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lesbobiwan · 4 years ago

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Brat (Wolffe x f! reader)

Explicit — minors DNI

Wolffe x f!reader

warnings: cockwarming, dirty talk KING wolffe, brat tamer!wolffe, spanking

You did this to yourself. You know that, realistically.

Since you woke up this morning, there was a bone-deep feeling inside you that just begged for trouble and, well, you seem to have found it.

Wolffe's jaw clenches, and his shoulders roll back, giving his already broad body an even broader appearance.

Oh yeah, you found trouble alright.

Still, despite the commander burning holes into the back of your head, you turn to your newfound dance partner.

He's sweet enough — a shiny from the 212th if the brand new yellow paint is any hint. He had approached you with a shy smile and an outstretched hand and had raised his voice to be heard over the blasting music of 79s. "D'you wanna dance?"

Like you said: sweet.

But, you're not looking for sweet. you're looking for something rough and dirty. Something you'll undoubtedly feel tomorrow morning.

You think you'll get what you're looking for tonight. Not from this shiny, but you'll get it nonetheless.

If your dance partner notices how you're putting on a show for someone else, he doesn't say anything. His hands twitch like he wants to reach out to touch, but he pulls back before he gets too close.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. In any other situation — if this shiny had been someone else — you would have found his consideration for your personal space sweet.

But once again, you aren't looking for sweet.

You turn your back to the shiny, face to face again with Wolffe, whose grip on his glass has gotten tighter and tighter, and press your ass against his groin.

The shiny gasps and his hips jerk against you. Finally, his hands close around your hips.

Wolffe raises his chin and arches a single eyebrow. Are you sure this is the game you want to play? his expression seems to ask you.

You hold eye contact as you roll your hips against the trooper behind you.

His breathy moan echos through your ear, not at all like the hearty groans that Wolffe would let out.

This trooper is all wrong — too sweet, too tentative, too quiet, too nice — but you know you won't have to put up with him much longer.

Not much longer at all.

Wolffe sets his drink down, still half empty.

A bolt of anticipation shoots through your gut.

Fuck, you can feel how soaked your panties are.

"Let's go," Wolffe's hand, strong and confident, closes around your bicep as soon as he gets within arm's reach.

You plant your feet as best you can, doing your best to keep your ass pressed flush to the trooper's slowly hardening dick. "I'm having a good time, Commander," you look up at him through your eyelashes, poking your tongue out to wet your lips. "But thanks anyways."

Oh, you're really playing with fire now.

The trooper's hands have left your body like he's been burned. "C-Commander," he stutters, stuck between standing at attention and hunching to hide his erection. "I didn't know she was w-with you, I'm sorry, Sir."

Wolffe sucks on his teeth before he jerks his head to the side, "Get the fuck out of here, trooper."

The man leaves, but you don't feel too bad about it.

You pull your arm from Wolffe's grip, but you have a feeling he lets you do it.

It's a trap, you know. Wolffe is baiting you into digging yourself a deeper hole but you can't help it.

Now that he's giving you attention, you're sucking it all in and demanding more, even if it's negative attention.

"What the fuck, Wolffe?" you demand, crossing your arms under your breasts to push them out more.

His gaze trails down, so obviously staring at your breasts that it makes your thighs clench in excitement. He drags his eyes back up to your face.

"You don't talk to me like that, girl," he says lowly, and it would almost be too quiet to be heard over the music had it been anyone else that said them.

But it's Wolffe, and you think you would be able to hear anything Wolffe said to you, especially when he said it like that.

Your clit throbs beneath your panties. You wonder if he'll like the nice gray set you picked out just for him.

"Don't talk to you like what, Commander," you spit out, digging your grave even deeper than before. It'll take forever to climb out of it, but you know it will be so worth it.

Wolffe leans in close, placing his hand to the small of your back and pressing you flush against his chest, "Like a brat."

He lets the words hang in the air between you.

Your breath catches in your throat, and all the previous bravado you had vanishes without a trace.

A brat. The label makes your mouth go dry and your cunt get wet with want.

"What are you gonna do about it?" you manage to say.

Wolffe smirks, digging his fingers in harder against your skin, "You'll find out," he replies, voice dark with intent.

And, maker help you, you can't wait to find out.

"Please! Please, Commander," you beg, your hips trying their best to jerk against his grip, "Please, let me come!"

You think you've been here, anchored on his cock by the strong hands that hold your hips still, for hours now. In that time, you've fallen apart at a rapid pace.

You know that your makeup, once applied to your face with care and a delicacy usually reserved for breakable objects, has smeared across your face from your tears. Your very soul feels like it's been exposed to a live-wire, and with every roll of Wolffe's hips you get closer and closer to burning alive.

You'd welcome the flame happily.

Wolffe grunts against your neck, not stopping the barely-there thrusts of his hips, "What did I tell you, girl?"

Smack.

Your shriek and buck against his grip. Your clit stings in pleasure, and when you look down, Wolffe's hand is hovering just over your swollen cunt.

Did he just —

Smack!

This time you get to watch as the flat of his palm smacks against your clit.

Pleasurepain shoots through your core. You cunt clenches around his cock.

"Fuck!" you sob, dropping your head back onto his shoulder as you writhe in his grip. "Please, Commander! I wanna come, please let me come!"

Wolffe hums uninterestedly. He seems so cool, so unaffected by your begging and by the way your cunt tries to squeeze the life out of his cock. "Answer me," he demands, placing his hand — wet now with your slick — back on your hip. "What did I tell you?" He rolls his hips beneath you, pressing against that spot inside you that no one before him has ever hit with deadly accuracy.

Pleasure shoots through your gut. "Please!" you sob, thighs trembling atop him.

Oh, fuck, you think you're gonna come. You can feel it building, can feel your core tightening like a rubber band about to snap.

Unintelligible words fall from your lips — a never ending babble — as your release builds. You try to rock your hips, looking for more pressure against the spot that only Wolffe's cock can hit.

He's ruined you, you think. Ruined you for any other man. How could you possibly try to fuck anyone else knowing that no one could compare to him?

You're so close to coming, you can feel it and you know it'll be devastating. One that will rob you of your senses and leave you a blubbering mess until you recover. Fuck, you want it so bad and —

Wolffe rips you off of his cock.

"No!" you cry out, thrashing in his grip as he manhandles you so that your face and chest are pressed into the bed.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, and you can feel the slick that drips from you. The way he tossed you around only makes you wetter.

"You bastard!" you curse, turning your head to bury your face into the covers, "Please, just let me come!"

Your body twitches with your ruined orgasm. Fuck, you just want him to touch you. One touch and you think you could come.

Wolffe laughs, that son of a bitch, behind you, one hand pressed between your shoulder blades to force you down into the sheets. "Now, that's not very nice, baby," he scolds. His other hand trails up the back of your thigh with a featherlight touch.

You try to push back into his hand that traces up the curve of your ass and yelp at the ensuing spank.

"Now, I'll try to be nice, because I know you've gone cockdumb," Wolffe finally presses his cock back against your pussy, sliding his length through your folds. The head of his cock bumps your clit with every slow thrust of his. "But, I need you to start behaving, smart girl. You've started acting like a brat," he emphasizes his words with sharp spanks, alternating cheeks each time.

The moan that is ripped out of you gets muffled by the pillow. "I'll be good!" You assure, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder, "I'll be good, I promise, Commander!"

Fuck, Wolffe looks so good behind you. His normally well-kept hair is slightly askew, a few strands falling in front of his face, and his mouth is twisted into a feral grin that makes your cunt gush on his cock.

"Yeah? You'll be good?" Wolffe slides his cock back, lining the head up with your weeping entrance, "You'll be my good girl?"

"Yes!" You sob, hands grasping at air as your try to grab at him. "Yes, I'll be your good girl. Only yours! Yours, yours —"

Wolffe sinks inside you with one hard thrust. "No," he groans, "No, I don't think you're my good girl. Not yet." He pulls out all the way, but you don't have to wait long before he slams back inside you and starts a devastating pace.

You wail into the pillow, caught between trying to get away from the brutal fucking and trying to push back into it. He's ruining you, you think again, You'll never be the same again.

"Don't worry, baby," Wolffe spanks your ass hard enough to make you yelp, "I'll fuck the brat out of you."

Unfortunately for you, you have a lot of brat to get rid of, and Wolffe is only getting started.

#commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe smut #i froth #i yearn #brat tamer wolffe my beloved #lee’s writing

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years ago

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Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

#geraskier #lambden #eskhir #geralt/jaskier #lambert/aiden #eskel/cahir #unhappy vesemir/guxart #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #vesemir #daemon au #tldr: witchers' daemons are humans when the connection between them is severed

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chainofclovers · 3 years ago

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Ted Lasso 2x11 thoughts

For an episode that ends with a journalist Ted trusts but has (understandably) recently lied to warning Ted that he’s publishing an article about his panic attacks, it was fitting that this episode seemed entirely about what all of these characters choose to tell each other. And after most of a season of television that Jason Sudeikis has described as the season in which the characters go into their little caves to deal with things on their own, it turns out they are finally able to tell each other quite a lot.

Which is good because, um, wow, a lot is going to happen in the season finale of this show!

Thoughts on the things people tell each other behind the cut!

Roy and Keeley. I absolutely loved the moment during their photoshoot in which they bring up a lot of complicated emotional things and are clearly gutted (“gutted”? Who am I? A GBBO contestant who forgot to turn the oven on?) by what they’ve heard. We already know that Keeley and Roy are great at the kinds of moments they have before the shoot begins, in which Roy builds Keeley up and tells her she’s fucking amazing. From nearly the beginning of their relationship, they’ve supported each other and been each other’s biggest fans. But their relationship has gone on long enough that they’ve progressed from tentative arguments about space and individual needs into really needing to figure out what they mean to each other and how big their feelings are and what that means in relation to everything else. Watching these two confess about the uncomfortable kiss with Nate, the unexpectedly long conversation with Phoebe’s teacher, and—most painfully—the revelation that Jamie still loves Keeley didn’t feel like watching two people who are about to break up. (Although I could see them potentially needing space from each other to get clarity.) It felt like watching two people realize just how much they’d lose if they lost each other, which is an understandably scary feeling even—or especially—when you’re deeply in love but not entirely sure what the future holds. Not entirely sure what you’re capable of when you’ve never felt serious about someone in quite this way, and are realizing you have to take intentional actions to choose that relationship every single day. I’m excited to learn whether Roy and Keeley decide they need to solidify their relationship more (not necessarily an engagement, but maybe moving in together or making sure they’re both comfortable referring to the other as partner and telling people they’re in a committed relationship) or if things go in a different direction for a while.

Sharon and Ted. I’ve had this feeling of “Wow, Ted is going to feel so intense about how honest he’s been with Sharon and is going to end up getting really attached and transfer a lot of emotions onto the connection they have and that is stressful no matter how beneficial it has been for him to finally get therapy!” for a while now. And Sharon’s departure really brought that out and it was indeed stressful. But the amount of growth that’s happened for both of these characters is really stunningly and beautifully conveyed in this episode. Ted is genuinely angry she left without saying goodbye, and he doesn’t bury it some place deep inside him where it will fester for the next thirty years. He expresses his anger. (I also noticed he sweared—mildly—in front of her again, which is really a big tell for how much he has let his carefully-constructed persona relax around her.) He reads her letter even though he said he wasn’t going to, and he’s moved. I don’t think Ted has the words for his connection to Sharon beyond “we had a breakthrough,” but Sharon gets it, and is able to firmly assert a professional boundary by articulating her side of that breakthrough as an experience that has made her a better therapist. And is still able to offer Ted a different kind of closure by suggesting they go out before her train leaves. No matter how you feel about a patient/football manager seeing their therapist/team psychologist colleague socially, I appreciated this story because IMO it didn’t cross big lines but instead was about one final moment in this arc in which both Ted and Sharon saw each other clearly and modeled what it is to give someone what they need and to expect honesty and communication from them. I liked that Ted ends up being the one saying goodbye. (The mustache in the exclamation points!) I like that whether or not Sharon returns in any capacity (Sarah Niles is so wonderful that I hope she does, but I’m not sure), the goodbye these characters forge for themselves here is neither abandonment nor a new, more complicated invitation. It’s the end of a meaningful era, and although the work of healing is the work of a lifetime, it’s very beautiful to have this milestone.

Ted and Rebecca. So, maybe it’s just me, but it kinda feels like these two have a few li’l life things to catch up on?! (HAHHHHHaSdafgsdasdf!) I really adored their interactions in this episode. I maintain that Biscuits With The Boss has been happening this whole time (even when Ted’s apartment was in shambles, there’s biscuit evidence, and I feel like we’ve been seeing the biscuit boxes in Rebecca’s office pretty regularly too), even if it might have been more of a drive-by biscuit drop-off/feelings avoidance ritual. It was really lovely to see Ted on more even footing in Rebecca’s office, joking around until she tells him to shut up, just like the old days. And GOSH—for their 1x9 interaction in Ted’s office to be paralleled in this episode and for Ted to explicitly make note of the parallel in a way Rebecca hears and sees and understands?! MY HEART. In both of Rebecca’s confessions, she is not bringing good news but it is good and meaningful that she chooses to share with Ted. In both situations, Ted takes the moment in stride and offers acceptance equivalent to the gravity of what she has to confess. And in both situations, he’s not some kind of otherworldly saint, able to accept Rebecca no matter what because he’s unaffected by what she shares. He is affected. When he tells her about Sam, you can see a variety of emotions on his face. Rebecca is upset and Ted is calm, and even if I might have liked for him to try to talk about the risk the affair poses to the power dynamics on the team or any number of factors, I also really liked that he just accepts where she is, and—most importantly—does not offer her advice beyond examining herself and taking her own advice. A massive part of being in a relationship with another person (a close relationship of any nature) is figuring out how to support that person without necessarily having to be happy about every single thing they do. It’s so important that Ted connects what she’s just told him about Sam back to what she told him last season about her plot with the club. These both feel like truth bombs to him, and he is at least safe enough to make that clear. These are both things that impact him, things that shape how he sees her and maybe even how he sees himself. He cares about her and is capable of taking in this information; he has room for it. But it’s not something he takes lightly, and neither does she. See you next year.

Tumblr user chainofclovers and the TV show Ted Lasso. My brain is going wild thinking about all the ways the next “truth bomb” conversation could go in 3x11 or whatever. Maybe they go full consistent parallel and Rebecca confesses something else, this time about her and Ted or some other big future thing that impacts him as much or more as the other confessions have. (The same but different.) Maybe the tables turn and Ted has something to confess to her. While the 1x9 conversation ended in an embrace and the 2x11 conversation ended with a bit more physical distance (understandable given the current state of their relationship and the nature of the discussion), the verbal ending of both conversations involved voices moving into a sexier lower register while zooming in to talk specifically about their connection to each other, so I have to assume there will be some consistencies in s3 even if the circumstances will be completely different. I don’t really know where I’m going with this and I obviously will go insane if I sustain this level of anticipatory energy until Fall 2022 but I have a feeling my brain and heart are going to try!

Sam and Rebecca. I know there’s been a lot of criticism about whether this show is being at all realistic about the power dynamics and inevitable professional issues this relationship would create. On some level, I agree; I like that pretty much everyone who knows about the affair has been kind so far, but you can be kind and still ask someone to contend with reality. But I also think that in nearly every plot point on this show, the narrative is driven by how people feel about their circumstances first and foremost. (It’s why the whiteboard in the coaching office and the football commentators tell us more about how the actual football season is going from a points perspective than anyone else.) This episode reminded me how few people know about Sam and Rebecca, and how much their time together so far has been time spent in bed. The private sphere. I thought this episode really expertly brought the public sphere into it, not—thank goodness—through a humiliating exposure or harsh judgment but through an opportunity for Sam that illustrates not only all his potential to do great things but how much Rebecca’s professional position and personal feelings are in conflict with that. Could stand in the way of that. I don’t have a strong gut feeling about where this will go, but I do think Sam’s face in his final scene of this episode is telling. He started the episode wanting to see Rebecca (his most recent text to her was about wanting to connect), and Edwin’s arrival from Ghana really exploded his sense of what is possible for his life. If he’d arrived home to Rebecca sitting on his stoop prior to meeting Edwin, he’d have been delighted. Now he’s conflicted, and whatever decision he makes, he has to reckon with the reality that he cannot have everything he wants. No matter what. And Rebecca—she has taken Ted’s advice and is attempting to be honest about the fact that she can’t control Sam’s decisions but hopes he doesn’t go, and even saying that much feels so inappropriate. And I’m not sure how much she realizes about the inappropriateness of the position she’s putting him in, although maybe she’s getting there considering she exits the scene very quickly. I’ve honestly loved Rebecca’s arc this season. I think it’s realistic that she got obsessed with the intimacy she thought she could find in her phone. I think it’s realistic that her professional and personal ambitions are inappropriately linked. (They certainly were for Rupert. It’s been years since she’s known anything different; even if she’s done some significant recovery work to move on from her abusive marriage and figure out her own priorities, she’s got a long way to go.) I know there are people who will read this interaction between Rebecca and Sam as a totally un-self-aware thing on the part of “the show” or “the writers” but what I saw is two people who enjoyed being in bed together and now have to deal with the reality that they’re in two different places in their lives and that one has great professional power over the other. If that wasn’t in the show, I wouldn’t be able to see it or feel so strongly about it.

Edwin and Sam. I really enjoyed all the complexities of this interaction. Edwin is promising a future for Sam that doesn’t quite exist yet, though he has the financial means to make it happen. He offers this by constructing for Sam a Nigerian—and Ghanaian—experience unlike anything he’s found in London. Sam is amazed that this experience is here, and Edwin’s response is to explain to him that the experience is not here. Not really. The experience in Africa. Sam has of course connected to the other Nigerian players on the team, but this is something else entirely. I’m really curious if Sam is going to end up feeling that what Edwin has to offer is real or not. That sense of home and connection? So real. And so right that he would want to experience that homecoming and would want to be part of building that experience for others. But at the end of the day, he went to a museum full of actors and a pop-up restaurant full of “friends,” and is that constructed authenticity as a stand-in for a real homecoming more or less real than the home he’s building in Richmond? (With other players who stand in solidarity with him, and with well-meaning white coaches who say dumb stuff sometimes, and an a probably-doomed love interest, and a feeling that he should put chicken instead of goat in the jollof, and the ability to stand out as an incredible player on a rising team.)

