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dinsbeskar · 2 months ago

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Haunted (Sauron/F!Reader)

...by the kiss you should never have given me

Lots of mini-chapters add up to an omnibus of angst, as we follow Sauron through the centuries and discover exactly what happened before his coronation.

Sequel to To Have and To Hold // Prequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Kiss Me Harder by Jordan Fiction, Judas by Lady Gaga, Angels by Within Temptation, Heaven's A Lie by Lacuna Coil, NFWMB by Hozier

Warnings: 18+! Angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, manipulation, toxic relationship (more overt towards the end), obsessive!Sauron, soft!Sauron (yes the two can coincide), knifeplay (just a tiny bit), blood magic, Sauron is a bit of a dick towards the end, sorry, accidental prey/predator kink, knifeplay (again, tiny bit), grinding, slightly dubious consent (you do want it, but I'll tag anyway), oral sex (female receiving), P in V sex, more blood.

A/N: little bit of jumping around in this one, sorry, we start just after the wedding, then we jump to the fall of Gondolin, a little magic ritual in the middle, then the fallout from the sinking of Beleriand (why do you keep getting caught up in this??), then we close out the First Age with a little argument before someone's coronation! Little slices of their romance in quick succession! I went a little experimental in the form of this one, with a bunch of flashbacks informing the main plot at the end. I hope it works 🤞

Special thanks to @olchr-1 for the idea for our revenge on Morgoth!!

Translation note: Amartherui translates in Sindarin to "lonely fate" [Fate (amarth) Alone (erui)]

Word Count: 6k!

Fingers entwined with his, head on his chest, you were enthralled by him, by every pretty word and sweet gesture. Every time he came to visit, you would spend days on end in your secluded glade, to make up for his inexplicably long periods of absence. Sometimes he would come to you with dizzying tales of his latest triumphs, preening under your undivided attention. But lately he had taken to returning under black clouds, tetchy where he was usually playful, and rough where gentleness once reigned.

You had pulled him close to your breast and sank down into the petaled carpet of the forest floor, stroking his hair and listening as he raged on about the war in the north. You had kin fighting the armies of Morgoth, and knew his sorrows all too well, but something behind his eyes told you it was more than he was letting on.

You weave strands of his hair into elaborate braids in your lap, before undoing them and creating something greater in their stead. He eventually quiets under your idle fiddling, eyes drifting shut with a contented smile gracing his face, like a cat napping in the afternoon sun. You love him like this; no cares, no worries of war. You can soothe him like no one else, a great source of pride whenever he mentions it.

You gaze down at his unearthly smooth features and trace each contour with your eyes; your fingers slow in their busy work, moving gently across his scalp, lazily twisting his hair around your finger, making a ring to match the one he'd gifted you, ornate and bejeweled, glittering with an impossible inner light, to replace the woven band of purple iris that he'd improvised on the night of your wedding.

"You're staring, love." He smiles, snapping open his eyes and fixing you with an affectionate expression that makes your heart melt.

"Is a wife not allowed to stare at her husband? Are there no privileges to marriage at all?" Your voice is soft but your tone is mischievous, and he smirks.

"I can think of a few, ah, privileges, dearest, in fact we have exercised a few already today." He raises his eyebrows, before pulling you down to meet his lips. "But if you need reminding, you need only ask."

You had agreed to meet in the same secluded glade at the next new moon, but he never showed. The hours you wasted awaiting his return were at first exciting, full of electric anticipation that only love's first bloom can give. As the moon slowly passed overhead, and twinkling stars gave way to blazing sun, you shed many a tear at your folly. Perhaps he had been some mirage, an illusion to tempt you? Or perhaps the depth of his feeling did not match yours, a fleeting thought you had to bury deep in case it irrevocably shattered your heart.

You frequent the glade every so often, convincing yourself that it was a perfectly fine place to pass your time, and that you were not reminded of his warm hands or even warmer smile, every time you visit. Deceiving yourself that it meant much less to you than it did, that if he returned now after so much time with no word or warning, you would not jump into his open arms without a second thought.

Your heartache is apparent to your friends and kin, who assume you're suffering the grief they all feel, having lost so many of their kind to Morgoth's rampage in the north. How little they knew; how little you knew.

It is only when one good friend mentions the siege at Angband, that you are struck with the terrible notion that the man you cursed for abandoning you, might not have done it willingly after all. That perhaps, Valar forbid, he had perished in the siege. He had mentioned fighting in the war after all, but you had not connected that with his absence. After all, he had promised to return to you, on the morning after you had met, having shared a blissful slumber in each other's arms. He held your hands to his lips and swore he would see you again, and now it makes sense. Now you have a real reason to grieve, you realise, and the anger roiling within you turns cold, an icy pit in your stomach as tears fall freely and your heart wrenches and cracks. You were to only have one night with him, and you might never even discover his true fate.

You reason with yourself that surely you would feel if the other half of you had flown this mortal plain. But the alternative was much crueler, and to believe him dead was somehow a less hopeless fate.

Centuries later when you look back, you curse yourself for not seeing who he was, and what he'd done, but how could you? He'd taken you as his own and that was such a strong spell to break, Eru himself would have had to step in.

To see your city fall at the hands of your husband’s master, you had no words, only wet hot tears as you watch your people die.

"Love, we have to go, come now," he holds you firmly by the arms, shaking you a little to clear your mind of the dust and debris and blood on the streets of Gondolin.

"I can't, I can't leave them, I have to find-"

"No, we're evacuating, you're not staying a minute longer. I should not have let you linger here when He appeared on the horizon, we should have-"

You tug your arm from his vice-like grip. "Should have what? Should have left my people to wrack and ruin? We have to..." Your mind is so murky, filled with thoughts of leaving, running as far as you can with him, despite your overwhelming urge to stay and help where you can.

"We have to leave. You know there is nothing we can do for them, He will leave none alive, and I won't have you-" he can't say it, he can't even entertain the notion of you coming to harm; his fingers tighten their grip, almost painful in their desperation.

He should have foreseen this, he should have gotten you to safety when he first had an inkling that his master finally knew where the Hidden City was.

"We have to go back, I need to go back, I can't leave-"

After a thousand years, his magic had kept your tiny wedding band of iris in full bloom, untouched by the passage of time, kept safe in an ornate gilded chest, made by his own fair hands. And it was sitting in your apartments on the other side of the city, where your kin doubtless waited for you to leave with them. The sentiment in your heart held you steadfast against his shaking and pleading.

"Love, we can't stay here-" he is interrupted by explosions overhead, as the enemy host draw closer.

"You don't understand-"

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter, you're the only thing that matters. We have to go!" He never raises his voice to you, so you're a little dumbstruck when he growls at you.

"But we have to save them!" You stop in your tracks, feet rooted to the ground, indignant at the idea of abandoning your friends and neighbours to their doom.

"Amarië," his voice is suddenly so soft, it disquiets you, brings you back to the present. "Love, they're gone. There is no saving to be done."

Sauron is a stranger to remorse, to sorrow, but at the effect of his words, a pang of guilt sweeps through him when he tells you that in all the world, he is all you have now. He tries to ignore the warm thrill he feels in the pit of his stomach, that this great cataclysm has brought about the fate he always wanted for the two of you: just you and he, no one else to rob him of your attention.

You wanted to feel deeply all the grief and pain that one would expect at being told their life was over.

Instead you just felt numb, haunted by the consequences of his actions.

"I curse him." Your husband's eyes grow wide at your words, grasping your hands as if to quiet you, but you press on.

"I curse Melkor, Morgoth Bauglir, to roam this earth alone. To never know peace, to never know that which he so jealously craves."

You feel you're taking Morgoth's curse rather well, all things considered. Sauron had to beg you not to storm Angband yourself after he had told you of his master's new name for you, cursing you to a forsaken existence, sundering you from your husband in all but spirit.

You had fought your way back to him countless times, and he to you; you had both vowed to continue to do so, but the rage and grief had not lessened with time, stoked to a towering inferno of wrath that threatened to break you any time you were reminded of it.

And after the fall of Gondolin, your rage at the Enemy was insatiable.

So you had your revenge.

"Enemy. Tyrant. Now I name you again."

In the dead of night, flickering candlelight casting ominous shadows over your face, Sauron cannot help but admire you, crave you, as you corrupt his master's fate.

You slice open your hand, squeezing your palm over the parchment before you, watching as crimson splashes through the stark black lettering.

Amartherui.

"Help me." You look him in the eye, your simple plea making his chest ache; he has never said no to you, his sweet wife, but this is the first time he has been tempted.

"Amarië..." his soft sigh almost convinces you to abandon your plan, but the fury bubbling in your veins is too great.

"Beloved, will you help me or not? Your power would bring this curse to fruition, but if you will have no part in it, you should leave." You stand taller, drawing yourself up to match his gaze, impossible as that may seem.

"I have never asked you for anything. Please do this for me."

The crushing weight of the love in his hole of a heart moves his hand before he can stop himself. With gnawing doubt in his stomach, he wordlessly takes the knife from you, mixing his pitch black blood with your own on the page.

You smile, a weight lifting from your shoulders instantly, and you pull him down to kiss him hard, leaving a red streak on his neck.

"I name you, Morgoth, as my people have long titled you, Amartherui." His new name falls off your tongue like a dream, and you cannot help but smile, your wicked deed complete, as you set the parchment alight, the flames glowing a sickly grey-green as the candles flicker and the room darkens, long shadows growing where the light had tentatively reigned.

"Forever and a day, a lonely fate will be yours. You shall not know the word of a friend, the loyalty of a follower, or the touch of a lover. I curse you to wander the Seen and Unseen world alone, craving the connection you sought to sunder here."

In the back of your mind, there is some semblance of guilt. There is nothing good in the act you just performed, nothing virtuous or pure in your revenge; it's cold and calculated, vicious and spiteful.

Transcending the bounds of time and space, you can feel your curse has taken effect, something shifting in the air between you and your husband.

