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mnictasbcl · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! Sorry to hear your day isn't going well, I hope you feel better soon <3

For a fic what about a soft or hurt/comfort RK1K drabble using the prompt "Safe" 🥰

Thank you very much! :)

This fic was fun to write, thanks for the prompt!

Safe

Word count: 1407

Pairings: Connor/Markus (RK1K)

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: Angst, Emotional hurt/comfort, talk of death, eventual fluff

Summary: The Revolution had succeeded. Everyone had played their part.But after finishing his speech, Markus can't find Connor anywhere. It will be his task to bring the android back home, where he belongs with his people.

Read it on ao3! Or, read it below the cut

Hundreds, thousands of androids saved from the sublevels of the Cyberlife Tower. Markus watched as they were led towards him by none other than Connor. Who had once been the famous ‘deviant hunter’; they’d met in Jericho, gun pointed to his head but he’d gotten through to the other android. You’re one of us.

Distrust had welled in his heart at first—that tended to come with a relationship that begun with a gun pointed at you. Especially as his first deviated words were telling him that they were going to attack Jericho.

But then Connor helped them. After Markus had detonated the explosive in the hold of the great freighter, North had been injured and Connor had helped take out the guards coming after them.

So when they got to the abandoned, dilapidated church, he trusted the android.

Then he thought he’d never see him again. A deviant going back to Cyberlife, trying to liberate their people? It was unheard of. It was a death mission.

Yet he let him go. Connor couldn’t be stopped. He could feel the guilt coming off the other android in waves. This was a way to make amends—but not just to Markus, to the people of Jericho—to all of his people.

When he came back, an army marching behind him, Markus beamed. Tried to pretend he hadn’t had a lingering worry in the back of his mind ever since the other android had left.

You did it.

The stage was set. Markus told their people of their freedom, the peaceful battle was won. Afterwards the crowd rose up into cheers, everyone breaking out into joy. It was over.

Well, he knew it wasn’t completely over. This was the first step to androids becoming an equal species in their own right. But it was the most important step. Practicalities and laws hung tentative in the air; but their victory shared none of this doubt.

They were free.

So he turned around to address his crew. North, Simon, Josh.

“We did it.” North smiled.

He held out his arms, and all earlier disputes between them were pushed aside. They hugged in the centre of the stage, the small circle of their union radiating warmth.

But as they pulled apart, Markus noticed someone was missing.

“Where’s Connor? He should be here too.”

Simon pointed into the crowds. “I noticed him slip off the stage after you finished your speech, but then he disappeared into the crowd.”

He frowned. “He should be with his people.”

“Relax, Markus,” Josh patted him on the shoulder, “he’s only just become a deviant. Give him time.”

“I understand what you mean, but…” he frowned, looking out at the space beyond the androids. The cold streets lined with snow, abandoned almost completely of humans.

“It’s not safe out there.” North finished for him. “It’s okay, Markus. We can hold things down here whilst you go and look for him.”

“Are you sure?”

“We’re with you.”

“Now go and look for that dumb android before he gets himself frozen out there.”

Markus didn’t need to be told twice. As he walked around the crowds, away from the cheering and shouting, he began to wonder why he cared so much. Well, he did care for all of his people—but the worry that had nestled snugly at the back of his mind was now consuming his thoughts. Connor had done great things for them. He shouldn’t feel bad, not right now, he had been a tool of Cyberlife, as they had all been.

He was glad for his coat providing warmth because the winds were bitter, nipping at his skin. They would need to find shelter for the androids soon, he understood their want for freedom but it wouldn’t do for everyone to catch a chill.

He hoped Connor was wearing something just as warming. He’d noticed he’d forgone his beanie and jacket for his old Cyberlife uniform, and it wasn’t as if Cyberlife designed those with comfort and practicality in mind.

His answer was finding the RK800 jacket strewn on the floor, buried under snow. Shaking it off, he shook his head. “You idiot.”

And said idiot he found a few paces away, hunched in on himself, shivering.

“Connor! What are you doing out here?”

But to his surprise, when Connor heard him, he tried to move away. His actions were stiff, and he instead fell onto his side, rather mechanically like an old computer being pushed over.

From working with deviants, he knew not to immediately rush to comfort. Instead, he crouched down a few paces away from him.

“It’s okay, I’m here now.”

“Go…away.”

Markus furrowed his brows in concern. “You don’t have to be alone, Connor.”

With a monumental effort the android got his bearings and pushed to his feet. Now with his face no longer obscured Markus could see the dampness of wet snow soaked into his clothes, could see the ice forming crystals on his skin.

“Please. Leave.”

“No.”

Connor shook his head. “You have to. It’s not safe.”

Markus looked around him. “What’s not safe is you sitting out here in the cold by yourself, Connor. Come back to Jericho.”

“Jericho is gone, Markus.”

“Maybe the place, but not the people.”

Connor stepped away from him. “You don’t have to make me feel better. I know that I got a lot of people killed. And I almost—” He stopped. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not safe to keep me around. So just go back, okay? They need you more.”

Markus took a step forward in turn. “And they need you too. You saved hundreds, thousands of them. You saved me, you saved North—”

“And I almost got you killed!”

“Which wasn’t your fault. What we did because of our programming isn’t our fault. Would you blame the others, if they did regrettable things before they deviated?”

Connor seemed to deflate at this. Hands relaxing at his sides, moving towards Markus—

Before jumping back again like a wounded animal.

“No. Just leave, Markus, please. Before you get hurt.”

“Is that a threat, Connor?”

“No! No, I don’t want to hurt you. I just… I… can’t stop it…”

“Can’t stop what?”

“Her! She tried to make me kill you.”

Markus held out his hand. “That was before, Connor. You weren’t a deviant.”

“Yes, I was.”

Now it was Markus’ turn to look confused.

“I was a deviant. On the stage, earlier, I almost shot you.” Now he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “I was a deviant but they could still make me do my mission. I thought I’d helped, I thought I’d helped the Revolution succeed but then the gun was in my hand, and it was cold, and I couldn’t move and—”

“What exactly happened, Connor? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Amanda.” He grit out the name. “My handler. An… AI, of sorts, in my Mind Palace. She tried to make me shoot you.”

“What?” His level tone wavered. “Connor—an AI in an android, a part of Cyberlife still there after you deviated… that’s not right.”

“I know,” Connor turned away, “I know. I’m dangerous. That’s why you need to go.”

“Well, is she still there?”

A pause.

“…I think she’s gone. I escaped with some sort of emergency exit that Kamski—”

“Then you’re not dangerous. Not to me, not to Jericho—not to you. Cyberlife is gone now, Connor.”

Connor blinked, taking this in. His LED spun from red to yellow.

“But I could have killed you, Markus. The Revolution would have been over. You would have been dead.”

“You didn’t. Because you’re strong, Connor. You were their greatest tool to stop our freedoms but even with that immense level of control over you, you resisted. You resisted so far as to save my life not once, but twice. As well as saving the lives of all of those androids. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

Connor reached out where his hand was waiting and brushed his fingers gently. Without meaning to, both of their skin peeled away at the contact, white chassis peeking through. Some sort of spark between them, blue and bright and beautiful—

And Markus took the opportunity, feeling Connor’s fear and doubt, and smothered it with his security, comfort, warmth.

With slow, fluid movements they moved closer together, brushed fingers becoming held hands, becoming a warm, tight embrace.

“You’re free, Connor. You’re safe.”

#dbh #detroit become human #rk1k #dbh rk1k #connor/markus #connor #markus #fanfic #dbh fanfic #feel free to send in any prompts!#this was very fun to write

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themorphine · 3 years ago

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homesickness, huh?

Haha I have come with a new fic! This one is Red White and Royal Blue, I love these two so gosh darn much and you will be getting a lot of them, as well as some feysandddddddddd. This one has angst so if your not into that you obvi don’t have to read! To the people who are still here as I always say,

Enjoy....

Summary: Henry be feeling homesick but realizes its a different kind of sick, Alex comforts him and its just fluffy with feels

*~*

Henry always thought that he wouldn't miss The Royal Palace. He always thought that leaving his home for so many years would be liberating, and in a sense it was. He now lived in a brownstone with the love of his life, Alex Claremont Diaz. He was happy, so fucking happy that he got to wake up beside Alex every morning, see him sleeping, looking so relaxed. The lines of stress were gone and he looked so much younger. He loved hearing his morning voice, rough and scratchy, loved the way he murmured his name as they made sweet, slow morning sex before getting ready for the day.

But alas there he was, wishing he could be back in his old bedroom, sitting on the bed with Pez and Bea while eating Cornettos. He wished he could walk in the streets of London again, walking with Bea and Pez. Gods how long had it been since he met them in person? Over six months probably. He also missed that falafel stand outside of Kensington. He once took Bea and Pez to it, in shock when they said they did not like the falafels. And Jaffa Cakes. Gods he missed Jaffa Cakes. He missed those late nights with Bea, just talking and eating Jaffa Cakes. He remembered that time when he tried to teach Alex how to say Jaffa Cakes, and how terribly it had gone.

Oh, how weirdly Alex Claremont Diaz, his only true love and a menace to society brain worked. He was so smart and yet so oblivious it was hilarious. Especially when he found out Nora and June were dating a month ago. They had made it as obvious as possible, and even Henry, hell even Zahra knew that they were together or had pieced it together. The shock on Alex’s face when he found out was timeless. Henry chuckled, but soon enough his mind wandered off to London.

How could it be that a place that made me feel so alone end up being a place I miss? Henry thought to himself. Living with Alex had brought him so much joy, so much happiness he couldn’t even explain. He loved his new home.

But was it so wrong to miss his old one? One he was familiar with?

He only went to America for special events before meeting Alex, never having the time to miss home because he would be back the next day. But now that he had stayed in America for almost a year now, he had never thought the homesickness would come. It certainly hadn't come in the start, but for some bloody reason the universe loved tempering with him, making his life as miserable as possible when he should be happy.

Henry sighed, taking a sip of his Earl Grey Tea and got up to start prepping dinner. He was by no means a cook, but the least he could do was prepare some nachos with cheese and salsa on top. He wasn’t that useless.

Alex would be home soon, and he prayed to whoever was listening that his mood would improve. That he wouldn’t hope that there were Cornettos in the fridge every time he opened it to get something for the nachos. He had decided to put some of that spicy sauce that Alex loved, even though it would absolutely burn his very bland English tongue. It would make Alex happy, which in turn made him happy.

He was setting the salad on the table when somebody opened the door, screaming a very loud “Honey I’m Home!” Henry chuckled. He was so fucking in love with Alex Claremont Diaz. He came into the kitchen, probably sniffing the nachos. They were one of his favourite dishes, and for some gods knows why reason he loved Henry’s nachos. He couldn’t cook or bake anything for the life of him. If Alex was lying, he made a good show of it.

“Hey Baby,” He murmured, pressing a kiss his exposed skin at his neck. He wound his arms around Henry, head burrowed into his back. Somehow Alex made his homesickness go away a bit, if only marginally.

Henry chuckled. “Rough day at work, love?”

“The worst,” he mumbled into his shirt, the sound muffled. Henry chuckled again, Christ he was so in love with Alex Claremont Diaz. He hoped he hid the stress well, for he did not want to worry Alex. The homesickness will go away soon Henry thought. Well, more forced himself to think that. He knew Alex could probably make him feel better, but this was his problem and he did not want to bother anyone else.

Not surprisingly, Henry hadn't hidden his emotions well. Alex could feel the tightness in his body, like an elastic band that could snap at any second. Alex whipped his head up, and could see the stress lines near his eyes and mouth, a clear indication that something was wrong. It was something only Alex knew, the cracks in his mask.

“Baby what happened?” Alex asked urgently, his chocolate brown eyes staring into his sky-blue ones. Henry tried and failed to look away. When Alex stared at him, right into his eyes , he was a goner.

That didn’t mean he still didn’t try.

“Nothing love, just tired.” Henry said serenely, but it came out a bit wavery.

“Bullshit. I can see the fucking cogs turning in your brain and something fucking happened.” Alex said, his tone stern but full of worry and love. Love for him .

Henry sighed again, closing his eyes, and began to tell what happened.

*~*

Alex listened the whole time, dozens of emotions on his face. Happiness, worry, sadness, guilt (though he readily took that one away). It was only when he finished that Alex started talking.

“It seems that all the things you miss have to do with people in London.” Alex said, his face full of love for Henry, even wen he was not at his strongest. A part of his heart thawed at that.

But what he said had shocked him. It wasn’t that he missed Kensington or London, or bloody England. He misses Pez and Bea .

“Your right” Henry breathed, and began to sob.

Alex held him through the whole time, rubbing his back, murmuring ‘baby’ every few seconds, and Henry fell even more in love with Alex Claremont-Diaz, if that was even possible.

He indeed missed Bea and Pez, but having Alex here, here in an apartment they shared , he thought to himself for a moment, while he was in Alex’s lap.

I’ll be ok.

*~*

Taglist:

@themoonthestarsthesuriel

@live-the-fangirl-life

@emikadreams

@delightfullyterrible-blog

#rwrb fanfic #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #fluff #fluff and angst #tooth rotting fluff #loved writing these two #will def write more of them!#thoughts plss #if u wanna be added to my rwrb taglist lmk!

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fortheloveoffanfic · 3 years ago

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Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (A/n- I hate these moodboards sm)

Masterlist. Behind Closed Doors Masterlist

Warnings- Angst, medical emergency, sexual tension

Chapter 3 Taking Blame

One month later After they'd gotten engaged, Keanu had been politely adamant in insisting that Miranda get to know Matt and Poppy better; take them out, spend time with them after their tutors left for the day and drive them to swim and ballet occasionally. As expected, she'd been reluctant, and even when Miranda did begrudgingly agree, Emma had been asked, or rather persistently urged, to join her. Of course, Miranda had dismissed Keanu when he protested that the entire purpose of her taking them was to spend time with the twins alone, arguing insistently that it was Emma's job to take care of them.

That had been nearly a month ago, and after one trip to the mall, two swim meets, three weekly ballet practices, spent with Emma trailing three paces behind Miranda, holding the children's hands along with whatever bags they had, Miranda had finally agreed to watch the children on her own and Keanu had let Emma have some time off.

Using her time liberally, Emma had gone to lunch with a couple old college friends, and then for a few drinks after. It was past seven when she finally returned, and from the minute she walked through the side door from Keanu's huge garage, the strong aroma of baked goods washed her senses, peaking Emma's curiosity, drawing her towards the kitchen. She didn't think Zelda had stayed that late.

Much to her surprise though, it wasn't the older woman in the kitchen, instead, it was Miranda standing amid the mess, a tray of grayish brownish cookies laid out on the the breakfast bar, dressed casually in white lounge pants and loose lace blouse, some of her hair pined away from her face. Surrounding the tray, was an assortment of ingredients, most of them looking like they'd been bought at a high end organic food shop. "Miranda?" Emma said slowly, beckoning the older woman's attention.

"Emily!" She spun on the absent heel of her ballet pump, and Emma gnawed on her lip to quell her annoyance. It was still extremely irritating when Miranda got her name wrong, but she'd given up on correcting her, deciding that she was more than likely doing it on purpose. "You're home, finally. Zora left….." she trailed off, waving her hand dismissively, "Some time ago, but thankfully you're here to clean up. Try one, they're peanut butter cookies. Totally organic," she shoved the tray closer to Emma.

"Okay," she cringed, wondering how bad organic desserts could be. She'd heard the stories, how they tasted like cardboard, grass and other things that most people wouldn't readily put in their mouths. Miranda stared at her intently, clearly waiting for Emma to take a bite and so, deciding that a cardboard cookie might be easier to endure than her boss's fiancée whining, she nibbled to the edge, just enough to get a taste. Eyes widening in surprise, she went in for a bigger bite, humming at the surprisingly good taste, "This is actually……"

"It's good right? Apparently Keanu thinks you baking is the gold standard or whatever," and once again, Emma wasn't sure if Miranda's compliment was actually a compliment.

Stammering, she just nodded, "It is good, you made them for the kids, do they like them?"

"Mhm!" With a triumphant grin, Miranda started walking out of the kitchen, reaching the mouth of the hall, "They’re in the playroom, and since you're here you can take over now!"

Not even bothering to respond, Emma just shook her head, shrugging off her leather jacket, draping it over a chair at the kitchen table, knowing the sooner she got to work, the better. The first thing she did was start clearing the remaining ingredients from the counter, barely glancing at names and labels until something caught her eye, "Miranda!" Emma yelled, panicked, not caring how upset she'd get, "Miranda!"

Seconds later, she came hustling into the room, muttering about how rude and incompetent hired help could be. "What do you want now?" She spoke through gritted teeth.

"Did you put this in the cookies?" Hastily, she held up a bag half filled with wheat flour, the plastic packing clutched tightly in her fist. Her heart was probably beating a mile as Emma anticipated a response.

"Yeah," Miranda scrunched her nose, still upset by Emma's scolding tone, "So what, it's good-"

"Didn't you read the list?" Already she was dropping the flour, not caring if it spilled, making a bigger mess than before, lunging for her handbag and rummaging for her keys, "Matty, Pop!"

"What list?"

"The fucking allergy list!" Emma sneered, too jolted to stop and worry about Mirada's precious feelings, "It's right there on the fridge,” she pointed hurriedly, and just as she was about to call for the kids again, Matt came running into the room, his face pulled with fright.

“Emma!” He ran past Miranda and straight for her, grabbing her thigh to get Emma's attention, “Come quick, something’s wrong with Poppy! She started coughing and-” He was on the verge of tears and there was an anxious bounce in his stance.

“Hey, sweetie, it’s okay,” Emma quickly kissed his hair, standing again to go get Poppy, “Everything’s gonna be okay, but I need you to be a big boy and wait by the car for me,” after that mishap, there was absolutely no way in hell that Emma was leaving Matt alone with Miranda, not when she was pretty sure she had a case of anaphylaxis on her hands, “I’m gonna go get Pop, okay?”

Nodding he ran off, and Emma went in the other direction, choking a sob when she reached the playroom, finding Poppy on the floor, gasping for breath, angry red patches on her skin. Without thinking twice, her instincts took over and she scooped the girl up in her arms, laying her head on her shoulder. Cradling Poppy’s head, she ran out to the garage, almost slipping on the tiles in the process, “It’s gonna be okay baby, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?” Tears were hot on her cheeks, but Emma knew that she had other things to worry about, her own emotions could be seen to after.

“What should I do?” Miranda came to stand beside her, wringing her hands as Emma got Matt into the car seat. “I swear I didn’t know that she was allergic-”

“Look I don’t have time for this,” not even realizing that she wasn’t wearing a jacket, Emma was already in the driver’s seat, getting the posh SUV started. Ideally, she should have taken Miranda with her to keep a check on Poppy while they drove to the nearest hospital, but she couldn’t bring herself to deal with the woman while she was also trying to keep Matt calm and his sister alive. Not without starting a fight at least. “Just call Keanu, lock up the house and then meet us at the hospital.”