Nate and everyone. But also Nate and no one. Nate’s story is so painful and I’m so anxious for next week’s episode. For a long time I’ve felt that a lot of Nate’s loyalties are with Richmond, and a lot of his ambitions are around having given so much to this place without getting a lot back, and having a strong feeling that he’s the answer to Richmond’s future. But now I’m not so sure; his ambitions have transferred into asking everyone he knows (except Ted, of course), if they want to be “the boss.” But Nate is all tactics and no communication. When he wants to suggest a new play to Ted, he hasn’t yet learned to read Ted’s language to learn that Ted is eager to hear what he has to say. And while Ted has been really unfortunately distracted about Nate and dismissive of him this season, he clearly respects Nate’s approach to football and was appreciative of the play. Nate just can’t hear that. The suit is such a great metaphor of all the things Nate is in too much pain to be able to hear clearly. Everyone digs at him for wearing the suit Ted bought him (including Will, who’s got to get little cuts in where he can, because he’s got to be sick of the way Nate treats him), but when he gets fed up his solution isn’t to go out on his own and find more clothes he likes; he asks Keeley to help him. And then crosses a major line with her...and no matter how kind she was about it, she was clearly not okay. Everything is going to blow up, and I’m so curious as to whether Nate will end up aligning himself with Rupert in some way or if he’s going to end up screwed over by Rupert and in turn try to screw over his colleagues even worse than he’s already done. Or try desperately to make amends even though it could be too late for some. Either way, I’m fully prepared to feel devastated. (And there’s no way I’m giving up on this character. If he’s able to learn, I truly believe he could end up seeking forgiveness and forging a happier existence for himself. Someday. Like in season 3 or something.)

Ted and Trent. Trent deciding to reveal his source to Ted is a huge deal, and I’m torn between so many emotions about this exposé. I’m glad it’s a Trent Crimm piece and not an Ernie Loundes piece. I’m glad that Trent made the decision to warn Ted and let him know that Nate is his source. I fear—but also hope—that this exposure will set off a chain reaction of Ted learning about some of the things he’s missed while suffering through a really bad bout with his dad-grief and panic disorder. The things Ted doesn’t know would devastate him. I wonder if Ted will want to figure out a way to make Nate feel heard and reconcile with him, and I wonder how that will be complicated if/when he realizes Nate has severely bullied Will, gets more details on how he mistreated Colin, etc. I wonder if Rebecca, whom Nate called a “shrew” right before she announced his promotion, will be in the position of having to ask Ted to fire him, or overriding Ted and doing it herself. So many questions! I have a feeling it’ll go in some wild yet very human-scaled, emotionally-nuanced direction, and I’ll be like “Oh my GOD!” but also like “Oh, of course.”

This VERY SERIOUS AND EMOTIONAL REVIEW has a major flaw, which is that none of the above conversations include mention of the absolute love letter to N*SYNC. Ted passionately explains how things should go while dancing ridiculously! Will turns on the music and starts gyrating! Roy nods supportively! Beard shouts the choreography like the Broadway choreographer of teaching grown men who play football how to dance like a boy band. Everyone is so incredibly proud when they nail it. I love them.

I cannot believe next week is the end. For now. I’m kind of looking forward to letting everything settle during the hiatus, but I’ve really loved the ride.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #ted lasso 2x11 #meta by me #ALL THE FEELINGS!!!!#a lesbian watches ted lasso

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verryberriess · 3 years ago

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Whatever This Is | Chapter 1

READ PROLOGUE HERE!!

Whatever This Is

Synopsis: In which Jude and Cardan meet again after seven years, but not on good terms.

thanks to @maastrash for helping me edit LOL!!!! :D

CHAPTER ONE

The last time I saw Cardan Greenbriar was seven years ago.

Today, seven years later, we were a mere few feet apart. I’m unsure whether to feel relieved or insulted at his lack of acknowledgement. Relieved that maybe he has forgotten my face and I could continue along with my life, undeterred and unaffected as ever. But insulted, because, maybe he has forgotten me.

“Are you ready to order?” The cashier startles me. I didn’t realize that the line had suddenly quickened in pace. He must be new, since I haven’t seen him around the Torre’s until today.

Thankfully, I respond with my usual order without thinking. The cashier nods and I fumble my purse in search of my wallet. I’m able to quickly spot my cyan-colored wallet and unbutton its strap with haste, fishing for my credit card from the compartment with my nail. The card is stubborn, in a tight space stuck to two other cards.

“Sorry,” I look up and flash the cashier a tight smile, embarrassment coloring my features.

The cashier responds in turn, his green eyes alight in amusement. “It’s alright. That happens to me all the time.”

I immediately return to the war against my card, which finally relents. I slam it into the card reader, chip in first. While the payment approves, I smile and say, “Thanks for your patience,“ peering down at his name tag to add, “Beckett.” He is handsome and new, and on another day I would try to get to know him, but I am in a hurry, so I walk from the bounds of the register and head straight towards the door outside.

The door swings open in response to my adrenaline and haste. I curse inwardly at the crowd outside of Torre’s that seems to have gotten even bigger. As I mutter “Excuse me’s” and sidestep around the large number of people, I inspect the streets for an absurdly tall head of iridescent midnight hair. I am quickly astonished to see that exact head right in the middle of the large crowd, showering the thrall of excited women with a crooked smile.

Cardan stands in the middle. While he keeps his hands at his sides, his posture is loose and his torso leans in to angle himself for a selfie with another woman. The woman presses her back into Cardan’s again. He doesn’t seem bothered by this at all.

I zero in on the changes in his features. He has gotten taller, his face more angular. His style has been perfected, dressed in a dark suit and decorated in gold rings and darks and blacks while the midnight black hair atop his head seems unruly and untamed, as if on purpose. All these years and he seems to have perfected perfection, looking more horrifically beautiful than ever. I have forgotten this obtrusive charm I had once been fooled by, and even after all these years I am disgusted at myself for still being reigned in, captivated.

But all of a sudden, for a few seconds, he turns his head away from his surroundings and regards me with his eyes, looking as if he were noting my presence with the same disgust, and then quickly looking away. The exchange was so quick, I had barely registered it.

Yet, as I stand at the outskirts of this group, I am reminded of the past, and how I have gotten over this already. I have replayed scenario after scenario of reunions in my head after the first few months of my departure, but I had never really anticipated some overly-large crowd separating Cardan Greenbriar and I by just a few feet.

A few feet that might as well be an ocean. Or two.

I can’t help but marvel at how we were once more than acquainted with each other. That look had reminded me that everything is over, that he wants nothing to do with me. Seven years could be more, if I refocused myself. I could do that, I reminded myself. Seven years could turn into forever.

A twinge of sorrow worms its way into my gut. I squash it.

I turn around. My coffee must be done by now and I want to head to work before I’m late. I suppose the sidewalk will take some weaving around and being late was not on my agenda.

My steps are forward. I make my way back to the door of Torre’s, pulling open the door to step in.

But a familiar voice, ringed with the same distinct tone of arrogance and authority that I haven’t heard in years, ceases any of my movements.

“You need to back up.”

My grip at the handle falters, and another person shuffles out on the other side. They thank me for holding the door for them.

Instead of responding, I turn back around and face the direction of where the voice had called. The atmosphere feels almost different. Where the women had once been gathered around him, they now stand at a distance, clearing for the space he had requested.

I watch one of them snap a quick selfie while he is in her background. She leaves the group right afterwards. My eyes move back to where Cardan is, but he is walking towards my direction, uncaring of the people around him.

I pull the door handle hurriedly and slip inside into the safety of Torre’s. The chatter and ambiance of the coffeehouse usually offer safe haven from San Francisco’s morning bustles, but not today.

I could feel his looming presence right behind me, about to catch up to my stride. I’m not about to do this right now. I don’t think I can.

The choice is ripped away from me, however, when a gentle grip takes hold of my wrist.

“Jude?” The voice is soft, a complete one-eighty from that of authority outside.

I still immediately. I first turn to check the surroundings, discovering that none of the women from outside have followed him in. Then, I glance at the hand which still grips my wrist. I try to shake it off. Cardan’s hold is firm, but he reluctantly lets go. He removes himself slowly as if he is unsure whether or not he should.

Taking a step away, he stands and shifts awkwardly. He is too tall now, absurdly towering over me. Where he used to be only about an inch taller, he is now a few inches above my height. He is no longer able to slouch against me without adjusting himself as easily anymore.

The distance between us is off-putting. Though traits like his height and broadness separate us physically from our past selves, it is the other changes in our approaches and personalities that further highlight the obnoxious tension between us.

Why he suddenly acknowledges my presence is a mystery to me. Why he is here astonishes me. I am unsure if fate is cruel enough to have forced us to meet in this kind of circumstance, or if this was a making of pure coincidence.

Cardan stares at me with some deep intensity. I want to be rid of his scathing stare, grab my coffee, and disappear from this whole ordeal. Pretend that this stain of an encounter had not been inked upon seven years of spotless script.

“Cardan,” I say stiffly. Once acquainted, but now strangers. I am hesitant to say more, despite all the questions that rage within my mind and my wickedly cursed heart. Everything about this is full of uncertainty and unpredictability. A type of situation that I am not entirely familiarized with, since plans and strategy have always ruled my life. It is frustratingly tiresome.

Cardan eyes the row of occupied couches, and later the arrangement of empty rustic tables and chairs. He gestures out to the seats, “Why don’t we find a seat? I imagine that we have much to catch up on.”

I secretly consider his offer, but my brain votes to think of ways to escape his reach. Before I can make a decision though, I am led away to an open table. I am reluctant to make this encounter any longer than it should be, but I decide that I should at least gain some reasoning for his recent presence.

“I’m glad you’re so eager to see me again. After all, it’s been so long.” Cardan resumes his usual nonchalant character. “What an extraordinary coincidence running into you here.”

For a moment, I remark on his wording. I am glad that this turned out to be an occasion of pure coincidence.

Concern or indifference? I decided on the latter tone to respond with. “Yes, it certainly has been a while. But considering how we left things, I’m surprised that you even want to be near me.”

He raises an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth lift slightly. “Considering how we’ve left things, I’m surprised you’ve let me into your vicinity.” It doesn’t look like it, but the small twinges in expression reveal that he is thinking of what to say next. I am about to retort back, but what he asks next catches me off guard as he continues, softly, “Why did you leave for so long?”

My cheeks heat. At this, I am suddenly hyper aware of how close he is, of his overwhelming heat despite the violent cold that rages outside, and how he almost whispers his question, with a compelling mix of rasp and seduction. He towers over me, as if using his height to shield me from the world like he has done so many times those years ago, but in this instance, it feels as though he is also looking for something. Cardan is cautious though, leaving room for retreat.

If I am not careful myself, I imagine that I would fall into his chest, and take advantage of the closeness that I had secretly yearned for nearly a decade. Seven years be damned, my focused mentality would dissolve into dust.

I announce my resolve by taking a step back. The distance between him and I is lengthened. Although my heart curses at me, my mind is indiscriminate. I hadn’t expected this conversation to go about this way. Though, I also didn’t know what to expect. Everything was unpredictable at this point and many things have changed. I didn’t know what response he wanted, because he should’ve known why I left.

“... Because of you.” I say gruffly. I leave little context, wanting him to fill in the blanks.

For a second, a mixture of hurt and surprise leaks into his expression before it is masked again. In that second I can’t help but relish in a small sense of satisfaction that I had got to him. Hurt for hurt. An eye for an eye. Whatever game he is trying to play at this time will not rouse a fraction of feeling from me. Not again.

“I see.” Again, Cardan contemplates. He does not show anything, but his eyes start to roam around us, like he is taking in the coffeehouse setting again as if he wasn’t just here only a few moments ago.

“Excuse me?” The green-eyed cashier from before stands in front of us.

He looks between Cardan and I. Cardan, in turn, twists to the direction of the abrupt voice, and slowly assesses his form. I watch his eyes trail up and down the cashier’s physique, his face contorting in judgement before glaring at him, clearly annoyed by his abrupt intrusion.

Beckett turns to me instead, smiling brightly. His dimples deepen and his white teeth flash to me. He holds out a branded cup of Torre’s. “Hey, Jude right? We called out your name earlier, but I don’t think you heard us. I thought I’d bring your coffee to you before it got cold.”

“Thanks so much, I almost forgot.” I take the cup from him and gently set it down at our table.

“Of course.” Beckett still hovers over us, his attention only towards me. “Andrea told me you were a regular here. I should have known.”

“Yes, I come here often. But it’s okay, I noticed that you’re new here too. And it’s Beckett right?” I ask.

Beckett replies, “Yeah, it’s actually my second day.”

Beckett hovers over us. I notice that he is handsome, with close-cropped blonde hair that is slightly grown out. His green eyes twinkle as he observes me in return. He is well-muscled and tan from what I could see of his arms, which are mostly covered by his gray, long-sleeved uniform.

I take a quick glance at Cardan. His fingers tap the tabletop in a particular rhythm as he watches the exchange between Beckett and I.

“Well, I better get back to work now. If you need anything else, check your cup.” Beckett smiles again and walks away.

I look back at the coffee cup and peer at Cardan who eyes its side, a murderous expression set upon his facial features. His eyes are cold and his jaw is clenched.

As I take the cup in my hands, I inspect the sticker attached to the side of the cup. A phone number written in scrawly blue ink is scribbled onto the light orange sticker.

“I didn’t realize hand-serving customers was a part of the job description.” Cardan remarks icily.

“Well,” I clear my throat. “At least he’s done something you didn't have the balls to do seven years ago.”

A/N: i haven't been here in a while... hello! let me know if you want to be put on the tag list lOL

#jurdan #jurdan fanfiction #jurdan fanfic #judexcardan #judeduarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the folk of the air #tfota fanfic #tfota #verryberriess #jude x cardan #twk #tcp fic

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usaginotwst · 3 years ago

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☂️🔪🖤🧺 for jade, kalim and floyd please?

Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Tumblr never notified me that I had more asks, I feel like a heel!!!

☔️— What are they like when they’re emotional? How quickly do they recover?

Jade is a very patient guy. Things just seem to brush by him while he remains unaffected. However, no one is immune to negativity, especially one so far away from home. Homesickness hits him when he least expects it and after a phone call from his mother, he finds himself weighed down with the dark feeling of longing.

When he gets like this, he reaches out to you to see if you're able to spend time with him to take his mind off of things. When he's in your room, he sighs deeply, alerting you that something's wrong. Jade still tries to deny it, but one look from his you and he finds himself breaking down. He doesn't shed tears, but he does come close. If you let him vent and talk about the wonders of the Coral Sea, encouraging his excitement when he tells you about the best festivals and most exciting things to find down there, he'll start to smile more naturally and the tension leaves his shoulders.

Jade never stays upset for long because he knows himself better than anyone and can find ways to cheer himself up. There hasn't been a moment that he's found himself in dire straights. Yet.

When Floyd gets upset, the world knows it. He takes it out on anyone smaller than he is, namely freshman, shoving them to the side and roughly bumping into them in the hallway as he makes his way somewhere secluded where he can throw a fit in peace.

Floyd is the type of guy that gets frustrated with his own emotions, wishing they would stop and let him off the ride, which only makes him angrier or dive deeper into sorrow. He doesn't have the same kinds of mood regulating system that Jade seems to have, so he has to tire himself out before he can be okay again.

In terms of being homesick, Floyd will huff and puff before getting up and decided to just go home. It's the simplest way to ease the pain, he thinks, but you stop him, telling him its not reasonable to go all the way to The Coral Sea. This only irritates him further.

Some adjustments have to be made before he throws a full-blown tantrum, but when you draw him a bath all the way to the top where he can switch to his true form, he goes from fuming to a pout, which is a start. Floyd sinks deep into the tub so all that's visible is his eyes over the waterline and his tail that's too long and flips up and over the edge of the tub.

When Floyd starts to blow bubbles under the water or splash at you, that's the cue that he's ready to talk.

Poor, sweet Kalim is a crier. He cries at everything. He's a cancer after all. When he gets seriously upset, he wails at top volume. Snot pours from his nose and spit dribbles down his cheeks as he swipes at his tears.

Kalim will suck it up and stop crying just long enough to reach you before he breaks down again. The world could be ending, but once he's in his person's arms, all would be right. Once he feels safe, Kalim will calm down to a low sniffle, wipe away his tears and nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent before sighing you out.

Like a raging storm, Kalim's emotions leave just as quickly as they come. Usually he cries himself out and has to take a nap afterward due to the emotional toll and exhaustion.

🔪— How would they react to injury/misfortune befalling their partner? Do they feel at fault?

Jade's ever present smile falters for a moment before he leads you away with a flourish and reassurance. After triple checking to make sure you're truly okay, he will go do his own snooping to try and figure it all out. If it was caused by another student, Jade would just start appearing everywhere that student was. In the cafeteria, out in the playing field, in the back of class. Jade would make that person's life a living hell by gaslighting them, making them believe they're going crazy, and generally frightening them.

If it was just an accident of your own accord, Jade would sigh and poke a little fun at your expense (unless you were seriously hurt) and then help bandage you up before he realizes that he doesn't really know as much first aid as he thought. He hoists you up, piggyback style and takes you to the infirmary. Your proximity makes up for any guilt he'd been carrying since finding out about your injury.

Floyd on the other hand, would go in swinging. Once he figures out how it happened, it's squeezing time. He's almost put on academic probation for putting another student in the infirmary wing, but it was worth it to defend your honor. If it's not a situation that he can just squeeze away, he might feel totally conflicted. He wants to help, but for the first time in his life he feels helpless and it staggers him a bit. Guilt keeps him at bay as he reevaluates his importance in your life. He'll bounce back, but it'll take him awhile.

Revenge is the last thing on Kalim's mind when he hears that you've been hurt. With the immediate first thought of your food being poisoned, he rushes to your side. If it's a more physical injury, while relieved it's not poison, Kalim would shed guilty tears and promise to take care of you no matter what. He doesn't leave your side and it may come to the point that you have to tell him to relax and go do something on his own because of how clingy he is.

🖤— Random romantic headcanon

Kalim likes to lay with you and watch the stars, taking each moment to point out constellations. When he can't find any, he likes to pull you close, breathe you in, and it's not until his wandering hands reach your own do you realize he's humming a low tune. Floyd flops back and forth between being touchy-feely and not wanting anything to touch his skin, but when he's in a cuddly mood there is little you can do to keep his hands off of you. He leans on you in line for coffee. While you're reading, his fingers waltz up your spine, over your shoulder, and down your arm to intertwine with yours. He likes random kisses, but also gives light bites to your shoulder when you're not paying attention.

Jade loves it when you listen to his rambling. When he realizes, mid-tangent, that you're looking at him with love in your eyes, he sputters for a second and a blush starts travelling up his neck to rest on his cheeks. Overwhelmed with love, he can't even continue when you urge him too.

🧺— Random domestic headcanon

Floyd loves baths and made sure he had a custom one built for your house on land. He has his nightly bath ritual and if it isn't done 100% on the nose, he gets irritable. He runs the bath and while it's filling up, he goes to fetch you - no matter where you are or what you're doing - and races back with you in tow to continue prep. Bath salt, milks, essences, and all sorts of things go into the bath and before you know it you're both in there as well. He holds you close and only allows you to leave once your promised 15 minutes are up, then he finishes the rest of his bath alone to soak.

Kalim's not a morning person. He will do absolutely anything to keep you in bed with him an extra 5, 10, 15 minutes. He groans and stretches, and with his outstretched hand he pulls you to him and settles back in. His favorite days are the ones when you actually get to stay in bed with him and laze about, whispering sweet nothings and sharing lazy, bleary kisses in the morning light.

Jade is an almost perfect househusband. He takes care of the cooking, the cleaning, and everything in between. It wasn't something you forced him to do, he just seemed to fall into it himself. However, on the days he wakes up to find you already up and tending to the household chores so he can get some extra sleep, he finds himself remembering just why he loves you.

