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kuwdora · 1 year ago

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Star Wars audiobooks! I've been restless for new Star Wars since Andor ended. Been going through a handful of Disney era and Legends novels over the last few months. I have enough reactions to get down into an actual post. Mostly I'm just going to be foaming at the mouth over Marc Thompson and Sam Witwer's narration and falling over myself about the characters. I have listened to: Dark Disciple, Last Shot, Disney Thrawn trilogy, Heir to the Empire, Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter. Lots of these books I liked, some of them I didn't but the narration and characters are still amazing. Motherfucking MARA JADE. Asajj Ventress!!!!!!!! I have no rational mind about Maul and I am one of those feral stick figures chewing on Thrawn. Hnnghh.

First of all, let me start with Marc Thompson. He's been doing the audiobooks for years and years now. Here’s a great intro where he’s talking about the differences of doing character voices and learning the importance of bringing the right dynamic to the prose. He slips so seamlessly into his Star Wars voices reel, ahaha.

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Here is a really cute Lip Sync Battle where Marc Thompson will say a line and then have a fan lip sync the same line back at the camera. His energy, his energy I love it so much. Everyone is having SO MUCH FUN. There’s also a cameo by Star Wars author Christie Golden in this video. Super cute.

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First book:

Dark Disciple - Christie Golden Narrated by Marc Thompson

Alright I actually had picked this up ages go from my library and never read it but since I’ve been on an audiobook kick, Marc Thompson got me goin’ with alllll his voices.

I love Asajj Ventress so I was pretty much guaranteed to enjoy something from this book. Apparently it was written based on some unfinished scripts for an arc that would have happened if the show didn’t get cancelled. Knowing this makes a lot more sense with regards to the pacing and I think I would have preferred the animated episodic for this since I think a lot of the early Quinlan and Asajj stuff dragged a little too much. However I did appreciate getting more of a deeper dive in Asajj’s head and it really made me want to go digging through AO3 for some amazing character studies that I know must exist at this point.

But yeah, I didn’t think I’d enjoy the eventual romance between Asajj and Quinlan but Quinlan was such a perfect set-up for a fall from the Jedi Order. I think I’m just really easy when it comes to whumping the fuck out of Jedi with torture and their own emotional repression.

I was really into all the Dathomir scenes and the history of Asajj with her sisters being touched upon again and how she managed to not “go crazy from the dark side” because of the balance she found because she was a Nightsister.

A++ for Asajj having to go to Boba fucking Fett to mount a rescue mission inside a fake heist.

Really I think I’m just so easy for murdery women with a rage boner. Fuck Dooku.

Marc Thompson’s narration was a delight and I definitely would recommend this for anyone who enjoyed The Clone Wars series and wanted to get a little more Asajj screen time. Here’s a scene where someone pulled Clone Wars clips and put Dark Disciple audio underneath. Marc Thompson bringing incredible Dooku subservience and Sidious danger, hhhngh.

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7/10, would listen to again even though I'd rather see the finished episodes.

Last Shot (A Han and Lando Novel) - Daniel Jose Older Narrated by Marc Thompson, Daniel Jose Older and January LaVoy

This book was extremely disappointing. Normally I am a fan of seeing fan-favorites have their mid-life crises but I was extremely bored and over with Older’s take on Han having an existential crisis of who he was as a father an husband in this post-Empire world. Lando on the other hand, was having a crisis of genuinely having fallen in love and not knowing how to handle that. I fucking loved that.

This book had multiple timelines and jumped around a lot and I don’t know if I just wasn’t focused enough while listening but the timeline jumps were jarring and incomprehensible at times. The action plot ended up being rather unsatisfying.

It was also very jarring to have three narrators for the different timelines and I kind of feel bad because I went and looked and Older’s narration is just consistently getting panned across all reviewers—and for good reason. Thompson and LaVoy are experienced voice actors and with Older in the middle, Older just seems slapdash in his reading. If it was just Older all the way through I might have been more forgiving but going back and forth with everyone… it really was painful at times.

It was a slog to get through this book, really. What I actually really enjoyed was all the original characters: an Ewok slicer, a nonbinary hot shot pilot, and Lando’s love of his life whose name is slipping my mind even now, agh. I wasn’t fan of the villain character, unfortunately, and it was a bit of a letdown that the action plot was just… I don’t know, boring. It was a riff on transhumanism except with droids and a bit of droid supremacy to it and I was just... tired by it.

Marc Thompson was KILLING it tho. His performances always fucking delight me. January LaVoy’s narration of Lando and L-3 were also really great even though I just wasn’t into the scenes themselves.

3/10 - do not recommend, HOWEVER I would read fic about the lady ewok hacker Peekpa.

Darth Maul: Shadow hunter By Michael Reeves Narrated by SAM WITWER

I am, as the fannish parlance goes, Not Normal about Maul or Sam Witwer's performance as Maul.

This novel takes place just before the events of The Phantom Menace and it’s a Star Wars story that is very, very narrow in scope. The stakes are still very high because someone has gained information about the Trade Federation’s impending blockade and Sidious sends Maul to go and take care of it. The whole story takes place in the underbelly of Coruscant and I gotta say, it’s really refreshing after going through a bunch of Star Wars shows, books and films where it’s all galactic hopping whirlwind stuff to have that's in one place and happening in a short amount of time. I think it's something like 2 or 3 days that all the events happen.

Michael Reeves is a man of deep characterization and creates an amazing sense of place in the Black Sun alley of Corusant. We get very little Sidious and Maul interaction but what bits we do get are fascinating and haunting. I do like the ‘less is more’ approach here with these two...although I will say I’m not sure I would have picked up this book if I hadn’t gone through The Clone Wars and lost my goddamn mind over Sam Witwer’s portrayal of Maul.

And his performance here. In this book. I don’t know what it is about Witwer but when he does Maul my brain just lights up in a way that I haven’t really gotten outside of live theater performances. He brings this sense of ruthlessness and competence to Maul, his gleeful rage and oscillating mania as he ends up tracking an information broker and Jedi Padawan. Oh, Witwer is truly just. Fucking amazing, okay.

I would love this book even if it wasn’t Witwer narrating it but my god he elevates it to a whole new level. I got my copy from the library but it is immediately on my to-buy list once I can buy books again.

Michael Reeves also wrote for Batman the Animated series and Gargoyles which makes a whole lot of sense in the way he’s able to just create such lush sensory detail of place and people, oh holy fuck. He’s the writer who wrote the Gargoyles episode about Broadway accidentally shooting Elisa with her gun (this is an episode that got pulled from airing and I don’t think they have on Disney+ right now). Aw man, alright I definitely need to read more of his stuff now.

The action plot is Lorn Pavan is a down-on-his-luck fellow who got information he shouldn’t have and he is trying to sell it, Darsha the Jedi Padawan gets sent down to bring in a Black Sun informant and things go tits up for her in horrible ways. Darsha and Lorn’s paths collide and they try to survive Maul. I love everything about these characters, except for the end where Lorn started having romantic feelings about the Padawan. Blech.

Also somehow I think I-5 is now my second favorite droid character I’ve come across in the greater Star Wars canon (Chopper will always be my #1 grumpy cat droid). Witwer has the best dry delivery for the droid character. Like. It’s so fucking GOOD.

I’m also impossibly impressed and obsessed with Witwer’s performance of Sidious and the Jedi Council. His Qui-Gon is SO FUCKING GOOD. His Palaptine has my teeth rattling in my head oh my god.

Here’s the first 5 or so minutes of Shadow Hunter, hhnngh. You get Maul, Sidious a drunk Lorn Pavan, and my new droid bestie I-5:

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I am 100% going to be reading Michael Reeves’ other Star Wars novels. Apparently he has a series that follows a Jedi-in-hiding post-Order 66 and I want to just dunk my head in all the Star Wars noir, I guess, yes please.

10/10 - I love, would heartily recommend to anyone wanting a kind of story that’s more heavy on character and setting and also SAM WITWER!!!!!!!!! Maul. Hnnghghghgh.

TIMOTHY ZAHN TIME.

Thrawn Trilogy (Disney era) Thrawn, Thrawn Alliances, Thrawn Treason Narrated by Marc Thompson

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This was my second time through the Disney novels. I watched Star Wars Rebels first, then my friend jb_slasher told me about Thrawn having novels. I had vaguely heard of Heir to the Empire over the years and also my friend recommended the Disney trilogy so I figured I’d start with that since I was diving off from Disney canon anyway.

My god I love this trilogy so fuckin’ much. Marc Thompson out here nailing it. This Thrawn is the type of character who is always the smartest person in the room and I should get irritated by that like all the other characters but mmmm, I have a competence kink. And I am just over the moon with how he instills loyally and allegiance in his crew who can now have a commander who is not interested in politicking his way through things but actually is committed to strategy and whatnot.

Also fucking Zahn made Thrawn go back to space college. And gave him a little protege who he grew to admire. Eli Vanto is a great character, I am reading a lot of slash about them obviously but yeah, I loved seeing his growth throughout the trilogy. And THRAWN ALLIANCE. Y’all. Y’all. The Star Wars memes about Thrawn and Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker are AMAZING and really do the hilarity so much justice. Here's a fantastic book trailer cut together with Marc Thompson' narration, hnngh.

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This man absolutely knows who Darth Vader is and Darth Vader is like “oh fuck no you don’t.” And when Thrawn had met Anakin during the Clone Wars and Anakin had to try and work together with him? Perfection. Bonus Padme getting to be a ridiculous and foolish badass when she goes looking for trouble. And also her also having a competence kink for Thrawn, too. It cracks me the fuck uuuuuup, okay.

Thrawn absolutely hates politics so fucking much and I love to see how that is the primary way he gets thwarted or has to build his strategy around. Because people are fucking assholes and political everywhere. Seriously, have I mentioned how much I love Marc Thompson??

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Thrawn Treason gave us more of Thrawn’s people and whatnot with the Chiss which I also liked but I’m really less interested in their motivations and experiences as a culture on the edge of the Empire. More here for Vanto now getting to be the fish-out-of-water and leveling up and getting all the respect he deserves.

MARC THOMPSON, y’all. He does a great Thrawn, an AMAZING whinybaby sycophant Ronan of the Starkiller Project, and his Eli Vanto Space Yokel intonation is 💋. Also I feel like the loyalty and trust that Thrawn earns from his subordinates really feeds into this praise kink thing that everyone develops by being around him. I love it.

10/10 will lose my mind and listen/read this trilogy again and also read all the fanfic about it.

Heir to the Empire Timothy Zahn

I am sorry it took me 30 years to get here but I AM NOW HERE FOR MARA JADE’S RAGE BONER. Let me repeat: MARA. JADE. !!!!!!!!!

Also holy fuck. Luke Skywalker getting to be smart, technically creative and able to navigate through terrible situations in spite of a Force-Blocking Macguffin is AMAZING. I was not expecting to be this into a post-Empire Luke but I really fucking loved it.

I also love all of the Han and Lando scenes in this (WAY MORE than Last Shot, sorry Daniel Jose Older).

Leia and Chewie!! On Kashyyk!! Talon Karrde was so great (Thompson made him kind of sound like Antonio Banderas??)

Thrawn and his bestie Pelleaon! What a fascinating dynamic.

I actually was not very into Thrawn’s vibes in this book as much as I was in the Disney stuff. I don’t know if it’s because of the vibes they wrote him in Star Wars rebels that got filtered back into Zahn’s take on him for the books (or if it was the other way around?) - Like, the calculating tactical and man of strategy is still there, but… hm, I’ve been struggling to articulate what about it that didn’t tickle me as much. He’s still playing the long game in every situation but I don’t know… I think there’s this more pragmatic view of people he has in the Disney books that he doesn’t get here in the first of this trilogy. I haven’t gotten to the other two books from this series yet so maybe I’ll feel differently later. The anniversary edition of the audiobook that I got from my library was narrated by Marc Thompson and he (you'll be so surprised) fucking nailed it all for me. Love love love.

10/10 timothy zahn, I love you. You got an amazing way of writing action. I gotta read more of your stuff. Anyway, I'm also starting the Ahsoka novella that I think (??) is not quite canon anymore since they got a final season for Clone Wars, but it's by E.K. Johnston and narrated by Ahoska's voice actor Ashley Eckstein. Don't have enough thoughts about it yet but I love Ahsoka so I'm sure I'll have a decent time.

#this is like 2k of me rambling and talking about my star wars feels wheee #star wars #readingdora #kuwdora reads #star wars books #heir to the empire #thrawn alliances #thrawn treason #asajj ventress #thrawn #mara jade #sam witwer #darth maul #marc thompson #my posts #textpost #shadow hunter

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linagram · 1 year ago

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[ 𝚔𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚒 𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚞'𝚜 𝚝𝟸 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊 ] 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛-𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗

there's only one prisoner pair left to judge! and riku's case still doesn't feel that easy to me. i have no idea what verdict he's gonna get this time.

speaking of warnings below: riku really does talk more about his murder in this vd and about his mental health problems as well. i was a little scared of writing this one because sometimes i feel like riku's character is too, uh.. edgy, maybe? or just too depressing? however, i also want to show that his relationship with his victim, his family and other people really messed him up to the point of wanting to be in pain himself and wanting others to be in pain as well.

Warnings for Riku's VD: Mentions of self-harm and suicide. Also, Riku, if you're able to get out of here, promise that you will immediately get therapy after that.

Warnings for Riku's MV: Mentions of blood, also one of the characters. Um. Literally gets mauled.

(sounds of footsteps that sound slower than usual and now it seems like there's only one person walking)

(the footsteps stop)

Miki: ...

Miki: *starts crying*

Miki: I-it's not fair..

Miki: Why do I- no, w-why do we have to do this?

Miki: I still want to save everyone, but..

Miki: .. Do I even want to save everyone?

Miki: .. Or do I just want them to like me?

Miki: Maybe I just want them to thank me and praise me for my hard work and..

Miki: T-that actually sounds nice..

Miki: H-hold on, what am I saying?!

Miki: Okay, I'm already losing my sanity.

Miki: I-I can't do this alone.

Miki: Maybe I should just-

Miki: Huh?

(a sound of a screen turning on)

???: Well, if you can't do this alone, that means you could use some help, right?

Miki: ...

???: I'm a little sleepy, but I can help out, if you want. I didn't really want to leave this room, but seeing you like this is.. kind of sad.

