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adventuringblind · 1 year ago

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Cutting Tensions

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader x Max Verstappen x Lando Norris

Dialouge prompt: "The deal was that if I won, you'd all have your way with me."

Genre: SMUT

Summary: Reader wins a bet and spicy things ensue

Warnings: Filthy, PinV sex, implied anal, oral, fingering, thigh riding, degradation, praise, under negotiated BDSM, dom/sub,

Notes: I'm back from the dead! Finished my bachelor's degree today and move on to my masters in January! How do we celebrate? Smut. This is filthy and part of my 1000 follower event. Requests will close at the beginning of January. If you'd like to participate, click on the link :)

Masterlist

Minors DNI please

She's more observant than the boys give her credit for. They aren't being subtle or even smooth, for that matter.

Daniel flirts openly with her every chance he gets. Max is always trying to spend time with her both inside and outside the paddock. Lando is very handsy at the most inconvenient times. While they are busy oggling at her, they have failed to notice the longing looks that pass between the three of them. She's getting sick of it, really. Macho men who are fighting over her don't have the balls to admit they are also trying to show off to each other.

She's hit the breaking point and has decided to do something about it. And, if everything goes according to plan, they will have a lovely night and hopefully some realization of feelings while they're at it.

She'd managed to place the car on pole for the race tomorrow. Her odds of actually turning it into a win look good so far. She takes her phone out and sends a quick message to the boys.

'If any of you three win tomorrow, I'll spend the night with you. But if I win the you three take me at the same time. Deal?'

A course of enthusiastic replies cause her phone to explode. They really are the most oblivious boys she knows at times.

Just as she'd hoped, she stands on the top step of the podium. Drenched in champaign with adrenaline coursing through her veins. Max is a step below looking at her knowingly.

The anticipation builds over the course of debriefs and media work. The interviews take hours and she want to throw the microphone at the journalists who constantly ask her about being a female in formula 1. The same question they have asked over the entire course of her career.

She runs into the three boys looking at each other awkwardly. Max flashes the keys to his car and she feels her shoulders intense knowing escape is near.

"Your hotel room I'm assuming?" Daniel throes her a playful smile.

"Well, unlike the three of you, I'm pretty sure I cleaned before I left." She throws as they walk towards Max's car.

The rest of the trip back is filled with playful and teasing Comments. Daniel is the least petrified of the three boys and even leaves a few lingering touches along her thighs.

They toss their stuff into random corners of the room. It's not like it's massive, but she knows they'll find a way to make it work. Unless they decided to stare at her all night instead of doing anything.

She faces them and huffs. Daniel looking a little more amused then the other two at it.

"The deal was-" She puts her hands on her hips. "-That if I won, you'd all have your way with me."

Daniel finally takes the initiative and slams his lips onto hers. It's wet and hot. She can't help but moan into his mouth at the sensation. His fingers hook into the belt loop of her jeans to pull her closer. "You mean like this, darlin?" She just moans back in agreement.

Daniel pulls back, leaving her to whine in anticipation. He yanks on Max's wrist to pull him into the mix. The Dutch looks both helpless and surprised, and his lips land on Daniel's. The Australian slides Max into his place. He looks sufficiently warmed up now and in his element.

He places kisses everywhere along her neck and jaw line. His hands wrestle with her clothes until she's exposed and the feeling of the duvet is beneath her; flush against her skin.

She feels small beneath him. Max's hands groping at her like she'll fly away. Her hips already blossoming with dark marks.

His lips leave her for a second as he throws his shirt off. Her hands fly to belt around his waist. It's messy, but he's left in his boxers eventually.

On the other side of the bed, Lando was clueless. Despite his show of confidence, he was prepared for it to either be just him or not at all. Not to say that he doubted her skills. No, he doubts himself. Didn't mentally prepare for this outcome.

Daniel takes the initiative with him just like he'd done Max. Daniel curls his fingers around Lando's waist and hesitantly leans closer. It's enough that Lando has time to back out if he wants, but he doesn't. He hates admitting it; that he wants this desperately. He also just wants to be good, and that usually comes with experience. Something he doesn't have in this scenario.

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when Daniel's lips land on his. It's much softer than he'd seen with the other two.

It lasts for a measly minute until Lando's body is being manhandled onto the bed. Litgerally thrown onto it like he weighs nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He doesn't do any of the work aside from lay there in sheer cluelessness.

Everyone if fumbling out of their clothes. It's frantic and animalistic now, but he's definitely turned on at the sight of it. Yeah... this is definitely what he wanted.

She is going to explode. Max's tongue has found her ripples, and his hands are pressed into her back to keep her close. His thigh sits between her legs up against her core. She grinds her lower half against Max's skin. Her moans come out as high-pitched whine as the stimulates become too much.

Max releases his tongue from her and takes over, moving her hips for her. "You like that baby? You're leaking all over my thigh, so you must."

She's about to hit that point when Max throws her off him. He loses his boxers in record time and slips on one of the many condoms sitting on the bedside table.

Her and Lando lay in opposite directions. Enough for her to land her lips on his and her hands to make contact with his skin. The Brit is whining loudly at something. The beginnings of tears prick at his eyes. Daniel is running hands up and down Lando's sides, occasionally brusing against her own.

It feels like seconds of peace before Max is slamming into her. He throws her leg over his shoulder and hits the same place every time. Hips snaping so hard the sound echoes in the room. Her hands immediately find some kind of hold on his arms. Behind her, Daniel is praising both of them. "You two look so good. Look at how she's falling apart underneath you, Maxy."

Lando's cries and incoherent babbling are also increasing. It's messy and the heat of the room is already causing her skin to become slick with sweat.

"Can you two manage coming at the same time? Can you do that for us?" She's pretty sure she could come undone any second now. Max's pace hasn't faltered. If he continues, she's going to combust.

Max is whispering praises in her ear. Landos hand grips whatever it can of her body. Frantic moans and flailing limbs come with crashes of endorphins. It's blissful. Max draws it out until he finishes and collapses on top of her.

There is no reprieve for her and Lando. Daniel is a puppet master and both of them are merely on strings being moved to his will.

She ends up on top of him. Neither she nor Lando move. Their skin is plastered together as she buries her nose in the crook of his neck.

Daniel is moving her up and down in rough motions. His grip is changing in strength every few seconds as Max is somewhere out of sight sucking off the Australian.

He's directing Lando on where he wants the Brits hands on her. Eventually coming to the point he isn't holding onto her at all. It's Lando guiding her body. His hips buck into her, but it isn't like Max. Lando tries different things. Enough to startle her into a second orgasm when he begins to hammer up into her relentlessly. He has her begging for it this time.

Daniel and Max find both them at the top of the bed. They whisper things at them. Max is praising on one side while Daniel degrads on the other.

She is putty in their hands. Molded to their will. Swimming in the bliss of their attention.

"My turn." Daniel growls at her. He moves them all again. Her body is swiftly turned to where she can clearly see Daniel's eyes wide with something primal. "Need your mouth baby. Are you okay with that? Can I fuck your throat?" She responds by simply throwing her mouth open and sticking out her tongue. "Dirty."

The smirk on his lips disappears as his cock slides down the back of her throat. She can helpless to do anything except let her mouth be used.

Max is back between her thighs. This time with a tongue on her clit and three fingers moving inside her in such a way that she sees white. Occasionally she hears Max pull away to praise Lando who is out of her sight. Whatever he's doing is working as Max's movments begin to randomly falter.

Daniel is wiping away the stray tears that are sliding down her cheeks. She's coughing and gagging but the ecstasy is to overpowering for her to think to much about it. "Such a good girl." He coos after a particularly nasty cough.

He warns her about five seconds before he finishes. On last slam into her mouth and he's spilling into her throat. Far enough back that it hardly touches her tongue.

He holds her there as Max brings her over the edge again. His hands pin her wrists as she frantically tries to pull him closer or push him away, she's not sure which is happening.

She's still riding the high, Daniel barely out of her mouth when Lando pops back onto the bed sputtering and wiping his mouth. "That - was amazing." His chest falls heavily as he regains his breath.

Her body won't move. It's exhausted. Every last ounce of energy spent. Everything feels sticky. Lingering electric pulses stem from the soft touchs of Daniel and Max.

"You did so good, loves." Plural, meaning with her and Lando. She's curious what she'd missed while wrapped up in her own pleasure.

"Cuddles?" Lando squeaks.

There are a few chuckles and a denial. "Bath and water first."

It's much softer then she'd anticipated. Max and Daniel don't get in the bath with her and Lando, but the sit on the edge and keep them company. Just chatting like this is a normal Sunday nightm

The bed is really to small for four people, but they make it work. They fall asleep tangled together. Limbs tossed in all sorts of directions and phones still on silent.

She wakes up first and orders breakfast. Foods that she knows are trainer approved across the board.

She's lost in her own thoughts. So much so that she doesn't notice the three boys beginning to wake. Not until a set of arms wraps around her waist.

"How long did you know for?" Asks Daniel from right behind her. The other two boys still wrapped in each other but eyeing her intently.

"A year now."

Lando sits upright "You set us up?!"

"The way I see it, we all got a good fuck out of this and feeling have come to light." She shrugs.

"So-" Max sounds unsure of himself. The anxiety seeping through just the tiniest bit. "-Are we going to keep doing this?"

"I was thinking a proper date might be next up." Lando nods in agreement at her proposal.

Daniel's gein is magnificent. He scans the three of them, pondering what to say next. "Alright, a date it is then."

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goldenempyrean · 10 months ago

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"Is it getting colder in here, or is it just me?" and “Thats it. You're going to bed.” with female sick reader and caretaker Natasha?

A Domestic Life

〚 Notes - I'm gonna try super hard to get through a load of my older requests, if you've sent one AGES ago (we're talking over months ago), it might be done soon :D ALSO! I updated my taglist so hopefully everyone who wanted to be is now on! 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Nat notices how run-down you are and takes care of you. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 720 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Is it getting colder in here, is it just me?” You mumbled quietly, fighting back a shiver as you pulled your sweater tighter round yourself in an effort to warm yourself back up. You’d been like this all day, going through stages of being freezing cold then boiling hot.

Natasha hummed lightly as she stirred a pot of simmering pasta, “It’s quite warm in here darling.” She carefully lowered the temperature of the stove before turning around. She raised an eyebrow, her keen eyes studying you closely. She noticed the subtle flush settled on your cheeks and the way you seemed to huddle into yourself, despite the relative warmth of the room.

You watched as Nat set down the wooden spoon that she'd been using letting it sit at the edge of the pot before turning back to you, concern etched into her soft features. "You don't look so good," She remarked after a moment, her voice gentle yet firm. You nodded, sniffling quietly as you stood up from the stool you’d been perched on and made your way over towards her, wrapping your arms around her slim waist and letting your head rest against the back of her neck – she was so warm, you just wanted to soak it all up.

You tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered as another wave of chills swept through you, making you cling to her tighter, craving her warmth. "I'm okay, just feeling a little off maybe." You replied, though your voice lacked conviction, “I’ve been like this all day.” You grumbled, not holding back the trace of annoyance hiding in your voice.

Nat couldn’t say she was surprised. You’d both been so swept of your feet lately, mission after mission with almost no breaks. Hell, the closest the pair of you had come to resting lately was the night the two of you had been sent to take over a stakeout a few days ago. It was only going to be a matter of time before exhaustion caught up with one of you.