Sauron has never loved you more, and he shows you many times that night the depth of his feelings.

You watch as more refugees stagger into your haven with naught more than the clothes on their backs, waiting to help and heal and offer your comfort where you can. The war has left such a dreadful path of destruction in its wake; thousands of your kin are displaced as the host of the Valar battle their way to Angband, and your people had chosen where the river Sirion meets the sea as their secret haven.

It has been decades since the armies of Valinor first arrived on the shores of Middle Earth, and the end was drawing near, according to your husband, who was waiting with you in the safety of the havens and watching closely.

"I'll see you when I'm finished here," you whisper as you reach up to plant a kiss on your husband's lips. "It'll probably be late, don't wait up for me."

He gives you an affectionate smile; how could he not wait for you? Even if he did partake in sleep, he would not be able to rest without you at his side.

"I'll be up, return to me soon." He is reluctant to let you go, but your skills are in such dire need while the city is inundated with the sick and injured.

Before the War, it was uncommon for Elves to suffer such fates, being hardy in soul and body, but Morgoth's darkness had infiltrated much of the land and infected so many of your kin. Soldiers, innocent bystanders, there were hardly any who were unaffected, and fighting the darkness was a constant effort on your part, and the team of healers you had trained in the magics of your people.

"My lady, they are calling for you." The herald's voice shakes you from Sauron's gaze, and he huffs impatiently.

"I must go." You reluctantly begin to pull away, but he draws you back, pulling you close and wrapping you up in an embrace you could cling to for an age.

"I love you," he murmurs in your ear. "When this is all over, we shall establish the greatest kingdom this land has ever seen."

"If there is a land left." You try to remain hopeful but the news of the siege at Angband is never good, never hopeful, and you fear your home will never be free of Morgoth's influence.

"I am your home," your husband, your Mairon, reminds you, tracing your cheek softly, and you cannot help but return his radiant smile.

"I know, love, as I am yours." You press a soft kiss to his knuckles, taking the strength he offers, before departing to disperse your light where you can.

The darkness infects everything it touches, and it takes all of your energy and more to renew your broken and weary kin, who have travelled so far and fought so hard to reach the havens. Healing words and ancient spells woven into soft songs, settling over the city in a melodic shield, rejuvenating the minds and bodies of your people. You work late into the night, spreading the light where you can, easing the pitch black horror in the hearts of those who had seen the worst of Morgoth's endeavours.

The night is all-encompassing when you finally crawl into bed, nestling into Mairon's firm warmth, trying not to disturb him but feeling sweet relief when his hands trace your sides in greeting.

"I was going to come look for you," his deep voice rumbles in your chest as he presses himself against you.

"No need," you try to smile, but your voice cracks as his tenderness breaks your defences, and all the heartache of the day pours out of you like blood from a wound.

His heart wrenches. He has no business feeling such emotions as remorse, but once again you have him feeling in ways that he dislikes intensely.

"I'm sorry, my love." And he is. He is actually sorry for causing you pain, the rest of Middle Earth be damned.

You sigh and take his hand, holding it over your heart.

"I know, love." You ponder your next question, whether it is a good idea to ask, but you ask anyway.

"You cannot assist in the efforts against Him? I'm sure the Valar would be grateful for your help, might even look favourably upon you-"

He interrupts you with a sigh and a kiss to your neck.

"The Valar will never look upon me favourably, beloved. I could present them Melkor in chains and they would only bind me to him."

Of course, he has thought about begging clemency, thought about fleeing with you to the edges of the world, even thought of taking you back to his master. But in the end, it was more prudent to keep you safe, and to watch and wait for the triumphant side to reveal themselves. Better to beg forgiveness from the victor than choose the wrong side.

"Tell me I'm wrong." You dare him to speak against you, your voice shaking in anger as your fists clench.

"My love, I-"

"No, I don't want falsehoods, I don't want games or lies or deceit, just tell me. Did you go to Eönwë as you promised?"

"I did. And I found their response wanting." In truth he had tried to make amends, tried to do penance for the ages he'd spent in Morgoth's service, but when it came to approaching Manwë for his pardon, his fear overtook him and he fled back to Angband, but he couldn't tell you that, couldn't tell you he'd been weak, pitiful, his courage failing him at the final steps to absolution.

And he definitely couldn't tell you that in order for his pardon to be granted, he would have to give you up, to avoid blackening your soul any further.

He'd rather suffer your eternal wrath than be sundered from you for even a moment.

"So you traded forgiveness for more lies." You clench your jaw, your head beginning to pound, the subtle throb becoming a stabbing pain in your temple.

"I did it for you."

"How? How is this for me?" You mock him, incensed now that he would deflect his deceit onto you.

He stands to comfort you but you rip your hands from his grasp before he can claim you.

"I do not know what to say. I thought I knew you, I thought you would do the right thing." You shake your head and laugh, your scorn stinging him as if it were a poisoned blade.

"Love, please-"

"No! No more lies. I've had it with trickery and deception, I want out." You whirl around to face him. "Shadow of Morgoth, they call you. You gather his armies to you once more, you refired his crown! So is that what you want? Do you want to be his second coming?"

In all honesty, no. His master's plans were beneath him; Morgoth wanted to break the world, Sauron wanted to reshape it, to balance and perfect it, by any means necessary.

"Please, listen to me, I need you by my side, now more than ever." He clutches your hands, heart pounding, looking deeply into your eyes, willing you to fall for his pretty words once more.

"You didn't answer me." Tears begin to prick your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall in front of him, stepping back to take a deep breath, to steady your nerves to face the man you thought you loved.

"I don't need to. Love, you will join me." His desperation becomes honeyed, dripping with the devotion you so crave from him.

"Don't. Don't do that." You whisper, as he stalks toward you slowly, his deception burning a hole in your heart that you're sure will never be filled.

"Don't you want to be with me? For all eternity, that is what we always said." He circles you, hands on your shoulders, in your hair, overwhelming you with his lover's touch, just a mite too rough.

"Not if this is your plan. I didn't marry Morgoth, I married Mairon." Sauron, your mind reminds you, and for a second you feel a wave of nausea overwhelm you.

His face twists and he pulls away.

"That is not my name." He growls, an ugly grimace taking over his lovely features.

"I've told you before, don't look inside my head!" You retort, his presence in your mind suddenly overwhelmingly obvious.

You throw him out of your mind, slamming the door shut, refusing him access to that which would be so freely given if he deserved it.

The tic in his jaw is back with a vengeance and his eyes are ablaze with a fury the like of which you have never seen.

"Who do you think you are?" He hisses, venom in every word; you don't recognise him, cold terror in your heart at the sudden switch, as if someone had doused the candle burning for you in his heart with oil, engulfing him with wildfire.

"I chose you, of all your people, as my wife; I could have had anyone, but I chose you. Aulë’s greatest smith, Melkor's most trusted lieutenant, lord of all the dark things that creep and crawl in this world. And who are you? My beloved wife." His tone is like poison in your veins, burning and spitting fire in your heart.

Who are you? He's right; who the hell do you think you are?

"I know exactly who I am. I'm the woman who leaves you."

You shall not be forsaken this time, not that doing the forsaking feels any sweeter. It wrenches every fibre of your being, your heart pounding in your chest, but you make it to the door of his chambers, hand on the doorknob, before he breaks from his stunned daze, crosses the room and clasps his hand over yours on the cool metal.

"And where will you go? Your people are scattered and displaced, and who would take you in if they knew?" His sweetly honeyed words still bite at your heart, settling in the pit of your stomach.

"I cannot stay here, not now that I know exactly what you are." You look up at him, holding his gaze, somehow fighting the urge to scratch and claw and bite your way free like a feral animal, suddenly overwhelmed with the sense that you should run as hard and fast as you can.

His eyes betray nothing, his lips curving into a condescending smirk, as he runs a finger down your cheek, gathering the tears you'd fought not to shed. He examines them as if he'd never seen their like, as if they were precious stones from the depths of the earth, mined just for him; he licks his fingers clean, turning his attention back to you, trembling under him as he cages you against the door.

"Please... please let me go." The look in his eye says begging will be useless, but you try anyway.

"You are my Queen. You're free to do as you please." He replies, voice smooth, with a pretty smirk and that predatory glint in his eye that would usually thrill you so, that still sends hot arousal pooling between your thighs, mixed with icy cold terror.

"It would please me to leave," you try to appeal to him, softening your voice, lowering your gaze.

"I'm sure it would..." he utters breathlessly as he takes you in, leaning over you, watching the artery in your throat jump in time to his own racing heartbeat.

"Mairon... please..." His lips are on yours before you can finish your plea, his hands tangled in your hair.

He pushes his thigh between your legs, letting you grind yourself against him instinctively, and he groans, deep and low in his chest.

"Even now, your body betrays you, my love."

You sigh against him, fingers raking his hair roughly, letting him caress your neck, your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he tries to expose you to his gaze. His clever fingers usually make light work of the laces of your corset, but his impatience defeats him, and he pulls a dagger from the lining of his robes, slicing cleanly through the fabric.

"That was my favourite," you admonish him, still angry with him; even as he takes you apart with his fingers and his tongue, you can't forget his plans, and you certainly can't ignore his gift to you, sitting by the window in all their glory.

Twin crowns, wrought in black iron, twisted and wicked, emanating a dark power that made you nauseous; ready for the heads of Middle Earth's new King and Queen. When you'd seen them, your blood ran cold, as you realised that once again, you'd been victim to Sauron’s deception.

"You will have a thousand more, dearest wife, whatever your heart desires," he promises breathlessly as he shucks off your dress, sliding it down your body, worshipping you with the lightest touch, soft kisses peppering your skin as he disrobes you. He falls to his knees, his head in line with your mound. He looks up at you, locking his gaze with yours, and delves into your folds with his tongue, seeking your pleasure.

You gasp, throwing your head back, as he spreads your legs to access your entrance, splitting you open with two fingers, still drawing every moan and whimper from your throat as he circles your clit, licking long strokes, tiny laps at your skin, letting you ride his face in your lustful haze. You grip his hair more roughly than you normally would, your wrath seeping into your lust, until you can't detect the distinction between the two.