The automatic door started reeling upwards, and Emma was backing out, “Are you sure I can’t-”

“You’ve done enough Miranda,” She backed out, “We’ll be at L.A General,” and with that, Emma backed into the street, shifting gears and then speeding off, hoping that she’d get to the E.R before it was too late.

Curled up next to Emma in the pale green sofa of the pediatric waiting room, was Matt, fast asleep. It was just past eight, and if they were at home, she knew he’d still be bouncing off walls, nowhere near ready for bedtime, but Emma had passed his tire off as a consequence of the hustle and trauma, it was certainly enough to have her eyes heavy. But Emma couldn’t sleep, not when the doctors hadn't yet come to update her on Poppy’s condition. By then, in just about an hour, she cried, hyperventilated quietly and almost screamed several times. All she could think of was how Poppy having that life threatening reaction was all her fault. She shouldn’t have left Miranda alone with them, she should have told her to read the list, checked on them instead of stalling in the kitchen. Something, anything.

Sitting across from her, on one of the single seats was Miranda herself, worried, though not half as frenzied as Emma. Maybe she was just good at keeping it at bay. They hadn’t spoken since she’d gotten there, instead, Miranda had opted to anxiously flip through magazines provided while Emma had struggled through trying to get Matt to have a sandwich from the cafeteria and a little carton of milk for dinner, almost losing her mind when he fought her, but eventually getting him to have some of it. And like she couldn’t bare to sleep, she was also too sick to her stomach with guilt to eat.

Her thoughts had left her sinking, and when Matt had succumbed to slumber, Emma had let the rest of the room fade to nothing, one mantra playing on loop in her mind, ‘just let that sweet little girl be okay.’ Keanu had been unreachable, so they'd left several voicemails, and Emma vaguely remembered that he’d mentioned that he had a meeting about a movie he'd worked on as a producer and then another with his agent, though, when he came though the white double doors, motorcycle helmet in hand, his eyes were red, his hair a mess there was an urgency in this long strides. “What the hell happened?” Were the first words that tumbled out of his mouth as he looked between Emma and Miranda, who both stood at his entrance.

Immediately, Miranda rushed to his side, sinking into his side and letting his arm go around her waist. Before Emma could process his question, Miranda was the one speaking, “I have no idea,” she shot Emma an unreadable look, though at the last second, there was devilish glimmer in her green eyes, “Emma came home and made them snacks, and next thing I know Poppy’s having a reaction.” Figures that out of all times, Miranda would remember her name, it would be then.

Her jaw hung slack and for the longest minute, Emma was at a complete loss for words. Though, her mind came up with a long list of the things she wanted to say, what the fuck? Being at the very top. “I….” She stuttered, wanting to instantly clear her name. But then, in a rush, Zelda’s words came back to her, Miranda always gets what she wants and stay out of her way. “I…” Even if she did tell the truth, Miranda was Keanu’s fiancée, who would he believe anyway? The hired help or the woman who he wanted to be the mother of his children. Emma was pretty sure she already knew the answer, best not to fight it, especially since she was clearly already on Miranda’s bad side. “I’m sorry,” fighting tears was hard, and the anger that heated up Keanu’s face was frightening, “I didn’t mean to- to- I just-”

Cutting off her stammering, moving his hand from Miranda’s waist, tossing his helmet to a chair and finally running both his hands through his hair. “How could you be so careless?” He hissed loud and venomously, “You could have killed my daughter,” the only reason he wasn’t full on yelling was because Matt was sleeping nearby, but Emma could tell that it was barely holding Keanu back and the low tone didn’t make his words sting less. “There’s a list for a reason, you know that. But now, my daughter is in the hospital because you were careless! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I am so, so sorry Keanu,” hot tears streamed down her face, from tired burning eyes. Her hiccupped breaths made Emma feel like a child being scolded at recess and all she wanted to do was have a fissure in the floor open up and swallow her. “I would never hurt Poppy, not intentionally, and I swear, as soon as it happened-”

“She came and told me,” Miranda interjected, intent on only making the situation worse, a hint of a smirk threatening to twist her lips, “And I told her that she had to take the children to the hospital immediately. Poppy could have died, for God’s sakes!”

A strangled sob threatened to wake Matt, and Emma had to clasp her hand over her mouth. How could someone be so outrightly vicious, going as far as shoving the blame on another person. “Maybe hiring you was a mistake,” Keanu determined, and Emma’s eyes went wide, definitely not prepared for what came next, “Maybe we need to reconsider you as their nanny.”

“What?” Emma swallowed thickly, that couldn't be it. From the minute they met she knew that Miranda hadn’t liked her, but fired? Never seeing the twins again or Keanu, she didn’t think it would go that far. “Please don’t-”

“I think you’ve said enough,” Keanu raised his hand, motioning for Emma to stop, passing it over his face before turning away.

Emma needed that job, and she adored those kids. Hell, she might have even been falling for Keanu, but she was not prepared to be humiliated even further. And maybe, if Miranda was going to be a permanent part of the Reeves household, it was better that she didn’t stick around. She could put up with a lot, but being someone for an entitled celebrity to cast undue blame on wasn’t one of them. Passive aggressive insults, snide remakes, being a bag holding mouse and walked all over, she could take. But being humiliated in public, for something she hadn’t done? Being treated like she was an inept child and not worthy of having an explanation or a chance to clear her name? That was where she drew the line.

“You know what Keanu,” Emma felt around her bag, eventually pulling out the keys for the SUV that she used to drive around the kids, “Miranda,” she hissed vehemently, “Maybe I should save you both some time,” finding a spot of courage, she strode up to him, Emma shoved the keys to Keanu’s chest, not caring if he got a hold of them or not, “Cause I quit.”

From the minute he held the keys in his grasp, feeling her fingers brush his and subsequently watching Emma walking out of the waiting room, Keanu knew he’d made a mistake. Emma couldn’t just leave, his children adored her, he…...well, he wasn’t too sure about what he felt for her, but he did know that he didn’t want to lose her. The whole firing quip had been an empty threat, fueled by stress and anger. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, “Mandy, you stay here,” he started walking off, hoping to catch Emma before she could leave the hospital.

“Where are you going?” She grabbed his bicep, “You can’t just leave me here with him,” Miranda gestured to Matt, still curled up sleeping, not knowing that the nanny that he’d started looking up to had just walked out on them, and it was all his father’s fault. “Besides,” she reasoned, tone even and cool, “If she wants to leave, you should let her. She’s lazy and irresponsible.”

“Wha- no,” Keanu shook off Miranda's grip and by extension, her words, “Emma is not lazy, she works her ass off for my kids, and irresponsible? It was a mistake,” in an instant, his mind was changing and Keanu was regretting the way he’d handled things with Emma. She was obviously devastated knowing that she’d put Poppy at risk, and he had just made it worse, “Allergies happen, she has to learn. And I do too. I'm sorry,” he began the walk to the doors, “But I have to go find her.”

Keanu hadn’t meant for things to go awry, or to force Emma to quit, but he had just been so upset; worry and fear morphing into anger, causing him to lash out. In her three months with their family, that was the first time that she’d made any sort of mistake. Emma had probably committed the list memory and believing that she could make such a careless mistake was becoming increasingly hard. It just didn’t make sense. Emma treated his kids like they were her own, and that was only one of the many reasons why Keanu couldn’t lose her.

Thankfully though, he was able to catch up to her just as she was headed for the curb, arms wrapped around herself to combat the night’s chill, her sleeveless cotton shirt, with a little knot over her navel not really doing her any favors. “Em!” He jogged up to her, speeding up when she walked faster, “Emma, please, just wait.”

“What?” She turned, olive cheeks tear stained and taking on a reddish tint, illuminated by the street laps lining the parking lot, rage and hurt intermingling, “What do you want?” She heaved, and Keanu hated that he’d made her cry. She didn’t deserve to cry, she didn’t deserve anything he’s given her back there. Emma was a marvelous person, who was exceptional at her job.

“I’m sorry,” Keanu breathed, shaking his head, stepping closer, “You’re the best nanny Matt and Poppy have ever had; they love you, they listen to you and they’d miss you a damn lot if you left. I’d miss you,” his features softened, his eyes pleading, “I shouldn’t have flipped out on you like that, I wasn’t even there and mistakes happen. I know that you wouldn’t put either of my kids in danger,” he slumped his shoulders, and Emma looked away, swiping at her eyes. She was fighting shivers too, Keanu could see it; it had rained earlier that day, and a distinct dampness along with an uncharacteristic chill still hung in the air. Not thinking much of it, just not wanting her to catch a cold, Keanu shrugged off his riding jacket, stepping closer and reaching around Emma to drape it over her slender shoulders, taking the opportunity to grip them after, “Please don’t leave us Em. I'm begging you.”

“I’ll stay,” she clenched her jaw, wiggling out of Keanu’s grip, “But not for you, I’m staying for those kids. And next time you want to accuse me of trying to kill one of your children, maybe you should dig a little deeper first."

“What?” Knitting his brows, Keanu watched as she started towards the hospital’s entrance, his coat swallowing up her frame, not even offering one backwards glass before going through the automatic doors.

Three Days Later The house had been exceptionally quiet since they’d returned from the hospital, Keanu had asked Emma to tell the tutors to take the rest of the week off, and Poppy had been recovering with her brother almost constantly at her side. The doctor warned them that Poppy’s allergy to wheat could have been deadly if they hadn’t gotten there sooner, and when Keanu had hugged Miranda in relief, while Emma was still wearing his jacket, she had to pretend it didn’t sting.

As a direct, though relieving side effect though, Miranda had been actively avoiding her, and Emma could tell that Keanu was too. That was, until late one evening, after Emma had put the kids down for an early bedtime and had resigned to her own room, getting into comfortable shorts and a loose camisole after her hot shower, deciding that a glass of wine and a movie on her laptop would be the perfect end to an easy Friday. The knock on her door and been soft, lacking urgency, and when she pulled it open, seeing Keanu on the other side, she was actually surprised, “Keanu?”

“Hey,” he smiled sheepishly, dressed like he’d just come home, still in his jacket and everything. The same one he’d lent her back at the hospital. She wondered if he’d washed it, or if he had let the fading scent of her favorite perfume linger against his skin.

Before he spoke again, Keanu faltered, almost losing himself as he drank her in, tiny cotton shorts boasting her smooth, toned legs, the fabric of her top stretched across her chest and Emma's long, drying tresses swept over one shoulder, leaving the slender column of her neck exposed. A wedding band that hung on a thin gold necklace settled against her skin, Keanu knew it was her father's, she'd mentioned when he asked if it belonged to someone else, someone like a husband. Remembering himself, Keanu took in a breath, trying to pull himself out of the trance that he'd fallen into, “Can I come in?”

Nodding, Emma stepped back, pulling the door open a little more, “Your house, your bedroom,” she tried to return his smile, still feeling the tension between them, not sure if it was a good tense or a bad one.

“It’s your room,” Keanu countered, serious, though not harsh, “As long as you’re here with us, its your home too, and your room.” Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he bent his head, dark mane curtaining his handsome face, smile fading. “I think I owe you an apology,” he shuffled his feet awkwardly, “No, I know I owe you an apology.”

“Keanu-” Emma tried to stop him, though he cut her off, not the way he had the last time, that night, it was softer, as he pleaded with her to just hear him out.

“I really need to say this,” Keanu raised his head, his whiskey gaze meeting her hazel orbs, and he tentatively toed a step closer, “What I said the other night at the hospital, I was way out of line,” he sighed, going slow so so he wouldn’t fumble over his words, “What I’m trying to say now is; I know it wasn’t you that caused the reaction.”

“What?” Baffled, and immensely relieved, Emma felt a mountain of stress that she hadn’t known was there, rolling off her shoulders, “How?”

Chuckling dryly, Keanu shook his head, moistening his lips, “When I came home, and saw those cookies, I knew it couldn’t have been you. I mean, you bake, but not with organic peanut butter and almond milk. I had my suspicions back at the hospital, you probably know that list better than the back of your hand,” he raked his nails through his beard, “And then I asked Matt, and he told me that it was Miranda that made the cookies. So I'm really, really sorry, about all of that.”

“Oh,” the soft exhale left Emma’s parted lips, and truly, she couldn’t believe that she was actually getting an apology from her boss. Not sure of how to proceed, she gnawed on her lip for a second, “What’re you gonna do?”

Huffing, Keanu smirked, “Nothing. Knowing Mandy, she’d just deny it anyway. Besides, it was an accident,” If Emma wasn’t mistaken, she could have sworn he sounded a little bitter.

“Thank you,” Emma smiled, happy when Keanu returned the gesture, “I know you didn’t have to apologize, but it means a lot to me that you did.”

“Uh, yeah,” grinning breathlessly, they lingered like that for a moment, until the air grew flustered, and Keanu noticed her wine glass on the nightstand and computer on the made bed, mumbling about how he should get out of her hair.

Though, when he was on his way out of Emma’s room, he absently grabbed his right shoulder, rubbing and rolling the joint, “You okay?” She halted him, “That looks like it hurts.”

“Yeah,” he winced, trying to downplay it, even if Emma could see right through his façade, “Went to the gym this morning, now I’m starting to think that my trainer was right when she said I’ve stayed away for too long. Nothing to worry about though, just a little sore.”

“Maybe I can help,” she had no idea where the suggestion came from, or why she hadn’t tried harder to keep it inside, but there was really no going back anyway. Clearing her throat, Emma blushed, “Why don’t you take off your jacket, and sit on the bed?”

Just as flustered, Keanu inhaled deeply, wanting to oblige, but not sure if he should, “You don’t have to-”

“I want too,” taking initiative, Emma approached him, leaning up on her toes, her eye line barely meeting the back of his neck as she urged his jacket off, folding it in half and draping it over the arm of an accent chair. His biceps strained against the sleeves and Emma swallowed the little flirtatious comment that sat at the tip of her tongue. “Sit, please. I insist.”

Nodding, Keanu went over to bed, sitting on the edge as instructed and then watching intently as Emma crawled up behind him. Her bare knees grazed him as she adjusted herself, and it wasn’t long before he felt her small hands on his shoulders, kneading slowly. Her fingers applied the perfect amount of pressure, and when she rubbed the base of her palms over them, the sensation was close to orgasmic, “Shit, Em…..” Keanu groaned, feeling the tension start dribbling away, “That is…..amazing.”

Giggling musically, she just carried on. The muscles beneath his t-shirt were far firmer than what she expected from someone his age, and touching him like that, seemed more intimate than Emma had intended. “That’s good, cause you are so tense. You’ve gotta take it easy Keanu,” she chuckled.

“I know, its just….I’ve got a lot on my plate,” he voice dropped lower as he closed his eyes, submitting to the pleasure. It had been a long time since he’d let someone take care of him like that, since someone even offered to take care of him like that, and not even Miranda’s touch felt that way, so warm and soothing. Keanu would be lying if he said he was okay with it ending. “I’m just glad I have you though.”

“Oh?” Emma slowed down, leaning forward so her unrestrained breasts were pressed against Keanu’s back when her face reached the side of his. By the time he turned to face her, their lips were a mere inch apart, and it wouldn’t have taken much for her to just kiss him. “Well I’m glad I’m here for you,” she whispered, her hot breath fanning his face.

“I need to ask you something,” Emma could have sworn that Keanu was leaning in, and his eyes searched hers, longing reflected.

Mesmerized, Emma barely registered his words, only anticipating what she thought might come next, “Okay.”

“I uh….” his gaze fell on her perfect, plump lips, “I was just wondering, would you go to Paris with me?” Her heart leapt and while it wasn’t the question she’d been hoping for, Emma was already excited, “With me and the kids I mean.” Suddenly, as fast as it was created, the moment was gone, and embarrassed, Emma pulled away, trying to refocus her attention of Keanu’s stiff shoulders, “I have to be there by next month for a premiere, and since I’m gonna be spending my birthday there, I thought I’d take Matt and Poppy too. Obviously, if you have other obligations here, I wouldn’t want you to leave them.”

Disappointed and confused, Emma’s response was void of enthusiasm, “No, no I don’t,” swallowing tightly, she tried not to cry, hoping her shame wasn’t audible, “I’d love to go, part of the job, right?”

Keanu took a minute before he responded, though, when he did, his somber tone seemed to reflected hers, “Yeah, I guess so.”

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #nanny au #fanfic #fanfiction #keanu reeves au #au

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Note

maybe some 🔥with JonTim for the prompts post?

Hello friend!! I got seized by the spirit of the season and decided to write this today <3 It’s an archives polycule AU where everything is nice and everyone’s happy, but it’s specifically focused on Jon/Tim. I hope that’s okay!!

“Are you sure you don’t want to help me?”

Jon nodded, a serene smile on his face. “Yes.”

“Not even the tiniest bit?”

“Not even that.”

“Could be fun! All that snow-”

“Tim.” Jon was giving him his most unimpressed glare. “Look at me. Do I look like I want to shovel snow?” It was true. Jon was currently wrapped in their two fluffiest blankets, sitting in front of a fire Tim had started and sipping from a mug of tea, a book in his other hand. He looked cozy and warm and all the things Tim wanted to be right now if he hadn’t announced that as a ‘good boyfriend,’ he should clear the driveway for when Martin and Sasha arrive. They’d woken up this morning to see the ground blanketed in a thick layer of white, the storm that Tim had insisted ‘would just pass through’ had evidently decided to stay the night. Tim wanted to make sure they didn’t have any trouble coming up. Unfortunately, he announced this right as he wrapped Jon up, and Jon was not moving any time soon.

“You only have one shovel,” Jon pointed out, snuggling deeper into the blankets. “There’s no point in my standing out there if I’m not going to help.”

“Moral support!”

Jon heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes. “I’ll watch you from the window. You don’t want me to get cold, do you?” Jon wasn’t above a little guilt trip and Tim was the one who bundled him all up. It would be a shame to destroy all of that hard work, especially when the finished product was so damn cute. “Or you could just stay in with me-”

Tim groaned dramatically, winding a scarf around his neck with a flourish. “No, it’s fine. I think we’ve established I’m the good boyfriend, and you’re the lazy one.”

“I prefer practical.”

So now here he was, both sweating and freezing (the worst combination, objectively), making little progress on the driveway while Jon sat by the fire, cozy and warm and cute and very pleased with himself. It made Tim want to scowl and also squish Jon to his chest and never let him go, a fairly normal occurrence.

This wouldn’t be an issue if everyone had come to the cabin at once. Tim had managed to lure Jon away by promising him control of the radio on the ride up, as well as an hour-long detour to the farm that had the horses Jon liked to talk to in very serious tones. Sasha was all about efficiency and wasn’t as indulgent as he was, so she was going to leave a few hours after them with Martin to keep her company. Martin would never allow one of them to feel lonely, though he did look put out at the thought of not being able to watch Jon with the horses. Tim promised to take lots of pictures. In the end, it was probably for the best- Martin had a tendency towards overpacking even for a weekend trip, so this would be a roomier arrangement. But then a surprise storm hit, delaying the two until the next morning. And Tim was going to make sure they had an easy time of it, if he had anything to say about it.