Natasha sighed, her worry deepening as she reached out to gently cup your face. "You're burning up darling," she stated, her thumb brushing against your cheek. "When was the last time you had a break or a good night's sleep? Be honest with me.”

You hesitated, realising that you couldn't even remember the last time you had taken an actual moment to rest. The constant adrenaline from the rush of missions had kept you going, but now your body was paying the price. "I... I can't remember," You admitted quietly, feeling a bit defeated and silly now that you’d realised actually how much you’d run yourself down.

Natasha's expression softened, her concern turning into a determined resolve. "Well, that settles it. You need to rest. No arguments," she declared, her voice leaving no room for negotiation.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she quickly placed a finger against your lips, silencing you. "No 'buts'," she said, giving you a stern look. "You can't take care of anyone if you're running on empty. And right now, you're beyond running on fumes sweetheart."

You sniffled softly, crossing your arms with a small, defeated pout, “What about helping with dinner though?”

Your girlfriend chuckled softly, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Dinner can wait. Right now, the only thing you need to focus on is getting better. Plus, it’d be a bad idea to have you help with dinner anyway, we don’t need you passing out and falling in the pan, do we?" She smiled as you gave a small giggle, but Nat could still feel the warmth radiating from you, "Come on, that’s it, you’re going to bed."

You reached out, intertwining your fingers with hers, and pulled her closer. Looking up into her eyes, filled with worry and love, you felt a surge of affection wash over you. Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, conveying your gratitude in the soft touch.

"Thank you love," You whispered, your small voice came from beside her. "For taking care of me.”

Natasha's lips curved into a tender smile as she returned the kiss, her warm touch was comforting against your skin, "Always," she murmured against your lips, "Now let’s get you into bed.”

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗@sayah13@mahalkitanova@romanoffskisser @scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @bloomingflowersthings @kathleenmikaelson @shamelessbearunknown @inluvwithfictionalwomen @citrussnz @fluffyblanketgecko @kljhsong @santana1437 @blackwidow-barnes @asiangmrchk13 @lovelyy-moonlight @juiles @lots-of-pockets @sashawalker2 @natashamaximoff69 @observeowl @beholdagaywriter @widows201 @llovergirleraa @danveration @idkeithershawty @rainedontknow @poison-blackheart @loveshineslikethesky @somber-sapphic @lexasaurs634 @ahintofchaos @scarlettssub @paisley-yy @wandanats-goodgirl @nuianced-tck-enby @maomaoincomming @anne-lister @rianlovelygirl @taliiiaasteria @swaqcenix @inluvwithfandom

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #sickfic #fluff #whump #comfort #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff sickfic #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff comfort #natasha romanoff imagine

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morganski-19 · 8 months ago

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part 1, part 2, part 3

Wayne stays at the hospital longer than he should. Rubbing his fingers along Eddie’s pick necklace like a rosary. Hoping that if he just prays hard enough, if his voice can be heard, Eddie will wake up.

The prognosis isn’t great. Each day that passes marks another day where his chances of waking up get lower. Even though many people have woken up from medically induced comas much later than this. According to the doctors. According to the pamphlets given to him at the start of all of this shit. But those are just words. Words he doesn’t believe fully.

Six days with no changes. No improvement. Just a tube to make sure he’s breathing regularly and an IV to make sure he doesn’t die of dehydration or starvation. The doctors say that his brain still shows activity, and his heart hasn’t missed a beat since he was last revived. Eddie’s alive, but just how much?

How much longer will Wayne sit in this agony waiting for him to wake up? Or how long until the string of hope just ends six feet under?

Religion was something that Wayne dealt with sporadically. He was raised Catholic, sort of still is a practicing Catholic. Goes to church when he isn’t too tired, still prays, and goes to confession sometimes. Just didn’t always make sense. But now, it’s all he’s got.

Eddie’s in God’s hands now. Whether that’s the God in the Bible, or some other deity of the many other religions in the world, Wayne doesn’t care anymore. As long as he’s heard, and this being knows his boy is good. That he was taken far too soon.

Eddie liked to say there was nothing much for him past high school. That he was going to run out of town as soon as he could and fight to make something of himself. Be a struggling musician, find odd jobs. Anything to keep him out of the monotony of a corporate job. Get him away from the conservative views and stuffiness of this town. Somehow get big enough to prove them all that he wasn’t a failure. Or never come back to prove them all right.

It would be a sad day when Eddie finally left for good. The trailer would seem empty without the life that Eddie brought. The peace and quiet that Wayne always asked for not bringing any peace because it was too damn quiet. He knew this now because it’s what’s keeping him here each day.

The beeping of the heart monitor was like the heart beating in his chest. Some noise came from Eddie to prove that he was alive. Almost like he was acting himself again. The motel room he was staying in was too quiet. No music down the hall, no clanking around the kitchen, no yelling at the TV or a book. Just the occasional noise if there were neighbors and people driving to the hospital. It was all the wrong noise, though.

“Excuse me,” a nurse says as she enters the room. “Visiting hours are over, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Wayne nods, getting up from his chair. Back screaming as it pops itself back into place. It’s his day off, or night off tonight, so he can actually sleep. If it ever comes to him. Might be one of those nights where the ceiling and him have a staring contest. He’s been close, but never quite won one of those yet.

The Chief’s car sits outside of the motel as Wayne pulls up. It’s only been a day since they spoke last, there can’t be that many updates. Wayne can’t think of any other reason he’s here.

Wayne invites him into the motel room, the urge to offer him a drink screaming at him, but he has none to give. Hospitality doesn’t come with the room fees.

“I’m guessing there’s something new, that’s why you're here.”

“Not necessarily. I’m still trying, but until the one guy I normally negotiate with comes out of hiding, that’s when the real talking happens.”

Wayne sits down on one of the chairs, too tired to keep standing. “Why’re you here then?”

“To check on you. I know the hospital life well. It’s no picnic, especially if you’re doing it alone.” He pulls another one of the chairs over to sit down.

There’s no lie in that. “I’m about as good as anyone could think.”

The Chief pulls two beers out from under his coat, handing one to Wayne. He takes it faster than any beer he has in his life. Pulling out his pocket knife to take off the cap.

“How long till that friend of yours comes out of hiding?”

Hopper shrugs. “Don’t know. Sent him a few threatening letters, and he still owes me one, so we’ll see. If things were better here, I’d go hunt the man down myself.”

Wayne nods. The company’s nice, he can’t lie. Sitting in solidarity with someone who knows what you’ve been through. Making sure nothing’s going worse than it already is. Like a sponsor through the hospital proceedings.

When the sun finally finishes setting, the chief excuses himself. Not before handing Wayne a slip of paper with his number on it, just in case anything happens.

The more days go by, the more Wayne is reminded that he’s not alone in this. Not fighting this battle alone. People believe him, more than just kids. People with influence. It shows in how people keep coming in and out of the hospital room. Saying how they know he’s innocent. That he’s guilty of some things, but not this.

It makes him think back to that afternoon, snapping at the Harrington kid. It’s so easy to be angry at people who are better off, in so many ways, that vision gets blinded. Seeing someone who went through something similar to Eddie get out, and be conscious while his boy is still asleep. Probably will never have to worry about hospital bills and medical debt. It makes him angry.

Even if the kid doesn’t deserve it. Wayne has no clue who this kid is and how he knows Eddie. Why he claims to have been there in the week Eddie was missing. What it all means. It doesn’t make any sense. None at all.

But then the next morning when he’s getting coffee, there’s the kid again coming in beside Dustin. Talking to someone at the front desk before heading down the hall. Right to the elevator, and up to the floor Eddie’s on.

Wayne heads back to the room, ready to kick him out again or apologize. He’s not sure yet. But, the room is empty. Steve is instead down the hall, talking to Susan Mayfield. Looking serious as hell, and halfway ready to cry.

Another kid comes out of the room, one who’s stopped by a few times to check on Eddie. Lucas, Wayne thinks is his name. Remembers it only because Eddie had ranted a few times about some kid named Lucas trying to be on both the basketball team and part of the Dragons club.

The kid says something to Steve before he’s being wrapped in a hug and starts crying. Steve just holding him as this kid breaks down. Presumably about the person behind those doors. Wayne assumes it’s probably Susan’s kid. Remembers hearing that she was in bad shape. Hopefully, that didn’t get any worse.

Wayne returns to his room, not wanting to intrude. A nurse comes in a while later and asks him to step out for a bit.

“What for?”

“Eddie’s breathing has improved over the last twenty-four hours. The doctor came in to check on him early this morning, and said that if by noon it was the same, the breathing tube could come out.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Wayne’s hesitant to believe anything these days.

The nurse nods. “As long as his oxygen levels stay, well level, then yes. It means that his body is well on the way to recovery.”

Wayne nods, taking his coffee to the waiting room. There, he just waits.

Next part

Note: The next part of this will get a bit interesting. I've been having ideas for a while now of making this duel POV between Wayne and someone else, maybe Steve. Mainly because I keep thinking of conversations that would happen, but Wayne would be nowhere to witness it. But I think what this fic needs is a POV not directly in the main relationship that will be happening, to keep it an outsider POV fic. So I'm thinking that the second POV would be from either Robin or Dustin. I'm currently deciding between the two so let me know what you think. I'm also going to start posting this to ao3, and will provide the link to that once I think of a title. I will continue to post the smaller parts here on tumblr, and you will not be missing out on any of the story if you only follow it on here. For now all of the parts will also have the tag #morgan's wayne POV. If that changes, as it probably will since this is no longer just a wayne POV fic, I will let you know. Also, Max is alive, they just got a heavy diagnosis that you will learn of later.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs

#stranger things #wayne munson #jim hopper #dustin henderson #susan mayfield #lucas sinclair #steve harrington #pre steddie #post season 4 #eddie munson #eddie in a coma #everyone lives/nobody dies #chills right to the marrow fic

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rootspiral · 26 days ago

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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 6 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2])

I think this might actually be my favorite Agatha, for real? Like, the ring binder. The pOUTING. She's SO serious. I want to talk to her in a baby voice, just like, to be supportive of her little things.

And the Bohner family reunion shirt, of course. the gray socks, the garden hose sprayer as a gun. To use tumblr lingo, that's the saddest meow meow of a woman I've ever seen, and I'm obsessed with her.