He takes one of your legs and places it on his shoulder, letting you rest against him, both of you totally at the other's mercy. Such trust, such devotion, would you throw that away? Would you truly abandon him?

He worships at your altar, an acolyte to your pleasure, drawing unearthly sounds from deep within you, willing you to just stay and be his.

Your mind is racing as tendrils of his power cling to your lips, fighting for entrance to quiet your thoughts, and replace them with his sweet music. Wouldn't it just be easier? To let the darkness in?

You might as well, you muse in the back of your head, thoughts displaced by pleasure as the darkness feasts upon you.

He's solely focused on you; there is nowhere he would rather be in all of Arda. The unblemished shores of Valinor, the white trees that used to light the world, he can finally understand why his master was so hellbent on their destruction. For there is no beauty that should merit a comparison to you, and he would raze these lands to the ground to prove it.

You're drawing close, he realises, and briefly wonders whether to allow you your release on his lips.

You feel him pull away and moan, a tiny pitiful sound that makes him chuckle; of course you need him, of course you can't be without him, even in anger. Victory is nigh, and he pulls himself out of his robes to claim you once again.

He pushes you back, your name on the tip of his tongue, as he takes you in, breathes your air.

"You're mine," he growls, nuzzling your neck to better scent you. "Say it, say you'll always be mine."

"I will," you murmur softly, tears pricking your eyes as you hold him close.

"If you were to leave me," he moans against your heated skin, stroking his cock against your thigh, "there would be no rest for any bird, beast, or being in this land, no sleep, no sustenance, these lands would burn until you were returned to me."

He claims you in one thrust, filling you so completely, so sweetly, that you see stars, your breath stolen from your lungs as if it were the first time you'd ever laid eyes on him.

Your heart wrenches, pulling towards his, despite your entire being screaming at you.

You kiss him harder, your mind quietened as he bites your lip, droplets of blood wetting his tongue, quickening his insatiable need to be inside you in every way that is possible; mind, body, soul, all inextricably entwined.

The tears in your eyes threaten to fall, but you blink them back as he rocks into you, the chorus of your lovemaking drowning out all other notions. He plays you so well, a master in the art of drawing sweet melody from your lips; the harmony you both create together is unmatched to his ears, a Maia who helped sing the world into being.

A chorus of "mine" and "please" fill the air, and you're unsure whose voice is the louder, who is more desperate in their claiming of the other.

You feel him stiffen against you, his melody reaching a crescendo before yours, as he fills you with his pleasure, low groans in your ear bringing you to your peak as well. He wrings every last moan out of you, drawing out the coda of your song until there are no more notes to be played, no more pleasure to be taken.

Sweat-slicked and exhausted, you hold each other close, entwined so perfectly. You let him carry you to his bed, laying you down reverently, climbing in beside you and nestling you close, arms wrapping you tightly, refusing to let you move from his grasp.

You'd usually find such comfort in his embrace, but tonight there is an itch under your skin that his touch only amplifies, making you fight not to squirm beside him.

You cannot sleep for fear of letting him inside your head again, so when a knock at the door comes, you welcome it.

He sighs, long and loud in your ear, as evidence of his displeasure.

"I'll be back, love, there are matters I must attend to."

"Of course," you smile, fighting to make it meet your eyes.

He regards you carefully, brow furrowed.

"Do not fear, my love," he says softly as he leans down to kiss you once more. "I won't be long."

As he departs, he gives you one final look of longing, which you hasten to return with all the eagerness you can muster.

The door clicks shut, your expression falls, and you immediately disentangle yourself from the sheets,

Finding obscene amounts of your clothing and jewellery, and books beyond measure in his room was no surprise. He must have been preparing for this for years, if not longer.

Now that Morgoth was gone, the next phase of his plan could move forward, and that involved you, his Queen, taking up her rightful residence.

You dress as quickly as you're able, taking only what you can carry, and go to leave. But you notice a small ornate chest you thought you'd lost when Gondolin fell, sitting on the dresser by his bed as if it had always belonged there.

You feel as if you've been stabbed, a gut-wrenching heartache overwhelming you as you can do nothing but stand and stare.

He went back for it. He kept it all this time.

Your feet move of their own accord, and before you can blink, you've opened the chest, staring at the impossible artefact of your love for each other.

Unfurled purple petals, revealing a stark white centre, the woven band appearing as fresh as it did on the day he married you.

You hold it up, comparing it to the ring you currently wear. He really had somehow captured its likeness in a jewel, deep purple revealing a bright light in its centre, framed by ornate silver details.

You cannot bring yourself to slip it on, after all that has happened, his lies and broken promises, but you are loath to leave it.

Movement outside his chambers sends a shiver of panic through you, and you quickly move to hide behind the door. The subsequent banging has you quaking but you stand your ground, waiting for whomever it is to leave.

The door abruptly swings open, and you hear two gravelly voices discussing... you?

"Mistress?" The first call is softer, but their annoyance quickly becomes apparent as the other chimes in.

"Where is she then? They said to fetch her, but I'm not traipsing all over to find some she-Elf-"

"He won't even notice, Adar says he's too caught up in all his planning and his speeches, who cares about one missing Elf?"

"He wants them at least, over there. He'll have your head if we forget-"

"Why my head? You're the one he told-"

"Shut it and take 'em, careful now, there's magic in it still..."

Their voices fade as they shuffle back the way they came. As the door slams shut again, you realise that your husband already has an army of orcs at his disposal, and you reconsider what you're about to do, but only briefly.

Escaping the fortress is more of a task than you thought, requiring all the skills of subterfuge and swordplay that your husband has ever taught you; which is no small feat, considering the centuries you've had to learn.

Quietly slipping through the fortress mostly unnoticed, leaving the odd corpse in your wake as your husband's servants cross your path, unfortunately for them.

Thankfully the halls are mostly deserted, and you hear a clamour coming from deeper within, but you try to pay it no mind, focusing on your exit and nothing more.

It is only when you finally see daylight, pushing open the great black doors to the fortress, that you can breathe a sigh of relief. If you can just get a headstart, perhaps you'll be able to outrun him.

It is in the middle of his speech, appealing to his army for their continued support, that Sauron notices you are absent.

He'd sent for you when his moment of victory seemed nigh at hand, and had assumed you were readying yourself for your ascent, but now that he had persuaded Adar and his children to his cause, the sight of your face was all he wanted to see.

As he knelt before Adar, awaiting his rightful crown, he searched for you in his mind's eye. He did not expect to find you outside the black gates, breathing a sigh of relief in the watery sunlight.

A surge of rage overtook him as he clenched his jaw, settling on his knees. The mere thought of your abandonment had always made his heart twist and shatter, and at that moment, he had no heart. Just a void where it used to be.

Distracted by your torment, he barely noticed the first blow, as Adar struck him again and again with the crown that was meant to define your future together.

As he lay in a pool of thick black blood, his last thought was of you; how could you betray him? And thank the Valar you did.

A great blast of freezing cold air knocks you off your feet, and for a second you thought you heard his voice on the wind. It's all you can do to just lie there, covered in frost and shaking, trying to assess if you're at least physically intact, your emotional state another matter entirely.

Clutching your head as blood trickles down your face, you shakily get to your feet. It is as if someone has emptied the heavens of all its snow where before there was nothing but arid plains. The air is suddenly glacial, the ground frozen and cracking underfoot.

It is as you contemplate your frozen breath in the air, that you realise you can't feel him. A vacuum in your mind, a void in your heart that you haven't experienced in more than a thousand years, and you can barely recognise that it is his absence that has left such a hole.

You thought you might feel free when you were rid of him, but all you feel is empty, yearning for a presence that has haunted you for millennia.

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #annatar x reader #the rings of power #my fic #this is a bit jumpy but I'm hoping it works 🤞#I've been editing it for days and tbh there is such thing as overdoing it #thank you for reading!! 💜💜💜

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cecilysass · 3 months ago

Text

Honest Man (3/3)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 3

When it’s obvious Bill is down for the count, Mulder follows Scully back out into her living room. She doesn’t pause to look or speak to him. She marches straight into the kitchen and begins to wordlessly fill up a glass of water at the sink.

“Scully,” he begins, unsure of what he’s about to say.

“Sounds like you’ve had an exciting evening,” she interjects crisply.

“Yeah. Exciting.” He steps sideways to attempt to gauge her expression, but she’s facing the sink.

“You gave Bill marital advice?”

“Yeah, I–” Mulder shrugs. “I did. He asked. I guess he and Tara had a fight. I, uh, wasn’t sure what to say, but he insisted. I did the best I could.”

She watches the water glass fill with laser focus. “Then I guess I’ll know how to explain it to Mom if they end up divorcing,” she replies without affect.

“Yeah,” Mulder says glumly.

“Thank you for driving him here tonight,” she says formally.

“Uh, of course.”

“Apparently it ruined some plans.”

“Scully,” he says plaintively. “It wasn’t … a date.”

She turns from the sink to regard him frostily, and he feels like he’s lying to her, although he isn’t. “It wasn’t,” he repeats.

She looks like she wants to say something, but thinks better, pinching her lips together. She sets the water glass on the counter.

“Bill thought I was on a date, but I wasn’t,” he adds.

She turns around, showing her back to him again, to close the cabinet. Then she rests her palms on the countertop, appearing to closely study the design of her own kitchen shelving.

Her small, silk-covered shoulders rise and then fall.

“You know, I bet I can guess this story,” she says in a strange, distant voice. “You met up with Diana Fowley after work because she had some important information about the X-files that she said she had to share right away. On a Friday night. Over drinks.”

He sighs. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Of course, you didn’t mention this work-related meeting to me this afternoon at work.”

“No, you’re right. I didn’t.”

She doesn’t move, her back still to him. He suspects she intended to place the glass of water on the bedside table next to Bill, but she doesn’t touch it again. She just leans against the countertop, as though collecting herself.