???: H-hey, can you hear me? Is this thing even on?

Miki: ...

???: .. It's the mask, isn't it.

???: Don't worry, I'll take if off once we see each other in person. I still have to wear it for now-

Miki: WHO EVEN ARE YOU?!

Miki: WHY ARE YOU- HOW- WHO-

???: P-please, calm down!.. You're so loud, your voice kinda hurts my ears, haha..

???: Also, what if the prisoners hear you?

Miki: .. Right.

Miki: But still.. Who are you?

Miki: Wait.. Your uniform..

???: You really are a smart one.

Miki: .. The third guard? You were the one who made everyone answer those questions?

???: Well, not exactly, I asked my.. uh, I asked someone else to bring those papers to everyone, but yeah, it was my idea.

Miki: .. Why? You know you could just join us and we could interrogate them together, right?

???: It's not as easy as it sounds, Miki-san.

Miki: YOU KNOW MY NAME??

???: I've been watching you two for some time, so.. Yeah, I know a lot about you and the prisoners.

Miki: .. Where were you when it was the first trial though?

???: I was.. asleep, basically.

???: And then, after I woke up, I watched the recordings of all interrogations from that trial and I already had all the information I needed.

Miki: Asleep?..

???: Listen, I have no idea what happened to me, but it really felt like I was just asleep. But if I'm being honest..

???: I feel like they would've never let me wake up if they saw that they don't need me here.

Miki: W-what does that mean?..

???: I-I don't want to go into details.

???: So, I'm the third guard of the Milgram prison, nice to meet you.

Miki: .. N-nice to meet you too, but what is your name?

Miki: And when will I be able to meet you in person?

Miki: .. And what's with the mask?

???: A-ah, right, right, my name..

???: Um.. I-I can't reveal my real name to you right now, but trust me, I will do so very soon. I'm wearing a mask to hide my face for the exact same reason, but I promise that I will join you soon and you'll be able to see my face, haha.

Miki: But then.. What should I call you?

Miki: "Is it just me or his voice actually sounds very attractive? And what if he takes off this weird mask and it turns out that-"

Miki: "Wait, am I really having thoughts like this right now?"

???: So, uh, what should you call me..

???: Ah, right! Can you call me Hiyuu, please?

Miki: "Hiyuu"? S-sure, but why that name specifically?

???: When my parents were waiting for me to be born, they had a very long list of names for me and had no idea which one to go with. They almost went with Hiyuu.

Miki: I see.. Why did they go for a different name though?

???: No idea. I think it sounds cuter than the name I got in the end.

Miki: "It does sound kind of cute.."

Miki: O-okay! Then, um, again, n-nice to meet you, Hiyuu-san!

Hiyuu: Again, nice to meet you too, Miki-san.

Hiyuu: So, you're going to interrogate the ninth prisoner now, correct?

Miki: Y-yeah..

Hiyuu: I'm really sorry, but you'll have to interrogate him without me. I will join you when it's time for the tenth prisoner to be interrogated.

Miki: But why? Do you have something else to do?

Miki: Ah, I'm sorry for asking so many questions..

Hiyuu: It's okay, it's okay! It's just..

Hiyuu: .. I just woke up from a nap and I'm still feeling sleepy.

Miki: ...

Hiyuu: .. It was a joke, I swear.

Hiyuu: I-I will join you later, I definitely will! But I know that prisoner's behavior is.. a bit unstable, so please, just know that if you're in danger, I will immediately run to help you, okay?

Miki: .. Okay. Thank you, Hiyuu-san.

Hiyuu: No problem. And also..

Hiyuu: .. Sorry about what happened to Eiji-san.

Miki: .. I-I just want to believe that he will be okay.

(sounds of Miki's footsteps becoming faster)

(the door opens)

Riku: Ah, here you are, Miki!

Miki: ...

Riku: And where's Eiji-san? Did something happen or-

Miki: *sits down* I'm pretty sure everyone heard everything.

Riku: .. Haha, you're right.

Riku: .. I hope it's not that serious.

Miki: It's a broken arm, which is probably not that serious, it really could be worse, but..

Miki: Considering these conditions and everything..

Riku: .. Right. Right. I'm sorry.

Riku: S-so.. It's my turn to be interrogated, right?

Miki: *nods*

Miki: How are you feeling, Riku-san?

Riku: I'm fine, I'm fine! A little bit nervous, but that's to be expected.

Riku: Also, just wanted to thank you again for forgiving me. Really, I'm so grateful..

Riku: I was.. I was so scared, you know.

Riku: Like.. Of course, I didn't want this to be real. I wanted this to turn out to be some kind of game. I hoped that I won't get punished for real, that nobody will get punished for real.

Riku: .. But all of this is real.

Riku: And I'm here and I was forgiven! I did have to.. uh, pay a price, but it's fine.

Miki: .. A price?

Miki: You mean tricking me and making me give you a knife, so that you can hurt yourself later and make me feel so bad that I simply wouldn't be able to do anything other than vote you innocent?

Riku: H-hey, you're kinda making it sounds like I'm the bad guy here-

Miki: You're not a "bad guy". But you did lie to me.

Riku: I did. And I'm sorry.

Riku: .. But you will still forgive me, right?

Miki: .. What if my forgiveness has its limits?

Riku: What was that?

Miki: N-nothing.

Miki: *clears throat* Riku-san, before we talk about your crime, I want to talk about the way you've been acting lately.

Riku: What do you mean by that? I've been doing fine-

Miki: Trying to hurt yourself with a fork while everyone is having breakfast is not fine, Riku-san.

Riku: .. Ehehe..

Miki: I just want to help you. You can be honest with me.

Riku: .. I can't be honest with anyone, Miki.

Miki: Why?

Riku: .. Okay. If you're more honest than me, then please be honest with me right now.

Riku: *takes a breath*

Riku: "I simply wouldn't be able to do anything other than vote you innocent".. Does that mean you forgave me only because of what I did to myself?

Miki: ...

Miki: I-I could feel your pain when I watched your video. I really did feel sorry for you.

Miki: But I don't want to lie and say that what you did wasn't a big part of the reason why I made that decision.

Riku: Haha.. See?

Riku: People like me only when they see me in pain.

Miki: What does that mean, Riku-san?

Riku: *sighs*

Riku: "Riku-kun, can you please go and talk to Yue-kun? He looks so sad.."

Riku: "Sorry, Riku, but your brother is not feeling good today. You can still go to that concert alone though."

Riku: "Hey, Riku, is it just me, or your sadder songs are better than the happier ones? Like, you'll be able to help more people with them."

Riku: I was always surrounded by those who were in pain.

Riku: And I always had to do everything for them. I had to give up so many things for them.

Riku: Of course, I would go and try to comfort my "friend" even if I didn't want anything to do with him. Of course, I would stay home and not go to any concerts, because if I did go, it would look like I don't care about my brother at all. Of course, I would write more sad songs and make myself sad in the process because people like them more.

Riku: I was sick of it. I was so tired of it, I started to hate literally everyone around me. It was so bad that when I saw someone trip and their friend helping them get up, I would get so angry, I would have to leave so that I wouldn't try to beat up those people just for not giving their attention to me.

Riku: And then, one day..

Riku: People finally saw me in pain.

Riku: I finally opened up. I finally told them how I really feel.

Riku: And considering my popularity, they went insane. They were ready to do anything to make me happy.

Riku: I know how to use my pain to make people feel sorry for me. And it looks like it had worked with you and even Eiji-san.

Riku: So please, don't be mad at me for still doing that.

Riku: I know how to put on a show. And if you two need to see me in pain just so that you can forgive me later, I will make it as bloody as you want.

Riku: .. Miki?

Miki: ...

Miki: *starts crying* I'm sorry, Riku-san. I'm so sorry.

Riku: .. Heh.

Riku: Works like a charm.

Miki: .. Just another reminder that my forgiveness has limits.

Miki: Also..

Miki: "Yue-kun".. Is that your childhood friend?

Riku: Ah, right, I haven't told you his name. Yeah, that's him.

Riku: I was friends with Shiozaki Yue since I was like.. seven years old? Maybe younger.

Miki: .. And he's your victim, isn't he?

Riku: .. Yeah.

Riku: Hey, what did my video tell you exactly? Like, did it show you all the details? Oh, also, did you like my song?

Miki: Your video felt like.. At first, I could see how popular and how loved you are.

Miki: But then, I saw you texting your friends and after you saw their messages, you started crying.

Miki: I didn't get the ending of it though. It felt like..

Miki: You were on the school rooftop with your friends and then you pushed someone off the roof while telling them to jump.

Riku: !

Riku: Ahaha..

Riku: Wow, that sounds scary.

Riku: Again, was the song good though-

Miki: Now, back to your.. um, behavior.

Miki: .. Why did you tell Miyagawa-san to "go and die"?

Riku: ...

Riku: *laughs* Come on, Miki, did you really have to bring that up?

Riku: I almost forgot about it and you really had to ruin it for me, haha..

Miki: How can you forget about it when you have to look at Miyagawa-san's injury every day?

Riku: I just try to ignore him. That's all.

Riku: If he tries to talk to me even after all of that..

Riku: .. That's his fault. Not mine.

Miki: You knew that he likes you a lot. Why did you..

Miki: Why did you have to be so cruel to him?!

Riku: Because I hate him, Miki.

Riku: This guy likes me only because I remind him of someone. I know that for sure.

Riku: He doesn't like the real me. He would never accept the real me.

Riku: Listen, that's just what us, popular guys, do. We smile, we say hi, we say how good everyone looks today, we say that we'd be glad to hang out with someone, even if we actually wish that person was dead.

Riku: 'Cause that's how reputation works! Say one wrong word and that's it, you're out.

Riku: .. And I can't have that. My family only sees me as someone who has to take care of my siblings, even though I'm not even the oldest. My "best friend" only sees me as a guy he can vent to and project his pain onto.

Riku: My school was the only place where I was loved and accepted by everyone.

Miki: But.. what's the difference between pretending for your family and Shiozaki-san and pretending for your classmates?

Riku: It's simple: my classmates were obsessed with me.

Riku: They wanted to be like me. They wanted to be with me. They wanted to be noticed by me.

Riku: And I continued to play along just because it's nice to feel like somebody's idol.

Miki: .. Is that also the reason why it was so hard for you to stop being friends with Shiozaki-san? He liked you a lot, didn't he?

Riku: .. Well, I can't deny that it is a part of the reason why I couldn't just say "Hey, I think we should go our separate ways".

Miki: And is this also why you couldn't just be honest with Miyagawa-san when you first met him? Because it was nice to feel like you're important to him?

Riku: Yeah, so what? Are you really gonna judge me for just wanting to be liked?

Miki: I'm not gonna judge you for wanting to be liked, but I will judge you for manipulating other people's feelings.

Miki: A-anyway, we don't have much time left.

Miki: So, about your crime..

Miki: What exactly did you do?

Miki: I just don't understand. I know why you did it, but I don't understand how it happened.

Riku: What exactly you don't understand then?

Miki: Uh..

Miki: ... Okay, here it goes.

Miki: Did your friend kill himself because of you or did you kill him yourself?

Riku: ...

Riku: Um..

Riku: It's.. actually very hard to explain.

Riku: But before I do that..

Riku: *stands up*

Riku: Promise me that you will forgive me.

Miki: ...

Riku: I will do anything to make you forgive me. Do you want to see me on my knees? Do you want to see all my scars? Do you want me to just stab myself right in front of you?

Riku: One word and I'll do it. I'm okay with dying, honestly.

Miki: .. But if you die, what's the point of me forgiving you then?

Riku: .. I-I don't know.

Riku: Hearing "I forgive you" sounds nice, haha.

Riku: So, do you promise-

Miki: .. You're so stupid, Riku.

Riku: Huh?

(sounds of Miki standing up and pushing Riku against the wall)

Riku: !

Riku: T-that was unexpected..

Riku: .. Are you crying?

Miki: YES, I AM CRYING BECAUSE YOU'RE SUCH AN IDIOT!

Miki: YOU'RE WILLING TO THROW AWAY YOUR LIFE LIKE THAT JUST BECAUSE "HEARING SOMEBODY FORGIVE YOU SOUNDS NICE"?! ARE YOU THAT DUMB?!

Miki: WHAT'S THE POINT OF ME FORGIVING YOU IF I WON'T BE ABLE TO SAVE YOU?

Miki: .. Actually, maybe forgiveness isn't always the right way to save someone..

Riku: Haha, so punishing someone is a better way of saving them? Sounds kinda messed up..

Miki: ARE YOU SAYING THAT YOUR WAY OF THINKING ISN'T MESSED UP?!

Riku: .. So, you're not gonna forgive me this time?

(the bell rings, machinery sounds)

Miki: .. It depends on what your video is going to show me.

Riku: .. Haha, okay, challenge accepted.

Riku: I am going to put on the best performance you've ever seen and make you love me so much that you won't be able to vote me guilty.

Miki: And if I still do vote you guilty?

Riku: Come on, you're Andou Miki, the whole prison knows you as someone who always forgives everyone no matter what.

Miki: .. Well, if Eiji-san won't be able to punish anyone this time..

Miki: I'll simply have to do his job.

Riku: .. God, both of you are insane.

Riku: Okay, fine. Don't worry, I'll just punish myself before you even announce my verdict.

Miki: .. How are you gonna do it? I didn't give you any weapons this time.

Riku: Are you sure? In my hands pretty much anything can become a weapon.

Miki: .. You won't do anything serious to yourself this time, right?

Riku: Haha, trust me, I'm strong enough to do it. And brave enough too.

Miki: .. I want to hug you and choke you at the same time.

Miki: PRISONER 009, RIKU, SING YOUR SINS AND MAKE SURE IT'S THE BEST SONG I'VE EVER HEARD!

42% ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░░░░░░░░░░ 100%

[ MV Description ]

The video starts with Riku sitting in what appears to be a limousine. He looks really nervous and he keeps pulling his sleeves down and taking deep breaths.

"Breathe in, breathe out.

You've done this before, you can do it again

Breathe in, breathe out

And even if something goes wrong, just do it, embrace the pain"

However, as soon as he steps out of a limousine, he looks fine and he gives everyone a bright smile. He gets greeted by a huge number of fans who all look excited to see him and some of them even push each other to try and get closer to him.