#twst headcanons #twst hc #twisted wonderland #kalim al asim #floyd leech #jade leech #headcanons #asks

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bloody-bee-tea · 4 years ago

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Vision

Jiang Cheng tries his best to appear unaffected, but going by how skittish his disciples are around him, he’s not quite managing it.

But Jiang Cheng can’t help it; it’s the first time since Lotus Pier burned and he rebuilt it, that another Sect Leader is coming to visit and Jing Cheng feels like he’s being tested.

He doesn’t like that feeling one bit.

Jiang Cheng straightens up, when the first disciple comes into view, because he’s going to excel whatever test this is, and if it’s going to kill him.

“Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang calls out when they are still a good distance away, but Jiang Cheng can still see how Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes at his over-enthusiastic brother and a tiny part of Jiang Cheng relaxes. Their relationship is a bittersweet-familiar one and Jiang Cheng thinks if they are just here to check in on him, then he can do this.

“Nie-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng greets Nie Mingjue, bowing low, because even though they are both Sect Leaders now their status couldn’t be more different.

Yunmeng Jiang barely escaped extinction while Qinghe Nie came away as the victor of the Sunshot Campaign, despite the losses they had to endure.

“So formal, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang complaints and his brother cuffs him over the head for his troubles.

“At least he remembers his manners,” Nie Mingjue says with a sigh and slightly shakes his head when Nie Huaisang makes puppy eyes at him over his fan.

“We’re old friends, there’s no need to be this formal,” Nie Huaisang whines and something in Jiang Cheng goes warm and pleased to hear that Nie Huaisang still considers them friends, even after everything that happened.

“Jiang-zongzhu, please excuse my brother,” Nie Mingjue tells him, overly formal and stiff, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes and Nie Huaisang puffs out his cheeks in mock outrage.

Jiang Cheng has to bite back a laugh at that, and when Nie Huaisang whirls around to him, he at least pretends to be serious.

“Let me show you to your rooms, you must be exhausted after the travel,” Jiang Cheng says, remembering his manners and starts to lead the Nie delegation towards the guest quarters.

They haven’t been one of his priorities during rebuilding Lotus Pier, but when Nie Mingjue’s formal request of a visit reached him, Jiang Cheng had done his utmost best to get them ready.

He does not want anyone to complain about his hosting skills; besides hurting his pride it would seriously damage the image of his Sect and truth be told, they can’t take much more.

They are barely scraping by as it is.

“It almost looks the same,” Nie Mingjue says suddenly when they are halfway there and Jiang Cheng stiffens. “I heard everything burned down?”

“It did,” Jiang Cheng presses out and he tries to see Lotus Pier with Nie Mingjue’s eyes, but all he can see are the smouldering remains of what used to be his home.

No matter how he rebuilds it, in his mind it will always be the new Lotus Pier. And no matter how he tries to make it look the same, there are subtle differences. Enough of them to make him wonder what his parents would say of it; what his sister and Wei Wuxian would say of it.

Jiang Cheng thinks at least his mother would scold him for not remembering his home correctly and doing such a piss-poor job.

“You did a great job rebuilding it,” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng works his jaw.

“Thank you,” he gets out.

“Did you do a lot of the construction work?”

“Of course I did,” Jiang Cheng stiffly says.

Mostly because there was no one else around who remembered how Lotus Pier used to look like, but also because Jiang Cheng would never only order his disciples around. If he isn’t willing to do something, how can he ask the same of his people?

“Would you like to compare notes later? I did a fair share of construction in Qinghe myself and there are not many Sect Leaders I can talk to about this. Jin Guangshan is not known to get his hands dirty like that,” Nie Mingjue says, and Jiang Cheng can feel the rage bubble up inside him again.

How dare Nie Mingjue say this; how dare he imply that Jiang Cheng’s work isn’t up to par, that he’s lowering himself to do the dirty work. It’s hitting a very vulnerable part of Jiang Cheng, because his father used to say the same whenever Jiang Cheng was quick to help people rebuild after a flood or another disaster.

His mother only ever watched him with piercing eyes, but his father was of the firm believe that they had disciples for this exact reason.

And to hear these similar words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth now makes his blood boil with anger.

But Jiang Cheng can’t afford to offend Nie Mingjue and Qinghe Nie, so he forces a smile on his face.

“Sure,” he says, aiming for a light tone, but going by the small frown on Nie Mingjue’s face he doesn’t quite manage to do that.

“Jiang-xiong, are you alright?” Nie Huaisang asks, flicking his fan open and moving it in a nervous gesture.

“Of course I am,” Jiang Cheng gives back, because he can’t afford to be anything else.

Not with reconstruction still going on and especially not with Jin Ling being at Lotus Pier at the moment.

Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang share a look at that, one that makes Jiang Cheng’s skin crawl, but he clenches his jaw and simply shows them to their quarters.

He can’t afford to make a mess of the situation, so he swallows all of his rude remarks down and bids them a farewell once he’s sure they are situated.

Jiang Cheng flees and then spends the rest of the afternoon trying to get himself back together. He appointed his most trusted disciple to keep an eye on the Nie delegation, in case they need something and so he spends his time pretending that he’s not vibrating out of his skin with nervousness about this visit.

The first day passes without another incident, and on the second da Jiang Cheng almost feels like himself again. He spends breakfast with the Nie’s, entirely unremarkable except for Nie Huaisang’s incessant shatter and Nie Mingjue’s fond eyerolls, and then he leaves for the training grounds.

He might have to entertain guests, but he’s still the Sect Leader and since they are still in the process of building up again, there are not enough disciples who could reliably teach the new ones.

It’s just one of the many things Jiang Cheng has to oversee himself, so he’s standing at the side-lines, watching his disciples in their training fights.

There are a lot of different styles, since he simply picked up any willing cultivator he could find and while it looks chaotic, it certainly has its merits.

At least the Yunmeng Jiang will always be unpredictable, Jiang Cheng thinks when he watches one of the kids he picked up on the street go for the hair of her opponent.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Nie Mingjue suddenly says from beside him and Jiang Cheng stiffens.

“Sect Leader Jiang was my father,” he gives back, because it still feels wrong to be addressed like this.

“Jiang Wanyin, then?” Nie Mingjue asks his eyes never leaving the training disciples.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng agrees and he sees Nie Mingjue nod from the corner of his eyes.

“Nie Mingjue, then,” Nie Mingjue tells him and while it feels so wrong to address Nie Mingjue this casually, Jiang Cheng nods as well.

He keeps his gaze trained on his disciples, hoping that Nie Mingjue will get bored and leave, even though he should offer some entertainment to him, but Nie Mingjue stays where he is.

“They have an interesting fighting style,” Nie Mingjue eventually says, almost offhandedly and Jiang Cheng tenses again.

He has a snappish reply on his tongue, but then his attention is brought back to one of the disciples who make a grievous mistake with the sword and Jiang Cheng is walking up to him, before he can consciously decide to do so.

The disciple tenses in apparent fear, seemingly ready to accept Jiang Cheng’s scolding, and he does scold. A lot. And then he shows the disciple how it’s done right and from that point on it just goes downhill because everyone keeps asking him about this technique and that form and before he knows it Jiang Cheng was roped into giving a lesson.

And all the while Nie Mingjue stayed at the side-lines, silently watching them.

“Apologies,” Jiang Cheng says when he finally manages to get away from his disciples.

“No need,” Nie Mingjue easily says. “You’re good with them.”

Jiang Cheng snorts bitterly at that, because he knows that more than half of them are deathly afraid of him, like the old disciples were of his mother, and the other half barely has the respect for him that he deserves, but there is nothing he can do about it.

It is what it is, he just doesn’t need Nie Mingjue to rub it in even more.

“Let me show you around Lotus Pier,” Jiang Cheng says instead of saying something biting, something that he will regret later, and as if on cue Nie Huaisang materializes next to them.

“I would love to see everything!” he exclaims, not so subtly elbowing Nie Mingjue into the side and Jiang Cheng frowns as he wonders what’s that all about.

“Yes, that would be—nice,” Nie Mingjue says and the delay is noticeable enough that Jiang Cheng can tell that he does not care to see Lotus Pier at all.

Still, he has appearances to hold up, so he dutifully shows them around and with Nie Huaisang’s excitement it’s almost not awkward at all.

“I’m sorry we’re taking up so much of your time,” Nie Mingjue says when Nie Huaisang ran yet again to another stall and Jiang Cheng shrugs awkwardly.

He wants to ask why exactly they are here, but he really does not want to hear that this is an inspection and so in the end he stays silent for so long that answering would be awkward.

So instead he points out one of his own favourite stalls and it seems to be enough for Nie Mingjue to relax, because his shoulders slump and Jiang Cheng hadn’t even realized that he was so tense.

It seems that even if this is an inspection Nie Mingjue is also in great need of some relaxing downtime himself and even though they just came out of near extinction, even though they are barely scraping by, the Yunmeng Jiang always knew how to have fun.

“Come,” Jiang Cheng tells them out of the blue and leads Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue towards one of the outer piers.

They can hear laughter and yelling before they even get close and both Nie’s seem rather intrigued by that.

When they finally come into view of the people playing in the water, they stop and Jiang Cheng gives them some time to catch up on the game rules before he speaks again.

“You’re free to join them if you want,” he says and while Nie Huaisang’s eyes go wide Nie Mingjue smiles at him before he reaches for his belt, clearly content to let his clothes drop right where they stand, like the other disciples as well.

Jiang Cheng did not calculate for that at all and he hurriedly averts his eyes from the new stripe of skin that Nie Mingjue reveals.

“Do you have many games like this?” he asks as he gets off his shoes and Jiang Cheng tenses again.

He wonders what it is about Nie Mingjue that always so easily hits him where it hurts; to imply that they do nothing but play is a blow Jiang Cheng is not sure how to deal with. It brings back memories of Wei Wuxian, whining at him to join them in their game, and of his mother’s cutting voice berating him that an heir shouldn’t spent his time with useless play like this.

But before Jiang Cheng can figure out how to reply to Nie Mingjue, Nie Mingjue already jumped into the water, clearly ready to get right in on the fun, and Jiang Cheng is left with Nie Huaisang on the pier.

“Da-ge doesn’t get enough fun,” Nie Huaisang says from behind his fan. “Being Sect Leader is so demanding and it’s good that he gets to enjoy himself a little here.”

Jiang Cheng bites back on the words that being a Sect Leader is not supposed to be fun, and instead he only awkwardly shrugs, making Nie Huaisang frown at him again.

“Why don’t you join them as well?” Nie Huaisang asks with a curious glance and Jiang Cheng scoffs.

“Not all of us have the time to play around like this,” he bites out and when he sees Nie Huaisang flinch Jiang Cheng turns away from him.

“Feel free to roam Lotus Pier as you see fit, there will be people around to answer your questions,” Jiang Cheng tells him, head held high and then he simply marches off.

He’s aching with the want to join his disciples in the water; he misses playing around like that. But he knows that the moment he would start to shed his clothes people would stop, would stare, would freeze in fright and it’s not untrue what he told Nie Huaisang; he does have too much to do to simply slack off like this.

When evening finally falls, Jiang Cheng is bend low over paper work. His eyes are burning and his back is aching, but he can’t stop yet. There are still piles upon piles on his table and if Jiang Cheng doesn’t make a dent in them soon then he might as well drown under them.

“Sect Leader,” one of his disciples suddenly speaks up from the door and Jiang Cheng turns bleary eyes on her.

“What?” he snaps and then immediately winces.

It’s no wonder everyone here is afraid of him.

“It’s young master Jin,” she says apologetically, but Jiang Cheng is already on his feet.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, the worry already settling in his gut.

“He’s been screaming for the last half hour. I think he misses you,” she says with a small smile and something warm replaces the worry.

At least Jin Ling is too little to fear him yet.

“I’ll be right there,” he promises, and hurries to finish up the letter he was working on before he makes his way over to Jin Ling’s room.

True to her word, he’s screaming at the top of his lungs, and now that he hears this Jiang Cheng can’t help but to worry again. What if it’s something more serious? He rushes inside the room and immediately snatches Jin Ling out of the arms of his disciple.

“It’s okay now,” Jiang Cheng says, more to Jin Ling than to her. “I have him now.”

“Alright,” she says with a bow of her head and immediately leaves him to it.

“What’s wrong, little one?” Jiang Cheng softly asks when Jin Ling continues to scream but he seems to react to his voice, because the cries get a little bit softer. “I’m here now, there’s no need for you to make such a fuss, brat,” Jiang Cheng whispers, his voice fond, and Jin Ling really stops crying.

He blinks up at Jiang Cheng with his big eyes and then simply snuggles deeper into his embrace.

“There you go, it’s not that bad after all, is it?” Jiang Cheng says, mostly so that he has something to say, because his voice does seem to relax Jin Ling.

Jiang Cheng continues to whisper nonsense to him, until he’s sure that Jin Ling feel asleep and only then does he dare to put him down in his crib.

Jiang Cheng holds his breath once he lets go of Jin Ling, but the boy blessedly slumbers on and Jiang Cheng lets out a soft sigh.

He would never say that it’s a chore too look after his sister’s son, but it is time consuming; and Jiang Cheng doesn’t have much of that even without caring for an infant.

Jiang Cheng knows that he should get back to his paper work immediately, that he shouldn’t stay and linger and simply stare at Jin Ling, but it’s another handful of minutes before he can tear himself away from him.

When he steps outside of Jin Ling’s room, Jiang Cheng immediately tenses when he sees Nie Mingjue leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Jiang Cheng snaps, but he’s still mindful of the sleeping Jin Ling and Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“I came to find you, but your disciple told me to go here,” Nie Mingjue easily says and Jiang Cheng vows to have words with that disciple.

“You’re good with him,” Nie Mingjue says with a nod towards Jin Ling’s room and Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw.

He knows he’s not good with Jin Ling, barely knows enough about kids to not kill him immediately and he still hears the whispers from Jinlingtai, how he’s bad for the kid, how he’ll corrupt him, how Jin Ling will turn out as angry and cold as him and it’s all too much for Jiang Cheng to take right now.

“Fight me,” he presses out through clenched teeth and when he sees the way Nie Mingjue lights up at that, the anger turns into cold rage.

He brings them to one of the more remote training fields and then he just waits until Nie Mingjue has Baxia ready. Jiang Cheng doesn’t hesitate to bring out Zidian as well as Sandu and then they are off.

It’s a vicious fight and the first time since the war that Jiang Cheng doesn’t hold back. Nie Mingjue has no problems parrying Sandu, but he seems at a loss with Zidian and Jiang Cheng takes shameless advantage of that, though he does keep the electricity running through it to a bare minimum.

He doesn’t want to kill or permanently injure Nie Mingjue after all.

Still, Nie Mingjue is a force to be reckoned with, and while it’s clear that he too is struggling, there’s a smile on his face that only enrages Jiang Cheng further.

Their fight goes on for longer than Jiang Cheng expected, Zidian singing and Sandu clashing with Baxia, but in the end Nie Mingjue tackles him to the ground.

When Jiang Cheng’s back hits the ground, his breath leaves him in a rush and his vision turns black for a moment, before stars appear everywhere.

Jiang Cheng blinks up at the sky, trying to get his lungs to work properly again, but it still takes him an embarrassingly long time.

In the end Nie Mingjue seems to tire of waiting for him to compose himself and he holds out a hand to him.

“You’re a good fighter,” Nie Mingjue says, just as Jiang Cheng is about to reach for his hand. “And you wield Zidian almost better than Sandu,” he tacks on, and Jiang Cheng goes cold.

He wouldn’t have minded this much, before—his mother never did after all—but after what happened with Wei Wuxian, after everyone came after him for not using his sword like he should, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth now.

“What do you know,” Jiang Cheng snaps and slaps Nie Mingjue’s hand away, getting up out of his own strength.

“Jiang Wanyin?” Nie Mingjue asks with a frown and Jiang Cheng squares his shoulders before he faces him again.

“Don’t tell me I fight well when I just lost and don’t ever imply that I am favouring Zidian over Sandu ever again,” he hisses out and when he sees Nie Mingjue’s surprised look on his face, Jiang Cheng quickly turns away.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue calls after him, and the informality stops Jiang Cheng in his steps. “I haven’t had a fight like this in a while. Not many people can hold out against me for as long as you did. Of course you fight well. And I didn’t mean anything with my comment about Zidian; it’s a spiritual tool and you wield it well. That’s all,” Nie Mingjue explains, almost awkwardly, and Jiang Cheng wants to leave, he really does, but he’s rooted to the spot.

“Is that the problem?” Nie Mingjue asks and it sounds like he came closer, though Jiang Cheng didn’t hear any footsteps. “Have I offended you all this time without knowing?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and Jiang Cheng lets out a hard breath.

“I’m not lowering to do the dirty work when I help with rebuilding,” Jiang Cheng says bitterly, even though he knows that’s what everyone thinks.

“Of course not,” Nie Mingjue immediately says. “And that wasn’t what I meant. I really do help with construction every now and then, if my time allows for it. It’s hard work, but also rewarding. I really hoped to compare notes with you. It’s not like Jin Guangshan would ever lift a finger to help any of his disciples like that so I don’t usually have someone to talk to about this.”

Jiang Cheng gives a short nod at that, and then he figures he might as well lay it all out. It’s almost easy, now that he doesn’t have to face Nie Mingjue.

“And when you say my disciples have an interesting fighting style?”

“It’s just that. Interesting. The Yunmeng Style is very clearly still there, but they are not as rigid as before. It’s good to see them fall back to the things some of them clearly learned on the streets. It won’t make that much difference against a monster, but if they ever have to fight another cultivator or something with sentience, it will give them the upper hand. It’s a good thing.”

“The game?” Jiang Cheng whispers, now thoroughly embarrassed by how low he thought of Nie Mingjue and how easily believed he was just here to insult him.

“We have a few with balls, but none in the water. I never saw such a game and I was simply curious if there were more. I’d like to try them all, the last one was fun,” Nie Mingjue says with a chuckle even though he thoroughly lost that game, as Jiang Cheng learned.

“And Jin Ling?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“I just meant that you’re good with him,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng can almost imagine him shrugging. “He clearly loves you if he settles down by just hearing your voice and you didn’t get impatient once. You clearly love him as well.”

Jiang Cheng takes a shuddering breath when Nie Mingjue falls silent and he finally turns around to him.

“What do you want from me? Why are you here?” he asks, because for all that it has been a few days he still doesn’t know why Nie Mingjue is here.

“I thought I made that clear in my letter,” Nie Mingjue says with a frown that only gets deeper when he sees Jiang Cheng’s confused look. “I’m here to see if we’re compatible. If a courtship between us might work out.”

“You’re what?” Jiang Cheng blurts out and before the frown on Nie Mingjue’s face can get any deeper Nie Huaisang appears at his side.

“This might be my fault,” he admits, tipping his fan against his mouth and seemingly not at all bothered when both Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng turn incredulous eyes on him.

“Explain,” Nie Mingjue grumbles and Nie Huaisang gives him a winning smile.

