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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 8: Magma and Sky]

A/N: Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), grief and torment, a fun field trip to a volcanic rock, Red and Aemond have a very honest conversation, enjoy our special guest stars!!! 😉🔮🐍

Word count: 5.1k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

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“I was with somebody else.”

You startle and look up to see Aemond standing under the arch of the arbor grown over with a quilt of red roses, twisted and thorny and thick enough to drape you in shadows. You are sitting cross-legged on the stone bench and reading a book about all the known varieties of bats; Helaena found it for you in some dusty, ill-lit corner of the library when she was searching for texts concerning insects. It is still the waning days of summer in King’s Landing, and Viserys is the king, and thin threads of sunlight like golden strands of a spider’s web fall down through gaps in the arbor. Last night was the first time Aemond touched you like more than a brother, claimed you, transfixed you, and you are already alight with the lust-red craving to do it again.

Here, now, in the garden of the Red Keep, Aemond won’t meet your eyes. Instead, he stares fixedly into the contorted nest of roses, wild green punctuated with blooms of crimson like blood or rubies or glowing embers. You have no idea what he means. You reply after a moment, closing your book: “With somebody…?”

“Before,” Aemond says, like it takes great effort. He is still not looking at you. “Years ago. It wasn’t my intention for that to happen, I didn’t plan it, I didn’t ask for it…but I didn’t stop it either.” His reticent blue gaze drops to the cobblestones. His voice is very soft, barely audible. “In a brothel…there was…”

Now you understand. “I know, Aemond.”

His attention jolts back to you, a fracture set, a lightning strike. “You do?”

“Aegon told me. He felt badly about it afterwards, he thought he shouldn’t have done it, but he…” You gesture as if you holding a goblet of wine, and Aemond nods. He was drunk, he was reckless, he mistook it for a favor. But he was wrong.

“You will benefit from what I’ve learned,” Aemond says, as if still trying to convince you not to be appalled or angry. In truth, you are neither. “I hope that is some comfort to you.”

“I don’t find comfort in anything that causes you pain,” you reply honestly, tenderly. A warm breeze blows in off the sea, tasting like salt and rustling the roses and the leaves. This morning you tucked a single flower into your braid, a blue forget-me-not. Now you touch it self-consciously. “Do you mind that I’m so unpracticed?”

Aemond seems to find the notion ludicrous. “No. No, of course not.”

“But you’ll have to teach me everything.”

“That’s how I want it to be. I’m of the belief that if two people wish to be together, there should be no other parties involved. I had meant to be pure for you. I’m sorry I’m not. It is a regret of mine that I carry always. It is a failing.”

You shake your head, sensing his distress as if it is your own: a gnawing anxiety, a sickening drop in your belly. “It wasn’t your fault, Aemond.”

“So I am forgiven?”

“I never considered it to be a transgression.”

“Oh. Good.” His mood lifts; there is a phantom of a smile on his lips and a lightness in his stride as he takes a taunting step towards the stone bench where you sit. “And how do you feel? After what happened last night before dinner?”

And you grin with glinting eyes as you answer, setting your book aside: “Still hungry.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Seven days on a ship, and you don’t speak to Aemond once.

The weather is bad, grey and windy, sometimes snow, sometimes sleet, sometimes hail that pelts the wooden deck, and the vessel rocks in bleak violent waves. Aemond had arranged for the ship to meet him near Heart’s Home, where the glacial mountain river flows into the Narrow Sea, where you used to collect seashells to shatter and rearrange into the faces of the people you left in your old life. He had known you would not be able to travel by dragon. And so now Vhagar flies somewhere out there in the cold iron-colored sky and Aemond stalks below deck, haunting your doorway, painting the walls with his shadow.

A maester prods your ribs and says some are fractured but they will heal with rest and time. He gives you tastes of milk of the poppy—just enough to sand the edges off the pain so you can sleep—and compliments the cleanness of your scar. Two maids bring you meals and help you dress, wash the soot and blood from your skin, comb your hair. But Aemond does not touch you. He tries once as the maester is examining you, and you look at him with hatred that is primal and infernal and black like volcanic glass, and he snatches his hands away and makes no further attempts. But he watches you, and he waits, and he tries to piece the truth together. You can feel the bewildered turmoil in him. The ricochets of it echo in the mausoleum of your skull.

When you are awake, you stare at the ceiling or at the floor. When you are asleep, you dream of Jace and Luca. They turn to torrents of blood in your arms, or crumble into ash, or are buried in the earth and you are digging for them with your bare hands. You dream that you are locked in a closet or a trunk and no one ever comes to let you out. You dream that you are at the bottom of the ocean in cages of leviathan skeletons, dragons that lived and died before Vermax or Dreamfyre, before Meraxes, before Balerion the Black Dread, before any of the beasts that perished in the Doom of Valyria. You dream that Helaena is falling from the sky and you cannot catch her, cannot save her. You dream that Mother is telling you that you’ve failed.

Then you wake one dreary morning and hear the sailors shouting that land is in sight, and you climb up out of the depths of the ship and stagger to the bow, hooking your fingers into the rigging to steady yourself as the ship pitches and reels in rough surf. Aemond is standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, his black coat drenched with rain and sea spray, his scarred face far away, miles away, years away. Out of the mist rise the dark jagged walls of the castle that sits atop the island of Dragonstone, where Aegon the Conqueror once plotted his invasion of Westeros.

You ask: “What did you do with him?”

Aemond whirls, stunned that you have spoken at last. His silver hair, half-tied back, hangs in long dripping waves. Your own blows wildly around you. “What did you say?”

“The baby. His body. You took him away from me. What did you do with him?”

“He was burned as a Targaryen.” Aemond’s voice goes quiet, gentle. “Not because Jace was one, but because you are. His ashes were cast into the sea.”

Aemond waits for you to respond. You don’t, you can’t. You close your eyes and see Luca swaddled in one of his blankets; you feel Jace’s dark curls threading through your fingers.

Aemond reaches tentatively for your arm. “Red, I…I didn’t…I never would have…”

You turn away from him and walk from the bow to the stern—your cracked ribs aching, the maids fluttering around you and chastising your sodden ink-colored dress, saying you will catch a chill and die, and if you did you wouldn’t care—and you wait there for the ship to dock.

When you step onto Dragonstone, it’s the first time you’ve returned to the island since you were a child and you tried to claim Vermithor. You don’t understand why Aemond has brought you here, and you don’t ask. You follow the pathway up towards the castle as Aemond trails silently after you like a shadow. Behind him, the maester and your new maids trudge begrudgingly up the countless stone steps and shudder when they hear the distant snarls of the beasts that have lairs here. Cold frothing waves thrash against the shoreline. Gulls circle high overhead, squawking mournfully. Magma flows beneath the black-glass rock; you can feel the radiating heat of it, scorching blood in the arteries of the earth.

Just inside the castle, someone is waiting for you. And it is the first time you’ve truly been roused since Aemond and Vhagar descended upon Heart’s Home.

“Aegon!” you shout, and he rushes to you as swiftly as he can, his walking stick tapping against the floor, his muscles straining beneath knots of scar tissue, his chipped teeth flashing white when he beams. He embraces you like a drowning man grappling for a piece of driftwood in the currents, almost knocking you off-balance. He is laughing, he is smacking graceless kisses onto your cheeks, he is marveling at your face to make sure you’re real.

“You’re alive!” he says, cackling triumphantly. “All this time we had no idea where they’d hidden you, we thought we’d never see you again, but here you are and you’re alive—”

“She’s hurt,” Aemond tells him severely. “Stop yanking her around.”

Aegon furrows his scarred forehead as he checks you for injuries. “Are you really?”

“A few broken ribs. They’ll heal.” Your fingertips go to his mangled cheeks and scalp, to what you can see of his chest. You’ve never witnessed wounds this bad on someone who lived. “Your burns…”

“They felt even worse than they look, if you can believe it. But I’m still here.”

Not all of us are. “Helaena…”

“We heard,” he says, tears glistening in his large ocean-blue eyes. He holds you one more time, more gingerly now. “And those butchers will die for it. All of them. The Bitch Queen and her aged uncle-husband and her idiot children too.” He steps back from you and looks to Aemond. “Our spies have brought word from the mainland. The people of King’s Landing are in open rebellion, they blame Rhaenyra for Helaena’s death. If they can get into the Red Keep, they’ll murder her and free Mother. The Hightower army will soon cross the Blackwater Rush.”

“Daeron knows to wait?” Aemond replies.

“A raven has been sent. I can’t say if he’ll listen.”

“He’d better. Tessarion may have proven herself quick and ferocious, but she is small. She must not fly against Silverwing and Syrax alone.”

“I told him!” Aegon says, exasperated. He means: What else can I do about it? He is still clutching his stick and leaning heavily upon it. He can’t fight as a soldier; he can barely even walk. “So what happened at Heart’s Home? Were the bastard and Vermax there? Did you kill him? Did he beg for you to spare his life, did he weep for the memory of poor pathetic little Luke Strong?”

Aemond doesn’t respond. He winces instead, then shakes his head like he’s telling Aegon to stop talking. You look down at the stone floor, and in the relentless grey gloom of the castle, the island, you feel the white-hot searing of grief and fury in your throat, and if you were a dragon it would not be invisible but a fire that consumes flesh all the way down to its bones.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon asks Aemond, alarmed. “What did you do?”

There are echoing footsteps on the stone staircase, and you are startled to see a woman descending. You’ve never met her before, and you would know if you had; her skin is like moonlight and her pale eyes wide and staring. Black hair hangs to her waist, and it makes you think of swaying branches of a willow tree, or strands of seaweed washing up on the beach outside the Red Keep, or feathers of ravens. She wears a velvet gown the color of moss. Her belly is rounded, just beginning to show. She rests a little white paw of a hand on it and studies you curiously, tilting her head. She is four or five months pregnant.

You gape at her, then turn to Aemond and Aegon, both of whom have averted their eyes. “Whose child is that?”

No one answers you. Instead, Aemond says to the woman briskly: “Your insights were accurate. You will be rewarded accordingly. At the conclusion of the war, you will take up residence at Harrenhal. Until then, you will make yourself scarce here.”

She curtseys; it is a strange, awkward motion, angles in all the wrong places. “Yes, my prince.” But she hesitates before leaving, still watching you. As she strokes the arc of her belly, things kindle in her coin-silver eyes like embers exposed to air: fascination, envy, a vague vicarious fondness. You stare back, thunderstruck. Her long fingernails are filthy with soil or ash.

Whose child? Aemond’s?

You cannot ignore a sharp, nauseous lurch in your own belly, a place where no life grows. Beside you, Aemond is palpably uneasy. You can feel it sweating out of his pores, you can hear it in the sick thudding pulse of his bloodstream. You are reminded of a confession he once brought to you in the garden of the Red Keep as you sat under the shadow of an arbor of scarlet roses.

“Back to the kitchen, witch,” Aegon flings at the woman. “Or the garden, or the cliffsides, or wherever you were haunting before your intrusion.”

She points a talon-like fingernail at you as she begins to ascend the steps. “She is here, but is she yours again?”

“Out!” Aegon barks, and when she has vanished he sighs wearily, as if this is a recurring inconvenience.

You look at Aemond, repulsed, bewildered, betrayed. He says: “Come with me and I’ll explain.”

For a moment, you do not acquiesce. You only glare savagely at him, and if this was before he left King’s Landing a year ago—before Rook’s Rest, before Rhaenyra seized the city and imprisoned you, before Heart’s Home, before your marriage to Jace, before Luca—Aemond would grab you and drag you to wherever he wanted you to be, and he would know that when you fought him you didn’t mean it. But he doesn’t touch you now.

Instead he implores you in a hushed voice: “Please.” And you follow him out of the grey and into the flickering amber light of the Chamber of the Painted Table, where a sweltering hearth crackles and candles burn down into pools of white wax. Westeros is illuminated by fire, like all the places Aemond has burned over the past year. There are chairs positioned around the table. You sit by the Vale; Aemond takes his place across from you near the Reach, where the Hightowers hail from, where your youngest brother Daeron has spent the war waging his battles and torching his enemies. A maid brings two goblets of red wine. You can’t drink it, just like Helaena couldn’t eat blackberry jam after Jaehaerys was beheaded in front of her. Aemond watches you push the cup away and then tells the maid to bring cider instead. You wait without speaking, the only sounds the splitting of wood in the fire and the rumble of the ocean outside and the distant growls of dragons. When the maid reappears with cider, it is a cloudy goldish color and hot and tastes of fermented apples. You sip it listlessly. The maid departs and closes the door behind her.

“It was an exchange,” Aemond says.

“An exchange?”

“Her name is Alys Rivers, she is a bastard of House Strong. I found her working in the kitchen when I took Harrenhal. She is an enchantress, she has some magic to her, just like we do. She said she might be able to help me find you. But she needed something in return. A son, a child built of our ancient Valyrian blood. An heir, a castle, a future. And since Aegon has been rendered impotent by his injuries, and Daeron is far away in the Reach and still a boy himself…”

“You lied with her?”

“Well, I’ve done it before,” Aemond says. And then, when you don’t immediately grasp what he means: “Been with a woman who wasn’t of my choosing.” He draws invisible paths on the Painted Table with his fingerprints. Firelight ripples across his face: a downcast eye, a scar to match the one that cuts down from your left collarbone. “She scoured the woods surrounding the Gods Eye for herbs, and feathers and bones, and all manner of strange talismans. She tried for months to conjure a vision. Then one day she saw it in the flames of the hearth: three black ravens, three red hearts. The sigil of House Corbray of Heart’s Home.”

“And for her services you promised her Harrenhal.”

Aemond nods. “She and her descendants will rule it as House Whent.”

“A new noble house?” you mock bitterly. “And what will its banners be? A burning castle? The charred skeletons of its murdered inhabitants?”

“No,” Aemond says quietly. “Bats.”

You look at him. His blue eye flicks up to your face again, to your black mourning gown—you will wear no other colors—and your unbraided silver hair that drips with rain and seawater.

Aemond asks after a while: “Do you like wearing your hair that way now?”

Distractedly, you touch the damp silver tresses that are unbound, soft and feminine and weak. “Jace told me I wasn’t a warrior. He wanted me to look like a lady.”

“You were wed to him,” Aemond says as if he still cannot comprehend it.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon after Rhaenyra took King’s Landing. It was Mother’s proposal. She convinced Rhaenyra to agree to it.”

Aemond is lost. “Why? He was a bastard, a traitor.”

You flinch. “Mother thought it would encourage the Blacks to spare us if they won the war. Rhaenyra thought it would give her heir legitimacy. Neither Jace nor I wanted the match.”

“But now you…you miss him? You mourn for him?”

