must have forgotten one night or condom broke or we didn't use one or…something."

"Something indeed," Obi-Wan muttered as he rubbed a hand over his face. She knew he was trying to keep excitement down, for her sake, because he still didn't know her opinion on it -

But they both loved children, and given the fact she'd raised Korkie as her own from toddler hood onwards, even as a new ruler -

And Obi-Wan had Anakin and then Ahsoka, and he doted on the Skywalker twins and loved them as his own -

"You're excited?" Obi-Wan asked, finally looking her in the eye. "You're happy about this?"

Satine nodded, wiping away more tears. "I've uh… suspected for a few weeks. Every test has been positive, even the one from the med center earlier today. I…took another just in case before I commed…"

Obi-Wan smiled, moving his hand forward like he wanted to embrace her and settling on running a hand through his hair. "This…changes a few things."

"Mmm hmm - I will not have you choose between being a father and Jedi. I respect you too much for that and - "

" - and we have awhile to figure this out," Obi-Wan whispered. "How long?"

"I'm... ten weeks?"

"Then I'll be there for the next thirty - give or take a few weeks. Not sure how long I can stand being surrounded by Mandalorians without needing a break here and there."

#obitine #obi wan kenobi #satine kryze #rots au #obitine fanfiction #ii digestive reader ii

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rejected-graduate-ananya · 1 year

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Title: Rejected Graduate: Beyond Boundaries of Resilience

In a world where success stories often glitter with achievements, Ananya Kumari's journey stands out as a beacon of tenacity, courage, and relentless determination. Rejected Graduate is not merely a journey; it is a testament to the power of the human spirit to transcend boundaries, rewrite destinies, and emerge stronger from the depths of rejection.

Ananya Kumari, a young law graduate from Symbiosis Law School, Pune, embarked on her academic journey with a fire in her heart and dreams in her eyes. Armed with a master's degree in corporate law from Renaissance College, Indore, and a diploma in intellectual property, media entertainment, and fashion law, she seemed poised for a promising career. Yet, life had other plans. Rejections came knocking, as the legal realm closed its doors to this budding enthusiast due to her 'fresher' status and an unfavorable CGPA.

The corridors of law firms may have turned her away, but the corridors of resilience were where Ananya found her true path. In a twist of fate, she ventured into the world of modeling and pageantry, carving a new identity for herself. Learning from mentors, honing her ramp walk, and embracing personality development, Ananya's transformation wasn't just external; it was a profound evolution of her spirit.

Amidst her strides toward success, a formidable opponent arose—rheumatoid arthritis. The battle against this affliction tested not only her physical fortitude but also her mental resilience. Setbacks cascaded, 24 backlogs accumulated, and a haunting feeling of insignificance gripped her. Broken hearts and shattered dreams weighed heavily on her, causing her to question her very existence.

Yet, amid the darkness, Ananya discovered the spark of determination within her. She didn't let her condition define her; instead, she harnessed her newfound skills and knowledge to ignite her entrepreneurial spirit. The journey wasn't smooth; health setbacks and challenges kept surfacing, threatening to drown her dreams. But Ananya's spirit remained unbreakable.

The tumultuous year of 2020 brought with it the stark realization of life's fragility. As the world grappled with a pandemic and uncertainty loomed, Ananya's perspective shifted. She recognized that time is too precious to be spent dwelling on victimhood. This realization propelled her to channel her energy into self-improvement, nurturing her physical and mental well-being.

And thus, the idea of Rejected Graduate was born—a story that encapsulates Ananya Kumari's odyssey, offering insights into the struggles of rejections, the journey of overcoming, and the wisdom of emerging stronger. With unwavering determination, Ananya delves into the profound psychological and emotional impact of rejection and offers practical, actionable solutions for individuals of any age and background.

This journey is a beacon for those who have felt the sting of rejection, a guiding light for anyone seeking to rise above circumstances, and an embodiment of the indomitable human spirit. Through anecdotes, introspection, and inspirational quotes, Ananya takes you on a transformative journey, empowering you to challenge rejection and emerge victorious.

Rejected Graduate is more than a story; it is a symphony of resilience, a testament to the power of self-belief, and a source of boundless motivation. Ananya Kumari's words transcend gender, age, color, and nationality, resonating with hearts across the world. As you delve into the pages of this story, prepare to embark on a journey that will leave you empowered, inspired, and ready to conquer the challenges that life may throw your way.

#Rejectedgraduate #Resellience

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