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batsplat · 8 days

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sooo, you bring up casey/vale dinner quite a lot right. and you always empathize how the rivalry was very different from their povs and how it obviously was so much more for casey. how casey doesn’t really know vale as a person and how it’s more like casey vs the consent of valentino rossi he has in his head. that at the same time vale kept the distance in their rivalry and was ‘cold’ about it not emotionally driven.

anyways, in your version of that dinner, do they reach some kind of REAL understanding of each other? on a competitive and personal levels. is it possible? or is there’s always gonna be a disconnect between these two?

hm lovely ask. yeah I like the dinner conceptually because it's just,, easy shorthand for a central tension of their rivalry: this gulf between the two of them that cannot ever be breached. I've been talking enough recently about the similarities between them, let's get back to the unbreachable, the unreachable, that which is impossible to resolve. to quickly include what casey actually said:

obviously this was an off-hand comment from casey and not something he put a massive amount of thought into, but it still captures something about that rivalry in a way that's really stuck with me (hence me referencing it every other day). like you say, anon - the disparity between the pair of them, in terms of how they were experiencing the different stages of the rivalry, the significance of it to them, the emotional investment. how valentino enforced a certain amount of distance, how he played the game as he wanted without wrestling with anything more complicated, no moral dilemmas or hand-wringing or capacity to get hurt. and how casey had to reckon with this.... just, lack of care, this thoughtlessness, this empty malice from his main rival. casey's desire to be understood is key to getting his whole deal, I reckon, and this quote really is an expression of that. it's almost like... I don't know, I just find something really compelling about the idea that this mutual lack of understanding bothers casey. as if there's something that casey could say to valentino that would make him get how shit the whole thing was for casey, that would prompt some kind of moment of self-reflection from valentino, of realisation even. maybe there still is a little bit of casey that's still searching for a little bit of catharsis

anyway, I think the crucial thing about the dinner is that it never happens. like, the key detail here is that casey would like to have this kind of conversation, whereas valentino is decidedly uninterested. this is the whole problem, right, because valentino really hasn't spent much time unpicking this rivalry or figuring out what his feelings are or trying to make his peace with it or any of it. to him, that rivalry very much ended when casey retired. he doesn't even harbour any particular ill will towards casey, because as far as he's concerned the things they did to each other all existed within the realm of what is 'acceptable' for a rivalry. there's not really anything to discuss here. so in that sense, some kind of post-mortem simply... isn't something valentino would be all that interested in, I don't think. but let's just play with the thought for a little longer, let's say that somehow valentino can be convinced to engage with this whole dinner scenario. some combination of politeness, curiosity, lack of animosity towards casey, nostalgia for the good old days... let's say he goes along with this idea, what does that conversation look like? I did give my general take as to the vibes here:

that's the starting point, right: the mismatch in emotional investment between the pair of them means they also have a very different conceptualisation of what the list of grievances even is. with most of the things casey could bring up, valentino's likely response will be 'hm when did that happen' or 'don't think it was that bad' or 'actually that bit was fine'. the british crowd thing would be a classic example: you'll get some combination of valentino pointing out casey could be his own worst enemy and probably pissed off the brits all on his lonesome, minimising what actually happened with the fans, and also fundamentally believing that a little bit of psychological warfare is basically fine. this does not feel like a divide that can be crossed, y'know

laguna, of course, is the big one. I'm quite glad I waited with posting this to let my thoughts marinate a little longer, because it meant that podcast thingy came out and provided a new valentino take on the laguna 2008 situation (first proper one we've had in ages):

(very grateful for the transcription, taken from here)

now, look, this quote does deserve more thorough attention, I will eventually get to the laguna 2008 post - but this is obviously a stance that is fundamentally incompatible with casey's approach. valentino straight up says he was willing to make them both crash if that's what it took, which, yes, you can tell from watching the race... and as far as casey is concerned, this is a line that should never be crossed. this is not something the two of them could ever find any agreement about. given casey's furious aversion to any suggestion his mental game might not be up to scratch, valentino emphasising the... psychological dimensions of that race would also extremely not be appreciated. it's not something where communication would really help, because... well, they do both know where the other stands here, right? there are some parts of the rivalry where one or both of them does fail to understand the other, but this is categorically not one of them. if casey pointed out his objections to what happened at that race, valentino would not be surprised by casey's opinions or be forced to reflect or anything like that - he just fundamentally would not care. it's not simply a difference in racing philosophies, it's a mismatch in moral values. the best dinner in the world couldn't solve this

maybe it's not entirely a lost cause. like I said, there are issues where they fail to understand each other in ways that - in an ideal world with perfect communication - they theoretically could clear up. casey's assessment of valentino's assessment of him, for instance, feels pretty off base at times. it's worth pointing out that valentino does in the podcast quote call casey his most talented rival, an opinion he has expressed before and probably believes and that would presumably be well-received by casey. (obviously the second half of that sentence goes in a direction casey would be less enthusiastic about, but let's try to work with what we've got here.) the eternal bike vs rider debate and some of the more circumstantial nastiness they levelled at each other to discredit the other... you'd assume that wouldn't be impossible to talk over. even some of the thornier aspects of their respective relationships to fame, to publicly performing, all of it - hey, maybe they really could tell each other what their 'challenges' there were. there are some things valentino sincerely believes that casey could probably benefit from hearing directly from valentino's lips. maybe casey could gain something just from knowing what valentino truly thought of him

really, though, at the end of the day, what is fascinating about the dinner is not as much the hypothetical meal itself (which would likely be deeply unsatisfying), but instead the fact that casey even wants it. like I said above, casey's desire to be understood is a key motif in this rivalry. it is the reason why he has to copy valentino's media tactics - because otherwise, he is doomed to being hated without being known. he needs to become a better communicator as a result of just how frustrated he is by how the world perceives him. casey has ended up using those same tools he learned from valentino against him, both when he was still a rider and since his retirement. and he wants to be understood by valentino... is there a part of casey that thinks valentino would have been kinder, gentler, if he had simply understood the effect he had on casey? does casey want to hear valentino's side of the story to finally make sense of how valentino behaved towards him? what answers exactly is he looking for here? none that would be easily forthcoming, most likely. perhaps he would at least get some kind of closure, the knowledge that valentino was exactly what casey thought he was all along. to the extent that casey has built up an inaccurate version of valentino in his mind, it probably is not one that he can tear down in a single dinner conversation. in some ways, he is already primed to believe the worst of valentino - and he is generally not a character predisposed to look for the best. his issues are often so abstracted from 'valentino the person' that he would not always find it easy to articulate a specific grievance at all. there's just too much to disentangle, here, and not all of the indignities he has suffered could reasonably be addressed by even a well-intentioned version of valentino. and if casey is looking for an apology... well, that just isn't happening, is it. maybe valentino really would find a little more empathy within himself for some of casey's struggles, maybe time really has mellowed him a little in some regards. maybe he would understand casey a little bit better. maybe it'd fill in a few for the blanks as far as his own conceptualisation of casey is concerned, explain a few things he never bothered to find out about. but there's only so far he would ever be willing to go. and he will almost certainly never feel particularly sorry for any of it. which means that there's a yearning here from casey for something that seems impossible to resolve... how can you fail to be compelled by that

all that being said. not to sound arrogant, but I do fundamentally believe that if anyone could make this dinner work, it's me. as a brave advocate for peace and harmony and love and all that stuff in every walk of life, I'm willing to take one for the team and volunteer to moderate their conversation. perhaps none of this is fixable, perhaps some divides simply cannot be crossed, but I believe it is my solemn duty to try. valentino, casey: call me. let's make this happen

#//#brr brr #spec tag #batsplat responds #i think i need to develop a system of tagging that like. helps me specifically find things without having it show up in searches #generally i'm on board with things being a bit impossible to find but unfortunately this becomes an issue when EYE wish to find things #hm #heretic tag #soz casey. it's about the themes

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impishtubist · 6 months

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Lord Chaos, it's me again

I need to know how you feel about blackinnon? I mean I love @arliedraws hc about Marlene, but I also think that sirius is the only character who can be shipped with basically anybody. And if you have some recs maybe 👉🏼👈🏼 because it's like they're extinguished :(

My Lord Chaos anon is back!

Arlie's hc about Marlene is fantastic. We don't have any canon evidence that the people who get name-dropped once (Marlene, Mary, Dorcas, etc) in the books are the same age as Sirius and the rest, so it's always refreshing when someone makes them part of a different generation. Hats off to Arlie!

Unfortunately...............................no I do not like Sirius/Marlene. 😂

I promise you, I really am not that precious about ships! I'm a multishipper, and Sirius truly is the fandom bicycle. Sirius/Remus, Sirius/James, Sirius/Rosmerta, Sirius/any of the Weasley boys, Sirius/anyone from Harry's generation, Sirius/Fleamont or anyone from his parents' generation, Sirius/Bellatrix........I mean, you really could convince me of just about anything, as long as it's well-written. And not just Sirius, but Remus as well. Remus/Kingsley, Remus/any of the Weasley boys, etc. I'm there for almost all the rare pairs and multiships.

HOWEVER. When I hate a ship, I hate a ship, and I cannot stand if it's even mentioned in a fic. Like someone could write the most perfect Prongsfoot fic that hits every single one of my sweet spots, but if they even hint that Remus/Tonks is a thing, I'm out. I can't. I refuse. So I'm the same way about Sirius/Marlene (and Lily/Remus, and Lily/Snape, and pretty much any other rare pair that crops up in a Sirius/James fic). I'm really sorry to let you down about that. I don't have any Sirius/Marlene recs because I simply will not read anything that even mentions them.

(Although................now that I'm thinking about it, I could see Sirius having a fling with Arlie's older!Marlene. Maybe she could show him a thing or two in bed, lol.)

Paradoxically, Sirius is also the only character in the series that I can see as being truly aroace and completely uninterested in relationships and/or sex. My guy has way more important things to do (fight dark wizards, raise his godson) and he Does Not Understand why everyone keeps looking at him like they want to climb him like a tree lmao.

Okay I'm done rambling, thank you and goodnight.

#imp speaks

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leohttbriar · 6 months

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🛼🍄🔪🦷🦋🦴🏜️🍬☁️🧩 (lol I know this is a lot, whatever piques your interest!!)

heyyyy!

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

here's a kiradax one that i'm not sure i'll ever finish for reasons but i yet have the urge to write: 🙏😩💦🌊🪱

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

so i really like t'pring/uhura because i think there's a sort of quietness to them that remains steely and resolved. just looking at how the characters function in the show, it's easy to see how they had so much oomph for their moment while being the kinds of characters now that few people notice or pay attention to. like, for uhura it's nearly impossible to find any content in fan spaces that's about her alone, despite her being a big main character in snw; which probably just speaks to misogyny and racism but also might have something to do with the fact that the character was written to do a lot of watching/listening originally and people don't know how to interpret that. but despite her lack of real character-attention, she gets so many moments where she sets her jaw and does her duty but also does what she thinks is right (also nichols did a very good job of implying this full person in the character of uhura, even if the show was so rarely focused on it). and t'pring has like ten seconds total of dialogue in tos but she's still so in control the entire episode she's in, in charge of the lives of several people, and we simply cannot be mad at her for it because she's right and logical and doing the only thing she can to ensure she is free to choose.

all that being said: my head canon for this pairing is that they aren't enormously expressive, that they're dutiful and bound to each other in this really quiet way, that they grow together sort of privately, keep each other to themselves, and that even when they're standing side-by-side you can't tell what they are to each other. part of that is me just really enjoying vulcan logic and non-expressive emotion. but part of it is extrapolating based on their characters in the show and how they didn't have to be shouting to be heard or seen. the story kind of honored them in the way the story knew how to do at the time.

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

necessary components of a crop-yielding soil

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

personal wisdom: sometimes it's easier to capture a monstrous wasp on your kitchen counter if you call your mom and just have her on the phone while you do it

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

i've been thinking a lot about a quote from stephen jay gould, as he was describing the work of people who had first started to put together the geological time scale and history. i can't remember the exact quote, can't find it anywhere, and i lost the book but it went something like:

"not for the first time, or the last, scientific discovery was achieved not by clever thinking but by careful doing."

🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing?

bridge of spies, dir. by steven speilberg.

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

lol i love all comments, truly. they're all precious. i guess i love most the comments from people who love the characters as much as me.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

my most unpopular opinions are about winn adami but i wouldn't call her a popular fandom character. my unpopular opinion is that she should be.

another unpopular opinion that i've probably heavily implied a few times but maybe never outright said: odo is an annoying character, to me. he just seems like the best expression for a lot of mid-90s male anxieties/ennui that i find uninteresting. i think odo is conceptually worth so much but the character fails to carry it in a way that convinces. he was confronted with the wrong people too often. one of the only times he was confronted with the right person was with lwaxana troi but, alas, she was not by his side for all seven seasons.

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

my first username was leohtebewunden which is old english for "bound/wound by/with light" which is a pretty image and also i need sunlight So Much. but that was long so i shortened it but then i was reminded of the word "briar" in a poem randomly and added it to my username bc i love it. it's a good word.

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

if the punctuation/grammar is just really wrong. that's less to do with me being there are proper ways to do things! and more like if you've read a lot of books, you would probably know how punctuation works without having to think too much about it. it's like banning brown m&ms in your rider.

#now i hope you answer all of mine!!#no pressure or anything #but still...#star trek #t'pura #my fic #ds9

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donnabroadway · 1 year

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Education is a luxury

Education is a luxury. I know people argue that it's a right but it's not, a luxury and education only became a publicly funded thing available for all once the rich realized they needed a workforce that could do the basics, like read, write, and deductively reason, aka use common sense to make basic decisions but education was never intended to be a luxury for everyone, hence education becoming unaffordable and student loans pretty much only being able to be discharged in the event of death or proven fraud and even public service forgiveness is a longshot. Education, like most things, has fallen victim to capitalism and schools have become a business and the average consumer is suffering and the government doesn't have to care and frankly it doesn't, it just wants to avoid a riot which is why they have been appeasing us with the dangling carrot of student loan forgiveness and payment pause.

There are some things that straddle the border of necessity and luxury. There are things that are clearly a luxury but some things that are technically necessities but society has made them luxuries. Childcare, while it is a necessity, is often treated like a luxury because the 40 hour work week was allegedly built on the idea that one parent would be home, because why does school start at 8:30-9:30 and end at 3:30-4:30 a time when most parents are either at work or commuting to work. Makes no sense and doesn't fit in this current society where the basics we need to live, not luxuries like Starbucks or Netflix, are being inflated and a lot of people are drowning to stay afloat. While researching this, I often ran across the quote that says "quality education is a right, not a luxury." Sorry to break it to you but while, yes, students should learn in a safe, clean environment, with qualified teachers, we know that is not always the case. You get the education you can afford which is why poorer neighborhoods with lower property taxes get the worst, or no schools, little to no resources, and unqualified or uninterested teachers. It is no coincidence that the schools and school districts in Maryland, the wealthiest state in America, are consistently amongst the top ranked in the nation and the top schools are in the state's wealthiest zip codes. If education is as worthless as social media is trying to convince us that it is, then why are the wealthy spending upwards of millions of dollars on private school education, tutors, activities, and nearly a million to ensure their children gain entry into top ivy league schools.