“We grew accustomed to each other. There was true affection, there was warmth.”

“Did he…were you…?” Aemond cannot decide how to say it, or perhaps he just can’t bring himself to. You can tell—from the way his gaze drops from your face to your body, a mystery cloaked in soaked black velvet—that he is thinking of your wedding night, something you were supposed to share, something you spoke of often with desperate, willful, blazing yearning. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not purposefully.”

There is a flare of wrath. “It needn’t have hurt at all.”

“Why did you come after me?” you ask, and your voice breaks and tears spill down your cheeks, and your ribs throb and your throat is full of fire like a dragon’s. “Why did you kill all those people in the Riverlands, why did you burn Heart’s Home, why couldn’t you just…just…just leave me there?” Luca and Jace would still be alive. Lady Caro would still be alive. Tens of thousands of people wouldn’t have burned or starved.

Aemond is incredulous. His voice grows louder; firelight engulfs him like he is drowning in a lake of it. “I swore I would find you if you were ever taken away.”

“I waited for you. I wondered where you were. I stood in the rookery and stared out into the Mountains of the Moon and agonized over why you couldn’t hear me or see me, why you didn’t arrive on Vhagar to save me, but you never came, and so I tried to forget the promises we made to each other because I believed you’d forgotten me—”

“I never forgot you.”

“But I was different!” you sob, bolting to your feet, pressing a palm to the glow of the Painted Table. “With Jace, I was different! I learned to be his wife, I learned to be a mother, and I was fine there, I was safe and I was happy and you destroyed my life!”

“I could feel that you were in pain,” Aemond is saying as he stands and rounds the table to meet you. “It was months ago, it must have been when you…when you were in labor…physically, I could feel it, I thought they were torturing you, I thought you were dying, and how would I know anything else if all I’d been told was that you were stolen by the enemy? You think Daemon is above depravity? You think it’s so unreasonable that I believed you to be in peril?!”

“You were reckless and cruel,” you seethe, shoving him away. “You always are. You’re always killing people.”

“When I flew over Heart’s Home, I knew you were in the forest. I saw the trees through your eyes. I thought I was freeing you, I never anticipated that you would return to the castle. I didn’t know you cared for the lives of anyone inside.”

“You should have left me there,” you choke out through tears.

Aemond tries to take your hands, and again you strike him hard, meaning it, hating him. “I would never have abandoned you,” he says.

“Why not?!” you scream at him. “Because you believe you possess me like a sword or a jewel, because it is sacrilege to let another man touch me?!”

Aemond is shaking his head. “It’s more than that. You know it is.”

You scoff at him, vengeful cynical disbelief. “In eighteen years, you never once told me you loved me—”

He seizes your wrist, drags you to him, cradles your face with his left hand and skates his thumbprint over the crest of your cheekbone. “I have loved you forever,” he says. “And if I didn’t express that in a way you understood then it was my mistake, and I’m sorry, and I’d do anything to change it. I thought you knew. I thought we both knew that…that…” Aemond’s lone eye gleams desperately; he is pleading for you to hear him. “Do you have any idea what this past year has been like for me? It was hell. Aegon almost died at Rook’s Rest and I brought him back but I was alone, I had Criston and maesters and soldiers but I was still alone because Aegon was unconscious and you weren’t there, and neither were Helaena or Daeron. Then King’s Landing fell to Rhaenyra and there was nothing I could do about it until I was sure Aegon would live, and when I learned you’d been taken away…I set the realm ablaze, I waded through an ocean of blood, and I did it because I swore that I would find you and bring you home. And now I have but you…you…you don’t even recognize me. It’s like you don’t remember what we were. Only I carry it now, I’m cursed by it, I’m consumed by it.”

You break away from him and Aemond lets you go, but he follows you around the Painted Table, shadowing you, chasing you. You pitch at him: “You were always so rough with me.”

“Because you wanted it that way and I did too, we craved it, we needed it, we’re the same.”

“You liked that I didn’t have a dragon of my own, you aspired for me to be helpless—”

“No I didn’t,” Aemond insists. “I tried to help you claim Vermithor, right here on this fucking island I risked my life when we were children to pursue him with you. And he did not yield but I wasn’t to blame for it. I cannot give you a dragon. You have to bond with one yourself.”

You glower at him, swiping tears from your streaming eyes. “You hardly ever spoke of dragons to me.”

“Because I knew it pained you! Because I have felt the agony of being a Targaryen without a dragon and I didn’t want to remind you of it!”

“You should have left me with Jace at Heart’s Home,” you moan, collapsing into a chair and weeping into your open palms. “I would still have my son. I would still have my family.”

Across the table, Aemond slams his fists against the wood. “Jace could never fathom who you really are. It’s impossible. He wasn’t like us, he’s wasn’t one of us. We are Aegon and Visenya, we are Baelon and Alyssa. Jace wasn’t a Valyrian. He was a Strong, and part of you would have needed to die to live with him.”

You stare desolately down at the Painted Table, glowing golden lines in the shape of the Vale. “Jace hated that I loved you. You hate that I loved him. I’m always at fault, and yet my crimes are so harmless.”

Aemond is staggered; he is heartbroken. “You loved him?”

I told him I did. “I felt something for him. I grew to miss him in his absence. I desired him when he returned.”

Aemond goes to the hearth, rests one hand on the stone mantle, and gazes into the flames. You can feel it like an echo, like a reverberating tremor in the earth: he is broken. You cannot summon compassion for him. Each time you begin to, you feel the still lifeless weight of Luca in your arms. After a long time, Aemond speaks. “I have to return to the Riverlands. I can’t leave Criston unprotected. Daemon and the Northmen will meet our armies in battle soon. Vhagar and I have to be there. If I can kill Caraxes, I think this will be over.”

You turn to him, dimly startled. “You’re going now?”

“I have to make the world safe for us and our family. Even if I’m not here anymore.” Aemond studies you, afraid to ask the question that burns in his throat. “Do you…” He breathes deeply, salt and misery and smoke from the fire. “Do you still want our side to win?”

“I hate what we’ve done to each other. All of us.” The dead innocents, the destruction of our house, the extinction of our dragons. “And you murdering Luke started it.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees softly. He crosses the room and stalls in the doorway, looking back at you. He waits for you to say that you will miss him, or that if he returns there might yet be a future for the two of you, or that you will be distraught if he is killed in combat, or that you love him.

As the fire pops and crackles, you shrink into your wet black mourning clothes and say nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sprawled across the volcanic-rock throne in the nightscape gloom of the Great Hall of Dragonstone, Aegon gulps cider until his pain vanishes and his mind is a dull sloshing sea. You are slumped on the steps beside the throne and drinking with him. Neither of you speak it aloud, but it stands in the room like a ghost: you have both held a dead son in your arms, you have both lost a husband or a wife to this war. Torches burn along the walls. Outside, rain pours and the dragons creep and snarl. Sunfyre is here too, Aegon has told you. He can’t fly yet—perhaps he never will again—but he is alive and hostilely defends the cave where he dwells from the other creatures of the island: Grey Ghost, Vermithor, the Cannibal.

The Blacks believe Dragonstone to be abandoned, and in any event they are too preoccupied with their myriad of troubles in the Riverlands and King’s Landing to take it upon themselves to investigate, and so you are safe for the time being. You get drunk in the home of your ancestors, the Valyrians who carved out a stark, grim existence here, who dreamed of greatness, who despite all their magic failed to foretell their ruin.

“Do you know what he asked Sylvi?” Aegon slurs. “The woman from the brothel. Not the very first time, the first time…” Aegon smiles nostalgically. “Well, it’s like your first time riding a dragon. It takes you away and you’re just…” His hand flows in the shape of a wave. “Holding on. Mesmerized by it.”

“Sure,” you say, remembering not your wedding night with Jace but the evening when Aemond dragged you halfway out of the chair by your vanity and licked you, swallowed you, devoured you until you could not help but cry out, and you sank to the floor with your heartbeat thudding in your ears and Aemond lying beside you, smoothing back your hair from your burning face.

“Aemond only went to Sylvi a few more times after that. But she told me what his requests were when I inquired.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “He wanted to know how to make it good for a maiden. And who do you imagine he was thinking of?”

You don’t reply. You guzzle your cider instead. You want all of your bones to stop aching: your ribs, your skull, every place that Aemond ever touched you. You feel a strange smoldering inside, like all your bone marrow has been quarried and replaced with embers, pulsing, glowing. You feel something dangerous and primordial drawing closer.

“He never would have hurt you intentionally,” Aegon says gently, clumsily petting your loose silver hair as if you are one of the hundred cats Grandsire brought to the Red Keep after Jaehaerys was slain. “He worships you. He always has.”

“I can’t forget what he did.”

“Can you forgive yourself for letting him leave that way? If he dies thinking that you hate him?”

You swallow a mouthful of cider, hot and intoxicating. The room spins. Lightning flashes outside. “Maybe I do.”

“No, you don’t hate him,” Aegon says rather wistfully, with the solemn surety of drunks.

Alys Rivers wanders into the Great Hall, the train of her dark green gown whispering over the stone floor. Aegon scowls at her. She stops at one of the misted glass windows and gazes out into the storm.

“He flies to his death,” Alys murmurs sorrowfully, as if she wishes she could change it.

Aegon groans. “Shut up, witch.”

“Above the Gods Eye, the red and the blue, tangled threads cut by fate—”

“Be gone!” Aegon shouts and hurls his goblet of cider at her. It misses, strikes the wall, clatters to the floor and spills its contents in a puddle. Alys does not seem to notice. You sit upright on the steps by Aegon’s throne, watching her.

“He flies to his death,” she repeats, melodically like a chant or a spell. “Unless, unless…”

Alys looks at you, then turns to peer through the window again. Outside in the darkness, a monstrous beast growls, not Sunfyre or Grey Ghost or Vermithor.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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david-talks-sw · 4 months ago

Text

Woah there. Coming in a little hot. Take a step back, take stock, and chill. Even when we're discussing (read: "arguing") about stuff, it's Star Wars. It's a fictional universe. We're talking about movies and TV shows and comics aka... having fun.

(Which is advice that applies to me too, for the record)

That said, you trimmed out what I said, so I'll copy-paste it below (blue text) before expanding.

For context, someone said that (paraphrasing) the clones are referred to as “property of the Republic” by Shaak Ti in an argument with Nala Se regarding Fives and there is no rejoinder, so this acknowledgment of the clones being property of the Republic makes the Jedi complicit in their enslavement, as they partake in a flagrantly immoral command structure that sent slave soldiers to their deaths.

My response:

Tone and context are everything. There's an intonation on the word "property" when Shaak Ti says it. She isn't saying:

"Fives is property of the Republic."

She's saying:

"Correction! Technically, Fives is 'property' of the Republic."

She's taking Nala Se's cold, callous term and turning it around on Se with a technicality to score a point and pull rank, in order to save Fives' life. The subtext isn't "Fives is my slave," it's "you don't get to take this living being's life without my say-so."

Ti is regurgitating Nala Se's lingo to tell her to shut the fuck up.

In-universe, "there is no rejoinder" because Fives is aware of this subtext and knows Shaak Ti's in his corner. His life was on the line and Shaak Ti saved him.

Out-of-universe, "there is no rejoinder" because it's the ending of a 22-minute episode from a children's TV show 😃 and the point of the scene isn't to argue semantics about the ownership of the clones it's to save Fives' life. The beats of the scene can be boiled down to:

Nala Se argues fervently for Fives to die.

Shaak Ti is like "stfu no, I'm taking him to Coruscant"

Fives is grateful that Shaak Ti saved his life.

If the argument Nala Se used was, I dunno... "he must be terminated because the virus is contagious" then the beats of the scene would play out the same. Because again: the narrative, the story being told in this episode, ends with Shaak Ti coming in with the clutch and saving Fives.

The lore/sci-fi-ness of it all are mere details to move this children's story along.

You can read the rest of my response here, but since then, the user expanded on their point, explaining that while they acknowledge that Fives knows Shaak Ti's in his corner, what they meant is that there is no rejoinder from Nala Se. If it wasn't true that Fives was "property of the Republic", Nala Se would have said so in her cold and clinical terms.

Thus, for them, the point still stands.

And, uh, I'm not sure it does. Because the episode right before, Nala Se does counter Shaak Ti's argument by saying "nu-uh, the clones are property of the Kaminoans and we're leasing them to you."

So at some point, we either:

Point and go "IT'S A PLOT HOLE, BAD WRITING!" and acknowledge the point is thus moot.

Headcanon our way through this, theorizing that this point of semantics was argued by Shaak Ti and Nala Se and subsequently solved off-screen, in-between the two episodes. In which case, Shaak Ti's word on the subject is indeed final.

Acknowledge that this is a 22-minute story for kids, it was the end of the episode, and they needed Shaak Ti to come up with a technicality so as to save Fives without seeming unreasonable, and this is the best the writers could come up with.

I'm gonna go ahead and take option #3.

But, anon, this reaction of yours does open the door on a bigger point I've argued before.

All I did was bring proper context back to Shaak Ti's words, when they had been taken out of it.

And in discussion about the Jedi, this gets done very often. A sentence - or even words within one - will get plucked out of context and lore or fanon will form around it.

Here's some examples.

"Obi-Wan said that Anakin is pathetic!"

Context:

A pathetic life form.

He's comparing Anakin to Jar Jar, y'all.

AKA someone who had been exiled and was later about to be executed when they found him. AKA someone who has pathos, who inspires pity. Aka someone PATHETIC.

George himself describes Vader as pathetic.

That's because "pathetic" isn't just a judgmental term.

Resulting interpretation: Obi-Wan isn't saying Anakin is "ew, pathetic!" he's disagreeing with Qui-Gon's tendency to pick up strays and fails to see the point of them tagging along on the mission. He is proved wrong later and this ties in to his character arc about learning to see the value in listening to Guide archetype characters like Jar Jar or Ep. 1 Anakin.

"Yoda said the Jedi are arrogant."

Context:

Obi-Wan is bitching about Anakin being arrogant due to being so skillful, and Yoda tells Obi-Wan:

Resulting interpretation: Yoda is speaking in riddles, as per usual. He's being cheeky and implicitly telling Obi-Wan that he can be arrogant too sometimes, in his own Yoda-esque way.

Yoda is not "lamenting how far the Jedi have fallen". It's just another way of saying "we're all human, nobody's perfect."

"Mace said he doesn't trust Anakin."

Context:

Obi-Wan: “Anakin did not take to his assignment with much enthusiasm.” Mace: “It’s very dangerous putting them [Anakin & Palpatine] together. I don’t think the boy can handle it.”