GAY ON GAY VIOLENCE

joe was holding for dear life, but he didn't laugh. because he's a professional.

billy putting all the hours he spent on tvtropes dot com to good use

he's always a little smug, like he thinks he's in control, that he knows better. when he actually doesn't know shit! that's the whole attitude he brought to the Road.

and that's detective agnes o'connor to you, you little punk.

the click pen gag destroys me. this is 5 minutes of kathryn and joe being silly and, look, does it further the plot? no. am I having fun? sure am! so who's to say it's wasted time?

and the way she looks so small and lost when reality slips in for a moment, she is so precious to me.

look at the hand going in witchy position, the real agatha fighting to regain control. what a great acting choice.

for context he spent all of five minutes in the closet before bursting out in a a cloud of nail polish fumes. and it still was five minutes too many

the draMATIC zoOM IN

you thought quicksand would be enough to kill thee agatha harkness?? you're gonna need to put some more effort to it, some flair! and what's more, she's gonna complain about it the whooooole time

fare thee well swooshy coat

I just realized all the little innocent questions billy keeps peppering agatha with are exactly because he can't read her mind, so he's trying to get information for the Road on the down low

you guys keep accidentally shaping reality. it's a fairly big tell.

she tries to joke as usual, but when billy doesn't respond she sighs and tries to be soft and thoughtful. she's not AT ALL comfortable opening up so it's laced with manipulation, but hey, she tries

goddamnit she's crying again. I told you she loves billy for being billy, and not just as a nicky stand-in. this is the brilliant little boy who could always see right through her, and agatha has loved him since the day he was born.

hey there kiddo. so you've killed a few witches, happens to the best of us. look at me, killing witches never opened a gaping black chasm in my soul or anything. you're going to be fine.

billy is so not amused

just like with wanda, there's so much there. sympathy, thirst for power, genuine interest in cool witchcraft, self preservation, fear, desire. she wants to connect, she wants to squash him like a bug, she wants to steal his powers and run, she wants to MOTHER him

and in all this whirlwind of emotions, mothering wins out. and it's projecting and it's selfish, she's telling him what she wishes her own mother would have told her.

she is uplifting billy and giving him a pep talk, but she's also giving herself a pep talk. she's proudly claiming her status as a survivor, while also trying to justify - to herself and to billy - all she atrocities she's committed. like I said, there's always so much there. at least 90% of her is purely selfish, and then there's a luminous little corner of her soul that is capable of so much love.

and at the end of a speech that started calculated and became all passion, she reclaims her identity as a witch, despite all the difficult history there. her mother passed on overwhelming internalized hatred and fear of witchfolk and - inevitably, some serious self-hatred. Her sense of identity and belonging is all fucked up, she must have been trying to negotiate and come to terms with it since she was a child.

and of course, being agatha, she hates herself while still believing she's the greatest witch that ever lived.

oooh, who's an edgy boy! I've been thinking about billy's defense mechanisms too, he usually goes for the innocent teen persona (a bit like agatha chooses to play cheesy characters) but he gets so very edgy and dramatic when upset. I think deep down he's more proud and self-involved that he'd be comfortable admitting, and why wouldn't he? he's so powerful. he can read everyone around him like an open book, a part of him genuinely thinks he's figured it all out. he doesn't like being told that he's wrong because ultimately he's TERRIFIED of being wrong and making a mess of things like agatha or wanda.

and he's carrying so much destructive potential that his growing pains, the mistakes that every young person ought to make, could have catastrophic consequences. that's why he so badly needs agatha's guidance, she's the only one who could possibly understand all that. if, you know, she could only work through her own shit first.

lmao that was such an elaborate (and cruel) way to land a joke. and she KNOWS tommy's name, she's just being a bitch

mustache!

billy getting in her face to yell at her reminds me of when she's confronted by jen in the finale, she tries to joke and deflect until jen no longer allows it. she is so afraid of facing her own responsibilities.

and she gets serious just for a moment, just long enough to betray how much billy's rejection actually hurts her. and she didn't expect anything else, so she keeps rejecting people first only to be heartbroken again when they do too. such a vicious cycle.

and the walls are up again.

and she swaggers off, the wretched muddy little creature. she looks almost cool.

next up:

yeah, it's lilia's episode.

goddammit.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #billy maximoff #agatha deep dive #kathryn hahn #joe locke #character analysis

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metalomagnetic · 4 months ago

Text

Missing scene from 'It runs in the blood'

It takes place after Arcturus' death, but before Helix is born.

This was not supposed to ever be published, but people on discord convinced me, so forgive me if it's a bit rough! Just a fun little scene with the kids.

***

“Father?” Orion comes barreling into the office, and the rest trail after him.

“Knock, first,” Sirius reminds him.

“Yes, Draco. Knock.” Lucius fixes Draco with a stern look.

“Alright,” both boys agree, but judging by their tone, they don’t take it seriously.

“I tried to stop them,” Harry offers, but his grin suggests otherwise.

“Father,” Orion goes on. “When you die, I’ll get all the gold and the houses, right?”

Lucius chokes on his firewhiskey.

Sirius blinks. “Where is this coming from?”

“Daddy!” Marvolo looks so upset. “Orion says I’ll be poor! That I won’t get anything, because I’m just the spare.”

Lucius is trying hard not to laugh beside Sirius.

“What is going on?”

“I’m picking a husband,” Elara explains. “And I want to marry the rich one.”

“That’s me, not Marvolo,” Orion shouts. “Tell her, Father!”

Sirius opens his mouth, closes it again, then glares at Lucius, who starts laughing.

“That’s why Malfoys stop at one son,” he whispers.

“You didn’t even want to play with her,” Sirius reminds his sons. Just an hour earlier, they were all having tantrums that they don’t want to pay with the girls.

“Well, no, but if we are forced to play, then I’ll be the husband, obviously,” Orion says. “It’s the most important position in the game, so I’ll have it.”

“No, stupid, the bride is the most important,” Elara tells him, rolling her eyes. “It’s my big day, I’m the most important.”

"Why don’t you go ask Astrid, yeah? She’ll sort you out,” Sirius says, trying to shoo them away.

“She doesn't know about gold,” Orion dismisses the idea. “So, tell her I’m the richest one.”

“I’m the richest one,” Draco intervenes. “When Father dies, I’ll be richer than Orion.”

“That’s lovely, Draco,” Lucius says.

Draco shrugs. “And,” he adds, looking at Elara. “I’m also the oldest. And the tallest. You should marry me.”

“Just you wait, Draco! I’ll grow up taller!” Orion hisses, enraged.

“I’m already rich,” Harry points out. “I don’t have to wait for anyone to die. I already own my vault, right, Sirius?”

“That’s right,” Sirius agrees.

“Father, why does Harry already have a vault?” Draco whines. “That’s not fair!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Orion snaps. “I’ll be Head of house Black, that trumps everything.”

All the boys start fighting.

“I am the Head of House Black,” Sirius says, loudly. “I’m the tallest, the oldest, and the richest-”

“Actually,” Lucius says. “I’m the oldest and the richest.”

Elara glances between them. “Are you?”

“I am,” Lucius assures her, with a smile.

“Hmm.” She tilts her head, but then she shrugs. “You’re not a Black, though.”

Lucius rolls his eyes, mutters something about incest.

“So,” she adds, turning to Sirius. “You’re right, Uncle. You’re the best choice- I’ll marry you.”

“NO! ME!” Orion stomps his foot on the ground.

“I’m flattered,” Sirius says, “but I’m already married, sweetheart.”

Elara waves it away. “It’s only pretend wedding. For the day. I’m only doing it so my new husband can buy me a wedding gift. And I bet you can buy more stuff than Orion and the rest. It’s settled. I’ll marry you. Come, we’ll have the ceremony and then you can give me the gifts.”

“Wait, wait!” Lucius says. “You need to negotiate first. Make sure you get a good deal.”

“Oh,” Elara falls pensive. “But I don’t know how to do that- contracts. And Daddy is at work-”

“I’ll help you,” Lucius offers.

“Fine. Uncle Sirius, I want one Abraxan pony, three dresses, and a baby dragon. Oh and two dolls! One of those new ones we saw in Rome, that can talk!”

“How about ten dolls, and six dresses, but you drop the dragon and the pony?” Sirius suggests, lifting her into his arms.

“Alright,” she agrees.

“And that is why you should never get married without your father’s approval,” Lucius says. “Sirius is ripping you off.”

“Regina,” Orion yells, when they all reach the living room. “Regina, I’ll marry you. Father stole Elara.”

“I don’t want to get married,” Regina says. “It’s Elara’s wedding, not mine!”

“You’ll get dolls out of it,” Orion says, impatient. “Here.” He takes off his necklace and gives it to Regina. “I’m sure it’s expensive, at least it would buy you a doll.”

“Fine, then,” Regina agrees, tossing her red hair over her shoulder.

“Found a husband,” Elara announces from Sirius’ arms. “Don’t worry, Astrid, I’ll give him back after he gives me the gifts.”

“I thought the plan was to get one of the boys,” Evy says with a laugh.

“Someone,” Sirius glares at Narcissa, “taught her she has to pick the richest.”

“You picked badly, in that case,” Narcissa says, shamelessly. “Lucius is the richest, Elara.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Sirius, language!”

“Apparently, I am worth nothing because I’m not a Black,” Lucius says, sitting beside his wife.

“Then you should have picked Draco,” Narcissa admonishes, when Sirius hands Elara over, so she can have her dress charmed. “He’s part Black and he will be very rich, indeed.”

“I’ll marry Draco next year,” Elara decides, trying to twist her hair around her finger.

Orion makes an infuriating sound.

“What?” Elara glares at him. “You picked Regina!”

“Alright,” Sirius says, loudly, when another fight is about to start. “Who is going to be my best man? Harry?”

“Yes, please!”

“Marvolo, you are mine,” Orion orders.

“No way! You told me you’ll disown me and I’ll have to live under a bridge when you’ll be Head of House.”

“You told him that?” Sirius smacks Orion over the head. “You are going to get it, boy!”

“Not now, Sirius,” Regina begs. “I want to get my dolls, so after the wedding, please.”

Eventually, after Elara gets her play wedding and she makes Sirius dance with her, and then all the boys, too, everyone calms down, though Orion is still snappy with Marvolo for a while. Harry intervenes between them often, trying to placate them both.

“You best be nice and quiet,” he tells the baby, a hand over Astrid's stomach. The baby kicks. “Please, be good. I can’t take another crazy one.”

When Regulus finally returns from the Ministry, all the children have calmed down, and Evy already took her little demons back to their home.

“I got married,” Elara says, running to Regulus. “My gifts are coming tomorrow.”

“Who did you marry?” Regulus asks, letting her climb on his lap.

“Uncle Sirius. He could buy me more dolls than the others.”

Regulus snorts. “You should have consulted me first. I’d have gotten something better than dolls.”

Elara giggles. “It’s fine, next year I’ll marry Draco. You can do the contract thing and get me more stuff, then.”

Eventually, everyone but Regulus retires to bed, and Sirius enjoys the first minutes of silence in what had been a long day, even if he can hear the faint fight Orion is having with Marvolo upstairs.

“Your daughter is a menace,” he informs Regulus.“I pity the poor soul who’ll end up with her.”

Regulus frowns. “Orion can handle her.”

Sirius blinks at him. “What?”

“Well, they are getting married, aren’t they?" Regulus looks surprised that Sirius is surprised. “It’s what grandfather wanted. Everyone knows it. I thought it was settled.”

“Merlin’s cock!” Sirius stands. “You’re all fucking crazy. Stop it with the incest already! And grandfather changed his mind before he died!”

“You’re spending too much time with Lucius; you sound like him!”

“They’re not getting married, don’t be an idiot!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? For- Regulus, they’re kids!”

“Well, not now, obviously. Eventually. Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where I can find sane people!” Sirius snarls at him. “So, a muggle bar!”

#elara changes her mind about marriage after she sees Astrid giving birth #little terrors #Lucius can't stop bragging about his wealth #it runs in the blood #missing scene

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hellokittyyyysblog · 6 months ago

Text

𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷/ part 4

Pairing: vampire!𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

“The thruth”

"The truth?" she asked arching an eyebrow, whilst her eyes seemed to search your soul probing for any hint of deception.

Seeing the worry etched on her face, you quickly realized that your choice of words had conveyed something entirely different to her.

"I didn’t mention anything about the... supernatural stuff. I just told them I was looking for my supervisor regarding some case we had been working on— his assistant told me he was in a late meeting with Bowman so I knocked on the door of his office, but when no one answered, I uh…made sure no one was in there and then I left.” You quickly reassured her.