Mulder knows she’ll be angry at what he says next.

“Diana asked me to do some unofficial fieldwork for the X-files. She thinks if I do, if she can put it together into a convincing report—”

“She can request you back on the X-files,” Scully finishes, her head bobbing up and down in a knowing nod. “As her partner. Right?”

“Right,” Mulder says, a lump in his throat. “Exactly.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Scully turns around now, and with a jolt he sees there are tears streaming down her face, though her expression is neutral.

“We both know what’s going to happen,” she says flatly.

Mulder is dumbfounded. “Do we?”

“Of course,” she says sharply. “You’ll do it. You’ll be her partner. It’s what you want, isn’t it? You told me what your priorities were on our first case. The X-files come before anything and anyone else. I know perfectly well that includes me.”

Mulder is appalled to hear his own words cited back to him like that. It’s not an especially pretty picture she presents, of a man so single-minded, so disloyal that he would so predictably toss aside his partner of six years, his best friend.

“I’m sure she made all kinds of implicit promises to help assuage any discomfort you might have.” Scully’s words grow venomous, full of more overt anger than she normally reveals. “She offered to give you a little more than just the X-files, too, didn’t she? She made it very hard to refuse? Made you feel like you wouldn’t be lonely?” She places her hands over her face in apparent regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “That’s … unnecessarily petty of me. I’m not thinking straight.”

Mulder shifts weight from one foot to another, watching uncomfortably as she hides her face. He isn’t sure he should tell her that her guess about Diana was so on target.

“Scully, she expressed concern for your career,” he points out gently instead. “She argued that you would be able to get a better placement in the Bureau. Which is true, and something I wish you would think about.”

Scully lets her hands drop from her face and looks at him incredulously. “Is that what she said?”

“Yes,” Mulder says, “and while it’s true that—”

“Mulder,” she interrupts with a bitter laugh, “you’re fortunate that violent criminals are usually men, because you can be truly terrible at profiling women.”

He’s taken aback. “Am I terrible at profiling Diana? Or am I terrible at profiling you?”

She looks up at the ceiling, considering for a moment, then drops her gaze down to meet his eyes again defiantly. “Both.”

He feels something crucial is being lost in this conversation. He’s getting this wrong, for sure. “It’s not like I told Diana yes.”

She smiles humorlessly. “You didn’t tell her no either, did you?”

“Well … I didn’t say those words, no.”

“So, what, you did an interpretive dance?”

Brushing past him out of the kitchen, she speeds into the living room, Bill’s glass of water apparently forgotten. Mulder follows behind her.

“Listen,” she continues in a different, more placating tone, “I’m not angry. Not really. You’ve always been upfront about who you are.” She turns to look at him with a sad smile. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

She means this to be conciliatory, but it’s like she spit in his face. That familiar feeling burns in his chest, his old friend from boyhood: shame.

“No,”’ he says urgently, “you should expect something else. You can’t just think that I— I’m not just…. you don’t get it at all.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Look,” he says earnestly, “back when we first started to work together, I didn’t understand that you and I were going to…”

Scully groans, collapsing into a chair in her living room, her head flopping into her hands. “Oh god, I really don’t want a speech like this.”

“What? I just want to explain.”

“I don’t see what there is to explain.” He watches her trembling fingers swiping a fresh round of tears away, and he scrambles to sit on the couch across from her.

“Scully—”

“Look,” she says, smoothing her hair back, visibly calming herself down. “It’ll be okay. Really. I don’t need a partner breakup talk.” Her voice wavers a little. “I’ll probably go back to Quantico. I’m sure after a while you could even consult with me on cases. I might need a little time to adjust first.”

“I haven’t—”

“And I don’t want to talk to her, Mulder. Only you,” adds Scully fiercely as an afterthought. “I don’t trust her. You shouldn’t either.”

“Jesus, I’m not going to do it, Scully,” he manages to get out. “I wouldn’t … I couldn’t do that.”

She looks uncertain for the first time in the conversation. “You’re … really not?” she says.

He shakes his head emphatically.

She regards him quizzically. “So you plan on turning her offer down entirely?”

“Of course.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah, soon,” he shrugs. “I mean, what can I say?” He attempts a charming smile. “I’m finding all those background checks more interesting than I thought.”

She doesn’t return the smile. She seems to find a little thread on the arm of the chair that she plucks at, her tongue darting out to swipe over her bottom lip.

“What?” he says, his stomach knotting. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she says, continuing to pinch the thread on the chair. “I … guess I just don't completely believe you.”

Again Mulder is stunned. “You don’t believe me?”

“No. Not entirely.” Her eyes won’t meet his, like she feels guilty for the sin of mistrust.

“Why… not?”

She swallows, then raises her eyes to his. “I suppose I worry … that you’re telling me what I want to hear. So you don’t have to deal with the inconvenience of me being upset.” She straightens her posture. “And if that’s the case, Mulder, I wish you would just show me the respect of telling me the truth. So I won’t be unpleasantly taken by surprise later.”

“The inconvenience of you…” He stops, holding back his anger. “Since when do we not believe each other, Scully?”

Her nostrils flare, but her tone is icy calm. “Since you started going on secret dates with ex-girlfriends trying to recruit you to be their new partner behind my back, I suppose.”

“It was not a date,” Mulder repeats in a hiss.

“What exactly do you think a date is, Mulder?”

He sucks his teeth in irritation, jerking his limbs around restlessly on the couch. “Well, for one, I think a date is primarily about someone trying to initiate a relationship, not about work.”

“And you’re saying this wasn’t about both?”

There’s a moment of silence.

Mulder feels the beginning of a headache throbbing in his temples, and his eyes flash longingly towards the door. Maybe he should just leave. Maybe that’s for the best. He could try explaining this all again in the daytime, when Bill isn’t here, when they’re both in better moods.

Then his eyes fall back on Scully.

She looks small and defeated in the chair, looking at the floor, tears still visible on her cheeks. He wonders if it’s possible she might cry more if he were to leave now. He thinks about her belief that he’d go back to the basement office without her. How sure she seems to be that he would do it.

Something deep inside him aches like an old, unhealed wound. He knows he won’t be leaving. He knows it in the same certain way he knew he was going to take Bill home from the bar tonight. It doesn’t even feel like a real choice.

He squirms around on the couch again, trying futilely to get comfortable, and it makes something in his pocket poke him in the thigh.

“Oh,” he says softly, remembering. He digs his hand into his pocket to fish out an object. “I, uh, brought you something, Scully.”

She looks up at him warily. “What? An autopsy report?”

“No, no,” Mulder says. He extricates it from his pocket. It’s slightly dented, but otherwise unblemished. He leans over to hand her the coaster he’d picked up from the table at the bar.

“What’s this?” She examines it with a frown.

“It’s just a coaster.”

“Did you steal this, Mulder?”

“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly. “I stole it from the Honest Man Pub.”

“That’s almost painfully ironic."

Mulder shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges,” Scully reads from the coaster. “Herman Melville.”

“It reminded me of you,” says Mulder, feeling a little self-conscious. “Melville. Truth. You know. All your favorites.”

“You stole this for me on your date?”

“Scully,” Mulder says, “it wasn’t a…” He stops himself, closing his eyes. “Yeah. I stole the coaster on my date.”

Scully is holding the coaster in her fingers, turning it over and over, and she looks up at him.

“So you and Bill were at the Honest Man Pub tonight,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I like that place,” she muses softly. “Good food. I like the chicken club sandwich.”

He nods. “I do, too. I didn’t eat tonight though.”

She stares in mystification at the coaster, her brow creasing. “What … what was Bill and Tara’s fight about?”

“Oh.” Mulder scratches the back of his neck. “Tara wants to go back to work, and I guess Bill doesn’t want her to.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Scully replies.

Mulder just nods numbly.

“What did you tell him?”

“Uhhh … nothing too remarkable. Be completely honest, admit when you were a dick, listen to her.”

“Did Bill listen?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mulder says. “I hope so.”

“Why do you hope so?” Scully asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Bill’s been nothing but awful to you,” Scully says, her eyes fixed on him. “It sounds like he’s been awful to Tara, too. Why would you try to help him at all?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder says truthfully. He considers. “He wanted to be better. And… it seems like despite how he acted, he actually does love her. I just hoped he could get it together.”

Really and truly, Mulder hadn’t intended for this statement to have any double meaning. But in the chair across from him, Scully goes unusually silent and still.

He has thirty seconds of horror replaying the words back, thinking about how she must have heard them. About the implications. About what he might have revealed inadvertently.

There is a short but unbearable stretch of silence.

“So why didn’t you eat?” she asks at last.

“What?” he says, swallowing.

“You said you didn’t eat at the pub,” she points out. “You didn’t eat dinner?”

“Oh,” he says. “No. Because the night ended early. The Bill thing. And Diana sort of decided she needed to, uh, raise the stakes.”

“Raise the stakes,” repeats Scully.

“Yeah …” He rubs his hands together in agitation. “I don’t think I was as enthusiastic about her offer to be partners again as she thought I’d be,” he says. “She tried to raise the stakes. Manipulate the situation. I wasn’t that wild about it.”

“How did she try to manipulate the situation?” Scully asks.

“It was like you said before,” he says reluctantly. “She made some offers. Like she thought she had to do more to … you know. To compete.”

“Compete.” Scully repeats. “Compete with what?”

Mulder doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I’ve known her a long time, and I think her heart is more or less in the right place,” he says. “But I think she felt like she needed to compete with … you know, Scully. The reason I wasn’t going to say yes.”

Scully’s face is blank, and Mulder realizes in shame that he is going to have to spell it out. “I have a partner. I don’t want a new partner. She tried to compete with that.”

Scully’s clutching the coaster tightly in one hand, wide-eyed.

“Anyway, I don’t like feeling manipulated like that,” Mulder says, shrugging self-consciously. The more he thinks about it, the more clearly he sees it. “Diana knows things about me from our past together, and she … tries to use those things as a lever with me. She knows that relationships are a big deal to me, that intimacy in a relationship is a big deal to me.”