If there is one thing the wealthy invests in, it is not shoes, bags, jewelry, clothes, perfumes, or even vacations, all things that look expensive but the average person can dupe, it is education. The first thing wealthy people do is make sure their children go to the best schools that money can buy and we can't dupe that. Education was always intended for the wealthy, gifted, talented or those that have grit, it was never intended for the masses and the student loan crisis, although a systematic issue on so many levels, still shows that many of us cannot afford the education we want or think we deserve. The wealthy invest in education. While the children of wealthy may never fill out a formal job application and may only work for their parents company or that of their friend, they always get quality education and they go to the best schools. If they go to a state school, it is university of or the a legacy school, not state university. Education is a luxury that many people simply can't afford. Why do you think it is expected that parents will pay university? Because the children of those who could afford to pay, would pay their children's tuition, it was expected, now it is an anomaly if parents pay and people on social media will argue someone down and call them entitled, if they state they expect their parents to pay or even that their parents have invested in them financially beyond the bare minimum of food, shelter, basic education, and clothing, you know things the government requires to keep you our of jail. I think part of the reason we are so divided on student loans, universal health care, and any sort of social program is because we've been trained to see the wealthy's wins as wins for us, hence the trickle down effect, even if it's never actually trickled in the 40 years since Reagan coined that term. There is a reason why we see Lebron's scoring records and wealth as wins for the overall community, even though few of us will have little interaction with Lebron outside of watching him do his job is because we've been trained to believe that somehow Lebron becoming a billionaire will somehow benefit us. We believe that he will give the money to the community in the form of giveaways, jobs, tax contributions, and handouts. We don't see the wealthy as resource hoarding because we believe that when they win, we win. We see education as a form of privilege, even if someone got into debt to get it because we cannot benefit from it unless they become uber wealthy or powerful. Your cousin with the student loan debt but average house, average car, average job, and average family is of no benefit to you. Your wealthy cousin at least allows you some privilege proxy but giving jobs to family members, giving money, hosting events in their big homes, allowing us to join the spoils of wealth by using their toys, wearing their discarded clothes, some never worn with labels, in brands we can't afford, and just being able to say "so and so" is my cousin. That is why are not angry when PPP loans are forgiven because the scam is seen as something aspirational and somehow we believe it benefits the greater community.

What do I believe will happen next? They will keep dangling student loan forgiveness in front of us, a lot of universities will see their funding cut, will continue to wave requirements, or even close because less people are going to college due to the crisis and not really seeing the benefit of getting into debt when there are other options. I don't think we should push trades onto everyone because, while they are a good alternative and you can make a lot of money, they still require training and an educational element, even if the cost is free or low. It takes time to get certified for a trade and I suggest people think twice before picking their trade and honestly, no career seems to be stable with lay offs across the board. I also don't like parents pushing their kids to community college or limiting their educational options. If they want to go to Harvard, they need to figure out how to pay for Harvard. I don't believe in limiting. I think certain colleges are going to have to pivot because schools are a business but certain legacy schools have a large endowment and will cover tuition for students whose parents make a certain amount. I don't think higher education will ever go away because the elite need something to distinguish them from everyone else and education is important to them, I just think the degree requirement will be waived from more jobs and companies and education will only be for the elite, really smart, really talented, or really hard working, like it's always has been.

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batteredwarriorstillstanding · 2 years

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I should feel better than I have in a long time...nearly EVERYTHING has improved enormously. Quickly. Instantly, almost....and can easily continue to do so. It's true that I am paying the price for not being psychologically situated to process several traumatic blows to my world in a timely fashion, and am therefore experiencing something of a delayed reaction to numerous deaths of beloved friends that occurred over the past couple of years...one of the best friends I have ever been blessed with died suddenly, unexpectedly, sober, and seemingly ready to continue a remarkable life after a 4 year personal detour, of sorts, had finally ended. While devastated, I was far too strung out to have dealt with such a shocking loss in an effective fashion. It makes sense that it became increased baggage, of sorts, constantly adding unseen weight to every burden destined to befall my already troubled soul until given its proper import. Some 15 months later, on the same day I fell victim to a teenage hit and run driver, who sped away after shattering my pelvis, and snapping a humerus in two, while also breaking a tibia, both wrists, both fibula, and ankle, I lay in a hospital bed--which was to becone my home for the next couple of months, when a phone call informed me that another close friend had overdosed and died earlier that morning....these were 2 of at least a dozen acquaintances/casual friends that had also fallen victim to fentanyl throughout the same period, but these were two close friends whose presence in my life I cherished, and knew that I had virtually no hope of replacing. Breaking virtually every major bone on the right side of my body (and some others) also brought about an abrupt end to my 5 month stretch if sobriety....the longest in years, as I do not do well with constant pain of any type. So, in a sense, I have had a tough go of late....but, it hasn't been all bad. Despite an inability to stay clean, I have completely turned my financial situation (a wreck just a few months ago) around and stand to see even greater increases in the coming months. I have reconciled with family members with whom I had been on the outs, rekindled a friendship with a beloved (if completely nuts.lol) person with whom I share much history, and has completely turned her life around...a relationship I previously thought impossible to salvage. So.....I should be able to let this go....for a variety of reasons. You seem completely uninterested (as usual) there is no reason to believe we are the slightest bit compatible as friends, much less anything else even if you did change your mind....and, mist importantly, there is no way to know for sure because you refuse to speak to me (lip service aside) But, I simply cannot let it go. I am not saying I think we should be together...God knows that strikes me as a Longshot of longshots....but I cannot simply let you go. I am convinced that we are supposed to be SOMETHING. I can feel it, just as I did the second I saw you. So, continue to fuck with me. I love you and The Invitation remains open. I am sorry if I have been a dick to you. I suspect that, in person, much will be instantly revealed and resolved. I was, once again, thrilled by this prospect only to be harshly disappointed (again) and reacted unfavorably (again) if it is my fate to continue to play the fool here, oh well....the alternative of giving up is unbearable.

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bekaroth-reads · 2 years

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Morgott x reader 8

[So, I was at least going to wait until later tonight to post this, but I have no patience, so here you go]

It almost seemed to take longer to appear at the sight of grace that you last rested at; like the longing to return was no longer there. When you did re-enter the world you felt worse than you ever had before. The thing that made this worse than all of the other times was that while you still did feel all of the physical damage like you usually did there was also something else plaguing you. Something that you were not only struggling to come to terms with, but that you also actively didn’t want to. You didn’t want to think of anything to do with him; not after what had just happened; after all of the hatred you saw in his eyes for you. You didn’t think that you could bear to ever see that again in your life. So, you decided that you wouldn’t. There would not even be a chance of it. Torrent came out after a brisk whistle, and as soon as you were on him you took off; sprinting off to anywhere as long as it was off of Altus Plateau. You didn’t have a destination; you didn’t have the desire to set a certain one. You just saddled up on Torrent and started to ride. And, that’s what you did for the next two months.

There was a lot of things that you did; a lot of little things. There was no reason that you could see to try to get Great Runes on purpose. Sure, one of the main reasons that tarnished came to the Lands Between was to get the Great Runes and try to be Elden Lord, but in your current depressed state that sounded like too much responsibility; there was something about the idea that just didn’t set well with you anymore. Not to mention to finish the process you would have to return to Lyndell. That was something that you weren’t planning on doing for a long time, if you ever were to again. It was made perfectly clear that you were not welcomed there. You had wholly convinced yourself that what you thought you saw before you faded was simply delirium from the pain. The look of pure disgust and anger for you being the only reality of the situation.

You had just gone to visit Rennala again and were riding by the bridge by Reya Lucaria, when you heard a elderly voice call out, “Please, young tarnished! I must read your fingers!” You had forgotten that there was an old woman here, the local finger reader. You were going to tell her that you did want to have any sort of fortune told at the moment, but she was rather insistent. She probably would have gotten up and walked over to you herself if she was able. “It feels as if it is a message of extreme importance!” Seeing as this seemed to be urgent for her you decided to humor the old woman. If you didn’t like what she said then you would just ignore it similarly to how you’ve been ignoring the pull in your chest that the Golden Grace that had been increasing over the past few months.

The reader seemed relived when you approached, and eagerly reached out for your hand. “The message feels like it will be life changing to you. I feel it in my bones. Yet,” she took the tip of your pointer finger in her hand and started to run her fingers over yours slowly, “I cannot know the specific message until I have read it on your fingers.” You sat there relatively uninterested as she ran her hands all along yours. What did end up catching your attention was when she seemed to doubt herself, and then repeat the process. There hadn’t been a reader that wasn’t completely sure of themselves before, or at least none that let on that they were. Then, a genuine yet playful smile wormed its way onto her wrinkled face. “The graceless has finally received his grace. Yet, frightened it runs from him.” You weren’t sure what she meant or what it had to do with you, but you let her continue rather than interrupt. Her eyeless face turned from where it was facing toward the sky and toward you. “You have a different sort of grace than most, young tarnished. Do you know what your destiny truly is?”

There was little doubt to your answer. She must have been starting to lose it after being out here alone for so long. “My destiny, like all Tarnished, is to unite the Elden Ring. To gain all of the Great Ruins and-“ you were cut off with a cackle from the old woman. “You listen too often to those at the Round Table. Not all have the same grace as others.” She stopped and thought for a moment and thought. “Perhaps no one has properly explained the Golden Grace to you?” Whether you wanted to or not, she was going to tell you her two cents. “The old definition that we always gave grace was, ‘A gift that you do not deserve.’ As tarnished your gift was receiving another life after you first ended.” That made sense but then what were you being pulled toward now? That question was quickly answered as if she was reading your mind rather than your fingers. “That however, was only part of your gift. You were given new life to achieve a specific goal.” You were still insistent that you knew what that goal was and added, “Yes, to unite the-“ You were cut off once more. “No, child. No. Yours is a different task. You may still try that trial if you wish, but you are meant for something else.”

You weren’t quite sure what else there could be, but it seemed like she had gotten all she was going to from your fingers. “Look once more to the guidance of your grace you have neglected. Notice that it always points one way.” How she knew that you were ignoring that golden light was a mystery, but she was right. Other than when you were heading to Stormveil and it pointed there it usually pointed toward the center of the Lands Between and what you thought was the Erdtree. But, recently, it had been moving around, shifting directions every few days or so. It just hadn’t meant much to you because you were doing your best to ignore it, something that you planned to do again as soon as you were done here. “A last word of wisdom, Tarnished.” The woman called as you started to walk away. “The veiled horse shall bring you to your lost grace. Or, shall bring your grace to you, if you shall be as stubborn as usual.” You turned back and called, “Thank you! I will keep that all in mind!” Before heading back on your way. The old woman chuckled to herself. “The second option it will be then.”

You didn’t get too much farther before you decided to camp out of the night. There were plenty of reasons to not wander at night, and the main one you had at the moment was that you were tired. It took a bit to find a spot dry enough in the area to build a small fire, so the sun was fairly well down by the time you did. As you sat there trying to make sense about what the reader told you, no matter how much you told yourself you weren’t intrigued with it in the slightest, there was the sound of hooves approaching. They sounded rather close and you wondered how you didn’t notice them sooner. Your weapon was readied and you prepared yourself for a possible fight. The rider made their way closer to you faster than you would like. Just as you were about to get ready to dodge to a more open area to fight your new assailant easier, there was a call, in a deep, foreboding, and yet somehow wispy voice. “Hold, traveler! I mean thee no harm. I am forbidden from it in fact.” You weren’t totally convinced so you kept your weapon in you hand as he approached slower than before. “Forgiveness for not speaking sooner, Tarnished. The dim lights kept my eyes from properly seeing if thou were whom my lord sought.”

As the rider came into the light of your fire, you saw that he was a knight of some sort, and more importantly that his horse was wearing a shroud of some kind. “Thou must be of some importance, tarnished, for our lord to call us once again to his aid. We had not been called for an age.” You were starting to get nervous about who had sent this knight, and assuredly others to find you. Even though you weren’t that far from Raya Lucaria, you knew that Rennala didn’t have any fighters like this. And, you couldn’t imagine any others in the area having some sort of non-magic based warrior like this either. He had to be from one of the other lords that you hadn’t heard of yet. “And, what, prey tell, would your lord want with me?” You managed to ask after a moment. “Not, much as far I have been told. Only to meet. Odd sort of thing for him from my experience. Thou must be the rather interesting Tarnished for him to call parley. I am to take thee to him at once.” You eyed the knight and gripped your weapon tighter, “And, if I refuse?”

“On my troth to my lord, I am not to lay a hand on thy person in any way. Even to take thee by force.” The air of the night shifted as if it were warning you against trusting the rider. “Then I will not go. Especially, not during the night.” The knight turned his horse back the direction that he came from. “So be it. But, a warning to thee, Tarnished.” He looked you directly sending a chill down your spine, “I must tell my lord that I hast seen thee. As thou have witnessed, I travel swiftly. If thou truly desire to avoid my lord’s company, then I suggest thou should run hard as thou art able; for he is even swifter than I.” And with that the rider bolted back into the darkness.

#margit the fell omen x reader #margit x reader #margit the fell omen #morgott the omen king #morgott the omen king x reader #morgott x reader

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zapsalis-d · 3 years

Text

Piece of You

summary — Everyone wants a piece of you. Even a certain Mandalorian who denies that he's grown enamored with every little thing about you.

content — Implied smut, harassment, jealousy, alcohol, pining

word count — 4.5k

inspiration — Piece of You, Shawn Mendes

main masterlist

He's not one who's fond of Tatooine.

Everything about that filthy, crime-ridden dust-ball is enough to entirely repel him from the planet. Yet there's something — someone — who lures him into Tatooine, even when his presence isn't necessary. He repeatedly scolds himself each time he passes by the familiar dusty planet — there is no point in landing, no purpose to be there. He never listens. Not at all.

The Mandalorian is constantly preoccupied with his devotion to bounty hunting. But each time, it's as if he entirely clears anything on his plate. A pending bounty puck? He can handle that later. Quarry needs to be delivered? Not a problem, he has a carbon-freezing chamber installed in the ship. Damaged ship? Well, there are plenty of repairmen on Tatooine.

His sole desire is to visit nobody other than you. The bartender working in one of the most famous cantinas in Mos Eisley. The cantina's owner recognized precisely what he was doing when he hired you. You... you are exceptionally captivating, stunning, seductive. Your snarky personality, flawless body, and heavenly face is enough to entice every man in the parsec who'd heard of you. In fact, one of the main reasons the cantina is so damn popular is due to your employment.

Everybody wants a piece of you...