Resulting interpretation: Anakin - not, by his own admission, the most subtle Jedi - is being asked to secretly spy on someone he considers a close friend, a mentor, a father even... aka someone who'll read Anakin like an open book (which is exactly what ends up happening).

Would you trust Anakin with that mission?

Because I sure as hell wouldn't. And that's what Mace is saying.

If it's "fucking disgusting" to point out the context in each of the above situations, during a Star Wars analysis or discussion, I fail to see why.

#QnA #Shaak Ti #long post #discussion

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valenteal · 11 days ago

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The story of Anakin Skywalker is about how anyone can break under enough pressure. It isn’t a tragedy about an inevitable doom, it isn’t about how power corrupts or about how caring is dangerous. It’s about how no matter how good and kind and selfless and seemingly invincible someone is they still have needs and they can still be hurt.

Maybe this is because Phantom Menace is my favorite Star Wars movie and so I have rewatched it a million times, but for me Anakin is the most genuinely caring and selfless character in Star Wars. He wasn’t just an innocent kid (kids can be cruel and selfish and they’re usually better when they grow up not worse) he was compassionate and kind and despite growing up surrounded by some of the worst scum in the galaxy he knew nothing of greed. That says so much about his character.

Anakin’s fall to the dark side took over a decade of carful manipulation that culminated in cascade of tragedy and loss. It wasn’t an accident. Every bit of the emotional trauma, physical trauma, and mental trauma from the moment Anakin met Palpatine and on ward was planned. We don’t see the decade he spent between Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones but immediately in the second movie we see how much Anakin has changed. Where he used to be confident he’s insecure, where he used to bold and fearless he is now arrogant, where he was once inquisitive he is now cautiously enthusiastic, where he used to build he now destroys. Every change in his behavior and outlook is the result of either the teachings of the Jedi Order which are pretty much the antithesis of his entire personality, the result of Sidious’s manipulation, or the result of the toxic attitudes of many Jedi towards him.

Now I know a lot of people have… misconceptions about what the Jedi Order is and what they stand for. It’s understandable, since I guess a lot of people think of Luke as an everything a Jedi is supposed to be but he is NOT, he wasn’t even taught their philosophy! Yoda and Windu and Luminara are everything a Jedi is meant to be. They take an impersonal approach to justice, they treat others coldly, they believe themselves to be above petty things like emotion and pain and human connection. There are Jedi who take a more progressive stance like Obi-Wan and Quinlan and Qui-Gon but you have to understand that they are not model Jedi and have their own struggles with the Order and its teachings. The Jedi code literally says “There is no emotion.” That is what Jedi strive for. And that isn’t even getting into the genocide or the politics. Focusing on how this affected Anakin. That’s what I’m doing.

Anyway, Anakin is a deeply emotional person. This is not a bad thing. It’s the source of his conviction and his empathy (which a surprising amount of Jedi lack). Anakin feels deeply, so he feels love and anger and sadness more keenly than Jedi who have worked their whole lives to shut off emotion. And he was never taught how to deal with it. The most the Jedi did was tell him to meditate, release his emotions into the Force, focus on the present or other platitudes that do not help! I would know. I’m also a deeply emotional person who feels things very keenly to the point where I had a full psychological evaluation when I was 6 years old. When a person deals with this it NEEDS to be addressed. I have wonderful parents who did everything in their power to help me from a young age and I still ended up suicidal! Anakin did not get help and was instead shamed for feeling so strongly and he ended up bottling it up. People complain about how he was “whiny” and I (a person who has also been called whiny) just go what the fuck do you expect?? Expressing his frustration verbally is literally the healthiest option he has! And we know what it looks like when he chooses other forms of venting! Anakin vented to Padmé almost immediately after reconnecting with her because she is literally the only person in his life who will listen to him (other than Sidious but he makes things worse on purpose).

So yeah. Sensitive people need to be taught how to deal with their emotions in healthy ways. Really everyone does but especially people with strong emotions.

But when Anakin isn’t overwhelmed by emotions he doesn’t have the tools to deal with, or surrounded by toxic people, or being actively manipulated by an evil dictator, that’s when you see who he really is. Which means pretty much all of Phantom Menace, a good chunk of the time he’s alone with Padmé, and… nothing else really. (I’m just going to say here that I am not including Clone Wars Anakin due to the purposeful butchering of his character. I still consider the show canon in everything but Anakin’s characterization in a lot of specific instances.)

Anakin has never been a selfish person. The things people perceive as selfish are his needs. He needs unconditional love. He needs Padmé because she is the only person who gives him that. Even without getting into his psychology and bpd and what a splitting episode is, it isn’t hard to recognize that when he places Padmé’s safety above other people’s it’s an act of self preservation more than self interest. He knows that he would literally go crazy without her. After years of being systematically isolated and traumatized she is the only thing keeping him together. In his desperation to save her and consequently his own sanity he lost both those things. But it’s important to note that he tried to do things right, that he went to Yoda for help, that he told Padmé so she could take her own steps to ensure her health. He did everything he could think of before getting desperate enough to go to Sidious. Not to mention he did everything right after discovering Sidious’s identity. It wasn’t until he was presented with a false dichotomy that boiled down to choosing his mentor and confidant of over a decade and his wife’s life or the man who has scored and distrusted him since he was child that he made the objectively wrong choice. And that was after not sleeping for weeks and having a traumatizing realization that triggered a splitting episode so he wasn’t in a head space to understand what was going on in an objective way.

So yeah. That’s my rant about Anakin Skywalker. If you want to comment or debate know that I will reply with an explanation of my thoughts that could be just as long as this post and that I will not stop until you do. You will not get the last word. I feel very strongly about this and if you’ve gotten this far you have to know that I have thought very deeply about this as well. I have heard every argument. You will not change my mind. I have done research. Engaging with this post to disagree will only lead to me expanding on this even more because this is really a brief summary of all my thoughts and feelings on the matter. If you’re just curious about the rest of my thoughts and feelings just ask.

Don’t try to attack my own morals and character because of this, I am NOT condoning Anakin’s actions or behavior, I am completely aware that he is a deeply damaged and unstable person. The point of this is not to deny that but to explain why Anakin is not naturally like that. The scariest thing about Anakin’s fall is that it happened to Anakin, a paragon of compassion and selflessness. Anyone put under the amount of pressure he was would go crazy. I doubt many people would last as long as Anakin did. He was insanely strong to resist for as long as he did.

#anakin skywalker #star wars meta #star wars #character analysis #analysis #meta analysis #darth vader #jedi #the jedi order #the jedi code #the jedi code is bullshit #disclaimer: im not a psychologist #i wrote this instead of sleeping #its 5 am now wtf i need to sleep

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threepandas · 7 months ago

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Bad End, Chosen: Part 4

Back <- | -> Next

The Cycles never "loaded" back in at quite the same point. It was something I had noticed, though I had only suffered a few of them so far. It was like the God's were hoping "Chapter" to "Chapter", fickle and easily bored, trying desperately to find something NEW.

It made planning all but impossible.

Where... where was I?

A simple room. A suitcase before me. Loading or unloading? I held a robe in my hands. Painfully familiar. I had worn them for years. The highly protective robes of Mage initiates, at the Magic Tower. Meant to work as armor, life support, even... God's forbid, an emergency beacon. They were hideous. Function over form.

I could cry, for how deeply I loved these ugly robes.

No one had EVER been able to figure out how to style them properly. God's know, we had TRIED. But when The Dark came? This ugly, ugly things? These long complained about hand-me-downs? Oh... oh they had saved so, SO many student's lives.

Such tiny little things. Pulled from the rubble, still breathing. All because of these chaotic, gaudy, terribly comfortable and so deeply loved, old robes. T...They truely were as hideous as I remembered, weren't they? Blocks upon blocks of overlapping stitches and patches, too many colors, as though the tower was too stubborn to throw as single thing away.

We were.

We... we NEVER leave anything or anyONE behind.

Packrats, all of us. Such terrible hoarders. But... I looked around. It did not tell me the date. Was I leaving? Joining the tower? How old was I supposed to be? I pulled on my robes.

It felt like coming home. Like balm against the raw nerves of my still fragile mind. I felt old. Brittle. At... at terrible odds, with my young skin. I wondered if this was how she felt. The woman, the poor girl, that came before me. Before she broke so badly even the God's could not force her to perform. I did not want to admit I understood the impulse.

Ah, there.

I had once, what felt like lifetimes ago. What WAS lifetimes ago. Bought this very calander. It was cute. Little fairy dragons danced upon the edges, delicate and joyous. They were, of course, incorrectly drawn. The artist had never seen a real fairy dragon, only heard of them. I had seen some during the war.

People forget that neither the Fae nor Dragons are sweet or gentle things.

They were... Awe inspiring. In the oldest sense of the world. "An overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, and fear." I believe the text defined it. Like living starlight and glass, sung poetry and water. They were the fury of long dead gods and the vengeance of beings who were divine unto themselves.

They removed an entire MOUNTAIN RANGE before they fell. Burned and reduced to molten earth, an entire inland sea. They died like STARS. Violently and with a force that destroyed the void itself. Consuming all that dared stand in their shadow.

Ha. And people think they're CUTE.

Ah...my mind is wandering again. I try to concentrate on the calendar. My... my mind doesn't want too. Oh dear. That's... that's probably a rather bad sign, isn't it?

Opening my eyes at the beginning of the cycle had brough such... CLARITY. As though my head had been held under murky water and finally, FINALLY, I was able to scramble free. But... much like the drowned... I felt something like a high. Adrift. Without my anchor. I wanted my Gran-...

NO.

I grab the dresser before me. Hard enough my knuckles go white. My wide eyes focus far away. Seeing without seeing. Hyperfocused on the woodgrain before me. I am my OWN anchor. Feel the magic in your veins. The push and pull of the world. We are not his slave! Not his PET, to keep and cherish. A toy on a shelf.

I am a PERSON.

I DEFY MY FATE.

A cheerful knock at the door to my room. My eyes finally focusing on the date. Fuck. Moving IN, then. I do not know if I can act "normal". I... I will have to try. I can not unclench my jaw, but with great force of will, finger by finger, I release my grip on the dresser. Stand up. Glance up into the mirror.

I look like I am some hateful little thing, vowing some ugly little vengeance. Perhaps it is just my face. The way anger and spite only barely holds my bleeding edges together. My fear. I...I look like I am about to cry.

What a wretched child.

I try to force a smile.

It looks hideous. More ugly grimace and deep disgust then "oh, Master, how pleased I am to see you!". Fuck. When did I become so broken? A knock again. More hesitant. I breathe deep. I can not do cheerful, then. But...I... I can do nothing.

My face slides into an emotionless mask. Blank. Like a doll. Vaguely pleasant but meaningless. How damningly familiar. Gran-... HE reduced me to this in the end. A few steps. Almost distant, robotic, movement. And I open the door to a once familiar face.

"Learner." My Master smiles, awkward and uncertain. He had not wanted a student. I forced his hand. I know now I never should have done so. He was not ready. "Are you, um, settling? In? I know it is quite different from the life you once lived, but I promise. I will tale care of you. Well figure this out together."

Oh, Master.

I...I wish I could weep. I had forgotten this lie. How deeply I had once believed it. It was a child's promise, from a man who grew old but never, truely, grew up. I was to be failed again and again. Had once given him chance after chance. Because I had believed his words. My eyes feel hot. He looks panicked.

"Ah! W-what did I do? Was that wrong? Please don't cry?! Oh no! Uuuuh-!"

"Well THIS is a record. Not even a day and you've made the child weep." Comes a terrible voice. No. Please, Gods. Not so soon. "Here I am, come to greet my precious Grandlearner. And what do I find? My student, tormenting a child."

My Master sputters defenses of himself. Not even noticing that his own Master did not call him Learner. All but disowned him before me. My fear howls like a deafening beast in my ears. But... cowering? Will not... can not save me. Turning my head is almost painful, with how tightly my muscles have tensed.

That is not the look of a man who does not recognize me.

He remembers.

Alaric Blight stands in truely magnificent Tower Master's robes, as though he has every right to be there. Respected. Beloved. A legendary talent, the likes of which have not been seen for lifetimes. ANYONE would be HONORED to be in his presence. After all... he is a man who holds the world at his feet.

He is a monster.

"Hello Grandlearner," he all but purrs. Stalking forward to loom, as only an adult CAN loom over a child. The power difference between is even greater now. I can not even count myself an ant before him. I... I can not breathe. "What a delicate little thing you are. Utterly precious. And so SMALL! You certainly have a lot of training to do, don't you?"

His hand reaches forward to cup my cheek, sparks of deadly magic dancing lazily across my skin too finely for Master to notice, but not so fine I can not FEEL. It is a subtle threat. A little reminder. Not a single soul in this tower is safe, so long as he is here. All it would take? Is.. Just. One. Touch~

"I'm sure you'll BEHAVE for your Master, WONT you, Dear? After all, he only wants what's best for you. And a darling child like you, Grandlearner? Should be cherished."

"He's right." My Master said, clueless to the monster he let so close. Who so very dispised him. "But... but Master, I'm not sure, well, HOW exactly..."

"Oh don't worry, student of mine." Alaric Blight, monster of my nightmares, hummed in a laughable mimicry of pleasantries. "I'll be with you EVERY step of the way. How could do anything less? We'll train my darling Grandlearner together."

A terrible grin.

"Leave everything to me."

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere otome #yanblr #yandere otome isekai #otome game #otome #platonic yandere #mage reader #Alaric Blight #bad end chosen au #bad end chosen #my man IS gonna get his Found Family #by force is necessary #which is super likely #alaric no #alaric YES! says alaric

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hey-bigday · 18 days ago

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what's that? TGS gem au!

these are honestly a bit old by now (2 month-ish? oh geez) but they have never left my head. If you want to know more, there is a massive yap wall under this cut with some lore and design ideas

First, Jekyll and Hyde's gems!

My first instinct was giving them hearts for gems, since we only ever see one Spinel in Steven Universe.

But I ended up remembering this that I read in the wiki a long time ago, that Spinels would have differently shaped gems based on playing card suits. I was suddenly hit with the fact that we do see both Jekyll and Hyde referred to with card symbolism in Just a Song at Twilight! This was very good for me, because I don't know anything about cards at all.

Jekyll also had a lot more diamonds scattered around his design– both a nod to his gem and his 'rule-following' attitude. Hyde only has the bare minimum to signify his court.

Trying to make a Sapphire is hard, and clothes are even harder, but I ended up making the choice to give Lanyon longer hair. He secretly hates it and reforms with shorter hair the first chance that he gets, but for now he has to keep up appearances

Figuring out Everly was also pretty hard, but that's mostly because she doesn't have that many appearances in the comic. I hope I got her right, even though I'm not entirely sure about making her a quartz.