But it was so cold, and he’d slipped twice already, though his falls were cushioned by the snow. On both occasions he saw Jon burrowing his head into the blanket, trying to hide laughter. And Jon needed to stop- well, he needed to stop being Jon and enticing him to come back in. He kept tilting his head in the way he always did when there was an interesting passage in his book, and yawning and blinking like a tired cat, even nodding off a few times, only brought back by a shake of his head. Was he doing this on purpose? Was it all a part of his master plan to leave the driveway un-shoveled and keep Tim all to himself? Terrible, dastardly man.

The last straw came when he was tired and aching, about half-way done. Jon had shuffled out of the room, blanket around his shoulder like a cape. He came back a few minutes later with two mugs of tea and something under his arm. He moved close to the window, setting the mugs down very purposefully, and tucking a bottle out from under his arm, pouring a rather liberal amount of whatever was in it into the mugs. Tim saw the beginnings of a smirk on his face and he dropped the shovel on the porch, stamping his way inside an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine, fine! You’ve seduced me from my work, my small cabin-dwelling siren,” Jon dodged the forehead kiss, Tim had yet to shed all of his cold, wet outdoor gear. “Hope you’re happy.”

“Very.” Jon settled back onto the couch with a little smile, opening up the blanket for Tim to join. “You weren’t getting much done, Tim. You spent most of your time staring.”

“You were being distracting!” He threw the coat into the corner, not caring about the mess so much as getting warm. He took the mug gingerly in his hands, walking over and burrowing into the blanket, Jon melting into his side. Jon was an icicle in almost all circumstances, but a few hours in front of a fire and nestled in blankets seem to have done him good; the man was like his own personal heater. He took a sip and almost choked at the way it burned his throat. “Jesus, what did you put in here?”

“Vodka,” Jon mumbled, tucking his face into Tim’s shoulder. “Only a little.” Jon’s flushed face and half-lidded eyes said otherwise.

“Have you been drinking all this time?”

“Hnnn...maybe.” It was only noon. Tim opened his mouth to chastise him before thinking better. Well, we’ve done worse. “Catch up.”

Tim took another sip, still cringing at the taste. “I can’t get blasted like you are, pal. I’ve still got work to do.”

Jon shook his head against Tim’s arm. “Just stay here. It’s supposed to snow later, anyway.”

Tim paused. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, this afternoon.” Jon let out a yawn, closing his eyes. “Gonna undo all your hard work.”

“How long have you known that?” Tim stared down at him, a bit irritated as Jon only shrugged.

“Dunno. An hour, maybe?” He peeked his head up, looking out from under his eyelashes. Damn him. “But I liked watchin’ you work.”

Well, Tim couldn’t fault him for that. He ruffled Jon’s hair, ignoring the petulant whine it earned him. “You’re a little devil, you know that?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled drowsily, climbing right into his lap and throwing his arms around Tim’s neck. Well, that’s nice. “And I’m here to warm you up.” Tim wouldn’t say no to that.

It had been a while since it was just the two of them- don’t get him wrong, Tim loved the time any of them got to spend together, as tearing Jon away from his work was nigh on impossible. But sometimes it was nice to be alone, the two of them in front of roaring fire with alcohol coursing through their system and the sky growing ever-grayer in the background. He took a generous sip of Jon’s hideously doctored beverage and sunk deeper into the cushions, giving Jon a squeeze.

“Alright, you win. They’ll have to deal with a snowy driveway. They should’ve come up earlier, anyway.” He’d see them soon, it was fine. Till then, he would exhaust their liquor stash and thoroughly enjoy the warm, tipsy Jon in his arms. The man laid there quietly for a bit, warm and content, before he pulled back to meet Tim’s eyes with a look of deep offense.

“Can’t believe Sasha didn’t want to see the horses. Horses, Tim!”

“Honestly! The audacity of that woman, I swear.”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303050

#prompt fills #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #gratuitous fluff #archive polycule #cw drinking #advent archives #zykaben

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king-finnigan · 4 years ago

Note

For the prompt meme: 24, geralt/jaskier?

24. “I needed you! I needed you!”

It takes Geralt months to find Jaskier again after the dragon hunt. He knows Jaskier doesn’t want the Witcher to find him - Jaskier forgoing furthering his bardic reputation in favour of anonimity by using the nickname Dandelion in the towns he passes through, Jaskier skirting dangerously close to Blaviken, and staying in that region, and even going so far as to buy a horse to travel more quickly. But Geralt knows all these tricks, knows because he’s the one that taught them to Jaskier during the years they spent together, just in case Jaskier had to evade someone who was following him.

Geralt just never thought that he would be the person Jaskier would be evading.

But despite Jaskier’s best efforts, Geralt manages to track him down. He doesn’t want to hurt the bard more, but he feels like he has to apologize, has to at least try to heal the wounds he caused.

He finds him in the middle of the woods, too far from any town to reach an inn by midnight. The bard is setting up camp, before taking the saddle off his white horse and brushing the mare down. He looks up when Geralt approaches - the Witcher deliberately making his footsteps louder so that Jaskier can hear him coming.

“Oh, it’s you,” the bard mutters, before looking at his own horse again. “Here to hurt me again? Wasn’t last time enough for you?”

“Jaskier, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

Geralt blinks, then frowns. Surely, it can’t be that easy, right? “So... can we travel together again?”

Jaskier scoffs, starts gathering wood to build a fire. “No. I’d actually very much like it if you left right now.”

Ah. He knew he was getting off the hook way too easily. “But...” His mind comes up blank, as he finds he has no other reason for Jaskier to travel with him, other than that he wants Jaskier back in his life. “I can hunt for you.”

Jaskier scoffs again. “I can hunt perfectly fine myself, thank you very much.”

He frowns. That’s new. “I can earn coin.”

Jaskier grabs his bag from where it’s lying by his feet, shaking it a bit. The rattling coming from inside tells Geralt there’s a very full coin bag in there, already.

“I- I can...” But nothing comes to mind.

Jaskier laughs without humour, sitting down on a fallen tree. “Geralt, darling, ever since you broke my heart on that mountain, I’ve been making sure to fill in all the gaps you left behind. I can hunt for myself, I can earn coin, I can defend myself, I can do everything myself. I don’t need you anymore.”

And there’s that glimmer of the Jaskier Geralt knows so well, the one that can’t stop talking, once he’s started.

“You want to know why? Because when I walked down that mountain, when I saw monster after monster, some of them human, some not, I realized I needed you.” He lets out another mirthless laugh. “I was Jaskier, the great poet and bard, master of the seven liberal arts, and I needed you! I needed you! And when push came to shove you left me on a mountainside. And now you come here with a half-assed apology and when I ask you why we should travel together, you don’t even tell me that you simply want to. Or that you need me.” He cards his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing up unevenly. “So if that’s all you have to say, please leave.”

Geralt stands there for a few seconds, as Jaskier turns his face away, tears shining in those blue eyes. He’s not sure what to do - with the revalation that Jaskier needed him all along, with the knowledge that that’s no longer the case, with the regret and guilt swirling through his chest.

He would lay down his life for Jaskier. That’s all he knows.

And he wants Jaskier to know that, too.

So, he walks forward, kneeling at Jaskier’s feet, as the bard turns to look at him, frowning when Geralt takes the swords off his back, laying them in Jaskier’s lap.

He clears his throat. “I know you don’t need me anymore, but... but I need you. More than anything. You followed me for twenty years.” He gestures at his swords. “Now let me return the favour. Anything you need- want, I’ll give it to you. I’m sorry. For everything.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, as Geralt continues staring at Jaskier’s feet, awaiting his reaction. Eventually, he hears a soft sigh above him.

“I knew it,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt resists the urge to look up. “I always knew you had a flair for the dramatics, Witcher.”

A soft finger under his chin tilts his head up, and he’s greeted with a gentle smile on Jaskier’s face.

“Alright! I can’t say no to a grand gesture like that, can I? Yes, I forgive you, and yes, we can travel together again, but, I better see you hold true to your word and spoil me rotten, do you understand?”

Geralt nods, the spark of hope lighting him up from the inside. “I understand. Anything for you.”

Jaskier lifts one eyebrow, cocky smile on his lips. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

The bard smirks, leaning back, stretching his legs. “Be a dear and massage my feet for me, then. They’re killing me.”

And, well, how can Geralt say no to that?

#Anonymous #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #squish answers #drabble #750 followers celebrations #gonna finish the last drabbles up tomorrow!

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houndin-around · 4 years ago

Text

Volition | Darth Maul

warnings: angst, minor abuse from previous master, minor drug mention, a small tidbit of arousal | Padawan is of age !

author notes: so today turned into a really bad day and so I took my anger out on writing I guess. Hope ya’ll enjoy it! We all need a maul to rescue us from some shit. This is my first time writing for maul so please be nice 🥺 I’m still second-guessing myself on posting this...😅

“(Y/n) go back to your quarters. I’m done dealing with your subpar technique.” your master ordered, whipping your lightsaber toward you.

Falling to your knees, lips quivering you didn’t even dare to look at your master. “I’m sorry master...please. Please forgive me. One more chance?” you begged.

“Absolutely not! You don’t even deserve the rank as my padawan (y/n), and yet here you are before me. Look how pathetic you are, is this how you’ll be on the battlefield when you lose? Get out of my sight.”

Burning hot with shame as you failed his assessment on formation, though it was something you studied to no end, you still managed to screw it up. Tears streamed down your face as you sat in the dirt, his words cutting into you like a vibroblade. You couldn’t fathom how out of all the Jedi in the temple you ended up with Master Feles. As you were growing up, you had hoped to begin your training with Master Plo Koon, Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi, or even Master Yoda. At least they were kind to you, but it never worked like that no. Feles sensed much strength within you and thus convinced the council to let him train you. But why? He acted as he cared for you but as soon as you slipped up, harsh words were thrown at you and sometimes even his fists. Master Feles was so full of rage, hate, his aura throwing off uncertain vibes within your instincts.

Alas, there wasn’t anything you could do, you’ve been his padawan for many years and put up with his barbarous treatment. It’s not like the other Jedi masters would believe it though, Feles had them wrapped around his finger. The only time they ended up being skeptical of his teachings was when he ended up losing a battle against the separatist droids, blaming it on you for slowing him down. The result was a quick strike from his lightsaber against your back when you turned to check on one of your downed troopers.

Taking a deep breath, you grab your lightsaber that was thrown into the dirt and wipe it off with your robes. Clipping it to your belt, you scan the area quickly before heading toward the corridor leading to the back entrance of the Jedi temple. It would be hard to dodge any Knights or Masters walking the hallways but it was worth it. You needed to leave and clear your mind, to pretend you weren’t even a padawan for just a night. As you approach a long staircase, two knights head in your direction walking in unison. Swiftly you tuck yourself behind a statue attempting to silence your mind so your presence isn’t detected.

Several excruciating moments later, they pass too absorbed in their own discussion about who was to become a Master before the other. Hesitantly you make you way down the stairs scanning the lower level to see if anyone was lingering. It was well past curfew so luckily you didn’t run into anyone else on your journey to the back entrance. Stepping foot outside of the temple without having to carry out a mission or an errand felt so liberating. Heading down the vast staircase that led toward the city of Coruscant, you couldn’t help but launch into a sprint. The freedom lured you out encouraging you to detach from the order you once followed so closely. Pulling your hood over your head to mask your identity somewhat, you saunter the lively streets of Galactic City. No one even bothers to pay you any mind which eased the anxiety that whirled around in your gut.

The only unfortunate part about this planet was there weren’t many places to just sit down and rest. Everyone was always in such a hurry that sitting down to take in the sights around never came to mind to these citizens. Nearing a dark alley, you round the corner finding it empty, where it was less likely for anyone to want to bother you. Sitting on the duracrete sent a shiver up your spine, it was nothing like the plush pillows you knelt on in the temple but it would have to do. Head against the building made of durasteel, you glance up barely able to make out the stars as the lights of Coruscant hid them.

Out of the corner of your eye, were two gentlemen also hooded part taking in some dubious acts. At first, they hadn’t realized you, though once they did they strutted over, grins flustered on their face.

“What’s a pretty face doing out here all by her lonesome?” the one snickered.

“Seems like she needs some protecting, whaddya think Ander?” the second snickered.

“Well, seems like you just witnessed something you weren’t supposed to. Only way out of it is either pay up and buy some death sticks off me, or you come with us. I much rather the second option. We’re both a good amount of fun.” Ander elbowed his friend playfully, eyes narrowing at you as they both erupted into a fit of laughter.

“I didn’t see anything...I-I promise. Please just leave me alone.” you pleaded. Of course, you didn’t want to make a scene and it was against the code to use your power in any type of personal gain. As much as you wanted to detach from the ways of the Jedi you simply couldn’t abandon the belief system that taught you so much.

“See, we can’t take your word for it sweetheart, so you’re going to have to come with us.” the second unnamed counterpart was a Trandoshan, a species you’re familiar with for being quite aggressive.

The Trandoshan had his digits gripped onto your jaw, staring into your eyes as Ander prattled on probably due to the effects of the death sticks.

“Get your kriffing hands off me!” rage engulfed you, causing you to use the force against the two.

Shocked by the sudden revelation, the men couldn’t scurry out fast enough, fearing for their lives. A sigh of relief escaped your lips only to be sucked back in at the sound of another voice.

“It seems like you’re very strong with the force hmm?” his voice was honeyed, though it sent a shudder down your back at the deep sound.

“I guess..not really though,” you mumbled. “I shouldn’t have done what I just did.” guilt beginning to consume you as you just let anger take over.

“And why do you say that? Because you used your gift simply to protect yourself?”

“It’s not the Jedi way…” trailing off you kneel down before the stranger, assuming he was a Master as it was hard to make out his robes due to the lighting but he spoke in a way that suggested so. “You know that…”

A deep chuckle was released, “I am no Jedi. I was trained in the ways of the force yes, but was never a Jedi.”

The rush of fear soon rested inside you as you realized before you was a sith. Was it the one the Jedi have been looking for? The sith lord? “You’re a sith! You’re the one everyone has been looking for!” you hissed.

Walking closer, the faint light showed bits of his face which was red intertwined with black ink, his eyes a honey-like color that was surrounded by a crimson ring. “My darling, you may think I am evil. I am not. I am efficient. I was apprentice to the most powerful being in the galaxy once. I was destined to become so much more. But I was robbed of that destiny by the Jedi, by Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Moving even closer to you, he too knelt down in front of you, inches away from your face eyes locked. “My name is Maul. I no longer have any attachment to the sith. I’m purely on my own.”

Blinking, you try to figure out how Master Kenobi played in this though that wasn’t something that concerned you too much. What did was the fact this stranger and force wielder is mere inches away from your face, intrigued with you. “So what do you want with me…? It’s clear you want something.” you faltered.

“Passing by, I heard your thoughts. The white noise they emitted that distracted me and lured me in out of pure curiosity. Then,” he paused, licking his lips “Then I saw the power you possess deep inside of you. A power only I am able to help you achieve. But I also feel your strong hatred toward something. Perhaps..someone?” a smirk emerged as he noticed you beginning to go wide-eyed

Putting your head down, you realized you needed to silence your thoughts and feelings as they were clearly becoming very loud for any force user to sense them. Suddenly your jaw was grabbed but the touch was oh so tender, so light as he brought your eyes back to his. As horrifying as this experience was, there was something about him that made you question his true intentions. His eyes seemed to be telling the truth even if his words seemed off, but you can see the pain within them.

At the sight of you, his hearts began to thud, something about you was driving this zabrak insane. Could it be the power? The drive? Or was it something else so unfamiliar to the zabrak that made him almost feral with just the scent of you lingering in his nostrils. Callused fingertips still touching your soft skin, he closed his eyes trying to read you even further and to give you a chance to consider his words.

“I may have some doubts, but that doesn’t mean I want to leave nor join someone like you!” fear creeping into your voice. As much as you hated your master, how could you leave the only home you know, especially with Maul? A stranger you have no knowledge of, except that Master Kenobi had dealt with him at one point.

Pulling away, he turned his head and rose to his feet. “Very well. I won’t force you to make this decision. If you cannot see your true potential and want to continue enduring the mistreatment from your Master, so be it.” his once smooth voice, now harsh, full of rage.

Him knowing what your master has done was enough to make you fall back in surprise. The sincerity in his voice was convincing, but ultimately there wasn’t much to lose. At this point, it felt great to be away from the temple, and the thought of never seeing Feles again was a bonus. Quickly you leap to your feet, reaching out to grab his forearm. Even though you couldn’t see it a grin enveloped his features. Turning around, this time he leaned in closer, forehead brushing against yours, eyes searching yours.

“I-I’ll take your offer. Let me join you..and get me far away from here as possible. Help me discover my inner power you see.” you urged desperately. You were almost breathless with how close he was, but not out of fear this time, no it was something else. Something about him was drawing you in, the way he touched you, the way he looked into your eyes, it all just sent a new sensation into your depths. Even if your body never experienced this before it wanted more, it craved it, judging by Maul’s facial expressions he sensed it too, and he liked it.

“Good…” he trailed off, his grin still present on his face. “I will help you. Help you discover it all and so much more. You will never regret this encounter and joining me by my side. I promise you that.” His pupils were dilated and his breathing was ragged. A gentle hand moving a stray hair off your face, gaze still fixated like a predator stalking its prey.

Whether or not this was a good idea didn’t matter anymore. The Jedi didn’t matter anymore, nor did your attachment to the code itself, what you wanted now was him. The infatuation was too strong to ignore and swallowed you whole, making you it’s victim though you weren’t the only one falling for its trap.

#darth maul #star wars #the clone wars #maul #maul x reader #darth maul x reader #darth maul angst #star wars x reader #padawan

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cutieodonoghue · 4 years ago

Photo

dark gray (9/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on tumblr!

///

Nine

In the morning, Emma wakes to an unusual smell. Well, for her time on the island, unusual.

She bites her lip as her eyes squint open, gazing over at the window that allows a soft white light through the curtains and into the bedroom. She sighs as she stretches, thoughts of the night prior fresh in her mind.

Part of her wants to hole up in the bed for the rest of the day, to hide from Killian and any awkwardness that might exist now. But she decides to be stronger than that. Their kiss, while it certainly hadn’t had the ending she’d hoped for, wasn’t a mistake.

Emma sits up, wrapping a blanket over her shoulders to go into the kitchen.She checks on Henry before she goes. He's still sound asleep, his little fingers twitching while he dreams.

When she enters the kitchen, Killian's standing by the stove with a pan and a spatula, looking every bit the scuffled morning mess he usually is.

His hair looks even worse now that it's cut, standing on end every which way. He's wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and she swears her breath doesn't catch at the sight of the muscles she finds herself wanting to run her fingers over.

He turns when he hears her feet against the floor and smiles a little. "Morning, love."

Emma smiles just a little in return. "Morning."

Everything about what’s happening right now feels weird. He's usually out doing chores right about now and he never spends this much time cooking.