So as Din positions the Razor Crest onto the landing bay's flooring, he prepares himself to be utterly disappointed. With the plethora of men drooling over you each second of your life, you certainly have plenty to choose from. Out of all of them, you aren’t going to select a Mandalorian who refuses to reveal his face to absolutely anyone. Yet he pushes the thought aside. The purpose of his return is due to his recent hunt. The quarry was pestering, exceedingly difficult to locate and seize. Once Din managed to capture and deliver him, he immediately knew he required a brief break. A chance to unwind, ease up, relax. The sight of you is enough to de-stress him.

Maybe you'd even swiftly speak with him for a moment. Each time he arrives at the cantina, you eventually stop by besides him, hold a quick conversation before promptly returning to your work. Din has no clue why. Plenty of other men practically beg for your attention. Yet you don't spare a mere glance towards their direction, unless deemed necessary.

Din descends the ladder towards the hull of the ship, commanding the ramp to lower utilizing his beskar vambrace. Without hesitation, he strides off the ramp, sealing it shut directly after he steps off. He shares a hasty glimpse around the hangar. The manager is nowhere to be found. It doesn’t matter — his ship isn't damaged, there is no need to discuss payment with them. Without further delay, he exits the hangar and treads through the desolate streets of Mos Eisley. It's unbearably hot, even with the twin suns setting down on the horizon. Colorful hues of red, yellow, purple, and blue lace the sky as he proceeds through the countless buildings and homes.

The well-known cantina appears in the distance. A flutter develops in the pit of his stomach at the bare thought of seeing you once more, especially after the additionally burdensome hunt he endured. He hasn't the slightest idea of what he'll do, or even say, when he enters. He's able to converse with you perfectly fine, as long as you initiate the chatting. The thought of walking up to you and establishing the conversation first is... unnerving. Hell, he can hardly flirt for the sake of his own life. You're not interested in the Mandalorian. You can't be. So, why should he even attempt to speak with you when you will simply push him aside, reject him? No, he prefers to keep his distance. Observe from afar. If your desire is to talk, he'll talk with pleasure. Call him a coward, but he isn't going to take his chances.

The Mandalorian saunters through the wide-open doors, gloved hand instinctively shifting towards the holster strapped to his hip. Even through the helmet covering his face, he catches a repulsing whiff of the strong alcoholic scent. His visor scans the cantina for a brief moment. It's surprisingly empty. Tables consist of a few people chattering mutely among each other, a couple waiters grabbing their orders. The ambience is strangely hushed. The bar is completely unoccupied, much to his surprise. A service droid is present where you ordinarily are, wiping a damp cloth over the counter. You, though, are nowhere to be found.

Eyes carefully survey him as he idly stands in front of the entrance. A Mandalorian equipped with a full attire of beskar armor, a pulse rifle strapped firmly against his back, and armed with various weapons is bound to snatch everyone's attention. Not wanting to deal with any issues as the moment, he continues to step forward. Despite his intense detestation for droids, this one in particular can prove useful. The droid raises its mechanical head, unreadable eyes staring straight towards the Mandalorian as he leans forward, elbows propping against the bar.

"The girl is absent today," its blank voice states, head tilting down as it resumes its cleaning. "Her shift has ended earlier today, per her request."

He's left speechless for a split second. Damn droid has practically read his mind. Does he actually make it so evident? Perhaps its simply that its already encountered countless men asking for you already. Nevertheless, a heat creeps onto his cheeks, radiating through his entire face and neck upon the droid's accusation. Steadily, he shifts his weight before answering. "What makes you think I'm here for her?"

His voice comprises a certain hostility, primarily due to the fact that he's conversing with — of all things — a droid. Its gaze lifts upon hearing his response, metal hand halting its insistent rubbing. "A great deal of men have requested her presence here today. I apologize. Would you care for a drink?"

"No," he swiftly replies. Then, he freezes, shoulders tensing up. If he's not here for you, then what's his purpose here? The droid bluntly stares, expecting further elaboration. Din provides him with nothing other than a view of his backside when he spins around, cape swishing with every motion as he strides away. He's on the verge of step outside when the mechanical voice calls for him.

"The girl will return tomorrow afternoon."

Din peers over the pauldron adorning his shoulder, sharing a brief glimpse with the droid. He should thank it, but decides against it. Its just a droid. It doesn't deserve his gratitude, nor an apology for his bitterness. Without lingering any further, he directs his gaze forward once more, before begrudgingly stalking off towards the course leading to the Razor Crest.

A darkness envelops him as soon as he steps into the plain open air. The suns had descended quite rapidly, a starless night sky hanging over the city. It's substantially cooler now that the suns aren't blazing down on him, a brisk breeze sweeping his cape sideways. The streets are increasingly barren now, not a single being in sight.

Except for one isolated person.

He recognizes the figure — the exquisite curves of her body, impeccable hair enhancing her features, the way she stands with utter confidence and assertiveness. All he manages to perceive was her back, but it's unquestionably the person he's been searching for. You.

You reside directly in front of a residence, gaze impatiently darting around as if awaiting someone's arrival. Din had assured himself he wouldn't initiate a conversation with you, though currently it seems as if that is his only option. Either that, or he disappointedly heads back towards his ship. But what the hell is he supposed to say? A simple "hey" wouldn't captivate your attentiveness. You'll simply shove him aside, completely uninterested as you've done an unmeasurable amount of times. He takes a step forward — tentatively, slowly, steadily. He's nervous. He can't deny that. Speaking to you seems to frighten him immensely, not even the most intimidating of quarries has managed to inflict this feelings upon him.

It's not that he's enamored by you. He does not have the time for romance. It's straightforward attraction. Infatuation. A meaningless crush, as some would claim. He is aroused by you. That's all it is, and all it will ever be. At least, that's what he's been attempting to convince himself about for the past months.

His thoughts are interrupted when someone enters the scenario. A man. Your face brightens upon catching sight of him as you beam at him. That damn smile. The way your lips curl upwards, flashing those set of pearly whites — it enthralled him since day one. His attention switches to the unfamiliar man as you throw your arms around him, his own hands embracing you and pulling you near. Seconds later, the two of you head inside the house you stand by. He's joking about something Din is unable to pick out, causing a burst of laughter to escape your lips. The sound is interfere with when the door slams closed behind you. Then, there's complete silence.

Boyfriend. That's his final conclusion. You'd requested time off your job to see your lover. It makes absolute sense. With the incalculable quantity of men constantly chasing you around, you're bound to find someone who interests you. Without another alternative to his situation, Din settled to leave. He's discouraged, yes, but what else would he expect? It's absolutely fine, though. This provides him with yet another reason why he should maintain his distance from the planet. Unless proven necessary, he won't return to Tatooine. There is no purpose for him here. His fantasies need to cease, stop raiding his brain and controlling his every action. He cannot spare anymore time indulging in this. It's for the best.

___

He arrives once more at the damn cantina the following afternoon.

He doesn't understand why he can't liberate himself from this addiction, why his thoughts are persistently flooded by images of you, and you only.

Baby, I'm so into you, it hurts...

Despite the setback yesterday, he feels like he's under obligation to drop by and see you before he departs from Tatooine. It's plain and simple — this is his final opportunity to visit you, and he'll seize onto that freedom while he's capable of doing so. Even if it means he's wasting valuable time while he could be earning his well-deserved credits. Even if the hangar's manager warned that the landing bay is available exclusively for one entire rotation. It's one straightforward, uncomplicated visit, and then he'll leave satisfied.

The ambience is noisier then the previous occasion. This time, when he pauses to examine his surroundings, nobody pays him even the slightest bit of recognition. Boisterous laughter and obnoxious jabbering, alcoholic scent overwhelming his senses again, and then there's you. Preoccupied with your work, you don't spare him a single glance when he enters. Your attention is thoroughly concentrated on serving the numerous people awaiting their drinks at the bar. There are no accessible seats where you're present — it's utterly packed. It's alright, though, because he's not planning on grabbing a drink anyway. He settles for an available booth in the corner of the cantina, solitarily taking a seat away from the detestable, clamorous commotion. He has no clue how you deal with them until the late hours of the night.

Din merely dismisses the waiter who instantly greets him. He's not here for drinks, or a meal. He's only present for you, but not in the way these men are here for. Their sole purpose is attempting (and downright failing) to sneak into your pants, somehow. While he would be uttery lying to everyone — including himself — if he claims that's not one of his many desires, its not why he's here. He completely respects you. He will never treat you like everyone else does. That's not what you deserve at all, yet these men can't seem to comprehend that. They're selfish, purely caring for their own needs and wants. Not Din. He promised himself he wouldn't be as thoughtless and uncaring as them.

He manages a brief glance towards your direction. You're dressed in your usual attire — close-fitting shirt displaying a great deal of your breasts, skintight skirt barely reaching above your knees, a knife strapped strictly against your thigh to ward off anybody who might be in too close proximity.

You're majestic, mesmerizing, light the room up without trying...

Whether you're enforced to clothe yourself like that or you knowingly chose to do so, he isn't exactly certain. But with the way your face contorts in exasperation, you're definitely not enjoying this. You never did. To remain in an occupation like this, wearing that, required a plethora of fearlessness and aggressiveness. And your wages? They must be damn high. Din admires you for that. He wishes he could do something about it, ward off every single one of those pestering men who displease you but he recognizes your capability. You have demonstrated countless times in the past that you can handle yourself exceedingly well.

His gaze lingers for one second too long. Your eyes connect with his black visor. He freezes. He's been caught staring. For once, he isn't sure what his succeeding actions should be. The beskar helm covering his own face is greatly appreciated in this very moment, because his cheeks are undoubtedly tinted in a thousand shades of pink and red. He wants to avert his gaping, but he discovers its impossible for him. His eyes are practically glued to yours, and for once you notice a certain eagerness in your expression. As if you're actually... contented to spot him between the crowd of men surrounding you.

Right. Like that'll ever happen.

He can't dwell on that — give himself that false hope. Out of everyone in the cantina, you're pleased to see him? That's not exactly feasible.

Your heedfulness is abruptly snatched when a customer purposely drops an object — Din can't pick out what, exactly. His intentions were evident. He's trying to obtain a better view of your rear end, yet you don't give a damn. Din can't quite hear what you're divulging with all the cacophonous noise, though your facial expression provides him with enough. A menacing glare is directed straight towards the man, your mouth spitting out offenses and insults. You've clearly had enough with their crap. There's nothing more Din longs for than to withdraw you from that burdensome situation, lead you to the quietness and tranquility of the Razor Crest. The audacity these men have creates a rage welling up within his chest, blood in his veins boiling. The fact that he can't take action leaves him feeling helpless. You evidently don't want his assistance. You can deal with them yourself — it's what you want.

The Mandalorian finds himself remaining in the cantina for hours. The place gradually empties, though not entirely. There's considerably less racket now. You seem to slowly relax, the tension in your shoulders fading away. Din rarely attempts to peek towards your direction again — not after what previously occurred. He's still rather humiliated about it. His finger lightly drums against the table, a faint tapping sound solely audible to his ears. He's not quite certain why he's residing here for a prolonged amount of time if you're undeniably occupied with your job. Yet—

"Drink?"

The familiar voice steals his attention, a glass filled to the brim with an unknown alcoholic drink slides directly into the hand placed over the table. He catches it and clasps onto it tautly with his fingers, visor lifting upwards precisely when a woman occupies her seat on the booth across from him. You.

Admittedly, he's staggered by your unexpected appearance. While you've spoken with him before, he didn't expect that to occur today, especially with the exceptionally packed cantina. He's utterly speechless, any sort of coherent sentence completely disappearing from his mind. His mouth opens, then shuts repeatedly when he fails to voice an individual word. His throat feels inexplicably dry all of a sudden, his immediate reaction being to take a swig from the glass in his grasp but he's unable to with the helmet preventing it. In this moment, he'd do anything to rid himself of this impenetrable apprehensiveness, anything to ease himself. He can't bring himself go verbalize a single phrase, not even a mere 'thank you.'

"I noticed you didn't order anything for yourself," you state when he doesn’t answer. His flustered condition worsens upon realizing this whole time, you had observed him from the distance as well. Your eyes swiftly dart around the cantina for a split moment, before returning to peer directly into his visor. Then, your gaze averts once more. "Go ahead. There's nobody looking."

For a second, he can't comprehend your suggestion. Until he realizes you're proposing he takes a quick drink from the glass. He glances down towards the object in his hand, practically overflowing with a bright purple-colored liquid. Its iciness bleeds through the leather of his glove. It's been a while since he's enjoyed a nice drink. He can't refuse. Without further contemplation, his free hand raises towards the lip of his helmet, gradually tilting the beskar backwards until his chin and mouth were revealed. He's a bit skittish, unknowing whether you'll abruptly turn your head to face him while he's vulnerable like this. Which is why he speedily chugs it down.

Bad idea. The liquid instantaneously burns his throat, clearing the dryness and replacing it with prickling heat. He drops the helmet down to conceal the exposed half of his face, half-empty glass placed onto the table as he nearly fails to contain himself from throwing a coughing fit. His abrupt discomfort caused your gaze to snap towards him again. At least now he manages to speak. "That's—" he pauses, the strain in his voice leading him to clear his throat. "That's very... strong."

You beam at him, chuckling emanating from you. He can't help but gawk at you, your perfect smile, contagious laughter, alluring features. Occasionally, he wonders how it would feel to kiss those soft, red-tinted lips, caress the curve of your jawline with his thumb, rake his fingers through your silky strands of hair. Those fantasies need to be completely erased from his mind, because they're never going to occur. His longing thought are quickly interrupted when you speak up. "Has a nice taste though, right?"

Din shrugs his shoulders. His breath is still unbearably hot from the drink. Perhaps he should've tested it out before hastily swallowing a substantial quantity of the liquid. "It's an... interesting flavor." He merely watches when you grab the glass, gulping down the remains of the drink without cringing upon the powerful aftertaste. "How much?"

Your gaze meet with him once more. The heavy black eyeliner bordering your eyes only enhance those captivating hues even more, feeling as if they pierce directly through the impenetrable beskar helm obscuring his face. "Payment? Credits aren't necessary today, Mandalorian. I believe tonight has brought me enough to sustain myself with. But there is one thing I'm interested in—" you pause before leaning forward, elbows propping against the table. It provides Din with a superior perspective of your chest, though he couldn't bring himself to glance down. He will not dare disrespect you in such ways. You have his total, undivided attentiveness now, ears ready to listen in for whatever you have to offer. "—your name."

His name. The Mandalorian normally wouldn't provide random people with the knowledge of his name. The thing is — you're not a simple 'random person.'

"Din. Din Djarin."

"Din... Djarin," you repeat, the phrase exquisitely rolling off your tongue. "Well, Din Djarin, I've gotta say... you're an intriguing man."

"How so?" a certain curiosity tinges his tone, audible even through the vocodor distorting his voice.

With a nonchalant shrug, you continue. "You're not here for the same reasons these men are. I mean, you're here for me, I know that. But when you visit, you do so in a considerate manner. Not as intrusive and harassing as most are." Your lips curve upwards in a small grin, head tilting with a certain gratefulness dominating your expression. "I like that."

The final sentence causes his breath to hitch in his throat. "You do?"