Natasha's posture relaxed slightly, but her eyes remained sharp. "Good. You did well. You almost had me worried"— She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper "I thought I might actually have to follow through on my promise."

A shiver ran down your spine at her words, the memory of her earlier threats lingering in the air. "I swear, I didn’t say anything about…you know…the thing."

Natasha's lips curved into a smirk. "You seem quite certain of yourself. But understand, I take no chances."

You nodded, a wave of relief washing over you. "I still feel bad for not telling the whole truth though" You said as a small pout appeared on your face.

"Do not burden yourself with unnecessary guilt" Natasha said, her voice soothing yet firm. "You protected yourself and perhaps many others. This world requires discretion."

“You’re right—soo why are you really here?”

She paused, her eyes studying you intently before she spoke. “I have some leads concerning the men Bowman was talking to. It appears there is a clandestine gathering—a sort of secret society. They host an exclusive party every week, and it seems integral to whatever plan Bowman was involved in.”

You leaned in, your curiosity piqued. “A secret society? What kind of party?”

Natasha’s expression grew serious. “These gatherings are not your typical soirées. It’s a place where the lines between business and pleasure blur, and the stakes are extraordinarily high.”

“Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“The plan” she said with a touch of finality, “is for me to uncover more about your boss’s scheme and the men he was entangled with. You, however, must stay put.”

You bristled at her command. “I want to help”

“Absolutely not.” she retorted, her tone brooking no argument.

You met her gaze defiantly. “I need to know what my boss was hiding and why he killed Davis. I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”

“This is not your fight. Your involvement could jeopardize everything—and it could get you killed.” You felt a mix of frustration and determination welling up inside you. “Can I trust you not to interfere again or put yourself into trouble?” she asked, her voice both commanding and concerned.

You smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I guess I could be persuaded.”

Natasha stepped closer, her presence both intoxicating and intimidating—“How could I persuade you?” —her voice a sultry whisper, a knowing grin teasing her lips.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears—She was close, too close. Her proximity made you nervous, your throat suddenly dry, your palms clammy. From this angle, you could see every detail of her face: the subtle curve of her lips, the slight arch of her brows, the way her eyes sparkled. She was beautiful, stunningly so, and it left you both captivated and unnerved. She needed to stop making you feel like this.

“Well, for starters, you could keep me in the loop. Every time you have news… and you could answer some of my questions.” you said steadying your voice.

“Darling, this is not a negotiation; either you do what I told you willingly or I make you. Your choice.”

What harm could it do anyone to tell you what you so ardently desired to know? Had she no trust in your good sense or honour? Why would she not believe you when you assured her, so solemnly, that you would not divulge one syllable of what she told you to any mortal breathing.

You sighed “Ugh, why do you have to be such a buzzkill!?” you said as you walked around the room before collapsing onto the couch.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, lifting a brow. "Getting quite bold, aren’t we? I would’ve thought you still feared me. But no, I sense no fear in you anymore."

You couldn't help but smile. "Maybe I’ve just gotten used to it”

“Perhaps” Her eyes searched yours, as if trying to discern the truth of your words— “Fascinating,” she murmured, more to herself than to you. “You are either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.”

You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. “Maybe a bit of both.” You looked up at her, your heart pounding. “I don’t want to be left in the dark” you admitted quietly. “I need to understand what’s going on…please”

She regarded you for a long moment, as if weighing her options. “Very well” she said finally. “I shall keep you informed, but you must promise to stay out of it.“

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. “Deal. But don’t think I’m just going to sit idly by.”

Natasha’s laughter was soft, almost musical. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

You sat up on the couch, leaning forward slightly. “There are so many things I want to ask you” you began, your voice steadier now, despite the lingering effects of alcohol.

“Oh? Pray tell, sweetheart” Her tone was both amused and challenging, as if daring you to delve deeper.

You took a deep breath, trying to organize the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. “Well, for starters, how old are you in like vampire…age? Are there rules or a society you have to follow? How fast can you run? Do you have a uhm…a family?” The questions tumbled out in a rapid rush, leaving you out of breath.

Natasha’s eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and caution. “My, my, such inquisitiveness”

“Well, I think its only fair for you to answer my questions if we’re going to work together”

“Is that so? I do not recall the moment when I agreed that we would work together” Natasha said—her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

You leaned forward, undeterred. “Well, if you want me to stay out of trouble, it’s only fair I know what I’m dealing with. Besides, you already said you needed me to keep this between us. We’re practically partners in crime now.”

Natasha’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Very well, I shall indulge your curiosity for a moment” Her eyes flicked over you, as if assessing the depth of your resolve. “I shall warn you, the answers you seek may not bring you the comfort you hope for”

You nodded eagerly, the anticipation bubbling up within you. “I’ll take my chances”

She paused, her gaze growing distant as if she were reaching back through the annals of time. “I am much older than you might imagine”— There was a coldness, it seemed to you, beyond her years, in her smiling melancholy persistent refusal to afford you the least ray of light.

Your eyes widened with awe. “How old are we talking?” you asked with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Natasha avoided your gaze, her eyes roaming the room as if seeking something lost. Then, with a fluid grace, she moved closer and sat beside you on the couch. Her presence was both comforting and intimidating, a paradox that left you breathless. You did not scoot away.

“I’m 1053 years old” she said quietly, her words hanging in the air like a ghostly whisper.

The statement echoed in your mind— a reverberation of disbelief. 1,053 years old? —You stared at her, your brain struggling to wrap around the concept—A thousand years. Over a millennium of experiences, of living through history you only read about in books.

But what did that mean for you, standing in front of her, barely a blip in the vast expanse of her existence? —Your life, with all its challenges and milestones, must seem like a fleeting moment to her. The thought was humbling, almost belittling. Yet, it also brought a strange sense of wonder. Here you were, an ordinary person, sharing a moment with someone who had seen and survived a thousand years. It was surreal.

Your breath hitched. “Wow”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. “Wow Indeed. I have witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the birth and death of countless souls. Time is both a gift and a curse.”

You swallowed hard, trying to comprehend the weight of her words. “What’s it like? Living for so long?”

“It is a relentless march of time, where the world changes around you while you remain the same. You learn to cherish fleeting moments, yet you also bear the burden of endless memories.”

You felt a pang of sympathy for her. “That sounds... incredibly hard.”

Natasha shrugged slightly, her expression softening. “It is what it is. One learns to adapt, to find purpose in the midst of eternity”

Your breath hitched, the weight of her revelation sinking in. “That’s... unbelievable. I can’t even imagine living for so long.”

“It is not something one can easily fathom. You witness the world change in ways unimaginable, yet remain untouched by time yourself.”

“Must be incredibly lonely”

She shook her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. “I got lucky. I’m not entirely alone. I have a family, friends, and a sister. They make the endless years more bearable.”

You felt a spark of curiosity. “A sister? Like, a biological sister? Is she... like you?

“Not by blood” she clarified. “But as close to it as one can get. We were turned together, and we’ve looked after each other ever since”

“That’s... actually quite beautiful” you said, feeling a strange sense of admiration. “Having someone who understands you, who’s been through the same things.”

“It is a rare gift” she admitted, her voice softening. “Many of our kind are not so fortunate. We are often solitary creatures by necessity.”

You hesitated, then asked, “What about your friends? Are they... humans?”

Natasha paused, her gaze becoming distant as she considered your question. “No,” she finally replied, shaking her head slightly. “I do not engage with humans, at least not for... pleasure.”

“So, your friends are... other vampires?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice tinged with an old sorrow. “Over the centuries, I’ve found it safer to form bonds with those who understand our nature, our struggles. Humans are... fragile. Temporary. It’s difficult to form lasting connections when you know they will wither and die in what feels like the blink of an eye.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you could sense the weight of centuries in her gaze. “So, you only interact with humans when you need something?”

She sighed, her expression conflicted. “In essence, yes. Whether it’s information, sustenance, or to blend in, my interactions are often driven by necessity. Anything more is... dangerous.”

“So, you’re using me to get information?”

She looked at you, her expression unreadable. “In a manner of speaking, yes. But it’s not as simple as that.”

You felt a pang of disappointment and a touch of hurt. “So, I’m just a tool to you? Just someone you can manipulate to get what you need?”

Natasha sighed, her eyes softening slightly. “It’s not that I see you as a mere tool. It’s just that involving humans in our world is fraught with complications. The less you’re entangled, the better, for the both of us.”

The sting of her implication lingered in the air, sharper than you expected. Why did it hurt so much? There was a connection, a growing bond that made you feel significant in a way you hadn't felt in a long time. Her presence had stirred something within you—the idea that she might view you merely as a tool, a pawn in whatever game she was playing, cut deep. You wanted to be more than that.

The vulnerability of that desire caught you off guard, and it scared you. Why did her opinion matter so much? Why did her validation feel like something you desperately craved?

You had hoped that in her eyes, you were more than just a means to an end. You wanted her to see you. You needed her to.

Your mind raced, trying to process her words. “I would have hoped you didn’t see me that way” you said quietly, more to yourself than to her.

“How would you like me to see you?”

“I don’t know…but I don’t like to be considered a tool. I’m much more.”

“And i’m sure you are” Her gaze was penetrating, almost otherworldly, and you found yourself lost in the depths of her green eyes. It felt as though she was seeing right through you, peeling back layers you didn't even know you had. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air growing thick with an electric tension that crackled between you.

You stared into each other's eyes, locked in a silent battle of wills. Her eyes held a hint of amusement, as if she was enjoying watching you squirm under her scrutiny. It was both unsettling and mesmerizing. The intensity of her gaze made time stretch, elongating each second into an eternity. Your breath caught in your throat, and you struggled to maintain your composure, to not let her see how deeply she affected you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears like a drum. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush forming that you were powerless to stop. You would’ve blamed it on the alcohol, but deep down, you knew it was her—her presence, her eyes, the way she seemed to envelop you completely.

You tried to muster the strength to break the gaze, to regain some semblance of control. But her eyes held you captive, and you felt as though you were drowning in them, unable to look away.

Every nerve in your body was on high alert and the intensity was almost too much to bear. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

Finally, with a monumental effort, you managed to tear your gaze away from hers. The break in eye contact felt like a physical release, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your heart was still racing, and you could feel the warmth in your cheeks, a telltale sign of your flustered state. You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the effect she had on you, but the feeling lingered, making you nervous and unsteady.

“Do you have a phone?” you asked, desperate to change the topic and alleviate the tension.

Your voice was more desperate than you intended, fear lacing your words. You hoped Natasha wouldn't notice, but it emerged with a quiver that betrayed your nerves.

“Why?”

“Well, you can let me know if you have news without having to break into my house and give me a scare.”

“Are you that desperate to see me again?” she asked grinning at your request.

Your cheeks flushed, and you shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe I am, or maybe I just want to make sure I’m not left in the dark."

She studied you for a second, then pulled a phone from her leather jacket and handed it to you. You smiled when you saw it, realizing she was probably not used to modern technology. You quickly added your number to her contacts and sent yourself a text.

“There” you said, handing it back to her.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, noticing your attempt to contain your smile.

“Nothing.”

“You should know better than to lie to me” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Sorry, uhm, it’s just I haven’t seen one of those phones since 2012” you said, smiling softly.