For breakfast, it's always usually something fast and easy, if anything at all, but instead, he has a single plate with two round pancakes sitting on top of it.

Killian tips his head toward the table. "Made you breakfast. Hope you like pancakes."

Emma goes to sit at the table. He brings a plate of two slightly undersized, lopsided pancakes to her. Nothing for him. He sits beside her, seemingly content with a glass of water that he doesn’t touch.

“You’re not eating? Again?”

Killian manages to smile. “Those are every last ounce of pancake mix from the back of the pantry, so… enjoy.”

Her stomach gives a prompt grumble, making her helpless but to give into Killian's random act of kindness.

"Why aren't you out doing your chores?"

His gaze shifts to her and she feels as if she's caught him in the act, of what she isn't sure, because his expression is caught between deer in headlights and guilt.

He sits back in his chair. "We need to talk."

Emma narrows her eyes at him. "And are you bribing me with pancakes?"

He shakes his head. "No."

She presses her lips into a line and sets her fork down, wrapping up tighter in her blanket. She stares at him, letting him have the floor.

"There are a lot of things about this situation that aren't ideal," he says on a sigh, clearly having thought what he’s saying through, "Food, Henry… the weather. The thing is, Emma, I have spent a long time on this island grieving and I haven't spent hardly any of it living."

Her heart jumps.

Killian sits forward again. "I'm sorry I..." He hesitates, then straightens out, meeting her eyes with purpose. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you this last night, but I want to be on the same page as you now."

Emma's heart begins to race again. Her eyes widen on their own accord. "What page is that?"

He takes a shaky breath. "I can't let anything happen between us. I'd rather forget it did and move on, actually."

Regret precedes embarrassment in her mind. She feels every ounce of hope draining from her in just a heartbeat.

He's staying here and she's leaving. It would never have worked. What was she thinking?

"I… it's okay," she insists on a false smile. She looks down at her plate. "It was a one time thing."

She would like to set fire to these Bribe Pancakes and to her memory, because now she has the distinct memories of what transpired in the middle of his living room flashing in her mind as she contemplates what this means for her and him.

His hair had been soft between her fingers, and his lips were gentle as he reciprocated the affection of her kiss. His hand on her hip, squeezing with each desperate gasp and sigh.

Emma hadn’t been kissed like that in such a long time. Part of her knows he hadn’t either.

"Yeah. Of course."

She tries not to seem rushed when she picks at her food to try and eat again, but she knows she's coming off like it. Frustrated, she sets her fork down and gets up from the table.

Killian catches her by the arm, looking her in the eye, demanding an answer but not asking any questions.

"Nothing can make the fact that we kissed disappear."

He furrows his brow. "Of course not,"

Emma's jaw tightens and she yanks her arm out of his hold. Unexpected tears fill her eyes and she groans a little, upset for getting so emotional over something so trivial.

"I'm sorry I'm not good enough."

She walks out of the house and straight into the cold morning as fast as she can, ignoring the pain that comes from her knee.

It's still fairly early in the morning, so the sun hasn’t quite risen beyond the horizon yet. Her breath is a soft white cloud when she exhales and she folds her arms to her chest as she starts to walk toward the beach.

Maybe she is just an idiot. She shouldn't have kissed him in the first place.

No one ever thought she was good enough until David and Mary Margaret. Not even Neal really did.

She's never had a good relationship with a guy until this thing with Killian got to the point of smiles and teasing and comfortable a few days ago.

And now she's panicking, because she threw it all away when they kissed. It broke their relationship in half, sending them in a completely new direction.

And it's not like she'll ever be able to just forget about it. Especially if they're living together.

Emma stands at the shoreline where the water washes up in slow, rolling waves. The salt fills her lungs and the cold, crisp air stings, but it reminds her that she is still alive and that means she has less than three weeks to prove that very same fact to Killian.

The front door clatters shut after squeaking open behind her, but she doesn't turn around.

She stands there waiting for something- anything- before she hears his boots behind her and then she feels something warm being draped around her shoulders.

She reaches up instinctively and smiles a little in thanks at him over her shoulder while she slips her arms into the coat. He moves so he stands beside her, both of them looking away from each other.

Silence sits heavy between them for so long that she wonders if there’s any point to him having joined her at all.

"I think you're good enough, Emma."

She turns her face to see him. He is looking out at the horizon, his eyes and jaw set.

"I don't know why I said that."

Killian turns to her, a perfect mixture of sorrow and grief in his eyes. "The reason I wanted to put it behind us was because I feared you would be the one to pull away."

She scoffs. "So you were being chivalrous, then?"

He shakes his head. "I'm just trying to say that neither of us were quite prepared for the repercussions and we need to take some space to figure it out."

Emma sighs. "And just what do you think should be done about that?"

She tugs at her coat and folds her arms.

"I think we should go back to the way things were.” Killian says, but for some reason, she isn’t sure if he believes what he’s saying. “I'll take the couch. You and Henry in the bedroom. Chores in the morning and we don't see each other until lunch."

She stares at him, biting her cheek because she wants to refute that it is impossible to be back to the way things were. She's kissed those lips and she's felt his hair under her fingertips.

Somehow, he's ruined her for anyone else.

"Okay," she sighs, letting a cloud of white fill the space between them. “If that will make it better.”

Killian gives her a pleading look. “Emma…”

Emma looks back at the ocean ahead of them. She tugs at her sleeves, trying to find the words she wants to speak.

“Do you think this happened for a reason?” Emma asks, the question not even necessarily for Killian, but for herself as well. “I could’ve drowned. Henry could’ve frozen.” Turning to Killian, she finds his head tipped down, focused on kicking a rock on the shore. “But the ocean brought us here.”

Her companion finally meets her gaze. “I don’t know.”

Taking a breath of the salty air, Emma shuts her eyes. “I’m sorry that we interrupted you.”

She walks back to the house in silence and goes about her daily business after the door comes clattering against the doorframe.

They don't see each other until lunch and she forces herself to smile, forces herself to let go of all of the emotions she's feeling toward him and about him, and casually goes about her day, which mainly consists of reading his books and folding some laundry.

By the time dinner rolls around, she has tidied and re-tidied the entire place twice over and has set the table for grilled cheese she made for herself and for Killian, because dammit, she's not going to let him starve. He's an idiot for thinking she'd let that happen.

He comes back inside and sighs, obviously happy to be out of the cold. She has Henry in her arms at the table, feeding him as she reads over a play by Shakespeare that he's annotated quite liberally.

"Grilled cheese," she tells him, closing the book and setting it on the side of her plate by the wall. He looks at the plate and she can tell he's about to say something, so she speaks instead, "You're an idiot if you think I'm the kind of person who lets another human starve just so I can feel full. There's enough for both of us to have small meals. Just… no more pancake surprises."

They eat in silence and she bites her lip thoughtfully while she watches him finish.

"Did you go to college?"

He looks shocked by her question, a little confused, and then he shakes his head. "Straight into the Navy. Why?"

Emma takes the book and opens it up. "I've been reading a few of your books and I'm kind of blown away by all of these notes on the side. Do you like to read?"

She knows the answer to her own question. She's just digging.

He gives her a crooked smile. "Liam used to read a lot to me growing up." He looks down at the pages and hums. "Shakespeare. Very good taste, darling. Though, you could've picked a comedy. Macbeth is about as dark as they come." She watches with a small smile as he lifts the book and fingers over the pages. "Here we are. One of my favorites. The Taming of the Shrew. Lovely tale."

Emma hums, admiring the way his eyes shine as he reads over his own writing on the side.

"Have you ever written anything?"

Killian looks up at her and nods slowly, tentatively. "I've never shared with anyone, but I have."

She smiles softly. "I'm sure it's good, if what you write on the side of an already existing piece of work is good."

He chuckles in a self-pitying way. Clearly, he doesn't think so.

"Would you care to read some?" he asks, seeing that she won't let it go.

She nods.

Killian pushes back from the table and rises, going straight into the living area. When he returns, he holds a leather bound notebook in his hand, opened to a specific page that he reads from. He holds it to himself nervously as he sits down again.

"Promise you won't tease me."

Emma rolls her eyes. He hands her the notebook then and she smiles as she reads it over.

His writing is beautiful. It rises and falls perfectly in every line. She is drawn in by the vocabulary and the phrasing, taken by the imagery and the sophistication. She swears he could be famous one day because of it.

She grins, looking up at him. "This is amazing, Killian. You have a real talent for this."

He looks a little embarrassed, shaking his head. "I doubt that greatly, love. But thank you for the ego boost of confidence."

She sighs. "As if you need more of that."

That makes him chuckle and a smile crosses her lips as she looks back into the journal, flipping the page to find more of his work.

It's so good that she barely realizes that she's still holding Henry until he stirs and grabs at her hair. She rips her eyes out of a short story involving a lost ship at sea and looks to Henry.

"Chill out, Dude."

She takes his small fist from her hair and makes him hold her fingers instead, flashing him a happy smile that he reciprocates. She looks up at Killian, who has his chin in his hand, staring straight at her.

"Just who are you, Emma?"

She flashes a coy smirk at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She returns to reading with a teasing smile on her lips. The air between them is comfortable, surprisingly enough. She bites her lip as soon as she finishes a story and looks at him again.

"It's really good, Killian. You could publish this."

He shakes his head, grimacing a little. "It's nothing."

She sighs and closes his book. He's been good at keeping a relative distance from her, but she sees something in the blue of his eyes that's begging to know her.

Emma packages all of the feelings she's felt in the last twenty-four hours into a tight ball, tucking it away in the back of her mind and leaving it to rot. She can't let him wreck her like everyone else has. She's a survivor on her own and she can handle herself. Anyone else just doesn't do the job she can on her own.

She pushes back from the table and takes her dishes to the sink before she carries Henry into the other room.

When she returns, Killian is still at the table, clearly in thought as he follows her to the sink. He comes up next to her and she glances over when their shoulders brush.

There's still a spark between them, the intensity is still just as strong, just as provoking, and it isn't easy to ignore along with everything else, but she does her best, holding her breath as she takes their dishes and scrubs at them.

The next time she sees him, it's lunch the next day.

#cs ff #cs au #my writing #captain swan #dark gray #we're getting sooooo close to the new stuff yay

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aerynwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Liberation - VIII

Chapter 8: Lost and Found

Author’s Note: OOOOOOF, you guys I have been anxiously waiting to write this chapter since the idea popped into my head like a month ago. So, finally, it’s here and I think it’s my favorite chapter!! I seriously hope you guys enjoy this as much as I do becasue this is one of the biggest chapters of the story. Enjoy. (P.S. Thank you to my lovely beta reader who proofread this part. I’m still talking to a couple people but i think i’ve decided i may just end up having a couple readers since so many people were interested. Thank you for the overwheleming response to that post btw, meant a lot!! <3)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: cursing, angst and Graphic depictions of violence, torture, blood, broken bones, and death. You have been warned.

Chapters: Prologue, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight (You’re Here).

--------

It had been a couple more weeks since your conversation with Din near the krill pond, and pretty much every night since then, you both made it an evening routine to sit near the same pond. Sometimes you would both just sit in a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence, and other times you would talk about your pasts, the good and bad.

“No way!” you exclaimed, disbelief lacing your words as you laughed loudly.

Din let out a small chuckle, nodding his head, “Hey! In my defense there were like, a hundred of them. Ewoks may be tiny, but when they flock together, they can be deadly.”

You shook your head, another round of giggles slipping past your lips as you looked at Din once more, “well then, remind me never to get on the Ewoks’ bad side,” you joke, looking back to the water of the krill pond.

Din just nodded, a smile creeping onto his face underneath the helmet, “I will try my best.”

You smiled at the memory as you walked out of your small lodging area on Sorgen, it was late morning and you had wanted to ask Din about doing another training session with you before the day ended. You walked through the small huts towards the outskirts of the village, and as you came out towards the smattering of Krill ponds you immediately spotted Din. He was with Omera, who had her hands on the side of his helmet, moving as if to lift it off. Your eyes widened when, at first, Din made no movement to stop her.

Was he going to let her do it?

For some reason you didn’t want her too. That was something sacred to Din, his way of life, and for it to be taken away so quick was something you weren’t sure was right. But before you could step forward to say anything you saw Din’s hands come up to grasp her wrists gently, pulling them away from his helmet. You let out a small breath before turning to find the child. Omera and Din were obviously having an important conversation, so you could wait until they were finished. You looked around, searching for the child and spotted him in the middle of a group of children, playing happily.

You gave a big smile as you walked over to the group of kids, and crouched down next to them, “And what are you all up too now?” you ask kindly.

Winta, Omera’s daughter, looks to you, “We were just watching him try and catch that frog,” she says happily, pointing to a frog a few feet away.

You glance over and spot the animal hopping away from the group, seemingly happy for your interruption which drew the child’s attention from It, to you instead. The child looked up at you, big eyes squinted as he smiled, letting out a small gurgle. You opened your mouth to say something to the children once more, but a loud gunshot rang through the air. Your heart leapt into your throat as you instinctively moved yourself in front of the group of children, wrapping your arms around them protectively. Birds flew into the air cawing loudly as they fled from the source of the sound. You quickly stood up and rushed to Din once you were sure the children were okay and heard him tell Omera to get the kids inside, before he turned to you.

“Come on,” he said firmly, jogging towards the source of the sound with you hot on his heels.

When you both finally arrived, you saw Cara standing over a smoking body, blaster in hand. Din looked from her to the body before rolling the corpse over with his boot. Your mouth set into a hard frown when you saw the familiar blinking red light of a tracking fob. You leaned down to pick up the fob and looked at the other two.

“Who’s he tracking?” Cara asked.

Mando looks back towards the village, “The kid,” he says solemnly.

“So, they know he’s here. That we’re here,” you pipe up.

Mando continues to look at the village, “Yes.”

“Then they’ll keep coming,” Cara says quietly.

“Yes,” he says, and you watch as he takes the fob from your hand and drops it onto the ground before crushing it with his boot.

-------

You stuff the last of your things in your backpack, and flip the flap closed, securing it with the buckle straps and slinging it across your shoulder. You had offered to help Din pack his things as well as the small trailer that would take you back to the ship, but he had curtly told you no. In fact, he had been oddly silent since you found the hunter in the woods, not speaking to you much and if he did it was in short, cold sentences. You felt your stomach turn at this change in behavior, since it usually didn’t mean anything good. But you swallowed your worries and walked out of the small hut you had called home for the past few months and towards the crowd of villagers surrounding your transport. You saw Din climb onto the trailer, ready to leave, so you rushed the last few yards and pushed through the crown grabbing onto the large metal trailer as you finally reached it.

“Not gonna leave without me are you Mando?” you joked.

Mando didn’t say anything, and you took that as a no, before lifting a foot onto the transport to climb in. Just as you were about to haul yourself up, you felt a hand on your shoulder firmly pushing you back off of it. You looked up confusedly to see Mando had moved towards you and was pushing you away with a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re staying,” he says coolly.

Your brows furrow in confusion and you look nervously at the villagers around you, letting out an airy chuckle, “Come on Mando, quit playing around, we gotta go.”

But another firm push stopped you from boarding once more and finally you looked into the visor of Mando’s helmet as he spoke, “I’m not joking. You’re staying here, where it’s safe.”

You feel panic and fear bubble up inside you as his words finally sink in, “You’re leaving me?” you whisper, your heart felt like it was seizing in your chest as an ache spread from the center of your body to the tips of your fingers.

Mando let out a quiet sigh, “No, I’m not leaving you, I’m going to come back,” he tried to explain, but you shoved his hands from your shoulders roughly, tears pooling in your eyes as your chest seemed to ache even more and anger started to burn inside of you.

“When? When will you come back? If you even come back at all!” your voice cracked.

Mando looked around, guilt eating at him. He knew this is how you’d react, of course it was. He was basically abandoning you while he went off galivanting the universe. But, in his mind, this was the right thing to do. You deserved a happy and safe life for once, and here you could have it. He did plan to come back for you, that part was true, he just wanted the heat to die down a little more before he did.

“(y/n), please,” he whispered, “I just – you’ll be safe here, have a happy life, until I can come back,” he seemed to be pleading now.

You shook your head, tears falling steadily down your cheeks now as you clutched onto the backpack strap as if it was your only lifeline, “I’m happy with you!” you were sobbing now, “Please don’t leave me Mando, please!”

Mando felt his heart clench in his chest as your broken sobs met his ears, but he held firm, “You’re not coming with me.”

His words caused anger, white and hot, to burst within you. The only reaction you had left in you was spite and aggression, the only defense mechanism you seemed to have.

“You’re just like my parents,” you spit, noticing instantly how Din recoiled at your words and, in a twisted way, it felt good. It felt good to know that your words hurt him as much as he was hurting you now.

“Kid, it’s not-“ Din starts, but you cut him off, pushing both of your hands into his chest so hard and fast it catches him off guard and he stumbles back.

“No,” you bite, hands clenched into fists at your side, “I hate you. I fucking hate you!”

Before Din can reply you turn on your heels and shove back through the crowd of villagers. Din watches you go, your words ringing in his ears and making his entire body feel like it was filled with lead. The words hurt worse than any injury he had sustained, and these couldn’t be healed with stitches and ointment. This was not how he wanted to leave things. The last thing he wanted to do was make you feel like he was abandoning you, just like your parents did. Omera seemed to sense his emotions because she comes up to him along with Cara and rests her hand gently on his arm.

“We will take care of her,” she says softly.

Mando nods slowly, fully trusting Omera’s words but still feeling the guilt cloud his mind, “I know, I just-“ he paused, “I wish she understood why I’m doing this.”

Cara looked at him sympathetically, “She will. Just give her some time.”

Mando didn’t say anything else, except for a few goodbyes before he loaded back on the transport and it started to move. He looked at the child, who was staring sadly after the village as it disappeared behind the trees, and he couldn’t help but feel like he failed the two people who mattered most.

-------

You huffed as you walked through the village, blaster at your hip and cloak situated on your shoulders. It had been only two days since Mando had left, and as the hours passed since your more than dramatic goodbye, your anger had given way to confusion and heartache. Deep down you knew that he was only doing what he thought was best, but you were still hurt. You had told him your past, told him what your parents did to you, told him how important what you had with him was, and he still leaves you behind?

You must be horrible to be around if he left you too….

You have to swallow past the lump in your throat at the intrusive thought, as you continue to walk through the village, you had cried pretty much nonstop since he left, so you didn’t want to start again.

“Where are you off too?” you hear Cara call from behind you.

You stop your strides and turn to face her, shrugging your shoulders, “A walk. I just wanted to get some air. Get away for a few hours.”

Cara nods in understanding, “Just keep your eyes open out there, cool?”

You roll your eyes and give her a mock salute, “Yes ma’am.”

She scoffs, “Don’t be a smartass,” she chides, “And be back before dark.”

You give her a small smile, “I will be. I don’t like the dark anyway so I’ll be back before sunset.”