"I know you all love me and your feelings are mutual

I love you all back, trust me, it's true"

He simply keeps walking as he smiles at everyone and waves at them. When you look closer, you can see that all of his fans are actually wearing collars. It's like.. they're his pets or something.

"How can I not love you? You listen to my every word, my every command

No matter what I do, you will protect me

Look at me, I'm like a trendsetter, no matter what I do, people will follow my lead"

He suddenly stops walking as he sees a familiar face in that crowd. It's the white-haired boy again and now we can actually see his face and what he looks like. He looks even happier than all of Riku's fans, but Riku is not happy to see him at all. He tries to ignore him.

"I love all of you, yes, every single one of you, but not you though

Hey, it's okay for celebrities like me to be a little hypocritical!"

Now, we can see Riku on the stage, preparing for his concert with his bandmates. Everything goes fine if we ignore his fans looking more and more insane as the show goes on and it looks like he is actually having fun. The chorus plays.

"Now, listen, I don't like to do this

I'm not the type to abuse my power

But looks like it's time for you to get what you deserve

So get him, everyone, I'll pat you on the head later"

When the concert ends, we can see him giving autographs to his fans, talking to them and taking photos with them. But then, suddenly, the white-haired boy walks up to him and we can see that he's not wearing a collar.

"See? You don't belong here

You're not as perfect as them, so why don't you leave?

Maybe act a little bit more obedient next time?

Come on, just do it, just follow my lead"

Riku tries to pretend that everything is fine and it looks like he's asking what the boy needs, but then Yue hugs him tightly, making both of them fall in the process. The song stops playing for a moment.

Riku is shocked and he tries to get up, but the boy doesn't let him. Eventually, Riku gets sick of it and yells at the boy, slaps him and pushes him away. Riku breathes heavily and starts getting more and more anxious as he sees that everyone is staring at him and the boy.

"Breathe in, breathe out

You've done this before, you can do it again

Breathe in, breathe out

And even if something goes wrong, just do it, embrace the pain"

The setting changes and now it looks like we're at Riku's house, though it looks more cool and fancy this time, he is a famous singer in his video after all. We can see Riku walking into his bedroom and he looks more pale and tired than usual and his hair is more messy. As he tries to wipe the blood under his nose with his hand, he sees his phone screen light up and checks it. He sees that everyone is talking about what happened after the concert between him and Yue and he almost drops his phone because of that.

However, he's still curious and he starts reading what the fans are saying about it and..

All of them are trying their best to defend him.

They keep saying that it's the boy's fault and Riku was in the right. They say how they will support Riku no matter what and they still love him some people are even saying that they would love to take the boy's place for no particular reason at all.

"Why are you all still fighting for me?

Why are you still trying to protect me?

Why do you still love me?"

At first Riku can't believe that this is happening, but when he understands that all of this is real.. He starts laughing. He actually looks like he has lost his mind, he can't believe that his fans are still with him even after that.

"Look at me, I'm like a trendsetter, no matter what I do, people will follow my lead

If I say something, you will say it louder

If I hurt someone, you will make it more painful

If I kill someone, you will dance on their grave"

However, he stops laughing as he sees one person make a post saying "Shouldn't he apologize for doing that though?". He starts reading the comments under that post and sees his fans defending him and saying that there's no point in him apologizing. Riku looks relieved and he simply puts his phone back on the table.

Several days pass and it's time for another concert. Riku is seen greeting the fans again and this time he looks genuinely happy, but no, Yue is here again. Riku looks terrified and he can't move because of how scared he is.

"What is wrong with you? Do you hate me this much?

You don't love me, I know that for sure

Your eyes are different from theirs, the way you move is different

It's like you're free, it's like I can't control you"

The boy just keeps walking up closer and closer to him and Riku sees how all of his fans are this close to killing the boy on spot for his sake.

Riku gets an idea and as Yue is about to hug him again, he suddenly snaps his fingers and his fans' collars light up. The chorus starts playing again and this time it's louder. Suddenly, all of his fans turn into dogs and attack Yue as Riku keeps casually walking away.

"But looks like it's time for you to get what you deserve

So get him, everyone, I'll pat you on the head later"

As the white-haired boy is getting mauled (thankfully, it's not that visible), Riku simply gets up on the stage and starts singing, but without his bandmates. His fans turn back into humans again, but even though they look like humans, it's hard to say that they're not just animals that exist only to follow Riku's orders.

"Look at me, look at me, ignore everyone else's pain

I'm the only one you feel sorry for, I'm the only one you should pity

Don't look at anyone else, I'm the only one you need

I'll make you feel better as you make me feel worse"

They can't take their eyes off him and because of how huge the crowd is, it's hard to see the bloody mess behind them. And as if everything couldn't get worse, as Riku keeps singing, the blood on his body and clothes is becoming more and more noticeable.

"Look at me, keep your eyes on me

Everything else is a lie, I'm the only part of your world that matters

Do you feel sorry for me yet? Do you want to forgive me?

Am I doing a good job? Does my life even matter?"

It looks like he just got some blood on himself from.. well, that boy, but as the MV continues, it's becoming more and more obvious that it's actually Riku's blood and he keeps bleeding out as he sings and dances.

"SO JUST PRAISE ME BEFORE I FORGET HOW TO-"

Before he can finish singing, we get a close-up of him putting his hand on his throat and he realizes that he has lost his voice. The MV abruptly ends.

#yay third guard is finally here!.. well almost #again. no idea what verdict he will get #i think this vd does imply what kind of verdict he'd canonically get in this situation #but again it's up to y'all!#his mv was actually very fun to write even though it was a little difficult #and it had a lot of different versions and i went with the wildest one jdkflsld #🎤 voice dramas! 🎤#🌼guard 002: andou miki 🌼#🎸prisoner 009: kuroki riku 🎸#milgram #milgram oc #milgram project #ocgram #(yes i'm also not used to tagging only miki. her and eiji are a set do not separate)

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hon1eblog · 1 year ago

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Life in Plastic: Growing up as a Barbie Girl in the Real World

“There’s nothing stronger than the connection between a girl and the doll world she made up in her head.” - Me, 2023

Barbies were a lonely girl’s favorite toy. I only played Barbies with one particular friend because we had a mutual understanding– she played with her dolls, I played with mine. It was all made up on the spot, but we had time to plan out bigger events and postpone things like weddings until the next time we saw each other. Neither of us would ever make each other do something out of character. It was like parallel play, but with a higher level of awareness. This is not to say if you didn’t do this you weren’t doing it right; there’s no right way to play. In fact, I’ve always thought I had done it wrong. I put too much time into my imagination, to the point where I’d obsessively think about my other worlds, taking me from the real one. If that sounds strange or scary to you, then this might not be the essay for you.

Barbies were my introduction to the conscious mind. It sounds dramatic, but I truly believe I became sentient when I was able to project my thoughts and feelings onto a piece of plastic and recognize that they were still mine. The dolls held my secrets to my universe, they spoke a language only I knew. The older I got, the more complex my playtime became and at some point I realized I wasn’t just playing, I was creating a storyline, a universe with laws and constraints[1]. My dolls had consistent characteristics; they evolved from husks into flesh cut from my own skin. Most were heavily inspired from movies and TV show characters, but soon took on a new shape. I had over fifty Barbies at one point and each had a name, a purpose, and a home in a giant plastic bucket. On very rare occasions were Barbies retconned, donated, or thrown out after being mauled to pieces by my dog. An arm or leg missing never bothered me much, as long as I could keep the story pushing. I was also only vaguely aware of what death and loss felt like; meaning, I didn't know how to play that out so it just never happened ‘on screen’. But I was so deeply attached that when it got taken away from me, I mourned the loss of the little girl in me. My childhood had been seized from me before I was ready to let go. Would I ever have been ready to let go? I played with them up until around 14, despite the subtle comments from my grandmother that I “needed friends my own age”. I had friends my own age, but they weren’t like me. They didn’t understand me, but Barbies could because they were me and I was them. I was always Barbie and Barbie was always me.

But this wasn’t just a long, on-going TV show I was producing in my head; it was a way for me to process things. I could act out scenes with dolls and not be misunderstood because I was in control of the narrative. I didn’t have to explain myself to my dolls; they knew what I meant the first time. And I knew who I was by looking at them— who they had become over the years. How their characters changed, how their hair length changed, how their clothing changed, how they were broken and put back together with tape. The stories got sadder, deeper, and harder to explain to even to my closest friend[2]They grew with me because they were an extension of me. I was always Barbie and Barbie was always me.

I was an existential kid. This is not meant to glorify it, I am simply stating what is true. I started dreading my birthday after I turned ten when I realized I would now always be in the double digits and probably wouldn’t reach the triple digits. I cried on my birthdays. I cried when I graduated elementary school. I cried when I graduated middle school. I cried when I graduated High school. I weeped when I graduated college. Growing older has always felt like a punishment. Each year had more growing pains than the last. Before I even knew women had an expiration date, I was terrified of running out of time.

I never felt like I was enough. I was never the best at anything. I was never known for anything. Maybe I was a product of my time, but with every passing year there was less of a chance of me becoming the “dancer/singer/archer/artist/respectable human that’s ONLY __ years old!” The older you get, the less impressive that statement becomes. I missed my window of opportunity to become a child prodigy. You don’t get on The Ellen Show by doing something that’s typical for your age. You don’t win America’s Got Talent by being ‘kind of okay’ at something. What value do I have if I’m just average? If I am just a background character in my own life, why should I celebrate my birthday? Why should I celebrate being a girl? Being a woman, of all things?

For a very long time I didn’t feel like I had a proper girlhood because I wasn’t into makeup, I wasn’t into boys, so I didn’t feel connected to my straight friends on the level they were (or at least pretended to be). I felt like I was doing something wrong or was missing something very obvious. Like everyone was a part of this secret club where they understood what being a girl meant. I only knew what being a girl meant in relation to what not being a girl meant— it meant being different from my brothers but not quite like my mom either. It meant being made from dust and ribs, being made to suffer for sins I had no part in committing. It meant accepting that as the truth and not complaining because that’s just how things are and I should be so lucky to even be allowed to bleed. Being a woman meant being in pain, being lonely, and not being able to talk about it. I want to talk about it.

But girls don’t want to talk about that at sleepovers. They want to talk about field hockey. They wanted to talk about boys that never even looked at me, never mind knew my name. They wanted to sing songs I didn’t know the words to by bands I didn’t know. They wanted to watch TV shows I wasn’t allowed to watch in my Catholic household. They talked about feelings that I couldn’t feel because I was made of plastic. But I could be anyone because I was no one, so I smiled and nodded along.

I knew at a very young age I was different, but not in the cool way that gets you famous. In the isolating way that makes you feel like none of your friends understand you. As a young kid I had lots of different friend groups because I could adapt and mold myself to blend in. I tried a lot of different hobbies; horseback riding, gymnastics, softball, band, drawing. I could be anyone I wanted because I was nobody. I remember sitting with my counselor when I was in middle school and telling her I didn’t know how to make friends because I didn’t know who I was. The most useless phrase in existence–“just be yourself!” isn’t helpful when you don’t know who you are or who you want to be. I’ve walked around my whole life feeling like a fraud, like a caricature of a real person, a star in The Truman Show. I wasn’t real, and none of my friends were. Everything they knew about me was lies I sold them. Every conversation was one I rehearsed in my head hours before. I was made of plastic, my body hollowed out to be filled with whatever I could find to fill the cavity. I was entirely inhuman, only an alien pretending to be one of them. I was lonely and homesick for a place that didn’t exist. I was always Barbie and Barbie was always me.

Throughout my life, I have made art pieces depicting myself as anything but human because that's how I felt.[3] In high school I saw myself as my mental illness, as the representation of everything I would never become. I was spiteful, disenchanted, and convinced that I was disgraced by those closest to me. I destroyed everything I touched— ripping it apart with my hands so I could feel it between my fingers, because I needed to hold it to know it was real and not just in my head. I called myself a monster, a sinner, a caged tiger that would kill if given the chance. I could be anyone because I was no one, so I destroyed myself from the inside.

I cried watching Barbie because I saw myself over and over again in the faces of the people around me. The faces of the women around me who saw themselves in Barbie. Are we all so lost in this world that we need to be told that it’s okay to not know who you are? How badly have we been broken that we can’t imagine a world where we don't have to worry about aging, running out of time, deciding our careers? Are we destined to always feel this lost and disconnected from each other? Have I gone through life believing everyone else knew who they were when really they were faking it just as much as I was? Have they always been Barbie, too?

I left that theater knowing my brother did not feel the way I did. I know a lot of people don’t feel the way I do, and I wish I could be like them. I can never justify my desire to return to the earth and become dust and bones again; maybe in my truest form I’ll finally understand what it’s like to be a woman. Maybe I’ll finally know what the world expects of me. Maybe I’ll speak their language and know what they’re feeling. I’ll know the songs they sing, and the games they play, and I’ll be able to celebrate being a woman, celebrate my birthday without my tears putting out the candles. Maybe I’ll become human— not a monster, a sinner, or a caged tiger.

[1] I’d joke about being the God of my dolls, but my mom would never approve of the blasphemy. I hope she reads this and doesn’t blame herself for not playing with me. I hope she reads this and finally understands why I cried so hard and for so long when she gave away all my Barbies that day I got too sick to help run the yard sale. I thought maybe it was her way of punishing me for saying I would never have a daughter to pass them down to. I forgive you, but I still needed to write this. I still need people to know I am human underneath it all.

[2] Everyone wants a doll that looks like them. Maybe that’s why I used red and pink markers to draw lines on my doll’s legs. I don’t know how to explain that to people without them becoming scared of me. I was only 13.

[3] I still feel this way sometimes, but I don’t hate myself for it anymore. I think I am misunderstood in the way that tall people were mistaken for giants in the Bible, or hallucinations were mistaken for visions from God.

#barbie #the barbie movie #this is what makes us girls

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z-h-i-e · 2 years ago

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Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

Depending on where I am in my life, I feel like a different character dominates that phase. It's hard to say favorite, absolute favorite, though when pressed I tend to still default to Glorfindel for Tolkien fandom and Panthro for ThunderCats and call it a day. (Pokemon is easy, Rocketshipper for Life, they cannot be separated.)