“Is that true?”

“Yeah,” he says, feeling his face warm. “Does that surprise you?”

“No,” she says, almost a whisper.

“I mean, you’re right about what you said. In some ways.” He looks closely at his hands. “I went there with a goal, thinking she might give us some avenue to work on the X-files. But there’s no way I’d… there’s no way I would choose to go back to the X-files … like that. Without you, I mean.”

She is only continuing to stare, her face unchanging. He wonders what she is thinking.

“I guess I can’t prove to you that I’m telling you the truth,” he says, suddenly feeling deflated. “The only evidence I have is a lack of evidence. That Diana asked me to come home with her, and I … didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Mulder huffs in frustration. “That’s what I’m saying, Scully. What I’m trying to tell you. I don’t want that.”

Scully’s eyes fall again on the coaster, her brows knitting together. She examines it thoughtfully. “Instead you went home with Bill.”

“Right,” he says. He tries to smile. “Obviously I’d never miss a chance to go home with a Scully.”

To his great relief she offers a tiny, enigmatic smile in response. “You two did seem to hit it off surprisingly well tonight.”

“Yeah, he’s my favorite redhead now,” Mulder says. “You’re second, though, don’t worry.”

Through her smile the beginnings of fresh tears begin to pool in the bottom of her eyes.

“Aw, I’m just kidding,” he pleads. “You’re still my favorite.”

“Really that is evidence you were telling the truth, isn’t it?” she reasons, wiping her eyes. “You brought Bill home safely, even though he’s been an asshole to you for years. You tried to help him.”

“He wasn’t so bad tonight.”

“I didn’t believe you,” she says. “I thought you’d do anything to get the X-files back.” Her voice lowers tremulously. “I’m sorry, Mulder.”

“No, come on,” he says, frowning. “I see why you came to that conclusion. It wasn’t unfounded. But I…” He scrunches closed his eyes, then opens them. “It actually isn’t … just the work for me any more. I have some other priorities.”

“Do you?” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

She’s staring hard at him now, her eyes darting back and forth across his face.

He stands from her couch, hoping he projects more confidence than he feels, and walks directly over to her in her chair. She tracks his movements warily.

He extends his hand. “C’mon, Scully,” he says roughly.

Her eyebrows lift higher, but she places her hand in his, and he lifts her to her feet, drawing her as close to him as he dares.

“Let me show you my priorities,” he says.

It would be much smoother if he just kissed her, but he doesn’t. He hesitates. It’s his habit to check in with her, after all. He always wants to know what she thinks, and that’s one reason he knows he loves her.

Her eyes are round. Her face has lost some color. But her body, her center of gravity, is tipping ever-so-slightly towards him.

Solemnly he nods, and his hands slide around her waist. Her body feels tiny, warm and fragile, slippery with silk.

He bends down to let his lips cover hers. One light kiss, slightly hesitant. Then another firmer, more hungry. He feels her shiver a little in his arms, and he wants to feel it again.

Tilting his head reverently, he begins to kiss her from every angle, his hands moving up and down, up and down her back. His palms graze the soft slope of her rear end once as he caresses her, and then stop to grasp her there intentionally. He's beginning to feel dizzy, lost in the barrage of sensory details. It’s the kind of kissing that hides nothing, he realizes dimly. Not his swift, overwhelming arousal. Not the fierce intensity of his emotions. That should probably worry him a little, but it doesn’t.

Her own arms have wound around his neck, and it almost feels like she’s trying to climb him, her own mouth pushing in farther towards him, her body meshing into his. He can hear the frantic, uneven quality of her breath. And it occurs to him: she’s not hiding very much, either.

“Bedroom,” she whispers into his ear.

“What about Bill?” Mulder whispers back urgently.

“He won’t know,” Scully says. She pulls back to look at him, her cheeks flushed deep pink. “Does it bother you?”

“Noooo,” Mulder says, shaking his head. “Not enough to stop, anyway.”

They start to move towards Scully’s bedroom, still entangled, Mulder walking forward and Scully taking backwards steps.

He’s distracted by kissing her again and again, and neither of them notice Bill’s shoes on the floor, still lying where they had remained after they both had worked so hard together to remove them.

Scully stumbles backwards first, which pulls Mulder off balance, too. They both crash loudly into an end table on their way down to the floor.

“Fuck,” Mulder exclaims as they land in a pile. He sits up, feeling a bruise rising on his knee already.

Scully pushes herself up and puts her hand over her mouth, laughing. “Are you all right, Mulder?”

“Yeah, you?”

She nods, still laughing, pushing an errant strand of hair from her face. “Wait. Shh.” She abruptly quiets and leans over, placing her finger over his lips, tilting her head to listen seriously for a beat. Then she relaxes and smiles again. “If that didn’t wake Bill up, he’s really out.”

Mulder doesn’t feel as amused. He’d wanted this to be more perfect. “Not an auspicious start,” he says, trying to sound light, but feeling some knots of anxiety.

Scully’s expression softens. She scoots towards him on the floor, taking a firm hold of his forearms.

“It’s okay,” she says soothingly, her forehead pressing to his. “Small hiccups.”

“I know,” he says, feeling silly. “But—”

“Truth, uncompromisingly told, will always have its ragged edges.”

She smiles playfully, her thumbs running back and forth lightly over his arms. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in her pajamas, saucily quoting bar coaster wisdom back to him, Scully is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. His hands find her face, cradling her cheeks.

“Right, Mulder?”

“That’s right,” he whispers back at her, barely vocalizing.

“And that’s what this is, right, Mulder?” she says, her voice cracking slightly on his name. “The truth?”

In response he leans in and kisses her in a way that he hopes tells her everything, that leaves no secret hidden.

Then he whispers softly in her ear. “That’s right.” Another kiss, this one infused with pure hope. “That’s absolutely right.”

***

#xfiles fanfic #x files fanfic #xf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #the x files #diana fowley #bill scully #diana angst #bill scully angst #my fic #honest man

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vodika-vibes · 6 months ago

Note

Hey!! Love you writing!! I was wondering if you could write any bardan jusik stories???

Brand New Day

Summary: A chance meeting between you and a handsome blonde Mandalorian in a skeevy bar so far from the core that you might as well be in a new galaxy, leads to something new. And exciting.

Pairing: Bardan Jusik/Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 969

Warnings: Some suggestive comments, but nothing overt

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, I've never written him before, and I'm not sure what his personality is, but I really like the confident man that I wrote here, so I hope it's accurate.

You cringe as the owner of the bar turns the music up several more notches, as if making the music louder will make it sound like anything other than nails on a chalkboard. Still, you know that asking him to turn down the music is an exercise in futility.

You might have a knack for pulling off the impossible, but some fights even you aren’t willing to fight.

The bartender places a closed bottle in front of you and you pick up up, drop some credits on the bar, and move to a table farther away from the speakers. No need to give yourself a migraine on top of the hangover that you’re going to be nursing in the morning after all.

You’re a delivery pilot.

Well.

Okay.

You’re a smuggler. Since the end of the Clone Wars you’ve taken to running odd jobs for the Hutts and other crime cartels, and, to be frank, you’re getting tired of it.

It’s only a matter of time before you say the wrong thing (you’ve never been good at holding your tongue, after all) and the cartels put a price on your head.

In truth, you’re trapped between a rock and a hard place.

And, for the first time in your life, you wish that you had someone who would be willing to put their neck on the line to help you.

But you’ve burned just about every bridge you’ve ever had.

You pull your hair out of the tail and comb your fingers through the knots, before dropping the elastic onto the table and twisting open the bottle. You’re about to bring the bottle to your lips when the door to the bar opens, and a Mandalorian walks in.

Slowly, you lower the bottle back to the table.

You’re not the only one who’s noticed him, everyone has taken notice of the man.

You watch as he removes his helmet and a small smile lifts your lips. He’s blond and his hair is pulled into a knot at the back of his head. Even with the armor, you’re able to tell that he’s a very broad man.

Plus, you have a thing for men in armor.

His gaze sweeps the bar, and then his gaze locks with yours. A slow smile pulls up the corner of his lips, and he keeps his gaze on you as he heads to the bar.

You watch as he gets a bottle from the bartender and drops some credits on the bar, and you watch, with a growing grin, as he crosses the bar and drops into a chair next to you.

He sets his drink on the table next to yours, and shifts so his knee is pressed against yours. He rests his elbow on the table and leans in towards you, an easy smirk on his handsome face, “Well now,” He murmurs, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a shit hole like this?”

You laugh and lean in towards him, “Shouldn’t that be my line? What’s the saying…of all of the bars in all of the galaxy—”

“Maybe, but you’re the pretty one,” He tugs off his glove and offers you his bare hand, “Bardan Skirata of Mandalore.”

You take his hand and offer him your name in turn.

Bardan flips your hand and lightly brings your knuckles to his lips, “Mesh’la,” His tone sounds reverent, as though he’s talking about a precious gem, rather than you.

Your stomach flips with flustered excitement, “Well, I’m afraid I don’t speak mando’a, Bardan. But whatever you just said sounds like a compliment.”

“Oh, it was.” Bardan releases your hand and leans back in his seat, his body still angled towards you, “If you’d like, I can compliment you in basic.” There’s amusement on his face, “Should I compare you to the stars in the skies, or would you prefer I stick with more terrestrial comparisons?”

You laugh again, “Please, I’m hardly worth all that.”

“Oh, I disagree.”

You rest your chin on the palm of your hand, a small smile on your lips, “Well, I’m not going to stop you if you want to inflate my ego,”

He leans in so your faces are only inches apart, “Well, my brothers have taught me the best ways to woo a woman,”

You grin at him, “I have a proposition,”

“Oh?”

You slide your chair closer to him to lightly hook your fingers around the collar of his armor and brush your knuckles against the stubble of his jaw, “I’ve found myself in need of…skilled assistance,” You murmur as you lean in even more, “I’ve found myself in a spot of trouble, you see.”