You bob your head in affirmation. A split second of somewhat comfortable silence passes, your gazes persisting trained solely on each other. Then, "I saw you last night, outside my house."

Damn. "I was on my way back to my ship. Managed to stumble across you."

Your brows raise with inquisitiveness. "You saw me? Why didn't you at least wave?"

"I was... in a rush."

"Understandable," you answer with a curt nod. You release a puff of breath before your eyes flash with visible seductiveness, causing Din to anticipate your next words. "Your armor's worn-out. Even more damaged than the last time I saw you. Rough hunt?"

His helmet tips down towards the beskar cuirass plating his chest. Countless dents and scratches ruin the brownish-red paint of the indestructible metal. Its covered in grime and dust, as is the rest of his armor, plenty more damaged than the previous occasion Din decided to land on Tatooine. The sudden realization that he should've at least scrubbed the soot off before venturing out here hits him, a slight embarrassment overwhelming him. "Yeah... armor's seen better days."

"Well, my shift's over. Droid's taken control now," you gesture with your head towards the service droid serving multiple people at the bar. A confident smirk makes its appearance across your expression before your hand slides towards his own, still placed over the table. Despite the leather preventing genuine contact, your touch is welcome and pleasant. "Maybe I can pass by your ship — the Razor Crest, is it? I could help out, polish your armor, perhaps?"

The offer is nearly irrefutable. Yet there's one minor setback that creeps into his mind.

"I-I don't think your... boyfriend will appreciate that."

Confusion etches your features as you slip your fingers away. "Boyfriend? I— oh, no. That guy yesterday? My cousin. Took time off last night so I could see him. He just landed here to quickly visit me before returning to his work earlier today."

Realization strikes him straight in the gut. His mouth opens to spit out an apology, before swiftly shutting it when a string of curses escapes your mouth, head ducking down upon spotting something, or someone. "What?"

You peer over Din's shoulders before dipping down again, hand on your forehead to obscure your face. "I may have promised someone a date," your voice is hushed even despite the noise resounding through the cantina. "I originally wasn't going accept. But he's so damn persistent. So, I told him to come here after I finished my shift, that way I'd be gone and I wouldn't have to deal with him. But he's here now, earlier than I expected."

The Mandalorian's helmet whirls around towards the wide-open entrance. A Zabrak lingers by the doors, eyes examining the cantina in a careful manner, searching for none other than you, before he steps towards the usual bar. Din turns to face you again, thumb discreetly pointing towards the beige-colored Zabrak male. "Him?"

You nod, further unease notable in your body language. Without uttering a single word, you abruptly lift yourself from your seat, heading directly towards the exit.

Not even a goodbye.

Should've taken the damn offer. Would that have been so hard?

"Oh, look! She's right over there by the doors."

A mechanical voice alerts the Zabrak of your presence, before he whips around and calls your name upon spotting your form. Kriffin' droid. You freeze precisely before managing to step one foot outside the building. Your shoulders visibly tense, though you stand firmly, back facing the Zabrak as he stalks towards you. His sizable hand clutches onto your arm, forcing you around. An unfamiliar, strange feeling sneaks into Din's mind upon watching his harsh manners, dominating his every action and movements.

I get jealous, but who wouldn't when you look like you do?

"Forget my—"

The Zabrak's deep voice is interrupted when you yank your arm away from his grasp, pacing forward in a menacing demeanor. "As a matter of fact, I didn't forget," you cross your arms over your chest, eyes practically boring holes into that horned head of his. "I don't need to go on a damn date with you if I don't want it. And right now—"you tilt your head, a poised smirk appearing on your red lips. "—I simply don't want to." With that, you spin around without offering another word.

You're so sure it makes me insecure...

The Zabrak can't seem to take a hint before he begins to swiftly pursue you. Din is unable to perceive anything else when the both of you exit the cantina. He can't wait anymore, sit around and watch. Sure, you can deal with the situation perfectly fine, as you'd done countless times in the past. But for once, Din urges himself to help. An impulse to protect you. His hand shifts towards his holster by pure instinct as he saunters through the exit, only for him to freeze in his spot. You're menacingly holding a sharp blade against the Zabrak's exposed neck, before he abruptly staggers backwards, holding his hands up in a surrendering manner.

You chuckle, before your eyes land on the Mandalorian lingering around, a certain glimmer present in your eyes. "Besides—" you're directing your words towards the Zabrak while stepping towards Din. "I've other plans tonight."

Your gentle hands grip onto Din's bicep, lightly tugging him forward and beckoning him to follow. Your touch causes an unfamiliar heat to erupt throughout his entire body, predominating his emotions. It's not due to the humidity of the planet, no... it's just... it's you. You're causing all this and he can't control himself no matter how much effort he put into it.

Just one touch is so electric...

He goes along with your suggestion, no hesitation whatsoever as you step away from the grumbling Zabrak. He recognizes he shouldn't mess with a Mandalorian, especially if the urge to protect the person he's constantly thinking about is present.

When he tips his head down to glance towards your direction, your lips are curled upwards into a smirk. Not the one you held while attempting to rid of the irritating Zabrak. There is a certain mischief written all over your features.

"Your ship?"

Oh, what the hell.

How could he resist a piece of you?

#let me tell you something #he may be completely clueless when it comes to flirting #and all that kind of stuff #but din djarin knows how to treat a woman #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #star wars #din djarin imagines #star wars x reader #din djarin x reader imagines #brown eyes #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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shift-shaping · 3 years

Text

Solas/Surana Party Banter round whatever

hello. here it is again, but different this time! SIGNIFICANTLY. there's way more and it's a little bit ~angst-y~. anyway, here's the previous version, and here's a preface to this post.

In case you aren't aware of what my girl's Whole Deal is, she was in love with Alistair during the Blight and he sacrificed himself, which Sucked Balls for her. She wandered around in the mountains for most of the past ten years, and now she's in the Inquisition because she doesn't know what else to do with her life.

content warnings: brief mention of colorism

Lots of banter under the cut

Solas: Surana. Now that you have joined the Inquisition, what title do you prefer to use?

Surana: What title do you use?

Solas: None. But you have earned many.

Surana: 'Warden,' I guess. I don't really care.

Solas: Not 'Hero of Ferelden?'

Surana: No. Surana is fine.

Solas: You dislike your title?

Surana: It is inaccurate. Alistair was the real hero, and he died fighting the archdemon --I only ever did what I had to do.

Solas: Hm.

Solas: You do not think yourself a hero?

Eirwen: *sighs* If a man is ordered to save a child from a burning building or else be killed himself, is he really a hero? No, he is not.

Eirwen: Had I not been made a Warden, I would have been killed or made Tranquil. I did not choose to do the right thing. I was forced to.

Surana: Why do you keep asking me so many questions, Solas?

Solas: You are an historical anomaly. An elven mage elevated to the status of legendary hero.

(If the Inquisitor is an elf, a mage, or both:

Eirwen: Well apparently it’s not that anomalous.

Solas: Even still.)

Solas: I have seen echoes of your victories in the Fade alongside reflections of your losses. You have overcome a great deal. Do not be so quick to dismiss your own story.

Surana: Your dreams are lying to you. That legacy is not mine to claim.

Solas: I will not try to convince you otherwise, but know this: whatever bitterness you feel towards your legacy, you will gain far more accepting it than you ever would fighting its tide.

Surana: This isn't really about me, is it?

Solas: It never is.

[After All New, Faded for Her]

Eirwen: I’m sorry about Wisdom, Solas.

Solas: I appreciate that. Thank you.

Eirwen: It must have had a wealth of knowledge. It is a shame to lose so much for so little.

Solas: There is a difference between wisdom and knowledge.

Eirwen: Right, yes. I remember a joke about that. Would you like to hear it?

Solas: Not particularly.

Eirwen: *clears her throat* Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing it does not belong in a fruit salad.

Solas: ...

Eirwen: Too soon, I suppose. Sorry.

Solas: Thank you, Surana.

Eirwen: I told you, Dorian and I aren’t fond of that particular vintage. And we thought you’d appreciate the earthy tones.

Solas: Thank you for that as well, I think, but that is not what I as referring to.

Eirwen: Oh?

Solas: Your joke. You… it was unexpected. But not bad at all.

Eirwen: Oh. Well, that’s about the least dirty joke I know. Want to hear one a drunken dwarf told me in the Deep Roads?

Solas: Another time, perhaps.

Eirwen: Ah, you wouldn’t like it anyway.

Solas: Surana. You said before that a man ordered to save a child from a burning building under threat of death would not be a hero.

Solas: I disagree.

Surana: Oh?

Solas: The man threatened with death may not see himself as particularly noble, but the child will always see him as their savior. Regardless of his motivations, he will always be a hero to the child he saved.

Surana: So no matter who or what made him do it, he is still a good person because another thinks him such?

Solas: I did not say that. 'Heroic' and 'good' are not necessarily the same.

Surana: So what is your point, then? That I should make people call me 'Hero' at Skyhold?

Solas: My point is that you should not feel guilty if they believe you to be someone you are not. You cannot control them, and attempts to the contrary will only serve to make you miserable.

Surana: Why do you care so much? Why does it matter to you how I feel about being called 'the Hero of Ferelden'?

Solas: It --doesn't. You are right, of course. And I meant no offense.

Surana: That's not-- I'm not offended, I'm curious. I want to know why it matters to you, a random wandering apostate, whether I call myself a hero or a bastard or a drunkard or nothing at all.

Solas: It is as I said: elven mages are rarely given the level of respect and admiration that you are. It is a shame you see no benefit in that.

Surana: Benefit? Like what, seeing my ears cut off in statues? My staff turned into a sword? My skin lightened in paintings and my relationships reduced to spectacle or seduction?

Surana: Maybe I am offended. I would love to be an anonymous apostate. I was, for a while, but I couldn't stop trying to live up to a version of me that doesn't exist, never has, and never will. The real hero is dead, and you have me instead.

Solas: You must let that be enough, Surana.

Surana: It isn't.

Surana: Solas, you have dreamt in all sorts of places, right?

Solas: Yes.

Surana: Have you ever --well, did you ever see the Battle of Denerim, in your dreams?

Solas: Not as you would remember it.

Surana: Of course not. But... I mean-- did you--

Solas: It is done, Surana. You cannot linger there.

Surana: How do I do that? How do I stop seeing it?

Solas: You do not. But instead of letting it weigh you down, let that pain be what pushes you forward. Focus on where you must be, and what you must do. You are needed here, now, exactly as you are, not as the person you were in Denerim. Whoever others think you are, you must go forward as who you know you are. If you lose sight of that, you are lost.

Surana: Solas, thank you.

Solas: For what?

Surana: You know full well what.

Solas: I try to help, when I can. The pain you carry is... familiar.

Surana: Familiar?

Solas: You feel guilt simply for being alive, as though self-flagellation will make you worthy of existence.

Surana: Self-flagellation? *dryly* You have a way with words, you know.

Solas: *just as dryly* You flatter me.

[If neither Solas nor Surana are romanced]

Surana: You deserve the flattery.

Solas: Is that a compliment, from the Hero of Ferelden herself?

Surana: I take it back. You're an ass and I hate you.

Solas: *chuckles*

[After Here Lies the Abyss]

Surana: I didn’t know you disliked the Wardens so much, Solas.

Solas: It was not worth mentioning.

Surana: Not until it became acceptable to criticize us, you mean.

Solas: What have the Wardens actually accomplished in terms of understanding the Blight? Do you honestly feel you understand it any better than you did before you became one?

Surana: Is that a serious question? Do I understand it better after witnessing its ravages than I did when I’d merely read about them in a book?

Solas: What did the Wardens teach you? What did you learn from them, about the Blight?

Surana: More than I will ever tell you.

Solas: *bitterly* Ah. Of course.

Surana: You have always been an apostate, have you not?

Solas: By your Chantry’s definition, I suppose.

Surana: My chantry? Am I the Divine now, too? *scoffs* Anyway, you have never spent time in a Circle.

Solas: No.

Surana: Then one thing I will tell you about the Wardens is this: there is no other path to freedom for many mages than to join them. You were not dragged from your home in chains because of what you are. You were not barred from dreaming, nor threatened with Tranquility when you failed to perform a difficult spell.

Solas: You should not have had to make that choice, Surana.

Surana: Yet I did, because it was the only one I had. And the Wardens are all the world has to counter the Blight. You can disagree from your tower in Skyhold or your hut in the woods or whatever, but we are working with what is available to us. Come up with a real solution and I will listen. But I’m uninterested in ignorant complaints from someone who was not there.

Surana: It’s not my Chantry.

Solas: Poor wording, on my part.

Surana: I don’t even like the Chantry.

Solas: Abelas. I meant no offense.

Surana: Yes, you did. Or you just don't care.

Solas: What would you have me say, Warden?

Surana: Nothing. Just be quiet.

Solas: Where was home to you, Surana? Before the Circle?

Surana: *sighs* An orphanage in Denerim’s alienage.

Solas: Really? Huh. In that case, I would have expected you to sound more like Sera.

(Sera, if present: What? You think all city elves sound the same?

Solas: You are from the same section of the same city. Why would you not have the same accent?)

Surana: I don’t sound like Sera because I was beaten in the Circle until I spoke 'properly.’ No offense to Sera, of course.

(Sera, if present: More reasons to be glad I’m not like you two.)

Solas: I am sorry, Surana. Living in the Circle must have been difficult, and I imagine being a Warden during the Blight was no easier.

Surana: *sighs* It’s alright. You couldn’t have known.

Solas: I should have tried. I have done you a disservice, and I hope you can forgive me.

Surana: Maybe. Possibly. Did you bring any of that wine with you?

Solas: Unfortunately not.

Surana: *playfully* Then, no.

Surana: …But please, call me Eirwen.

Solas: Eirwen. Ma nuvenin.

[After Surana hears Cole and Solas banter for the first time]

Surana: Oh! I think I got that one, it's --oh, wait. No, that can't be it.

Cole: You were close, though.

Solas: Nearly had it.

[If Eirwen is romanced by an elven Inquisitor]

Solas: *playfully* For all your talk of wanting anonymity, Eirwen, you seem incapable of avoiding spectacle.

Surana: Is this about the drunken bear? I already apologized for that.

Solas: No. You and the Inquisitor. Two of the most powerful elves in Thedas, together?

Surana: Jealous?

Solas: Not for the reason you think.

Inquisitor: How could we resist?

Surana: We are both very pretty.

Inquisitor: One day we will be free of all of this. Together.

Solas: For your sakes, I hope you are right.

[If Solas is romanced and Eirwen's personal quest is completed]

Solas: You no longer consider yourself a Grey Warden, Eirwen?

Surana: Did the Inquisitor tell you that?

Solas: Yes. You threw your badge into the Abyss.

Surana: Bit dramatic, I suppose. I was having a moment.

Solas: Evidently.

Surana: It almost felt traitorous, honestly.

Solas: Why? You were forced to join the Grey Wardens, were you not?

Surana: They still saved my life.

Solas: And condemned you to an early death. They bought you time, nothing more.

Surana: But time is all any of us have, isn't it?