“Well, I have no use for it. Why would I get another one?”

“No, it’s cute,” you said, grinning.

“Cute?” she echoed, her tone slightly incredulous.

“Yes, cute” you repeated, laughing softly. “It’s endearing, seeing someone like you with something so outdated. It makes you seem... more approachable”

Natasha’s eyes softened for a moment, a rare glimpse of vulnerability flashing across her features. “Approachable and cute, you say? That is not a word often used to describe me”

You leaned back on the couch, feeling a bit more relaxed now that the tension had eased. “Well, I think it suits you” you said with a warm smile plastered on your face.

“It is late, and you have had a taxing evening” she said, her tone shifting to one of gentle authority as she stoop up from the couch “I believe it is time for you to go to bed.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change of her behavior. “Yes ma’am” you replied attempting to stand. As you got up, you almost stumbled over the carpet, an embarrassed smile spreading across your face.

“Can I trust you to make it to bed without falling along the way?” she asked, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Yeah, I’m good” you said, steadying yourself.

“Alright, then I guess this is goodbye for now”

You took a step towards the door, trying to maintain your balance. “Good night” you said, reaching out to open the door for her. Natasha’s lips curved into a smile at the gesture.

“Good night” she replied, her voice a soft whisper that lingered in the air as she stepped through the doorway.

Entering your room, you barely managed to close the door before collapsing onto your bed. Her presence had been overwhelming, but in a way that left you wanting more.

You buried your face in your pillow, letting out frustrated murmurs as you began to grasp the full weight of your situation.

"Fuck” the word softly leaped from your mouth through an appeased air, to which in vain it fell onto the silk pillow under your cheek.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A strong rush of shivers coursed through your body, the wet grass beneath your heels composing a delicate struggle with each step.

An arm twisted with yours, bringing the warmth your heart so desperately needed.

“Im craving coffee so bad” Ava said slowing her peace. Her voice trembled slightly, blending with the rustling leaves around you.

“yeah me too” you replied, your thoughts drifting as you tried to keep up the small talk. The chill in the air seemed to seep into your bones, amplifying the emotional numbness you felt.

Ava squeezed your arm gently, drawing you out of your reverie. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes searching yours with concern.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Just... thinking about everything. It was intense.”

“Tell me about it” Ava sighed. “It’s hard to believe Davis is really gone. And his poor mother and wife were so devastated…it was heartbreaking”

“Yeah” you echoed, your mind flashing back to the ceremony. The speeches, the memories shared, the way everyone had come together to honor Davis’s legacy. It was overwhelming, but also a stark reminder of the void he left behind.

As you approached the office building, the familiar hum of activity began to seep into your senses. The transition from the tranquil outdoors to the bustling environment felt jarring. The routine, the noise, the normalcy—everything seemed out of place in the wake of your loss.

“Hey” Ava’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Want to grab that coffee before we dive into work?”

“Yeah, that sounds good” you replied, grateful for the distraction.

As you walked to the break room, you couldn’t help but replay your last conversation with Natasha. You haven’t seen her since Friday, it’s like you ached for her presence, but she hadn’t contacted you and the worries that she might not contact you again left you numb.

“So” Ava said as she poured two cups of coffee, “Do you think we’ll ever find out what really happened to Davis?”

You took a sip of the steaming coffee, the warmth spreading through you. “I hope so”

Ava nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah well, im pretty sure Bowman has something to do with it.”

“Yeah probably”

——

As you returned to your desk, coffee in hand, you found yourself immersed once more in Davis's meticulously organized case files, each page a breadcrumb leading deeper into the convoluted narratives of high-profile divorces and contentious custody battles. Amid the dry legal documents, something about the case of a wealthy couple caught your attention—an affluent businessman accusing his wife of alcoholism, claiming custody of their child. It tugged at your heart, remembering of your parents hard divorce.

Lost in thought, you absentmindedly flipped through the paperwork, trying to piece together the puzzle of a mother yearning to reclaim what she perceived as stolen from her.

Suddenly, a folder nestled among the case files caught your eye. It seemed out of place, not connected to any ongoing litigation. As you opened it, you were surprised to find what appeared to be economic data of the company—a jumble of numbers, graphs, and financial projections. Your brow furrowed as you tried to make sense of the figures. There was an unsettling pattern indicating financial instability, a revelation that sent a chill down your spine.

Sitting back in your chair, you rubbed your temples, the implications sinking in. Davis had been onto something—evidence of corporate malfeasance, perhaps. Was it possible he had stumbled upon information that Bowman would kill to protect?

Your fingers traced over the pages, each one revealing more about what might be causing the company's impending downfall. There were records of donations far exceeding what the company could sustainably afford, and a name jumped out at you: "The Old Oak Sip." — It sparked a memory, a name you had encountered before, but where?

The clock on the wall ticked away, a steady reminder of time slipping by as you delved deeper into each piece of evidence which hinted at a larger conspiracy, and you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The numbers were not just figures on a page; they were the remnants of a hidden truth, a web of deceit and corruption that Davis had inadvertently stumbled upon.

Your mind raced, trying to connect the dots. The Old Oak Sip—why did it sound so familiar? You closed your eyes, willing the memory to resurface.

Could this club be the key to unraveling the mystery of Davis's murder? The thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through you. If Davis had uncovered something significant about this place and maybe the reason why Bowman was making donation to this place, it might explain why he was killed.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered the files and carefully tucked them in your bag mindful of the prying eyes that might be watching you.

Standing up from your chair, you cast a glance around the office, ensuring no one was watching too closely. As you made your way to the elevator, you felt the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside, only to be met by Emily.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

You mustered a weak smile. "Not really, I’m not feeling too well. I think I need to head home. Can you let Ava know?"

Emily nodded sympathetically. "Of course. Take care of yourself, alright?"

"Thanks" you replied as the elevator doors closed with a soft ding.

——

Your apartment was a mess: each file spread across the coffee table, your eyes scanning the documents with a mix of urgency and trepidation. You flipped open your laptop, fingers flying over the keys as you searched for any information on "The Old Oak Sip." The results were scant, revealing only that it was a high-end night club cocktail bar open exclusively on Wednesday nights. You tried to dig deeper, but everything seemed locked behind layers of exclusivity, and the club accessible only with tickets.

A frustrated huff escaped your lips. You needed to get inside that club, to uncover the secrets it held. But how?

Then it struck you—Bowman's money clip. The strange tickets you had found in the secret compartment. You hadn't understood their significance at the time, but now, a spark of realization ignited. You dashed to your bedroom, rifling through the nightstand until your fingers closed around the wallet.

"Ah, found it!" you exclaimed, excitement bubbling up as you pulled out the tickets. "Old Oak Ink Premium Pass." This was it. Your ticket inside.

You held the pass in your hand, the weight of it somehow more profound now. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you let out a shaky breath. This pass was your key to uncovering the truth. Your mind drifted back to Davis, to the look of determination on his face when he had been on the verge of a breakthrough. He had died for this, and now it was up to you to finish what he started.

Taking a deep breath, you resolved to see this through. You couldn't let fear hold you back, not when so much was at stake.

You placed the pass carefully in your wallet, feeling a renewed sense of purpose heading’s back to the living room, your mind was already racing with plans for the night. The Old Oak Sip awaited, and with it, the answers you so desperately sought.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Wednesday had arrived faster than you anticipated, your mind racing with thoughts of the impending night at The Old Oak Sip. Natasha's continued silence gnawed at you, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the immediate task: choosing how to dress.

Standing before your closet, you searched for an outfit that would help you blend in. Finally, after twenty minutes of searching through your wardrobe you opted for skinny black jeans, high boots, and a black shirt—a look that was both sleek and understated. Not your usual, but it fitted the purpose.

The taxi sped through the ink-black night, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and crimson. The hum of the engine thrummed beneath you, a dull counterpoint to the chaotic swirl of thoughts in your mind. You leaned back against the worn leather seat, the coolness of the material doing little to calm the fevered heat of your thoughts. Natasha’s stern, knowing eyes flashed in your memory, and you could almost hear her voice, a melody of concern and admonition, warning you against your reckless choice.

Outside, the city seemed to pulse with life—treetlights cast elongated shadows that danced like phantoms across the pavement, and the distant murmur of the nightlife was a haunting symphony that filled the silence. You knew you should tell Natasha about your discovery, about the cryptic “Old Oak Sip” but the thought of her disapproving gaze, the inevitable scolding for your recklessness, made you hesitate. You needed to deal with this one on your own.

The cabbie’s eyes flicked to you in the rearview mirror, curiosity evident but unspoken—The taxi slowed to a stop, and you paid the fare with hands that trembled slightly, the anticipation gnawing at your resolve. As you stepped out into the night, the cool air hit you like a slap, invigorating and terrifying all at once.

The Old Oak Sip loomed ahead, its neon sign casting an eerie glow. Two imposing bodyguards stood at the entrance, their muscular frames and stern expressions exuding an air of intimidation. One had a shaved head and a thick neck, his arms crossed over a broad chest, while the other sported a buzz cut and an angular jaw, his eyes scanning the crowd with hawk-like vigilance. A small group of people lingered outside, chatting and smoking, their laughter incongruent with the tension knotting your stomach.

You took a deep breath and approached the door. "Hello" you greeted, your voice wavering slightly.

"Ticket?" one of the bodyguards demanded, his gaze piercing through you.

"Oh, yes. Right" You fumbled with your wallet, pulling out the ticket and handing it over with a forced smile. "Sorry, it’s my first time here"

The guard nodded, his expression inscrutable. "Have fun" he said, handing the ticket back and stepping aside to let you pass.

Inside, a strange mix of scents assaulted your senses—sweat, alcohol, and something floral, perhaps incense. The interior was a blend of opulence and decay. Dim, colored lights cast long shadows on the worn wooden floor, and rich red velvet drapes framed the walls, giving the place an almost theatrical feel. The bar was a polished mahogany affair, lined with bottles of every conceivable liquor, and the air buzzed with the low hum of conversations and distant music.

As you scanned the room, trying to find someone who might be a staff member, a woman appeared before you. She had striking features—sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes lined with kohl, and full, dark lips. Her hair was an intricate mass of braids, adorned with tiny, shimmering beads that caught the light as she moved.

"Hello" she said, her voice smooth and commanding.

"Hi" you replied, taken aback by her presence.

"You’re late. Volunteers need to come around nine so that we can dress them up" she said, her tone leaving little room for argument.

You stared at her, confused. "I- uh..”

“It’s alright, I’ll make an exception…you smell- divine by the way”

“Uhm thanks but I’m n-“ You tried to explain, but she cut you off swiftly “Come on, we have to be quick” she said— before you could protest further, she grabbed your hand, her grip firm and insistent, and began leading you through the place.

Your mind raced, a mix of anxiety and confusion swirling within you. The realization that you were being mistaken for someone else-or something else— brought a surge of panic. What had you gotten yourself into? You felt the press of bodies around you, the pulse of the music thrumming through the air, heightening your senses and adding to your disorientation.

"Wait, I-" you tried to protest, but the words were lost in the cacophony of the club. The woman's pace was relentless, weaving through clusters of people with practiced ease. Her grip on your hand was unyielding, and you stumbled slightly, struggling to keep up.

"What?” she asked not hinting to stop walking.

"I’m not a volunteer. I really need to talk to your boss or whoever’s in charge here" you insisted, your voice tinged with desperation.