“Hm, and what do I get out of it?”

“The pleasure of my company, and more, if you play your cards right.”

Bardan chuckles and lightly brushes his fingers against your jaw, “That’s a good start, I suppose. What else?”

“I suppose I can pay you,” You add with an explosive sigh.

He laughs, “That’ll help, I suppose.”

“Great, we can talk details—”

Bardan leans in and catches your lips in a quick kiss, though he breaks it as quickly as he starts it, “How about we talk details in the morning? I have better alcohol in my ship.” He offers, temptingly.

You hum, consideringly.

“I also have a king-size bed and manacles that’ll fit your pretty wrists.”

You grin at him and push your bottle into the middle of the table, “Well, how can I refuse that offer, will you make me breakfast in the morning too.”

“Well, I am a gentleman after all.”

“Not too much of a gentleman, I hope.” You tease.

“You’ll just have to see, won’t you,” Bardan winks at you, and then pulls on his glove and his helmet, before offering you his hand.

#star wars #star wars legends #bardan jusik x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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nayci · 8 months ago

Text

Tagged by the lovely @keldae. (I didn't forget about this I swear…)

Thing of note, I am an unashamed Canon x OC/Reader fan soooo take that for what you will. lol

3 Ships

Joshua Rosfield/Suraya Murdoch (Final Fantasy 16) These two have lived rent-free in my head and my soul since Final Fantasy 16 game out. Still waiting for it to come to PC so I can actually play it but I digress. Hasn't stopped my brain from coming up with something. Somehow their story ended up being childhood friends to lovers to boot. Normally I go for an older man, younger woman vibe. But for these two? It's reversed and it's wild and I adore it. Joshua being the inheritor of the Rosarian Duchy and Suraya being the adopted daughter of Rodney and Hanna Murdoch. So, the two of them inadvertently got pushed together during the early years since her father wanted her to get the most out of her upbringing, self-defense being a top priority along with her studies. Suraya was and still is incredibly protective of Joshua's happiness and hated his mother with a burning passion for how she treated all of them, even to her own detriment. That said, Joshua formed feelings first when they were children, but never had a chance to speak of them before the fall of Phoenix Gate. So it was years before anything could happen. Suraya on the other hand, never had a chance to even think about it until they were reunited, and she had to come to terms with the fact that her ten-year-old friend was no longer a boy, but was actually a young man determined to bring her the happiness and joy she gave him, should she wish it.

Vergil/Alya (Devil May Cry) These two shitheads have also been living rent-free in my head since 2019 and have given me at least five different massive fanfic reworks since then. And it continues to morph and change so I just keep flipping my desk over at this point. Anyway, for these two it was never an overt thing. They pretty much fell together without ever explicitly talking about it as neither was looking for a relationship. Behind the scenes Dante was over Vergil's bullshit, Trish and Lady were over Alya's bullshit, and Nero was like: fuck that I'm not getting involved, and watched from the sidelines with Nico who had a betting pool that everyone was in on much to the pair's annoyance after the fact. Either way, Alya wanted answers after her father was murdered and Devil May Cry is who ended up coming to her aid. To that end, it opens up a massive can of demons and angels. But those angels aren't your traditional light and loving kind. Having the upbringing Vergil had, or lack thereof after his mother's death, he was always wary about opening up again, and in many ways still is, but Alya takes it in stride. And for that, Vergil is silently grateful. In turn, he is her protector and rock, and a good listening ear. What he can't say in verbal words, he will say in written poetry. This is more of my status quo, older man, younger woman vibe, but with the added bonus of magic, demons, and a slow-burn romance.

Graha Tia/Khulan Noykin (Final Fantasy 14) Listen, when I got into Final Fantasy 14 back during ARR, me and my Warrior of Light didn't think too much of the Allagan cat boy. He was a friend, nothing more to her at the time, and while she did mourn for him when he locked himself in the Crystal Tower, she also understood. Plus, she was dealing with her own feelings for a certain rogue bard soon-to-be gunbreaker. It wasn't until Shadowbringers that Graha Tia came in dropkicking Khulan in the face, and Thancred being a complete ass didn't help. Khulan during this time saw much of herself in Graha Tia's willingness to die for a cause and hated it. Not him of course, but seeing a mirror of some of your faults is never a fun thing. As their friendship developed after defeating Emet Selch, it eventually became a dance around the subject of feelings. Graha never feeling like he was good enough for her and Khulan feeling the exact same way but of herself towards him. Everyone else saw it as it was blatantly obvious, but the events of Endwalker came before anything could become of it. Khulan ends up in a dark place during this time, almost robotic like her ARR self, but a lot more deadly than her early days of being just an arcanist. It's when she begins losing her friends that the walls around her heart begin to break, and Graha's sacrifice was the breaking point. When all of it was over and they were back home, the two of them start to explore something more as Khulan recovered from her fight with Zenos. Now, going into the events of Dawntrail, me nor Khulan know where this is going to go. But hey! it's a new adventure!

First Ship

We're going back to when I was but a small eight/nine year old child and loved Ash and Misty as a pairing. During this time I didn't know what fandom was or that people wrote fanfic and created art. So it was mostly me creating terrible drawings. Did I self insert into pokemon as well? Of course I did! lol

Last Song

"The Phoenix" from Fall Out Boy. I just discovered it after find a GMV for Final Fantasy 16. It was so good I had to find it in my Apple Music and is now on repeat. I regret nothing regarding my hyperfixation.

Currently Reading

"A Court of Thorns and Roses" by Sarah J. Maas. Yes I'm late to the game, but hey! I made it! Am I only on chapter 3? Also yes, but hey, I'll get throgh it eventually.

Last Film

I think it was Mission Impossible 3? It was on at work so it was just background noise.

Currently Craving

A vacation. A true, real, good vacation. Tagging anyone who wants to do it

#Joshua Rosfield #Vergil #Graha Tia #Original Characters

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steel-and-fire · 8 months ago

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🥀 romance headcanons

Tagged by: @undyingmedium Tagging: @nameaprice, @duchess-scryer, @llixulia, @belost-the-watcher, @pvremichigan, @witchcraftandburialdirt, @seekslight and whoever wants to~

name: Ferenir Neskan nickname: Fen gender: Male romantic orientation: Gynesexual preferred pet names: Honey, dear, sweetheart relationship status: single

opinion on true love: He crossed his arms in thought. "True love is complicated for me. For starters, it's one that works. But i see many people around me, couples and marriages, with relationships that 'work'...but i could never call them true love, in my eyes. If it exists, true love is a fire that is shared by two people, strong and burning but controlled by their united efforts. If either one falters, it will burn them both, but they trust each other that they will always hold. If they succeed, that would be it.

opinion on love at first sight: "I don't believe in it, no. It's attraction, which is normal, it's natural, that i have and i think a number of people do. But it isn't love, that's just silly. You're better than that, don't be skin-deep in your feeling."

how ‘romantic’ are they?: A lot, or he tries to be. Intimacy and sensuality are a big deal for Ferenir. It's not about courting or chasing, it's about showing appreciation and affection. It's not like he overthinks it, and he will do silly things, and practical things, and casual things. But if he finds the chance, he will always bring feelings forth, and show the other that their bond is more than a business agreement...It's feelings, senses. A quiet night, pretty flowers, a little poem. Hearts speak too.

ideal physical traits: The only really important one here is that they take care of themselves. Whether tall or short, atheltic, slim or soft, whether they have brown hair or red curls, they all don't mean much to Ferenir. He thinks every characteristic has its place to be beautiful, should the person bring it forth, and he lives by that. The people he has been with have been very diverse.

ideal personality traits: Here he is a little more picky instead. He likes people with drive and ambition. People who have something they live for. Whether they are open and arrogant about it, or quiet and reserved doesnt matter, as long as they have that spark in them. He likes people that are easy to laugh and talk with, that will tease him right back when he does. And he likes those that are open with their care and affection. He will give them a lot, and showing their appreciation is very appreciated.

unattractive physical traits: Only if they are heavy or light to the point of unhealthy, and they don't take care of themselves. As long as they keep general humanoid proportions, then it's more than fine.

unattractive personality traits: People too timid, or those self-centered to the point they dont see him as an equal. Overly cruel people aren't his cup of tea, and neither are apathetic people. He is a man of emotions, he needs to feel them reflected and returned.

ideal date: He has many. For Ferenir what matters is spending time with the person he likes. Whether a nice, romantic dinner, a quiet walk, studying together or readin silly books on the couch in pajamas, it's all good. He only doesn't like too loud places, as a general rule.

do they have a type?: As described, not really, he is just attracted to feminine individuals.

average relationship length: Ferenir hasn't had enough experiences to call an average. He had one that lasted about six months in his village, one that was on and of, and he had one after his exile that lasted two months or so. Since then he has had flings, but nothing to call a relationship.

preferred non-sexual intimacy: Hugs, cuddles, hand holding, leaning on each other, meaningful conversations in bed, sharing activities together

opinion of public affection: It's welcome if it's not overwhelming. Little touches, little kisses, sweet things. Nothing overt.

past relationships?: As i mentioned, he's had three. The most recent and important one was with Anika. They had a strong passion, but a lot of bad things happened to the party they were in, and Ferenir's mental health deteriorated rapidly. Foolishly thinking he was dragging her down with him, he left to stop his journies for a while till he healed, and she never forgave him. He hasn't felt emotionally ready for a commited relationship since.