Solas: No. You have a name, and experience, and the influence to pull the strings behind the world.

Surana: Careful. You'll make the Inquisitor jealous.

Solas: I am not attempting to flatter you. I am only telling you what you must already know: that you are more than a Warden, and always have been.

Surana: Where will the two of you go, once this is over?

Inquisitor: (Somewhere quiet) A place where we can be left alone.

OR (Somewhere fun) Someplace with good wine.

OR (Home) North. Where my people are.

Solas: An appealing prospect, vhenan.

Inquisitor: What about you, Eirwen?

Surana, based on the Inquisitor's answer to the previous question: (Somewhere quiet) Somewhere without so many damn demons.

OR (Somewhere fun) I was thinking Rivain. I've heard the food is excellent.

OR (Home) The Deep Roads. Where my people are.

[If neither Solas nor Eirwen are romanced]

Solas: Have you ever learned any elven, Eirwen?

Surana: Unfortunately not. A few words here and there, a long time ago. It wasn’t exactly taught in the Circle.

Solas: Would you like to?

Surana: I –oh. I hadn’t –um.

Solas: *chuckles* You do not have to learn.

Surana: No! I would love to. From you, I assume?

Solas: I cannot imagine you were going to learn it from Sera.

Sera, if present: I prefer real words, thanks.

Solas: What elven words do you recall, from your alienage?

Surana: Ah… okay. Hahren, that’s like… elder, or leader. The tree in the middle was called the vhenadahl. Lethallan is like friend, or ally, or maybe even sister?

Solas: Do you know what vhenadahl means?

Surana: It must be something about a tree.

Solas: And where is it, in the alienage?

Surana: A central place, somewhere everyone could see it.

Solas: And what is another word for the middle of something that lovers might call each other?

Surana: …Heart?

Solas: So what do you think 'vhena’ means, if 'dahl' is tree?

Surana: Uh... heart?

Solas: Yes. But also 'home.' The vhenadahl was both the home of your people, and the heart of the alienage.

Sera, if present: Just call it what it is --a big stupid tree.

Surana, in elven: *haltingly, mumbling* [Her early leaf’s a flower… but] –shoot.

Solas, in elven: [But only so…?]

Surana: M- it starts with an ’m’…

Solas: Take your time.

Surana: Meh- malath?

Solas: *laughs*

Surana: Is that wrong? Shit, that must be wrong.

Solas: Not wrong, per say, but perhaps premature.

Surana: What? What did I say?

Solas: Do not concern yourself with it, lethallan.

Surana: …was it dirty?

Solas: No.

Surana: …then what was it?

Solas: Patience, Eirwen.

Surana: I found out what ‘ma lath’ means.

Solas: I would expect nothing less from such a gifted student.

Surana: Mhm. It’s –well. I’m glad I said it, but you were right. It was premature.

Solas: I agree. Though...

Surana: Though?

Solas: *chuckles* I think this is neither the time nor place.

Surana: What is, then?

Solas: When I have you alone, Eirwen.

Surana: *laughs awkwardly* Maker's breath...

Sera + Surana

(If Solas has begun "teaching Eirwen elven")

Sera: So… you and Droopy ears.

Surana: Why do you call him that?

Sera: Cause he’s all –I don’t know, sad or wha'ever.

Sera: Anyway. Teaching you 'the ways of the elves,’ is he?

Surana: It’s just not a very good nickname, frankly.

Sera: Well I don’t want to know what you call him.

Surana: Certainly not droopy.

Solas, if present: *snorts*

Sera: *laughs* Ew! Keep it to yourselves, then!

Solas: Eirwen, I–

Solas: I am sorry we had to cut our lessons short.

Surana: It’s… I understand. We… no, you were right.

Solas: Please, Eirwen.

Surana: Perhaps, in another life, another time, we could have–

Solas: You are a bright light in a dark world. You will always be important to me, for whatever that is worth.

Surana: Can I ask you a question, Solas?

Solas: Of course.

Surana: It's not about me, is it?

Solas: I--

Surana: It's about trying to fight the tide.

Solas: Eirwen...

Solas: I am so, so sorry.

Surana: Telanadas, hahren.

Solas: Ma nuvenin, vhenan.

#long post #solas banter #solas x surana #hero of ferelden #tw colorism #solavellan #surana banter #warden surana #dragon age inquisition #another great idea from me!!!

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rainbowvamp · 3 years

Text

Enchanted

Happy Mercelot week my loves! Enjoy a Cinderella love at first sight au. Featuring Merlin in a pretty outfit and infatuated Lancelot!

@mercelotweek fill for "beauty"

——

Merlin looks down at the bit of fabric in his hands. He’s never tried to alter an object this way. He’d cut a bit of Camelot red from one of the cloaks Arthur had sent to be re-hemmed and was just… looking at it. It was washed, but still obviously worn, fraying in places, no matter how he’d tried to mend it. He hadn’t been particularly keen on the red, but it was the only thing he’d had on hand. He certainly wasn’t going to risk any of his own clothes for something that might not work.

Merlin had altered himself before, sure, but he’d gotten stuck that way as often as he’d done it. A mask couldn’t exactly drink a potion and return to it’s original form. So, he had to be very careful and meticulous when he crafted this spell.

The white of his party clothes was incredible, striking, really, compared to all the other clothes he’d ever worn. Cast offs, surely, but they were beautiful. Morgana or even Gwen might know if they were even still in style, but it was meant to be a bit of a lark, this party. Both for him and the other guests in attendance. The others would be in costumes fashioned from older clothing, or clothing made costume by masks. It was supposed to be fun, light hearted, this party, but here Merlin is, overthinking something as simple as a mask.

He murmurs a spell of his own creation and the scrap of fabric, crumpled and pinned to generally resemble a mask, became something gorgeous before his eyes. The fabric was thinner, almost like lace in weight, but stayed stiff in his hand like it had been over starched. The pins had become fine, metallic dots over the eye holes, and the ribbon he’d use to secure it was almost silk like.

It was beautiful, but Merlin could feel the tenuous nature of the spell. It wouldn’t last forever. It might not even last the night. He could feel the threads of magic holding it delicately in this shape, but ready to break apart at any moment.

Well, he’d just have to make his trip to the party short so he wouldn’t risk being found out. These things usually went so far into the night it became morning, but he’d probably have until midnight before the spell wore off and risked exposing him.

If anyone found out a Servant was mingling with these Nobles, he’d be in the stocks for a week. Maybe worse.

Guinevere, who is his dearest friend and closest confidant, has agreed to help him with his hair for tonight, so he sneaks off to Morgana’s rooms, the lady already down at the party, to get her help, mask already in place, just in case anyone should see him.

The palace feels different when he walks around in clothes that belong to a nobleman. The servants he passes bow respectfully, and it makes him uneasy. How can people stand this? He felt so terrible, watching people avert their eyes and how their heads like he or anyone else had any right to their humility.

In Morgana’s rooms, Gwen adjusts his coat and combs his hair back in a way he didn’t think would suit him, but he ends up liking. He tries once more to convince her to come with him, to just steal one of Morgana’s old dresses and wear a veil, but she’s convinced she’ll be found out, and isn’t willing to risk it.

Merlin has no such qualms, and has vowed to take her involvement with this little scheme to the grave. Or the stocks.

“You look wonderful,” She says when she finally lays her brush down. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Haha, Guinevere. I just want to see how the other half lives for a night. You’re sure you won’t come?”

And now she rolls her eyes. “The lady Morgan and I are much closer than you and Arthur. She’d notice me, even with a mask. Maybe the next one.”

He smiles softly at her. “Definitely the next one. Besides, you’ll still be there. You’ll just have to endure less of the idle dithering of nobles.”

She giggles, “Merlin, you can’t talk about them like that.”

“I can talk about them however I like dressed like this,” He tugged his collar a bit to show off and that set her off again. She covered her mouth to keep their presence hidden and swatted at him.

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Now go, before it’s over.”

“Love you,” he kissed her cheek and she returned the gesture.

“Please don’t get yourself killed.” Which was as good as an I love you too from Gwen.

“No promises. I did try to fight the prince my first day here.”

—-

Merlin takes a second glass of mead in less than half an hour from a passing try. He knows this will be a terrible idea, but he cannot, to save his own life, stand this lot while sober any longer.

Occasionally one of the nobles will smile and greet him, ask him who he is, but for the most part, people are interested in socializing with those they already know, and the few who approach him are obviously uninterested in him as much as they are interested in the connections he might be able to make them.

“I’m dying out here,” he murmurs to Gwen when she’s pauses briefly to grab another tray to pass around lady Morgana’s table.

“I’m so sorry. You poor dear.” She smirks and he smiles back at her.

“Your turn next.”

“Mhmm, after all the fun you’re having, I can’t wait.”

He laughed as she left and his spirits were lifted for the first time all night. He took a final sip of his mead and left it on a table, deciding to try his luck on the dance floor at the same moment that a set of deep brown eyes caught him from across the room.

“Caught” was not an exaggeration. The smoldering, desirous look in the eyes that looked like they might have been looking at him for a while held him like a man entranced. His breath caught in his throat as the man started to make his way toward him.

He was in chain mail, a knight in a cloak that was unmistakably Camelot red. It wasn’t unlike the cloak he’d cut his mask from.

At the reminder, Merlin focused briefly on his mask, whose transformed state was tenuous. It would last a while longer, maybe an hour, maybe longer.

The determined way the knight walked toward him, through the onlookers, partygoers and celebrators was almost overwhelming. No one tonight had looked so intently upon him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it.

His feet seemed to decide how to handle it for him. Thick dark hair that begged to be tugged at and a mouth made for kissing, it drew him in like so few things ever had. Even with the black mask obscuring his face, Merlin can tell he must be beautiful. The cut of his jaw is too perfect for him not to be.

Merlin is stunned by the time they meet, standing obnoxiously still in the middle of the dance floor. The knight bows to him, and while servants bowing to him had made him uncomfortable, this feels formal, and somehow honorable. He holds out his hand when the knight starts to stand, thinking they might shake, but instead Lancelot takes the offered hand and kisses the back of it, eyes trained on Merlin the entire time.

He is grateful for the cover of the mask, with the way that he can feel the blush forming high on his cheek. He wouldn’t want to embarrass himself in front of a knight.

“Hello, My Lord. I am Sir Lancelot.”

Lancelot. He’s heard Arthur speak of him, in passing. An excellent fighter, perhaps as good as the Prince himself. As he stands, Sir Lancelot smiles at him, and Merlin about melts as his stomach flutters and he stands tall, just about eye level with him.

“Hello, Sir Lancelot.” The words are breathier than he means to be, and if Lancelot notices, he gives no indication.

With the slightest bow he asks, “May I have this dance?”

Merlin had been about to dance on his own anyway. Only, Merlin’s never danced any of these formal noble dances, only remembers celebrations in Ealdor, and in the lower town. He isn’t sure of the steps, but Lancelot still hasn’t dropped his hand, and his mouth seems to speak with the same ungiven authority his feet had moved him with.

“Certainly.”

Lancelot takes Merlin’s other hand to place it on his shoulder, and takes Merlin at the waist. It’s what everyone else seems to be doing, and he’s grateful that Lancelot says nothing when they’re pulled so close their chests are nearly flush.

Lancelot starts to move, but Merlin can’t keep time, keeps stumbling over his feet, and Lancelot’s. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer.” Merlin laughs, afraid Lancelot will simply leave, but the man’s returning smile tells another story.

“That’s alright. Just stop thinking so hard about it. I’ll lead.” He pauses briefly to adjust his grip on Merlin’s waist and then Merlin feels the gentle push of the hand there, urging him to move back, forth, left, right, turn, in time with the music. Between Lancelot’s easy leading, and the way his eyes seem to never leave Merlin’s, it’s easy to feel like they are the only two people here, the only ones that matter.

Merlin finds the rhythm eventually, and the gentle coaxing on his hip becomes obsolete. He still misses the feel of Lancelot’s hand in his when they’re suddenly unclasped and grabbing Merlin by the waist, to spin him around with the flourish as the dance came to an end. He laughs, and the answering twinkle in Lancelot’s eyes speaks volumes for how he’s enjoyed himself.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin smiles, letting the knight take his hand and kiss it again.

“I’d say it was the best dance I’ve ever had. Thank you, Sir Lancelot.”

“I aim to please.” Another song started up, and Lancelot raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid this one is a group dance. Unless you fancy a half dozen partners and more steps than you can count, we might sit this one out.”

Merlin laughed, “I certainly don’t want that. Get a drink with me?” Merlin doesn’t need another drink, but he is parched.

When Lancelot offers his elbow to Merlin, he almost rolls his eyes, but can’t help the grin it illicits. “Such a gentleman.” He smiles, and Lancelot returns it. They take a seat at a nearby table, long since unoccupied in favor of the dancing.

Lancelot serves him mead before a servant can, highly unusual for a knight, as Merlin is well aware. “Thank you,” he waits for Lancelot to serve his own glass and clinks them together before taking a healthy sip from his. The warmth of the joy of Lancelot and the mead mix together, leaving him feeling heady and relaxed.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name. Is that terrible?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin laughed in response.

“Few would. I’m hardly a common attendee of these sorts of things. I’m Emerys of Ealdor.”

“Such a beautiful name, for a beautiful man,” Lancelot gestured for a servant to bring the tray they were holding, and thanked him graciously as he served both Merlin and himself honey cakes. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Ealdor. Is it far from here?”

“Yes. I don’t see it much, anymore. It’s in Essetir, and it is not exactly safe to pass between the two lands. I haven’t been home in many years.”

Lancelot frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I too can not return home. I know how lonely that can be.”

Merlin smiled sadly. “Yes. But I do make friends wherever I go, and that helps.”

“I hope perhaps I may one day be counted among them?” Lancelot raies and eyebrow and Merlin’s besotted.

“Easily. So you do not come from Camelot?”

“No. I was a wonderer for a long time, learning sword craft to become a knight of Camelot, one of the noblest lands I know of.”

“One of?” Merlin asked, and he’s honestly curious. He’s used to the way the knights talk about Camelot, like it is perfect, the most wonderful place to live with the most impressive king.

“The King is very noble. He has a heart for the people not all Kings can boast.”

“But?” Merlin pushes, and Lancelot smiles uneasily.

“But not all of the people of Camelot belong in the King’s heart. It is not always my desire to carry out the laws against magic users, if they’ve done no wrong. But I am always loyal to my king.” He took a sip of his mead, pulling gently on the collar of his shirt.

Merlin didn’t know what it felt like to fall in love, but he thought perhaps this might be it. Like falling and being overwhelmed, and wanting nothing more to steal away with someone who appeared perfect in every way.

“I must say I agree.” He said, and Lancelot visibly relaxed. “But like you, I have no ill will toward the King. He does what he believes to be right, and that is all any man can be asked to do.” And perhaps one day he would see that he was not right. Merlin could only hope.

“Yes. Will you be in Camelot long, after the festival?” The question is so obviously probing that Merlin feels a bit of glee at it, even as his heart sinks, because he can’t have this man. Lancelot is a knight of Camelot, and Merlin is a servant.