She halted abruptly, turning to face you. "Why do you need to talk to Viktor?" she asked, her eyes boring into yours.

You hesitated, heart pounding. "I... I need to discuss something important. It’s about... business" you stammered, hoping it sounded convincing.

"Listen, sweetie, I have a job to do and we’re already late. I don’t want to be fired." She studied you for a moment, then sighed. "You know what? Keep your clothes. They’ll do. You still look gorgeous" — “Follow me”

"Look, I’m not a dancer or a stripper-I can’t dance if that’s what you were hoping. I just want to get some uh…drinks" you lied, trying to sound casual.

She laughed, a melodic sound that seemed out of place in the dim, chaotic club. "You can have all the drinks you want, after someone picks you"

"Pick me?" you echoed, confusion evident in your voice.

"Yeah, some of them are ugh, ugly…but don’t worry. You’ll forget everything by tomorrow morning" she said nonchalantly, leading you through a set of heavy red velvet curtains.

Your heart pounded as you stepped through the velvet curtains, the rhythm so fierce you feared it might burst from your chest— You stood paralyzed, your limbs weighted by a sudden, profound fear. How could you be this stupid, this naive, you thought, your mind spiraling in frantic loops. The sight before you seemed to stretch time, the air thick with an oppressive, unnameable dread.

Your breath hitched, panic bubbling up as you tried to make sense of the scene.

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but your feet were rooted to the spot, trapped by an invisible force.

In that moment, you knew you were in over your head. The full weight of your mistake crashed down on you, leaving you breathless and trembling. The realization was as cold and merciless as the air around you, and you could do nothing but stand there, paralyzed by the enormity of what you had stumbled into.

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

#natasha romanoff x reader #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff au #vampire! natasha romanoff #vampire!natasharomanoff #marvel #black widow #bruce banner #bucky barnes #clint barton #wanda maximoff x reader #kate bishop x yelena belova #kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #tony stark #thor odinson #vampire!au #gxg imagine #natasha romanoff x female

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tennessoui · 7 months ago

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wait lol au where post-war, the jedi order does a date auction a la every cliche ever where they auction off a date night with one of their jedi generals. it's supposed to raise credits for various post-war charities as well as stoke good feelings about the order (the smear campaign was pretty effective, even if sidious died before the genocide bit)

obviously both the hero with no fear and the negotiator are put on the metaphorical chopping block. anakin is a Good Husband™️ so he clears this with Padmé first, and she laughs and agrees and wishes him luck in surviving the hoards of fans that desire him carnally. she says as a senator, she will be expected to attend and maybe even bid. they both agree that it would be way too obvious for their super secret marriage if she bids on anakin, and anakin asks her to bid on obi-wan in a spur of the moment thing.

it's just. obi-wan was really hurt aboard the invisible hand and then he was hurt again when fighting with grievous. and is anyone vetting these random people who will get to go on a date with the jedi? anyone could win!! a disgruntled separatist could win obi-wan's attention for a night and then take him on a date and then kill him!!!! under anakin's very nose!!!

anakin actually gets like. super concerned about this possibility. like super concerned. he gets padmé to promise that she will bid however much it takes to win obi-wan's hand (she is after all generationally wealthy) and she agrees because she loves him and then also follows through because she's a woman of her word.

anakin gets bid on by several people, one woman wins, it's whatever, anakin doesn't care. what anakin cares about is making sure he and this person can go to the same restaurant as obi-wan and padmé. just like. to make sure obi-wan is alright. he was looking quite flushed during the bidding? anakin is Concerned.

and anakin's poor date, who paid millions of credits for his attention, has to deal with an anakin who is obsessed with what's happening a table over and why are they laughing and are their knees touching beneath the table and maybe anakin should go over and like? break it up? his master is obviously a bit uncomfortable in all this candlelight. he looks beautiful, obviously, but he's clearly uncomfortable and he would feel better if anakin were there. obviously.

and anakin's poor date ALSO has to deal with meeting obi-wan kenobi after/during dinner because anakin can't keep in his lane, and general kenobi is downright hostile and cold to her because he's feeling incredibly overprotective at the thought of anakin having to spend time with some woman who bought him. as if he were a slave again.

#kit's silly lil aus #obikin #i feel like date auctions were huge aus in like 2015 #but also i just finished season 1 ted lasso #so this was kicking around in my head #also anakin is out of his mind with jealousy that his wife gets to spend a romantic evening with his master #thats his master #why didnt anakin bid on his master??? he shouldn't have crowd-sourced this obviously #(anakin's poor date has not been looked at once)#anakin's poor date: so anakin --#anakin mind in a diffrent place: i'll stop you right there im married to my master #anakin's poor date: you're married to your master???#anakin: no wait. im married #not to my master.#im just married.#but also my master is here. and important to the story #anakin to himself: wait should i be married to my master??

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amaltheas-garden · 3 months ago

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What's your take on Dany being a misunderstood villain in the books? How much likely is it that she won't be the Mad Queen and will not get dark dany?

To answer your second question, dark Dany is almost a guarantee for the books. One of the most unique aspects of Dany's characters is that she is a woman fulfilling the role of an almost exclusively male archetype: the corrupted hero turned villain. She begins the story as an underdog we want to root for, she comes from a great noble bloodline and her family has been terribly wronged (from her pov), and she decides to use the power she does gain to do good. Her character arc could end right there and she'd go down as one of the best written heroes in the fantasy genre. However, her story does continue, and we see her grow increasingly frustrated by her own lack of abilities in enacting the change she wishes to see. We watch Dany make compromise after compromise until she's had enough and decides to embrace her fire and blood side if it means gaining enough power to exert control over her society and mold it how she sees fit. Even if her intentions began noble, the endless pursuit of greater and greater power, represented by the growing size and danger of her dragons, will be what corrupts her. It's impossible to think that grrm, the guy who's favorite thing to write about is the corrupting nature of violence and the negative impact the exertion of unrestrained power has on the perpetrator, would write a series about how thee most powerful character was actually justified in her pursuit because... she wants to do good? My interpretation of Dany's "fatal flaw" has always been a need to control her surroundings, stemming from the horrific abuse she endured as a child and later wife, and why I think she does have genuine compassion for the enslaved people of Essos; what could be a worse fate than not controlling your own life? And this is where her love of fire and dragons comes from. Dany describes fire as a cleansing force that makes her feel powerful and new, and the dragons are manifestations of her desire for ultimate freedom. While her dragons are quite small and Dany is still coming into her power as queen, we see more restraint in how she fights her battles, how she negotiates, and how she governs, all while wishing her goals of widespread societal change could happen right then. Now that her dragons have grown large and powerful and restless, we will likely see a Dany with far fewer qualms about using them to get what she wants. And after this goes well for her, her restraint will begin to dwindle. After all, if she can use dragon power to instantaneously get what she wants and change things for the better, why should she approach conflicts any other way? But as we've seen with Cersei, fire is a wild, uncontrollable substance that spells destruction wherever it touches. Dany's enemies have all been one note cartoon villains in how evil they are, and every time one gets taken down, it only bolsters our (and Dany's) belief in her righteousness. I think this is very intentional on grrm's part, as part of his whole gimmick and why people like his writing is his incredible ability to add a level of nuance and even empathy to the most minor and despicable characters. I see no reason why that quality should be so utterly lacking in the characters of Essos if not for the fact that grrm very much wants us to cheer Dany on as she crushes her enemies, only to pull the carpet out from under us when suddenly she is face to face with Westerosi characters we know very well, and would prefer not to see die by dragonfire. Season 8 might have been shit, but Tyrion's speech was on point. In short, Dany's desire to exert control via an uncontrollable power will be her downfall.

As for the first question, by "misunderstood villain" I'm assuming we're talking audience perception, in which case... yes and no. I think Dany is a perfectly understandable misunderstood villain because grrm makes a point to show every step of her character's evolution in the transition from frightened girl to possible savior, and finally a tragic villain. Some readers reject the "villain" characterization altogether, and there's really no way to validate one interpretation over the other until TWoW comes out (lol). I will say, I do think most hero-Dany analyses have tunnel vision when it comes to her and an unwillingness to see the writing on the walls, for what a lot of us see as a very slow, well thought out, and GRADUAL corruption arc.

#ty for the ask <3 #anon ask #sorry for the wall of text hope this answered your question 😅#anti daenerys #< for filtering #asoiaf #twow speculation

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rederiswrites · 27 days ago

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Alright, I've got to get the gripes out. Doesn't mean you have to read it. If you love the game you probably shouldn't. This is for people who are really disappointed or angry about...things and would like to feel like they're not alone.

This is not about the absolute value of Veilguard. I enjoyed the game and I am, if anything, enjoying it more on the second playthrough. Like all the other installations, inevitably it is its own thing. Some franchises are just logical continuations of their previous installments, but Dragon Age has never been like that and I sure wouldn't expect it after this long since the last installment.

[Edited to add that I reblog locked it but 100% encourage sharing your feelings in the replies or even my dms. It's fine to talk about it! I want to talk about it!]

That said, my biggest gripes about Veilguard:

The sanitizing of the Crows

Come on now. I even defended you, Bioware! Before the game, I said, nahhhh they won't make the Crows Good Guys just because of Lucanis! Lucanis was tortured too! Well, they didn't do that, I guess. They did it as part of a much larger pattern of ironing out the moral grey areas the franchise was formerly known for.

The Crows are Patriots! Well, they are. And also, though you wouldn't know it, slavers and torturers and murderers of children. You'd be forgiven for not realizing that, considering the creation of the feel good House for orphans who really wanna be contract killers. But it is pretty foundational lore and all. There is the like, one previous Crow character, whom they wrote as going on a righteous mission to kill Crows, because of the whole them being bad thing.

What was being raised by the head of the Crows like, Lucanis? Torture? Hahaha funny oh you mean literally. Literally your grandmother tortured and starved you and never gave you the slightest choice in your life and you've accepted that because you accept the logic that it was necessary. But again. That's based on my knowledge of material outside this game.

Any previous game would have reveled in that! Do you ally yourself with these people, this objectively bad organization full of people who don't see themselves as bad at all? Because they are very good at killing, and that's what you need! But this game just makes them good guys. No moral dilemma needed. Nope, we like black and white now.

And speaking of which,

The dehumanization of the Antaam

Ew. Ew ew ew.

Gimme a minute and I'll come up with something better to say but seriously? Ew.

They neither look nor sound like any of the other qunari characters. They sound like animals, literally. Exactly once does one make the slightest attempt to do anything but attack you--and then he attacks you anyway. Not a single one deserts. I guess the lesson here is that apparently qunari really do become mindless beasts without the structure and discipline of the Qun??? Ew. No thank you.

I know, you gotta have faceless mooks. In Inquisition we fought rebel mages for absolutely no good reason but that they attacked us. In da2 thugs literally fell from the sky. But the absolutely comprehensive way in which the Antaam never spoke for themselves, as actual people... Wow.

Imagine. Imagine if we could have actually negotiated an agreement with a group of them, for that final battle. Would that have been so impossible? To fight mages?! Imagine if we'd had a former Antaam companion. Imagine if he'd been mulling over what the Arishok, Sten, the OG proof that qunari are NOT animals outside the Qun, said before the Antaam rebelled.

Mythal: basically a nice mother goddess!

What. What. What.