With ThunderCats, I know that I latched onto Cheetara immediately. Cheetahs were my favorite animal, and there are many things about Cheetara I can relate to. But the more I watched, rewatched, obsessed over, and delved into ThunderCats, I found myself making the rounds to Tygra, and Alluro, and coming around to Panthro in the midst of it, so that by the time I was in college, I created my first website (Panthro's Pad). It was good times. The biggest thing that locked that in -- the ancient email RP for ThunderCats, and both Cheetara and Tygra were taken, but somehow Panthro was not (I also played Snarfer in that RP game - Snarfer, the Wesley Crusher of ThunderCats.)

Now that we're past the opening act, on to Tolkien.

I don't think reader or follower reactions have swayed me in a big picture way, but individuals certainly have given me unknown nudges. Art has swayed me -- if you want a thing to happen, especially in Bunniverse, send me some art. Mei, Siesta, SayAye, TICS, and others who provided visual nudges knew what my kryptonite is.

My introduction was The Hobbit; I liked Gollum (bet you didn't expect that!) and Thranduil. I also knew of Glorfindel prior to that, but did not actually find out 'who is that exactly?' until getting to Lord of the Rings. From the Bakshi film, I liked Elrond. From the Rankin & Bass (which -- spoiler -- I don't think I would have started to root in this fandom without that, the fact that the animation style of those films and ThunderCats are the same production company -- that made a big impact for me) I liked... the orcs! But also, Smaug. And, still Thranduil.

Do you know how fucking confused I was, sitting in the theatre, opening night, to watch PJ's Fellowship, and a white Legolas, not a green Legolas, appears on screen? That was my WTF? moment.

And then, enter Haldir.

That line, "The Dwarf breathes so loud..."?

That was my ringtone on my flip phone for a while.

Anyhow.

Back when Yahoo Groups were a thing, and riffing was a thing (riffing is writing little narratives with the authors interacting with their characters/muses), I proclaimed that my muses at that time consisted of Haldir, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Thranduil. Just about everything had one of them somewhere in the story.

Oh, and Celeborn, but that's just because I found Marton Csokas extremely attractive. That's right, while my contemporaries wanted to be princesses of Mirkwood, I was finding ways to be the homewrecker of Lothlorien.

I found that I slowly shifted from that line-up when I moved from apartment-land to house-ville. In the first month of moving, I was in two car accidents -- one terrible that totaled my car GLRFNDL, and one just frightening and involving a deer and mauling GLRFNDL the second not even a month after the first.

I went from being "the" author to being...lonely -- since you're anon and I can't know if you know this, in 2006 I had MCed the Tolkien Track of Dragon*Con. I had around 750 posted stories at that point, including a massive WIP about Gondolin at a time when one didn't find much about Gondolin, that was very read (random people encountering me and telling me they read it level; combined reads on that thing across multiple sites are at a seven digit figure, very much 'how is this my life?' headspace of people wanting things signed or sending me gifts (I have a collection of 70 purple stuffed bunnies from fans, and also, many people during those days would send me gift cards for cheesecake or in one instance, I was FEDEXed an actual cheesecake -- you haven't lived until you have to pick up a cheesecake and sign for it with your fandom name and prove you are your fandom name to the people at FEDEX).

But I had the accidents. I still have PTSD from the first one -- to this day, I can't drive a vehicle that is low to the ground. SUV, Truck - fine. This has been sad news for ERESTOR, a cozy station wagon I own, but can't drive anymore. And I was injured. My leg was so swollen that I couldn't wear pants for several weeks, and my knee had been slammed into the console so stairs were not a good option. I had a bruise the shape of the seat belt that stuck around many weeks (though, better than the alternative! always buckle up!). There were cuts in many places on top of my head. The most noticeable thing was the gash that ran from just beside my eye down my cheek all the way to my chin. I am very fortunate I had a doctor who was amazing in treating me that I don't have a scar that is seen. My neck and back have not been the same since; air travel since then has ceased because I don't know if I can sit through the flights.

My morale was low; I wasn't the super fun person I had been prior to the first accident. I couldn't sit and type things out for lengthy periods as I once had; I had to rely on voice chats or speech-to-text (which sucked a lot at that time). There were nights I got home from work and I just sat in the chair in the living room until I fell asleep because I was too tired to do anything else.

And most people in fandom didn't want to just sit in a call that was mostly silent, or talk about things other than fandom, or sit and watch a TV show with me so that I didn't feel alone.

But Britt did, and Jules did, and they kept me around these parts, and they got me sidetracked into something else.

OCs.

(Also, Jules and I RPed a massive all the Rivendell characters plus Ereinion thing, I don't know if we'll ever find everything we did, but what we did do was fun, and also, therapeutic. Britt introduced me to LOTRO, and I wouldn't have Eledu -- and OC Britt created and then slowly was gifted over to me --without the bad things that happened. I wouldn't have Bainith, Baynor, Fauneth, and so many other lovely characters to round out Middle-earth.)

This was also a darker period of writing. Rainbow in the Dark and Unforgivable were written at that time; Morgoth crept into my bunny hutch. Sauron was suddenly there, terrorizing my muses. Eventually, I needed a way to pull myself out of the self-imposed Void I was in.

And I remembered Fingon.

Near the end of the apartment-land time, I had been working through some stories (most notably Citius Altius Fortius) with Fingon. My own sibling family unit is four sibs -- the second one is the tallest one, very tall, very business, very fierce; third is a girl, and one who at 18 left the state for adventure elsewhere in the world. There were a lot of parallels, and I revisited what I had been doing, and started to write things reflective of my own experiences into things for that sibling group, but especially Fingon (I am the oldest). I went on a sort of 'what would Fingon do' quest. I remember just, driving places I'd never been before, on a Saturday, abruptly, no prior plan, or doing things like, wow, that a strange giant insect crawling around, guess I'll just scoop it up in my hands and take it back to nature (not a thing I'd have done before, that's for damned sure). But I wrote some of it into what I called The Private Reserve, posting it in places that were somewhat need to know, invite only to find. I started to think, I needed to stop being autobiographical and start twisting in fiction, so now, writings about Fingon are less obvious what is based on truths and what is made up, because then I felt I could put those stories out there. J helped with that, too -- making the art of Glorfindel, Erestor, and Fingon that made me decide that Erestor didn't have to choose - why not both?

Writing collaboratively also meant that Fingon's stories leaned further into fiction, and Gildor and Maedhros, characters I once personally did not like, got a second chance and now were no longer the secret villains, but beloved characters to write about.

Asfaloth. I've always enjoyed writing Asfaloth as more than a horse, as THE horse, as the secret identity of Nahar, and with the ability to talk (but unlike Huan, talking far more than three times).

Then -- pandemic. Isolation. Things happen in cycles. I had been once again in that strange place of running into people who I didn't really know telling me they'd read all my fics, going to regional conventions and getting white glove treatment, etc. And then -- there were no conventions, no gatherings, similar to my experiences after the car accidents.

This time, though, while everyone else was locked in at home, I was out. I ended up redeployed on a special project, running 3D printers, trying to develop a version of a print on demand mask that would be as effective as an N95 (we hoped for one; we managed four; we were shut down because there was a fear that legally someone might sue if they used one of them and still got covid -- they are flexible and comfortable and breathable and when I wore them I never got covid, as I was testing constantly, but I digress). I had to keep myself occupied, in scenarios where either I was out in a dystopic world all by myself or with one other person who was on the project. I kept papers in my car to prove it was okay for me to be outside. It was a different time.

The prior year, I'd written a choose your own adventure story about Finrod Felagund called Werewelves. It was written mostly while I was outside, as my mother-in-law stayed with us twice; once when her lease for an apartment she had lived in for 33 years wasn't renewed and again when her new apartment caught fire (on my birthday, and I was the one who went over and saved her and her cat - my other origin point for PTSD - fire is not my friend). And I thought a lot about that story, and suddenly, a character I used mainly as a footnote in stories about Galadriel or Fingon was very very present.

My current vehicle is FINROD. That's how present this muse has been.

And, because things do come full circle at times, Thranduil (not green anymore, I've finally accepted non-green Thranduil for some things) is all up in all the writing business, too, and he brought the wife, so Avisiel is around about.

So that is where I am currently at, as I sit beneath a banner for the House of the Golden Flower writing this. Who knows what will happen next?

...but I did have a dream about Maeglin last night...

Link back to the question list for those who want to ask more questions (and get these novel-length responses): https://at.tumblr.com/z-h-i-e/asks-are-always-open-drops-numbers-here-there/g7eyggcu5bc8

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delopsia · 1 year ago

Text

Hello and welcome to Del's Outer Range S1 E5 thoughts and wonderings! We are officially going off the deep end, folks!

Wayne absolutely rocked Royal's world.

How I feel every time I come back to Tumblr with my bullshit. Particularly with this thoughts and wonderings series.

Enjoy your two-hour trip to the hospital, Wayne!

Interesting. In one shot, Royal has two bloody wounds on his upper chest; in the next, it's gone.

Lovely to see you here, Trev.

"Time's a motherfucker." Hwat.

That there is a grade-A concussion, Royal.

Hello again, ominous sign

Love that we never addressed what was setting the dogs off? Just boom, Rhett and Perry working on the fence. Can't wait for you two to find out about your west pasture fence!

Why are you so needlessly hot

It's just now hit me that when Perry apologizes, Rhett doesn't even look at him.

I spy Rhett's truck <3

Why is Autumn so hellbent on getting her necklace back?

I feel like Cecelia's suspicious that Royal's having an affair...just a hunch.

Y'all seen my rant about this once, you're gonna hear it again

Where the fuck did the lightning rod on the top of the building go

Hello, clearly not green-screened pictures. Featuring a second one that is definitely not the exact same png of the Abbott's layered onto a different background...

I WANNA TAKE CARNIVAL PHOTOS WITH RHETTTTTTT

Sorry

Lost myself for a second there

It will happen again

I could listen to Dr. Nia Bintu talk for the rest of my life.

Now what...look at this. Royal turns to look at something, and this black-framed picture is behind him. Three people standing for a picture. Look at the background.

But then he turns around to look at it, and—

Not only is the picture different, but this is the same company logo we saw in the E2 flashback, revealing what Royal saw when he went into the hole.

There's a common theory on the OR Subreddit that BY9 stands for "before year nine," referring to how Royal says he can't remember anything from before the age of nine.

Then he turns around, and it's normal again

I am being gaslit by a magic cowboy tv show.

Royal harassing some poor librarian into using the computer for him and then using the pay phone 😭 old man behavior.

"Two bears came out of the woods and mauled 42 of the boys," well damn. Bible study is wild.

Cecelia continues to have trouble connecting to her faith.

I, personally, would crawl out of my skin if a group of women put their hands on me and prayed, but I'm glad Cecelia feels like she's got her support system here.

Cecelia, girl, you could have guessed that Patricia wouldn't have wanted to see your face, all things considered 😭

I aspire to be this comfy, taking a nap in the Wyoming wilderness.

Now why are we so on the nose with the bear cub

The tires in the background imply the Abbott's own some sort of farm/ranch equipment. @OR Writers, can we pleaseeeee see Rhett driving it next season?

The way that the cub is so obviously a doll...better than the CGI bear, ig.

Why is Cecelia trying to bury the cub?

And why does she give up right after she's done digging the hole to put it in the shed instead?

I need to be muzzled. My first thought was, imagine sneaking around and hooking up with Rhett in this shed.

Found momma bear

Billy's flashback to when Wayne was sane, ouch.

"Just because you say something to a person doesn't necessarily mean you mean it."

Poor Matt was just asking what she wanted to eat; now he's subject to Joy's ramblings.

Now Joy is suspicious of Perry. So am I, girl! Keep investigating!

That thing talking inside of you, Joy? It's us, the entire fandom.

ARREST PERRY

"It's in me too, you know," was the wisest thing Perry ever said. Whatever weirdness Royal has going on in him, that rage, it's in Perry.

Cecelia quotes Autumn's "you don't truly know a person" spheal. Please don't let this be an implication of more to come.

Seeing Autumn and Perry go out and have fun at a concert, with the foresight of knowing she's his daughter, is so cute. If only life was normal for the Abbotts, and Perry got to take his daughter Amy to the same concerts he loves.

Aaand now begins the bullshit.

"Whatever you're wrapped up in with your family, I don't want any part of it." Said Maria, an episode before she decided to hook up with Rhett. With no further communication following that statement.

They're so all over each other.

Rhett, taking off his hat, was hot.

I'm sorry

I told you it would happen again.

One chance, your honor. Once chance, I beg.

Perry's, "we argued, I went to bed, and she was gone," feels too clean to me, but alas. I have no proof of a crime. Only a hunch the size of Texas.

"What if I told you it's possible to understand what happened to her, even without knowing exactly what happened to her?" Girl what. Did the hole swallow her up? Royal take her for a ride out back?

Autumn's gonna be really excited when she finds out her necklace was crushed...

How come the powder in the rock doesn't work immediately? Did Royal have to activate it in some fashion for it to work?

Nothing quite like a vision of yourself on your deathbed...

Autumn has a necklace with more of the magic stuff in it

And thus, Royal panics, and I feel sweet, sweet relief at the cut to black.

I am once again free 💃

Rewatching Outer Range for the umpteenth time. Will slowly reblog with random thoughts and theories.

#Del's Outer Range thoughts and wonderings

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wepsi · 2 years ago

Text

Sexting Lucifer during his meeting (smut)

It is literally 8AM rn XD Female reader, established relationship

TW: sexting, masturbation, sex toy, orgasm denial, dom/sub, slight chocking, sexting pictures, public setting, punishment, implied sex,begging

U for you, L for lucifer

Scenario: You were laying on Lucifer's bed texting him, waiting for him to come home after another long day.

Another night that Lucifer won't be coming home till late, this wasn't unusual but tonight you were feeling particularly lonely, maybe it was because your period just ended and you wanted some intimacy. You tried sending him a text, he wasn't always able to respond but today you wanted to try your luck.

U: When will you be getting home tonight my morning star?

You wait a few minutes growing disappointed, maybe he's busy... But just as you set your phone down it buzzed lightly, and you couldn't have picked it up faster.

L: I have a two hour meeting I am waiting to attend at the moment, after that my love I will return as soon as possible.

You blush and smile at your screen, shyly typing out...

U: I miss you :(

Lucifer was sitting outside the meeting room waiting for the previous one to end to start his. Seeing his screen light up with your message he chuckles to himself, you are so cute.