“I’m afraid not. I leave tonight,” Merlin smiled wanly, and Lancelot’s face mirrors him.

“There’s no possibility of your plans being changed?”

“No. I’m expected somewhere tomorrow. We’ll have to ride through the night to get there.” This is the first true lie Merlin has told all night, and it aches to say. Lancelot cares for magic users, and he’s kind, and he didn’t ask Merlin what connections he had or how he might be helpful to him. He just wanted to have a dance and talk.

He looks away and meets Gwen’s eyes, somewhere over Lancelot’s shoulders. She looks so sad, and he knows he must look the same.

“When might you be back? In Camelot, I mean?”

“I can’t say. It’s only coincidence that brought me here tonight.” This at least, is true. Merlin never could’ve come to this party if not for Gwen coincidentally finding the discarded clothing in the closer of a long disgraced nobleman. The fact that they happened to fit Merlin was also happenstance, and if not for that, he’d never be here. With an hour of Gwen’s help, she’d been able to tailor them nearly to perfect, and he was loathe to admit he looked quite good.

“That is a shame. We must enjoy tonight then.”

“Yes, we must.”

The song changed and Merlin took as delicate a bite as he could manage of his honey cake before taking Lancelot’s hand. “Teach me to dance some more, you’re fantastic at it.”

This brought a smile to Lancelot’s face. “It would be an honor, my lord.”

They take to the dance floor. This dance, whatever it is, is far more complicated than the last one, and Lancelot also stumbles through it occasionally, which makes Merlin feel just a bit better.

“We’ve nearly got it!” Merlin laughed when the music ended, and Lancelot bowed to him again. Merlin is about to ask him for another one when a tall figure suddenly approaches them.

“Mind if I cut in?” Says another knight of Camelot, this one completely disregarding the dresscode and lacking a mask. His long hair came to his shoulder and Merlin would’ve found him incredibly attractive if it weren’t for the fact Lancelot was already the center of his night.

Merlin bows goodbye to Lancelot, thinking this knight has come for his equal, he certainly wouldn’t be the only knight to do so, but then he sees the hard edge of Lancelot’s eyes and is a bit confused.

“My Lord.” The new knight says, and takes Merlin’s hand, sweeping him away from Lancelot without waiting for so much as a “by your leave.”

“I’m Sir Gwaine. You’re a pretty thing,” the knight says, and Merlin doesn’t find this compliment as positive as Lancelot’s.

“I’m sorry if I have no desire to be called an object.” He said stiffly, and Gwaine laughed.

“You’ve got nerve. Lancelot must like that.” Merlin was swept up and turned, his hands barley having time to grip Gwaine’s shoulders and stabilize himself as he was lifted into the air. “I’m sorry to intrude. Sir Lancelot is one of my dearest friends, and a bit of teasing always does him good. Can you see him?” He leaned in to whisper these last words in his ear and Merlin’s eyes start searching the floor for Lancelot.

He’s not on the dance floor, but is watching them with a deep intensity from the spot where they’d sat and ate the song before. “You’ve upset him.”

“Well, you didn’t have to accept.” The man smiled, and Merlin scowled.

“I thought you were asking for Lancelot, not me. Besides, you didn’t give me time to either accept or deny. Just carried me off like some sort of brute.”

“My apologies.” But nothing about his tone seemed apologetic. “However, when Lancelot gets his hands back on you, I think you might just thank me for my little intervention.”

Merlin’s barely following along with whatever steps, but he’s starting to fume. “What is this? Some sort of joke? Do you find that appropriate?”

“I meant no harm,” He smiled, “I swear.” They turned and for a second his eyes focused over Merlin’s shoulder and he grimaced. “But I’m afraid I may have gone too far. I’m going to get it in training tomorrow.” He focused on Merlin again to grin. “But I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.” The song ended and Merlin just barely put up with a peck on his hand. Before he can pull away, Gwaine holds his hand tight, and Merlin freezes. “Lancelot hasn’t looked this happy for a very long time. I hope you don’t mean to dash his heart.”

Merlin is shocked at the insinuation. “I’ve only just met him. There are no hearts involved.”

“Mmm, you haven’t known Lancelot as long as I have. I assure you, there are.” He made Merlin take his arm and lead him back to the table where Lancelot was sitting. There was a blond knight standing beside him now, leaning in and murmuring something in his ear. “He falls so quick it’s a marvel he’s ever on his feet. But he’s loyal. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea if you mean to disappear.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, stiffening, and Gwaine shrugged.

“I’ve never seen you before. Neither has anyone else I’ve asked. You’re passing through. Who’s to say how you got an invitation, but you’re not likely to return if you’re making no move to introduce yourself to everyone here. I’ve been a wanderer, I know the signs of someone who only intends to stay one night. If you’ve no intention to stay, I wish you’d leave him be.”

“It’s complicated,” Merlin said voice still tense.

“Everything is. My word stands.” They arrive at the table and Lancelot stands, pulling out Merlin’s chair for him, glaring at Gwaine.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I couldn’t get enough of our new friend. But he’s all yours now, Lancelot.”

Merlin takes a seat and is relieved for Gwaine to go. Lancelot looks him over like he’s afraid he might’ve been mauled. “Are you alright? I know Gwaine tends to be a bit… forward.”

Merlin laughed, a bit uncomfortable now after what Gwaine’d said. “I’m alright. He wasn’t too forward. Just a bit blunt.”

“Yes, he’s like that.” Merlin followed Lancelot’s gaze to Gwaine, and hoped that Lancelot did beat Gwaine on the training field tomorrow.

The honey cake he’d left is still there, and so he takes another bite. Things like this were so rarely afforded to him he had to force himself not to scarf it down. The cake was soft and crumbled easily in his mouth, giving way to a sweet, delicate flavor. The soft sigh of pleasure from the taste of it all drew Lancelot’s gaze briefly to his lips, and Merlin felt his face heat. “I don’t usually indulge.” He said, as way of explanation, and Lancelot smiled.

“I’m glad you’ve given yourself the pleasure tonight. Camelot’s kitchens are famous.”

“I can see why.” He says, taking another bite of the delicious cake.

“Perhaps they might entice you back.” Lancelot says with a hopeful look, and Merlin swallows.

“Perhaps.” He’s starting to think that maybe this is no good anymore. He’s playing with this man’s heart, pretending to be someone he is not. As much fun as this is, and much as he’s possibly developing a crushing love for Lancelot, this is wrong. They could never be, simply by the virtue of Merlin’s station.

A clock, somewhere far off, strikes and he jumpsin his seat. He checks the magic holding his mask and finds it worryingly close to breaking. He can’t let his face be seen here.

Luckily, he has a readymade excuse.

“Hell.” He murmurs, putting down the cake and being careful to use the napkin to clean his fingers. Had to keep up this act of nobility, no matter how much he’d rather lick the crumbs from his fingers. “I have to go.” He drops the napkin down and pushes his chair back, throwing Lancelot an apologetic look that is more genuine that Merlin meant it to be.

“What? It’s only midnight. Please.” He takes Merlin’s hand as he stands, stopping him from going any further.

“I have to go. My carriage will be waiting. I was suppose to be there ten minutes ago.” Merlin tugs on his hand, but Lancelot holds it, doesn’t let it go.

“Please, I can’t- It’s too soon.” His pleading hurts Merlin, but now that his anxiety has taken over, he knows it’s just a matter of time before the mask becomes a scrap of cloth and falls from his face.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” He pulls his hand out of Lancelot’s and rushes as much as he dares to the door.

Sir Gwaine blocks his path just as he gets to the door. “Leaving so soon? Can’t I tempt you for another dance?” Merlin can’t read his face, is too worried to even think about trying.

When he looks behind him and sees Lancelot coming for them, he starts to truly panic. He can’t afford a delay.

He turns his face away from Gwaine and mutters a spell to drop a nearby server’s tray. This distracts Gwaine just long enough for Merlin to slip past him and out of the great hall.

He can hear Lancelot coming, calling after him, but he dare not look back. He mutters a second spell to slam the ballroom doors. This will serve both to slow Lancelot’s progress and hide which way Merlin goes goes.

And considering he’s going deeper into, rather than out of, the castle, it’s very important no one sees his retreat.

He slips through the halls, hearing Lancelot’s cries echo and then disappear as he goes toward the castle door, looking for him.

He’ll never find him.

Merlin swipes uselessly at his prickling eyes. He hadn’t wanted to leave Lancelot, but after what Gwaine had said, he couldn’t stay in good conscience. He swallowed hard to try and keep himself collected, and finally ducked into Gaius’ rooms, gracefully empty.

As soon as the door was closed he felt his magic break and the mask become a scrap of fabric. Camelot-red fell into his lap, and he stared at it, thinking of what might have been, and let himself cry.

#minimercelotweek2021 #bbc merlin #merlance #mercelot #lancelin #lancelot/merlin #merlin/lancelot #merlin x lancelot #lancelot x merlin #day 1: beauty

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youtubevancedapks · 3 years

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Make Money With YouTube Videos But Not With YouTube

YouTube motion pictures to make cash with out YouTube.

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1. Search YouTube for a Particular Target Keyword.

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psychemeanscure · 4 years

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PART 3 { Thanks Google Search for quantum physics meaning reference though I revise it for a bit. And Google translations for the Spanish words, though I’m not so sure by its accuracy. Lol! that’s all, okay bye! happy reading~ keke}

A gleam yet aesthetic lights of his Casino Hotel welcomed them as they both enter its futuristic hall, screaming with dominance. Greeted by his people while passing through the buzzing of gamblers of any kind, frivolously wasting every cents and ownership they have. The sea of expensive liquors, the sound of tokens and chips, the chime of jackpots and failures of losses. How she hated the sight of it and now she’s just one step closer to face the reason behind it. But only to flinch from another sight she can never get used to.

The chromic face of Jang Taeyoung endlessly playing to his initially Led TV. As she eyed him with abhorrence. “Do you really have to shout that cloy face of yours around this Casino? Tss.” she finally blurts it out while his usual arrogance immersed. “I’m the signature of my Casino myself, what can I do?” and the only thing she could do is cringe. “No. You are simply a narcissist yourself.” a hasty laugh was heard by him, then.

“Come on, Honey. You’ve watched it many times yet you only learn it just now? I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’m enormously gorgeous man.” She hissed. Uninterested by his boasting but vexed from what he called. “Shut that Joder Honey of yours. I’m not a bee! Por favor.” decides to walk ahead of him instead, better than engaging his nonsense callings.

He catches her pace anyway. As he stops by an open wine cellar, getting one type from a rack. “Should we have brought a champagne for him? This Berlin drink looks fi---“

His suggestion was abruptly halted, leaving the wine he’s holding put off on a center table just beside him. For he was dragged by her through the corner side of the cellar. Enough to spot that someone she did not expect. Him, being pressed on a column of wine bottles, trapped by his panicking volatile.

“Qué coño? What does that bomber prosecutor even do here?!” her scoffing whispers came then, eyes still on the enemy’s sight. The man they called Mr. Kim who has a very suspicious guts on her. “Oh. Him? He’s the frequent sniffing fox I’m telling you about. Craving to catch you obviously.” As much as he’s enjoying their position, he had no choice either but to diligently answer her distresses.

Multiple curses start to blab from her mouth nonstop as the so- called fox is now nearly passing their path. Till a cunning idea came after him, sneakily touch her bare back. “You do aware that I am fully attracted to you, aren’t you?” and she knows what he possibly wanted her to do, that she’s now secretly cursing herself for wearing the said garment. Too late to regret her thoughtless moves, mind still stuck with hesitations that her stressed eyes keep shuffling between the taming man in front of her and the persistent enemy who’s eager to catch her no matter what.

“Mierda! I hate you.” Her firm remark before she finally gives in. Swiftly taking his collar to changing their position and crash her lips to his awaiting mouth. She knew she’s going to pay for it. But she’s left with no choice. That sniffing fox would never get tired to investigate her, and to be seen from the Casino is the least she would do. That in between the kisses, she intendedly opens her eyes to sight the prosecutor’s stands.

Not until a sudden moan escaped from her lips that she had to close her eyes by his hungry kisses. She was too focused by the presence of her predator that she almost forgot her other predator. Right, Jang Taeyoung as he is will never accept a petty satisfaction as she only learns about his seeking tongue to enter hers. Only makes it worse when he starts to wrap his hands around her waist after deciding to press her more through the columns of wine bottles which also starts to make a sound of clinks from his move. Not long enough when his other hand begins to run through caressing her bare back to gripping her neck, up until finding a hold from the wooden feature of the wine columns.

“Hmm…”

And just like that, she lost it. Fully lost from the presence of her petty enemy, leaving her only focus to this taming man’s kisses. Scolding herself in mind but had to admit she’s liking it. She’s liking every touch of him that even her hands find its way uncontrollably wrap around his neck through stroking his hair, up to cupping his cheeks. Letting him experience the same intensity as she begun to push herself to kiss him back. Savoring each other’s taste. Giving in from the undecided touches. ‘I’m crazy’ a thought which only made her frown, yet she already meant.

“Jeez. Get a room.”

That alone made her snap back from reality, that she forcefully pulls herself from his still eager kisses. She may not have been busted by the prosecutor only to be found as embarrassment. The fox failed to see her though as it already passed through them before she pulled out, but because of the already loud sound of wine clinks caused by them, it had to found out their sudden make-out.

“F*ck!”

He hates to admit, but he liked it too. The way her lips brushed into his was just exceptional that he even begins to put a liking smile in between their kisses. He wants more and he mean it. And as much as he wants to thank the bomber prosecutor for letting things happen, he hated him even for cutting it. For they can still hear each other’s breaths as his arms still resting in between her, while she’s not eyeing his glances like he does. “We better get going. Our guest must have waited for too long.” As he intends to get serious but his teases aren’t helping when his usual tilting of head and a smirking smile ignites. “I thought Gangnam Gal is five kilometers afar from Itaewon Guy? Then why does it feel too close today. Huh, Sung Eunyoung?”

“Save that for later, Jang Taeyoung.”

Her only stern response after shoving out from his trapping arms between her and with one last biting of his lips, he turns around with a face of a cold hunter as they both went upstairs for VIP Casino Hall to finally pursue their first mission.

“Señor Alcaziar.”

His first greeting of its name before urging for a handshake. “So sorry for being late, a little situation just happened unexpectedly. I hope it didn’t get you bored though.” His proceeding excuses as well. “I see. Not at all. I’m actually enjoying!” a calm but lively response of the Spanish old man before its eyes begun to dart on her.

“Ooh. And who’s this lovely Señorita with you?” They then both looking at each other as if a lovesick lovers head over heels in love. She, who is as if asking for his permission, only to be answered a motioning gentleman’s sign. And he, who swears if only a Grammy nomination will be offered to them, they surely conquer the award-winning title. Thus, as if on cue. Their workshop begins to roll.

“Hola, Señor. Allow me to introduce myself. Me llamo Amilia. Mucho gusto.”