“I stole that page of the letter,” Nie Huaisang says with an easy shrug and Jiang Cheng is so confused he doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“Why would you do that?” Nie Mingjue asks as he pinches the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t seem angry and Nie Huaisang seems to know that very well.

“Because I know Jiang-xiong and if you had written anything about a courtship he would have clamped right up and then you’d get nowhere,” Nie Huaisang cries out and Jiang Cheng goes red in the face, because Nie Huaisang might not be wrong.

“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue yells at him, but Nie Huaisang only hides behind his fan and blinks his big eyes at Nie Mingjue.

“I’m sorry?” Nie Huaisang asks, but Nie Mingjue shakes his head.

“No, you’re not,” he heaves out with a sigh. “Go scram before I make you practice your sabre,” Nie Mingjue threatens but when Nie Huaisang laughs Jiang Cheng knows that it’s an empty thread.

“Alright, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says and promptly dashes away leaving Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng in uncomfortable silence.

“I’m sorry about him,” Nie Mingjue eventually says, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, because there’s only one thought in his mind.

“Courtship?” he asks, because he cannot wrap his mind around this as all and he was not prepared to see Nie Mingjue blush like that.

“See, this is why I wrote it down,” Nie Mingjue grumbles. “It’s easier when it’s written down.”

“Mingjue, courtship?” Jiang Cheng asks again, because it still doesn’t make any sense at all and Nie Mingjue sighs again.

“Yes, Wanyin, a courtship.”

“Between us?”

“Do you see anyone else? Did I go visit anyone else?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng simply sits down on the ground again, because of all the reasons why Nie Mingjue could have come, this possibility didn’t enter Jiang Cheng’s head even once.

“You must be joking,” Jiang Cheng whispers and then tenses when Nie Mingjue simply sits down next to him.

“I assure you, I’m not,” he says.

“But then you surely must have changed your mind by now,” Jiang Cheng tries next, because there is no way in hell that Nie Mingjue, esteemed fighter and Sect Leader, would still want to court him after he saw what a mess Jiang Cheng is.

“Between praising your fighting, your way with Jin Ling, your disciples and your construction work, where do you think I changed my mind?” Nie Mingjue shoots back and Jiang Cheng goes still.

“Were you just giving me meaningless compliments?” he asks and that thought suddenly hurts more than he expected.

But if Nie Mingjue had an ulterior goal in mind then of course he’d praise Jiang Cheng. And of course they would all be hollow and empty words.

“Do you know me to be like that?” Nie Mingjue wants to know. “If I don’t like you, then I’ll say so. If I do like you, then I’ll say that as well.”

“You don’t like Jin Guangshan and you never said that to him,” Jiang Cheng gives back, his mind still spinning.

“Oh, rest assured, he knows I loath him. No need to say it out loud,” Nie Mingjue easily gives back but then he falls silent. “Huaisang was right, wasn’t he. You’re totally clamping up on me.”

Jiang Cheng flushes again at that.

“I mean, who wouldn’t? Courtship? With me?”

“With who else? You’re a hero of the Sunshot Campaign. You rebuild your Sect, you’re parenting your sister’s son and you’re not cowering before anyone. There’s much to admire about you, Wanyin.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng breathes out as he hides his face in his hands.

“I will if you give me an answer, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue says and the way he says Jiang Cheng’s name sends a shiver down his back.

“Can we—how long are you going to stay?” Jiang Cheng asks instead of giving him a concrete answer but Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to mind that much.

“I can squeeze in a few more days,” Nie Mingjue says with a shrug. “Why?”

“I think—I’d like you to stay for a while longer now that I know why you’re here,” Jiang Cheng gives back.

He can’t quite agree to a courtship just yet, but he thinks he’d like to spent more time with Nie Mingjue, especially now that he knows what he wants from him.

“Sure,” Nie Mingjue easily replies and he doesn’t seem to mind Jiang Cheng’s lack of an answer much.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t behave any different in the next few days either, but at least now Jiang Cheng knows to simply accept the things Nie Mingjue says without searching for a hidden meaning behind his words and since Jiang Cheng knows that this is not an inspection but something completely different he can actually enjoy spending his time with Nie Mingjue.

So much so that when Nie Mingjue eventually has to depart, Jiang Cheng has a courtship gift ready for him.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #mingcheng #courtship #pre-relationship #post sunshot campaign #misunderstandings #hurt/comfort

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kjack89 · 3 years ago

Text

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 1/?)

Because nothing says ‘independence day’ like writing the participants in a French rebellion as members of the British upper class...

The Bridgerton AU that no one asked for. Will be at least 4 chapters, probably, to be published on a schedule only God herself can predict. Developing E/R, hijinks and shenanigans. All of the shenanigans.

One might recall when, not too long ago, the author of this paper hung up her pen and retired from reporting on the drama that each new season of fresh-faced debutantes and their endlessly anxious mothers brings. But alas, dear Reader, the excitement of this season has proven too much for this Author to suffer without company – which is why the pen has been passed to a new scribe.

But the fortuitous timing of the season has not been met with equally thrilling events for sharing here, as indeed, the most recent ball, hosted annually at the start of the season by the ever-insufferable Thénardiers, was positively under-attended. Not by the eager mothers that are the backbone of any season or their equally eager daughters, but by the young, eligible men who usually at least deign to make an appearance, dance a few dances, and exchange niceties as is expected for men of their station.

Instead, the only poor sap who wandered into the Thénardiers’ den of matchmaking was the Baron of Pontmercy, who was positively beset by hopeful ingénues, the most brazen of which was undoubtedly the Thénardiers’ eldest daughter, Éponine. While this Author notes that Miss Thénardier has had a patchy history with suitors and thus cannot be fully blamed for attempting to sink her claws into one as eligible as the baron, this Author must also sympathize with Baron Pontmercy, who seemed only to find himself with one moment to himself.

Then again, rumor has it that his single moment was interrupted by an unknown young lady with an equally unknown chaperone who whisked her away posthaste. Her identity is one mystery both this Author and Baron Pontmercy are equally eager to discover, but the more pressing question is where the others of Baron Pontmercy’s gender were when they should have been equally beset by potential brides.

Never fear: Whatever answers I find, dear Reader, I shall certainly share with other enquiring minds. For a nominal fee, of course. While there are rumors of young men meeting in the backroom of a certain gentlemen’s club to discuss the overthrow of society, capitalism, and the King himself, this Author, being of the gentler sex, finds herself unable to obtain an invite, and as such, alas, cannot bring herself to comply with their lofty goals. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 20 MARCH 1831

The air in the backroom at the Musain Gentlemen’s Club was hazy with smoke and thick with plentiful conversation as its guests, all young men dressed in their dinner best, traded stories and jokes in between sips of their drinks.

At least one among them was not drinking, though – Enjolras, who sat in an overlarge armchair towards the back of the room, his back to one of the large windows that spanned almost the entire height of the wall. He alone was also not joining his friends in their merriment, his brow instead creased as he read over something.

When he had finished, he glanced up. “Combeferre,” he called, barely raising his voice despite the cacophony of the room.

Not that he needed to: the moment he spoke, the room fell quiet as all eyes glanced at him as if waiting for him to continue. In return, he just arched an eyebrow at them. “Well, don’t let me put an end to your fun.”

A dark haired man sitting at a table in the far corner playing cards with two others raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Worry not,” he called in return. “You won’t.”

Laughter broke out yet again at that, and most of their number returned to their previous conversations as Combeferre pulled up a chair next to Enjolras’s. Enjolras pursed his lips, looking unamused. “Why is Grantaire even here?” he asked Combeferre, who, quite to the contrary, looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“I imagine because you have not yet told him that you wish for him to leave and never return,” Combeferre said evenly before giving Enjolras a rather assessing look. “Assuming, of course, that is what you wish.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “That’s not the point—”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “No, the point is that you had a comment, I assume, about the pamphlet I gave you to review.”

Enjolras still looked disgruntled, but seemed more than willing to allow the change in subject. “The pamphlet is fine, but I imagine you already knew that.” He handed the pamphlet draft back to Combeferre before asking, “What do you imagine the distribution schedule to look like? With Parliament sitting this week—”

He was interrupted by a thin, rather-nervous looking man appearing at his elbow, the doorman to the establishment who was paid a decent sum by each man inside the room to not interrupt them and to report nothing of their comings and going to any who might enquire. When Enjolras had made that arrangement, he had been thinking of the police; when his friends had followed his lead, most were thinking of their mothers.

“M’Lord Enjolras, I do beg your pardon—” he started, sounding almost as nervous as he looked.

Enjolras’s brow furrowed again. “It’s fine, what is it?” he asked, a touch impatiently.

The doorman bobbed his head and cleared his throat. “There is a, ah, a woman seeking entry.”

Bahorel, seated nearby, let out a wolf whistle. “The young ladies of the season are getting restless!” he crowed, to much laughter.

“Restless, and bold, if they are coming into the city to seek their groom, and without a chaperone to boot,” Bossuet said with a grin.

“Leave to Enjolras to be the one to cause all tradition to break,” Jehan sniggered.

Enjolras could feel his ears burning red but he studiously ignored the jeers and catcalls from his friends, instead frowning at the doorman. “May I ask why are you telling me this?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even. “Last I checked, it was your policy to restrict admittance to men, despite my protestations to the contrary.”

“Of course, M’Lord, it’s just…” The doorman quailed slightly at the look Enjolras gave him. “The woman in question claims to be your mother.”

Immediately, all jokes ceased as identical, horror-stricken looks crossed the faces of each of his friends. Enjolras blanched, all the blood draining from his face. “Did you confirm that I was inside?” he asked, a little desperately.

The doorman shook his head, his eyes widening. “No, of course not, m’lord’s discretion being of utmost importance to this establishment.” He hesitated. “That said, she did not appear to believe our denial, and is threatening to come inside and verify for yourself that you are not here.”

Enjolras groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course she is,” he sighed. He glanced at Combeferre as if considering asking for his assistance, but seemed to think better of it, instead standing and drawing himself up to his full height. “Right,” he said. “Well, I think you’ve got everything handled here, so I suppose I’ll just go, er, handle this situation.”

Combeferre again looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Of course,” he said. “And, if you do not return, I shall call upon you later this week, shall I?”

“Yes, but the question will be more whether you should call upon me at my house or at the hospital,” Enjolras muttered, and it was to Combeferre’s credit that he still somehow managed not to laugh.

The same could not be said for Grantaire, who started humming what Enjolras recognized vaguely as a funeral dirge as soon as he headed towards the door, and Enjolras gave him the nastiest glare he could muster. Of course, Grantaire was unaffected – if anything, it only caused his grin to widen, and he raised his cup in yet another mocking toast as Enjolras swept out of the room to go deal with his mother.

It was anyone’s guess whether his mother or Grantaire irritated him more.

He started to ask the doorman where his mother was, but found that he did not need to ask – her voice was echoing all the way from the entrance hall. “I am the Dowager Marchioness of Enjolras,” she was practically shrieking, and Enjolras winced, mentally calculating how much money it would take to smooth this particular incident over. Certainly less than when Courfeyrac almost burned the place down, but almost certainly more than when Bahorel and Grantaire had gotten into a fistfight and broken two statues and a chandelier.

He really needed better friends.

And a different mother.

“I demand to speak with my son!” his mother continued, her voice rising in both volume and pitch. “And do not give me this nonsense that he is not here, I know quite well where my son is!”

“M’lady, I apologize, but as I have said, we cannot confirm that your son—”

“I shall confirm it for myself,” Enjolras interrupted, saving the poor proprietor, who had never looked more relieved to see him. “Mother, kindly stop screeching at these gentlemen for doing their jobs.” His mother spluttered incoherently but Enjolras knew better than to allow her the chance to regroup.

Instead, he grabbed her by the elbow and steered her to the door, glancing over his shoulder to nod his thanks at the proprietor. As soon as they were outside the building, Enjolras dropped any pretense at propriety. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, not releasing his mother from his grip. “Coming all the way into the city to find me? Pray tell what could possibly have been so important to cause such a scene!”

His mother yanked her arm from his grasp and glared up at him. “A scene?” she repeated, her voice deathly quiet. “My dear son, if you consider that a scene, you are ill-prepared for what is soon to follow.”

Enjolras sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. “There is no need for theatrics—”

Without warning, his mother slapped him across the face. “Theatrics?” she hissed. “When I have spent every waking moment these past several years trying to ensure your future and the future of our house!”

She made as if to hit him again but Enjolras caught her wrist, staying her hand. “Madam, you may be the Dowager Marchioness but I am the Marquess of Enjolras, and I will not permit you to assault me in the streets, my mother or not.” He released her arm before adding sardonically, “Besides, think of the gossip.”

Again his mother gave him no warning to gird himself, but this time, she burst into tears, sobbing into his shirt. “Oh, for the love of—” Enjolras took her again by the elbow, gentler this time, and led her to where her carriage waited. “Get a hold of yourself,” he snapped. “You have already made enough of a scene this evening.”

“Perhaps a scene is what it will take!” she half-shouted in return. “For you to finally listen to me, to hear what I have been telling you!” Enjolras rolled his eyes, holding out his hand to help her into her carriage, but she stubbornly refused to move. “Since you clearly don’t listen to me when I make arrangements solely for your benefit.”

“I assure you, you have never once done anything solely for my benefit,” Enjolras said tiredly. “But if it will stop your screaming then please, tell me the latest way in which I have ruined your plans for my future.”

“The Thénardier ball!” his mother wailed, crying again. “All those eligible young ladies, and you could not even deign to show your face! How am I to get you married at this rate?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes so hard he half-feared he would pull a muscle. “Hang the bloody Thénardier ball,” he ground out, hesitating for only a moment before picking his mother up and placing her inside the carriage, swinging up after her before she could protest.

“What are you doing?” she cried as the carriage moved off at double speed, and Enjolras thanked whatever higher power there was that his mother’s driver also clearly did not wish to linger.

Enjolras sighed. “You wanted me attention,” he said tiredly. “So you have it, albeit not in public where you clearly wanted it.”

For one long moment, his mother just glared at him, tears shining on her cheeks. Then she sighed and sat upright, her pose turning almost prim as she drew a linen handkerchief from her sleeve and delicately dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “Very well,” she said calmly, all traces of earlier hysteria gone in an instant, and Enjolras realized immediately that he had been duped, that he had played directly into her hands.

She had anticipated that making a scene would be the easiest way to get him to leave with her.

And now she had him as a captive audience for however long it took for her driver to reach her house. And while he was not a betting man, he would wager all his money and lands that she had directed her driver to take the long way.

His mother was smiling at him, a cold, unpleasant smile, and Enjolras groaned, tipping his head back against the pillowed cushions. “Please don’t tell me that you really pulled all of that because you wished to discuss the Thénardier ball.”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said before tapping his knee. “And sit upright, you will cause your clothes to wrinkle.” Enjolras groaned and reluctantly sat upright, glaring balefully at her as he waited for her to continue. “No, I merely wished to discuss something and this seemed the easiest way.”

“Then by all means, please tell me: what do you want to discuss?”

“Why, what else?” she asked, a small smirk lifting the corners of her mouth. “Your marriage.”

----------

There were few things that Enjolras loathed more than being hoodwinked by his own mother into a conversation he’d been spending the past several years avoiding, but as he stood staring up at the rather imposing façade of a house he had been to only perhaps a handful of times, he thought this just might rank.

Still, his options were decidedly limited, and he hesitated only a moment more before climbing the stairs to the front door, knocking briskly. In telling of a house less used to visits during the season, it took a moment for the butler to answer the door, and Enjolras shifted uncomfortably on the stoop as he waited.

“May I help you?” the butler asked as he opened the door.

“Yes,” Enjolras said. “I’m here to see Grantaire.”

The butler eyed him warily. “And who should I tell Mr. Grantaire is here to see him?”

It took everything in Enjolras not to roll his eyes. “Tell him that the Marquess of Enjolras requests his presence,” he said dryly, hating the way the butler’s eyes widened when he realized just who was standing in the doorway.

“Of– of course, m’lord,” the butler said, immediately opening the door wider to usher Enjolras indoors. “Beg your pardon, m’lord. I’ll just, ah, go fetch Mr, Grantaire.”

He retreated up the stairs and Enjolras finally did roll his eyes, sighing heavily as he wandered a little further indoors. He had spent half his life, it seemed, going from one grand house to another, so very little surprised him, but he was intrigued by what he might find in Grantaire’s house. While his own park-adjoining manor had been in his family for generations, and was decorated accordingly, Grantaire came from new money, and this house had belonged to a different family entirely not even a decade before.

He paused to examine a small portrait of two young children, a boy and a girl, when he heard footsteps clattering on the stairs and he turned to look up as Grantaire joined him, a jacket rather hastily thrown on and buttoned incorrectly.

“My Lord.”

Grantaire’s voice was pitched just slightly higher than usual, in a way that indicated genuine surprise at finding Enjolras standing in his foyer, but somehow still retained the telltale lilt that Enjolras had long since realized meant Grantaire was making fun of him.

He scowled automatically. “Enjolras,” he corrected with an exasperated half-sigh.

Grantaire inclined his head, a smirk twisting his lips. “My lord Enjolras,” he said, and Enjolras’s scowl deepened.

“Just Enjolras,” he said flatly, not waiting for Grantaire to escort him into the house, instead crossing the foyer to peer into the front sitting room.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Grantaire said, following him.

Enjolras twisted his head to give Grantaire a smirk of his own. “As you seem so keen to remind me, I outrank you,” he said. “And believe me when I say this is one time I will feel no guilt using the trappings of the nobility to my advantage.”

Grantaire just snorted, brushing past him into the sitting room, ignoring the tea that had been set on the table and instead making his way over to the drink cart against the far wall. “Forgive me, but I can think of many instances where you undoubtedly used your title and your family to your advantage without any guilt,” he said dryly, pouring himself half a glass full of amber liquid before pausing, considering it, and adding another finger. “But let’s save that particular fight for a different time.” He turned back to Enjolras and raised his glass in a mock toast. “For now, before I forget my manners any further, let me say welcome to my home, and please, allow me to pour you a cup of tea.”

“I am capable of pouring my own tea, thanks,” Enjolras said, a little stiffly, and he sat down on one armchair before leaning forward to rather stubbornly do just that.

Grantaire did not join him, as if he thought keeping physical distance between them might keep things civil. “Only you would think that hospitality was an insult.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “The way you said it, it was.”

“You underestimate my capacity for being genuinely polite,” Grantaire said dryly, taking a large sip of his whiskey.

“Do I?”

“Tell me, my Lord—” Enjolras gritted his teeth but chose not to interrupt him. “—if not to insult me to my face in my own home, what brings you here, and at tea time no less?”

His voice was calm, pleasant even, but Enjolras felt himself flush in realization that he had done exactly that. And no matter how frequently he might wish to throttle Grantaire with his own hands, that was offensive even for him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his tea as he stirred it. “I have been rude.

Grantaire looked briefly surprised, as if he had not expected an apology. But then his smirk was back in full force. “All is forgiven...my lord.” Enjolras really might shatter his teacup at this rate. “But you still didn’t answer my question as to why you are here.”

Enjolras set his teacup down and straightened, looking Grantaire in the eye. “I came to ask for your help.”