L: Be a good girl and wait patiently for me, I will return promptly to you when I am dismissed.

Did he know what he does to you when he calls you that, after a week of no sex and his absent you felt incredibly needy. A hand sneaking down in your pajama pants, surprised that you were soaked, did your body crave him that much?

Fondling yourself as your head becomes hazy and body becomes hot, you were imaging Lucifer's fingers as your own and slowly that wasn't enough. Going to your room retrieving one of your toys, something you brought from the human realm but never needed after going out with Lucifer ;). Eyeing the small pink dildo vibrator you gulped, it was definitely not Lucifer sized but it will have to do. After pleasing yourself for a few minutes mind becoming blurrier you had an idea, embarrassment replaced by need, you knew this message would earn you a punishment but you were a brat after all. With one hand you shakily type out and send the message, excited and nervous to wait for the response.

U: I'm really wet and craving you right now.

At this point Lucifer was already in his meeting, phone on the table faced down, for anyone else his notifications are muted but for you they are always on. Hearing his phone buzz, Lucifer tilts one side of the screen up and glances at the notification, but immediately slams it down when he sees the content of the message. "Is everything alright?" Diavolo asks. "Everything is just fine do not worry." Lucifer pretends to be calm while he blushes slightly and his pants becoming tighter and uncomfortable. He takes his phone and messages you under the table, Diavolo leaves him alone the rest of the meeting, he never texts during meetings so it must be important right?

L: What is the meaning of this?

Mauling over the ways this can play out, and getting hornier by the second he types again.

L: Are you pleasing yourself at this moment?

You bite your lip, pleased that he's giving you attention over all his other duties. You decided to reward him, switching your phone camera on, and taking a picture of yourself from a higher angle. Making sure to get everything in the picture, the lewd flushed face you were making and your hand still in your pajamas with a slightly damp spot at the crotch.

Since it took you a few minutes to get the perfect shot Lucifer put his phone down but waits very impatiently. Trying not to look too desperate to pick it back up when it buzzed again. A photo sent? He could not have opened it faster while his heart was beating out of his chest with excitement.

There you were in all of your glory, making that face that only he can see, his eyes trail down your arm and the disappeared hand. His hard on getting slightly painful at the sight of your wet spot, but wait? from the bulge of your bottoms there is something else there.

L: Are you using something else down there too hmm? I don't remember giving permission for that.

You gulped but hands not stopping anytime soon.

L: As a punishment, show me what it is

U: No! that's too embarrassing >w<

L: This is not a request this is a order, now show me what my good girl uses to make herself feel good.

I mean who could say no to such a hot demand from such a hot demon. The fact he's in public reading these messages only added to the excitement. You pull the dildo out, holding it in your hand and took a picture then sent it.

At this point the phone is not on the table but firmly in Lucifer s hands, the meeting fading in the background already. When the photo sent it was hard to hide his excitement. Seeing your slick coating the little pink toy got him blushing so hard he had to hide his face with his hands. He also finally notices you were on his bed this whole time.

L: You just can't wait for me to come over and fuck you isn't that right?

Another photo sent, this one the same as others , except your bra is gone and your were fondling your breast, pinching your nipples just like he would, face even more flushed than before. God why didn't you guys sext before, thought Lucifer, this would make everyday so much more bearable at work, damn maybe even exciting.

L: I know you're about to cum, but you can only tease yourself until I give you permission to orgasm.

You were so so close though, you couldn't disobey him, but you wanted to cum so bad. The only way was to beg you knew.

U: Please Lucifer please I'm so close

L: Please what?

You knew he was looking for something dirtier, so through the shame you typed.

U: Please let me cum, I want to cum so bad, I'll be your good girl later tonight so please?

After a pause, satisfied with the answer he replies.

L: Ok pretty girl I'll allow just this one, cum for me

Having the permission now you let yourself go, quickening the pace like he would've while imagine him whispering all these thing in your ear while fucking you. You've masturbated before so why does this feel so much better with him involved?

Coming off from the high you felt the embarrassment of what you did sinking in, what if he didn't actually like this he's just putting up with you and you distracted him from his meeting.

U: Are..are you enjoying this or am I just bothering you

The last thing he wants is to discourage you from doing this again so if encouragement is what you want it's what you're going to get. You get a string of texts from Lucifer that would make any one blush.

Those photos made me so hard, what do you have to say for yourself?

As punishment,I'm going to tie you up and tease you when I get home

God I can't wait to taste you and feel you on my skin

I'm going to make you feel so fucking good tonight my good girl

I'm already so hard thinking about what I'm going to do to you

I'm going to bend you over the bed and have my way with you

I want your clothes off the second I walk through the door

Scratch that I'll be home in a hour. I want you naked and on the bed when I walk in

You felt yourself getting wet again at those scandalous messages and as if he knew your phone buzzed again.

Be a good girl and make your pussy wet for me in preparation for when I return

An hour later...

Lucifer calmly walks through his bedroom door, though his pants gave away how calm he actually was, he walks to the bed and pulls your face up to his by your neck and hums,

"Distracting me like that, did you really think you would get away with this? I'm going to make you a mess tonight." ..............................................................................................................................

Part two is posted!

Check out my master list for more content!

Authors note: Phew this was a long one, I had to do some *cough* research *cough* to get the roles down, tell me how I did!

#obeymesmut #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me smut #obey me lucifer #obey me luci x reader #lucifer obey me #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #lucifer fanfiction #obey me female mc #smut #obey me lucifer smut

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checkoutmybookshelf · 2 years ago

Text

The Polin Fic (Part 3 of 3)

Hello friends! I have written a Polin fic to pass the time between seasons of Bridgerton, and I thought I might share for those of you who also ship. This is arguably safe for work, but anyone with medical/wound/illness triggers may want to give this one a pass.

This is the final instalment of the story. It follows largely the show continuity, with the odd bit of book continuity in there.

This is PART 3, so if you're just finding this now, head on back to my blog (I'm pretty sure that's what we call our tumblr pages? I am a tumblr novice) and check out Parts 1 and 2. They are also available on Ao3.

Anna took one look at the slightly at sea Bridgerton men and–masterfully restraining an eye roll–proceeded to sort out the mess that was the tea tray. It was still covered in spilled milk, porcelain shards, and uneaten food. Additionally, there were two basins of pinkish water and a pile of dirty cloths that needed attending. She rang for another maid, who appeared promptly, and the pair got the room back in some semblance of order.

While the maids were setting the room to rights, Colin walked to the window and stared out, both to avoid being underfoot by pacing and because from that vantage point, he could keep a tacit eye on Penelope. As he watched the sky turn peach and rose with lavender edges, he regretted his choice somewhat. As a seasoned traveler, he knew better than most that nights could be long, and Dr. Taylor’s words rang in his ears: if she survives the night.

Twice during his travels in Greece and Cyprus, he had heard the phrase “if they survive the night.” The first had been after a horse was mauled by a wildcat the party had failed to see in time to shoot, the second after a member of the travel party had taken a bad fall. Neither had seen dawn. In both instances, however, Colin had had his hands full with tasks, keeping the fire going, ensuring the rest of the horses and pack animals were tended, and other camp chores. He had kept himself distracted and useful, and when he had run out of camp chores as his colleague lay dying by the fire, he had distracted himself by writing to Penelope. His hands were fidgeting, wishing for similar distractions now.

Anthony moved to stand beside Colin, hands tucked neatly behind his back, watching the sun set.

“I don’t know how you did it,” said Anthony, quietly. Colin hummed an unspoken question in response, eyes fixed on the horizon. “As soon as I realized the doctor had Kate in hand after her accident, I couldn’t remain in the room. The thought of watching her go…seeing with my own eyes that I had lost her was more than I could have stood. And yet, you stayed with Miss Featherington.” Colin’s jaw worked for a moment before he snorted.

“Just when I thought you all might have at least read my letters, even if you did not write back.”

“Colin, this does not compare to the horse–”

“Of course it does not! We lost one of our party in Greece as well.” Colin was silent for a moment before admitting, “That does not compare either, not truly.” The two men stood quietly as the sun slid fully below the horizon, and the maids in the room lit candles.

From the corner of his eye, Colin could see that Penelope was growing restive, her head turning back and forth on the pillow, and her body shifting as much as it might without causing undue strain on her wound. Something about the candlelight accentuated the pained scrunch of her face. Were her eyes open? Colin was not aware of moving to her side; he simply found himself there.

“Pen, are you awake?” he asked. Her eyes turned toward him, but they still held the empty, glassy, nightmare look; she did not register his presence. She seemed to be in the throes of a fever dream as she whispered, “No, she shall not have Whistledown.” Her voice died away to incoherent mumbling as she continued to gently thrash beneath the covers.

Damned bloody Lady Whistledown. Colin stood abruptly and nearly knocked over the dressing screen as he emerged beyond it to pace the room, furious. Even delirious from fever and with her life hanging in the balance, Penelope was still choosing Lady Whistledown. He couldn’t seem to merge Lady Whistledown and Penelope in his head. There was Pen—beautiful, clever, vibrant Pen, who had been a fixture in his life since they were both children and whose letters had been his constant companions during his travels—and some faceless harridan who had challenged the crown, nearly ruined Eloise, and succeeded in aborting his and Marina’s elopement. And in Colin’s head, the harridan was firmly to blame for putting Pen in danger. Without Lady Whistledown, he reasoned, Lord Andrew would never have ordered Pen killed, she would never have been exposed, and the queen would not have threatened her life. She would not be lying before him, hanging on to life by a thread.

When the door opened, Colin’s head snapped toward it with nearly a snarl. A footman entered, handing Anthony a note. Reading it, Anthony sighed. “I am summoned to see Lady Danbury. If anything changes with Miss Featherington, Colin, call for the doctor and then have me fetched. And do not frighten the maid, scowling so.” He clapped a hand on Colin’s shoulder, then left the room, leaving Colin and Penelope alone, save for Anna, who was unobtrusively blending into a corner, a bit of mending in her hands.

Finding himself largely alone with his thoughts and increasingly too tired to pace, Colin went to draw a chair to Penelope’s bedside and stopped. He was caught between how alarmingly right the action felt, his anger at Whistledown, and the sense that the entirety of the ton would disapprove. Colin growled. He’d been quick enough to ignore propriety when Anthony and their mother were in the room; why on earth would he hesitate now? With a bit more scraping and squeaking against the floor than absolutely necessary, Colin moved the chair to where he could easily take Pen’s hand and sat, arms crossed over his chest, scowl still firmly on his face.

“Were it not for Lady Whistledown, I’d be coming to talk to you about this,” he informed her. “It was always you I wrote to when I felt uncertain in my travels.” He reached again for a letter he was not carrying, sighed, and rubbed at his eyes instead. They felt grainy from a lack of sleep. When he realized he was fidgeting because he was waiting for Penelope to answer him, he forced himself to stop. The fever and infection had her in their grip; she was not going to respond to him. She would not simply wake up and tell him that Lady Whistledown was gone for good and that she would be the Pen he had always known.

Except…

Before she had been out in society, she had been a fixture in the Bridgerton household but as Eloise’s friend, primarily. It had not truly been until Pen’s first social season that she and Colin had really gotten to know one another, and how much her letters had meant to him on his travels had initially been a surprise. Thinking of her letters, Colin realized that if he had stopped and thought for more than a moment and held Pen’s letters and issues of Whistledown up beside each other, he would have been able to see similarities.

When Pen spoke to people at social events, it was always polite and often brief. The politeness and brevity carried into her letter writing, but the letters also revealed a wit and a deeply insightful mind that rarely came to the fore in polite society. Unlike Colin’s other correspondents, who rarely wrote enough to have developed their own voice in their letters, he could always hear Pen in her writing. She had favorite turns of phrase, particular ways of constructing sentences to make him laugh or rethink an argument that had been overly shallow. Occasionally, she even revealed flashes of how widely she had read with an allusion that he would have expected from Benedict or Lumley, not a gently reared young lady who was expected to have read enough to be “accomplished,” but not so much as to develop thoughts of her own.

Lady Whistledown’s voice was sharper, harder, and more overtly authoritative than Pen’s in her letters, but the sentence construction was too similar to be coincidence. Her easy, casual use of parentheticals in her letters to clarify a fact for him or drop a joke to make him smile was simply a softer version of Whistledown’s use of them to highlight a fact or offer a particularly cutting piece of commentary. If he recalled correctly, both the barb about Penelope looking like an overripe citrus in her yellow dresses and the reference to Kate Sharma as a shrew had been parentheticals in Whistledown, and both were near-identical in construction and placement, as many of Pen’s own observations to him about other matters. Furthermore, typical scandal sheets often either refrained from using dependent phrases and clauses in that way—for fear that their primary audience of gently-bred young ladies would be left behind in understanding—or preferred dashes.

Equally similar were Pen and Whistledown’s ways of seeing the world. Pen herself was softer in her assessment of marriage mart prospects in her letters to Colin, but the way she framed the marriage mart and the ton itself were, now he stopped to compare the two, shatteringly similar to Whistledown. Pen’s challenges to his thoughts, his assumptions, and his worldview were simply softly dropped lace cousins of the leather gauntlets Lady Whistledown had hurled at the queen’s feet.

If anything, Pen had been taking an enormous risk by writing to him so consistently. Colin himself was more than a casual writer. Pen knew of and encouraged his journaling while he traveled. He had been thinking of asking her to read them when he had returned, before he had put his foot so firmly in his mouth. But of the entire ton, Colin had known how Penelope wrote. And while there were differences in tone and content, it was fairly clear on close inspection that Pen’s and Whistledown’s voices were one and the same. Only Colin could have made that connection; Pen didn’t write to Eloise often, the two preferred to spend time together in person. Penelope had given Colin the means to uncover her secret, had trusted him not to, and he had simply failed to see it. Had failed to see her.

His stomach dropped through the floor as he realized the full extent of his second betrayal. It hadn’t been leaving without saying goodbye; it had been failing to see her and—as Benedict had said—asking her to be less than she was. His inability to see that she and Whistledown were one and the same, and that Whistledown was almost certainly simply a manifestation of Penelope’s own strength, wit, and skill had led him to dismiss that part of her. To ask her to abandon it. Small wonder she had ordered him out and not trusted him to carry out her plan; he had given her ample grounds to mistrust him—twice.