As expected, an astonished reaction had appeared, while unlinking her hand from his arms and offer to the guest. “Mucho gusto. Me llamo Veeros.” The latter’s introduction as well, that even after accepting her handshake, a compliment follows by talking to him. “She’s good, eh?” And the only thing he did was to give him a proud smile. “But you didn’t tell me you’ll be bringing a date for tonight. I should have brought mine.”

With a kinky smile, he went beside her placing his hand on her bare back. “Well, to properly introduce you Señor. This dazzling lady here beside me. My dearest fiancé, Amilia Martin.” so for the second time, their whipped staring game reenacts again, while the became out of place old man only had to react in awe from what he thought lovebirds that its eyes were stuck staring with the both of them. “Oh. Wow. Now that makes a lot of sense. So, am I Veeros Alcaziar proud to be father then?” its humorous response anyway by which cause the laughter among them anyhow.

Still moved from the burst of laughter. The latter tries to bring back his composure though. “Wooh. That’s hilariously unexpected. Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you, young lady. Amilia Martin is indeed a beautiful name for you.” His complimenting remarks again, while she hated the fact that she needed to thank him for that.

Amilia Martin. A name given by her foster parents since she became an orphan. She’s sorry for them, yet it became her disguised identity. Truth is, only few knows Sung Eunyoung, which includes the reckless man beside her obviously. The corporate world only knows Amilia, gone Sung Eunyoung. She loves to be called by that name anyway. But hearing it from the mouth of the enemy is a total exemption.

Meanwhile, a prying watch from Jang Taeyoung occurred. Eyeing the peculiar stare from their guest. For he had already felt it the moment its eyes landed to his volatile. Something he cannot describe yet fishy. And he didn’t like it. “I almost forgot, Señor. Here’s our present for you.” His prompt interruption indeed which led the latter to change its focus to him, as he handed the Berlin champagne he decides to took anyhow a while ago. “Oh, wow. Villa Di Corlo. One of my favorite as well. Thank you.” After accepting it and give to its assistant, the Spanish old man begun to sturdy clasping its hands. “So! Can we talk about business now?”

“After you, Señor.” His leading motion the moment they arrived to the front door of his office, as the old man is about to went in, not before realizing something. “Wait? With your fiancé?” Its off remark indeed. “Well… I couldn’t get a permission if not to her. So, sí Señor.” His response then after from looking each other’s eyes. “Uhuh. Partners in crime. Nice. Well then.” Thus their first conversation started.

The deal went smoothly. From sharing both terms and conditions to how each other’s transaction must be done. But not until the certain word sneak into the dealer’s mouth which led them to give each other’s meaningful look. “Narcotics, Señor?”

“Sí, Narcotics. I’ve been searching for a great timing for it but didn’t get a chance. You know, being a busy man. But looking with our conversation today, I think I’m convinced to give it a go. What do you think, Mr. Jang? Young lady?” His indeed pertaining to the both of them, and grasping from her seat isn’t even much of help. He saw it otherwise, as her habit of flicking her nails didn’t survive from his sight as well. Thus, he had no choice but to do the safest thing he guess.

“About that Señor. I think we need to talk about it first. Seems like my Amilia here is a bit surprised by your sudden proposal.” And she thanks him for that. “Oh. I see. My bad. But no rush. I can wait. Just make sure you both talk it wisely, alright?” and the only thing they could do is smile, hiding the fakeness.

“Thank you for inviting me to your humble Casino, young lad. I had a great time.” With a final handshake he offered a hand. “And thank you for accepting our invitation as well, Señor. We had fun talking.” And so they both escorted him and bid goodbye.

“Mierda!”

As he expected. Her curses erupt, the moment the door shut closed. Stroking her hair at the back of her head. She’s frustrated, and he knows it. That he had to grab her car key from the valet. “I’ll drive you home.” Only for her to get it back. “I can manage.” But who is she lying, though? He wouldn’t be surprise if a news came up of her for over speeding. “I would rather not take the risk. So, just better sit peacefully and let me. “snatching the key from her again while forcefully pushing her to get in the passenger seat.

The ride indeed at peace. But too much peace that her nail flicking habit bothers him still. “Eish. Can you stop torturing your nails? What did they even do wrong to deserve your frustrations. Tss.” only to receive a crumbing look from her. “Shut up. I’m thinking.” With a heavy sigh, she ends up looking by the window instead. Not too long though when her thoughts aren’t even helping her at all.

“Urgh. I need a break! Maldita sea. Stop the car!”

She burst out indeed, that he had to stop the car as well by a bridge. Stomping out through the sidewalk overlooking the steady shore, as she released another of her heavy breath. Her, who’s only feeling the solemn air, gripping to the railings of the bridge. Him, who’s only leaning to her car, arms crossed while playing with his shoe. Just silence between them.

“I have something in mind, actually. Want to hear?”

Breaking the ice, somehow. She hesitated of course, but at the back of her mind, why give it a shot? And so she does. “Let me hear it, then.” She, who’s crossing her arms now. From focusing his eyes on his playing shoe, he darts his eyes to the overlooking shore as well. “If I were to ask, I rather accept his proposal.” His straight suggestion indeed, while she had to turn her head to him, unpleased by his words.

“Are you even---“

“Then you shouldn’t have started if you’ll have to give up anyway.”

And that snap her indeed, that even a fading ‘but’ cannot surpass what he said. She would not like to admit, but he’s right. And him, seeing her doubting face, decided to proceed his following invocations. “You think declining him ain’t do any suspicions? Tss. That’s a lamest excuse for a gambler, Sung Eunyoung. Whether you like it or not, we have no choice either.” Thus a surrendering sigh escape to her again, as her eyes went back to the overlooking shore. “I know. It’s just that… I did not expect things to go this worse.”

“Sung Eunyoung. Even gamblers need to expand. You’re in a business. You should have known that.”

Then another silence appeared. And by measuring her silence again, he began his final follow-up. “So? Are we in or what?”

And with one last deep sigh, closing her eyes. She finally gave in.

“Okay.”

#kim soo hyun #seo ye ji #ko mun yeong #moon gang tae #psycho but it's okay #itsokaynottobeokay #realkoreanmovie #by quantum physics #quantum physics #sung eun young #jang tae young #nightlife ventures #hyunji #seo yea ji #real #jangtaeyeong

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maomao-words · 4 years

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Inspiration hit me a few days ago and all I felt like doing was write for the MLQC fandom! (=・ω・=)

So here I am! I will hopefully post some of my other writings soon too!

But for now, I hope you enjoy these (●'◡'●)ﾉ

MLQC Boys as Bodyguards: (Victor, Lucien, Kiro and Gavin)

Victor:

Weapons: A handgun equipped with a silencer and a katana which has your initials engraved on its black handle.

Background: Victor is the top ranked bodyguard known in the high society. Your family had to go through a prolonged battle of wits and money with numerous other important figures just to be able to hire Victor as your bodyguard. Dominating and commanding, Victor’s distinct aura screams authority and power for all who lay their eyes on him. Just his name is enough to deter countless of those who were planning to harm you. Those stupid enough to still risk attacking with Victor at your side simply dug their own graves and were not even able to get any information on your whereabouts, let alone spill your blood.

Fighting style: Victor does not mess around. His words are the law and the law you shall follow. He has been handed the duty of protecting you and he has no intention of wasting his time on indulging you in your risky adventures and whimsical decisions. He gets to decide everything that concerns your safety and all you have to do, in order to continue surviving, is to obey his orders. An advice? Do not attempt to rebel against him. It will only result in him convincing your father to leave you in charge of several business-related projects that will bound you to your office for no less than six months.

With his intricate network of acquaintances and allies of important and powerful figures, it is only rarely that Victor gets to fight directly in order to protect you. Victor is highly skilled in predicting threats and eliminating them before they even fully manifest. In those scarce moments where an enemy is powerful enough to get near you, Victor is considered as the last and ultimate defense line. He likes to execute his attacks silently and calmly. One shot to the heart will quickly seal the deal, save Victor’s efforts and protect you from needless scenes of blood and violence. Many enemies have mistaken the handgun as Victor’s main weapon, disregarding the katana as a mere ornament, and focused most of their manpower on disarming him. This mistake is what usually leads to their complete annihilation. Victor’s katana which he carries with him at all times is in fact his cherished lifeline as it is efficient, practical and does not run out of lethality.

Off duty: Victor’s off duty routine is not that far from his day to day habitual activities. He remains in full control of all things and does not seem to recognize the real meaning of being off the clock. The one thing that does change, however, is that Victor gets sweeter and gentler with you. If you have been an obedient master for the past few days, Victor will make sure to reward you with a taste of his cooking which you absolutely love.

With Victor at your side, just sit back and relax since danger is no longer a possible happening in your world. I do hope however that you are ready to pay the “price” of this absolute safety as Victor is not cheap by all means.

Lucien:

Weapons: A sniper rifle with a high-precision for ranged attacks and a handgun for close combat.

Background: Lucien is the bodyguard you cannot read most. At days, you even wonder whether he is really on your side or simply lurking in your shadows to eventually kill you. His eyes betray none of his thoughts and his hands, cold yet tender as they wrap around your waist to guide you through dangerous situations, seem to be always covered in blood yet somehow still feel as gentle as a feather on your skin. Lucien is a riddle that you are ready to spend your whole life solving, even if the chances of winning are close to none.

Fighting Style: Lucien mostly prefers to situate himself in the shadows of the roof a tall building and strike the enemy with one shot of his rifle from a distance. Lucien is known to dislike close combat; a fact several of your enemies sought to exploit only to discover that Lucien is as merciless with his fists as he is with his rifle. He just dislikes getting blood on his suit and would prefer to avoid that.

Mysterious and charming, you will not be able to get your eyes off of Lucien no matter how much his actions scream treason and suspicion. Because no matter how much his plots and schemes seem to be leading you to death, he will always appear at the very last second and gets you out of harm’s way, with a gorgeous smile in tow. Lucien’s existence is like a deadly poison to you, and you are just addicted to him.

Off duty: Lucien’s role in your life extends from a talented bodyguard and assassin to your own personal butler. He takes care of delivering and managing all the important papers and documents sent to you and even offers his own advice on different business-related matters. He also manages your personal schedule and private affairs, from meals and sleeping times to clothing choices and hairdresser appointments. Lucien is a highly qualified aid so do listen carefully to him. You will not regret following the plans he draw. Despite it all, however, there are also moments where Lucien seems to open up to you, moments where his eyes, usually two bottomless voids of blackness, suddenly clear up and his smile gets softer as he gazes at you cooking or playfully petting his cat. Those moments, although scarce and rare, are your most cherished possessions and you won’t exchange them for the world.

With Lucien by your side, you must get used to courting danger. Just never question why you are enjoying hell as you keep on dancing with the devil.

Kiro:

Weapons: A mini laptop and a dagger with a golden handle with your initials engraved on it. He also carries a handgun in case of emergencies.

Background: Kiro seems to be your best friend who just happens to also be your bodyguard. Right from the start, Kiro seemed to win your heart in a blink of an eye and you formed an inseparable duo ever since. Thanks to his bubbly personality and sunshine-like smile, you just can’t help but smile and giggle whenever you are around Kiro. Nevertheless, despite the numerous years you spent by his side, you are still startled by the drastic changes Kiro display when it is necessary for him to activate his bodyguard mode and discard his tender smile and gentle touches.

Fighting style: Don’t be tempted. Kiro’s lovely smile and gorgeous looks are nothing but a deadly trap for those who wish you harm. Kiro will not hesitate to use them to his benefit, attracting them before slicing their throats with a cold smile on his face. He usually takes care of all threats as soon as they start to bud and before they even reach the range of a kilometer close to you. With his trusty laptop in hand, Kiro will manipulate, hack and destroy whatever he deems dangerous. Your villa’s top notch security is also established and managed by Kiro, so rest assured, no intruder will be able to set foot into your backyard without being shot or electrified to death.

Off duty: Once his job is finished, Kiro will turn back to his sunshine self in a blink of an eye and will turn to you with his twinkling eyes and jumps on you, asking for a bear hug. Kiro’s off duty routine mostly consists in eating unhealthy snacks, watching hero movies with you and challenging you in silly video games. If the coast is safe enough for you to leave the house, Kiro will definitely accompany you to movies, to attraction parks, to zoos and to basically wherever you wish to go. If there is any sign of danger, Kiro will coop up with you at home and keep you entertained all the while keeping an eye out on you and making sure the threat that is forbidding you both from having your usual dates is dead and buried before the 12 hours mark even passes.

I hope you like sugar and fluffy sweets because that’s how life will taste like with Kiro by your side. Ah, but don’t forget! Even teddy bears have sharp claws!

Gavin:

Weapons: A handgun and a mercenary knife with a silver handle that you personally picked for him.

Background: Gavin seems as the calm, collected and detached type of bodyguard at the start. When he first started working for your family, he simply performed his duties to a perfection, protected you to the best of his abilities and then completely detached himself from you as soon as he was off duty. You initially thought that he was uninterested in building an actual relationship with you and respected the distance he drew between you. But as time went by, you discovered that, contrary to your assumptions, Gavin was just too clumsy in his attempt to get close to you and ended up cutting you off instead of bringing you to him. This awkward yet sincere confession came from a very red-faced Gavin as he lay on top of you trying to shield you from bullets. His clumsiness managed to win you heart and your relationship started to change for the better ever since.

Fighting style: Gavin is a proficient all-rounded soldier. He is perfectly capable of tracking and hunting down enemies, leading and coordinating between security teams as well as shielding and protecting allies. Gavin is sure to secure the safety of his client regardless of the threat he faces. He prefers close combat as he is highly competent in hand to hand battles as well as street brawls. He is also extremely skillful with his gun, using it mostly to secure an escape route for you in cases of ambushes and, in extreme situations, shoot down any threat on the spot. Gavin does not kill until he deems the situation necessary. He values human life and continuously encourage you not to hold grudges and not to consider the world as a mere violent and bloody realm.

Off duty: Off duty, Gavin’s more laid back and boyish charms come to the surface. He likes exercising in his free time and welcomes you with open arms if you come to him for private self-defense lessons. Gavin also enjoys playing video games with you and does not hesitate to let you win just to receive one of your hugs as a reward. When it comes to his butler skills, however, he is at the same low level of Kiro. He once attempted to bake a cake for you, ended up burning half of the kitchen’s ceiling and was banned from getting close to a stove for the rest of his life by you.

Just get used to the feeling of safety because Gavin is willing to risk his life for you. So let him spoil you.

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc hcs #mr love victor #mr love lucien #mr love kiro #mr love gavin

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yoosungmcawthery · 3 years

Text

The Debate of Our Fate.

This is an entry for a competition I took part in!

Thought you might enjoy it :D

———————————————————————-

Skies were inexplicably gloomy and bone-chilling; corrupt by the darkness of what was thought to be thunder clouds. Air so thick that it served as a shelter to the rain we could see, but never feel, as it never penetrated the smog that hung high above our heads.

Little land was left to share, the majority had been washed away by the wrath of Mother Nature to spite the men, women and children alike who were responsible for her demise. Surely this would be enough to convince us to change for the future of our kind? However, the evils of mankind continued...