Now...

LORE DUMP TIME!!!

Red Spinel (aka Henry Jekyll) was originally meant to be Pink Diamond's playmate. However, not long after her (his) creation, it became clear she was an off-color. An imperfect gem had no business being so close to a diamond, but due to the rarity and high-cost of spinels she was spared and instead sent as a 'gift' to a successful commander, Star Garnet (aka Lanyon Sir.)

Star Garnet was well-known for shaping up off-color gems into perfect fits for their roles. While this mostly earns the reputation of a fearsome leader, Star Garnet isn't actually cruel to her gems, she simply organizes thought-out training regimens to fit every gem's disabilities. Still, this exact reputation is what led to her being gifted Red Spinel. While she did not have any use for a Spinel seeing as she is war commander, she couldn't exactly refuse a gift so important as a spinel from the diamonds.

One of Star Garnet's gems that stands out the most is certainly her sapphire. Sapphires are aristocratic gems of high-standing, and so, are not under control of gems such as garnets. This sapphire, of course, is a special case. Tall where a sapphire is small, rowdy where a sapphire is calm. Sapphire (Robert Lanyon) has struggled her whole life to have a fraction of the respect a gem of her standing is supposed to have before she simply gave up. If no one is going to take her seriously for her predictions, then she'll give them a real reason.

Disrespecting orders, messing around with 'lower' gems and being generally disrespectful are Sapphire's specialty. She began to take quite a liking to interacting with the other gems in the Station: soldier, technicians... They all looked at her with the adoration befitting for a sapphire, but an adoration she had never seen directed at her before. Interacting with 'lower' gems made her feel a type of control she simply never felt in her life, and it was easy to leave once they got to attached–, or stars forbid–, accidentally tried to fuse with her. The fusions never worked, seeing as only one side felt the connection, but it was enough to prove her influence and leave gems ashamed.

Of course, things started to change with Spinel's arrival.

Seeing as Garnet had no use for a playmate, Spinel mostly walked around their space station like a particularly unnerving jester before meeting Sapphire. The two quickly hit off as Sapphire used Spinel as an excuse to escape most of the time, and Garnet mostly approved in hopes that Spinel might to Sapphire some good. The two gems ended up bonding, finding secret rooms to scurry off to and share experiences.

Spinel wasn't what Sapphire thought a spinel would be like, and Sapphire wasn't what Spinel thought a sapphire would act like. They both talked about their experiences, with Spinel admitting she wasn't particularly good at making people smile or fond of playing, not to mention her extreme curiosity for the works of peridot's (who have grow a bit scared of the red gem that keeps staring at them intensely from the shadows).

Now, while Sapphire didn't know how a spinel was actually supposed to act like, it was clear Spinel did not emerge with any knowledge of etiquette (which Sapphire actually did, another reason for her insecurities. She did everything right, so why was she never enough?) so Sapphire took upon herself to teach what she knows to Spinel, who took to the lessons like a fish in water. That's how the "gentlegem" lessons started.

As their friendship grew, so did Spinel's charm and confidence. She was a natural at being charismatic and while she wasn't a natural playmate, she was very good at boosting gem's morale with speeches and words. This completely erased most of Spinel's past reputation as 'that-one-creepy-gem', except for the peridots who were still a bit... Wary. But that's fine.

While Sapphire was a bit bitter about this (because, really, why was Spinel better at this than her, the gem who was supposed to be born for this role?) she was still floored by a torrent of new feelings as the time passed by. It didn't take long for her to realize what these feelings were. This care, this adoration, it was what those gems she so toyed with in the past felt for her. Spinel completely took away her control and didn't even realize it, and now Sapphire had to live with the consequences. She was unquestionably in love.

Even with all of these confusing feelings and the growing pressure on Sapphire, they still met up in their secret spot every few rotations. It was in one of these meetings that Sapphire took one of those fancy gadgets of recorded music that higher gems had from Pink Diamond's balls. Spinel didn't know how to dance, but Sapphire teached her. They danced, they harmonized, they glowed. Fusion was inevitable, and it felt amazing, but upon realizing what was happening their fusion immediately broke under the torrent of their feelings. Sapphire was the first one to react, and she ran, leaving Spinel dazed and alone.

Spinel tried acting like nothing happened after, and maybe Sapphire would've done so too if it wasn't for what happened next. Star Garnet came with a brand new soldier, a rose quartz (Everly Solanki), specifically to keep Sapphire in line and finally make her do her job. When Sapphire went to talk to Spinel directly and say they couldn't keep up with their arrangement anymore, Spinel was the one to leave first this time, now leaving Sapphire dazed and alone.

While Sapphire's and Rose Quartz's relationship was rocky at first, they ended up growing as friends by the end, relating to each other's struggles and expectations. Meanwhile, Spinel fell to an uneasy depression, greatly worrying her friends. This was about the time Spinel truly let herself indulge in the alchemy and technology she always loved, hoping, praying that she could find a solution that would make her less of a broken gem, a disposable clown. Studying the properties of a gem's, well, gem– Spinel manipulated what is supposed to be a gem's very being, their coding, their brain and sense of self. The injection that she delivery directly to her gems was supposed to separate herself from all that made her defective, it created Hyde instead.

I have more plans for this au– like how Jekyll didn't actually create the society before making Hyde. Star Garnet and her fleet will eventually be put in the Earth's gem war which will result in a part of her gems to mysteriously rebel and steal a ship. These gems, (which included Spinel, Sapphire and Rose) would come to make the Society in the future! Spinel would end up naturally taking a leading role in their escape and he appointed their leader. The plan would be that they settled down in a distant part of Earth's moon and would only visit the planet many years after the war was over. These visits would end up with them learning about things like names and gender so you don't have to call characters by their gems all the time, those are their dead names now! (← silly)

Thank you for anyone who had the patience to read all of this, love you all 🫶

#art #digital art #fanart #alternative universe #au #tgs gem au #the glass scientists #the glass scientists fanart #tgs robert lanyon #robert lanyon #tgs edward hyde #tgs henry jekyll #everly solanki #tgs everly solanki #steven universe au #eefs art #doodles #sketches #I haven't proofread this I hope it's not horrible

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collecting-stories · 9 months ago

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Hey hey hope I’m not too late with this 🫢

100 Compliments - #72 "You always look good."

Brian “Otis” Zvonecek x fem because Otis always does look so good in everything he wears 😍

You Always Look Good - Brian 'Otis' Zvonecek

Summary: Otis dresses up for a shift at Molly's in hopes of impressing you.

A/N: Sorry this took so long to write! School has been crazy!!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

"Look at you," Stella teased, pinching Otis' side as she walked past him behind the bar at Molly's .

Otis flinched at the feeling, shoving her hand away, as his cheeks reddened. "I look the same as I always do," he defended. Still, he straightened the button down shirt that he was wearing, navy with little pineapples printed all over it.

Stella was unbothered by Otis' defensiveness. She stopped and looked back at him, eyes traveling up and down as she assessed him. "I don't know, something different 'bout you tonight," she replied, "you do something to your hair?"

"No," he insisted, running a hand subconsciously through his hair.

Sensing his unusually high nerves, Stella offered him a smile, "okay. I'm not trying to give you a hard time, I promise."

Just like she knew he would, Otis deflated, leaning against the bar and looking toward the door of Molly's before looking back at Stella. "I've been...putting feelers out...I met someone, here. She works at the hospital and she's...she's awesome. Incredible. Gorgeous. And I just wanna ya know, look good."

Before Stella could respond to his spiral of nerves, a voice cut in from the other side of the bar, "you always look good."

Otis' eyes went wide and he turned quickly to see the very person of his affection, you, standing there smiling at him.

"Hey," you gave a small wave, leaning against your side of the bar as if that might lessen the distance the wooden countertop created between you and Otis.

Stella backed away, smiling from ear to ear and no doubt going to find Herrmann or Mouch (or anyone that she could gossip with about you and Otis and how red he had turned when you told him that he looked good).

"Hey," he replied, mimicking your wave but quickly lowering his hand in case you could tell how clammy his palms felt right now. If Cruz was here he would definitely give him a hard time for acting like this. Not that anyone could accuse him of being suave but he wasn't lacking in confidence either. Well, he was lacking in the kind of confidence Severide or Casey possessed but he had a decent amount. "Can I, uh, get you a beer? Or something?"

"A beer is good," you replied, taking a seat on one of the stools and watching Otis as he grabbed a bottle of Blue Moon for you, "so...I'm awesome?"

"And incredible," he admitted, a smile creeping onto his face, "and gorgeous."

"A triple threat," you teased, "guess we're evenly matched then?"

It took a few seconds for the words to process in Otis' head, the recognition slowly taking over as he nodded almost dumbly, full on smile breaking through and ears going as red as the rest of his face was. "Yeah?" He meant to sound less like a question but he couldn't help the way his voice raised at the end of the word, turning it into uncertainty.

"Definitely," you replied holding up your pointer finger as you listed out the first of three things, "awesome: you watched all the Star Wars movies with me in one sitting -"

"I mean, you can't not celebrate May 4th correctly."

You held up your middle finger next, ignoring him, "Incredible: you literally save people's lives like, on the daily," finally you held up your thumb, "Gorgeous: self-explanatory. Look at you."

Otis leaned against the bar, trying to look casual and not completely flustered by your comment. "Well, I can't argue with that."

You laughed, "oh can't you?" and leaned over the rest of the way to kiss him.

"Hey! No PDA with the customers Otis!" Herrmann shouted from the other side of the bar.

You pulled away trying to fight a smile as you looked down the bar to Herrmann, Mouch, and Stella, who had obviously been watching you and Otis the entire time.

"How late are you working then?" You asked, "I mean, how many bartenders does this place need tonight?" You glanced around Molly's, slow for a random Tuesday, and then back to Otis, "not that I'm suggesting you ditch your job."

"No, of course not," he said, already turning to Herrmann, "I'm gonna head out, seems like you and Stella have it covered."

"Whoa-"

"Have fun!" Stella cut in, smiling mischievously, "be safe!"

"Oh god," the pink cheeks were back on Otis as he rounded the counter to meet you on your side.

"Hey, she didn't pay for her beer!" Herrmann realized as he watched you and Otis make a break for the door.

#otis zvonecek x reader #otis zvonecek fanfiction #otis zvonecek imagine #otis zvonecek fanfic #brian zvonecek x reader #Chicago fire imagine #chicago fire fanfiction #chicago fire fic #one chicago imagine #collecting stories imagine

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merlincmgirl · 2 months ago

Text

Exhibition - Boil x FReader - NSFW

Summary: It was highly against regulations, not that you and Boil care as he sneaks you into his barracks late at night. All you have to do is keep quiet. Easy, right?

Characters: Boil, Cody, 212th troopers, Waxer

Pairing: Boil x F!Reader

Word Count: 5,602

Warnings: exhibition, fingering, oral (female receiving), PinV sex, fluff and smut, dom Boil, possessive Boil, dirty talk, masturbation (other troopers), aftercare, sneaking around. I think that's everything, if I've missed anything, please let me know.

Author's Note: Okay, when I started writing this, it seemed unable to stop. So enjoy :)

Atiniir - Take it

The barracks were in darkness when Boil led you back through the winding corridors of the barracks on the Negotiator after you had met him in one of your usual hiding spots. There wasn’t many places on the Venator class that allowed for hook-ups and secret rendezvous, and even less that wasn’t taken by another couple that inhabited the ship. So usually, if a new one was found, it was by word of mouth that more and more vode would use them. Hence, why you were currently sneaking into Boil’s barracks because most – if not all – of the hiding places were currently occupied.

You had the feeling that this war was going to be the cause of more and more relationships and hook ups the longer it progressed. The fear of time being cut short and the intense emotions that war brought up in people meant that it was becoming more often that you walked in on someone. The most momentous occasion had been walking in on General Kenobi and Commander Cody making out in the frigate hanger. That had been an awkward experience that everyone agreed not to mention ever again, and Boil had been quick to drag you away, giggling at what had happened.

“What if someone’s awake?” you asked, as Boil tugged you along towards the bunks he shared with his squad. How would you explain you suddenly appearing in their room during their sleep cycle?

“I checked before I left, they were all asleep. Stop worrying” Boil assured, rolling his eyes before he came to a stop. “Just stay quiet for a sec” he murmured, pressing the button to open the door and all but shoving you in so he could close the door quickly behind him.

Standing as still as a statue, you didn’t dare move a muscle as you waited to see if anyone moved or made a noise. What if the door opening had awoken them? It was just about pitch black inside of the room, small lights dotted the perimeter of the room, casting a low light that just about lit the way to the refresher on the other side of the room. A hand laid on the small of your back made you jump, and a low chuckle was heard behind you.

“Come on Mesh’la, Hotshot is out tonight himself and Waxer is covering for Wooley. We should have the bunk to ourselves” Boil murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck.

Thank the stars that all the beds were bolted to the wall and ceiling. It would stop any shaking you hoped. As Boil led you over to his bed, you were surprised to see someone asleep on the bed above his. From the sight of his bald head, you could just about make out Waxer. Turning to your trooper, you motioned to Waxer and crossed your arms.

“Guess he didn’t swap shifts in the end. We’ll have to be very quiet mesh’la, think you can do that?” he teased, grinning against your neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his front.

“I can just fine! But if we get caught, I’m blaming you!” you hissed back, receiving nothing but another huff of breath against your neck as Boil guided you up onto his bed. “Or… or we call that favour in from Kenobi and- a-and Cody” you stuttered, as Boil’s large, warm hands slid down your sides and tugged on the hem of your shirt.

“Off” he ordered, helping you pull your regulation shirt off your body and down your arms. “I want to see your perfect tits” he groaned, throwing your shirt away somewhere.

You hoped you’d be able to find it in the dark before you had to sneak back to your rooms.

Boil didn’t waste any time in reaching for you, his hands gripping your breasts and giving them a light squeeze. He leant forward, pressing a few gentle kisses to your chest before he gave you a sharp nip. Hearing you gasp, he couldn’t help but run a hand over your thigh soothingly as he licked a soothing stripe over the mark he had made. Nuzzling into your chest, you were sure that he would leave a few beard burns that were going to be difficult to explain away if anyone saw.

“Keep quiet.”

It was the only warning that you got before Boil’s warm, talented mouth encased your nipple. His other hand came to play with the other, rolling it in clever, torturous touches. You barely had time to slam a hand over your mouth before you moaned, rocking your hips up into his stomach. A dark chuckle vibrated around your nub, as Boil sucked on it harshly. Gripping his hair, you tugged, trying to get him to move to a different angle but he refused to move, making sure that he marked you up good and proper.