Grantaire laughed. “So you come to my home, uninvited, you insult me to my face, and you still have the audacity to ask for my help?” He drained half of his whiskey in one long gulp. “You are lucky you have been granted the face of a Greek god, Apollo.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras sighed, though he knew it was a losing battle. Grantaire had called him that on the first day they met, when Grantaire was finishing college and Enjolras just beginning, and he had continued to call him that for all the years since. “Look, I am sorry, and not just because I need your help. I am ill suited to polite society and the longer the season drags on, the more foul my temper becomes.”

Grantaire made a small noise of agreement. “You and I both,” he murmured, draining his glass and pouring himself another before finally joining Enjolras, settling into the armchair across from him. “Very well. You have my attention.”

Enjolras leaned forward, sudden urgency in every line of his body. “Word has it that you were instrumental in helping Lord Joly and Mr. Lesgle avoid scandal last season when both were in love with Lady Musichetta.”

“Well, we avoided a big scandal at least,” Grantaire said, eyeing Enjolras carefully. “There must always be a little bit of a scandal or none would believe it.”

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Either way, all three are happy, and living at Lord Joly’s estate, and not a word about them has been wasted in Lady Whistledown’s papers this season.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “I am astonished to learn you have read any of the newly-revived Lady Whistledown’s papers, let alone with enough frequency to speak with such authority on the subject.:

Enjolras flushed a mottled red and looked away. “It’s an easy conversation topic,” he muttered, “when I am forced to speak to those with whom I have nothing in common.”

“Such as the twittering nitwits your mother foists upon you at every turn?” Grantaire asked lightly.

Enjolras met his eyes evenly. “Exactly. And exactly why I am here.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here to better learn how to talk with women?” he asked, almost certainly purposefully obtuse. “I admit, I am an expert on the subject, but—”

“Of course not,” Enjolras snapped. “Not to mention if I did need help in that arena, you would be the last person I would turn to.”

Grantaire laughed. “Your loss, he said cheerfully. After all, to have bedded as many women as I with a face like mine requires quite the expert hand at wooing.” Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire smirked before taking another sip of whiskey. “Very well. If you are not here for my help in speaking to young ladies to finally secure a marriage match, then why are you here?”

“Because I do need to marry someone,” Enjolras said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “But I need it not to be real.” Again he met Grantaire’s eyes. “And you are the only person I can think of who can help me pull that off.”

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras's mother #les amis #les miserables #fanfiction #bridgerton au #lady whistledown #developing relationship #hijinks and shenanigans #and eventually #fake marriage #canon era sorta

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star-killer-md · 4 years ago

Text

Actus Reus, Mens Rea

@contesa-lui-alucard asked:

Hey hey happy sleepover my friend!! If it’s alright with you, I have two prompts from the Smut list that I’d love to see you combine for... mob Kylo and lawyer reader! Oh snap!! 15 & 37, if you please. If not, no worries, I still hope you have an awesome sleepover 😁 (“Make it hurt, baby.” + “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.”)

Anon asked:

hello, may i request clingy/possessive kylo,, thank you

Thank you lovlies for your requests and sorry from the bottom of my depressed ass heart that it took me so fucking long. Anyway here ya go, hope you enjoy some mobster Kylo deliciousness. I’m so excited you liked him Contesa, and I hope you’re into it as well too nonny! Sorry it got long, I truly have no control over that.

And thank you so much to @sacklersdoll for reading over this for me!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Angst (its me), Smut (its me), mentions of predator/prey dynamic (mostly as metaphor), possessive Kylo Ren, semi-public sex, no pronouns for the reader by they are afab, dominant Kylo Ren, some brat vibes, Kylo Ren is not nice, allusions to guns, some sorta stalking behavior

Ship: Mob Boss!Kylo Ren x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: You’ve started to take on some pro bono clients as a favor to a friend and Kylo Ren is Not A Fan™ of all the attention this guy has been paying you. After a few months of consulting on the side, you’re beginning to wonder if life working for a mob boss is something you’re really cut out for. Though you quickly learn that you very well may have passed the point of no return when Kylo shows up at your office to remind you just who exactly you work for.

“I really can’t thank you enough.”

You shook the woman’s hands and returned her smile. Her son stayed quiet, looking at the ground, but mumbled his thanks as well. He was a good kid. Just pissed off the wrong neighbor. One of those ‘get off my lawn,’ ‘good ole American dream’ types who thought welfare was a sign of the devil, and had it out for everyone in the lower tax brackets.

“Really, it’s no problem,” you walked them to the door, leaving her your business card. “I’ll see you both at the courthouse on Monday.”

Evan was waiting in your office when you returned. His patent leather shoes rested precariously on the corner of your desk and you knocked them off with a huff.

“See you’ve made yourself at home,” you said, crossing your arms and staring down at him in your chair.

He shrugged and stood under your scrutiny, moving around to take the seat across from you. Evan Goodman was an old friend from undergrad. You often got the impression he was still that same cocky frat boy in the head. Still flashed the ‘my daddy has more money than you’ smile on occasion when he really wanted to get under your skin. With his slicked back hair, unnervingly straight teeth, and his annoying prosperity despite never putting in much effort it was somewhat shocking the two still spoke. He was simply not the type of person who had ever needed to try. Success came naturally to him, and much to your dismay.

“What can I say? You’re a very gracious host,” he mused and leaned forward on the desk. “So, how did it go?”

You sighed, “They’ll be alright, might get saddled with a fine but the charges aren’t that serious.”

“Good, Rosa’s an old friend. I would have helped her out myself, but not really my deal ya know?”

“Yeah, Mr. Tax Attorney, I get it.”

Evan was kind of a dick, but he was also the kind of friend who would sit on the bathroom floor with you, hold your hair back and sing horrendous parody versions of ABBA no matter who heard. So you couldn’t hate him entirely. That also meant that when he came to you with cases like this, a favor for a friend or whatever the situation may be, you had a hard time refusing.

It was also a convenient front for you not-so-legal legal work you’d been invested in for the past few months.

“Seriously, I know I’ve been asking a lot of you recently,” he flashed you that god awful grin and kicked his feet up again. “You can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

He had been coming to you for pro bono work with increasing frequency, especially over the past month or so, but again, you didn’t wholly mind it. You went into this kind of work for a reason. Though, you were starting to get the feeling that a certain, brooding, less than lawfully abiding businessman did not feel the same.

Kylo Ren dealt frequently with the shady, black market underbelly of capitalist society, but you were less accustomed to his world and not completely ready to throw yourself to the hounds just yet.

You had already missed more than a few meetings and canceled on dinner tonight to meet with Rosa. To be fair, it wasn’t as if he’d made any indication this ill-defined whatever-it-was going on between the two of you was anything serious. And you were only his consultant, for now, so this took precedent anyway. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself of. Definitely not a way to avoid thinking about fucking your boss who also happened to be in with the mob.

Definitely not.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to help if I couldn’t manage it,” you yawned softly and stood to collect your things.

It was late and you were beginning to fantasize about how soft and warm your sheets would be. If you got back in time you could pop them in the dryer and get in an episode or two before bed.

“Hey, let me at least buy you dinner or something since I kept you out so late,” Evan parked his skinny frame in your path to the doorway.

“You’re going to apologize for keeping me out late, by keeping me out even later?”

“Do you want free food or not?”

Pursing your lips, you stared at him for a few moments. He really did know all your weaknesses. You had skipped out on meeting with Mr. Ren—or Kylo or sir or whatever the hell you were supposed to call him now—already tonight, however, Evan was sure to take you somewhere nice and it wouldn’t be so morally repugnant if it was just as a ‘thank you….’

“Okay, fine,” you conceded and let him lead you out to the parking garage, locking the office up behind you.

***

The next morning you stumbled past reception in a haze. Both from lack of sleep, and the bitingly cold winds battering your building despite the neighboring high rises blocking the brunt of the gale. The young woman at the desk informed you tersely that a Mr. Goodman was already waiting for you in your office and that you should really get here on time if you were expecting clients this early.

You agreed that, yes you probably should but, you know, “trains and all that mess,” and tried not to judge her too harshly. After all, she was the barrier between you and the hundreds of calls this place received daily.

Before slipping through the door with your name plate, you hung your coat on the rack and switched your phone on. It’d died on you last night amidst the allure of fancy, late night dinner and your sleep deprivation riddled brain had not cared enough to plug it in before bed. Fuck Amazon, but thank god for its speedy delivery of portable charges.

You chewed your lip as the lock screen came to life. One missed call and a text. Both, of course from the most anxiety inducing sender, Kylo Ren. Because why would it be anyone else? His name menacing even typed out in standard black font.

The text read:

Meet me at 8am.

It was very much like him—a command with punctuation and absolutely no details. The message receipt showed it was sent two hours ago, and it was already half past eight. Shit. Your fingers shook as you pulled up his contact and called. Every interaction left you coursing with adrenaline. Even now, miles away listening to the dial tone was nerve-wracking. Your heart pounded, hands slick in their grip on your phone. Maybe it was because you were never sure where you stood with him. Maybe it was because he was handsome and he knew it. Strong and he knew it. Intimidating and mysterious and closer in some ways to a Greek god than a man. He was all encompassing, and filled every available space in any room he occupied.

Sometimes you thought you might choke on his presence.

It rang once, twice, three times before cutting out completely. You stared down at the blank screen, biting your lip and shooting off a quick text. You were sorry, something important had come up, you would meet him the second it was convenient.

Evan slapped you heartily on the back when you came into the room. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, evergreen with small white blossoms.

“So, how many hours did you manage last night?” he asked, smiling his shit eating smile and seemingly unaffected despite the fact that he had to be running on just as little sleep as you.

“I’m not even sure at this point,” you groaned as you tossed your bags down behind the little metal desk. “Time ceases to exist when you take trains past midnight.”

“Fair enough. Hey look,” Evan waved the greenery in your face, “courtesy of Rosa’s shop. She insisted I bring you something as thanks. I figured you could put them out in the front or something to brighten things up.”

“They’re lovely. Please tell me you’re only here as a glorified delivery boy.”

His shoulders slumped at your lack of amusement, but before he could quip back the landline in your office rang. You answered, holding a finger towards Evan and leaning against the edge of the desk. It was the receptionist, Jess was her name? Maybe? You could never remember, someone else always addressed the holiday gift cards anyway.

“There’s someone here to see you at the front desk,” she clipped, almost more exasperated than before.

You told her you’d be right there and hung up. Evan grabbed his coat as you headed out, holding the door for you and following into the hall.

“I’ll leave you to it if you’re busy, but give me a call after Monday and tell me how it goes,” he continued rambling as you came out into the front.

You had a smart comeback prepared, something about how simple the case was, he should have more faith in you, he was the reason you were busy in the first place, etc…but every word turned to ashes on your tongue when you saw him.

Kylo Ren, standing right there at the desk and glaring at your receptionist. His suit was dark blue and ironed to perfection. Each leg was creased perfectly down the front and the jacket sat flawlessly on his wide set shoulders. He was a wall of unimaginably expensive fabric and what looked concerning like barely contained rage. You could see it in the twitch of his eye, the set of his jaw, and in the way his gaze landed on you the second you walked in.

The way a predator immediately hones in on its prey.

You froze just feet from him in the lobby, floundering like a fish on a hook.

Evan, for his part, seemed not to notice the tension at all and continued to say his long winded goodbyes, placing the flowers in your hands and completely unaware of the slow, measured tightening of Kylo’s massive hands into fists at his side.

“I’m free on Monday evening so we should—”

“She’ll be busy.”

Evan frowned, turning to face the man standing before him, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Kylo’s voice was a dark thing, low and rumbling, “She will be otherwise occupied.”

His words were punctuated by a step towards you, one paw of a hand easily gripping your entire jaw. Lucky he did too, otherwise it would have dropped straight to the floor when he shot one last cobra strike glare in Evan’s direction, and pressed his mouth to yours. Right there. In the lobby. For everyone to see.

The absolute bastard.

His lips were pillow plump and softer than the silk lining of his suit—and even through the surge of shock and embarrassment and more than a touch of anger—you felt your heart throb at the way he licked into your mouth.

The flowers tumbled from your hands onto the floor as everything in you went limp under his touch. This was nowhere near the first time you’d tasted him, but it was like this every time. Like drinking ambrosia. An otherworldly experience.

But that didn’t stop the sharp pain of his crushing grip on your arm, the way he nearly lifted your feet off the floor when he pulled away to drag along behind him. You could hear Evan spluttering in the hall behind you, the receptionist going back to clacking at her keyboard as if nothing had happened.

When Kylo opened your office door he just about threw you inside. You tripped as he tipped you in, stumbling and catching yourself on the edge of your desk. The power behind his hand alone was undeniable. You shuddered at the thought of the array of purple fingerprints he would leave behind. It made your mouth dry and your heart sink. Confusing and delicious.

And left you seething nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that?!” you were not calm, so you didn’t attempt any semblance of it.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said, level as he always was.

The quiet before the storm and all that.

“About the meeting? I tried to call, my phone died—”

“Because you were out catching trains at all hours of the night, I’m aware.”

You paused, glaring at the wall of muscle between you and the door, “How did you know that?”

“So you’re not denying it?”

Kylo stalked towards you like a beast in his tailored suit and polished leather shoes like talons. You could hear your heartbeat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. Just like a rabbit in the sightline of a hawk, you were clearly being hunted.

“Why would I deny something I’m not trying to hide?” your voice came out horse as he caged you between the desk and his chest, arms on either side to block any route of escape.

“No you are certainly not adept at subtlety,” he said and you couldn’t take your eyes off the way his tongue moved behind his teeth. “This is the fifth time that idiot in the hall has distracted you from work.”

“That’s not an answer,” you tried to spit the words but his eyes were boring into you. The honey of them spilled down your spine and made you shiver. “How did you know? You are not entitled to any information pertaining to my personal life, regardless.”

“Watch your mouth,” he growled. “Entitlement has no part in this.”

You were entering dangerous territory, though stopping curiously did not occur to you.

“I don’t think you have the right to be throwing out commands right now, not after that display.”

“Have you forgotten who you work for?” Kylo hissed at you, hands wrapped around the metal of your desk so hard you thought it might warp under his fingers.

“Of course not,” you desperately tried to keep your voice down lest anyone get even more a spectacle.

“Then what is this?” one hand left the desk and pulled a phone from inside his jacket.

The screen lit up, and you looked in horror at pictures of yourself. Pictures of yourself from last night. Pictures of yourself from last night at dinner with Evan, interspersed with shots of you crossing the street, waiting on the train platform, and stumbling back into your apartment. Each was clearer than you’d expected, presumably from some insanely expensive surveillance equipment. You had been out for hours, and you had been watched the whole time.

You narrowed your eyes, flicking back and forth between Kylo’s face—the graceful bridge of his nose pointed down at you—and gaped.

“You had me followed…” you breathed the words into the slowly shrinking space between your bodies.

He simply nodded, as if, somehow, you were foolish for not having considered this before. Perhaps you were. Perhaps you had no idea what you had gotten yourself into. Perhaps you had signed on for much more than a paycheck when you agreed to work for Kylo Ren.

“I can’t have my employees getting distracted.”

Kylo slowly drifted ever closer, shoulders bent so he was eye level with you. He pressed further into the desk, pinning you between his body and the hard surface that bit into your ass. Something long and thick and hard nudged your thigh.

“I don’t know why you though having me followed was necessary—”

“You’re an arrogant little slut who needs to be reminded of your priorities,” his hand snatched your leg and wrenched it open so he could stand between them, “ I am not something you do on the side.”

You could hear the way his teeth grit out the words, the way they formed as a growl deep in his beast’s throat. The hand still settled on the desk, skimmed up your hip and chest, his fingers

biting into your jaw.

“Do you understand me?”

Your lips were shut tight in a thin line, eyes wide and staring up like the prey you were. The silence only provoked him more. Snarling, two thick fingers wrenched your mouth open, pressing hard on your tongue and making you gag around them.

“Answer.”

Kylo Ren almost always spoke in commands. Having power did that to people, and rarely did it ever compel you, but his words sunk deep into your bones. Dredged up some dark, instinctual need to obey. To submit to this show of control.

“Yes,” you mumbled around his fingers in your mouth, drool slipping past your lips when they moved.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

You watched him suck his teeth, grabbing your face tighter and dragging you close so he could spit directly into your open mouth. He slammed your jaw shut, nearly taking off the tip of your tongue and hissed into your ear.

“Swallow.”

Again, you did without a thought. And it was disgusting, but invigorating, sent off some spark in your stomach with how easily he bent your body to his will. There was no man like him, you decided. And maybe this was simply because Kylo Ren was not a man. That term alone would never do him justice.

In one shockingly smooth motion, you found yourself flat on your back, ass hanging off the edge of the desk with his hands on your hips. He ground himself against you, the throbbing of his cock evident even through the layers of clothing. That feeling on its own had you soaked through, thighs sticking with liquid excitement.

“Remember who you work for,” he growled into your neck, licking a long stripe up your throat and sucking at the exposed skin.

But it was very clear to you what he really meant.

Remember who you belong to.

You slapped a hand over your mouth as he bit down on the skin just above your shoulder, laving his tongue over the stinging flesh. Kylo pulled back, frowning down at you and yanking the hand away from your face. One held both your wrists in a vice lock while the other ripped your panties straight down your legs and left the dripping fabric discarded on the carpet.

“No, they’re going to hear you,” he grunted, and pulled one of your hands down, pressing it to your slit and running your fingers through your slick. “Go on, touch your fucking pussy and let them know what a little whore you are for me.”

It was something about his voice. Something in the way it left him, its timbre, its wonder, unquestioning. You could never refuse him.

So, with a small nod you parted your folds, head resting on a stack of files as you drew slow circles around your clit with a shaky hand. His eyes never left your cunt, tracing the movement of your finger and the trail of wetness that seeped from you to the desktop. Softly, you gasped as the familiar placement of your fingers made you clench and arch up. Kylo’s rubbed small circles into your inner thighs with his thumbs, kneading the flesh there.

When the spark was there, the lovely pulsing in your nerves alight, you dipped down, teasing and slipping inside, grinding down as best you could on your hand. It wasn’t enough, but nothing ever was since you’d been ripped open on Kylo’s cock.

Evidently he did not find your work sufficient either.

Another finger joined yours, stroking your lips and circling your entrance. His touch made you whine, the promise of hands that were not your own never ceasing to illicit a new gush of pleasure.

“I said,” he murmured, his touch so terribly feather light. “Let them hear you.”

He was like a gunshot, sudden and forceful and almost instantly had you screaming. Kylo slammed his fingers into you, so full and so deep, curling hard against that lovely spot inside.

“Kylo, god, please—” you moaned long and low, your face burning with the knowledge that the walls were barely thick enough to keep your phone calls private, much less the shameful noises he pulled from you.

“What was that?” he panted, adding another finger and pumping them deep into your cunt. “You can do better.”

Your teeth dug so hard into your lip you thought it might bleed, but you couldn’t take much more. The ledge was approaching—Kylo Ren knew it—and he was determined to push you straight into the fire.