#dash games #ic #thank you~

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system-of-a-feather · 1 year ago

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So I'm off work and like 85-90% just Riku, so I wanted to explain Fei (name to be revised, but Fei is a placeholder we went ".... best we got rn but maybe we will think of something better later") and for now, I might talk about Fei more in "object" terms due to Fei being more of a mindset from my Riku-only perspective which is the perspective I am currently in

Either way, our system's main hosts and fronters have honestly become pretty accustomed to being co-front and understanding one another enough that we kinda don't sweat active listening to one another cause its a lot more intuitive; and combine that with the last weekend being extremely peaceful and nice we really didn't care much to "ruin" the moment by sweating overt internal listening when we could be enjoying the external present - and as a result most of the time on the weekends, we really just settled in a state where we just shrugged at "whose out" and just existed as an amorphous unit

And so that was carrying over into the drive to work today and we were talking about it and our Wishiwashi Healing Direction and just kinda figured we should welcome and name that state for communications sake and to normalize it as an option so we can build the habit of letting ourselves rest in that "*shrug* Many Parts Up Vaguely Fused without Blurring and Dont Really Care" state when it benefits us

And so tentatively, as Fei, we decided to name that state Fei.

And so Fei will start appearing in the tag sign offs here and there (unless we figure out a name we like better) but Fei isn't so much an "alter" perse as much as a temporary state of mass fusion that we hold when being multiple parts seems to be more effort than being whole.

It's not inherently a final fusion either, otherwise wed probably use our chosen name as Fei was pretty sure some of the elders still floated around, but by the nature of the "don't really care, the fused state I'm in right now feels good and I don't wanna to ruin it by overthinking and overcomplicating the concept of identity" - Fei isn't really any specific parts fused.

And so its some fusion fuckery we are deciding to try to normalize in our system cause at least the four hosts in this brain very much enjoyed being Fei while still knowing we could seperate and redifferentiate whenever.

But yeah, our system really has decided to say fuck the final fusion, functional multiplicity false dichotomy. We can fuse and """split""" (better term would be differentiate imo) as we feel the will and need to cause the concept of "I" is a fake illusory premise anyways

#alter: riku #alter: fei #fusion fuckery #dissociative identity disorder #actuallydid

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marley-manson · 2 years ago

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I honestly mostly like Margaret’s Engagement, the problem is just that it’s unbalanced to favour Frank. I do like him getting moments of sympathy here, and I think it makes sense for Hawkeye to feel sorry for him, but it shouldn’t have ended with such overt (and misogynist) side-taking.

If Margaret wasn’t so pointedly over the top about flaunting her engagement - or if she got a scene where she got to point out that it’s what she deserves after being jerked around by Frank for so long and the narrative(/Hawkeye) didn’t condemn her for it - and the tag was something else, it would’ve been a pretty perfect episode imo.

Both Margaret and Frank were absolutely hilarious, everything Margaret says about Donald plus her whole attitude is comedy gold lol, Frank’s unnerving see-sawing between breaking doors and stabbing Margaret and total congeniality was so much fun, and his conversation at the end with his mom genuinely makes me feel bad for him, which is great - he’s a pathetic loser and we should pity him from time to time. We just shouldn’t be expected to laugh at his second rate sexist jokes.

“I had this friend who just pretended to like me.” It’s what he deserves, but you still gotta feel bad for him. It’s a great character moment for Frank.

#mash #marley on mash #mash s5 #frank mash #(I actually think the ‘you know like dad used to’ part diminishes frank's line slightly lol i kinda wish it stood without a dark punchline #as a statement on frank and his relationships but it's still great)

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fervonian · 7 months ago

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— study. xan irelia

tagged by: i stole it like a little rat tagging: anybody who wants to do this!

— basics.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀is your muse tall / short / average?⠀⠀standing at 5'7', irelia is probably considered a bit taller than average.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀are they okay with their height?⠀⠀while irelia can be self conscious of her image, her height was never something that bothered her. whilst growing up, her growth spurt arrived earlier than it did for her twin brother kye, and she grew to be only a little shorter than zelos. when irelia begun her formal dance training, she grew to be a little conscious of her lanky form, specifically her long legs. nowadays irelia certainly has more things to be preoccupied over instead of something as trivial as her height.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀what's their hair like?⠀⠀ever since she was young, irelia has been taught to take care of her appearance. her role as a dancer has been integral to her identity for a long time. her hair is especially beautiful; black strands like silk that run almost to her waist, the colour remniscent of high grade calligraphy ink. under the sun, it shines faintly blue.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀do they spend a lot of time on their hair / grooming?⠀⠀irelia's hair is quite long now, but she has gone through a few hairstyle changes throughout the years. when irelia was young, her o - ma would often tie it up as to ' see her darling little helper's face better ' as the two spent time together. after the war began, irelia would leave her hair out until one day she cut her hair short. nowadays, she keeps it at an elegant and practical length — occasionally putting it up in a tight bun. irelia takes good care of her personal hygiene, and enjoys taking baths & caring for her hair, washing and brushing it while she hums songs that remind her of home and a life she had lost.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀does your muse care about their appearance / what others think?⠀⠀yes, but not in a way that can lead to overt self consciousness. she is confident in her looks, and graciously accepts compliments she's offered. irelia plays the dual roles of important public figure as well as a performer — meaning double the scrutiny. she still deals with some nerves during public appearances, but she's become quite a convincing actor. the xan irelia that the public sees is a carefully sculpted version of herself, and it takes more than persistence to see behind her walls.

— preferences.

➤⠀⠀⠀indoors or outdoors?⠀⠀indoors. ➤⠀⠀⠀rain or sunshine?⠀⠀sunshine. ➤⠀⠀⠀forest or beach?⠀⠀forest. ➤⠀⠀⠀precious metals or gems?⠀⠀metals. ➤⠀⠀⠀flowers or perfumes?⠀⠀flowers. ➤⠀⠀⠀personality or appearance?⠀⠀personality. ➤⠀⠀⠀being alone or being in a crowd?⠀⠀being alone. ➤⠀⠀⠀order or anarchy?⠀⠀order. ➤⠀⠀⠀painful truths or white lies?⠀⠀painful truths. ➤⠀⠀⠀science or magic?⠀⠀magic. ➤⠀⠀⠀peace or conflict?⠀⠀peace. ➤⠀⠀⠀night or day?⠀⠀night. ➤⠀⠀⠀dusk or dawn?⠀⠀dawn. ➤⠀⠀⠀warmth or cold?⠀⠀warmth. ➤⠀⠀⠀many acquaintances or a few close friends?⠀⠀a few close friends. ➤⠀⠀⠀reading or playing a game?⠀⠀reading.

— questionnaire.

➤⠀⠀⠀what are some of your muse’s bad habits?⠀⠀while she is generally a pretty well - rounded and caring woman, she of course has more than her fair share of baggage and habits from her traumatic past. she is reluctant to open up emotionally, and dislikes asking for help. adding onto that, she is prone to overworking herself as she often takes on more work than she should handle alone. accustomed to bottling up her emotions, she isolates herself out of habit. irelia can fall into periods of melancholy if she doesn't have anything to preoccupy her mind and / or her hands with. she's a stickler for rules & traditions, and can be quite stubborn.

➤⠀⠀⠀has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them?⠀⠀too many to count. to this day, the loss of her family aches like a phatom limb. irelia has lost many to the war, be it family or friends or lovers. her past is a long, winding tapestry of unanswered questions and what - ifs. but life goes on, and she has been dedicating her every act towards building a testament to her devotion for everybody she has lost.

➤⠀⠀⠀what are some fond memories your muse has?⠀⠀many of irelia's happy memories are from when her family was alive, crazily enough. ( link, tw for discussion of war & ptsd ) she does have other memories she cherishes. forming a connection with lady karma, who was a great source of comfort. reconnecting with dancing & performing after all the bloodshed was over & being able to share the artform with new students; fresh faces that are shy yet eager to learn, reminding irelia so much of herself as a child & giving her hope for the future.

➤⠀⠀⠀is it easy for your muse to kill?⠀⠀yes, almost disturbingly so on a purely physical level. irelia is experienced with the mechanisms of taking lives; what angle her palm should be at while manipulating her blades, how far apart her feet need to be in order to keep her balance yet retain the ability to swiftly leap away if called for, the tell - tale sign of nerves in her enemies' eyes as they face the blade mistress of navori, a living tempest of metal is no match for mere men. the war may have hardened her walls, and she tells herself that it must be done... but she still distances herself from the act. when it comes to ionians, she's especially reluctant to resort to violence & will attempt negotiations or subduing them first, but if peaceful means won't work then she will do what must be done.

➤⠀⠀⠀what’s it like when your muse breaks down?⠀⠀firstly, irelia will very, very rarely break down in public. she's a highly composed figure & while she will still show a glimpse into her psyche every now and then, breakdowns are reserved for when the storm passes and she has the time to process her grief / anger. but when she truly loses her composure, it is not a pretty sight. an example of a breakdown would be her reaction to finally exacting her vengeance on the man who killed her family & destroyed her village, admiral duqal. filled with rage and tempestuous fury, she fell upon the noxian commander as more of a beast than woman — slashing and stabbing him in a far crueler manner than she normally ever would. after her anger passed, it numbed her to everything. it took her a few days to regain her composure.

➤⠀⠀⠀is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life?⠀⠀yes, but tentatively. having fought in multiple battles, it is necessary to rely on the ones she fights alongside, but irelia is generally very independent & frankly is more used to other people trusting her with their lives instead... as much as that thought burdens her to this day.

➤⠀⠀⠀what’s your muse like when they’re in love?⠀⠀throughout all of irelia's life thus far, to love is to lose — yet she cannot help but open her heart again & again. it's gotten much harder for her to let down her walls, but it has never been hard for irelia to care for others. romantic love is more difficult & takes a sturdy friendship to develop first. but if irelia does fall for somebody, she falls hard. she smiles in their presence, a warm and caring glow shining upon her face. she allocates times in the day to spend solely with them & not have her work distract her. she's always been the protective type, but she will be extra watchful over them in particular. irelia just becomes... happier, and spirits know she deserves it after the life she's lived.

#( 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 — we are the only masters of our fate. )#( 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 — remember why we fight. )#tw: violence #i've been chipping away at this for a while #instead of replies dkjbn but i rlly liked these questions!!