Closing your eyes, you kept your hand pressed firmly over your mouth, swallowing back the moans and gasps that were desperate to escape as Boil switched his attention to your other breast. The sharp tug of your nipple and the cosy warmth of his mouth was a shocking contrast and you arched your chest up to feel more.

Boil chuckled around his mouthful, playing with your breasts and admiring the way they moved under his hands. How with each squeeze and touch your hips began to shift underneath him, like you were impatient for more. Grazing his teeth over your stiff peak, he pulled himself off you, unable to not admire the way you looked gorgeous underneath him.

Curling his hands into his black regulation top, he threw it behind him, not caring where it landed. He’d be reprimanded in the morning for sure, but at the moment, he had more important things to focus on. Climbing up your body, he covered you with his own, pulling your hand away from your mouth so he could press a teasing kiss to your lips.

Sighing, you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his neck, losing yourself in the kiss as he slid his tongue over yours. His moustache tickled against your lip, and you couldn’t wait until you felt it run all over your body. The friction burn would feel incredible against your uniform. You wouldn’t be able to forget just what had been done to cause it. Feeling the heat rise in you, you couldn’t help but pull away, leaving a gentle nip to the trooper’s bottom lip. Boil’s groan rumbled from his chest, and you grinned against his lips when you felt it in your own.

“Be quiet baby, the others will hear you” Boil whispered, pressing kisses down your throat as he worked his way down your body.

“You’re the one that’s still talking!” you retorted, biting your lip to hold in a gasp as he pressed a kiss to the valley of your breasts before slipping further down. The blankets bunched around his shoulders before he tugged them over him, hiding him under the covers from anyone who glanced over.

You spread your legs further for him to make room for him, to cocoon him between your thighs. Calloused fingers ran along your waistline before they were replaced with Boil’s mouth, his tongue swiping and licking at your skin before pulling it into his mouth, determined to suck a bruise onto your skin.

A rustle of material and the sound of movement made you freeze, and you glanced over in the dark to see a vod had turned over in their sleep. Letting out a sigh of relief, you relaxed back into the pillows, sinking into the way that Boil massaged your tense thighs. Maker, you hoped that they all stayed asleep, it had been too long since you had Boil’s mouth on you.

Sensing that you had settled back down, Boil hooked his fingers underneath your trousers and pants and tugged them down your legs, shuffling a little to have enough room to get them off.

“Fuck! You look incredible!” Boil hissed, unable to turn away from you as he dropped your clothes over the edge of the bunk. The sight of you spread out on his bunk, naked and ready for him would occupy his thoughts for a while whenever he was on campaign. Just the sight of you was enough to make his cock twitch hard in his blacks.

“Boil!” you smirked, pushing yourself up to press a kiss to the scar over his right pec. “Are you going to do something about it or not?” you challenged, wiggling your hips.

Boil groaned, unable to turn down a challenge as he pushed you down onto the bed, one large hand covering your chest as he settled himself back between your legs. Throwing them over his wide shoulders, he enjoyed the little squeak that you let out at being stretched open for him. He could smell just how wet and aroused you were, and he wasted no time in capturing your wet, glistening folds into his mouth and sucking hard.

His tongue flicked up your folds, collecting as much slick as he could before he wrapped his lips around your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves there until you were letting out a strangled gasp of pleasure. Withdrawing from your nub, he pressed kisses down to your opening, his moustache tickling the sensitive skin. He parted your folds with his fingers, groaning into you at the feel of how wet you were against his lips. Boil’s talented tongue circled your entrance before pulling away to suck a mark on your thigh.

“Boil!” you hissed, annoyed at his teasing. You felt the scrape of his teeth against your thigh before a sharp nip was delivered. Instantly your hands flew to your mouth to cover the small moan that you let out. There would be a bruise there tomorrow, no doubt. It would be felt with every step as your thighs slid against one another. The bastard was probably counting on it.

Working a hand down your body and to the curls on his head, you gave them a sharp tug, reminding him to get on with it.

“Impatient” he murmured against your soft skin before returning back to feast on your core. He worked his lips along your entrance, probing it slightly with his tongue before pulling away. He was enjoying teasing you too much. The trooper loved how you were pulling on his hair, trying to guide him to where you wanted him, but he couldn’t help but resist. After all, the more worked up you were getting, the more you would gush on his tongue.

“Swear Boil, if you don’t fucking fuck me with your tongue, I’m going to- Kriff!” you hissed, all manner of threats ready to spill out but Boil chose that moment to finally push his tongue into y our quivering heat. Cursing, your hips bucked up into his face, wanting to keep him as close as possible to you. It felt so good as he licked into you, flicking your walls with his talented tongue as he held your thighs tight around his head.

Boil growled happily as he licked and mouthed at your soaked opening, spreading the slick further across his face as he pushed further into you.

Sighing happily, you closed your eyes, losing yourself to the feel of Boil eating you out. The noise the was making had you blushing, it sounded like he was having his last meal, slurping and groaning against your wet heat. His large, calloused hands slid up your hips, up your sides until they reached your breasts. He cupped them in both hands, squeezing and pressing them together. Your hips bucked up into his mouth, gasping at the dual sensation of him playing with your tits while he was devouring your pussy.

“Fuck sake! Whoever it is keep it down! Some of us are trying to sleep” a disgruntled voice called from in the darkness. You gasped, freezing as your legs tightened around Boil’s ears at being caught.

“It’s Boil! He’s got his lady friend over” another voice answered, and you knew that one was Waxer. The voice coming up from beneath Boil’s bunk and unable to hide his glee at catching his favourite brother. “He dropped her underwear right on my arm!” Waxer announced proudly.

You gasped, kicking at Boil for his mistake. That had probably woken up Waxer and he had been listening to you getting eaten out by Boil.

“Well I for one was enjoying listening to her!”

“You’re not sleeping in the bunk next to them!”

“Well cover your ears and let the rest of us enjoy it!”

“Ow! Shut up di’kuts or you’ll be hearing my fist slam into your face!” Boil growled out, wincing at the kick he had received in his back.

The arguing between his brothers settled down and you couldn’t help but stare down at Boil, unsure of what to do now. Most, if not all, of the barrack was now wide awake, and listening to you as Boil rubbed soothing circles on your side as he hovered over you.

“What do you say, cyare? Want to give my brothers a show while I make you cum over and over again?” he suggested, keeping his voice light with no expectation in it what so ever.

If you decided that no, you didn’t want this, then that would be it. Boil would either shut all of this down or take you elsewhere. He wouldn’t let you feel intentionally embarrassed and uncomfortable. But the thought of his fellow troopers, his brothers, all listening to the way that Boil made you feel good. All of them hearing the sounds that wanted desperately to escape. Maybe some of them would even rub one off to the thought of you and Boil going at it in the barracks under the cover of darkness. It was an enticing thought and you couldn’t help but squeeze Boil’s arms at the feel of other people listening in and trying to catch a glimpse of you in Boil’s bunk.

Heat flaring in your stomach, you gave him a small nod but he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Knowing what he wanted, you gave a small huff of irritation at having to say the words out loud. “Yes, I want that” you confirmed, dragging your nails lightly down his arms to his wrist.

“Good girl” he praised, voice quiet and only for you.

It seemed that now Boil had an audience, he was even more determined to show off and get you making the loudest noises that you could. He licked and prodded at your entrance, sucking on it slightly to collect as much slick as he could. The moan against you had a cry falling from your lips, and you heard several appreciated moans in return.

Pulling away slightly, Boil pressed one finger to your slit before sliding it in. He cursed at how hot you felt around his finger, how your walls gripped onto him tightly as they adjusted to the feel of him inside of you. He slid his tongue beside his finger, opening you up for him and still tasting your delicious juices as they poured from you.

“Fuck! Oh kriff!” you cried, as his nose brushed against your clit. You were rocking your hips against his face, hair pulling him closer and closer to you. In the back of your mind you realised that you should probably pull him away, to let him up for air, but Boil didn’t seem bothered. He wanted to get lose in your taste, to become pussy drunk on just the way you covered his tongue and the way you sounded as he gave you pleasure.

Entering a second finger on his next thrust into you, Boil managed to scissor them, stretching you open even more for him. He used his tongue to flick in between his digits, revelling in the loud moan you let out at that. He could hear his brothers were enjoying it too, as sounds of muffled groans and curses filled the air. Giving your slit another curl of his tongue, he pulled his mouth away to trace his lips up to your clit, keeping the touch light and gentle.

“Boil! More!” you whined, bucking up into his mouth and writhing as he curled those two fingers inside of you. On every thrust in, he made sure to brush against the soft, spongy feel of your front wall. Heat rushed through you, and you were barely aware of the gasps and cries that were leaving you.

“Don’t be cruel Boil! Give the girl what she wants!” a voice called from the barracks.

“Yes! Please!” you groaned, writhing beneath him before letting out a high pitched cry at the feel of his hot mouth closing around your clit. His lips pursed, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth before lightly circling it with his tongue.

“Oh she likes that! Keep at it, vod!”

The commentary was making you feel even more effected than you normally would. You could feel the heat rising in you, feel the coil inside of you getting tighter and tighter, close to snapping with every brush of his tongue and thrust of his fingers. It did nothing but encourage Boil more, and he pressed a third finger into you now, the added stimulation enough to have you clutching at the bed sheets.

Boil doubled down, sucking and teasing your clit even more, fingers twisting and twirling inside of you even more as he increased the pace of his hand. He was determined to get you screaming his name, have his brothers know who exactly could make you cum like this.

“Oh kriff! Kriff Boil! Don’t stop!” you cried, tugging at his hair as you rocked down onto his talented fingers. The wave of pleasure was beginning to wash over you and you knew it wouldn’t take long before you finally found release. Boil was just having fun keeping you just on the edge, just so his brothers could really hear who was making you feel this good, who exactly you belonged to.

Boil growled at the suggestion, the hand not fucking into you rested on your lower stomach, just above your pubic bone. With a devastating thrust and a hard suck of his mouth, he pressed down and towards your core.

The effect was immediate, and you were cumming so hard that you could have sworn your vision went white. Your toes curled and your fists clenched into the sheets as you felt waves and waves of pleasure wash over you. Boil’s name echoed around the room as you shook beneath him, whining at the way he continued to feast on your slit, gathering as much of it as he could into his mouth as you rode out your orgasm.

As your breathing returned to somewhat normal, Boil pulled away, climbing up your body to hover over you once more.

“Fuck, she sounds amazing when she cums!”

“And Boil expected her to keep quiet!” Waxer’s teasing voice floated up to you.

Ignoring his brothers, Boil cupped your face and nuzzled his nose against yours. “You okay, mesh’la?” he asked, feeling the way your cheek was heated underneath his palm.

“Hmm, I’m good. Really good” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him down for a kiss. Boil grunted slightly, but sank into you, melding his lips against your own.

He propped himself up on his elbow by your head, keeping you pressed close together but taking his full weight off you. “Still want to continue or shall I tell my vods they can all go kriff themselves?” he offered, keeping his voice low so it was just between the two of you.

“Yeah, I want this. I want you Boil, want to feel you inside of me, filling me” you grinned, leaning up to place a sly kiss at the corner of his lips.

Boil groaned, pressing a hand against the bulge that was pressed against your hip. “Minx!” he accused, following after your mouth but you were too quick, teasing him just like he teased you.

Sitting up onto his hunches, he pushed the black regulated bottoms down his hips and off his long legs with a bit of manoeuvring. He leaned over the side of the bunk and threw them directly into Waxer’s face.

“EW! BOIL! What the kriff? I don’t want your stinking blacks!” Waxer complained, throwing them across the room as soon as he realised what they were.

Giggling, you couldn’t help but lean up, sliding gentle, caressing fingers up and down Boil’s shaft just to tease him more. He was hot and heavy against you and you knew he would fill you just right, stretch you out and make you feel amazing on his cock.

Boil’s hips rocked into your hand, biting his lip to muffle his own moans at the feel of your hand around him. Boil was slightly larger than average length and of a good girth that had you feeling him for days afterwards. He really had to stretch you out to take him. But it seemed that he had had enough of your careful touches, the way your fingers glided up his length in barely there touches that only made him harder and ready to finally sink into you. He batted your hand away with an annoyed grunt, watching in the dimness as you laid back on his bunk.

“Please, Boil! Need to feel you stretching me open” you moaned, knowing just how it would affect not only Boil but the rest of the vode that was listening too. Indeed as soon as you had muttered those words, there was several groans of lust as well as a few muffled curses from around the barracks.

“Hurry up and fuck her Boil before someone else does it for you!” a voice snapped.

“Shut the fuck up, Cronk, if you know what’s good for you!” Boil growled, shuffling in between your legs and rubbing at your spread thighs. He notched the head of his cock against your slit before rocking forward, allowing his cock to part your folds and run along your clit.

You moaned, white hot pleasure bursting through you at that. Clenching around nothing, you reached for Boil’s hand, glad to find it in the somewhat darkness before Boil repeated the motion. Hissing in annoyance, you reached between you and guided his cock inside of you as he rocked into you with a strong steady thrust. Both you and Boil let out a muffled moan at the feel of him sinking into you for the first time.

Letting out a soft mewl, you clutched at Boil’s shoulders, trying to steady yourself against the feeling of him splitting you open. He was panting into your neck, hands squeezing tightly onto your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises later. Sliding your hands up his sweat slicked back, you ran your fingers through his curls, bringing both you and him further together. Even though you were surrounded by his brothers, your focus was only on Boil.

With a shaky breath, Boil pressed a gentle kiss to the point where your neck met your shoulders before pushing himself up. “You ready, mesh’la?” he asked, running his hands up and down the meat of your thighs, giving them a squeeze every so often.

Cupping his cheek, you couldn’t help but send him an excited grin. “Of course I’m ready!” you teased, dragging your thumb over his sharp cheek bone.

Boil let out a huff in amusement before he was lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his waist as he slowly dragged his cock out of your tight opening. His eyes stayed locked onto where you were joined together, unable to help as he let out a small groan at how good you looked taking him.

The drag of him pressed against all those spots inside of you that had you mewling, biting your lip at the sensation. When just the tip was left in, you tried to buck your hips, getting impatient at him teasing you like this. But as soon as you went to move, Boil slammed back inside, knocking the air out of your lungs. The sound you let out was guttural, and you had no control over the volume as it echoed around the barracks.

The clone trooper grunted, beginning a teasing pace of slowly withdrawing from you before thrusting back into you hard. He loved all the punched out noises that he was drawing from you, sunk into the feeling of your tight, wet heat clamping around him, trying to keep him inside of you with every thrust. “Mesh’la” he breathed in awe, leaning over you and pressing a messy kiss to your lips.