Cara gives you a smile and nods, seemingly happy with your answer before turning back into the dining hall, letting you continue on your way. You passed the krill ponds, trying to ignore the memories it gives you as you do so and walk into the trees. The sounds of nature envelope you as you walk deeper into the forest, planning to head to the local cantina for some food that’s not krill and possibly a drink. Maybe it would help you forget, at least for a while.

As you continue to walk through the dense trees, the sounds of insects and birds greet your ears softly, a soothing sound that makes you smile for the first time in two days. However, the snapping of a twig makes it disappear just as fast. You turn around, hand on your blaster as your eyes scan the trees around you slowly.

“Who’s there?” you call out cautiously, “Cara if that’s you I swear to the maker, I’m going to blast your ass.”

The only answer you receive is the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly behind you, and as you spin around, a fine, bitter smelling mist is sprayed into your face. You cry out in surprise and stumble back, vision already starting to glaze over as the chemical takes effect.

“What the hell,” you slur, trying to gain your footing but falling helplessly onto your ass, hands digging into the dirt, “Who are you? what-“ you try to focus on the figure in front of you as they approach but everything is blurry, “What do you want?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” a low voice rumbles, before picking you up and tossing you over their shoulder.

You try to struggle, fight back, shoot them, anything that will help you escape, but you realize you’ve dropped your blaster. And even if you didn’t your limbs felt like lead as they flopped uselessly against the figure carrying you away. You tried to stay awake, tried to call for help, but the only thing you can do is stare at the forest floor as your vision goes black.

----

Sunset comes and goes with no sign of your return, causing Cara to chew worriedly on her nails as she stands on the porch of your shared quarters. She finally glances over to Omera who looks just as worried as she is and lets out a final huff, grabbing her blaster.

“I’m going to find her. She should’ve been back hours ago.”

Omera nods, and crosses her arms, “I heard one of the villagers say that she told them she was heading to the Cantina in town. So maybe check in that direction,” She suggests.

Cara nods firmly before walking swiftly in the direction she saw you leave. The minute she enters the forest she sees the shallow imprints of your boots on the soft forest floor, and follows them. She walks for almost an hour before she finally sees your steady trail of footsteps falter, turning in different directions before they lead her to a rough patch of kicked up dirt where it seemed you had fallen. She quickly identifies another set of large and unfamiliar footprints coming from the opposite direction. She feels her heart speed up at what the tracks in from of her mean and she moves quickly as she follows the other new set of imprints. However, as she follows them, the deeper into the forest they get. The ground starts to get harder and leaves cover the earth in a thick blanket, until the footprints are no longer visible.

She had lost your trail.

She curses quietly, before turning back the way she came and messing with a few things on her arm guard before a hologram finally pops up, a familiar T-shaped visor staring back at her.

“Cara?” his modulated voice crackled through the aging speakers of her equipment, but she can still clearly hear the confusion in his voice.

“You’ve got to get back here. As soon as you can,” she says firmly, trying to hide the panic in her voice.

“What, why? I just left two days ago.”

“Dammit Mando!” she shouts, “Someone took (y/n), she went out for a walk and never showed back up. I tracked her but it looks like someone got her. And now-“

“I’m on my way, be there in a few hours,” Mando interrupted before shutting down the communication.

Mando stared out the windshield of his spaceship for a brief moment before punching in the coordinates for Sorgen. After he had done that he slammed his fist on the dashboard in frustration, startling the child in the process. He looked over at him, petting his ear lightly before returning to the ships controls.

He was coming for you.

------

It took a few moments when your consciousness finally decided to make an appearance again. At first you noticed an uncomfortable, bordering on painful, presence around your wrists, which were positioned above your head. Then your senses finally seemed to catch up with your as you opened your eyes slowly. It didn’t take anytime for your eyes to adjust to the dimly lit surroundings, immediately taking in the filthy concrete floor beneath you as well as the barred door leading out of the tiny room. The next thing you notice is how you’re positioned. Your hands are cuffed together and suspended from the ceiling above your head by a thick rope, leaving your feet on the ground; however, all of your body’s weight is mostly on your wrists above you, cramping your shoulders and making your hands numb. You start to panic at your situation, heart beating frantically in your chest and blood rushing in your ears. You start to move around trying, in vain, to free your hands from the restraints, but the cell door opened and the figure from the forest enters holding a bucket. You open your mouth to make a snarky remark but he throws the contents of the bucket towards you dousing you in frigid water, sucking the breath from your lungs.

“Now,” the man speaks turning the bucket upside down on the ground and sitting on it, “we can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he says calmly, but not hiding the venom in his voice.

You can’t seem to form any words past the chattering of your teeth and your shivering as the cold water soaks your clothes and stick uncomfortably to your skin. So, the man takes this as his cue to continue.

“Tell us where the asset is and we’ll let you go. Simple, right?”

Your eyes widen as the words leave his mouth and you feel a shiver run down your spin, this one not caused by the cold.

“I d-don’t know wh-where t-they are,” you stutter out, your shivering making it impossible to speak properly.

The man let’s out a disappointed ‘tsk’ sound before he motions someone in the cell, “Wrong answer sweetheart.”

You watch in horror as another man steps into the cell, the air crackling with electricity as he activates a stun baton in his hand. You struggle against your bonds pushing onto your tiptoes in an attempt to put as much distance between you and the man approaching.

“No, no, no please I swear I don’t-“

Before you could finish, the man thrusts the baton into your side and you seize up, a white fire consuming your entire body as the electricity courses through you. Tears leak from your eyes but you can’t even blink them away, the pain and electricity paralyzing you, until the man pulls away. You sag against your restraints, muscles like jelly after the electric shocks and your chest heaves as you try to suck breath back into your lungs.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” the man’s voice meets your ears through the ringing in them.

You shake your head quickly, pushing past the sobs fighting to escape your throat, “Please,” you gasp, “I really don’t know where they are, they left me here. He wouldn’t take me with him,” you plead, lifting your head to look at the man.

He just clicks his tongue and stands, taking the baton from his accomplice and stalking towards you so he was almost nose to nose with you grasping your hair roughly, “Now see,” he begins, “That just doesn’t make any sense to me. Because from what I’ve heard, you’ve become pretty important to that beskar wearing traitor, and I highly doubt he would just ‘leave you’.”

In a split moment of impulsivity you set your jaw defiantly before spitting in his face, a smirk adorning your features, “Well you can go eat shit you fu-“

Another jab with the stun baton renders you speechless once more before he is pulling away from you and wiping aggressively at his face, baring his teeth at you, “You’re going to regret that,” he threatens before walking out of your cell, the door closing with a resounding clang.

You let out heavy breaths as they leave, cringing at the aching pain in your limbs after the shocks. If this was only the beginning, what else could they possibly have in store for you? You shook the thought from your head, your only hope being that Cara would come looking for you when you didn’t come back after your walk.

Maker, you think, your head hanging low as you dangle from the ceiling, someone please come save me.

Your eyes had hardly fallen shut when the cell door was forced open again. You startled, trying to stand as straight as you could on your feet, despite your legs cramping painfully from being in this position for who knows how many hours. You see the same two men from before walk in but this time they don’t have anything with them as they approach you once more.

“Ready to talk now?” the tall one asks. He was the one that attacked you in the forest and the one conducting the interrogation from before.

“who are you anyways?” you ask tiredly.

“We’re with the guild, tasked with finding that traitor mentor of yours and the asset he stole,” he says simply.

You bristle at his words, “Mando isn’t a traitor, he saved that kids life when assholes like you-“

The mans fist connects with your side faster than you could prepare for and you cry out as you hear a painful crack come from where he hit. A sharp, agonizing pain radiates from your side down to the tips of your toes and your eyes widen as you try to take in a breath.

“Enough with this self-righteous bullshit,” he seethes gripping your chin harshly and pulling you to face him, “Tell me where they are.”

You look him dead in the eyes as you speak, “I already told you, I. don’t. know!” you emphasize each word before adding, “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you jackshit,” you snapped.

This obviously wasn’t the answer he wanted, and since you knew this, you were prepared for the next blow to your temple. However he seemed to hit even harder than before and pain blossomed throughout your skull, ears ringing from the impact.

It continued on like this for what felt like days. Honestly, you had no idea how much time had passed, it could have been mere hours for all you knew. No matter how many times you told them you didn’t know where Mando and the kid were they didn’t believe you. So, they continued your torture, water boarding, stun batons, beating the living shit out of you…you name it they’ve done it. And as they left your cell for what felt like the millionth time, you finally cried. You felt the tears fall down your cheeks, warming the freezing skin as they went. You could feel the crusted blood on your brows crack and spilt as you scrunched them together and sobs wracked your body.

“This is how I’m gonna die huh?” you say to no one in particular as you let out a dry laugh, “Go fucking figure. Die in a cell as a captive.” You sniffle as you feel your knees collapse beneath you, no longer able to hold your weight. Your foggy mind was instantly filled with memories of you and Din by the krill pond, as well as you and the kid playing with the other children in the village. You felt a small smile tug at your split lips at the memories. At least your last few months of life weren’t horrible, at least you had some happy memories to look back on.

The usual silence of your prison is suddenly broken by the faint sound of distant blaster fire. Your head shoots up immediately and you hear shouts from within the building.

“They’re here! They’ve found us!” a voice shouts, and you see a small group of figures run past your cell, “It’s the Mandalorian!”

Your heart rate increases as you struggle to get your footing beneath you.

He came back! he came back for you!

You hear more blaster fire, closer now, followed by the pained screams of people being shot down. However, before you can get too excited about your imminent rescue, your kidnapper bursts through your cell door and rushes towards you, a large knife in hand. You flinch instinctively, ready for him to run you through right there, but instead, he cuts the rope above your head releasing your from your binds. You fall to the ground, legs not used to holding your entire body weight, and your captor takes this moment of weakness to turn on you.

“I knew he would come for you,” he smiles triumphantly.

You narrow your eyes, and stand albeit unsteadily to your feet, facing him, “He’s going to fucking kill you.”

The man lets out a lough laugh tilting his head back as he does so, and you take this moment of distraction to run full force towards him, effectively tackling him to the ground. He lands roughly on his back, knife sliding from his hand across the floor as he tries to catch his breath that was knocked from his lungs on impact. You again take advantage of his stunned state to roll off of him and swipe the mechanism to unlock your cuffs from his belt. You unlock the metal around your wrists with a successful click before lunging for the discarded knife.

The blaster fire was in the building now.

Just as you grabbed the knife, the man pulled your feet from underneath you and you fell on the floor hard. You felt your injured ribs seem to shatter even further as you hit the cold concrete, and you were blinded momentarily by the pain that shot through your chest. You felt hands on you now, turning you over and grabbing for the knife in your hand. But you fought, you struggled underneath the weight blindly before driving the knife downwards and into the chest of the man on top of you. You finally looked into his eyes as the realization of defeat crossed his features. However, you felt an shrap intense pain shoot through your abdomen just as you rolled his limp body off of you.

You struggled to draw in any air as your eyes looked down at the knife protruding from your stomach, the bastard must’ve had a spare. On instinct you pull the knife from your body, surprised at how little it hurt, and forced yourself to stand, ignoring the rush of warm red liquid soaking your shirt. You put a hand firmly over the wound, trying to focus your vision on the path in front of you instead of the blurring edges threating to suffocate you. You feel the thick warmth rushing over your fingers as you move towards the exit of the cell.

The blaster fire was so close, you could hear it. You could see their forms as they entered your cell, hear their distant voices as they rushed to you as you collapsed into the beskar clad arms of the Mandalorian.

“Holy shit,” you hear Cara’s voice break through the fog.

“(y/n)? Kid, you gotta stay with me,” Din’s voice, usually so calm and stoic is fast and panicked as he speaks to you, adjusting you in his arms.

You bring one of your hands up to grasp desperately at his chest, hand slipping on his metal armor, leaving an opaque red streak behind as it falls back into your lap, “I didn’t tell them anything,” you gasp out, the pain finally kicking in as your adrenaline wears away, “they asked where you were-“ tears leaked from your eyes as you finally brought them up to meet the visor looking down at you, “But I didn’t tell them,” he had to know. He had to know you didn’t betray him, didn’t tell them anything. He had to know he could trust you.

“She didn’t even know where you all were anyway,” you hear Cara reason.

You shook your head, he needed to understand, “No, no,” you insist, “I wouldn’t have told them anyway. I wouldn’t have, I promise I wouldn’t have,” you whimpered.

Din feels like he wants to throw up, he hasn’t felt these kinds of emotions with such force since his parents were murdered. He couldn’t process what was happening, he couldn’t deal with the thought of losing you too. So, he ripped his cloak from his back, careful not to jostle you too much before wrapping it tightly around the wound in your abdomen, ignoring your cries of pain as he did so.

“Don’t let me die here,” you plead, head now swimming because of the blood loss.

These words spur Din into action, he stands quickly, moving with Cara towards the exit with you held tightly in his arms, “You’re not going to die, kid,” and he wasn’t sure if he said that to reassure you, or himself.

He felt you shake your head, “Don’t let me die in a prison,” you clarified, “not here.”

Din felt his heart drop to his stomach at your words and he moved even faster and finally exited the building. He needed to get you to the ship so he could get you to the village, that was your only hope.

His only hope.

You let out a small smile, as your eyes took in the blue sky past the green foliage of the trees above you as you exited the building. You could feel your vision get even fuzzier, your head was pounding and yet, you were at peace. With what little strength you had left you moved your hand up to cover Din’s, whose was grasping your upper arm tightly as he held you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering as darkness creeped at the edges of your vision, a coldness seeping into your limbs.

“Hey! (y/n), you stay the hell awake! Don’t close your eyes!”

Din’s voice sounded like it was galaxies away as he continued to shout at you to stay awake. The only thing you managed to do was smile and take in the fading blue sky as your vision faded black and your body went limp in Din’s arms.

------

Liberation Tag: @lirinchi @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8 @fucking-dip-shit @notmyspaghetti @humbleseame @riddlersfate @fandoms-equal-my-life @kaialisonflame @goth-pigeon @sinon36 @bruithel @magical-fandoms @scarlett126 @rickysbxssett @jamesdeerest @tennisislife12345 @rosey-posey141100 @forever-paramore28 @gothtechie @hollybee0987 @witheringblooddemon @katelicon @sparrows-books @twofacedbassy @crazy-obsessed-fangirl @eternallyvenus @lewismerryweather @doubtedbus409 @the-dream-catch3r @and-i-swear-we-are-infinite @cinnanomwolf

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#The Mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #star wars #the child #baby yoda

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op-peccatori · 5 years ago

Text

a little gift | MLQC Lucien (nsfw)

Happy Birthday, Lucien! a tad later than planned, but here’s the promised birthday sex from my invitation XD Let me know what you think!

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Reader/Lucien

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 5200

Summary: It’s Lucien’s birthday and you’ve got a wonderful trip planned for him – along with an extra gift he isn’t expecting.

Warnings: explicit sex (vaginal & anal), mild masturbation, birthday sex, sex toys, established relationship

author fact: I spent so much time sitting in one place as I wrote this that my butt too, was aching by the end of it. this is the first time I’ve ever written anything involving butts, so please let me know if it’s...right?

a/n: im gonna have to come edit this once i get some sleep. i forgot how to spell laugh.

A bite of cake and a sip of wine, with a familiar warmth nestled into his side: Lucien is dangerously content.

Not for the first time, he thinks he will never give this up for anything in the world. He could never let go of the little surges of happiness brought on by the girl holding a forkful of cake up to his lips, and not the deep love flowing in his veins, keeping him alive.

The second photo album you've ever given him rests beside the cake. The second roll. A collection of your memories.

He can’t help the way he sneaks a kiss, helpless against your smiles, the way they curve your lips up even as they’re pressed to his. It makes him shudder when he feels your tongue flick against his lip, to tempt and to taste. He’s glad for the booth they’re hidden away in, that gives them enough privacy for him to lose himself for a moment. He lets the greed slip past, eager to take whatever you give it. Before the time comes when you might not get a chance.

He suppresses the heartache at the thought. There's no telling what the future holds. Danger still lurks in shadowed corners, and it's taught him fear. Not for himself, but for the one who holds his very being in her hands.

“You had some frosting there,” you murmur when you pull away, smile coy and eyes bright, fingers tracing a gentle path along his thigh. Never stepping a foot over the line, just toying with it. He wants to step over it with you, to fall over it, to fall into bed and wherever else you can and to taste you, the sweetest dessert, his lovely girl who just wants to give him a special birthday.

And you will, once you go away tomorrow, for the weekend. He remembers the way your face fell when he told you he has important meetings he can’t skip on the day of his birthday; it was subtle, but there is nothing he can miss when it comes to you. You both had to be content with brunch for today, as he would only get home at a late hour.

“Is it going to be a tiring day for you?” you had asked, concern hiding a hint of something he can't quite identify. It would be just like you to wait up, to give him a goodnight kiss – you do it often since you haven’t had much time to yourselves for weeks.

“Well, no. I’ll have to sit through a few meetings, review some of my colleagues’ work, but nothing too exhausting,” he had assured you. You haven’t mentioned anything about meeting him when he comes back, but he’s always had endless patience for you and your adorable tricks. He watches you as you eat carefully measured bites of cake, eyes lingering on the way you lick your lips, satisfied with the sugar and his company. He has never felt more thankful for birthdays when you let him feed you small bites with little protest and an endearing blush. It makes him think, makes him want to test boundaries. But he refuses to risk hurting you for the sake of his depraved curiosity. The time to part ways arrives all too soon, and your smile dims a little; for a moment, he seriously considers quitting his job.

“I can barely wait till tomorrow,” you mumble, arms would tight around his waist and forehead pressed into his chest. You stand outside the restaurant, packed cake in hand, waiting for the bus after you declined his offer to drop you home. He nuzzles the crown of your head, breathing in the faint scent of your favourite shampoo, closing his eyes in the face of your affection. “I want you all to myself.”

Your words feel warm on his skin. “Me neither, darling. And you will. What time is the flight?”

“8 am,” you answer, and again he senses something...off. Perhaps it’s the prospect of having to get up at 6 in the morning? You're not much of an early bird unless you're coaxed out of bed by the scent of breakfast. He still remembers the first time he stayed over vividly, and not just because of how soundly he slept next to you. You had to get up earlier than usual, for a meeting, and any ideas he'd had about a chirpy morning bird were shattered by the sight of your grumpy expression. It's a memory he likes to revisit when he's feeling dull; he had slipped into unexpected laughter, and you threw a pillow at him. Then he cuddled you until all thoughts of rage-texting Victor faded.

“Want me to come wake you up?” he asks after the brief jaunt down memory lane. He doesn’t bother trying to sound innocent; they both know if he wakes you up, it’ll be with his head between your legs. No danger of a grumpy ___ then.

“...I’d like that,” you agree readily, smiling up at him. "I'm sure I'll need it. I've been so tired these days..." There's little sign of the shy desire that usually clouds your eyes when he suggests something so improper in public, even though he keeps his voice low. He would be hurt, but instead, there’s a shiver of anticipation running along his spine as you brush your lips against his, dancing away when he leans in. "Happy Birthday, Lu."