For the first time, Colin could see Pen’s plan with the final issue of Whistledown clearly. Not, as his siblings had suggested, by removing Pen from the equation, but by reconciling Pen and Whistledown and seeing her as truly herself. She had very neatly gotten exactly what she wanted and hamstrung the queen’s ability to fake Whistledown or publicly accuse Pen herself of treason for criticizing the crown. And she had done it from what was essentially a prison cell, with a stab wound (and the resulting fever), while sidestepping his clumsy attempts to stop her.

Penelope’s breathing began to rasp in her throat.

Colin surged forward in his seat, thinking she couldn’t breathe. Anna was at Penelope’s side as well, efficiently checking her pulse and airway. Then she took Penelope’s hand and gently pinched it. The small peak took long moments to melt away. Anna looked troubled as she lowered the hand.

“She can breathe, I think,” she said. “But she has not had anything to drink today, and I do not know that she has since the first time her stitches popped. Someone really ought to go for the doctor…” her voice trailed off, knowing that Colin was not going to do the proper thing and suggest that he himself fetch the doctor. She sighed when he proved her right and merely rose to pour a glass of water before returning to his seat.

“I will try to wake her enough to drink something while you are gone,” he said firmly.

“My lord, it’s hardly proper,” she began.

“Hang proper, Miss Featherington is extremely ill,” he snapped. Anna turned on her heel and marched out. The best she could do now was be quick.

Colin turned back to Penelope. He was loath to try shaking her awake, not wanting to jostle her wound. He settled for patting her cheek while calling her name. He was alarmed by how hot and dry her face was; with a fever that high, ought she not be clammier? They must get water into her. She could not succeed so brilliantly only to succumb to this. He would not lose her.

Penelope roused enough to turn her face away from him—he patted incrementally harder, avoiding the hand-shaped bruise that still shadowed her face. Her eyes finally flickered open.

“Colin?” Her voice sounded as though her vocal cords had been replaced with wood rasps.

“Yes, Pen, it’s me. You must drink something, here.” She was cognizant enough that she shakily took hold of the glass, though Colin maintained a grip on it just in case. She took a tiny sip, swirled it around her mouth for a moment, swallowed, and lowered the glass.

“Where has Lady Danbury gone?” she asked.

“Pen that was last night. A day has passed. What do you remember?” Sheer panic crossed Penelope’s face.

“A day! No, no, it cannot have, I must get the next Whistledown to print. The queen cannot be allowed to have it.” She tried to rise, to get out of the bed, but was unable to even push herself to a sitting position. Body trembling, Penelope tried again, fighting Colin’s gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Let me up, Colin. I must—”

“Pen, Whistledown went to print. It is all right, you succeeded. Please, Pen, just rest. Drink a little more.” He held the glass out to her again. She took another small sip, eyes glassy but still appearing to see the room.

Expecting their mothers—undoubtedly furious at the lack of a chaperone in the room—and the doctor at any moment, Colin took a chance.

“Penelope, I owe you several very large apologies.”

Penelope took another sip of water to hide her incredulity. He wanted to do this now of all times? When she was fighting all out to stay present and barely succeeding? Already, there were creeping stars and darkness at the edges of her vision, and she simply did not want to pay attention to the black hole of pain and wrongness that was her abdomen. But naturally, Colin chose that moment to attempt to make amends. She might have laughed had she been alone and sure that laughing wouldn’t overwhelm her.

“Colin, I assure you there is no need–”

“Pen, there is every need. I behaved like an utter cad with no regard for how my words or actions would affect you–affect our friendship…” He petered off, suddenly uncomfortable. He had to apologize, had to set things right between them, but “our friendship” had felt dissatisfying, empty. The phrase no longer encompassed all Pen was to him. He fumbled, quite unable to find another phrase and finish the sentence.

For her part, Penelope was simply waiting for him to finish. He had made his feelings quite clear when he said he would never court her and clearer still when he had casually suggested she abandon Whistledown. She would not waste her energy here and now hoping that he had changed his mind, that he could see all of her, and find it in himself to meet her love with his own. However, she could not find it in herself to order him out again. If he needed his guilt assuaged, fine. She could do that much, and then she could rest. And when she recovered–she refused to listen to the creeping voice in the back of her mind that whispered “if” as it watched the swirling shadows at the edges of her vision–she would mourn Whistledown and then pick herself up, turn herself to the future, and leave Colin Bridgerton behind.

The silence between them stretched on, Colin feeling more and more the fool for being unable to finish his sentence or his overall apology, and Penelope increasingly understanding that she was losing the battle to stay conscious. She wanted him to finish his sentence, or perhaps begin a new one. Something, anything for her to focus on and help keep the darkness back.

She had forgotten about the glass of water in her hand until Colin’s expression changed from chagrin to concern, and he took the dangerously tilting glass from her hand.

“Pen? Are you all right? Are you still with me?” To Penelope, he sounded very far away. The breath she took to tell him that she was still there was too sharp, too deep. The pain and darkness pulled Penelope down once again, Colin’s face fixed in her mind’s eye.

As Penelope’s face twisted in pain and her eyes fluttered closed on him again, Colin caught both her hands, as though he could anchor her to consciousness. It was a long while before her face began to relax, and Colin had to pay close attention to ensure that she was breathing at all. It struck him then that Anna had said she would fetch the doctor, and she had still not returned. He did not imagine for a moment that the girl had dawdled, so what was keeping her?

“It seems Lady Whistledown was wrong, then,” said a voice behind Colin. “A rare occurrence indeed.” As he whirled and rose, Colin hid behind a polite bow the step that put him bodily between Penelope’s still form and the woman who had threatened her life.

“I beg your pardon, your Majesty?” Colin asked, wanting nothing so much as to get himself and Penelope out of this encounter with their skins intact.

“Lady Whistledown wrote that you, Mr. Bridgerton, would never dream of courting the youngest Miss Featherington. And yet, here you are. Rumors of my displeasure with the young miss are rampant; most of the ton have abandoned the Featheringtons as lost to society at best and about to be banished in disgrace at worst. And yet you risk your own reputation and that of your family over a girl you would reportedly never consider courting. You even risk her reputation–what is left of it–by remaining at her side, quite unchaperoned.

So, Mr. Bridgerton, either you are the worst imaginable sort of rake or else the Bridgerton family’s penchant for finding love matches with the absolute maximum amount of scandal possible has once again come to the fore.” The queen paused, eyeing Colin pensively.

Colin, normally effortlessly charming in even the most awkward social situations, found himself at a loss for words. This was no matchmaking mama he could put off with a clever quip and a charming grin. The queen still held Pen’s life in her hands, could still decide that Pen had to pay for everything she had printed.

“Surely, your Majesty, despite Lady Whistledown’s prodigious skill at uncovering scandal, she is not so omniscient that she could know everything that goes on,” he said. He then had to cover a gulp as the queen frowned at him, eyes darting to Penelope.

“Hmph. Do you often continue to beat the bushes after the birds have flown, Mr. Bridgerton? That makes for an extremely poor hunt.”

“I bow to your expertise, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head.

“While flattery is the obvious choice, it is also the boring one,” Queen Charlotte snapped. “You are on unfamiliar ground, Mr. Bridgerton, and the familiar choices may not be best. Your Dr. Taylor says he does not expect Miss Featherington to survive the night–do not look surprised, Mr. Bridgerton. Do not for a moment imagine I do not know all that goes on under my own roof.” She smirked at him, eyes cold. “Lady Danbury is clever, but she forgets that she cannot escape my notice; however much she may try.”

So she knew that he and Lady Danbury had visited Penelope the previous night. But she didn’t seem to know that he and Benedict had ensured that the final issue of Whistledown had gone to print. He was not about to enlighten her about his family’s role in that endeavor, but he could not let her dismissal of Pen’s chances stand.

“With all due respect, ma’am, Miss Featherington will recover,” he said. The queen raised an eyebrow at him.

“If she will be fine in the morning, then why are you here?” she asked. “Surely, propriety would have you home now and calling during respectable hours tomorrow. You cannot mistrust your family doctor, not if you specifically requested him above the royal physician.” Her tone should have been a warning, but Colin didn’t hear it.

“Miss Featherington is a dear friend, I would be at her side in adversity,” he shot back, aware that his tone bordered dangerously on insubordination. The queen rolled her eyes.

“You sound like that little American fellow, Adams. He referred to his wife in precisely the same terms when he was here for an audience in ‘85.”

“Please, do not mistake my meaning, your Majesty–” Colin began before the queen’s waved hand silenced him.

“Lie to yourself, if you wish, Mr. Bridgerton, but I am bored with Bridgertons and their inability to recognize love when it places them firmly before the displeasure of their queen.” She narrowed her eyes. “I ought to order you out, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He took a half step back until his legs contacted the edge of Penelope’s bed, anchoring himself to her.

“It is your Majesty’s prerogative to give the order,” he said, meeting her eyes directly in what ordinarily would have been a catastrophic breach of protocol. But she herself had said they were in unfamiliar territory, and he had a promise to keep that overshadowed such petty constructs as propriety and rank. That promise gave him the courage to add, “And you may test its effectiveness at your convenience.” Anthony would kill him, Colin thought distantly. Well, Anthony could join the queue. Nothing was more important than Penelope.

The clear, bone-deep truth of the thought that nothing in the world was more important than the woman on the bed behind him reframed the world around Colin. It was as though he had stepped from shifting sand dunes onto a solid stone and grounded himself. Standing between the Queen of England and the woman he loved was exactly where he should be.

Had Penelope been conscious just then, she would have seen Colin’s body language change. Generally, the “Bridgerton backbone” involved subtle jaw and shoulder tension, and a tendency to set the weight ever-so-slightly back on the left foot. That tension eased out of Colin’s jaw and shoulders, and he squared his weight center: rock-solid and sure.

Queen Charlotte’s eyes remained narrowed, but the corner of her mouth may have quirked infinitesimally. “If I recall correctly—and I am never wrong about figures—there remain five Bridgertons to attach themselves in matrimony. I should hate to set the precedent now of giving orders that Bridgertons feel they can flout. Your Dr. Taylor has been called away—another of his patients has apparently gone into labor—and will return to see the state of things in the morning. Until then, Mr. Bridgerton.” Without waiting for him to bow politely, the queen pivoted and strode from the room.

Colin’s knees went weak, and he half collapsed into the chair behind him, reaching for Penelope’s hand again.

“It’ll be all right, Pen,” he muttered. “I promise you it’ll be all right.” He realized he was gripping her hand so hard that her fingers were changing color, and he forced his hands to relax around hers.

She was too pale, the fever spots on her cheeks too red, and overall too still. Lacking a clock, Colin glanced out the dark window. He could not even see the signs of false dawn in the sky. How much longer did Pen have to hold on until she was out of danger?

She was not breathing enough to suit him. Each breath was slow and shallow, and an eternity passed between inhale and exhale. Even hunched over in his chair, he couldn’t tell that she was breathing at all. He slid off the chair onto his knees, still holding her hand as he bent his head next to hers to listen for each breath. The fever heat radiated from her face, warming his. Quite without his thinking about it, Colin’s breath matched Penelope’s. Barely a minute later, he gasped in a deep breath. How could she recover with so little air?

He had just understood that he loved Penelope. He still had to make amends for how much of an idiot he had been, to tell her how much he loved her. And yet…he may not have the chance to do so. Colin had no sense of what a world without Penelope would look like. He had no desire to even imagine what that world would look like.

Feeling as though he and Pen had fallen out of time, Colin watched her face and breathed with her, waiting for dawn.

Penelope dreamed. It began innocuously enough, even pleasantly. In her dream, Colin had not dismissed the idea of courting her or the idea that she had the skill to be Lady Whistledown, and she could simply enjoy dancing with him, as she had through two London seasons. The music changed—a waltz. He pulled her in close, closer than propriety allowed, but Pen found she didn’t mind. That was when the first bolt of lightning struck the ground a meter or two from where they waltzed.

She tried to pull Colin from the dance floor, to find some shelter, to point out that lightning was striking the floor with increasing frequency, but he did not hear, did not see. He simply held her closer, speeding his step with the tempo of the music until Pen thought she might fly apart with how frantic everything was. They had to stop; she had to breathe, had to think. If she could just have a moment—a single moment of stillness—she could form and execute a plan.

The music stopped more abruptly than a typical orchestra at a ball would, and Colin stopped just as suddenly. She barely registered the moment before Colin was struck by a bolt of lightning and fell to dust around her.

Penelope knew intellectually that her heart was still safely ensconced in her chest. But in that moment, her heart fell to the floor and was ground beneath the heel of a scowling man holding a knife. She turned to run, making it only a couple of steps before she sunk to the knee in a mass the consistency of tar, but smelling like ink. Time and space stretched as one moment Pen was alone in the morass, and the next the knife-wielder was before her. She accumulated cut after cut—all largely superficial—as she struggled to put one foot before the other to get herself away, get herself stable, get herself safe. She could do this; she had done far more with far less and walked without fear through the city in the wee hours. She had nearly single-handedly kept her family afloat financially in the wake of her father’s murder.

She heard voices echo across the span of the mire as she struggled. Her mama, reminding her of all her insecurities about her body, her weight, and whether she would find love. Prudence and Philippa, cruel simply because they were bored. Cressida Cowper’s voice deriding Penelope without saying a single thing that was in itself cruel or mean-spirited but taken as a whole was a damning disparagement of Penelope’s existence. Eloise’s voice, insisting that Whistledown could do more, more, before finally repudiating not Lady Whistledown but Penelope herself. An insipid wallflower, indeed. I wish never to see or speak to you again. Eloise’s voice made her shudder deep in her chest, and tears slid down her face, but she kept moving forward. She could do this. She would do this no matter what anyone else said.

She kept listening.

Ordinarily, it was no trouble to block out the voices that pinched and stabbed at her heart, but she was listening for the one voice that was unfailingly supportive and never failed to lift her spirits. A voice she knew, whether it came to her ears at a ball or to her mind in a letter. The voice that always seemed to know when she would appreciate a joke or a kind word, even when she could not ask for them.

Was this muck getting deeper? She could no longer lift her feet clear with each step, and she had the horrible sense that if she were to trip and fall, she would be submerged and held under by morass’s viscosity. She simply had to go slower to ensure that she would not fall. The crushing sense of desperately wanting help and knowing that not only was none forthcoming but she also could not open her mouth to ask was intimately familiar. She pressed her lips together, swallowed hard, and kept going. She would manage this herself; she was good at that.