“Boil!” you gasped, panting against his mouth as he rocked you further up the bed. You slammed your hands out above your head, the cool metal doing nothing to calm the heated ardour between you. Locking your legs around his waist, you dug your feet into the small of his back, wanting more, wanting him closer to you.

“Taking me so well – kriff! You feel so good, sweetheart” he hissed out, ignoring everything else around him. It was only you in this moment. You was the only thing that mattered to him.

“S-so do you” you managed to get out, as another of his thrusts had you clenching around him, a burst of pleasure flaring at the way he brushed against your clit. It felt exquisite, every controlled roll of his hips had him pressing along your walls, the stretch making sure he hit every one.

“FUCK!” you cried, as he took one of your legs and hooked it over his arm, spreading you wider for him. As he sunk deeper, you couldn’t help but wrap your arms tight around him.

“Stars, she sounds incredible!”

“That’s it mesh’la, open up for me. Atiniir, you’re so beautiful” Boil growled, rhythm increasing as he became lost in the feel of you tightening around him, your walls fluttering with every press inside of you.

Groaning, you leaned up to nip at his lip, receiving a guttural groan from him that sent heat rushing through you. Fuck, he was making you feel so good, how would you ever be able to top this.

“They’re touching themselves to the thought of fucking you, mesh’la. Bet they’re wishing it was them that’s between your gorgeous thighs and fucking into your sweet, wet hole” Boil breathed, voice low and deep and full of lust into your ear.

You shivered, just the thought of the vode touching themselves and bringing themselves to completion because of the sounds you were making and how well Boil was fucking you into the mattress. It had the added bonus of you clenching around Boil, more slick leaking around his cock.

“Oh you like that, huh? Dirty girl” he hissed, hips slamming into you and causing you to dig your nails into his shoulders. “Bet you like knowing that they can imagine all they want, but you’re my girl. I don’t share” Boil groaned, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your neck in juxtaposition to the way his cock was pounding into you.

“Yes! Yes! Yours, just yours!” you cried, tugging at his hair as you rolled your hips up to meet his thrust. The coil inside of you was tightening and tightening, you were so close.

“Kriff, sweetheart!” Boil hissed out at the feel of his hair getting pulled, pleasure shooting down his spine and making his hips falter in their rhythm. He could feel how close you were, especially when his pubic bone brushed against your clit.

��BOIL! Please!” you begged, writhing beneath him as much as you could with how he was holding you. Fuck, you just wanted to cum, you wanted to feel him pulse inside of you, shooting his load into your quivering channel. Fuck, you just wanted Boil.

“Boil’s gonna break her at this rate!”

“Nah, she can take it! Kriff! Oh! She’s a good girl” another one replied.

Letting out a whine, you turned your head, spotting a trooper in the next bunk to you looking at you, his hands moving furiously underneath his blankets.

Just the sight of seeing the other troopers touching themselves to you had you letting out a loud moan and you squeezed your eyes shut.

However, Boil gripped your jaw, guiding you back to face him. “Look at me. I’m the one fucking you, mesh’la” Boil growled, hips slamming into yours roughly.

With bleary eyes, you looked up at him, seeing the lust and determination to make sure you felt amazing. He didn’t have to worry about that, you felt like the only thing keeping you on this bed was Boil and his impressive cock.

Gritting his teeth as he felt his balls rise and his own release getting ever closer, he took your hand and guided it between your joined bodies. “Touch yourself for me, mesh’la. Want to see you cum on my cock and your fingers” Boil demanded, brow furrowing as the feel of your fingers against him with every thrust pushed him closer and closer towards the edge.

You wasted no time in touching your clit just how you liked. The added stimulation had you letting out a soft cry, eyes squeezing shut as your release got ever closer. With every brush of your fingers, you tightened around Boil even more.

“Fuck, feels- feels like – like you’re strangling me!” he stuttered, voice breaking as he drove his cock into you, hitting that spot that had you collapsing around him.

“BOIL!” you wailed, as wave after wave of pleasure hit you, flung over the edge. With the feel and sounds of the troopers around you, listening to you and jerking themselves off, Boil’s cock driving into you and hitting those spots inside of you that made you feel amazing and the feel of your fingers against your bundle of nerves, you couldn’t help but fall into your release.

Boil grunted, your name spilling from his lips as he followed you over the edge, shooting his load into your fluttering heat, hissing as your walls drained him of all that he had.

He managed to unhook your leg from his arm before he collapsed on top of you, his weight pinning you down. Pressing his forehead against your temple, he breathed in the smell of the both of you together and sex. It was amazing, and if he wasn’t so exhausted, he’d want to go again. As it was, his cock gave a valiant twitch that pulled a hitched gasp from you, still oversensitive from your release and the fucking he had given you.

Closing your eyes, you ran your fingers up and down Boil’s back, kissing his cheek and just enjoying being with him. Your breath was slowly returning to normal when you felt him nuzzle against you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he smiled into your cheek.

It was only when Waxer came up to the bed that you remembered that you were still surrounded by the vode. Gasping, you clutched onto Boil tighter, hoping he covered your body from his brother’s eyes.

Waxer averted his gaze but handed over a canteen of water and some wet cloths. “Here, thought you might need this” he offered, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.

“Oh, thank you” you murmured, flushing at the kind gesture. Even though you had been the one fucking while him and his brothers listened in.

“Thanks vod. Sorry for waking you” Boil apologised, sending him a wry grin. He took the supplies off Waxer and passed them over to you.

“Yeah, like it was a real hardship” Waxer rolled his eyes, before clapping his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “But I’ve got to get my beauty sleep. Goodnight, lovebirds” he bid, before getting back into his own bunk.

From all around you, you could hear troopers either cleaning themselves up or settling back into bed. Taking a sip of water from the canteen, you wondered how you would get out of here without disturbing them further.

“Spread your legs a little, mesh’la” Boil muttered, gently cleaning you up as your releases trickled from you. With great care, he made sure the warm water soothed your aching muscles and got everything off you before throwing them over to the laundry chute with a well aimed throw – even in the dark.

“Guess I should be going” you stated, passing him the canteen to take a drink of. You reached for the blanket, hoping to use it to cover yourself while you tried to find your clothes.

However the hand on your elbow stopped you. Boil looked at you softly in the dim light, hand gliding down until his fingers entwined with yours. “Stay. Sleep here tonight. With me” he asked, and you could hear the vulnerability in his voice, all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite yet.

Feeling your heart clench at his words, you wanted nothing more than to wrap him in your arms and promise that you would stay. For however long he wanted you to. But you couldn’t. Not yet. But you could stay with him tonight, sleep in the barracks with him and share this intimate moment with him where you could both just be vulnerable together.

“I’d love to.”

#star wars #clone trooper boil #boil x reader #star wars the clone wars #star wars x reader #star wars tcw #sw tcw #tcw #the clone wars #clone wars #kinktober 2024

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klarolinexluv · 29 days ago

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“I’d die for you, James,” Regulus whispers into the cold night air. He couldn’t stop the quiet confession from slipping through his lips. The words were spoken before she could stop them.

James stands across from him, a single tear falling down his cheek. His glasses are slightly skewed from how his hands have knocked them whilst he wipes his eyes.

“I would die for you,” Regulus promises, taking a step towards him. James steps backwards, flinching away, like he is unable to help it. Regulus frowns at him but James cannot take his eyes away from his left arm.

James shakes his head, “no, no, no,” he says, over and over, to himself or to Regulus, he does not know. James brings a hand to his hair and tugs at the strands, Regulus has to resist the urge to stop him.

“Die for me?” James croaks out, “Die for me?” He repeats, a sudden anger coming ablaze in his hazel eyes. Regulus longs for five minutes ago where he could drown in them.

Regulus nods, almost helplessly, “I would… I would die for you… I would kill for you.” James whimpers and shakes his head. Regulus is lost, he feels helpless and out of his depths.

He has known for a very long time that all good things must come to an end. He has known that James and he were never meant to last. There is no universe where Regulus Black gets to keep James Potter. No universe where they don’t end up right here, split between what is right and what needs to be done. Stranded on two sides of a war they had no business being a part of.

“I wanted…” James begins, his voice breaking off as he stares back at Regulus with sadness, anger, pity . “Why not… why not live for me?” James all but begs, stepping forward and grabbing Regulus' left wrist, his fingers curling around him just below the dark stain marring his skin.

Regulus meets James' gaze, unable to look away, unable to come up with an answer. James does not back down, “that’s all I’ve wanted from you, Regulus.” His eyes plead as they search his own, Regulus begins to shake his head but a hand stills him. James' left hand comes up to cradle his jaw, “all I’ve wanted for you… Is to live… live the life I know you deserve.”

“I…” Regulus tries but does not finish.

“We could’ve had everything… but you can’t see that can you? You cannot see what is right in front of you, what’s been here all along. I would have helped you!” James tells him desperately, tears streaming down his face unashamedly. “We can still…” James bites his lip.

Regulus cuts him off, “No, James… you cannot help me. I told you that from the beginning.” Regulus pulls away from him, stepping out of his grasp and for some reason, he knows that they will never touch again. He will never feel the warmth of James, never again.

“Everything I do, I do for you,” James says quickly, the words bursting from his lips, Regulus slowly looks up at him. “Please, Reg… don’t do this.”

“It’s too late, James. It’s done.” Regulus says firmly, “there is no going back from this. You cannot save me! Stop thinking that you can! This is done!”

James faces circles through hundreds of emotions and Regulus struggles to keep up. There is no other option, no other path. Regulus will fight by the Dark Lord's side, embrace his darkness and James will fight with Dumbledore, empower the light.

“I won’t stop fighting for us,” James abruptly tells him, “when this is all over, I will find you again.”

Regulus smiles weakly, “okay James,” he whispers, nodding once. “Okay,” but Regulus finds this hard to believe.

Maybe stars aren’t meant to love the sun. Like Icarus, Regulus will drown far away from James' reach. After promising to reach for him one final time, the light fades from his vision and Regulus finds himself in the arms of a most gruesome death.

#regulus black #marauders #james potter #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker

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blue-thief · 5 months ago

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a god? if only i was.

you meant so well // hypnosis mic // the war of vaslav nijinsky // they don't know anything // i no longer wish to be remembered for my battles or my blood // the greatest lovers in hell // no longer human // icarus // he saved me first, you know // wolf hall

[image descriptions:

1. "war is a slippery slope/what would you do?/becomes/what will you do?/becomes/my god, what have you done?"

2. from the hypnosis mic manga: jinguji jakurai from the back. his gloved hands are behind his back, and he's holding a pair of medical scissors.

3. God said:/GOD MADE YOU. GOD DOES NOT CARE IF YOU ARE GUILTY OR NOT./I said:/I CARE IF I AM GUILTY!/I CARE IF I AM GUILTY!. . ./God was silent./Everything was SILENT./I lay back down in the snow.

4. jakurai, covered in sweat, with his hands held up to his chest and looking up at the dark sky. he has an anguished expression on his face.

5. "You didn't ask for help," He said./How could I?/How could I?/How could I?"

6. a set of panels from the hypnosis mic manga. the first panel is jakurai with a shocked express on his face. the second one is a close up on his hands. he is squeezing his hands, and they're shaking. the same panel shows amaguni hitoya walking away, as well as jakurai bowing his head and gritting his teeth. the next panel is of jakurai opening up his hands. the last panel is of jakurai's back, standing alone.

7. "i have ended/wars singlehandedly,/brought gods broken to their knees,/dragged the very lights of heaven/down to the sand,/but my greatest victory was always that/i was what sparked your smiles."

8. a set of panels from the hypnosis mic manga. the first one is jinguji jakurai and amemura ramuda on a set of swings. jakurai's swing is stationary, and he's fondly looking up at ramuda who is mid-swing and smiling. the second and third panels are close-ups of jakurai and ramuda's smiling faces.

9. jakurai and ramuda facing each other and holding each other's hands. jakurai has a serious expression while ramuda has his eyes closed and is beaming.

10. "You love him despite the burden of Atlas/resting on his shoulders,/and he loves you despite the death still clinging to your lips,/and the blood drying at its corners./What a pair you make."

11. "God, I ask you. Is trustfulness a sin?"

12. a set of three panels. The first is a closeup of ramuda's eyes. the second one is his eyes turning dark with a hint of a smirk visible. the last one is jakurai with a grim expression on his face.

13. kannabi yotsutsuji unconscious in a hospital bed. jakurai looks down at him, shocked.

14. "What have I done?/I tried to play God and I paid with my son"

15. a set of panels from the hypnosis mic manga. the first one shows jakurai's hand, and he's holding a pen. the second panel is a closeup of his face. he is wearing a neutral expression. the third panel is a flashback to ramuda, frustrated and angry, in the rain. the last panel closes in on jakurai's eyes, and he appears contemplative.

16. "I defy the stars;/I defy Heaven and Hell./The laws of the universe say that the man I love is lost to me./I say:/Watch me save him."

17. a screenshot from the hypnosis mic anime. jakurai says, "It means that I will save you, no matter what."

18. "I have never understood where the line is drawn, between sacrifice and self-slaughter."

19. another screenshot from the hypnosis mic anime. the true hypnosis mic is lying inside a briefcase. /end ID]

#I AM ABNORMAL ABOUT THIS GUY 🗣️🗣️#hypnosis mic #hypmic #jinguji jakurai #jakurai jinguji #ramujaku #jakuramu #web weave #long post

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bnuuwitch · 2 months ago

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Little Selkie, Little Star

It had been so long since her skin had been stolen from her that she had almost forgotten about it.

Her birth had been a strange thing. Another star, wrought from the cold fires of the inexplicable heavens that tore apart the sky and brought about this ceaseless conflict. Another little light, either to fight or to be snuffed out as soon as her trembling legs - raw, delicate, shimmering with endless possibility - had learned to move, to shuffle herself around.

And just as she had begun to crawl and tremble like a newborn animal, she felt… something. Something so primal, so fundamentally wrong. No, this could not be right, this desire for… what was it she desired? A different place, a different state of being?

What did it mean to desire? She was but a star, not a particularly powerful one at that. She had not a name nor did she understand what it meant to dream, to desire. Just another light, trembling. Weak.

She felt another light near her. A similar one, a sister light. Blue. Larger, brighter. Lightning crackling at the tip of her great spear, her grand wings curling over the little starling and shielding her from harm.

What harm, the little star wondered. She was not near the enemy, though the gruesome battle raged around her as her sisters had their very essence ripped from them. As their light was torn from every fibre of their delicate being as the darkness - feral, cutting and burning and ripping them to shreds - overcame them, became them. The darkness, despised, became new sisters.

The war waged on, no end in sight.