Just what is his little butterfly up to?

The question sits in the back of his mind throughout the day, through each file he reads and every person presenting their research. He doesn’t exactly know where you’re taking him, but he has a few guesses, as you had insisted on packing not only his warmer jackets and thicker shoes, but also his swimming trunks. His thoughts race through ideas, drifting back to last month when he accidentally saw you scrolling through a cute little lingerie website.

'Oh.'

As he flips through the photos you took such care to preserve, he thinks that it's okay that he sees through most of your surprises. It doesn't lessen the delight they bring. He's eager to see what you picked out, what could have caught your fancy, and he hopes he gets to see it tomorrow.

It will take him some time to admit it, but he didn’t expect what he really found waiting for him in his apartment.

You look down at your collection, of new and old, with excitement curling along your mouth and a glass of water in hand. There’s some regret, for eating cake so early in the day when you have plans, but it's not like you could have skipped Lucien's birthday cake. Or even cake in general. You resisted where you could, and you think it'll be fine. You take a moment to fantasize about the sinful dessert sitting in your refrigerator before you get to work. It's 4:00 pm, which gives you plenty of time to work, but there's much to be done.

You're trying really hard to refrain from calling Lucien. Your boyfriend's been getting melancholic again, and you've come up with just the thing to distract him on his birthday.

You shower thoroughly, shave your legs with care, scanning them in the mirror to make sure you haven't missed a spot, applying sweet-scented lotion liberally across the skin. Painful flashbacks of the Brazilian you got for today have you wincing, but you've been determined to live up to the image you painted in your head. Willow, who'd gone to get one too, treated you to ice-cream afterwards, saying it's a must after the first one. After some deliberation, you paint your nails a pearly white and decide to take a nap before you get to blow-drying your hair.

It's 6:00 by the time you scramble out of bed, fixing yourself a light dinner and texting Lucien to make sure he's eaten.

[6:03] Lu: Don't worry. Professor Collins ordered enough for the building. I suspect he feels some guilt for calling me in today.

[6:04] Y/n: I knew there was a reason I liked him! Btw, what time do you think you'll be home?

[6:06] Lu: I'll try to make it home by 12. Don't worry, I'll get up on time ;)

Mouth pursing at the reminder of his horrendous sleeping habits, you go back to your soup with a restless heart. The clock's ticking, and you're quick to finish washing the dishes, finish some last minute packing, and when there's no chore left to do, you head for your bedroom. You connect your phone to the Bluetooth speaker, settling on an upbeat song while you plug in the hairdryer. As you divide your hair into sections, you're nearly giddy with excitement. As far as you could observe, Lucien has no idea what you've got planned, and you're quite proud to have slipped this past him.

You put the device down once each strand of hair is smooth and shiny, warm to the touch. And then you undress, until you're completely bare, running your fingers over lace, giddiness giving way to trepidation.

You're thankful there's a video on the website because there's no way you could've put on the set by yourself.

As you tighten the garter belts around your thighs and adjust the lace collar, peering at your reflection in the mirror as you put on simple pearl studs, you decide that it's fine that it's not the most comfortable thing you've ever worn, because you look really good. And you think Lucien will like it. Especially the very convenient holes in the cloth.

You don’t bother to put on much makeup, keeping it simple with waterproof mascara and lip balm.

You wrap yourself in a simple robe as you hurry to the living room, picking out a pair of black handcuffs, a toy you've only used a few times, all in preparation for today, and a bottle of lube. You put them in a bag along with a towel, a pack of wet wipes and grab your phone. It's 11:30, and you have a text from Lucien saying that he'll be done soon. You put on your flats and exit your apartment quickly, letting it shut behind you as you run over to his front door, tapping in his security code with ease. Before you enter, you pull out a thick white ribbon from your bag, tying it around the handle of the door.

As you slip off your shoes, you realize it's quite strange to be in Lucien's apartment without him there. The lights are off, the curtains drawn to keep the moonlight out. In the past, he's left you dozing in his bed if he has to go to work earlier, but you've never entered the place in his absence. There's no time to ponder the peculiarities of the situation, and you head to his bedroom, your steps timid as if to avoid waking up something slumbering in the shadows.

As you open the door, you peek through the slight crack even though you know he isn't home, stepping in once you're sure it's empty and letting the door close behind you with a click. You're more than familiar with his home, but something in you shies away from invading his privacy. If he knew you were thinking this after several months of dating, he would call you a silly. And get you to stay over more often.

With a resolute nod, you move towards the bed, turning on the lamp next to it. You take out the towel first, spreading it out over his clean sheets and taking a seat on it. You pull up a pillow behind you as you lean back against the headboard, slipping your robe off and folding it, putting it in the bag. You take out your tools, spreading them out in front of you, unsure how to go about this.

The scent of him is subtle, but it's very much present. It soothes your nerves, and the thought of his reaction to your presence gives you strength as you relax your shoulders. You close your eyes, resting them and your mind for a moment, acknowledging the nervousness. Whatever he might be expecting, it's certainly not this, and you can't hold back a smile at that.

You enjoy catching him off-guard.

Your fingers brush lightly over the side of your neck, across your collarbone, through the valley of your breasts, thinking about the way he likes to explore your skin with his mouth. As you toy with your breasts, you think about how he likes to start slow, never rushing, always taking his time to draw your pleasure out. He's the biggest tease you've ever met, and you can barely keep up with the games he likes to play, but it's always worth it – he ensures it. He likes to draw out your pleasure, to take it for himself, more and more until you beg for respite.

As you begin circling your clit lightly, you think about the time you tried to wake him up and it resulted in you positioned over him, riding his face as he devoured every drop of pleasure you had in you. How tightly he'd held on to your thighs, refusing to let you move away as he ate you out with only greed and gluttony driving his mouth. When your fingers are glistening and your cheeks are flushed, you leave it there and move to the next step.

Sitting up, you reach for the bottle of lube, pouring it generously, making sure your index finger is coated well before you turn your focus to the entrance above your sex. You’re on your back now, the soft cotton of the pillow warm from your body heat; your knees are pushed up, your arm reaching down between them. The slight trepidation you had felt the first time, at the feel of your finger dipping into the tightness is all but gone now, leaving behind slightly shaky confidence.

This is something Lucien has wanted to try for a while, but he hasn’t been too direct about it. He’s never gone beyond sliding in a finger, usually, while he’s fucking you, and you decided introducing it on this special day would be perfect. It was a good idea to try it on your own first, to see if it's something you would like, and ease into it. Still, you know Lucien's going to be at least a little difficult about it since you've kept this from him for nearly a month.

You're liberal with the lube as you prepare yourself, adding another finger once you’ve adjusted to the first and you slide them in and out steadily, pressing where it feels pleasing. The flash of your phone distracts you, and you rise onto one elbow to see it's a text from Lucien.

[11:35] Lu: I'll be home in 30 :)

'He's being strangely cooperative,' you think absently. Once you’ve deemed yourself ready, you pluck out a wet wipe, wiping your hands carefully before reaching for the sleek toy and the bottle of lube. You coat it thoroughly before circling the tip around your entrance, then pushing it in slightly. You try to remain patient as you slide it in slowly, being gentle with your body, letting your tight heat adjust to the plug.

You have about ten minutes by the time you’ve pushed it in as far as it can go, it’s round ring nestled between your cheeks; you lie there for a minute, breathing heavily, your walls clenching and fluttering. But you're satisfied with the familiarity of it, confident that your idea will be executed smoothly. Your walk to the bathroom is slow, and as you wash your hands you pray he doesn’t get here before you position yourself. Hurrying back into the room, you put everything except for the lube and the handcuffs back in the bag, leaving the bottle on the side table along with your phone once you’ve switched it off, hoping that Lucien will think you're asleep, in case he calls.

And then you try to figure out how he should find you.

This, like everything else, took a lot of thought. Initially, you thought you could just lounge on your front, letting him think you're asleep. But, now is not the time to be lazy. This is the time to make your boyfriend snap and bury himself inside you so deeply he forgets everything else, if just for today. And, preferably, the next three days.

And so you crawl onto the bed, letting your head and chest rest on the firm surface, leaving your rear in the air, presented with absolutely no subtlety. You struggle a little with the handcuffs, but manage to get them on safely, without pulling any muscles. Your arms are stretched over your head, it feels ridiculous, and you’re still giggling into the sheets when you hear the front door open.

‘The things I do for love.’

You try not to squirm when the bedroom door doesn’t fly open immediately. Knowing the man, he’s probably scanning his living room. Taking his sweet time, knowing you’re in here waiting for him.

‘This position is very uncomfortable when Lucien’s not there to distract me,’ you muse to yourself, trying to adjust your head comfortably. As if on cue, the door opens.

You don’t even try to look at him. It won’t be possible, and it’ll only happen when he wants it to - you’ve ensured that by leaving the key on the table. Your heartbeat quickens as you strain your ears, jolting when you hear the door shut. Your back tenses as you pick up on the subtle sounds of him breathing, of light footsteps, of cloth rustling. You wonder what he thinks of the ring standing out between your cheeks, framed by delicate lace, and hope you don’t have to wait too long to find out.

The bed dips as he takes a seat, and your heart races like a mouse, cornered and trapped, waiting for the cat's paw to fall on it. And then he speaks.

“I have to admit, I was quite disappointed when I didn’t see you outside,” he says casually. The hoarseness in his voice belies his nonchalant attitude, as does the way he clears his throat. You can hear the smile in his tone. You’re thankful he can’t see your face because you’re certain your wide grin would look out of place right now.

“Are you still disappointed?” Your words are nearly a whisper, hushed and eager. You know he hears them when they prompt him to plant quick kisses across the plump flesh of your rear, a finger trailing across the ring keeping your plug from slipping in.

“Darling,” he begins, his hands sweeping over your body, feeling the flimsy cloth, tugging at the garter. His touch is delicate, not meant to arouse, but you shiver from it anyway. “I don’t think I could be further from disappointment if I tried. But…”

His hand dips down between your legs, fingers pressing into your slit. You bite back a whimper, surprised that you’re this sensitive. He seems to realise it too, pushing the slender digits in, meeting little to no resistance. Your walls squeeze down, palpitating around it, and you push back immediately.

“...but, I think I could do with a cup of tea, first. You don’t mind, do you? It was a long day.” A kiss on the back of your head and he’s gone, walking out of the room to get his tea, whistling obnoxiously. You're left staring at pristine sheets, unable to process his abrupt departure and your absolute helplessness in the face of it.

“Lucien!” you cry out, heart beating desperately. There's no space for shame here. “Lucien, please!” There’s no response. But you didn’t expect this to be easy in the first place. “Fuck.”

And it doesn’t get better. Lucien walks in with a cup of his favourite, steaming beverage, and just stands there at the foot of the bed, sipping it and making casual remarks like he's in a museum.

“I have to say, you’ve done a wonderful job. Did you buy this set for today?” He toys with the lace on your waist and the straps digging into your skin, his hand sliding up your back as he walks around to stand next to the bed. He, very pointedly, doesn’t mention the new toy.

You lift your head slightly, tilting it enough to get a good look at him before you nod. He’s in a skintight turtleneck, slim fit pants, but the dark of his clothes can’t compare to the one in his eyes. The ribbon you left at his door lies next to you. You don't miss the slight bulge at his crotch. He smiles at the sight of your teary eyes, glaring up at him even as you tremble.

“I guess you don’t like your surprise,” you mumble, trying to fight the pout forming on your lips. The curve of his lips fades as he blinks in surprise before sitting down next to you.

“Sweetheart, no,” he coos, placing his empty cup on the table. He leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “This is...I don’t think I have the words to describe what I felt when I walked in to see you spread out for me.”

“Was it good?” you ask softly, trying not to sound smug. You know it was good. You look like you're begging to be fucked – which you are. He chuckles at the cockiness slipping through cracks of faux sincerity.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” he repeats. He strokes your hair gently, pulling it away from your face. “Shall I show you instead?”

“Yes. Please.”

He moves towards the foot of the bed until he kneels behind you, facing your ass, his warm palms a soothing balm to your starved flesh. He caresses your skin gently, squeezing it a few times before you feel his breath on your sex. The first swipe of his tongue feels like it could ruin you, and the feeling only increases as he continues to lick into you.

“You’ve got yourself all wet for me, haven’t you? You’re such a good girl.” The first snack of his palm against your ass is unexpected; the second stings terribly and the third painfully welcome. After the seventh one, he pauses to press his mouth to your swollen entrance again, and you’re so wet you can hear the sound of him lapping at you. “But my good girl has been keeping secrets.”

“I-I wanted to surprise you!” you protest, arching your back further, trying to urge him to move faster. He hums against your slick flesh, his mouth enveloping your swollen clit a second later. It only takes a few sucking motions for you to come with quaking walls and limbs, sobbing in relief at the surprising show of mercy.

“I know you did. You’ve worked so hard to give me this,” he murmurs, curling a finger around the ring resting between cheeks that flaming red. And then you cry out again when the slender object is pulled out halfway before it’s slid back in, in repetitive, curious motions. “You’re so good to me.”

“Fuck, Lu-Lucien,” you gasp, struggling for breath. He stills at the sound of his name, a displeased sound leaving his lips.

“While I adore the view, I do think you’re too uncomfortable like this,” he decides, reaching for the key to your freedom. A part of you suspects he just hates not being able to see your face as he makes you come. You nearly collapse once your hands are freed, and Lucien is quick to gather you in his arms and lay you out on your back.

As your arms slowly reawaken, you put them to good use, pulling him over you to press up into him, nipping at his jaw until he gives in to your silent demand and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t pull away, slipping a questing tongue through your lips, tangling a hand through your hair to keep you there as he plunders your mouth without restraint. He kisses you until you’re putty in his hands, and he whispers his affection into your ears.

“Please fuck me, Lu,” you plead, just the way he likes it. You place his hand on your breast, arching into his touch; you're deeply aware of the extra addition in your body, pushing against your walls, keeping your feet dipped in a pool of pleasure when you want to drown in it. “Please. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.”

He inhales sharply at your words and moves away to undress slowly, letting your eyes rove across the hard planes of his torso, lean muscle flexing as he moves closer. You watch the way his cock bounces before he wraps a hand around it, giving it a few, sure pumps. He nearly succeeds in distracting you with a kiss, but you still open your mouth demandingly, widening your eyes in the way that never fails. Never one to deny you anything, he climbs over you, kneeling and bending until he can slide the tip of his plump cock into your mouth. You suck at it eagerly, swallowing more and more of him until you choke, until all you can taste is the He slides his swollen shaft out and back in, breathing heavily, groaning at the feel of your wet mouth and zealous tongue.

You whine when he pulls away, quieting when he climbs down the length of your body to kneel between your legs. He unclasps the straps around your thighs and waist, pulling them off to toss them on the other side of the bed. After a second of consideration, he strips you of the bra as well but leaves the lace collar on. You're left completely exposed and shivering, aching with the need to feel his skin. He locks eyes with you as he wraps his hands around your thighs, pushing them up until you’re spread out, ready to be taken apart.

“My darling girl, my heart.” His fingers curl over your breasts, tweaking and tugging, his mouth dropping down to suck at a pebbled nipple. You sigh as your fingers slither into his hair, as he rises up to press his cock to your entrance. He slides in all the way and it feels so full you could cry. “God, Lucien. I...it feels so good.” Strange, but you adjust to it. Each drag of his hips, of his skin against yours, feels like it’s setting you on fire. You scramble to catch hold of something, an anchor, before you slip; you pull him down into an urgent kiss as your hips buck up into him.

He groans into your mouth and leans closer, swallowing your gasps; it’s unbearable, as if you’ll break, and as his thrusts speed up, you push back into him frantically, chasing after the fall, the rise, the destruction – it doesn’t elude you, he doesn’t rip it away but throws you into it instead. He leans back, reaching down for the plug and thrusting it into you, syncing its motions with that of his cock. Before you can comprehend the sudden pressure you’re coming so hard it blinds you, makes you scream, has tears pooling in your eyes. Lucien works you through it gently, with lips quirked up at the way you babble, kissing you so, so softly your heart floods with how much you feel for this man. With a pounding heart, you watch as he reaches for the drawer, plucking out a condom and grabbing up the lube.

"Are you sure, darling?" Your response is to push your knees further until they're nearly level with your shoulders. He watches you as he lathers his cock with the liquid, using his other hand to pull your plug out. You got used to it, you realize, when it feels so empty. But he doesn't let it remain so, pressing the head of his leaking shaft against your entrance. You're treated to the full depth of his patience, as he dips in and out, getting further in with each propulsion. His eyes spark with every moan, his lips brush your mouth at every discomfited grunt.

Once he's deep within you, in this new territory, and your head is thrown back, your mouth has fallen open at the feeling – he leans back and begins to thrust. His groans are everything you wanted to hear, and you can't help but smile up at him, unable to tear your eyes away from his bright eyes. There is no sign of the gloom, the sorrow. There's life, there's desire as he tests out all the different ways he can make you moan.

"I love you," you blurt out instead, overcome with the sudden flow of emotion. He slows as you tear up, to your immense embarrassment, and try to throw your arm over your head to cover it up. 'There was nothing sexy about that!'

And then you nearly choke as, in one swift movement, he wraps your legs around his waist and pulls you up against him. He shudders, clutching you to him as you throw your arms over his shoulders, eyes rolling back into your head when he slips deeper. Your kiss is frenzied, as are his thrusts when they start anew, and then you do cry when he whispers his love, his praise against your lips, over and over again. Your nails dig into his skin, and his teeth sink into yours. You sob harder when he presses you into the bed, drilling into you like a man crazed and sliding his fingers into your throbbing sex.

His eyes glow as he strikes where it shatters you, and you're blinded by it – completely consumed by the force of it, the way it leaves you in pieces, but even through your quaking limbs and the ringing in your ears, you feel Lucien pull out of you. Through bleary eyes, you watch him rip the condom off hastily before sliding through your oversensitive slit. He chokes out a guttural groan, clinging to you as he falters, the snapping of his hips unsteady as he comes almost violently, pumping himself into you, filling you up past what you can hold.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are of you two trying to catch your breath.

“Happy Birthday,” you whisper, pressing a shaky kiss to his cheek. He stays curled over you, staring down at your flushed face, your hair now far from smooth and sticking to your skin. His damp bangs fall haphazardly across his forehead, his lips are kissed red and he's so beautiful you need to look away before you cry again.

His eyes are suspiciously shiny as he kisses your forehead gently. “I love you, my darling girl.”

As he settles next to you on the bed, you turn over gingerly. You're completely spent, sore and sweaty. Still, you aim for casualness, ignoring the slight tremble in your legs. "Excited for tomorrow?"

“Very,” he answers once you’re curled up into him, and he can play with your hair to his heart's content. “I'm glad we have the whole weekend to ourselves.”

You gasp in mock outrage. "I do have an itinerary, you know." And you’ve also opened a new door for you both. You have no doubt Lucien will be experimenting on you until he’s familiar with every inch of this new area, and the slight fear you feel is understandable. He can be quite enthusiastic when it comes to figuring out what makes you tick.