You choked when his deliciously thick fingers were ripped from you, walls fluttering around the awful emptiness. Your head lolled back as you listened to him work the buckle of his belt and slacks open, and when you did glance down your mouth watered at the sight. Kylo—impossibly long cock throbbing in his hand—stood between your legs, stroking himself from root to tip. You watched little pearls of precum bead at the head while his thumb swiped across to smear them along his length.

“You are insane,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Did you need to keep this position? No, technically you would be more than well off on the salary Mr. Ren so graciously provided. However, you could not mentally deal with being terminated for getting dicked in your office during work hours.

Kylo smirked, the edge of his perfect cupid’s bow cocked back and aimed straight at your chest. Without warning, he sunk into you, straight to the hilt and threw his head back as you sobbed with the sharp sting of being split in two on his cock.

“This is what you do,” he growled into your ear, hands on either side of your head as he worked his length back out only to pound into you again. “You work for me and you take my cock and don’t ever fucking forget that.”

Your legs were wound so tightly around his waist that had he been any other man, his ribs would have cracked under the pressure. His hair, falling in black, satin waves, was gorgeous even in the sterile office lighting. You threaded your fingers into it at the roots and held him while your body rocked against the desk. It’s metal surface pinched at your sink and made your back ache, though that was nothing compared to the burn of Kylo’s thrusts, sliding against your walls. You felt him in your throat. You always did. That was simply the way things were with him. He filled you painfully, thoroughly, took over all of your senses until it was just him.

And, strangely, it was the most alive you’d ever felt.

He was unlike anyone you’d ever known.

You couldn’t scream for him, but you could still let him taste the desperation, the willingness in your body to mold against him. So you kissed him, dragged him by the hair to meet your lips and licked past his teeth, gasping and moaning on his tongue as you sucked it hard and cried into his mouth.

And he drank you down, picking up a punishing rhythm and breaking blood vessels where his hands gripped your hips. One drifted lower, thumb pressing down hard on your clit as your cunt clenched around his length. The desk was lifting off the ground with every thrust, the room filled with the wet sounds of your bodies and you were quickly melting under him.

Warmth was spreading, growing, building out from your pussy, igniting in your veins. He was right. This is what you did. This is what he did to you. This toe curling, lip biting, bone shattering kind of pleasure.

Oh you were so royally fucked.

“I—oh shit—Kylo I’m,” you pulled back just enough to pant out a warning before the wave took you.

So hot, it washed over your skin and made your legs shake and your hands leave his hair to dig your nails into his chest through the crisp white button down he wore.

“Feel that?” he grunted as you convulsed and shuddered under him, “Feel how this pussy was made for me.”

You nodded, buried your face in his neck and held on as he worked you through your climax and straight into his own. Once, twice he ground his cock deep in you, feeling how tight you were around him until he was spent and spilling hot, thick ropes of cum that coated your walls and dripped out around his length.

He panted, lazily rolling his hips, fucking you slowly until finally, he came to a halt with his softening cock still sheathed inside you. Seconds past, or maybe hours, you couldn’t tell. Kylo tended to have that effect on you. Time slipped away so easily in his presence, like there was never enough of it.

When he did pull away, you stayed with your back firmly planted amidst the mess of scattered paperwork and manila envelopes. He rose to his full, towering height and tucked himself away, straightening the wrinkles in his suit and eyeing you only once from the side. You admired his profile, you never understood until now what the meaning of the word “regal” truly was.

Under the dictionary definition, his picture surely would be there, staring at you down the bridge of his marble carved nose.

You sat up on your elbows as he stalked towards the door.

“Was that all you came for?”

Kylo paused, broad back still facing you and leaving the room feeling irrevocably empty with just the intention of his absence.

“We’ll reschedule for five tonight,” he said, filling the door frame completely. “Don’t be late.”

The door clicked shut behind him and the sound of it made you collapse back onto the desktop. You laid there for a moment, leaking your combined spend and aching. The throb of him settled in your muscles and festered. But the worst part was the other ache, the pain of being without. And maybe you had been a bit avoidant. Maybe this work really was so you didn’t have to see him. Because if you saw him you’d end up fucking him—which was fine, which was good, which was great actually—but then he would leave. And you couldn’t decide which wanting was worse. The wanting before or the wanting after.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

You had more important things to think about anyway. Like securing the receptionist an incredibly large holiday bonus, assuming you still had a job here at the end of the day.

Maybe that didn’t matter either.

It might be high time you made a commitment to whatever the hell kind of mess you’d stumbled into. Kylo Ren was an enigma in the best kind of way. Maybe you should stop running from it.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #mob!kylo ren #lawyer!reader #dr. b writes #requests #adcu fanfic

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reluctant-mandalore · 4 years ago

Note

may i suggest 52 with fennec shand? 😍🍾

Prompt 52: “Ready for me to drink you under the table?” from this prompt list.

Warnings: Betting, drinking games, alcohol consumption, established relationship, kisses, Fluff and possible implied nsfw depending on how you decide to interpret it, not beta read

Word Count: 1,181

Pairing: Fennec Shand x gn!Reader

a/n: Y’all get to decide what that thing with the throne is. Is it cuddles? or something more spicy? Maybe you just paint a loth cat on it... Who knows! Just know that Boba is not going to be impressed with what ever it is. Also this was only meant to be like 500 words but I just couldn’t stop writing sdfbjhsdbhf My wife fen just has that affect me I guess lol

It had become a common occurrence for you and Fennec to go get a drink at the local Cantina after she had returned from a job. You had always called it a celebration for a job well done, though really it was because you had missed her desperately when she was gone.

She wasn’t going to complain of course. It was well known how she loved to have a good drink, and combined with the fact that she loved spending time with you even more, she knew she was in for a good time. So it was always a win-win situation for her when you insisted on taking her out for one of your little celebrations.

“Oh please!” You had said with a laugh that particular night, “I could definitely out last you in a drinking game.”

Fennec had only quirked a brow at you, as a smirk had begun playing tugging at her lips. “Darling... no one out drinks me. Not even you.”

“You wanna bet on that?” You had said, allowing your fingers to tease with her braided hair playfully, as you had leaned over the table closer to her. Soon watching with delight as Fennec’s eyes had zoned in on your fingers with peaked interest. “If I win you take the day off work tomorrow and spend it with me.”

Fennec had moved to brush her thumb along your lips at your words. Her eyes holding a flirtatious gleam to them that you knew only held trouble for you within their depth. Maybe challenging her wasn’t such a good idea.

“What’s in it for me if I win?” She had asked, removing her hand from your chin, so she could take another sip of the drink she had already gotten for herself. “Better be good if I’m going to end up dragging your drunk self home.”

You had paused and thought for a moment. What could you bet? There wasn’t much you could suggest that would peak her interest enough. Although. There was always that one thing of course. Something you knew she wouldn’t be able to say no too.

“If you win we can do the thing you’re always asking about.”

Fennec had visibly paused at your suggestion, the cup in her hand lowering to the table again with a small jolt as her head had snapped over to look at you. Her eyes holding a skepticism to them, as she tried to gage just exactly what kind of game you were playing at. “That thing?”

“Yes. That thing.” You had rolled your eyes with a grin, knowing there was no way Fennec would be able to resist a bet with that on the table. “So what do you say Fen?”

“You sure?” She had asked, her gaze holding a concern you were beginning to know all too well now. It was the look she would give when she was worried for you, and it was one that had managed to make your heart felt at the sweetness it held.

“Positive.”

Fennec had allowed herself to relax again at your confirmation. The brief tension she had felt quickly easing away, as allowed herself to move closer to you again. Though this time she had let your nose brush with hers before leaving a mock kiss at your lips.

“Boba is going to be so mad once he finds out what we did with that throne of his.”

“Hey that’s only if you win.” You had said, as you pulled back with a grin and motioned for the bartender to get you both some drinks. “Which is definitely not happening.”

Fennec had only rolled her eyes at your claim, watching out of the corner of her eye, as you had gulped your first one down quickly. Letting out a huff as you had almost slammed the empty cup down on the table once finished. “Ready for me to drink you under the table?”

She had only shook her head with a laugh. Soon taking her own drink and downing it before once again giving you that smirk of hers that you adored so much.

“I’d like to see you try.”

After many drinks and laughs later, Fennec had predictably proven you to be wrong. You could in fact not out drink her, and at this point you were convinced no one could.

While you had reached your limit, she hadn’t even appeared to come close to her own. She didn’t even seem to show any signs that she was drunk in the slightest. If you hadn’t seen her drink the same amount as you had, you probably would have been doubtful of her having had any at all.

Instead she had only leaned on the table with a smirk. Watching as you tried to appear unaffected by all the alcohol you had consumed over the past few hours. How she managed to appear normal after all of that you’d never know, and honestly you weren’t even sure you wanted to.

“You alright there love?”

“Hm?” You almost hadn’t heard her. The foggy cloud over your mind due to the alcohol in your system making it hard to keep up with everything around you, though you’d never tell her that. “Ye...Yeah. I’m fine!”

“Really?”

“Yup! I’m do-” You had hiccupped during your reply to her, “I’m doing great Fen.”

Fennec had hummed, though her smirk had softened slightly when you had leaned into her. Your head now resting on her shoulder, as your hands had wound themselves around her arm to hug onto it tightly. She had let you rest against her like that for a moment, though she had soon pressed a kiss to your forehead when you had hiccupped again. A little chuckle leaving her at the pout you had made afterwards.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna do that thing.” You had said with disbelief, though you had still laughed gently to yourself at the thought of it anyway. A new found excitement having found itself embedded within you at the whole idea of it. “Boba will be so mad at us.”

“Boba definitely won’t be impressed—he adores that throne.” Fennec had hummed as she finished her last drink. Setting the cup down and making sure to leave the right amount of credits on the counter with it. “That can wait for another night though—and only if you still feel up for it of course—but right now let’s just focus on getting you home.”

The sniper had stood after that, but you had tugged onto her arm to stop her from completely leaving. She had looked down at you with clear concern when you had, though her worry was quickly eased by the pleading look you wore. “Can we cuddle when we get back?”

A fond smile had spread across her lips at your question, and she had soon pulled you to you to stand on your feet with ease. Now allowing for your unsteady form to use her as a support, while she gave one finally sweet kiss to your cheek.

“Anything for you my love.”

#fennec shand #fennec shand x reader #fennec x reader #the mandalorian #fennec #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfic #I keep wanting to write fenfic #lmao #gender neutral reader #my fics #this was meant to be like 500 words #whoops

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shadowhunterssizzy · 4 years ago

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One last thing

I’m going to take a much needed break after this because i’m not sure i’m gonna continue on with the series. I’m running on 4 hours of sleep so probably my thoughts are incoherent and don’t make sense, so bare with me.

I’m not gonna lie, the Azriel POV felt like a blow and a slap to the face all at once. I kept rereading it because i love pain and I felt mora towards Gwyn than elriel, and this comes from someone that has been shipping elriel since acomaf. I love them. I truly do. I wanted to explore the mating bond not working, the choosing someone over your mate, but azriel’s pov didn’t give me anything like that. It just reforced the fears I had once I knew about gwyn some days before. Now I’m sure Gwyn is great. I’m sure she will be great with Azriel. Sarah loves to explore healing dynamics and i think azriel and gwyn fits that. A victim of assault healing and a guy who has been in love for 500 years and obsessed with another girl he can’t have but finally finding love and healing as well. And this is where my thoughts starts to ramble again:

1. Why didn’t we get elain’s pov?. In the previous book we got Nesta’s but in this one we get Azriel’s , why?. Why not make the sister POV and see her struggles with the mating bond and her attractions towars azriel?. Well, in my eyes it’s because the next book is not about her

2. The 3some situation. Let’s be honest. We all knew it will be a threesome but this isn’t even one. Now we have a mating bond and gwyn. All of this in one book. Tamlin, rhysand and rhys conflict was resolved in two, not in one, and sarah said that each book will focus ON ONE COUPLE. Not two potentials couples. ONE COUPLE EACH. This has been stated by Sarah on her lives, so pardon me but I’m not seeing this going anywhere.

3. Gwyn and Azriel: We know that Az saved her. It’s clear that meant something to Gwyn and he was amused by her. Now people said Gwyn’s arc is completed but is it?. IT’S NOT. Gwyn is not a Valkirie yet and Nesta states that Az and Cassian will still train them and keep an eye on them. Gwyn goes back to the library but her story is nowhere to be completed. The valkyrie training and their dynamic to fight Koschei is still there. Her story might be almost completed but there’s something else to tell. She will still train and Az will monitor. The link is there. Meanwhile we don’t know much about Elain. Like we know Koschei wants her but it doesn’t seem like that’s the next plot, it seems most likely the last one

4. Azriel is horny: When i read his interactions with elain i was like ok.... they had an attraction but is there anything else?. Sure, we got crumbs for 3 books but Nesrin and Chaol did and look where they end up with. Chaol with Yrene a character that was introduced later even though he had a story with Nesrin. Now azriel seems to be angry at the cauldron for not pairing him with elain but is it really about her? Or is it because he wanted a mate so badly after spending 500 years with Mor?. Is it because his brothers found mates and he was like what about me?. Maybe this is exactly what sarah was trying to told us all the time. 3 Ylirians with the 3 sisters its not okay. Azriel questions the mother, and maybe that’s the conflict. He wants a mate so badly and someone who will love him and he will lust and be attracted to complicated but what happens when he will find something different?. Something that is healing and it’s there and he never expected?. Maybe the cauldron and the mother didn’t link him to elain because it wasn’t mean to happen.

5. but..what about elain?. A lot of people said she’s been avoiding lucien and it’s right. We don’t know how she feels towards him really, mostly indiference and I hate the idea of her being forced into something. But we forget lucien and elain’s story is not finished and there’s a TRUE mating bond there plus Gwyn. It’s too much... Maybe elain needed to pursue someone else before realizing the world and the cauldron gave her a mate because that’s how it works. Maybe both elain and azriel needed to find each other to realize what really was there for them. Gwyn and Lucien. Now i don’t like the idea of neither of them and I won’t be reading that for sure. Bceuase 3 books of crumbs and little built up and a chapter of azriel confirming he is into elain just to be taken away after 5 minutes to pursue the gwyn narrative feels LIKE A SLAP INTO MY FACE. It feels as if sarah is saying well you know what you were right for 5 minutes but YOUR TIME IS UP, DING DONG DING WAKE UP!. It feels like she wanted a quick solution for the crumbs and she was like sure, they want to fuck but you know what they can’t because elain is with lucien and the mating bond will show her eventually and now az has someone who will make him realize elain and mor were nothing so let’s continue because elriel is over. You got your 5 minutes now let’s go back to the mating bond

6. Gwyn. Sarah has always stated her books are about healing and a personal journey. Gwyn is a victim of sexual assault and azriel saved her. By the end of the book azriel looks..happy. He seems comfortable with Gwyn. Eased. His shadows sing, he is a singer and so is she. He can imagine her face while getting that necklace and HE IS TREASURING THAT THOUGHT. He has hope again because gwyn is there and he can see her gleaming eyes and theres a true beauty there... Now we can agree it’s shitty what he did with the neclace but was he that moved about the fact that elain gave back the neclakce? He didn’t look that bothered. And it’s clear there’s a seed for gwyn and elain and it’s a strong one otherwise he wouldn’t have smiled thinking about her or end the chapter thinking about her face or slept perfectly.

7. Going back to the mating thing. Rhys said that usually males will go crazy and females can’t be completely unaffected. There’s a story with Kodschei, Vassa and elain seems like the key. Maybe they will need elain to fight Koschei in the end and elain will be willing to go with lucien since azriel hurted her. Maybe realizing az is not there will finally allow her to open her eyes and at least try. Let’s be honest, elain was not fond of meeting lucien but maybe it was because she felt like she had no choice. Maybe in the end azriel it’s just the push for her to finally try to give lucien a try. Without azriel elain probably wouldn’t have talk to lucien. But if she is hurt maybe she will try to give lucien a chance and azriel and her will part ways. Maybe az and elain are just the push they needed to move on.

8. I know there are crumbs. I know he is protective of elain and he cares about her. But honestly in his POV it doesn’t look like it. It’s just look like a 5 year old kid who was pissed at the cauldron. And let’s be honest all his brothers has mates, az will find one, specially since sarah said she is excited to give him a story. I believe az and elain are the nesryn /chaol/yrene of all this. Sarah loves love triangles but usually they always end up with the later: aelin with rowan, dorian with manon, chaol with yrene.... usually the first one it’s never the option. Chaol had development with celaena. There was attraction but in the end neither of them were together. Feyre had a relationship with tamlin. They were in love and yet she needed time to realize rhys was the one. It took her some time to heal and yet she find her mate. This is the exact same thing. Crumbs for elriel but at the end there’s someone else, and the mother is there. Maybe that’s why the cauldron didn’t connect them. Because there was someone else

9. But..the mating bond rejection?. Rhys forgot about that one. There’s a trial. There is no way lucien is going to die and there’s no way azriel is gonna challenge him with a war coming. That would be too messy and we would need lucien present to see everything. Lucien will have to go back, see azriel and elain, accepted it and fight or not Az. is all of this going to happen in one book?. Withour gwyn maybe but gwyn is there.

10. How is elain feeling?. I haven’t forgotten about her. I’m surprised we didn’t get her POV and we got azriel’s. She gave the neclace back and she is avoiding him at all costs. We don’t know what is going through her mind and she is alone now. Her sisters are happy. Azriel seems happy with gwyn. She is alone with a mating bond and koschei after her and nesta. I don’t know how she is feeling and honestly i believe elain and az deserved better. Deserved better that this poorly written narrative where they lust after each other, give gifts to each other just to end up separated and azriel having other woman, his shadows singing and him treasuring the image of her and the blossomed beauty. A secret, treasured beauty. That’s about gwyn. And i think in the end sarah j maas got what she wanted. The mating bonds all in place at the expense of elriel. I know there’s a chance I’m wrong. But it feels like elriel was there for a minute and then it was crashed. The pov is not about elriel It’s about azriel finding someone else and having another crush. It’s about rejection and healing again. It’ about az being pissed at the cauldron for not getting a mate but maybe not realizing the true one is out there. It’s all about elriel being attracted to each other but for what?.

I’m sure i’m missing a lot of stuff. I’m sure gwyn is great and lovely and her story with az will be epic. I’m sure the mating bonds work and elucien will be great in the future. But it’s the same thing over and over again and i’m tired of couples being hinted just to be the realization of other couples being the true endgame. And elriel feels like a temporary thing sarah wrote.

Now i know i sound like a hater or someone who doesn’t like elriel. But it’s quite the opposite. I loved them for years. I knew they had all the odds against them, just like chaol and celaena did. I know they found great lovers. But i can’t help feeling like losing because nothing about his POV seems right and i’m failing to forget the last part of that chapter and az’s feelings towards gwyn. And i think deep down i truly lost with them

#elriel #acosf spoilers #theories #notthis #elrielfamdonthateme

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baka-monarch · 4 years ago

Text

What The Fuck!?