And just as the little star felt something touch her skin, cold and comforting, she heard a whisper in her ear.

“I’m sorry, little sister.”

Words. Understanding, somewhat. The little star did not know what those words meant. She could not speak, for she hardly knew what words were. She wanted to know.

And just as quickly as the little star began to know curiosity for the first time, she began to know fear as something was torn away from her. Something so soft, so soothing, so intrinsic to her being that she could not understand it. Those primal urges that she had pushed aside returned in full force. She squirmed before she stilled, crumbling to already weak knees as her older sister - an angel, surely - flew off holding something she knew was hers.

“Hey, Edda! Look what I found!”

The Angel had been familiar. Of course she was. As if all of a sudden, those memories before the flash, before the Initial Bond, had flooded back to Edda upon seeing that… thing. The thing she knew was hers. The thing that she knew made her… different. Surely, she had to be in order to be so fundamentally… wrong. Absorbing her own sisters, the enemy. Unchanging, powerful. Still the little starling she was from the moment she was born.

But… not the same, was she? No, something had been stolen from her, and now, Aven - warm, ferocious, tenacious. A contradiction in himself for how could something born of that wretched darkness be anything but all-consuming? A giving, gentle companion, rather than a selfish wretch - had found it on the hands of the Angel they had slay.

A slip of softness, just enough to wrap snuggly around Edda’s shoulders.

Primal. Instinct. Fear, and contradiction. It was all Edda could comprehend as she approached the body of water that she would usually sprint over without a second thought, now shaking in what she now understood to be fear.

The water. It wasn’t used to scare her, did it? No, no. It had been that urge, the source of her plight, but she was young. How innocent she had been, a little starling who knew not words nor feelings nor sensations. Nothing at all.

Edda approached. One step, two steps, three. She felt like a newborn star again, trembling on weak legs and shaking like a leaf in a tree. Space seemed to warp into nothing, and the air grew heavy as Edda struggled to stand even next to the lake.

A familiar hand on her shoulder snatched Edda from her stupor, and she stumbled back, dropping the… pelt. Yes, that’s what it was. Aven was quick to cradle her now-trembling form, her light flickering between a dim, deep blue and blinding whites. He hummed to her, and Edda’s light began to settle into stillness again.

She grabbed the pelt and clasped it around her shoulders. Another time, perhaps.

@octahedral-chaos @indiestsnake

haven't written in like half a year, hope this is up to par

#certified bnuu moment #worldless #worldless game #worldless edda #worldless aven #writing

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metamorphesque · 4 months ago

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imo i don't think we live in a time without true artists, i think that the way a true artist is able to express themselves in a meaningful way has changed dramatically.

and that it quite often overlaps with entertainment.

we're no longer in a world where we as a race have the time or the means to luxuriate on art like the long-ago past, or even as recently as 100 years ago. our mozarts, our bacchiaccas, our platos, our bashos, our michaelangelos, our vivaldis, our sapphos - they are out there right now, but they aren't going to be recognized the way we're used to.

the vast majority of those the world reveres are true artists come from times when the global population was in the millions, not billions. a radical voice will easily stand out in a village of hundreds or thousands. a radical idea will catch on in a small community. once upon a time, these people were legitimate threats to those in power because it wasn't all too difficult to tip the scales of power.

even the artists of the more modern world, within the last century, are from a very distinct *before* time. before globalization, before the population skyrocketed at rates never recorded in human history, before digitization was integrated into every tiny aspect of our lives, before we discovered the means to destroy ourselves a hundred times over and then some, before the heavens and stars were a tangible destination, before american branded capitalism ruled the world, before everything was immediate and always on, before every second of every day belonged to everyone except you.

literacy and attention spans are in a nosedive, the world is on a perpetual edge of plunging into another global war, and we are at every hour of the day and night blasted with the worst news - and every day is more horrible than the next. we're living through catastrophes that, in ancient days, would have signaled the end of the world because a handful of horrible unfathomably wealthy individuals are killing the planet. we are not lacking true artists by any means, but we're lacking ways for their work to make waves in the kind of world we live in today, which is so extremely hostile to the artist but even more hostile to the people meant to perceive them. about one of the only surefire ways will be through some form of entertainment, as that's about the only thing that capture's humanity's attention and will be seen and heard and absorbed, will be archived and studied.

it's going to take a lot more scrutiny than before to find them, but they are out there right now. i promise you. they may not even be recognized til after their deaths, but their mark will be left and felt. i've seen it, i've heard it, i've felt it. they're among us, all over the world. never stop looking for them.

Before anything else, I want to thank you for engaging with my previous answer. I have to say I love conversations like this — they’re truly engaging and stimulating! I also want to express my admiration for the ways you phrased your thoughts; your "ask" was a real pleasure to read.

Now, to the point: while I agree with much of what you’ve said — particularly about the state of the world and the fact that true artists do still exist, even if they’re harder to find — there are two key points where our opinions diverge.

You mention that [we are not lacking true artists by any means, but we're lacking ways for their work to make waves in the kind of world we live in today, which is so extremely hostile to the artist but even more hostile to the people meant to perceive them. about one of the only surefire ways will be through some form of entertainment, as that's about the only thing that capture's humanity's attention and will be seen and heard and absorbed, will be archived and studied.]

Let's follow the logic that in order to be perceived by society nowadays, art must be, in one way or another, diluted or transformed to align with society’s decreasing attention span or capacity for introspection. Doesn't it sound like "a quiet drift away from True Art" or "a fade into the shadows of entertainment"? Let's add arbitrary numbers to make everything more tangible. If we allow art to be diluted by 25% to fit within the entertainment industry's framework, what will happen if in future audience engagement continues to decline? Will art need to simplify itself to 50% or 75%? At what point does it cease to be considered art altogether? If art continues to compromise to meet audience expectations and preferences, we risk erasing its ability to change and transform altogether. By conforming to lower expectations, we’re not just diluting art — we’re also diluting the potential for critical thinking, intellectual growth, emotional depth and personal introspection. The danger in following this path is that we make art indistinguishable from entertainment, stripping it of the very qualities that give it meaning. It will be a descent, through artistic mediocracy, to artlessness.

Another issue I have with the argument that art can only make waves through entertainment is that it shifts the responsibility away from the people who engage with the said art. Great art has never been a passive experience. It has always required effort from its audience — as it should. To say that art must be entertaining in order to capture attention or be archived is to suggest that people are incapable of rising to the challenge that true art presents. It’s a way of excusing people from engaging with complex or challenging ideas. But true art thrives on this complexity. It’s not meant to spoon-feed us palatable truths, not in a world like this. It’s meant to demand something from us — our attention, our introspection, our willingness to be uncomfortable. By framing art as something that needs to conform to entertainment, we are letting the public off the hook. Art should demand more from its audience, and the audience should demand more from themselves.

#asks #thank you!#this is exactly how I'd like to spend my Saturday 1AMs #art #entertainment #literature

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goodomensafterdark · 22 days ago

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The GOAD Epic Goblins present - The Serpent and The Owl Volume 0 - The World I Created - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is out!

Title: Faced with the winter cold

Word count: 2721

Summary of the volume:

~This story starts, as it will end, in the stars.~

Crawly is a singularity, born in the Empty and thriving in it, until the day Life settles into the universe. As that happens, she descends onto the planets in her vicinity.

Several centuries, maybe even millennia, pass; Crawly got integrated enough in the society of a planet that she (I'll go with she/her pronouns) is the long-standing Queen and main deity of that planet.

Aziraphale comes as a scientist from another planet that hers made an agreement with; thus begins their relationship.

Crawly slowly comes to terms with her feelings with Aziraphale as their story evolves and their travels through the galaxy continue.

Excerpt:

When Aziraphale was forcefully volunteered into the role of team leader for Mission Thue, he had shed a tear.

He enlisted into service soon after the Angel of Destruction Crawly made her announcement five years ago, which, sure, meant that he was technically amongst the people who might be at risk. Sure, he had risen quickly amongst the ranks of the High Research Committee, but he was still quite young — an older member of the generation born during the galactic war — and many people in his field were still waiting for him to prove himself. In what world could he possibly be the best pick to not only represent their planet, but to lead the team of representatives?

Yes, fine, he had been more amenable to the Thues since their arrival than most of his people; greeting them properly, spending some time with them as they would test the teams with demands. He would ask questions and visit their temporary accommodations, trying to better understand what the needs behind the requests really were.

Alright, he even might have built some sort of relationship with a few of them; might have received sweet — albeit weird — gifts and attentions from them during their time on his planet, and his personality seemed to match theirs much better than it had ever worked out with his own people.

He sighed a shaky breath. The decision might actually make perfect sense, but he was not any less terrified of the prospect of facing that infamous angel who he read about in his history books and had frozen his people in fear when they angered her. The weight on his shoulders was formidable; his role as he left his planet was very simple — keep her content with his work. He had no way of guaranteeing that would turn into reality in the field.

Continue reading here!

Or start at chapter 1 here

#good omens after dark #goad #good omens #good omens fanfic #writers of after dark #writers guild presents

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david-talks-sw · 2 years ago

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What "The Hidden Fortress" (1958) tells us about the Jedi's status in the Prequels.

In 1999, George Lucas had this to say on BBC Omnibus: A Long Time Ago: The Story of "Star Wars" and then The Phantom Menace's director's commentary.

“I greatly admired Kurosawa, especially the film Hidden Fortress, which told a story from the point of view of two serfs, two slaves...

... peasants who tag along with this famous general and a princess-- y'know, royalty. And the whole story is told from their point of view. And I like that idea. I like the idea of telling a story from the lowest person's point of view, uh, in the food chain, and that's how the story got to be told by Artoo and Threepio.”

“[The Phantom Menace] is told primarily from the Jedi's point of view, but the story that's being told is essentially the story of Queen Amidala and her plight of having her planet blockaded. As in, say, Episode IV, where the story is told through the eyes of the droids, in this one, it's told through the eyes of the Jedi.”

“But [from the moment we get to Coruscant, Anakin and Jar Jar] are standing on the sidelines. It's a little bit a riff on the very first film where the story is told through the point of view of the droids, who were sort of the lowliest characters.”

“And in [Phantom Menace], I'm doing it through - primarily - the two Jedi, but then the secondary characters are also carrying a lot of the weight when the Jedi aren't around.”

George Lucas draws a comparison between lowly characters like Hidden Fortress' peasants Matashichi and Tahei, the droids in A New Hope, as well as the Jedi in The Phantom Menace.

What do they all have in common? They are all the lowest-ranking characters in their respective films. Repeat: the movie frames the Jedi as almost at the bottom of the food chain.

Because of course they are. Functionally, they're just diplomats. They hold no political power whatsoever and barely have any authority .

What little authority the Jedi do have in TPM comes from the Queen's young age, which allows them to ease into a more advisory position, and Qui-Gon's rebellious streak. And even he's explicit about the fact that his mandate has limitations.

The only characters "below" them in status are Jar Jar, an exiled Gungan, and Anakin, who just yesterday was still a slave kid, Artoo the literal object and that's it!

Also the other Prequel films are consistent with this portrayal. Who do we see lower in status than the Jedi? Dexxter Jettster and the clones. Everyone else is pretty much above them.

Yes, the Jedi are part of the system, but they're not as high-ranking as you'd think. Yes, they have Force Powers, but that means squat when put against political power. So, like, to expect the Jedi to...

influence the decisions of the Senate,

wage a war against the Outer Rim to end slavery,

or blatantly refuse an order to join the war effort,

... is incredibly unreasonable.

They're not meant to be seen as "the elite, peering down upon the people from their ivory tower".

They're the servants! Servants of the Republic.

And they're seeing their higher-ups destroy what they should all stand for, but are unable to stop them.

Later on, with The Clone Wars, we are introduced to civilian characters and from their point of view, the Jedi are ultra powerful and are highly placed and "should do more but don't".

It makes sense that these characters would see the Jedi as 'the elite'. But they don't have the full picture.

We, as the audience, do.

So we know that the reality is more along the lines of the Jedi "should do more but can't".

After all, we are made privy many instances of the Jedi speaking up and trying to change politicians' minds, only to be dismissed and overruled at every turn.

↑ these aren't even all the times we see it happen, btw, there's more examples...

So at some point, if you - as an audience member - see all this and are still saying "the Jedi should've done more!" I really need to know... what more could they have done?

Take control of the Senate?

That'll result in a dictatorship, there's a reason they waited as much as they did before trying to take down Palpatine.

Power corrupts and they're wise enough to know it.

Don't join the Republic in the first place?

George Lucas never frames the Jedi's involvement with the Republic as a bad thing. In the foreword to Shatterpoint (2004), he says their being part of the Republic led to 1,000 years of prosperity.

Where's the issue, then? Well, it's a two-man job and the Jedi's bosses, the Senate, grew corrupt and stopped doing their part. They stopped carrying their end of the couch.

But “no Jedi in the Republic from the get-go” means the Sith will rise to power even faster. Fun!

Stay neutral in the war?

The Separatists were killing civilians and testing weapons on neutral systems, or enslaving them.

The choice put before the Jedi was "do what we tell you and fight, or let people die".

But also, out-of-universe... do you really think Palpatine, genius politician, master of spin, can't re-frame the Jedi staying neutral in a negative light?

When they joined the war, he unleashed propaganda that either directly (on the Separatist side) or indirectly (on the Republic side) framed them as "warmongers who corrupted their values". If they don't join, they're "apathetic cowards who care more about their own values than the lives of the people they're supposed to protect".

So either way, Order 66 comes around, wipes them out and the Republic goes "good riddance".

So what else could they do?

The answer is "not much".

Because the whole point of the narrative is that Palpatine checkmated them by taking the fight to a field the Jedi had no experience in or right to meddle with: politics.

So if you look at these characters who are nowhere near the top of the food chain, and say "well, why didn't they fix things?" I'm sorry to say you're missing the point of the narrative.

Or maybe you do get the point of the narrative and just aren't trying to be fair...

... in which case, at least be consistent and also argue:

"Why didn't Threepio & Artoo do more to save the Rebel crew of the Tantive IV from the stormtrooopers?!"

"Why didn't Matashichi & Tahei do more to save the Akizuki clan?!"

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iouinotes · 9 months ago

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Heroic love (part 4) | Luke Castellan

pairing: Luke Castellan x female!reader

show: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

warnings: betrayal, dark romance, no verbal consent, angst, smut MINORS DONT INTERACTE

summary: Luke finds out your plan and you give in. After all, it is better to be with him than with the monsters that suround you.

authors note: The reader joins Luke rather unwillingly, even though she still loves him. I just want to say up front that Luke's threat at the end is not meant serious. He would never do something like that to her. He only does it so that she realizes that there is no other way than to join him. If it's too dark, I'm sorry... @qwertydddddddddd wanted to be tagged, so I hope you enjoy it <33

Sometimes you think to yourself, this is real love. I'm gonna marry this person. I will spend my life with them, building a home and a family.