A poem that had been written long ago, before my own existence, or my parents', that foresaw our 'end'. Upon first reading, it didn't seem to be an 'end' I would ever witness. How wrong I was...

'Our problems exist as one,

With unity we proceed

Through strength we won,

Alas, we fell from greed

Outcomes and expectations differ greatly,

Fears and hopes will only rise

Haven't we all felt this lately?

The crippling reality we cannot hide

Eats us from within with stolen pride

All will fall, chaos ensues

Few will remain with little purity

Cursed to have lives that are forever bruised

Land shall be no more,

Brutality lives on through only us,

And for that reason alone as I told you before

And with no further room to discuss

Our end shall be bitter

Our end shall be near

As all of us are sinners

And I'm making this clear

Fault belongs to none but we

Who corrupt everything we touch

Forget your pleas

For there is little we can do, indeed not much.'

Like all dystopian literature made available to us in our youth, we understood it as a feeble intention to warn us, to shock us into undertaking small insignificant changes to make us compliant.

Instead, it damaged us emotionally to even try and comprehend the potential reality within this poem. Instead, we ignored its message.

How would the poet react to know their words painted the exact image of the future?

How the world consisted of just this one damned country that had been cursed. If we had listened to the truth spoken in fiction, would it all be different?

If we delve deeper into the detail of a poem with our adult brains, would we listen now? Could we change? It would take more than just age I suppose. It would take... What would it take?

This question I ask has different answers.

Despite our rotten world, racism burns on, setting alight the lives of many innocent children. Stereotypes are thrust upon us with even more force. Gender still dictates your rights. Police have more authority and less accountability. Adults continue to traumatise their children in thousands of unspeakable ways. Global warming has peaked and doomed us all to this pitiful dot of land. Homophobia slaughters more men and women daily. In fact, that's what bothered me the most...

I experienced that specifically first-hand and had to endure the hardships of not falling victim to cruelty.

***

I didn't have the time to dwell on fiction or the past. There was no point really...

Everyone I once loved, (and hated) had long passed, but being alone, the mind wanders, often into memories long buried.

In the here and now though, I look across at my belongings and sigh. A carved picture on a slab of wood. A religious message accompanies it.

I could not bring myself to discard it. A trophy won by my torturers in a sense as when I looked at it I remembered the day I had come out...

Slurs had come crashing into me, like the waves that bounce off the corroded shore I often visit. That wasn't the hardest part, believe it or not. Trying to then find a partner was the struggle. Those who were gay, and simply uninterested, felt inclined to insult you as they turned you down.

The straight ones of course beat you black and blue, leaving you helpless on the street as onlookers laughed: pointed, recorded, joined in, passed by...

The most painful thing though, were the ones that gave sympathetic stares, but were either too cowardly, or felt too helpless themselves to even attempt saving you. Given this, wasn't it clear why the poem did not resonate? Why I couldn't fathom 'the end'? I had what I thought were bigger problems to solve...

I erase my memories and lay my head down. Suddenly though, I spot a strange phenomenon in the crack of the darkest corner of the ruins.

***

A Middlemist Red. Sprouting from the earth once more!

The rare Camellia itself beginning to reproduce and make its return. The flower was previously known to be extinct! Could it be that Mother Nature was trying to give us one last shot?

The Middlemist's Red had been flowering for more than two centuries within a couple of miles of its first home outside China. There were believed to be only two left in the world – the one that lit up the (now abandoned and derelict) Duke of Devonshire's conservatory at Chiswick, West London, and another in Waitangi, New Zealand.

Due to the total devastation, the remains of the old flowers were never found.

We may not have time machines, but with this flower I was reminded we have something greater.

This minuscule being - this tiny flower bloomed hope into my heart. A spark in the candle of my own darkness. For all the poems that prophesied our end, authoritarian prejudices or the torturous memories of youth, nothing can beat determination and courage.

If Mother Nature had deemed this land as capable of being home once more to these flowers, then maybe we could begin to do the same. It'd take work and time, without a doubt, but isn't that what makes life so worth it?

I stood up and headed out of the ruins, a smile blossoming after decades.

***

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werevulvi · 4 years

Text

I kinda just wanted to make a rant, to lay out why I feel so iffy about trans women and hopefully get a better understanding of my own feelings and what the fuck is brewing under that surface. There has to be a reason. This post is analytical drivel, not a debate, but by all means, feel free to respond or otherwise talk to me about this. Let's take it from the beginning and then go from there.

Part 1 Detransition:

So, I began detransitioning roughly 2 years ago. That's where my feelings about the trans community as a whole began to shift, and with that my feelings about trans women. At that time, I was still active in a truscum group and came out as detrans there, after having been known and looked up to as a trans man there for over a year. At first I was accepted, but when I started having doubts about wanting to get rid of my beard, and felt like I wanted to embrace my body hair and deep voice... people there started acting like shit towards me. They told me that my biological sex still being female did not matter, that I was essentially a man and had to detrans medically to be considered a woman again. That hurt badly.

Shortly after that, I was also told that because I was medically transitioned, trans women were "more female" than me. That was like the last drop that made the goblet pour over. Fuming, I started saying that I'm more of a woman than trans women can ever be, even if I keep a full beard, because they'll never be truly biologically female, no matter how much surgery they got. I was hurting by their cruel words, so I stuck it where it would hurt them the same. (I’ve always an “eye for an eye” sorta person.) That's when people started telling me that I hate trans women, but I felt like that was a misunderstanding. That I was just acting out, out of sadness, grief, anger, panic, and having my gender denied for the sake of validating trans women's genders.

But were they right?

Part 2 Gender critical thought:

Over time, I got exceedingly gender critical and fell into radblr. I also read/watched content that "exposed" transgenderism as a scam, most of which was articles and youtube videos from conservative right wing people, and Christians. I had joined an fb group for detransitioners, and the creator, a "born again" Christian detrans man, happily shared all the many sources he had on how transgender was all a scam from the start of its movement. I felt somewhat sick consuming those links, but probably equally intrigued. But at the same time, I kept a foot in the trans community, starving for attention, even though I was never good enough for them anymore, unless I lied and said I'm not a woman. What a sick twist of fate, I felt.

Part 3a Sexuality, from a lesbian view:

Sometime around that, I struggled with my sexuality and after a lot on inner search, I came to the conclusion I was a lesbian. I felt as though I was only attracted to the same sex as myself, including trans men, but felt nothing worth praising towards males, including trans women. That led to yet another rabbit hole that I tumbled down into. I became convinced that majority of trans women were lesbophobic predators, and I had some shit luck on dating apps. Most people who approached me there were gnc males; transvestites and trans women. I almost went on a date with a good-looking trans woman whom I had mistaken for female, because I felt guilty for having lost attraction to her the moment she told me she's trans and post-op. Luckily she canceled our date for unrelated reasons. I felt like because she was attractive to me before I knew she's trans, but felt completely uninterested in her after the fact, I couldn't possibly be attracted to trans women.

Part 3b Sexuality, from a bisexual view:

That, of course, is not necessarily a bad thing. But I kept asking myself why. Especially since I realised my error in my sexuality calculations, and upon correction discovered I'm actually bisexual after all. I still find women and transitioned females attractive, and in addition to that also men in general, and some vaguely transitioned males. Except from trans women. That odd little inconvenience stood out as a sore thumb which I couldn't stop scratching. Why? I kept asking myself. Why not trans women?

My question dug deeper than just to attraction. I don't think I feel iffy about trans women because I'm not attracted to them. I think it's the other way around.

I never had to convince myself to be attracted to trans men. I discovered early on in my own transition that some other trans men were really hot. That was it. I later on dated a trans man whom I was head over heals in love with. That confirmed it. I've been questioning my attraction to standard men and women far more than I ever questioned my attraction to trans men. It was that obvious, that clear. However, when it comes to trans women I was always the complete opposite. That no matter how I twisted and turned it, I only ever felt revulsion at the thought of being sexual or romantic with a trans woman. No matter how well or badly they passed, no matter how aesthetically pleasing or how charming their personalities.

I wanna clarify that I'm not at all forcing myself to be into trans women. I'm just trying to understand why, so that I'll no longer feel bad about my lack of attraction to them. Because I cannot accept things which I do not understand.

Part 3c Sexuality, digging for answers:

At first I thought, maybe I'm just not all that attracted to femininity. It's not like I typically get super into hyper-feminine natal women either, and fake tits and faces with a ton of plastic surgery has always made me queezy. No, I seem to have a strong preference for masculinity in partners, regardless if they're butches, other masc bi women, trans men or kinda standard masc natal men. So then it just kinda makes sense that trans women, whom are often hyper-feminine, just don't fit that image. Except... that one trans woman I almost went on a date with... she looked like a butch. I mistook her for a natal woman partly because she had short hair, no makeup and wore what looked like men's clothing, but I could see she had hips and tits, and her face looked naturally female. But I still wasn't into her, because she's trans.

Then I thought... okay, that one checks out, but maybe I'm just creeped out neo-vaginas? Yeah, that must be it! I'm almost equally creeped out by neo-penises too, but most trans men don't get bottom surgery anyway, so it hasn't been much on my mind. But then I thought: okay, but what about trans women who choose to not get bottom surgery then? I am attracted to dick. Nope, still uneasy at that thought. I started comparing men who are just very feminine, to trans women, and noticed yeah I don't actually feel half as iffy about men who are just feminine. A man in a dress and makeup can actually be very hot, to me. And I've always preferred long hair on men. But I prefer them still looking clearly male underneath that, although I don't mind a few androgynous features here and there. But I’m only into it if they don’t act like their affinity for femininity makes them women or non-binary, or if they’re feminine in a way that mocks or sexualises womanhood. So I’m not into tacky transvestites in over-sexualised lingerie. At least try to be tactful and elegant, please. So, it’s not male femininity per se that puts me off. If there’s any femininity I’m actually into, it’s male femininity. Because gender non-conformity is attractive to me. And I love the idea of being a strong female protector and girlboss of a gentle, delicate, feminine man. At least I like fantasising about that. (But enough about my daydreams.)

Part 4a Womanhood, biology and identity:

Somewhere after having gotten that far in my digging, I started getting close to finding my sore spot: trans women's view on womanhood.

As for myself, my own view of womanhood is completely detached from femininity. I'm just like... I can even have a full beard and bass voice, a flat and hairy chest, and still be a woman. Because I'm simply bio female. Trans women tend to very often think that they need to "pass" and with that comes a certain look: high voice, no facial hair, no body hair, big breasts, curvy hips, etc. All of which are features that I'm dysphoric about having on my own body, but admire in other natal women. But on trans women, it's like I feel uncomfortable about those kinda features on them. Like to me being a woman is just dealing with having developed that way, or not dealing with having developed that way. Where as for them it seems to be actually striving for developing that way, and I guess that causes my brain to short circuit. Cannot comprehend.

Part 4b Womanhood, fragility and validation:

My womanhood is kinda fragile. I admit that. I'm quite insecure as a woman, because of my transition and masculinity. I feel like most of my womanhood has been lost, which although I'm fine with, I still grieve. I grieve it because I was a bit of an idiot when I first transitioned and had not yet processed my trauma - not because I regret looking like a man. It's complicated, but basically... I feel as though my womanhood is hanging by a thread, which is my genitals, reproductive system and chromosomes; all of which are either mostly hidden or always invisible.

I'm often met with disbelief and disagreement. People either saying "You're not a woman because you can't possibly be female. You look too male." or "You're not a woman because you medically transitioned. You having a uterus is not enough to make you a woman." and it gets to me. And then there are trans women... some of whom do not even need to put on a wig to be instantly validated as women by just identifying as such. Others thinking that because I look like a man, they refuse to think of me as a woman. And that... pisses me off.

There have been a few trans women who in some utterly failed attempt at being supportive of me have said I'm like a nonbinary person who is half male and half female. That's not a lot better, but thanks for trying... I guess.

Part 4c Womanhood, dysphoria and misogyny:

I think that might be what gets to me about trans women. All of it. This entire list of things. That some of them are lesbophobic predators and have absurd claims of what being female is, that others mock womanhood, and yet others view themselves as somehow more female than I am. The genital factor and the slight creepiness of plastic surgery. Their view of womanhood as an identity and my view of it as a biological sex. I keep ending up in fights with trans women about these sorta things. I can't keep a lid on my frustrations no matter how hard I try to just see them as people with dysphoria and opinions that are different from mine. I cannot find any fucking solidarity between myself, as a dysphoric natal woman, and trans women. I feel like they're making mockery of my sex, my dysphoria and my struggles with misogyny, as well as making me feel like shit about something that I love about my body: my transition. I have no common grounds with them, and whenever they try to find solidarity in stuff like misogyny, I feel like they don't even know what the fuck they're talking about. I have a huge bone to pick with them, on multiple levels, and I don't even know where to start or where it ends.

Part 4d Womanhood, jealousy:

But a lot of it comes from jealousy. And I think it's mutual. I'm jealous of their ability to access female only spaces despite being male, which I cannot access despite being female. I'm jealous of their ability to be accepted as women. And on the other side, I think they're jealous of my reproductive ability, and my female socialisation, which I'm not like super hyped about myself, although I do love my pussy (she gives me great orgasms.) I'm jealous of their ability to claim womanhood without even trying to pass as female, because people are quicker to accept the woman-gender-identity than the woman-bio-sex. But likewise, ironically, I sense that they're jealous of that I can claim the "woman lane" despite looking convincingly male, because I'll always be biologically female, no matter how insible my sex is.

They cannot see me as a woman, because of my transition, without looking at themselves as men, no matter how far they transition. And I cannot see them as women, no matter how far they transition, without labeling myself as a man, because of my own transition. I think that about nails it.

Part 5 Conclusions:

I don't think it's true hatred, but rather insecurities both from myself and from them. Because we cannot both exist as women under the same ideology. One of us has to be considered a man, and neither of us is willing to fold on that. Ultimately... I am a threat to their womanhood, as much as they are a threat to my womanhood. And that tension is so thick... not even a knife could cut it. I guess the sad thing is though, that I think that tension is unnecessary. I am so unlike trans women that we could potentially bond based on how different we are. Because there is a lot of similarity in those differences, if you really think about it.

But no, I do not wish them harm in any way. Despite the vast array of insults I sometimes hurl their way. That is really just in response to them insulting me. I do not think they're doing anything wrong by transitioning, or even necessarily by identifying as women. I think, if they had just been more like "I can see you as a woman despite having transitioned, because deep down you like being female and having a pussy... kinda like I'm a woman because I wanna have a pussy, despite having been born male" I would have been much quicker to embrace them. Because that, I could get behind; but they can't.

So, there is no solidarity. It remains an endless fight. But I feel like it's not just on my part. I have tried. I do try. But they're not willing to meet me halfway, and that makes me go to attack in self-defense, which makes then go to attack in self-defense.

#my stick up my arse about trans women #its hurt not hate #rant #analytical drivel #gender critical #radfem safe #detransition

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