(A.N: before we start with the story I just wanna say that this is based off of this post by @lance-alt . Also, alot of creators on here got mentioned in the story, like actual mentions so if you got mentioned just know that I love what you create and wanted to include you because I love your interpretations of the sides, and you do not have to read this at all if you don’t want to and if you want me to take you out of the story please DM me and tell me so that I can)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SLIGHT MENTION OF VORE FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS, MENTION OF USYEMPETHETIC SIDES, SHITTING N SOME HEADCANONS EVEN THOUGH I MYSELF LOVE THEM

The Sides are lost. They find themselves in a familiar and yet unknown place.

They will soon find someone dark. And someone far too shiny and bright… Too innocent.

The Sides meet…

their fanon-selves.

...

It had started like any normal day. The sides existing as a part of Thomas, helping him with his daily dilemmas, the usual things. Until Thomas took a nap. Then the sides suddenly found themselves in a white void. It wasn’t a dream, they could confirm that much from the other dreams that Thomas had. Also from the confused looks on the twin’s faces who were in charge of dreams, like how Remus had caused Thomas’ nightmare that they had disgusted in Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts.

“Where are we?” Logan spoke up, voicing everyone’s concerns.

“Wherever it is, Thomas has never thought about it before.” Roman muttered as he glanced around.

“Yeah, I know his brains can be scooped out at times, but not even he can have a mind this empty.” At Remus’ comment, most of the others cringed in varying degrees, with Logan being the only one unaffected, only rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Although your metaphor usage could use some work, you are correct. This place is too empty to be a part of Thomas.” Logan conceded.

“If this isn’t Thomas...then where are we?” Virgil gleaned around wearily, trying to come up with his own explanation for this situation.

“It’s really blank here...maybe Thomas is in a coma?” Roman tried, to which Virgil’s eyes widened.

“Impossible, how would we be active if he is not?” Logan debated.

“I don’t know! Do you have any ideas, Sherlock Drones?” Roman rebutted, causing Logan to roll his eyes and fix his glasses.

“Unfortunately, no. There is not enough evidence...anywhere to make a proper inference on the situation.” Logan finished adjusting his glasses by the time he finished, gaining an annoyed huff from Roman.

“Heya, kiddos? Maybe we shouldn’t argue. We’re all confused right now, and getting upset isn’t going to get us anywhere.” Patton butted in to make sure things didn’t escalate.

“Thank you, Patton.” Logan gave a curt nod of agreement.

“Fiiiine!” Roman whined after a bit.

“It would be wise to explore, to see if we can find any clues as to where we are.”

“I’ll do it!” Remus jumped in. “Who knows, maybe we all died a gruesome death!” He cackled.

“No need.” Janus approached the group from behind, having already explored himself. “Look behind us.” When turning the sides were surprised to find the area behind them was not all whit. On it there were words like what one would find in a google doc currently describing their situation as they lived through it.

“What the fuck?” Virgil muttered. He had a Tumb.lr so he knew what fanfiction was, and this looked like it. “This can’t be happening…” He groaned, knowing it was happening.

“Aw, they’re writing about us Virge! Like the people on that one app you use.” Patton cooed, only knowing of the fluff part of fanon.

“Pat, you don’t understand. This isn’t good.”

“Oh nonsense kiddo.” Patton dismissed. “Have you guys seen the art they draw of us? It’s so cute!” Virgil internally cringed knowing that not all of it was like that.

“Either way,”-Janus cut off their small conversation.-“We need to find a way out of here.” Janus focused slightly more on Virgil for his next comment. “Whether this is real or not.” Virgil shivered at the thought of them not being real, or even acting like they do in the things that people create.

Everyone agreed, and soon they were on their way to explore this strange new environment.

…

Soon enough, however, the sides are lost. Which brings us back to where this story began. As they searched for their original location, or even the mysterious floating words, they come upon a familiar and yet unknown place. It looks strikingly like a Disney movie kingdom. With one half, filled with bright colors, lush fields, enchanting forests, and a large white castle with a red roof. The other half being dark and dangerous, the colors fading, plants rotting, instead of animals there only creatures of unknown origin, and in the middle, a black, crumbling, castle, with striking green roofing. It was almost as if...it were made for the twins.

In fact, as they got closer they could hear two far off shouts, with simultaneous silhouettes, motioning towards them, as if pointing them out to someone...or something, else.

“Uh...guys?” Virgil trailed off wondering if the others had noticed.

“On it.” Romas was quick to pull out his sword, Remus quickly following suit with his morning star.

It was unnecessary however, as once the silhouettes were in view, they looked exactly like the twins.

“Wha…” Roman lowered his sword as he saw this. As they got closer more figures came into view. All of which looked like the sides to varying degrees. There were thousands. Some were small, some were even giants, and there were alot that weren’t even human.

“Oh! Hi there kiddos!” A Patton(?) came running past the twin’s doppelgangers. “You’re probably really confused right now, I know alot of us were when we appeared!” The sides just looked at the Patton look-alike dumbfounded. The first to break out of it was Logan.

“I do not wish to appear rude, but, who are you and where are we?” Logan queried.

“Oh, I’m Patton by @baka-monarch !” Patton chirped. “And you’re in The Imagination!”

“The what now-?” “How did you-?” Both Roman and Virgil asked at the same time.

“Hm?” The other Patton tilted his head confused.

“One at a time now kiddos…” Their Patton silently reminded them. Roman nodded to Virgil to let him go first.

Virgil inhaled, taking his cue. “How did you say a mention? That only works when typed in social medias.” Virgil wondered confused.

“Oh! That’s just my fander creator kiddo!” This Patton didn’t miss a beat as he answered happily. Virgil stared at him blankly as he came to a horrifying conclusion.

“We’re in a f*****g fanfiction.” He jumped slightly at his bleep out. “What was that?”

“Oh, Jan Jan did that I wouldn’t have to hear any vulgar language.” All of them looked back at Janus who looked forward, uninterested, definitely trying not to hide his embarrassment at what this other him did, definitely not.

“...Okay… My turn!” Roman exclaimed. “What is “the Imagination”?” He used air quotes.

“Yeah, I was wondering that too, Mr. The 6th Day clone.” Remus added.

“Oh! Don’t you know? It’s the place you and Roman can go to to summon anything.You can even change the entire world around you!” Patclone chirped.

“What.” They all said in unison with worry, apart from the twins who were excited.

“Yeah! Isn’t it cool!” Patclone said oblivious to the consequences of the twins having this power could cause. “Oh yeah, do you want me to introduce you to everyone?”

“Please, I am intrigued about how our counterparts might act.” Logan conceded.

“Okie dokie then! Follow me!”

…

It had been a few hours at this point and they still weren’t even an eighth of the way through yet. There were so many headcanons, variations, AUs, OCs, OOCs, designs, everything. It was almost too much to handle.

“-this is @tscampfireau ‘s sides from their au-” The Virgil hissed and bit towards them as they almost walked on their pentagram that they were making out of… was that blood? The Patton and Logan were helping them by t-posing as a barrier against the other sides. “-yeah they can be a...fun bunch to hang out with. Oh, and here’s @bleepblopbloop56 ‘s sides.”

“How, and why are they hotter than us..?” Roman mumbled to Virgil, only getting a weird look in response.

“Then there’s @mango-shpango ‘s and @rondoel ‘s ones, he’s got a lot-” Patclone shrugged it off, but King caught all of their eyes. He didn’t have to look like the one they knew for them to know who it was… “Oh, hey there @that-prey-lounge and @tiny-peter-rabbit ‘s sides!” He greeted them. As they turned a corner there was a group of sides that were made of metal like robots. “Oh, there’s @burnadolt ‘s fnaf au!” He waved. As they approached a tavern the last group greeted was, “Heya @nommy-thoughts ‘ sides, how are you adjusting?” there were several positive responses from many of them, and as the sides looked closer they could see that a few were smaller than a human hand not only that but nearby (possibly made by someone else), were the sides they’d seen from afar earlier that were giants.. They hadn't noticed them yet here because of how closely compact the buildings were and how their size made what was visible from their perspective look like buildings.

As they all entered the tavern, they saw that there was only one group of sides here. “Hiya guys! New sides I’d like you to meet @baka-monarch ‘s group.” There were several different hellos. “And my friends, I’d like you to meet… to meet..? I’m sorry but who’s your creator?” Virgil was the one to answer.

“@thatstha-MMPH!” Virgil was only part of the way through before the other’s Janus made him slap his hand over his mouth as the other sides in the room went pale. “What was that for?” Virgil asked, his voice muffled by his hand.

“You can’t say his name. Not here.” Patclone explained cryptid. They all fell into an awkward silence, until Roman changed the subject.

“Why are there...two of you?” Roman observed.

“Oh!” Patclone chirped. “I was created just for this au! Just so I could be your guide!” He paused for a moment thinking before continuing. “I guess I’m like the Monika of this world.” Again, everyone paled, some not understanding, others...understanding too well. “Welp, I guess you want to go explore now! Jan Jan, do you and Patty wanna go have fun while they look around?” Both mentioned sides blushed.

“I told you not to call me that…” Janus mumbled as he took Patclone’s hand and the other Patton stood up to quickly join them as they went off to a separate room.

…

Only an hour had passed and the sides had already split off into groups with their counterparts. The Roman’s comforting each other while being completely random, some of them being sad little puffballs that the strong egotistic Roman’s had decided to protect, while others were a mix or just completely unsympathetic and degrading anyone the came in contact with, especially the Virgils. Virgil had kind of separated himself from the other Virgils since 90% of them were cowering away from everything and just having constant anxiety attacks, while the few who were different either had power that they abused, or were fawning over the other sides. The Logans had formed an army of science lead by the Logan from @askdarksidelogan and the other dark sides from his au, this Logan was very robotic looking, cruel, and unfeeling...well, almost unfeeling as the Deceit from his au was his boyfriend and the Remus was really close friends with him. Janus was busy trying to coral in all his different counterparts as some of them made plans to kill everyone around them and end the government, while others were hiding due to PTSD about the angst they have been through. The Remuses just vibed in their corner, killing, being gross, and annoying the other aspects. Finally the Pattons. Patton had basically adopted the ones that were child-like and too innocent for their own good while avoiding the unsympathetics that were teaming up with other unsympathetics and the ones who were...horny… Actually everyone was avoiding the horny ones.

But that was just the simplified version of the chaos. Logans were capturing people to test, Deceits were arguing over their name even though one was already canon, Romans were either being complete idiots or crying silently to themselves, while they were targeted by the unsympathetics along with the Virgils, everyone too scared to even try to tussle with the army of Logans.

Virgil sat back on a hill and watched it all unfold. How had the community gotten this far without this much chaos? He had no idea. A few other counterparts were up there with him but he didn’t mind since they mostly seemed chill. A Virgil approached and sat down next to him exhausted, and judging by the paint he was covered in he had just come from the Romans’ corner.

“Romans a little too much?” Virgil tried making conversation.

“Yeah…” He breathed. “It was getting a little too rowdy and I wanted to get my Roman out of there so he wouldn’t get hurt.” With no Roman in sight, Virgil assumed that he had been unsuccessful.

“So, which Roman is yours?” Virgil wondered.

“Hm?” The counterpart tilted his head confused until it clicked. “Oh, no, he’s not down there right now.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny Roman. “See.”

“Oh…” Virgil was at a loss of words. What does a person say to that? After that they just sat there in silence as Virgil’s counterpart and the Roman snuggled slightly through a hand to body contact.

“So…” Virgil decided to try again. “What’s it like, y’know, being shipped?” Virgil wondered, seeing how it seemed these two were in some kind of relationship. Virgil had always found it kind of weird, but, maybe there was more to it…

“I mean, it’s like any other relationship I guess… falling in love and deciding to be together.” The counterpart mumbled as the tiny Roman rubbed his hand to comfort him.

“But isn’t it weird how it isn’t real? How, you’re literally just playing out your creator’s fantasies because they enjoy the idea of you being together?” Virgil wondered.

The counterpart just shrugged. “I try not to think about it… but, it really isn’t that weird, even if we’re fictional characters we have memories, motives, morals, opinions, feelings. Those are real. Even if they aren’t created by us, they are real. Every thought, every motion, every breath. That is us. Just because it was written, drawn, or even just imagined, it happened and that makes it real. Makes this feeling real.” He explained as he rubbed the little head of his Roman.

“Huh I… I guess you’re right, I never thought of it that way.” Virgil shrugged.

“No one does. Why do you think people are told not to cry over fictional deaths when they actually had feelings for a character, platonic or not?” The counterpart said. “It’s just a story on the outside, something thought to not affect people even though when our memories are shared with them, it can change them.” Virgil looked at his counterpart, curiosity growing about how he had so much knowledge.

“Who’s your creator?” Virgil finally asked.

“Why do I have to have one?”

“Touche.”

They went back to a comfortable silence. It was nice. Until this one Janus came.

“Hey, Virgil, does Roman mind if I had him for a bit?” They asked.

“I don’t mind at all!” The tiny side exclaimed as he got on Janus’ hand. They soon left, but when that Janus vired the Roman they weren’t far enough away from Virgil for him not to catch a glimpse. He shivered.

“Is that normal?” He wondered.

“Depends on the part of the community, but pretty normal and usually safe, so don’t worry.” The counterpart comforted him. It barely helped but at last Virgil knew that that Roman was safe… probably.

“Can I try!” Remus came brelling up the his, straight (heh) to the counterpart.

“Only if you want to.” They replied.

“I do!” Remus wriggled with excitement.

“Alright, let's go find you one of the groups of sides either with the power to shrink you or are giants.” Virgil led Remus off the hill as Remus kept talking about everything that could go wrong but probably wouldn’t.

Weird. Was all Virgil could think as he watched them leave.

…

He saw a lot that day but never saw that Virgil again, as if he had vanished mysteriously. It didn’t matter to him right now though as he had been stuck with babysitting duty over all the little kid sides.

“F*** this.”

…

Virgil looked over the story he just read one more time. It was written by a small creator called @baka-monarch , who focussed more on reblogging than they did their own content.

“That was trash.”

…

“Reblog.”

#sander sides #vore mention #virgil sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #fanon sides #canon sides #fanfiction

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elizabeth-mitchells · 4 years ago

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the only touchstone of truth - I Care A Lot (2021) - Fran/Marla

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives

Chapter 4:

Ever since that first day, when Fran caught her destroying her own shop in order to incriminate the enemy, she always found Marla to be a completely breathtaking woman. But this was a whole different level. When the big day finally arrived, Marla showed up to court ready to kill. She was wearing what Fran would’ve bet was a brand new suit that, much like the restaurant she visited, Marla probably could only afford out of sheer confidence in the fact that she knew she deserved luxury. Her striking blue eyes looked as brilliant as ever, mischievous when she met the other woman’s gaze, but ready to turn innocent and falsely vulnerable in front of the judge. However, this time Fran couldn’t tear her attention away from one very specific thing about Marla: her new haircut. Gone were the soft waves that fell lovingly over her shoulders. The short bob haircut was all about sharp edges, not a single blonde hair out of place, and it perfectly complemented Marla. Fran thought the new style was so on point that soon enough it would be difficult to even remember the way Marla looked before. And, like maybe things about Marla, Fran thought it was like an extremely sophisticated and gorgeous piece of armor that no anybody could completely decipher.

“Marla,” she greeted her outside of court with a grin on her lips to disguise the way her mouth suddenly felt dry at the sight of the blonde woman, “you look good.”

Not one for fake humility, Marla returned the smile, “Right?” she shook her blonde hair off her face, “Dress for winning, it’s a thing.”

“I already feel like a winner,” Fran couldn’t hold back her smile as she followed Marla inside the building.

“Will you behave ,” Marla retorted, looking at her over her shoulder with a teasing look, “at least until the trial is over?”

“I can’t make such promises,” the brunette laughed, walking just a little too close to Marla, just for the pleasure of hearing Marla’s chuckle in response and, yes, maybe also for the pleasure of standing so close to her. If Fran was being honest, she was more than a little excited to witness the trial. It was Marla’s first time in court but she could already tell it would be, not only a great success, but incredibly entertaining, exciting, even fascinating, considering Fran would be aware of Marla’s lies, tricks, manipulation of the facts, and frighteningly good acting.

They were ready for the show.

---

The thing is, judging by the way Marla walked away from the court that day, hardly anybody would have guessed that she just lost her case. Marla lost. She lost the case against the massive company that put her lawful little shop out of business in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t even for honest reasons, like discovering that she incriminated them, no. She lost because there was money in between, hanging from a thread in front of the judge’s head like a carrot taunting him to go for the best bidder. She lost, not because she played dirty, but because the game was already rigged, and there were better, or worse depending on where you stand, players ahead of her. Not for long , she bitterly told herself, walking the long hallways with her head held high, jaw clenched, demeanor perfectly controlled, blond hair swaying only slightly.

“Marla.”

And then there was the voice that made her feel perfectly uncontrolled by simply calling out her name.

“Not now, Fran,” she whispered, aware that she could only keep her strong and unaffected facade for so long.

“ Marla ,” Fran repeated her name, somehow managing to sound firm and gentle at the same time. This time she caught up with her, and added a tentative touch to the other woman’s elbow.

Marla gritted her teeth. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool in public. She highly doubted she’d cry for this misstep. She didn’t think she’d lose her temper either, not exactly. But a breakdown was just waiting to happen. All she needed was an escape and, luckily, she knew the right spot for it. She couldn’t believe that there, out of all places, she could think of a safe place to land. Though, then again, maybe it wasn’t about the secluded hallway where she’d first kissed Fran. Maybe it was all about Fran’s company. Either way, silently, the two women made their way to that secret spot once more, even if this time their spirits were the entire opposite to those of the previous occasion.

This time Marla was the one to lean her back against the wall. She didn’t look completely defeated, not even when there was Fran in front of her, with worried eyes staring at her. But she did look exhausted. It was a look that didn’t exactly fit with the image Fran had of Marla Grayson in her mind.

“Are you okay?” Fran asked first. As an answer, she received a particular look from the blonde that she wasn’t all capable of deciphering just yet, but at least she understood two things. One, she wouldn’t get much more of an answer. Two, she desperately wanted to get to that place where she would be beyond capable of reading Marla’s silents looks effortlessly. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out next, “I should have… I should have warned you, I guess. This happens all the time, it’s never fair, really. Justice is bullshit, Marla, really. I just thought, I really thought-”

“I’m sorry about your money, Fran,” Marla stopped the younger woman in her tracks with her words and the movement of her hand toward Fran’s cheek. It was obvious that neither of them would get any money out of this failed plan.

“Don’t worry about that,” Fran’s frown deepened and she shook her head just lightly but still Marla dropped her hand and she instantly missed the contact. There was a heavy silence between them. No money. No celebration. No case to prepare for. This couldn’t be an ending for them, could it? “What are you going to do now?” Fran asked carefully. Marla had been clear on the fact that she’d have to close her shop either way.

“Now?” Marla took a deep breath and straightened in place. Wearing her high heels she was just slightly taller than Fran, so she could lean down and leave a heart-stoppingly intimate kiss on the corner of the other woman’s lips. “I need to leave,” she whispered, finally a hint of pain cracked its way to the tone of her voice, and she immediately started taking the steps that would take her away from there, alone.

“Wait,” Fran said, turning around quickly and reaching out to hold Marla’s hand. She had to think, and quickly.