Well thats the regular scenario, I mean for the people who are regular. Not demigods.

And you see, even though we dont have an easy life, fighting monsters, losing friends, being scared and anxious all the time, that some bad evil guy suddenly wants to rule the world- we live. Because we have to and because we have each other.

So, for me, I was prepared for it to become harsh. I always knew my life would be like sitting on a rollercoaster, never having the chance to exit.

But I found comfort in this reality. I would imagine being on this attraction, but holding onto something that grounds me. Someone that gives me strengh, so I don't lose myself.

For a long time, I held hands with Luke.

Then of course, something did go terrible wrong, as if they goddess Aphrodite wanted to watch an exciting, action packed romance movie, with the plot twist of I-hate-to-love-you-because-you-left-me trope. Something like this.

Well, I think the movie sucks. In the last months, everything was just not right- Luke leaving camp to join Kronos? Betraying everyone and kidnapping me? Showing up here, messing with me and then holding my own dagger to my throat? (Deja vu)

No, that just isnt what I Imagined to happen in the future. I didnt want my boyfriend to turn into the bad guy, who we swore to fight.

But now I guess, thats up to me. At least some part of it.

"I think Luke ist turning into Darth Vader." Sometimes I'm not sure whats going on in Percys head.

"I never heard of this monster?" Annabeths parents are so wrong for not watching Star Wars with her.

"Guys, after we discussed this, you can have your movie night. But please, let's focus." My voice sounds harsher than I intended, so I immediately feel bad about it.

"Sorry, it's just very complicated. I want to know what our next steps are, what we are planning to do with this- situation." I don't know how else to call it.

"We need information. Who is the spy? What are Kronos plans? Where will he attack? Who joined him? So many unanwered questions." Chirons voice sends a shiver down my neck. He's right, but how do we achieve it?

Percys gaze unnerves me and when I turn my head to meet his eyes, he immediately shakes his head.

"I am not letting you alone with him this time. Nope." I sign, conflicted how I would want to deal with this.

All eyes are on me and when I turn to them, I try to explain my plan. But I cant even finish my second sentence and already everyone seems to be against it.

"We cant let him out!"

"He will kill us!"

"His army is already searching for him, he would escape!"

Annabeth raises her hand and the voices calm down. As she looks at me, I sense her own doubts about the situation.

"They are right. How do you know he would trust you? Could you convince him?"

I nod my head, ignoring my doubts.

"I can."

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

The moon shines beautifully in the sky, but it helps nothing to calm down my nerves. Im so stupid, why did I thought I could pull this off?

"Youre sure, you want to do this? You dont have to." Percy's standing next me, as always trying to comfort me.

"He will believe me. I always had dreams, where I thought he-" I need a moment to finish my sentence.

"-died. That he got hurt or is in pain. When I had this sort of dream, I would always sneak out of my cabin and came to him. I would walk into his cabin and he somehow always knew what happend. He would tuck me in his bed, letting me cry and cuddling me. Resurring me that everything is going to be okay, that he will live. That was always my biggest fear, that he would die and I would be helpless to do anything against it. He knows that."

We stand in silence for a moment.

"If you need me, I will be there. Just be careful." I smile at him.

I take a deep breath and go trough the doors, seeing that the only light he has, is a small lamp on the ceiling. I quicken my pace so he can hear me coming. When I stand in front of his cell, he is already on his feet. He looks alarmed.

"What-" his t-shirt is wrinkled and his eyes are sleepy. My breath catches and I don't even have to pretend to be confused and afraid, standing in front of him alone in the dark is enough.

The bars are the only thing that separates us.

At first I don't say anything, I just look at him with watery eyes. And just like I said, he knows it. He always knows.

"Another nightmare?" His voice is so gentle, it makes me remember the old days when everything was good. When he took me in his arms and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

I just nod, I don't think my voice is stable enough yet.

I have to play the role, I can do it. He has to believe me.

I slide down the wall and put my head in my hands, all the despair and pain I've been carrying for weeks suddenly coming out of me. I'm crying so hard that I'm almost afraid of waking up the others.

"Shit, princess- what can I do? Let me help, please." He sounds so desperate and it's only now that I realize, that I don't actually have to act. Because my tears are real.

"Y-you ruined everything! And I'm still s-so scared that something h-happens to you" I meet his gaze and see the remorse in his eyes. His heart hurts too.

"I didn't want something like that to happen- please, darling. Come here." Sniffling, I stand up. My knees feeling weak and unsteady. If I go in there now, I won't be able to defend myself properly.

“You hurt me, I shouldn’t even be here. You're an idiot, Luke. I hate-" but I can't bring myself to say it. I cant say that I hate him. Because I don't, at least not yet.

"I know, believe me. I hate myself too. Only your belief in me has always held me together." He grips the bars, I see the inner conflict within him.

"But you won't change. You've never been able to do that well." I know I'm right and he knows it too. Silence surrounds us.

"Let me hold you. Just for- a few minutes. Please. I can't stand seeing you like this. You've always been the sunshine in my life. I don't want my sun to be obscured."

The key jingles in my hand and I look at it uncertainly.

"I won't hurt you, never again, I promise. I also got an anklet. I can't escape." His eyes look so honest. I'm feeling nervous, my heart is beating way too fast.

I put the key in the lock and open the door, freezing in my movements for a moment. What am I doing here? But then I hear his voice and I know why.

“It’s not that comfortable on the floor, but you can sit on my lap." I close the door.

As I move towards him I see how thin he has become and how brown his eyes still are.

Slowly, he raises his hands and when I stand in front of him he puts them around my waist. My knees buckle and I sink carefully onto his lap. My hands rest uncertainly on his shoulders, then moving down to his neck. Playing with the strands of his hair, lost in thoughts.

His face is right in front of mine, both of our breaths are uneven. His hands linger on me, holding me tight to him. Warmth fills my chest as I look into his eyes.

"You're so beautiful. So, so beautiful." A sob tries to escape me, as I do something, I always loved. I put my head in the crook of his neck and wrap my arms around him.

He holds me for a few minutes, stroking my back and whispering soothing, sweet nothings in my ear.

Once I've calmed down, I'm basically lying on top of him and can hear his heartbeat. It's almost soporific.

"Luke?" my voice is calm.

His head turns to me. "Yes?"

"I...I want to be with you. I don't care how or- or where. I just know that I can't live without you." I see his eyebrows furrow.

"You dont mean-" I am silent. Just looking at him, sitting up a little, straddling him.

"I need you. I tried not to need you. But it's out of my control, nothing helps to ease the pain. Only you, only you matter."

Is it the truth if the words escape me so easily?

His hand finds my cheek and I lean into his touch.

"We're the only ones that matter. We will get through this, together and united. You don't have to fight my darling, you just have to be by my side." His hand around my waist pulls me towards him, the other one, he continues to lay on my cheek. Caressing the skin, drawing invisible heart-shapes.

Then his lips meet mine and my eyes flutter shut. The kiss so intoxicating, that I forget for a moment my real intention. Forget why I'm participating in this madness.

As he pulls away from me, I hear his whispering voice.

"You won't betray me, right? You won't do that to me?" He tugs on my hair, ever so slightly, to get my attention.

"No, Luke. I won't." Lie.

The key in my hand is no longer idle as I remove his shackles carefully.

"Then princess, let's get out of here." I slowly get off his lap, but before I stand up, he lifts me up in his arms.

"I promise you that I will never hurt you again. You deserve only the best." As cliche as it is, he carries me out of the cell, which isnt locked anymore.

He lets me down outside and breathes in the fresh air. It's still night, maybe 4 a.m. Everything is quiet.

His hands cup my face and place several kisses on my skin.

"You are incredible, I knew you would join me. For real this time." He takes my hand and intertwines our fingers. I don't see Percy anywhere.

"Let's go. I know where my troops are stationed. Nobody will notice that we're gone until it's too late."

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

Joining Kronos' army was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life, and that includes keeping the truth from Luke.

That I'm a spy for the camp, better hidden than anyone else ever could. No one would accuse or suspect the leader's girlfriend, because everyone can see how much I love him.

After all, it's the only reason I'm tolerated here. Because Luke would kill anyone who even came near me. He has already done it to a dragon lady who was too pushy and even when I tried to stop him, he showed no mercy.

Because he can't afford to do that, if he shows that he has a heart, it will be taken away from him.

Every day it is torture to witness this evil, to help maintain cover, to save my friends.

And every day I feel worse, because I lie to Luke. But it is the only way. I cannot help in the camp, if my heart is somewhere else. Here, with him, my thoughts are not always here, but my heart is.

At least it's enough for me to function. When Luke isn't distracting me.

When I wake up that morning on the Princess Andromeda, it is still quiet. In the presence of these monsters, I have not been able to sleep well for months. Even the dreams I have, make me wake up in the middle of the night and the only thing that calms me down is Luke's touch.

His fingers gently stroke my exposed skin, and as I turn my head and look at him, I see an emotion in his eyes, I've only recently noticed. There is a desire in his gaze, as if he wanted to consume my entire being, to have me just for himself.

My voice, my body, my thoughts, my feelings. Simply everything. He wants it all to be his.

"I wish I could erase every bad dream you have and send whoever is responsible for it to burn in hell. It should scare me that you make me think like that, but if I'm honest, it doesn't. Are you scared?" His eyes look into mine.

Slowly, my fingers intertwine with his. "Not when you're with me."

The next thing I notice is his lips on mine. The way his hands grip my hips and pull me onto him.

He leans towards me, his lips caress my ears and I hear his whispering voice. "Every day I hear one my followers talking about you. That they want to have you, to decorate your beautiful body with scars, with their initials." I freeze at his words, wanting to pull away and look at him, but he holds me tight. Makes me continue to listen to his voice.

"They want to see you bleed, to alternate between pain and pleasure when they push their cocks into you. Do you like that? That you are so desired? That you turn everyone's heads, when you go by and they start wanting to see my head roll? To get close to you, huh?" I want to shake my own head, but he holds me even tighter.

"Do you know how hard it is not to execute every single one of them? Do you know that? I would, if I could. I would kill every single one of them, in front of you, so that everyone knows that you belong to me. Do you understand? No one will speak to you anymore, because your voice is mine. No one will look at you, because your sight is mine. You keep your hands to yourself, no more help with injuries, I don't care if they die. Your hands only touch me."

As I start to sqirm, he leans back, keeping his hands on my hips until a finger strokes my cheek.

"No one will ever kiss you except me. And anyone who even thinks about fucking you, I will let die in battle. You may think my loyalty is to Kronos, but it is to you. My beautiful girl. Now think carefully about who you are pledging your loyalty to."

When his eyes look into mine, I fall silent. Then, even though I try not to, my voice trembles.

"What do you mean? I'm loyal to you, Luke."

His hands caress my skin, examining how the sun shines on me. I'm only wearing one of his T-shirts and my panties. His hands, stroke my bare thighs.

His eyebrows rise, slowly his fingers wrap around my panties, pulling them down until I am revealed to him. My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest, that it feels like it's about to give up. I hold my breath as he places the tip of his cock at my entrance.

What am I doing here?

"I think you're not being completely honest with me, princess. Let's try again. Who are you loyal to?" As he slowly enters me and his hands hold my hips, I moan. I lay my head back for a moment and enjoy the stretch, feeling his hands slide under my shirt and stroke over my stomach, to my breasts and to my neck.

"Luke, what's going on? I'm here with you, I'm-" But I can't finish my sentence as he plunges into me with a violent jerk, right up to the edge. My eyes roll back.

"These sweet lies that come from your lips. Of course you are here physically, but with the mind? Oh no, while I fuck you, your thoughts are on Camp Halfblood. On Jackson. Can you believe it?" His hands push my hips down until I am connected directly to him and can feel every inch inside me. I almost melt as one of his hands presses into my lower back and I move even closer to him.

When I try to answer him, my voice is a mixture of horror and pleasure. "Luke, that's not true. I only want you, I'm on your side- ahh-" Faster than I can react, he thrusts into me. Once, twice. So hard and ruthless that he hits the spot inside me, that makes me see stars. I can't concentrate.

"How I wish you would tell the truth. There's nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. Admit it, I already know. My girlfriend is the traitor. Behind my back, she talks to the person I hate the most and yet, she sits on my lap and rides my cock. What would Percy say about that?"

His hand wraps around my neck and holds me tight, his hips keep pounding into me and even though my brain tells me to stop, my guard is down. I want this.

"How-" But when I want to ask, he pushes me onto him again. So fast, too hard, it almost hurts, but it also feels so good.

"I have my eyes everywhere. It took me a while to figure out how to deal with it, how to deal with you. But I found a good solution. After all, Percy lets you be here, without cover, without protection. Hoping I wouldn't find out that you were passing on information. That I wouldn't hurt you."

His last sentence makes me tense up, but even though his face twists in amusement for a brief moment, he doesn't stop talking.

"Your pussy won't save you either. And since I have given you my word, I will not harm you. I found a better punishment. A choice."

He suddenly stops moving and I almost cry, wanting to move myself, but he takes my face in his hand, tightly. Focusing all attention on him.

"Either you stop your underhanded loyalty to Jackson immediately and serve me, or I will make the wishes of everyone behind this door come true and you will be used like a beautiful, little doll. From each one of them, I assure you. But after that, you won't be so beautiful anymore."

Tears well up my eyes, whether it's from the tight grip he's holding on me or from his words, I can't tell. And I'm scared, it feels like I'm being buried alive. With no prospect of ever being able to breathe or be free again.

Without me saying anything, he starts moving inside me again, letting my hips sink onto his. I breathe in loudly.

"Come on, move. Your choice. It's either my cock or anyone else's."

When I look at him, the person I once loved has disappeared. It's like looking at a stranger.

My heart feels like it's been stolen and in the back of my mind I realize, that I should have never gone with him.

But then I close my eyes, put my hands on his shoulders for support and sink down onto him. Again and again, even stronger. Until my thighs shake and tears run down my cheeks. Until I hear Luke's quiet voice again.

"If you think you are strong enough to be like me, treacherous, cold-hearted and ruthless, then I have to disappoint you. Your heart will be soft forever unless the world hardens it. I will protect you for that, princess. Forget camp halfblood, you only serve me now."

His lips are hot on my skin, a strong contrast to my heart, which feels like it's made of ice.

And when I receive the next secret sign from Annabeth a few days later, I ignore it.

#luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy series #percy pjo #camp half blood #x reader #smut #fanfic #betrayal #angst #bad ending

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