The viscous, inky fluid was above her hips now, and she needed her arms to help pull herself inch by agonizing inch forward. The voices of her sisters, Mama, Cressida, and Eloise continued and grew louder. Still, Pen strained to hear the voice she was listening for. She was so focused on listening that she quite forgot to use her eyes and never saw the wake that would have warned her that something else was under the surface of the murk.

A bare second before something looped around her ankle and pulled, the voices went silent. She felt her feet go from under her, and she began to sink slowly. The ground that had moments before been solid under her feet seemed to disappear entirely, and the time it took for the muck to creep up her torso was enough for Pen to truly begin to panic, thrashing slowly and to no avail as she sunk to her collarbones and the muck crept up her neck, a millimeter at a time. Panting to the point of hyperventilation, and feeling the lightheaded buzz spread through her body and further impede her movement, Pen tipped her head back to keep her mouth and nose clear. She had to think, had to keep her head. She would survive this somehow. Her ears would go under in a moment, and she shuddered involuntarily at the thought of this tarry goo sludging its way into her ears.

Surely the queen cannot believe you are Lady Whistledown.

I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington.

Colin’s eyes as he refused to believe she was Lady Whistledown filled her vision and his laugh with his friends the night of her mama’s ball until she slipped fully beneath the surface of the viscous fluid and her senses went silent.

The back of Pen’s mind had suggested that she might find the bottom and kick off it, or bob back to the surface, as she had read that those who fell into quicksand did if they did not panic. But in the strange logic of dreams, as soon as she was fully submerged, Penelope knew that the fluid around her was more akin to a dry sandpit. She knew with utter certainty that she would make it worse by moving.

So what if she simply let go?

She was exhausted, and surrendering required no effort on her part. There was a peace to simply letting the sludge hold her body and not worrying about surviving. Everything she had told Colin about her family being looked after was true. She herself had killed Whistledown. Colin had made it clear that he would not be there for her. The question Penelope faced, the choice she had to make, was whether or not to be.

She had never liked Hamlet. Had always thought that his assertion that his love outmatched that of a thousand brothers was unnecessarily melodramatic, and that if he had simply made a choice—found his own “Bridgerton backbone,” she thought, as a smirk and a pang competed for space in her heart—he would have managed to find a solution that did not involve a body count. But faced with a body count of one, Pen was suddenly unsure. Would it truly be so bad to leave all the voices that hurt her behind? To embrace the rest that was silence?

Silence.

Penelope and silence were old nemeses. She had endured it her entire life, and although she could kill Lady Whistledown to keep her out of another’s hands—she nearly inhaled then, surrendering to the silence, in grief that Lady Whistledown was gone—she could neither go silently into eternity nor remain silent. That truly was beyond her capacity.

Penelope would be.

She began to move, carefully, purposefully. The long moments of contemplation had made her lose track of which direction was up, and she couldn’t feel herself rising if she remained still. Since her only real hope was dumb luck, she chose a direction and kicked, scooping blindly with her hands and deeply regretting her mama’s refusal to allow her swimming lessons as a child. She might have been able to make a more efficient job of it now if she had any sense of how one was meant to swim.

Even lacking any practical knowledge, Penelope knew quickly that she was truly lost, and was likely making it worse. She had read about people who survived the initial rush of avalanches, only to die digging in the wrong direction, and she had the dreadful sense that that was all she was accomplishing by flailing around in darkness and silence. She would have been grateful for the spiteful voices again; they could have spurred her on.

Penelope had no idea how long she tried to find her way out of the black morass; it could have been hours, or it could have been minutes, but she was flagging and she knew it. But, having chosen to try, she would keep fighting until she couldn’t. She wished she could call for help, but there was no one to hear her, no one to find her. A sob tore from her chest, and her mouth filled with viscous sludge that tasted of ink. Panicked—would it go to her lungs?—Penelope thrashed and felt herself begin to drift away with a terrifying finality.

“I was a cad, Pen.”

How could she be hearing him? Her senses were buried along with her body.

“I was careless of your friendship, your skills, your feelings. I hurt you.”

This wasn’t a fever dream, Pen was sure. She was hearing him, but his voice was soft, and she was drifting away. She strained, listening. She was still hurt, still furious with him, but if she was falling away, Colin Bridgerton’s voice was still very much something she wanted to hear. She stopped thrashing, stopped worrying, stopped everything but listening.

“I am so, so sorry, Penelope. I was an idiot, and I took you for granted. I should never have done that. I should never have belittled Whistledown to you, should never have asked you to give up a part of yourself. Benedict and I made sure that the final issue was printed. I thought—I was a fool. I thought that if we could just complete your plan, you would wake up and be all right. You might not ever forgive me, Pen. But if you simply lived to hate me, that would be all right; it would mean you were still here.”

Penelope’s heart went erratic, stumbling on beats of different lengths and skipping some altogether. This was nothing she had ever heard from Colin before. He was popular, had always been popular, enjoyed being popular, and had never in his life accepted anyone hating him. He had broken his leg as a child in a bid to befriend another boy. It hadn’t worked, but Colin had not ceased pulling idiotic stunts to be part of the group or to ensure that someone thought favorably of him.

Distractedly, Penelope noted that the inky sludge seemed to be less oppressive, as though someone had thinned it ever-so-slightly with water. It rippled as something that was half a laugh and half a sob reverberated in Colin’s voice.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Pen, but I couldn’t let you go without saying this to you. Please, please, Pen. Don’t go. You don’t have to stay for me, you don’t have to like me, or forgive me, but Penelope, you have to know that I love you and I am so sorry I hurt you. Just please stay.”

She was elated. She was furious. She refused to be silent in response to that. Focusing on Colin’s voice to give her a direction, Penelope kicked and felt the crown of her head break the surface.

During the long night that their traveling companion had been dying, the men sat or paced quietly around the camp. As the dawn approached, Colin had listened to them recount old wives’ tales and sailor’s stories about people on the edge of death who either fell over that edge or recovered with the change that came with dawn. A world away in a palace, as false dawn showed its near-imperceptible light, Colin couldn’t stop replaying each story in his head as he watched Pen’s breathing grow shallower and shallower, and felt her pulse go weak and erratic under the fingers that had fallen over her wrist—his hands engulfed her small one.

Colin couldn’t breathe. He felt as though the world was balanced on a knife edge, and there was absolutely nothing to stop it from falling to a world in which Pen did not exist. She exhaled. He waited, breath held, counting seconds. Finally, he had to breathe or pass out himself, and she still had not inhaled. The floor fell out from beneath him; his mind went blank. This was not happening. She would breathe. She had to breathe.

As the first fiery fingers of true dawn clawed their way over the horizon, Penelope took a deep breath and opened her eyes, finding his almost immediately and holding steady. The fevered glassiness was gone, and Pen was clearly there behind that steady gaze. Briefly forgetting that he had a voice at all, Colin cupped her cheek, noting that she was cooler than she had been all night. She might still have a bit of a fever, but it was not the burning force that threatened to take her from him.

“I—” she rasped before coughing at the dryness of her throat and mouth.

“Easy, Pen, here—” Colin collected the glass of water from the side table and slid an arm under her shoulders to lift her just enough to drink. After a few sips, Pen rested her head against his arm, and met his eyes again.

“I am still angry with you,” she said. She might as well have ripped his heart from his chest with her bare hands.

“Of course,” he said, releasing her and rising from his position on the floor. “I shall fetch someone else—” her hand shot out, capturing his. Her grip was weak, and she had caught his ring and little fingers more than his whole hand, but he couldn’t have pulled away.

“I am still angry,” she said, “but if you leave now, I shall never speak to you again.” Colin couldn’t help himself. He laughed as tears escaped his eyes, and he twisted his hand to gently take hers and lift it to his mouth for a kiss.

“As you wish, Pen.”

After that perilous night, Penelope’s recovery was slow, but it was steady. It was a week before she was well enough to leave the palace. Colin visited her every day; once it was clear that Penelope would, in fact, recover, Ladies Featherington and Bridgerton vehemently insisted on reinstating the rules of propriety. Colin had been bundled back to Bridgerton House barely an hour after Penelope woke up, where he fell upon several platters of sandwiches before falling into bed for the rest of the day and that night. The following day and the days after saw some subset of the Bridgerton siblings join Colin on his visits.

Lady Danbury also visited Penelope several times during her palace recovery. She had been fond of Penelope before her reveal as the notorious Lady Whistledown, and the girl’s actions and composure during her ordeal had only increased Lady Danbury’s esteem. The pair’s easy allyship developed quickly into a true friendship. It surprised neither Colin—who was visiting with Daphne as a chaperone—nor Penelope when Lady Danbury entered the room on Penelope’s final day in the palace. What surprised everyone was the queen entering behind her, holding a small box. Colin and Daphne rose, bowing and curtsying deeply, respectively. Penelope, who was still propped up on a mountain of pillows, bowed her head.

“Duchess Hastings, Mr. Bridgerton, Miss Featherington,” said Queen Charlotte. The three rose. Colin, still wary of the queen’s wrath against Penelope, quietly took Pen’s hand and squeezed gently, affirming that he was there if she needed him. The queen met each of their eyes before continuing.

“None of you will say a word of what occurs in this room today. Is that understood?” she asked. Penelope glanced at Lady Danbury, who tilted her head in an infinitesimally tiny nod behind the queen’s back. Pen, followed by Colin and Daphne, affirmed their understanding. The queen smiled and focused on Penelope.

“Miss Featherington, you have suitably impressed me and Lady Danbury. And while I cannot have a rogue columnist questioning me in public, one thing I have learned is the benefit of those who will offer their opinions—even those opinions that may displease me—in private. I have come to understand and respect your removal of Lady Whistledown from the assets of the crown.” The slight frown punctuating that sentence said that she was not happy about it, but she had accepted it. Something in Colin’s chest eased; Penelope appeared to be out of danger on that front.

“Miss Featherington, I am here to offer you a chance to join my inner circle and use your prodigious skills of observation and assessment to advise me. I do not ask you to write Whistledown for the crown—although I may occasionally request your help with the odd piece of particularly crucial correspondence. This arrangement would be private, mind. It is well known that Lady Danbury advises me; I also need someone who has a lower profile. You would be free to have your voice heard. What do you say, Miss Featherington?”

Penelope looked again at Lady Danbury, who raised an eyebrow and smiled. Penelope took a deep breath. She was still mourning Whistledown; Colin had sat with her and held her hands as she had finally cried for the end of the vehicle that had given her a meaningful voice, and Kate—their chaperone—had kindly melted into the background, granting Penelope what privacy she could within the bounds of propriety.

The queen was offering her a new avenue for her voice and the skills she had honed, and she would still be free to write as she wished—although perhaps not scandal sheets. There was something exciting about that prospect, and there was no question that it would challenge her to further grow her skills. Excited but undeniably feeling trepidation, Penelope reached out. Colin had released her hand once the queen had accepted the loss of Whistledown, and though she had made her decision, she found that she wanted his support as she voiced it. He didn’t even look down as his hand enveloped hers.

“I believe I would like that very much, your Majesty,” she said.

“Ah, excellent,” replied the queen. She opened the small box in her hand and removed a small medallion on a bit of ribbon. Stepping close, she pinned it to the robe covering Penelope’s chemise.

“Welcome, Dame Penelope,” she said. “We shall discuss this more upon your full recovery. Until then, my dear.” She swept from the room.

Lady Danbury hugged Penelope around the shoulders with a soft “Well done, Penelope” before she followed the queen. Shortly after, a letter reminding Penelope that, like her new position in the queen’s court, her honor must be kept secret from anyone not in the room when it was conferred. The letter ended with a directive to burn it. Penelope giggled—carefully, to avoid jostling her still-tender wound overly much—at that, and asked Colin to toss the letter in the fireplace for her. “It seems that I will use more of the skills I developed for Whistledown than I imagined,” she noted.

Colin kissed her hand with a smile that did not entirely belie the worry in his eyes. “I am proud of you, Pen. And I am glad that I can be here for you if you need me in this new role.”

The next morning, Penelope was carefully removed to Featherington House. After recovering from the move for a few days—during which Colin continued his visits, chaperoned by either Anna (who Penelope had personally hired) or Lady Featherington herself—Penelope began to take short walks to help rebuild her strength. They began in the house but quickly evolved to walks in the garden and finally short promenades. Throughout the process, Colin was at her side, supporting her. The difference was that where he had played hero to a construct of her as a damsel in distress when he had disrupted the ruby scheme, now he treated her as an equal, a partner.

Penelope let go of the idealized Colin she had loved since she was a girl and who had hurt her so badly. Instead, she fell in love with the man who challenged her as a writer and supported her in her choices. It wasn’t always easy, but their conversations while walking strengthened their relationship to the point that when Colin went to one knee before her at the first ball of the next London season, she knew that she was in for a life full of more love and laughter than she could have imagined.

I hope you enjoyed this fic! It was originally planned to be a couple thousand words max and to get me back into the flow of writing, but as you can see, it got *wildly* out of control.

#polin #polin fic #polin fanfiction #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #no beta we die like edmund

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angelguk · 4 years ago

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OMg angst thoughts for jock couple...one of them (probably oc) most likely got stood up for a date bc jk has trainings so oc goes on a spiral thinking abt what if theyre just in this relationship cos its comfortable for them and like theyve known each other the longest and maybe theyre dating bc of some twisted ver of stockholm syndrome n oc gets all 😔😔💔😡 and starts ignoring jk for some time

i have been mulling over this for awhile (i think you also sent a follow-up angst ending but lets set the scene first shall we)

pairing: jock!jk and oc

warnings: angst, poor communication, oc being insecure and jk being clueless (and kind of an asshole)

soundtrack: antidote by gas dapperton

(titled — bite the hand that feeds the heart)

You’ve tapped your phone on roughly ten times now, narrowed eyes staring at the time with each lighting of your screen. Every minute that ticks by sinks deep into your heart, clawing something open there, ribs struggling to keep your feelings contained. But you can feel them swelling at the brim of your gaze, eyes blinking harsh under the subdued tawny glow of streetlights. You kick you shoes against the ground to speed up time, pressing your back into the hard brick wall behind you, searching for some sense of support. Even with your mindless excursions, the time still drags on, shifting from ten to fifteen to thirty idle minutes waiting for your lover.