The two of them were almost complete opposites in some ways, but they also shared a great deal of things in common. Neither of them was sure if this was a blessing or a curse, if it made their interaction perfect or impossible. Fran knew that for nobody else she would have offered her hand this way, so soon, so easily. But in this situation, one of them had to.

“I still care about you, okay?” Fran confessed, squeezed Marla’s hand once, then let her go.

---

There was a lot of driving. That’s how Fran would describe the couple of days immediately after the failure at the court. She had quite a few errands to run and things to take care of, but she also simply enjoyed the driving around. When she drove her bike it was easier to quiet down her racing thoughts. Half of her mind on the road, and half of it on one issue at a time. There were plenty of issues though. Most of them had the indelible mark of one Marla Grayson. That might have been the reason that on so many of those long bike rides to clear her thoughts, the only thing Fran really achieved was failing to fool herself into thinking it was an accident how often she drove past Marla’s shop.

Three days later, she finally had a reason to stop by.

They were clearly emptying the store. It was mostly just Marla and Curtis with a truck waiting outside. By the time Fran parked, Marla noticed, and stood still outside the shop, observing the process, the death of her American dream. At first sight, Fran thought Marla still was the most beautiful woman she’d ever met. She was wearing comfortable clothes, her short hair held back in a little ponytail, and she’d clearly been working for a while. Fran wouldn’t say Marla looked like she was back to herself, back to the person she was before the fiasco at the court. That wouldn’t have been truthful. There was a significant change in Marla Grayson, Fran just had to figure it out. However, she did look strong and brilliant as ever, so she took that as a good sign as she approached her.

“Moving out?” Fran blurted out. She slowly walked closer, tilted her head, and squinted her eyes, the sun was unforgiving that day.

“I couldn’t have run a vape shop my whole life I guess,” Marla gave a half-hearted shrug in response. This wasn’t their best way to greet each other, they weren’t at their best, and the uneasiness around them was suffocating.

“Some you win, some you lose,” the brunette mumbled. It was nothing, a mindless repetitive phrase, but she should have seen the answer coming. Either way, she was glad to hear it.

“I don’t lose, Fran,” the other woman turned to look at her. “I won’t lose,” Marla added, looking back at the front of her dead store.

Fran nodded, holding back a smile, “Alright.”

This moment wasn’t entirely different from that first day. Attraction, chemistry, magnetism, something had pulled them to each other. Something had told them that if they could have easily gone to bed together that first night, maybe all could have ended the next morning. Something had clicked in their minds on that first conversation that convinced them that the other one was worth more than that. So they held back, and held on to each other, but how much longer could they wait before either giving up or crossing a line. Because their desire was obvious, but at this point, the risks were just as unavoidable. There was too much on the line, they were each getting too close to hearts that had chosen not to let anyone else in. One peek past the curtains they each held over the parts of themselves that weren’t carefully crafted weapons to face the world on that personal battle they each had picked, and it could all come crumbling down. How could they dare to try vulnerability? What if they liked it? How could they let each other in? How could they trust, and care? What if it worked? Going after something that could be perfect was too much of a risk. It would be easier to let go.

The problem, or rather salvation, was the fact that every time the idea of giving up popped in her mind, Marla was fiercely reminded of the fact that she simply doesn’t give up. She doesn’t lose. She’s determined to be successful. She’s confident in her ability to go for what she wants, but this one situation is way beyond that, isn’t it? Can she keep something, someone , and care for her as fiercely as she knows she could if only she wanted to? Could Fran be the one success she wants and needs more than she even realizes? Would Fran even want that?

This time it was Marla who reached out and caught Fran’s hand in hers and turned to look at her with unusual sincerity lighting up her blue eyes. “Thank you for everything, Fran,” she said.

The smile that Fran sent her way then was enough to make every risk worth it. “Don’t need to thank me,” Fran squeezed her hand once and started to pull away, seemingly satisfied with this interaction. It looked like both of them had reached a new understanding of what they wanted. “I’ll let you get back to work,” Fran added, not overjoyed to let go of the other woman’s hand.

“Oh, you’re not staying to help?” Marla called after her, a smile appearing on her lips.

Fran sent a playful grimace in the way of the shop. “Maybe next time,” she replied. They both laughed. Assuming Marla would have another business go bankrupt or not, either way, Fran would consider herself lucky to return and help her. “Call me,” she added, just a little more seriously, even if they were both still wearing matching smiles, “ when you’ll get in trouble again.” No need to pretend this was an “if” kind of situation.

---

The clothes were convenient. Marla just happened to have black pants and a black sweatshirt. The plan though, the plan was perfect, she knew that from the start. Of course, she hadn’t played fair from the beginning, but no one could know just how far she would go to come out as a winner. However, the fire behind her might be a good sign.

Marla simply couldn’t hold back her grin as she sneaked away from the big building. It had been surprisingly easy to set fire to the company that had ruined her business, now it was just a matter of finding out just how flammable vaping products were. She’d crafted a perfect plan, so she could pull it off only with Curtis’ help. The only trick was walking away separately, in opposite directions.

The fire, smoke, and the alarms behind her were a perfect backdrop and Marla had almost made it out and away from the crime scene when on the last alleyway she was thrown down to the ground.

“Fuck,” Marla cursed, ignoring the questions that the man, likely a security guard that was way too late to do his job, was trying to ask her. The fall wasn’t too bad, but he was raising his fist, and if he started to punch or kick her there on the ground, it couldn’t end well.

That’s when they were both blinded by sudden bright lights. There was an instant of panic in Marla’s heart, fearing she’d been too slow, she’d failed, the police had arrived first. Did they catch Curtis too? Was this her end?

“Hey, step away from her!” Fran yelled as she pushed the man away from Marla.

The man stumbled, but now that he was provoked he decided it was an excuse enough to hit two women. But he had no idea of the darkest tricks that Fran carried on her sleeve though. She was agile, clever, stronger than she looked like, and knowledgeable in exactly the right ways to leave a man unconscious in a matter of seconds without causing much damage.

There was a bit of silence after the stranger’s body hit the ground. Then Marla exclaimed, “Fran!” She sounded delighted, a little out of breath, completely marveled.

Marla was still on the ground, she’d observed the struggle with wide eyes, a glowing smile and, at first, a pang of fear for the other woman’s safety that later she would realize was a sign of how deep in trouble she truly was.

“Did you call for a ride?” Fran said to her, offering a hand to help her get up, “Couldn’t get you a getaway car, I hope my bike will be enough.”

She barely had time to finish her sentence. As soon as Marla was on her feet and eye to eye with the brunette she pulled her in into a long-overdue kiss. Her lips latched onto Fran’s eagerly, mindless of trying to mask how badly she wanted this. It was incredible the way relief and excitement sparked up like fireworks when their lips touched, again and again.

“Thank you,” Marla sighed, pulling back for a moment to stare in awe at the woman in her arms, gently brushing Fran’s wild hair off her face.

Fran tilted her head, held Marla closer, and said, “Arson, huh? Didn’t think that was your style.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“I see,” Fran mumbled, their lips already meeting again. She couldn’t get enough of Marla, her lips moved instinctively, without holding back at all. Almost at the same time, they started to hear police sirens in the distance. “ Someone ,” Fran stole another kiss and pulled away, “should arrest you right now.”

Marla demanded another kiss, and when she slowly pulled away, her teeth teasingly pulled on Fran’s bottom lip. “You,” Marla whispered. She got somewhat distracted by moving to kiss down Fran’s jaw, then focusing on her neck, losing her mind over the sigh that escaped the woman’s lips, which in Marla’s mind sounded perfect coupled with the police sirens in the background. “Did you forget your handcuffs, officer?” Marla added in a playful tone, her hands desperately pulling Fran closer to her.

“I quit the police, Marla,” Fran announced with a breathy laugh prompted by a particular bite on her neck.

The news forced Marla to pull away, and this time she looked at Fran without even the slightest effort at disguising her desire. “Take me home right now,” Marla said very slowly, the sirens were getting closer.

Fran leaned in again and kissed her, much slower, not any less passionately. Her hand rested on Marla’s cheek, her nails grazed her gently. When she pulled back she was wearing that perfect smirk that drove the blonde crazy. She held Marla’s hand and pulled her toward the bike waiting behind them.

“It’s a better alibi for you if we go to my house instead,” Fran winked.

They drove away just as the police pulled over on the other street, completely oblivious to the couple of women that would get away that night with one of many little crimes they would commit together in their lifetime.

#plot twist! for once i don't give the character everything they want immediately! will totally make up for it in the next chapter #i care a lot #marla grayson #fran #i care a lot fanfic #marla x fran #ical #my fic

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danzinora-switch · 4 years ago

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Typing the Turtles (ROTTMNT) Part 2 - Donatello

This started out as an investigation into the turtles’ insecurities, because one thing the show does so well is demonstrate that they are still teenagers. And being a teenager is a confusing experience - there’s angst, drama, exploring one’s identity, a lot of growth, and overall figuring out who you are. That’s a messy process, too! And we see this mess in our turtles: they mess up, they’re learning, they self-doubt, they have fears and insecurities, but they’re also discovering their strengths and how to overcome their inner obstacles.

So after thinking about all this way too long, here’s my psychological breakdown of each turtle (I’ll be referencing MBTI and the Enneagram, but will include links for more general information on those if you don’t know what I’m talking about).

Donnie: INTJ, 5w6

The Architect, the Investigator, the Problem-Solver, the Observer

Firstly, getting into this analysis means that we have to step away from the stereotype that all INTJs are cold, aloof, and unemotional. INTJs, especially Turbulent ones, do express emotion, and we’ve all seen Donnie’s dramatic ‘theatre kid’ side. I’m not going to ignore that. He manages to be both thanks to the INTJ’s tertiary function Introverted Feeling (Fi). Extroverted Feeling (Fe) really allows one to connect and empathize with others’ emotions. Fi, however, is a more internal experience of feelings, and has trouble connecting with others without having been in their shoes. I happen to think Donnie is in a strong Ni-Fi loop, as well, which would make sense because fighting bad guys every day while trying to save the world after discovering a Mystic City which upbends everything you ever knew is pretty stressful. https://www.psychologyjunkie.com/2017/06/21/intjs-loop-understanding-ni-fi-loop/

And it’s super interesting that he often expresses his emotions by literally saying them. “Evil laugh! Relishing chuckle! Gasp!” (Mind Meld) and, one of my favorites, he literally says “Sad face emoji” in Many Unhappy Returns.

So while we DO see Donnie experience and display his own emotions, we also DON’T see him all that affected by other people’s emotions. He’s still pretty stoic in Mystic Mayhem after the delivery guy gets mutated, cracking a joke about imitation crab. He’s unaffected by Todd’s puppies in Repo Mantis, and the only one immune to Warren Stone’s sob story in Warren & Hypno Sitting in a Tree. Pizza Pit shows it best when he’s unaffected when Mikey’s favorite pizza place collapses until the same thing happens to him. Fi at work vs Fe.

As for Donnie being a 5w6, keep this core motivation in mind: “[Fives] Want to possess knowledge, to understand the environment, to have everything figured out as a way of defending the self from threats from the environment.” https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-5

Donnie at his Worst: Donnie vs. Witch Town gave us this gem of a line: “Because I’m the science guy! If mystic powers can do everything I can do, but better, then why would you guys even need me?” And while people have pointed out his need to be needed, I argue it’s a little more accurate to say he has a need to belong. His role in the group is the Brainiac, the Science Guy, the Smart One, and so his very identity is tied into fulfilling that role. A 5’s core fear is of being useless, helpless, or incapable. Mystic powers rendering his tech redundant, and thereby him useless, would be a pretty big threat to the security of his role in the group (that 6 wing kicking in). And remember a 5’s core motivation: to understand the environment as a defense. And he still doesn’t understand mystic energy. It’s pretty infuriating, so he’s pretty insufferable about it.

[Note: seeing mystic power as a threat probably didn’t kick in until their fight with Shredder in Many Unhappy Returns. Prior to that, his brothers were still learning how to use their magic weapons, but Donnie already understood his tech well enough to use it effectively (see their first fight against Baron Draxum in the pilot). But against the Shredder… all his tech was useless. Only the hanky, the hanky, was even marginally effective. His brothers’ weapons were now way more capable than anything he had to offer… core 5 fear. And to cope? Learn all you can about your fear/threat. Except he still hasn’t figured it out; we see even in Air Turtle that he calls Draxum for the mystic expertise instead of formulating his own hypothesis].

We’ve seen this insecurity about his place in the group before. In Mind Meld, as his brothers become more like him, his role is challenged. “Hey, you’re trying to get rid of me, that’s what I do to you!” “But, I thought purple was my... my thing.” When he first meets the Purple Dragon he immediately wants to join them because he sees them as tech peers. In Man vs Sewer even though he professes that it’s his day off, he doesn’t react well whenever Leo does ‘his thing’: analyzing the situation and drawing a conclusion. His self-worth seems to be tied to what he has to offer the group, and we hear that even in his song in The Mystic Library about proving himself.

Besides his insecurity, Donnie is practically allergic to blame. (Interestingly enough, he’s more okay with being wrong and others being right sometimes… sure he’ll deflect, but it doesn’t seem to get under his skin the way being at fault does). He will repeatedly deny fault and shift the blame to someone else when something goes wrong. He denies creating AlBearto in Al Be Back, says the incident with the Purple Dragons in The Purple Jacket is entirely April’s fault (she is not amused) and puts the blame for ditching Todd off on his brothers in Todd Scouts. The one time we see him own up his mistakes is in Mind Meld when no one (except Shelldon) is around to see it. “Yup. I beefed up.” This is definitely an area he needs to work on.

Average Donnie: Donnie cares for his brothers, but that doesn’t always get across in the best of ways. Take the episode Donnie’s Gifts, for example. Donnie never actually got a chance to explain how the gifts work, but we can see protective elements in each of them. Raph: please use your head and don’t just blindly rush in! Mikey: ohmygosh that is so dangerous, please be careful and don’t get hurt! Leo: stop poking the bear, Leo, it only makes him angrier! It makes sense that a 5 who has external fears of the world and has their own protective equipment (the Battle Shells) would extend that to his brothers. And Donnie was able to recognize that even though his brothers got the wrong message, he could move past that and call for a group hug. In the Purple Game he is super anxious to make sure his brothers are okay and not mostly hurt. Insane in the Mama Train also reveals the invention of the Panic Button… and who designed that?

Donnie also seeks a lot of validation. He takes pride in his work, and when his work is appreciated he gives that appreciation back tenfold [such as when he shows off the Turtle Tank to his brothers (Fast and Furriest), or when Splinter says he’s proud of him (Turtle-dega Nights: the Ballad of Rat Man)]. The flip side is that when he’s not getting the validation he needs from others he’ll create it himself, which comes off as arrogant and egocentric. See Smart Lair, when Sheldon 1.0 plays messages of Donnie’s self-worth all night, and is programmed to favor him. Or when he takes full credit for defeating a bad guy: the silverfish in Donnie’s Gifts, and scaring Draxum away with his disco ball in Shadow of Evil. When he gets the recognition for all his hard work from the right people, though, it inspires him to do great things. There is danger in getting validation from the wrong people, however, as we saw in Big Mama’s case in Bug Busters.

Donnie at his Best: Donnie’s at his best (and most relaxed) whenever he’s learning or building something. He gets super excited and happy attending April’s school (The Purple Jacket) or going to the library (The Mystic Library) and wants to attend college someday (The Mutant Menace). The INTJ/5 seeks to absorb information and he’s constantly energized by it.

He’s also energized when he can put that information to use, such as when building something. Did Albearto need a total tear-down in War and Pizza? No. But Donnie had fun making him ‘dazzle!’ How did Donnie cope being in the woods in Todd Scouts? By building an impressive tree fort. Donnie’s projects actually relax him, because he’s exercising his strength and capabilities.

This also works for his method of attacks and plans: Know Thine Enemy. He studies Warren Stone in Newsworthy when they meet him and is the only one who remembers he regenerates by Warren & Hypno Sitting in a Tree. Donnie and Mikey are able to successfully scam Repo Mantis in One Man’s Junk because they know how he thinks. Donnie thwarts everything the Purple Dragons do and can bring Shelldon home because he knows how they operate (The Purple Game, Breaking Purple). He can restore his brothers to their rightful minds in Mind Meld because he knows himself.

Also: music. The fact that one of his Battle Shells has a music mode (Mascot Melee), that he remembers things in song form (The Mystic Library, Donnie vs Witch Town), and that he likes to dance (Stuck on You) is so pure and adorable.

Donnie Relationships:

(while Donnie does see his brothers as dum-dums at times, he admits they’re fun and pretty great to have in Mind Meld)

Raph: We really need a Donnie and Raph episode, but even without one there’s some moments we can look at. I already discussed in Raph’s analysis their general similarities. Donnie doesn’t think Raph always has the brightest ideas, but still has soft moments with him such as giving him $20 at the end of Mind Meld, designing the ‘captain’s chair’ of the Turtle Tank to Raph’s lumbar settings, and appreciating Raph’s pirate accent in Snow Day. They are both protective of their brothers, Raph with his fists and Donnie with his tech. It’s interesting that (I believe) they’re the reverse of each other on the Enneagram: Raph is a 6w5, and Donnie a 5w6. So they both understand the risks involved in what they do (mostly: Donnie still ate poison and Raph still goes on ‘smashcapades’). I really want to see a team-up between them.

Leo: I’m all for the Disaster Twins trope, but to me an episode that epitomizes that isn’t one like Lair Games, where they’re at each other’s throats, but Operation Normal. They’ve apparently done the grandma-getup before. They wind up playing as good cop, bad cop in Fast and Furriest. Sure, one’s high-strung, and one’s laid-back, which can get on each others’ nerves, but there’s also a lot of making up. Brotherly betrayal passes back and forth between them, but never crosses a line. And the numerous times they unconsciously mirror each other can be found with a simple search of the Disaster Twins tag. I’m interested to see more episodes where they work together, even in the background, just because they can get up to wild shenanigans.

Mikey: Mikey’s probably the turtle Donnie most gets along with. They’ve had several episode team-ups: Repo Mantis, One Man’s Junk, Turtle-dega Nights: the Ballad of Rat Man, Breaking Purple, etc. Donnie may be the team academic, but Mikey has strong emotional intelligence. They get along pretty easily, making plans together (One Man’s Junk) and protecting each other (we see Donnie protect Mikey in Repo Mantis and Bug Busters, but we see Mikey protect Donnie by pulling him out of the way in Smart Lair). Donnie helps Mikey focus on the goal at hand, and Mikey helps Donnie communicate better with others. They’re a good team with a pretty solid foundation.

Ultimately, Donnie’s an inventive turtle who wants his brothers to be safe but is still wrestling with a lot of insecurities and unhealthy stress levels. I’m excited to see how he grows into real confidence and utilizes his strengths as an integral member of the team.

For more information on the INTJ and Enneagram 5 personality types, click here:

https://www.16personalities.com/intj-personality

https://www.crystalknows.com/enneagram/type-5-wing-6

https://thoughtcatalog.com/heidi-priebe/2016/01/mbti-and-the-enneagram-2/6/

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