In this, the culmination of her sins, the finale of Solas' millennia of taking the blame for shit she set in motion, Mythal is... Flat as hell. Millennia of her scheming. Surviving. Using and abusing her children, arguably using and abusing Solas, seducing and manipulating and whatever it takes to nudge things her way. And now she's just... Kinda imperious I guess? And Morrigan just has her memories and nothing is bad about that ever. Huh.

The thing is, I was never against Mythal, in all her complex nastiness. We didn't know what her game was! I just wanted to know! What made it all worth it? What was the plan?

Well I guess the plan was--nothing? Don't worry about it. I guess.

Side note, the design work on the Mythal fragment was some Computer Animation Is My Passion, early 2000's Barbie straight to VHS looking shit. Profoundly disappointing. Did you even try.

Tell, don't show

Is the strange new voice in the blight coming from over there really horrifying? Or did you just say it was roughly fifteen times, but then actually it was just a big blob of Blight that you had to shoot extra times? Is the Butcher cruel? Or did Teia and Viago just tell us he was cruel with absolutely no detail whatsoever? Is Minrathous really blighted if you choose to save Treviso? Or are there just more beggars and some rubble and literally one blighted character? And so on, and so forth.

Remember that popular post not long ago, about how one of the great joys of Dragon Age was the sifting through unreliable narrators? Piecing together Avvar epic poetry and fragments of ancient elvhen runes and Andrastian canticles to try to guess what actually happened. The unique and unusual (in fiction) joy of the historiography of it all? We got to actively engage with the discovery. We got to piece together that Solas was the Dread Wolf, bit by difficult to find bit.

The fridge horror of it all could be really incredible. Making us work it out for ourselves meant that we experienced it much more intimately. It was an incredible storytelling tool.

Yeah I guess we just watch movies about it now. Just plug in the DVD Wolf statuette and now we know. And the codexes are reduced to flavor text and puzzle clues.

And last but definitely most,

Flat writing

Look man I know that's subjective as shit but it was. A lot of it was. You either agree or you don't, but for me, it was never more obvious than in the moments of contrast, when it was up to standard. The conversation with the Butcher. Every minute with Solas. Spite.

Contrast the Butcher (intense! Passionate! Creepy fucken pale face Harkonnen vibes! Deranged but genuine love for Treviso!) with the Dragon King (I don't even know what to put here. You don't even have to fight him! He just...blusters, and then there's a dragon, and then Taash shoves him and he falls over.)

It's just...I could probably forgive a lot of the stuff that went before if it was just more compellingly written.

Even here I absolutely will not be getting into character complaints. Those are too personal, and frankly I think people should keep them to private conversations. They have too much potential to hurt people for too little gain.

Sigh. I'm done now. I will try to focus on the good and the creative because I think that contributes a great deal more to everything and everyone. But for now, let me contemplate what could have been.

#spoilers obviously #I don't want any of this to end up in the tags

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tarre-was-right · 3 months ago

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ROUND TWO: MATCH-UP TWO

Remember, this is NOT about who would win in a fight. This is about who makes the best leader for Mandalore as a whole.

Explanation post

Seeding

Propaganda below the cut! You can submit more on this post and I will reblog it back to here!

New Propaganda

Anon: My propaganda for Bo-Katan vs Cody specifically: Bo-Katan quite literally spends her whole life trying to restore Mandalore. She works hard and tries to right her wrongs, and she does in the end. She wants what's best for Mandalore, even if it comes at a cost (she was willing to trade the Darksaber in for Mandalore's safety!!!). - Meanwhile Cody is not even a Mandalorian.

Bo-Katan Kryze

Anon: Bo-Katan propaganda: she babysat a Jedi child without the child dying or killing anyone and leading a planet is basically just babysitting a child on a big scale right

Anon: Bo-Katan spent like three years as a terrorist but she also spent 30 years rebelling against fascists so idk I'm willing to hear her out on this. Welcome back Princess Leia 👏

Anon: As Satine's sister, she would have received much the same early training and education in how to rule their Duchy on Kalevala, as she alluded to in her comments in The Mandalorian - while her involvement in Death Watch is perhaps not a mark in her favor, she did seemingly have many years of experience working as Pre Vizsla's lieutenant, and earned the trust of many of his followers who defected to follow her following Pre's death and Maul's claiming of the Darksaber and throne of Mandalore, forming the bulk of her fighting force during her efforts to reclaim that throne during the Siege of Mandalore - during the Rebels timeline, she has lost the throne once again due to an Imperial-backed coup, but seems to have been working to resist the Empire's rule; during this time, she is chosen to be the figurehead and rallying point of that apparently unsuccessful effort - finally, during the time of The Mandalorian, she has been rallying the surviving clans to reclaim the Darksaber as a stepping stone for reuniting their people; after her work with Din Djarin and the Armorer, she once again is selected by her people to be their leader as they work to rebuild their reclaimed home planet

Anon: Bo-Katan should be the Mand'alor because, while having done a LOT of shit, she tried her best to free Mandalore from the Empire and to give her people the safety they lost when the New Mandalorian Government fell - She worked to redeem herself, and she got back up every time she fell. She united the people of Mandalore from every aspect and kept the warrior traditions alive

@lightsaberwieldingdalek: Literally the only reason I can think of for Bo-Katan to rule is that she’s stubborn. She doesn’t stop trying to get Mandalorians organized and on their homeworld. Kinda a Robert the Bruce and a spider in a cave style parable, except instead of the English she’s trying to fight her own bad actions/behavior towards others

Anon: Bo-Katan propaganda: you know that quote about "It's hard for a good man to be king?" Well considering she's a terrible person she'd actually be pretty good at ruling Mandalore.

COMMANDER CODY

Anon: Propaganda for Commander Cody: - Cody was a student of Alpha-17, who in turn had been personally trained by former Mand'alor Jango Fett, giving him a strong training lineage claim to the title - Cody's service as Marshall Commander in the GAR gave him a lot of the diplomatic, organizational, and military experience needed to govern a planet like Mandalore

@spacetime1969: This man has led more people at once than anyone on this list.

Anon: Cody should be Mand'alor because it would be unspeakably sexy

@cha0s-cat: Cody has experience with negotiating from accompanying Obi-Wan, he leads a massive amount of his brothers already. Can recognize when there is a need for negotiations vs a need for violence. This would balance out the majority of the two factions (pacifists/traditionalists) excluding the extremists on either end. And with the amount of chaos that he has to deal with when it comes to Obi-Wan and Anakin, this would probably be relaxing.

@skykind: - Has resisted fascism and its attendant police/military state at great personal risk (Bad Batch 2.3), which is apparently necessary to successfully govern Mandalore so long as Death Watch is fully armed and also backed by someone more cunning than their usual leadership (Clone Wars 5.15). - Possesses exceptional leadership and organizational ability from his time as one of the highest-ranked Clone officers of the GAR. The Clone Wars and Bad Batch narratives furthermore present him as Obi-Wan’s peer, so he should be interpreted as equally skilled, wise, kind, and unhinged-in-battle as Obi-Wan. Jury’s out on the sarcasm. - Turns to diplomacy before fighting (Bad Batch 2.3). - Has caught a Jedi’s lightsaber mid-battle at least two times (Clone Wars 1.20 and Revenge of the Sith). This is a very useful skill to have as the prospective or current leader of people who keep chucking the darksaber about. - Has returned a lightsaber to a Jedi at least two times. This is a crucial skill to have as the prospective or current leader of people who should stop selecting said leader via darksaber acquisition.

@antianakin: [From the Boba vs Cody poll] So in a very practical sense, if I'm just looking at it with the question of "Who actually has the skills to be a good leader of people" [between Boba and Cody] then the answer is undoubtedly Cody. Cody was trained his entire life presumably to be a Commander in a large army and seems to do that very successfully for three years. He seems fairly humble, has good teamwork skills, he's kind and understanding and merciful, and he's a very skilled fighter. All of this would serve him exceedingly well if he chose to take on a leadership position, on Mandalore or otherwise. - The one downside to Cody is that Cody shows exactly zero interest in Mandalore at all. Cody does not identify as a Mandalorian at any point and never seems like he'd want to, let alone LEAD the Mandalorians. I do not personally see Cody actually being WILLING to lead Mandalore if offered the opportunity, even if he'd definitely have the skills to do so. I feel like if it were offered to him or fell into his lap somehow, he'd just pass it off immediately to the next most qualified person who was interested in it. Mandalore is not his problem or his responsibility and he's not about to change that.

#bo katan kryze #commander cody #bo katan #star wars #the clone wars #tumblr tournaments #mandalore #tumblr brackets #sw events #sw tcw

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callsign-rogueone · 9 months ago

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the chess game - b.s.

Brennan Sorrengail x reader part four of Brennan and Duchess's story. words: 2.9k 🏷: IRON FLAME SPOILERS, she/her reader in established relationship with Brennan (Duchess!), some heavy-handed chess analogies (do they even have chess in Navarre?), Cat gets her own warning, canonical peril with the venin, tiny bit of angst between you but it’s resolved quickly, suggestive at the end, italic dialogue between reader and Bren is spoken in Tyrrish, proofread this with a migraine lol enjoy

Brennan’s breath catches as you begin your descent of the marble stairs. You’re the picture of a warrior princess; draped in fine black silk that trails to the floor, plates of silver armor resembling tiny dragon scales covering your bare shoulders, a sheathed longsword strapped down your spine. You’ve left your hair in its usual braids, but a spiky diadem sits atop them, silver engraved with runes of protection.

“Lieutenant Colonel,” you greet, surprised. “It is always a pleasure.”

He extends a gloved hand to help you down the last three steps. “The pleasure is mine, my Lady,” he replies, lowering his head in deference and pressing a featherlight kiss to the back of your hand.

You suppress a shiver at the touch — one you’ve felt many times, but there is something new about it now that you’re out of Tyrrendor and nobody here knows who you are to one another. It almost feels scandalous.

“Allow me to introduce Captain Mira Sorrengail and Cadet Violet Sorrengail.”

You dip your chin to them in acknowledgment, smiling warmly. “I must thank you both for all that you’ve done for our people,” you say with a look to Xaden.

“It has been our honor, Lady,” Violet says, smiling back.

Mira resists the urge to roll her eyes at the finery, instead eyeing your hosts with deep distaste and suspicion — she’s never been this close to a gryphon flier without trying to kill them.

Xaden and Violet are staring each other down, undoubtedly fighting across their bond — he’s mad that she showed up unannounced, and she’s mad about him leaving her in the dark about all of this.

Brennan watches you carefully, the two of you doing some silent communication of your own.

You have every piece you need to win this game. You just need to think three steps ahead of your opponent.

————————————————————————

The three Sorrengails clean up well.

You can only imagine the amount of coercion it took to get Mira into that dress, but it looks good on her. Violet wears a similar one, her hair down and flowing over her shoulders instead of her usual tight coronet, and Xaden can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the soft silver strands.

You can’t help but smile at Brennan. He must have packed the formal uniform himself, knowing the level of dress required at these types of dealings from the complaining you’d done every time you’d returned.

It looks near-identical to the one he’d worn on your wedding day — that one now hangs in a closet in your parents’ estate in Lindell, beside your white silk dress, but that jacket did not have quite as many adornments; he’s earned a few more stripes in the last three years.

You may not be close to him now, forced to remain a professional distance away, but you take solace in the fact that your hands have been all over that uniform before — that you’d sewn on the Lieutenant Colonel’s insignia for him last year, that you’ve stripped that jacket off of him more than once.