He turns the corner the second you decide to give up and go home.

“Hey!” Jeongguk’s hair dances in the night wind, delicate curls lifting gracefully. “Sorry–sorry! Coach kept us late for a team meeting and then Yoonoh wanted to borrow my notes and then I found out I had an essay due which I had no ide–”

“It’s okay.” You cut him off with an iciness, kicking yourself off the wall, your dark sweater coddling your frame. Autumn was seeping in, once vibrant green trees falling into hues amber and gold. This was your favourite season, the slow quiet onset of winter warming your heart. But that feeling is absent now, your face sent in a scowl as you trudge towards the nearest convenience store, eyes focused on the bright white luminescence of it not bothering to check if Jeongguk is following you.

You can’t see it but he’s staring at the back of your head strangely, lips twisting down with concern.

When he grabs your arm, easily linking it with his, you nearly shrug him off.

“Hey,” Jeongguk tries, tone ginger. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to be late, but today was he–”

“You could have texted.”

“I–I I know, I just for–”

“It’s fine, Jeongguk,” you snap, finally giving into the urge to shove him away. “It’s fine. You just keep doing this and I hate it.”

You steady walk forward is interrupted by him yanking you back, twisting you around to face him.

“Doing what? Is it my fault that I’m busy all the time?”

“No,” you spit. “I understand that. But you keep thinking I’m just gonna be around waiting for you forever, Jeongguk and that’s not fair!”

The sigh that drifts from his lips irks you. Like you’re the inconvenience to him when all you’ve done is rearrange your world to fit him at the centre.

“God what is your issue? I’m late a couple times and suddenly I’m the villain?” His eyes are hard, jaw set like this has been stuck in his throat for a while and the words are ecstatic to be let out.

“Literally fuck off,” it’s there already, the edge you’ve been slipping on since this all started. At first it was a quiet worry, mulling at the back of your head, but lately, ever since Chayoung opened her big fat mouth it’s grown louder. Insistent to be heard, demanding to break this gentle thing in your hands. “You’re being a dickhead right now.”

“Me?” Jeongguk huffs. “You’re the one complaining about something useless.”

“Useless? My time is useless to you?”

You see it flash in the honey of his eyes, quick enough that you might have missed it had you blinked. “What the hell is this about?” Jeongguk whispers. He’s reaching out for you, hands looking for an anchor. “Why are you so cryptic all the time? Why can’t you just tell me what the problem is?”

Maybe he’s right, because you’re not being honest here. But admitting it to him means admitting it to yourself and you’re too afraid to do that. Too afraid to lose the most precious thing to you, to your heart.

“Cryptic? If you even fucking listened to me for one sec–”

“I do!” Jeongguk returns, eyes narrow. “You just say things and never mean them.”

That gets you, heart stopping dead in your chest. You suddenly wish you could take it all back; the kiss on the rooftop of his apartment, the nights you spent in his bed learning the taste of him, the murmurs of love you’d left on his skin. Because did they mean anything? Did you even truly love him?

That question burns in your head, splits your heart right open, bleeding through the cracks of your ribs.

“You should go home,” you finally murmur. Jeongguk blanches, doe eyes wide.

“What–what? Y/N what the hell are you talking about?”

“Go home,” you repeat, twisting your head away. You can’t look at him cause if you do you’ll cry and you don’t want Jeongguk to see you like that. He grabs your shoulder, you rip his hand away. “Go home, Jeongguk! I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

For second there’s a moment of silence, you take it and start walking forward, up the to convenience store. A whisper in your head tells you he’ll follow, force you to talk to him, share the secrets mauling your heart. But then you hear the scrap of his sneakers against the pavement, fading away instead of drawing close. You walk until you’re at the top of the hill, frame illuminated by the stores bright lights. You look back then, hoping he’s still there. Your gaze finds an empty road instead, copper leaves skipping through the breeze. He’s gone, left you alone to drown in this, like the louder voice in your head knew he would.

#au: jock!jaykay #jungkook x reader #jungkok angst #well....#not all sunshine and rainbows for this couple unfortunately #hope i got ocs sudden realisation of... do i love him or is he just familiar to me right #bts x reader #bts angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario

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herblinz · 2 years ago

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NA! From one unhinged root vegetable 🥔 to a fungi 🍄: incoherent screaming of hearts and rainbows and confetti

Last night I got this precious illustration and, after recovering from heart attacks, I put it on the big screen to better appreciate the details. I saw texts in the corner (“there are words on her butt? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) *sicko meme* lehehehehh) and I zoom— what did my lil eyes spy?

I LOVE YOU AJBJNBGKDXFVKBSDV

I wish I can string better words together right now to express my feelings regarding this beautiful work. But alas the brain is running off by itself as Mondays are wont to do for me.

Love the impression it gives off. The background. The rick details of Ede’s costume (and what a gorgeous costume it is! Thanks for providing food for my fic haha I had no idea what exactly she’d be wearing at that point in story but now I do). Gosh and the earring 🤍🤍🤍 I am not going to attempt to talk about Maul because I need to breathe for another 30 mins xD

And please, your art style is amazing (those generic splashart, really better than AI fodder? Eh. Products). I’m not good at this but I tried oki

Thank you 💖

for dearest @herbalinz-of-yesteryear

process under the cut.

you can see from the video that i initially tried to render it the smooth western splash art style but fuck. it kinda break my artist soul. and i switch to watercolor-gouache style half way through the middle. and you can see also i went back and forth a lot during painting to explore what looks best.

when i start a painting, i usually only have a vague general idea of what it will look like. it tends to change a lot during the process.

#go commission them!#amazing artist #amazing art #star wars fanart #darth maul fanart #maul #maul x oc #edessa jerrika #digital painting #art commission

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kimageddon · 2 years ago

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Sins of the Father - 2:5

Maul x Nightsister OC (Zaiya Valessa) - Modern/Crime AU - Sins of the Father Masterlist

Word count: Approx 1600 Contains/Warnings: Threats, blood Chapter Summary: Maul finds out who stole from him Notes: Hello friends! In case some of you have not been catching up with my notes in APOD, I am back from my holiday and changing up my posting schedule. I will now be posting Sunday nights (Sydney time) alternating between A Prince of Dathomir and Sins of the Father.

Information Gathering

Maul had been waiting for some time, he was not used to his people being so slow when it came to getting answers. Saxon had been reassigned to find out more about this raid on the warehouse after the incident the previous week. He had actually left Zaiya well enough alone for the time being. Something about the whole incident stuck in his mind and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way she had glared at him, looking past the weapon with no fear in her eyes.

It was intoxicating.

More than that, the final moment, the juvenile little tap on his nose. The moment had thrown him right back to a time he’d almost forgotten. A fleeting moment in his childhood; the closest moment to happiness he’d ever experienced. Before the fire, when all of it was ripped away.

His mind kept going back to that moment, was that why he had kept tabs on her? She reminded him of another girl he’d once known? It was the same gesture, the same words. How could this odd white-haired girl know it? They looked nothing alike so how could it be the same girl? …Perhaps the saying wasn’t uncommon. That made more sense, it couldn’t be just her that said the same thing.

It wasn’t the only thing that stuck in his mind. She was stunning. Her hair looked so soft, those snowy curls hanging down her back. The gentle sultry scent of her perfume, the careful touch of her hands. Full perfect lips and cute facial piercings. Even the dark makeup was alluring and mysterious. So arrogant and smug, she walked around with the airs of an Empress and eyes like blue flames in water. What would she look like splayed out before him? Helpless and begging for him…?

He couldn’t think about this.

Maul shoved the stupid useless thoughts from his mind, he had other things to focus on, and it was then -thankfully- that the moment was interrupted by his phone. He waited for a few seconds, seeing it was Saxon’s name flashing on the screen.

“Yes?” he said flatly, he had noticed his temper being exhausted far more quickly than usual in the last few days. Everyone seemed to be irritating him.

“Sir, we’ve found who we might think to be responsible for the raid on the warehouse.” The Mandalorian’s voice was rushed but not panicky, he seemed to understand that promptness would serve him well in this instance.

“And?” Maul urged.

“We found a weequay that had ties to the Ohnaka gang that gave up a few things,” Saxon snickered and Maul did not bother to ask how they acquired the information. Truthfully he didn’t care.

“Ohnaka…” he mused. He’d heard the name, though not often, it was some trade group or other. At least that was the front of whatever he was really doing, apparently they had a side hustle in spice and gun running though Maul had paid them little attention. Much to his peril, it seemed. His tattooed lip curled. “I want to speak with this Ohnaka, give him a chance to grovel before I destroy him.”

“I believe the gang is a large one, sir, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Saxon advised. There was a long pause.

“You would suggest I don’t punish those that crossed us, Saxon?” Maul growled threateningly.

“N-No! No sir!” Saxon backtracked quickly, “I just meant that it would take a lot of effort.” Maul smirked, he could hear a sliver of fear in the human's voice. It was then that he remembered the flash of bright blue eyes and the smirk turned into a sneer.

“That is why we shall talk to them first,” Maul said coldly. “Arrange a meeting.”

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“Well well! What a surprise this is!” said a loud and heavily accented voice as Maul entered the room. It was a small office in comparison to his own, though lavishly decorated where Maul’s was more simple. A fine arrangement of art pieces, gaudy furniture, a decanter half-filled with an amber liquid. If he had to guess, Maul would say that most of the items in here were fake or knock-offs, making it seem as though the owner of the office were more wealthy than he actually was.

The owner himself sat in the large padded chair, his boots on the desk and a wide smile on his wrinkled face. He was flanked by two other weequay, both as dark and leathery-skinned as their “Captain” --so he liked to call himself. His boots seemed well made and he was clad in what looked to be fine clothing, a white shirt, dark pants and a red jacket hung over the back of his chair. He lowered his feet from the desk and stood to extend a ring-encrusted hand to Maul and the two men that had accompanied him, Vizsla and Savage.

Maul met Hondo Ohnaka’s grin with a flat stare as he lowered himself into the seat facing him, as he unbuttoned his black suit jacket to sit more comfortably. The shirt he wore was a deep red, the top button undone and he had forgone a tie, there was no need to be so formal on account of this low level criminal. Maul did not take his hand.

“As I understand it,” Maul began slowly, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, and leaned back, his hands impassive in his lap. “There is a debt to be paid.”

“A debt?” Ohnaka asked, he lowered his hand, placing both on the desk. What is it that you owe me? I am very understanding, you will find.” The absolute audacity of this fool! Maul’s brow furrowed into a scowl.

“One of my warehouses was raided, a large amount of inventory was stolen from me.” Maul made his face expressionless once more. Ohnaka blinked behind his glasses.

“And you think I had something to do with this?” he asked, his gravelly voice full of surprise. Maul knew better than to assume the Weequay was telling the truth and stared back at him, saying nothing. Ohnaka scoffed, seemingly offended. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“Perhaps you did not know to whom the warehouse belonged.” Maul kept his voice measured.

“I am not in the business of running about and stealing things from warehouses! What do you take me for?” he said as he waved a hand laden with gold rings in Maul’s direction.

“Do you not steal the very shipments you are hired to deliver?” Maul asked with a twitch of his brow. There was a heavy pause before Ohnaka burst into laughter.

“You have me there!” he grinned and rapped his knuckles on the table. “So! You say you have some things taken from you, I do not see how this could be the fault of Hondo! What makes you think I would--” He trailed off as Maul pulled out an itemised list from inside a concealed pocket in his jacket and opened it. He then handed it along to Ohnaka who frowned, adjusting his glasses as he read. There was little change in his expression, and indeed Weequay were very hard to read, however there was a telltale crease in his brow.

Maul had him. He recognised some of these items. Though, of course he tried to feign ignorance.

“I don’t have any idea what this is!” he protested.

“No? I have a man that claims to be one of yours, perhaps we will ask him…?” Maul drawled and Ohnaka looked concerned for a moment before his energetic nature returned.

“Yes, bring this man! If one of my men was so stupid as to do something I did not tell him to do, then on his head be it!” He tossed the piece of paper down onto his desk. “Bring him!”

It was a minute or so later when the door opened, Saxon and Kast dragged in a younger Weequay man. He was bruised and bloody and cowered from the Mandalorians. Oddly from Kast most of all, despite her being much smaller than the 6’3” man that was Gar Saxon.

“It was you, Shandors?”

The second he saw Ohnaka he broke from the patetic whimpers he’d been making and attempted to crawl over to the other man on his knees.

“Please! Pleash boss! I didn’ mean t’ say nuffin! I wosn’ jus’ me! It was Nark’s idea! I swear I didn’--” He reached Ohnaka and clawed at the man’s leg for some pity or salvation, but Ohnaka met Shandors jaw with a solid kick that sent the man sprawling.

“I did not bring you into this company for you to take orders from Nark!” Ohnaka barked. The corner of Maul’s mouth twitched, finding this act all very amusing. However he did not have all day, and stood, re-buttoning his jacket. He pressed one finger to the list on Ohnaka’s desk and slid it toward himself, taking it to tuck back into his pocket. Better not to leave written evidence of illegal items lying about.

“I see you have your hands full,” he said with no shy amount of snideness. “We shall reconvene when you have your affairs in order, and we can come to an arrangement for the missing items.” He glanced over to his entourage and inclined his head. “I believe your people have a saying in the old tongue for those that interfere?” he asked with some dry amusement.

“Ke nu'jurkadir sha Mando'ade.” Vizsla almost snarled. Maul smirked in approval, then looked to Ohnaka who was now standing.

“I expect to have recompense when we meet again, Ohnaka.” Then, with a final glare, he swept from the room, head high as though the crown he bore were made of gold. The three Mandalorians and towering yellow zabrak followed out after him. Ohnaka was in a tight spot and Maul began to realise that this might be an opportunity. Perhaps an expansion for his operation was in order?

Notes:

I hope you guys enjoyed this one, I have been writing like mad for Sins and I hope that you all will like it as much as I do. I am pretty excited for the things coming up in the story, I have many plans! As always any and all feedback is welcome and I really do love to know your thoughts so I know where to focus my writing and also where I can improve. So please, any and all comments are encouraged. Thanks so much for reading, I hope you are all well. I shall see you next week for APOD and in a fortnight for the next part, titled: Puzzle Pieces, where Fives and Zaiya will delve deeper into the players in this game.

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