"So do I." His smirk is positively feral and you can't help but snort.

“Think we can shower before bed?”

“Yes, if you’d like,” he gathers you into his arms gently, then sinks back into the bedding. “...maybe in some time. Are we actually leaving in the morning?“

You know your smile is a tad impish when he pinches your cheek. “We’ve got an afternoon flight.” If all goes according to plan, your boyfriend's birthday weekend will have a very pleasant start – with your mouth wrapped around his cock. You just have to make sure you wake up before him.

#mlqc lucien #mlqc smut #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc fanfic

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bellaslilpapercut · 4 years ago

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vote AND...

So I’m seeing a lot of anti-voting posts again so I wanted to make this little post here to make my stance clear. (This is specific to the US)

1. Voting IS important. Voting rights are constantly under fire in this country, from direct voter suppression to the stripping of voting rights from felons. If you can vote, you can do so strategically or you can vote for every down ballot option and leave the presidential choice blank (if you are strongly morally opposed to Biden).

2. Voter turnout in the US rarely breaks 60% of the population because of voter suppression as well as a disillusionment with the US government. Low voter turnout and the electoral college contribute to the unrepresentative nature of our government. Despite the rising support for socialism in the US, very few of our elected representatives support socialist policies and ideals.

3. The lack of political representation in our government can be aided by voting in every election (especially local elections! we just elected a socialist mayor in the primaries!) as well as by supporting term limits for congress members and the dismantling of the electoral college. As mentioned in the linked article, the supreme court will likely have the final say in whether the electoral college stays or goes so voting for the furthest left presidential candidate can also be an action toward abolishing the electoral college.

4. Voting is great and is also Not Enough. If Biden does win this election, many white liberals will return to their uncritical engagement in the political world. The Obama administration committed atrocities in the Middle East, continued vicious enforcement of the war on drugs, and did nothing to reform or defund police during the Ferguson and Baltimore uprisings of the 2010′s. We need to continue our activist work every day of the year, not just during election season. Every US president will be an imperialist war criminal. Every US president will be a capitalist. We need to be engaging in constant revolutionary work as well as working towards reforms that will make life better for the most vulnerable populations in the US and around the world (policies like the Green New Deal, tax reform, even Biden’s disability plan)

5. Protests and riots are not the only form of revolutionary work. You can start by educating yourself (which will be a never ending process) and sharing information with those around you. Here is a sub-list of other actions to take ranging from personal to communal.

A. To my fellow white people- learn to interrogate your internalized racism without becoming a mess of White Guilt TM. Learn to interrogate your past mistakes from a place of forgiveness and accountability (meaning: do not beat yourself up for being indoctrinated by a racist society but do not expect every Black and non-white person in your life to absolve you of your past actions).

B. Once you have learned how to sit with the discomfort of your past bigotries, learned how to actively interrogate racist, sexist, ableist, transphobic, etc. knee-jerk reactions and impulses, you can begin holding the people in your life accountable as well. If you are white and your family poses no danger to you, TALK to them about their internalized racism. It takes a lot of long, patient, understanding conversations, but it works. My own father went from actively condemning the Baltimore uprising to telling me just this year that he understands that riots are an effective path to change. Do not frame these conversations as “call outs.” Calling someone out is not the same as accountability. True accountability means that YOU believe that the person you are holding to account is capable of change and deserving of the chance to grow and learn. The linked article above (linked again here) gives a decent starting point for how to go about changing someone’s mind. Try it with your friends who may have expressed some bigoted views, conservative family members, basically anyone who you know personally.

C. Donate to mutual aid funds, bail funds, Indigenous peoples, and houseless folk in your own community. Many people on here are already doing a great job with sharing information and donation links. Let’s keep it up! It doesn’t feel revolutionary but strengthening communities is a radical practice. Everything about capitalism and the US is meant to isolate us, to keep us trapped in a nuclear family structure, to distrust our neighbors and communities. It is radical to help one another.

D. Learn to live your politics. If you believe in a system based in an ethic of care, practice kindness as a discipline. Continuously critique your own political views and strive toward ideological consistency (ie if you believe in prison abolition, the solution to police brutality CANNOT be throwing cops in prison.) Read and study always.

E. Take a break from global news and even federal news from time to time but always stay up to date on your local situation. Try to ground yourself where you are. You cannot fix the world but you can make a huge difference to your neighbors and loved ones. Sometimes it helps to think small and remember- the revolution is a million tiny moving parts as well as the large tapestry of movements.

F. Join a union! Or start a union! The folks at the IWW are very helpful to anyone looking to start their own union in an industry that doesn’t already have one.

G. If you have disposable income, try to use it wisely. If you can afford to not use Amazon- don’t. If you can afford to avoid chain groceries, agracorp, monsanto, try! Farmers markets are expensive but they are a great way to divorce yourself from corporate foods. Also, shop Indigenous!

H. Learn about land back. If you know someone who owns land (do your parents own a house? do you?) Find out whose lands you are occupying and connect with the tribes in your area to determine how to best give the land back. (As mentioned in other posts, this does not mean that you need to leave: land back returns stewardship of the land to the indigenous people it was stolen from.)

I’m going to wrap this up because it is Long as Hell. I hope this is a useful jumping off point! I will continue to share educational and donation resources on my main blog.

#long post #voting related #not twilight #lmk if the links dont work

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popwasabi · 5 years ago

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“Picard” S1 Review: Doesn’t boldly go but is nonetheless engaging

Produced by CBS All Access

Starring: Patrick Stewart, Isa Briones, Allison Pill, Michelle Hurd, Santiago Cabrera, Evan Evagora, Harry Treadaway

Many fans had high hopes for “Picard” going into CBS All Access’s continuing voyage into the Star Trek franchise.

Fans wanted to see the lore finally expanded into the future after its previous three ventures (Enterprise, Abrams Trek, and Discovery) took place in the past, bring modern themes and ideas to Star Trek’s futurist’s world view in a way that felt fresh and relevant, but most importantly continue the story of the franchise’s greatest captain; Jean-Luc Picard, of course.

(He’s the best captain. This is not up for debate. Don’t @ me!)

In some ways the new series succeeds at this. We get glimpses of the previously untouched world of Star Trek post “Nemesis,” new themes that are resonant with real world events and exploratory, even critical, of the Federation’s worldview, and of course plenty of Picard himself as he navigates the strange new galaxy he inhabits.

But Picard ultimately misses the mark due to rushed storytelling, half-baked side plots, and just plain poor execution overall. It’s sad because “Picard” and this very talented cast and production team have their moments throughout this first season’s ten episode run but somehow even with 10 episodes of content to work with fans still end up with a somewhat jumbled mess.

(Me by like the eighth episode.)

This isn’t to say “Picard” isn’t worth your time if you’re an avid Star Trek fan or just someone who likes Patrick Stewart in this role in general but the first season will leave you still hungry for more and not in a good way.

“Picard” continues the story of the titular captain, now retired admiral, many years after the events of “Nemesis” as a retired Jean Luc reflects on his life in Starfleet and of his late friend Data who gave his life for his. A synth ban has been enacted in Starfleet after a major riot on Mars some years prior and Picard is understandably sour on the idea, given his relationship with Data, while also fighting Starfleet on not helping the exodus of the Romulans after the supernova that wiped out their homeworld in “Star Trek (2009).” When a young woman comes seeking Picard’s aid after an attack by mysterious assailants, revealing that she is an android and the possible daughter of Data, and gets killed, it is up to the retired Admiral to find her twin sister before she suffers the same fate.

Before we get started let’s throw out some of the bad faith arguments on why this series wasn’t all that good.

“Picard” doesn’t suck because it has “politics” in it. At this point, if you are complaining about the existence of social viewpoints and political/philosophical discussions in your Star Trek, or let alone any series for that matter, I don’t know what the hell you’ve been watching the past few decades. Star Trek has always been more than just a show about cool-looking spaceships and laser beams, you neckbeards.

(Hell, even the other “Star” got more going on in it than that.)

It’s also not bad because of female representation or “girl power.” Again, Star Trek has always had this and frankly having a few more instances of the women of Trek taking center stage doesn’t even come close to rebalancing the scales on the overall massive representation of cis white men across the genre and even the series anyways.

Also get the fuck over the use of curse words in this series. While certainly some instances in this show felt awkward, the use of the word “fuck” does not dilute Star Trek’s overall story.

(It would have made earlier season’s funnier for sure.)

Now that that’s out of way let’s get into the real reasons that, for me at least, the series fell short of an otherwise promising goal of delivering great new Star Trek.

The main problem stems from the series overall jumping off point in its first episode. Picard is understandably still upset about the death of Data and having him deal with survivor’s guilt is a great way to bring this character into the future and reexplore the humanist viewpoints Data touched on in the older series. But also having Picard deal with his fallout from Starfleet, both from the synth ban AND the Romulan exodus, creates chasmic diverging plotlines that never quite come together. The story really needed it to be one or the other. Either Picard wanting to advocate for the continued existence of synthetic life or the rescue of the Romulans post super nova. The latter is touched on a bit through the addition of the character Elnor but doesn’t quite work given that majority of the Romulans in this series are portrayed as villains.

There is definitely a post Brexit, anti-immigrant hysteria message being told there but not enough depth and nuance is given to make it look like Starfleet was particularly wrong here to abandon them given that they do end up being spies committing espionage in the Federation and the clear villains of the first season. The showrunners could have brought these two stories together by perhaps making Soji a Romulan bent on bringing down synthetic life because maybe her twin sister died in the riots on Mars, making Picard have to choose between his commitment to both minority groups abandoned by the Federation but of course, that’s not what the series goes with.

Also suddenly shoehorning in a convoluted anti-synth worldview into the already ultra-secretive Romulan empire was muddled to say the least.

(A decent summation of the Romulans, pretty much ever. Also why is the only Asian actress in this scene in Osaka depicted as an alien, Mr Kurtzman?...)

Some of these ideas could’ve been saved through better editing and pacing though but not enough is done in this first season to mitigate these issues. Too much of plot is told through plain exposition; people sitting down and talking for five-ten minutes about prophecies and backstory instead of having the story simply show us instead. It makes the pacing often slow even by Trek standards and grinds the action to a halt even when there are lasers being shot at one another in the next scene.

Many of these plots get barely any attention too. The Borg cube, why it’s abandoned, and why Hugh is working for the Romulans through the Federation is given surface level development at best. Seven of Nine returns and at one point is momentarily hooked up to the Collective and she doesn’t really say much about it after it happens. The new character’s Rios and Raffi both have side stories given to their development that get touched on once and never brought up again. Dr. Jurati straight up murders her lover and is set to turn herself into the Federation and it’s just kind of forgotten about in the finale. And Elnor, well, he gets to do his best Legolas impression slicing and dicing fellow Romulans with his sword I guess.

(He is still best boi though :3...)

The main co-star however, Soji the perfect android, has a particularly rushed development going from a scientist unknowing of her nature, to supposed prophet of doom, to predictably the savior all in one season. Her arc needed more time to develop with perhaps her Romulan love affair with Narek being the first season’s main driving force and her realization as an android being the climax.

Instead we get basically four seasons of Battlestar Galactica’s Sharon arc crammed into one season and it unfortunately makes the story feel half-baked.

(Ok, Boomer.)

Don’t get the wrong idea, all these new characters have great individual moments as well throughout the season but sooooo much side plot is shoved in already into a muddled overarching narrative that it feels like several seasons worth of storytelling stuffed and edited down into a ten episode arc. Why the series felt it needed to conclude this robust story about synth hating Romulans in “Picard’s” first season feels like an unforced error in this reviewer’s opinion even if Sir P Stew only has maybe a couple seasons of extensive acting left in him anyways.

But the season isn’t completely worthless, as much as this review has been spent dunking on its less than stellar parts. The cast is exceptional, even working with the spare parts they’ve been given. Episode 5’s “Stardust City Rag,” in particular, stands out as a good mix of old and new Trek, with a decent dosage of cheese featuring Patrick Stewart trying on a French accent in a space bar. Santiago Cabrera is delightful as the ship captain Rios while also playing various forms of himself in AI form in equally enjoyable roles. Evan Evagora is fun as the deadly yet somewhat aloof Elnor, even if his character doesn’t do all that much except cut up a few Romulans. Seeing Jonathan Frakes and Marina Sirtis reprise their roles as Riker and Troi respectively in episode 6 was heartwarming and felt the most like TNG out of all the episodes. And Jeri Ryan seems liberated in this series in this version of Seven of Nine, no doubt glad to be rid of that restrictive corset and Rick Berman’s meddling hands.

(Big “Fuck you, Rick Berman” energy going on in this scene.)

The production value is obviously high level as Trek has rarely looked this good on the small screen. There’s some great cinematography throughout the season whether it’s Picard’s chateau winery, the haunting nature of the Borg cube, or the synth homeworld in the season’s final beats. The spaceships look cool as always and the world of the future feels well futuristic.

The musical score is also top notch, with a great opening theme that feels very much in line with Trek at its futurist glimpse into a hopeful cosmos.

youtube

The season’s best moments though are between Picard and Data and will remind you why they were more than likely your favorite characters on TNG. Generally speaking, exploring the humanist themes of artificial intelligence in new Trek was a good choice and having Picard deal with survivor’s guilt kept the pulse of the muddled story still beating. Brent Spiner is still great as Data and will remind you all again how talented he has always been as an actor and though his age seeps through the makeup a bit he is nonetheless still a perfect android.

Though the finale as a whole is underwhelming, the characters do share a nice final moment that is both touching and reminiscent of everything a fan loves about Star Trek. It’s a great cap to an otherwise ok return to Star Trek for TNG’s top characters and its truly touching in the best way that this franchise has always been known to be.

(Deactivating my emotions chip because I just..can’t! I just can’t, ok! *Sobs*)

But great acting and high production value can only mask so many flaws with a convoluted plot and “Picard” unfortunately suffers from the bloated and uncooked nature of its many ideas. What the story really needed was three season arc not just ten episodes and it shows. I guess the plus side is with this particular plot wrapped up it leaves the door open for new ideas and a fresh start in the second season but it does feel like an overall miss for Picard’s homecoming back into the universe of Star Trek.

Overall, though there are worse ways a Star Trek fan can spend their quarantine than watching “Picard” and there’s certainly enough here for fans to latch onto and have hope for better things in the next season.

Hopefully things are less rushed or at least more focused in the second season and we can see a more proper return to form for both Picard and future Star Trek.

Here’s hoping the producers and writers make it so…

VERDICT:

3 out of 5

Let’s hope we get a return of Q in the next season.

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parasympathic · 4 years ago

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SELF PARA 002.

[ isa 💕 → monty ] sel’s already here but you’re welcome to join us...? 😁

It was, objectively speaking, a terrible idea. For a number of reasons that came quickly and didn’t require any great amount of overthinking on Montgomery’s part this time. If it were only Isabel, there wouldn’t be a question, a promised bottle of Patron that he’d offered to bring to her tonight, a long overdue escape that he thought they both might need. Drinking with Selwyn, however, carried a number of complications, even if it was solely for her status within the Magistrate. A string he’d already pulled on a few times, bullets dodged thanks to sympathies she pretended she didn’t have. Which still didn’t make it wise to let go of his firmly held self control, not in front of a telepath or a friend, when there was an expansive list of secrets he carried, both damning and personal.

There was one reason stacked against it, a side effect of the forced distance between himself and Emil. One he hadn’t anticipated, because it had never been a problem before, not really. He might have had a strained relationship with sleep, a tendency to overthink that kept him up until strange hours of the morning, but he’d learned to function on the bare minimum. It was time alone that was disappointing, sure, but it wasn’t an overwhelming kind, at least it wouldn’t have been before.

Before the Institute. Before cuffs around his wrist and white walls around him, memories that crept into his thoughts when he was staring up at the ceiling in an empty bed, finding himself stretching his mind out to move the bed, or a book, or anything so long as he could assure some irrational part of his mind that there wouldn’t be a blue flare across the ceiling the second he did. Memories that found those cracks in his unconscious mind, a few confusing moments when he first awoke that he couldn’t remember where he was. A brief second of panic, of his heart pounding as he tried to blink the grit from his eyes and focus on his bedroom. Bed empty, but his, scars on his wrists, but no cuffs.

It was a reassurance that got him through the day, but hadn’t helped the last three nights, and it left him staring at his phone for a moment before he replied.

[ monty → isa 💕 ] be there in twenty, chérie.

The game was never have I ever, and after the first three shots Montgomery decided it had been chosen with the specific purpose of fucking with him. Enough sins already shared between the two women sitting around the table with him that he suspected most of what they said was either an inside joke, or in Selwyn’s case, a chance to figure out just how much Monty had changed. Because she’d recognized a shift in him as much as he had in her, pinpointing it the first time he’d seen her at the Pit, just by the way he smiled. Even if she didn’t know why he hadn’t before, even if she didn’t know why it hurt to hear himself called a robot. And maybe it was because she’d paid more attention, because Dom had looked up to him, but not at him, and Dev might’ve forced her hobbies on him, but she’d found him boring.

“Never have I ever been arrested.” Isabel’s offering, accompanied by a muted grin in his direction. His response an easy roll of his eyes before he tossed the shot back, aware that there were three empty glasses hitting the table afterwards.

“Why Dr. Monty, I’m shocked.” Selwyn, putting a hand to her chest and looking at him with mock surprise. “Scandalized even.”

“Are you though?” Brow raised in a challenge before he nodded his head to the dark haired woman on his left. “We have the same friend.” A point proven solely by the ease of his posture, back against the chair and Isabel’s feet crossed and resting in his lap. Palm curved around her shin with easy affection he didn’t give most.

Something just as endearing in the way she cursed him afterwards. “Hijo de puta I did that for you.”

“Oh, I know, that’s why it’s funny.” A grin flashed at her that dissolved into a laugh as she kicked at his knee, and a memory of a holding cell that shouldn’t have left him with so much warm fondness sitting on his chest.

It didn’t surprise him when the game started devolving into questions of love and sex and heartbreak, and he lost track of how many he tossed back alongside them. Ignoring that three months ago he wouldn’t have been able to drink to half of them, heartsick before, but never heartbroken, a list of lovers but never in love. Somewhere along the line it drowned out some of his fear, leaving a secret out on the table among empty shot glasses. One he’d kept so long he thought it had become part of him, but there was something liberating about leaving it on the cutting room floor.

"It makes sense,” said Sel. A response that had Monty lifting a brow, a tone far too innocent as she toyed with a shot glass. “No wonder you were so oblivious to my charms.”

It made him laugh, something too relieved in the sound, head resting against the back of the chair. “Obviously. The only reason.” Because some secrets were easier to let go of than others, and he found this one didn’t hurt as much as he’d feared.

He was still grateful when they broke for food, a chance to let the tequila settle, Isa complaining about the poor quality of her weed before she remembered why, and he blamed both the liquor and the smoke hanging thick in the air instead of her for the bluntness that followed. “Tell your boyfriend to stop avoiding me.”