The Viscount wastes no time making his first move. “Have you given any more thought to Drake’s proposal, Lady Lindell? He is quite eager to hear back from you.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs; you weren’t expecting to discuss this now. “I have, actually.”

Brennan has never been a jealous person, never quick to anger, but right now he looks like he’s going to break a bone in his hand from how hard he’s clenching it into a fist.

You choose your words carefully, knowing that these negotiations may be over in seconds if you say the wrong thing.

“I must decline. Tyrrendor is still working to recover from the events of years past, and we are now being presented with new threats as well. It would be wrong to divert any attention from my people at a time when they need leadership most.”

“Always so noble, Lady,” Tecarus praises with a sly smile. “It is easy to see why he is so enamored with you, despite your differences. Perhaps the two of you could discuss it again after this matter is resolved.”

Of course he won’t take no for an answer.

Brennan has relaxed, but he still looks upset, avoiding your gaze.

You can’t seem to quell the bubbling fear in your chest. Does Brennan doubt your affection for him, your commitment to him? Surely he understands that this is strictly business, that you aren’t seriously entertaining the idea of leaving him for Drake Cordella.

“Do not take his distance to heart, royal one,” Ban says firmly. “He loved you through his dying breath, and he will continue to far beyond the next.”

She’s right. You’ve never given Brennan any reason to believe otherwise, and you’d probably feel the same, should he have received a marriage proposal from another.

You realize exactly why you’d doubted yourself — Cat is staring daggers at you from her uncle’s side.

“That’s not the real reason, is it?” She asks, and the discussion that you hadn’t really been listening to suddenly grinds to a halt. Every head turns toward her, then follows her burning gaze to you.

If she wants to fight this fight, you’ll let her. There is no getting under your skin, under the crown you wear; you’ll play her game, and you’ll win.

“I had hoped the Viscount and I would continue this conversation privately, as it is not the focus of our gathering,” you reply in the cold tone you’d use to discipline a cadet. “There are multiple reasons for my declination, which I shall not discuss in present company, but the foremost is that I have already found the one I wish to share my title with, and it is not your cousin.”

Cat simmers with rage and embarrassment, clearly not done with you, but you revel in the look on her face nonetheless.

You can feel Xaden’s eyes on you, burning into your skin, but you do not turn to look in his direction. You will not apologize for anything tonight. You will not retreat an inch.

“If she says another word, I’ll roast her and her bird,” Tairn purrs, making a rare appearance.

“Not until the luminary is secured,” his mate replies, almost playful — she’s just as sick of the girl as he is.

You build up the mental wall, but leave some gaps in the brick; enough to send a message, but not to block them out completely. They do not protest, leaving you to your business; likely headed off to sample Poromiel’s sheep.

The night air here is just as cold as in Tyrrendor, and you’re rather underdressed for the chill as you step out onto the balcony. You open the door of your father’s library just a crack, allowing yourself to draw a tiny fraction of Ban’s power to warm yourself, letting the gentle heat flow through you as you rub your palms over the exposed skin of your arms.

Brennan comes to stand at your right, maintaining a professional distance between you.

You keep your eyes forward, surveying the arena, and speak quietly, even though nobody else here knows the language. “Have I ever told you how much I love seeing you in a proper officer’s uniform, Lieutenant Colonel?”

You can see him redden in your periphery — you’d found out after his latest promotion exactly how much he likes hearing you say that title.

“It does not hold a candle to you in that dress,” he deflects. “You’re always regal, even in flight leathers, but this…” he blows out a nervous breath, not daring to finish the sentence.

“It took two ladies maids to do up all these clasps,” you say, a mischievous smile on your face. “I could use your help taking it off tonight — I know you’ve always been good with your hands.”

Xaden interrupts before Brennan can reply, the words coming out angular and unpolished. “Stop mind-fucking each other and focus.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Brennan scoffs. “You’re always looking at my sister like you want to eat her.”

You shoot the younger man a glare of warning, already knowing what his next words would be. “Don’t.”

Xaden rolls his eyes in response, but stays quiet.

Mira and Violet head down the stairs, and you step forward, intent to join them.

“Ah-ah, lady. You don’t want to get too close,” the Viscount says, and two of his men tug you back by your upper arms.

The wall you’ve put up is starting to crack, the emotions behind it slipping through as you realize there’s a very real chance that whatever’s in that chest is going to kill them.

The guards tighten their grip on you, likely instructed to keep you out of harm's way until this is over. You don’t struggle, focusing on your breathing, trying to reinforce the wall, to maintain the mask you need to wear tonight.

“Say the word, and we bring the castle down,” Ban growls.

“Not until we’ve made a deal,” you snap back.

It must be obvious to Xaden that you’re losing your grip. “He wants me to tell you two not to do anything stupid,” Sgaeyl forwards, sounding like she’s rolling her eyes.

You don’t respond, don’t look to the boy to reply; you can’t tear your eyes from the lawn below you, where a living, breathing venin is standing less than fifty yards away from the two Sorrengail girls.

The wall crumbles in its entirety, rage and fear flooding through you. The guards pull their hands back, hissing in pain — you’ve scalded their palms.

Brennan is already heading down the stairs.

“Take this,” you call, finally able to form words. He turns, and you unsheath your sword in one quick movement, tossing it to him over the edge of the balcony.

You pray he won’t need to use it, but there’s nothing else you can do; even if you ran down there right now, it’s raining too hard for you to create a shield of fire around them, or to burn the thing to a crisp yourself.

All you can do is watch as the three siblings press themselves together, Mira screaming as she uses everything she has to shield them from the wave of decay.

“Incoming!”

Tairn is the first to arrive, swooping down into the arena to lift Violet up as lightning strikes the soaked grass -- electrocuting the venin. It crumples to the ground, dead.

The other four dragons weren’t far behind. They perch on the stone edge of the arena, eyeing your hosts with contempt. Ban appears to debate whether or not she’s hungry enough to polish off a whole gryphon, Sgaeyl looking like she wants to torch the gaggle of Poromish nobles that had appeared to watch Violet wield.

Relief floods your body, but it’s quickly replaced by anger -- anger that Tecarus would dare to risk Violet’s life in this way, to risk everyone’s lives by releasing a venin on his lawn.

Xaden is already on it; you turn back to see shadows curled around the man’s throat, his feet six inches off the ground as Cat pleads with him to release the man. There must be some silent communication between him and Violet, as he unhands him soon enough, sending him straight to the floor rather unceremoniously.

Mira still looks a little pale, but she’s standing on her own. You rest a hand on her arm, the other on Brennan’s, sending a soft wave of warmth to each of them; they’re both soaked to the bone and shivering.

Brennan motions for you to turn, sheathing the sword at your back. His fingertips brush your spine gently, both a soft gesture of thanks and a reminder that he is still here, despite the events of the last five minutes.

You take a breath, willing yourself to relax and building the wall back up. The game is nowhere near over.

————————————————————————

You wait in steely silence as the four other riders change back into dry flight leathers, your gaze not leaving the two guards who had restrained you earlier. They eye you with a healthy dose of fear, keeping their distance from you and your fellow riders.

You take this chance to rearrange your pieces, taking a different seat than you’d been assigned earlier. The other four fall into place silently; a united front of the Aretian leaders in the middle, a Sorrengail sister at each end. You sit eye to eye with Tecarus, Violet with Cat — both intentional choices.

Everything you’ve done tonight has been a message, a statement, and you are barring no holds, taking no prisoners after he’d put your family in mortal danger.

You are not the ranking officer at this table, nor the ranking royal, but they let you make the call; it is obvious to them that you’re enraged.

You keep your composure, letting the anger smolder as you speak. “I believe we have upheld our end of this deal, Viscount. We will-”

Tecarus cuts you off. “I’m afraid you are no longer in a position to be bargaining here, Lady.”

What?

“That’s ridiculous,” Brennan argues. “You won’t help us protect this entire continent, because she won’t marry your nephew?”

Your heart swells at Brennan’s unwavering defense of you, but you quickly realize what he’s done — and so does the Viscount.

“The fair knight is always ready to protect his queen,” Tecarus muses, a sly smile on his face. “But he isn’t just a knight to you, is he, Lady?”

You do not hesitate for a second, ready to put this business to bed, to finally be done with Drake Cordella’s advances and his uncle’s ceaseless meddling.

You turn to Brennan, your eyes not leaving his as you speak. “He is not just a knight. He is my husband, and when the day comes, he will stand beside me and take the title of Duke Consort of Lindell. We cannot be separated, even by death, and he is the one thing I will not compromise on.”

Brennan gives you a soft smile; after three years, you’ve finally told someone about the two of you, someone who wasn’t immediate family and hadn’t attended your wedding.

He reaches for your hand under the table. You take it, intertwining your fingers and lifting your clasped hands, resting them on the smooth wood for all to see, your rings now on full display.

You look back to Tecarus, who is uncharacteristically silent.

Brennan takes a turn to speak. “I will remind you that she is the one who has been weaving the runes embedded in those daggers my Lieutenants have given you. Should you continue to disrespect her, you will soon find yourself defenseless against a force beyond your comprehension.”

Check.

The Viscount smiles, though the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Very well. In that case, I would like to change my terms.”

You nod, giving him permission to speak at his own table.

“I have taken in a hundred flier cadets and their leadership following the destruction of their academy. Take them with you back to Aretia, and train them to fight the venin, and the luminary is yours.”

You don’t bother to look to Xaden or Brennan to confer; it’s clear that everyone absolutely despises this idea.

“Fine,” you respond. “This threat is a threat to us all, and we will be stronger together than we will be separate. We will house and educate your cadets alongside our own, but it would behoove them to tread carefully. Riders and fliers have been enemies for centuries, and many aren’t quite so tolerant as us.”

You don’t need to look at Cat while you say it; she knows the message is directed to her.

“Then we have an accord,” Tecarus says, rising from his chair. “The fliers will be prepared to leave tomorrow at first light.”

“As will we,” you respond. You do not deign to thank him, watching in silence as he and his advisors file out of the room.

“If Drake so much as looks at you…” Brennan huffs, likely imagining the man with a broken nose.

You laugh, resting your ringed hand over his heart. “He can look all he wants, but I will gladly let you defend my honor if he tries anything else — you’re the only one allowed to touch.”

He groans in half-hearted complaint. “You can’t say things like that to me when we’re-”

“Your Grace,” Mira interrupts, bowing exaggeratedly.

“Cut it out,” her brother scolds, embarrassed.

You giggle. “I have a feeling she isn’t going to let that go any time soon, my love.”

“Nope,” Violet agrees, grinning from ear to ear.

“Need I remind you that you are in a very similar situation, sister?”

“You do not,” Xaden answers, stepping up behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

Mira nearly gags at the sight, still unused to seeing her sister with the Riorson boy.

You smile, looking at your family for a moment. “Excellent work, all of you. Now get some rest; we have a long flight home in the morning.”

You don’t need to tell them to stay on their guard — they know that this castle has eyes and ears everywhere, and that not everyone in it can be trusted.

The three of them nod, turning to head up the stairs.

You gasp softly as you feel one of the many buttons at the back of your dress come undone, your hand flying up to hold the fabric to your chest.

“I was never assigned a room,” Brennan murmurs, his warm breath ghosting over your neck. “Mind if we share?”

#brennan sorrengail #brennan and duchess #brennan sorrengail x reader #fourth wing x reader #mine #fourth wing

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