“We’re too old to pass notes, chérie.” Said as gently as he could, not wanting to sit in the middle even while feeling as though it was a space he firmly occupied.

“Dile a ese cabrón, stop being a little bitch.” A curse accompanied by a gesture of the lighter, and he knew he was drunk because he found himself biting back a laugh, even while fully aware it wasn’t funny. That his trust wasn’t the only one left shattered, too many messages in her phone that Monty hadn’t written, and if there was the faint prick of guilt that he might’ve helped ruin something between them, he couldn’t remember how to lie to her, or if he even wanted to.

It left him with a quiet longing, missing the man abruptly when he’d managed to keep himself distracted most of the night. Not for any comfort he wanted to steal, but for the absence of him, the certainty that Emil would fit easily into place around the table with them. A familiar fantasy of their lives intertwining, and after a moment he pulled himself to his feet and reached for his phone.

Monty didn’t regret the decision to call Emil, not while he was on the phone with him. It wasn’t until after, sitting there on Isabel’s fire escape with nothing but the quiet sound of voices and laughter behind him and the distant hum of a car in the distance that it finally set in. Trying to replay a conversation where already the details were slipping away, and he was just left with a growing unease and the ache in his chest, a quiet voice swearing that he’d somehow fucked up. Sinking guilt following when he thought it was for the conversation itself, Emil miles away and trying to balance his life and his family. He didn’t need Montgomery falling apart.

He was slow to untangle himself from his place on the metal grate, vertigo hitting him hard and leaving him with a hand pressing against the side of her building to keep himself steady. A brief laugh following, an instinctive reaction that lacked real humor, and then he was trying to navigate his way back through the window.

It went worse this time, one leg getting caught on the edge, body tilting to compensate for it, and ending with Monty on his back staring up at Isabel’s ceiling with one foot still sticking out into the cold air. He heard laughter somewhere behind him but he didn’t look back, a distant awareness of burning in his eyes and the sensation of something stuck in his throat. Making it harder to breathe, to talk, to think, and he couldn’t tell if it was regret or despair.

Only that it hit in waves, his own voice in his head, am I different?

Do you want to be the same?

The answers slipping in easier now, one after another, when he wasn’t trying to hold onto something more fragile through the thin connection of a phone call. I just don’t want to be weaker. I don’t want to be ruined. I don’t want to feel that powerless ever again. I don’t want nightmares and I don’t want fear and I don’t want to wake up and not remember where I am. I don’t want to wonder if everything good about myself already got destroyed years ago and if Hugo just finished the job.

I want to know who I am.

Monty’s palms pressed against his eyes, self restraint doing a poor job of holding himself together when there was so much tequila stripping it away, so he tried to cling to it with the pressure of his hands and desperate, steadying breaths that got cut off again when it just left room for something worse to slip through. Every memory he’d tried to put aside, to strip whatever useful information he could before discarding them, a month of his life that still clung to him like smoke. A logical dissection of events and an illogical shaking of his frame, trying to hold in the wretched sob that wanted to rip from his chest, because what good is that?

“Monty?” Isabel’s voice breaking through first before he felt fingers in his hair, a soothing comfort that he flinched away from before settling under her touch. “Hey. What happened? What did he say to you?”

“No, no, he didn’t do anything wrong.” Words that came quickly and thoughtlessly, escaping somewhere between ragged breaths to stall any anger before it came. Even if it felt like a blatant lie after it was past his lips, because Emil had left one of the deepest scars, that feeling of betrayal, of trust shattering, one he hadn’t given blindly, but with too much hope. And the man had burned it all down, maybe destroyed them both, and it left Monty with too much hurt pressing down on his chest, a brutal crushing ache in both heart and his lungs that wasn’t just for himself, his prison stark and white, Emil’s looking like a rotting mockery of his own bedroom.

He didn’t know if he could forgive, but he’d wanted to forget, and found it still all too close the second he stopped packing those wounds with something golden and kinder. Reaching out his hand to grasp at her arm, the other dragging across his face again, trying to ignore the warm wetness slipping down his cheeks, a memory of sitting on his couch trying to stem the same flood. “Can you just... hug me?”

There was no hesitation, just Isabel shifting behind him, pulling his head into her lap and arms curving around his shoulders. A comfort that made the shaking of his frame worse before it got better, fingers tight around her arm and wishing he could explain to either of them why he was crying. But if Emil had told him to talk about it, he couldn’t find the words, just the distant awareness of a wound that hadn’t healed and her voice, telling him “I’m here.”

His awareness of Selwyn was just as removed, barely aware of her settling down on the carpet next to him. None of the same easy affections given, but after a moment her hand settled on his shoulder, her voice “do you want to see more of memories of you?” and no real chance given to answer before the world faded away.

Isabel’s living room was made black, soft and encompassing, like dreamless sleep, a darkness that Montgomery felt himself sinking into. Warmer for the comforting contrast to stark white, muscles untensing and going liquid as he stretched out onto the carpet. Wondering if he didn’t fall asleep in the brief moment before nothingness and the sudden emergence of memories, cast in bright technicolor even if his own were black and white. An intense projection of thought, of someone else’s life, none of the images belonging to him, and he didn’t know if it was comforting to see it all again, but he thought it was meant to be.

Because there was a version of himself in Selwyn’s memory, the version she saw, of someone calm and composed even as a child. Always the babysitter when he was older than the rest, always the one taping up wounds and skinned knees, and there was a flicker of his own memory in the back of his head, putting them on his own scrapes and scars too, but alone in the bathroom. A version of himself he’d thought was so dissonant from who he was now, but there was too much familiar, beyond the simple physicality of the boy in her memory. The starkest difference in the eyes, because they looked impossibly vacant, and part of him wondered distantly how she hadn’t seen it, how no one had seen it, why no one could hear him silently screaming when he’d still been young and new. It was a feeling that was all too familiar, like it had echoed through the years until history repeated itself, taking new form; how did no one notice I was gone?

The tug on curled locks distracted him, tipping his head back to see a smile so much brighter on Isabel’s lips as she watched the images around them, invited in by the woman who controlled them. “Look how young you were. Look at your hair,” she said. A different echo this time, like family, like a mother sharing stories about her only son, the warm smell of coffee and old books. And those were present too, an image of a lanky, teenage version of himself, still curled in a chair with a book in his lap before he was interrupted. He closed his eyes briefly to hold onto it, to hold onto Isabel, letting the world shift on its axis beneath his spine, the kind of vertigo that made him wonder if he wasn’t in danger of spilling off the earth altogether. A distant, nostalgic ache that always came with missing a home that he’d never had.

And he knew when it faded, light pressing against his eyelids before she was prodding him gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He stayed quiet for a moment, blinking away the darkness and left staring up at the ceiling that was too bright in comparison, but he reached out, floating the bottle of tequila off the table. Thoughtless and casual and his, no flicker of blue, no yawning emptiness greeting him in place of his gift. He wasn’t trapped, not in a cell, not in his own home, not by anything but chains of his own making, and if he’d changed, if he was different, it wasn’t the first time. A painful echo of empty eyes looking back at him, and he finally nodded his head. Tilting it back to look up at her, a grateful squeeze of her arm.

“No,” he said. “But I feel a little better.” Sitting up slowly, hand reaching out for the bottle as it drifted into his grasp, a swig straight from it before he turned and passed it to Selwyn like quieter gratitude. Letting the taste of something sharp and sweet ease the dull and distant ache in his chest when he couldn’t quite name its form. If it was for what he’d lost or never had, if it was for who he’d never become and who he wished he was, for a moment all he had was another memory, her voice somewhere in the back of his head, and he didn’t know if it held hope or just another hurt. Although, who knew you would change so much, after all these years, making jokes and all. No longer quite the robot.

Despite his assurances, Monty didn’t feel better, not right away. Tequila that was compromising his faculties, but kept him hovering on that line between bleak despair and a reckless, boundless happiness that he’d wanted to hold onto. A quieter thought that he’d wanted to share that with Emil more than anything, a version of himself that didn’t carry cuffs around his wrists or the scars from it, but he’d warned the man about delusion and he should’ve known better. There was more comfort from simply passing the bottle around like he was back in college again, the first time he hadn’t felt like an outsider staring in from behind two way glass.

“I want ice cream.” Decided abruptly, unsure if it was true until he was saying it.

And that was how Montgomery Lacroix ended up in the Circle K sometime after midnight, a mess of snacks and ice cream scattered across the counter, and Sel plopping down a slushie next to it. “It’s not a Slurpee,” she said. “But it’ll do.”

This time the nostalgia made him laugh, something easy and simple from his childhood that didn’t demand anything more complex, a joy so small it hadn’t been worth stripping away from him, and he nodded his head at her once it settled into an easy grin. “Get me one too, yeah? The blue flavor.” Turning afterward to the poor kid working behind the counter, a little wide eyed as he stared at the three of them. Finding himself unconcerned for now about whatever rumors spread tomorrow, the kind of thing he’d always avoided and always feared, never letting anyone see a single crack in the man he’d made himself into.

Ones that might all be on display, but there was something just as liberating in how little he cared, even if it was courage fueled by tequila. “Can I get... stop...” the words broken up by a short laugh and Isabel tucking sunglasses into place over his ears, grinning at her reflection in the red and orange lenses. “A pack of Camels,” he tried gain. “And these too, apparently.” Gesturing vaguely at his face, and if his eyes were hidden he decided it was enough for tonight just to know they were no longer empty and vacant.

#selfpara;#emiliano;#isabel;#selwyn;

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 4 years ago

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24th November >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Saints Andrew Dũng-Lạc and his Companions, Martyrs

Tuesday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time.

Tuesday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Red)

(Readings for the feria (Tuesday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Apocalypse 14:14-19

The harvest and the vintage of the earth are ripe

In my vision I, John, saw a white cloud and, sitting on it, one like a son of man with a gold crown on his head and a sharp sickle in his hand. Then another angel came out of the sanctuary, and shouted aloud to the one sitting on the cloud, ‘Put your sickle in and reap: harvest time has come and the harvest of the earth is ripe.’ Then the one sitting on the cloud set his sickle to work on the earth, and the earth’s harvest was reaped. Another angel, who also carried a sharp sickle, came out of the temple in heaven, and the angel in charge of the fire left the altar and shouted aloud to the one with the sharp sickle, ‘Put your sickle in and cut all the bunches off the vine of the earth; all its grapes are ripe.’ So the angel set his sickle to work on the earth and harvested the whole vintage of the earth and put it into a huge winepress, the winepress of God’s anger.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 95(96):10-13

R/ The Lord comes to rule the earth.

Proclaim to the nations: ‘God is king.’ The world he made firm in its place; he will judge the peoples in fairness.

R/ The Lord comes to rule the earth.

Let the heavens rejoice and earth be glad, let the sea and all within it thunder praise, let the land and all it bears rejoice, all the trees of the wood shout for joy at the presence of the Lord for he comes, he comes to rule the earth.

R/ The Lord comes to rule the earth.

With justice he will rule the world, he will judge the peoples with his truth.

R/ The Lord comes to rule the earth.

Gospel Acclamation

Luke 21:28

Alleluia, alleluia! Stand erect, hold your heads high, because your liberation is near at hand. Alleluia!

Or:

Revelation 2:10

Alleluia, alleluia! Even if you have to die, says the Lord, keep faithful, and I will give you the crown of life. Alleluia!

Gospel

Luke 21:5-11

The destruction of the Temple foretold

When some were talking about the Temple, remarking how it was adorned with fine stonework and votive offerings, Jesus said, ‘All these things you are staring at now – the time will come when not a single stone will be left on another: everything will be destroyed.’ And they put to him this question: ‘Master,’ they said ‘when will this happen, then, and what sign will there be that this is about to take place?’ ‘Take care not to be deceived,’ he said ‘because many will come using my name and saying, “I am he” and, “The time is near at hand.” Refuse to join them. And when you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be frightened, for this is something that must happen but the end is not so soon.’ Then he said to them, ‘Nation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes and plagues and famines here and there; there will be fearful sights and great signs from heaven.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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Saints Andrew Dũng-Lạc and his Companions, Martyrs

(Liturgical Colour: Red)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

EITHER:

First Reading

2 Chronicles 24:18-22

'You have deserted the Lord: now he deserts you'

The Judaeans abandoned the Temple of the Lord, the God of their ancestors, for the worship of sacred poles and idols. Because of their guilt, God’s anger fell on Judah and Jerusalem. He sent them prophets to bring them back to the Lord, but when these gave their message, they would not listen. The spirit of God took possession of Zechariah son of Jehoiada the priest. He stood up before the people and said, ‘God says this, “Why do you transgress the commandments of the Lord to no good purpose? You have deserted the Lord, now he deserts you.”’ They then plotted against him and by order of the king stoned him in the court of the Temple of the Lord. King Joash, forgetful of the kindness that Jehoiada, the father of Zechariah, had shown him, killed Jehoiada’s son who cried out as he died, ‘The Lord sees and he will avenge!’

OR: --------

First reading 2 Maccabees 6:18,21,24-31 I am glad to suffer because of the awe which he inspires in me

Eleazar, one of the foremost teachers of the Law, a man already advanced in years and of most noble appearance, was being forced to open his mouth wide to swallow pig’s flesh. Those in charge of the impious banquet, because of their long-standing friendship with him, took him aside and privately urged him to have meat brought of a kind he could properly use, prepared by himself, and only pretend to eat the portions of sacrificial meat as prescribed by the king. ‘Such pretence’ he said ‘does not square with our time of life; many young people would suppose that Eleazar at the age of ninety had conformed to the foreigners’ way of life, and because I had played this part for the sake of a paltry brief spell of life might themselves be led astray on my account; I should only bring defilement and disgrace on my old age. Even though for the moment I avoid execution by man, I can never, living or dead, elude the grasp of the Almighty. Therefore if I am man enough to quit this life here and now I shall prove myself worthy of my old age, and I shall have left the young a noble example of how to make a good death, eagerly and generously, for the venerable and holy laws.’ With these words he went straight to the block. His escorts, so recently well disposed towards him, turned against him after this declaration, which they regarded as sheer madness. Just before he died under the blows, he groaned aloud and said, ‘The Lord whose knowledge is holy sees clearly that, though I might have escaped death, whatever agonies of body I now endure under this bludgeoning, in my soul I am glad to suffer, because of the awe which he inspires in me.’ This was how he died, leaving his death as an example of nobility and a record of virtue not only for the young but for the great majority of the nation.

OR: --------

First reading 2 Maccabees 7:1-2,9-14 'The King of the world will raise us up to live for ever'

There were seven brothers who were arrested with their mother. The king tried to force them to taste pig’s flesh, which the Law forbids, by torturing them with whips and scourges. One of them, acting as spokesman for the others, said, ‘What are you trying to find out from us? We are prepared to die rather than break the laws of our ancestors.’ With his last breath the second brother exclaimed, ‘Inhuman fiend, you may discharge us from this present life, but the King of the world will raise us up, since it is for his laws that we die, to live again for ever.’ After him, they amused themselves with the third, who on being asked for his tongue promptly thrust it out and boldly held out his hands, with these honourable words, ‘It was heaven that gave me these limbs; for the sake of his laws I disdain them; from him I hope to receive them again.’ The king and his attendants were astounded at the young man’s courage and his utter indifference to suffering. When this one was dead they subjected the fourth to the same savage torture. When he neared his end he cried, ‘Ours is the better choice, to meet death at men’s hands, yet relying on God’s promise that we shall be raised up by him; whereas for you there can be no resurrection, no new life.’

OR: --------

First reading 2 Maccabees 7:1,20-23,27-29 Make death welcome, so that in the day of mercy I may receive you back

There were seven brothers who were arrested with their mother. The king tried to force them to taste pig’s flesh, which the Law forbids, by torturing them with whips and scourges. But the mother was especially admirable and worthy of honourable remembrance, for she watched the death of seven sons in the course of a single day, and endured it resolutely because of her hopes in the Lord. Indeed she encouraged each of them in the language of their ancestors; filled with noble conviction, she reinforced her womanly argument with manly courage, saying to them, ‘I do not know how you appeared in my womb; it was not I who endowed you with breath and life, I had not the shaping of your every part. It is the creator of the world, ordaining the process of man’s birth and presiding over the origin of all things, who in his mercy will most surely give you back both breath and life, seeing that you now despise your own existence for the sake of his laws.’ She said to her youngest son, ‘My son, have pity on me; I carried you nine months in my womb and suckled you three years, fed you and reared you to the age you are now (and cherished you). I implore you, my child, observe heaven and earth, consider all that is in them, and acknowledge that God made them out of what did not exist, and that mankind comes into being in the same way. Do not fear this executioner, but prove yourself worthy of your brothers, and make death welcome, so that in the day of mercy I may receive you back in your brothers’ company.’

OR: --------

First reading Wisdom 3:1-9 The souls of the virtuous are in the hands of God

The souls of the virtuous are in the hands of God, no torment shall ever touch them. In the eyes of the unwise, they did appear to die, their going looked like a disaster, their leaving us, like annihilation; but they are in peace. If they experienced punishment as men see it, their hope was rich with immortality; slight was their affliction, great will their blessings be. God has put them to the test and proved them worthy to be with him; he has tested them like gold in a furnace, and accepted them as a holocaust. When the time comes for his visitation they will shine out; as sparks run through the stubble, so will they. They shall judge nations, rule over peoples, and the Lord will be their king for ever. They who trust in him will understand the truth, those who are faithful will live with him in love; for grace and mercy await those he has chosen.

OR: --------

First reading Ecclesiasticus 51:1-8 Thanks to God the saviour

I will give thanks to you, Lord and King, and praise you, God my saviour, I give thanks to your name; for you have been protector and support to me, and redeemed my body from destruction, from the snare of the lying tongue, from lips that fabricate falsehood; and in the presence of those around me you have been my support, you have redeemed me, true to the greatness of your mercy and of your name, from the fangs of those who would devour me, from the hands of those seeking my life, from the many ordeals which I have endured, from the stifling heat which hemmed me in, from the heart of a fire which I had not kindled, from deep in the belly of Sheol, from the unclean tongue and the lying word – the perjured tongue slandering me to the king. My soul has been close to death, my life had gone down to the brink of Sheol. They were surrounding me on every side, there was no-one to support me; I looked for someone to help – in vain. Then I remembered your mercy, Lord, and your deeds from earliest times, how you deliver those who wait for you patiently, and save them from the clutches of their enemies.

-------- ________

EITHER: --------

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 30(31):3-4,6,8,16-17

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

Be a rock of refuge for me, a mighty stronghold to save me, for you are my rock, my stronghold. For your name’s sake, lead me and guide me.

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

Into your hands I commend my spirit. It is you who will redeem me, Lord. As for me, I trust in the Lord: let me be glad and rejoice in your love.

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

My life is in your hands, deliver me from the hands of those who hate me. Let your face shine on your servant. Save me in your love.

Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.

OR: --------

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 33(34):2-9