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everyones-least-favorite-bard · 1 year ago

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@ciboriaadastra

ty SO much for the giant wall of tags i love this people should do this more this was a JOY to read

really glad to get a take on it from someone who actually knows about PDs! i do not so i didnt want to touch on it but you put together the shit that kind of threw me off VERY well ty

looking at everything with this lens now it definitely gives a clearer look at khoas motivations in being so intensely overt about his whole I Don't Care Actually bit. again i dont have enough of a foundation in aspd or pds in general to really write out something with this but id love to see someone tackle bruces continuing realization (based off of batman annual 2021/batman inc vol 3 issue 1 iirc) that khoa is in fact, an actual person with real actual feelings and how his actions in accommodating for that could make or break the very very tentative foundations of his renewed friendship/relationship with khoa

springboarding off your point about seeing how bruce's "raw emotion and high empathy nets bruce so many successes + a family and community that respects and loves him" i feel like (from the issues that are currently out) batman inc vol 3 is starting to tackle khoa's dissolution of his ideals/internal stigmas and recognition that maybe he can actually be expressive and emotive and form bonds with people (clownhunter/phantom one arc). its like pretty quickly shaken up after that bc of the whole joker inc bullshit but still! the thoughts are there and turning.

wishing for the millionth time that dc had writers who did research on the shit they haphazardly throw around for drama. sighing. one day

hey uh actually its time for me to vomit some thoughts on ghostbat

i really do love all the content out here for them in the vein of like divorced-core bitchy snarking and whatnot its funny its classic fandom behavior so its got that nostalgia factor its real fun to see but (non derogatory) but! i feel like thats such a watered down way of observing them. a reflection of a reflection of a reflection if u know what i mean

like obviously this isnt a new thing fandom is doing dynamics get dissolved into the simplest, most consumable caricatures of themselves possible all the time. its like a rite of passage at this point. but there are truly so many fascinating directions you could take ghostbat in particular and seeing it dissolved into just. gesturing at the above paragraph. that. is kind of sad.

i think (and this is just my observations from reading batman the knight and vol 3 of batman inc) one of the keys to their dynamic that really gets me is how modern-era (for lack of a better term) ghostmaker is consistently chasing bruce's shadow. i would say most of his actions can be described as being motivated by a desire to understand and be understood by batman.

like. hes living in batman's shadow not because batman's reputation precedes him or because batman is more capable than he is but because there is something fundamental in batman that ghostmaker believes he lacks. it's a key part of the infamous pseudo-break-up-in-the-rain in issue 105 of batman (2016) when bruce leaves khoa for gotham: bruce says, “you’re sick. there’s a part of you that’s broken and you’re angry that it’s not broken in me.” and khoa is reasonably incensed by this and takes a swing at him. they devolve into a fight that ends with the agreement we saw dick reference obliquely in issue 104.

of course, this assertion is categorically false—bruce himself points it out later in the 2021 batman annual. ghostmaker discusses his latest take-down of a major portion of his rogues gallery and how his successful defeat of all of them makes him a fundamentally better crime-fighter/vigilante than batman since he’s doing it without any of the personal vendettas and attachments bruce has.

but the key is that in his recounting of his battle he inadvertently reveals that he does in fact have a connection with each of them: madame midas and kid kawaii in particular. madame midas took down his fathers business when khoa was young and we see in his memory that this is something that deeply upset him and something he never forgot. in his actual take-down of her he brings it back up when he delivers the killing blow (batman annual 2021). with kid kawaii hes visibly upset by her physical appearance being that of a child and regularly does his best in their fights to take her down in a way that can hopefully allow whatever child-like portions of her remain to be saved (batman 108). i believe one of his battles with her actually contributed to her creators having to put an emotional inhibitor in her since some of what he'd said last time they fought got through to her (batman 107/108).

and bruce points this out!! he's somewhat subtle about it, of course, but he points out that no actually, khoa isn't free from this fundamentally very human part of him that wants to help people because it's good and that wants justice for wrongs slighted against him. still in the batman annual issue, he says, “you spent years focused on a single crime lord. that dedication isn’t about glory or efficacy. there’s a reason why this victory matters to you. a reason why you care.” and khoa (after a flashback) gives an embarrassingly flimsy defense in response to this but it’s still very, very clear that he does, in fact, suffer from the same bleeding-heart syndrome bruce does—if perhaps not as intensely.

obviously i have my gripes and whatnot with khoa being tagged as a psychopath since it seems kind of flimsy at best but i don't know enough about aspd-spectrum disorders to really pin it as definitively good or bad but still!! still!! he does have the personal stake in vigilantism that he condemns bruce for having (not even touching on the whole phantom one/clownhunter arc). at the end of the day ghostmaker believes hes missing this unnameable quality of empathy/desire for justice and he thinks that's what separates him from bruce and what makes them incompatible as partners (vigilante partners but also like. take that as you will): it is not.

the reason they cannot work together is because khoa believes he is missing this part of himself and as long as he continues to believe he's incapable of these things he's never going to measure up to his ideal of batman in any of the ways that matter.

on the batman end of things i feel like bruce is most characterized (at least in the batman the knight era of their relationship) by his desire to see khoa “fixed,” for lack of a better word. he initially takes khoa at face value for things, so when khoa gives his whole "i’m a vigilante for the art, the drama" speech he believes him.

it's actually a very sweet kind of naivete—like, of course, why wouldn't khoa know why he's doing this? bruce is very clear in his convictions regarding his motives for vigilantism and he and khoa are at the very least intellectually matched, so why wouldn't khoa be honest? why wouldnt he know the reason why he fights? if minhkhoa khan, the ghostmaker, says he fights crime because he believes in the aestheticism of a job well done, why wouldn’t bruce believe him?

so it becomes a point of contention between them for a very long time because bruce believes this kind of selfish method/motive and the incompatibility between them because of it will eclipse any relationship they have and, looking at the notorious issue 105 rain fight, it technically has. in their first mini-divorce arc in issue 6 of batman the knight in which they have a fistfight in the snow and khoa leaves bruce after beating the shit out of him he spends much of the fight talking, again, about the artistry of crime-fighting and how he enjoys the challenge of it more than the justice. when he wins the fight, he stands over bruce with a gun and contemplates shooting him (contemplates being used generously here: he stands over bruce visibly anguished before dropping the gun) and his excuse for not finishing bruce off is just that it would be, “too easy" (batman the knight issue 6). again: bruce has no reason to question this—even in a brutal physical altercation khoa continues touting his vaguely hedonistic motives behind joining bruce’s crusade. there is no reason why bruce shouldn’t believe him.

its only when he comes back in issue 8 and leaves with bruce towards the league of assassins that we see bruce kind of begin questioning how true khoa’s cited motivations are. obviously he's still pretty deeply embroiled in his Woe: I the Bat am Alone theatre kid bullshit—“this can’t last. and i think we both know it.”—so he spends most of their time together more observing the idea of khoa he has in mind and convincing himself that anything he sees outside of his established framework isn’t real, but we see when they escape ra's and blow up a major league of assassins headquarters that the illusion is starting to slip (batman the knight issue 9).

in their one-v-one combat for the position of demon’s heir (demon’s heart in bruce’s case) bruce’s monologue switches out of his doom-and-gloom khoa and i are incompatible talk into more of the space we see him in around the issue 105 break-up: during their fight bruce says, “there’s nothing to you! there’s nothing there! you know what’s in me?! everything!” which is a less accusatory version of the 105 quote but still in the same vein (batman the knight issue 10). so we see bruce has moved past taking khoa at face value regarding his joy in “the artistry of crime-fighting” but he still hasn’t quite shifted further into recognizing khoa’s other/true motives.

the rain break-up on bruce’s end, then, shows a further evolution of his interpretation of khoa’s behavior: he believes khoa’s desire to continue working with him is founded from a desire to keep bruce on his level—an action rooted in jealousy over something he will never be able to obtain. khoa believes this as well since, as stated before, he hits bruce in the face immediately after it’s pointed out. but even then he is still taking what khoa says at face value: he still believes khoa is only motivated by his thirst for a challenge and that khoa wants bruce by his side more so he isn’t alone in his empty hedonism than for actual wanting of bruce himself. this informs his reaction in issue 104 after he and robin chase a criminal to singapore: after his undisclosed argument with khoa he is visibly upset over the state of their relationship but believes it irreparable due to the differences in their morals.

i think from there though, bruce only begins picking out the gaps in the mess that is khoa (that we see anyway) when khoa’s telling him about his grand exploits after they meet up again. while their earlier conversations (ie; batman asking ghostmaker to stay in late issue 105) definitely reveal bruce’s newer perspective on khoa, it’s really only the batman annual 2021 conversation where we see bruce make the jump to further filling in what khoa is (very loudly) not saying. another tumblr post also mentioned the scene being the first recorded mention of bruce saying khoa’s name after the rain fight—which considering the last time we saw him say it was The Fucking Rain Break Up Again, sort of thematically implies he’s reached another level of understanding with khoa.

so i’d say on batman’s end he very badly wants to understand khoa, but he’s also only just starting to realize that he doesn’t have enough of the pieces.

this got away from me tbh but the point being: ghostbat has more nuance than a lot of incorrect-quote-y type content has room for.

#when i tell u i SHRIEKED upon seeing the amount of tags this had. hoho #tysm again bro this was lovely. a treat. a joy #ill add more to this regarding clownhunter and phantom one but i wanna wait until batman inc vol 3 ends #dc comics #dc meta #ghostmaker #minhkhoa khan #batman #bruce wayne #ghostbat #bards dc thoughts

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misnomera · 4 years ago

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On racial stereotyping of the Haans in TMA...

Right so as someone who is ethnically Chinese I have NO FUCKING clue how I didn’t notice this more distinctly in my initial binge of tma (going too fast and not paying closer attention to character names and descriptions, probably) but the Haan family storyline is, all horror elements aside, pretty fucked up in terms of racial representation re: stereotyping. This got long as hell, but please please please take a moment to read through if you’ve got time for it. thanks.

To start off, the Haans are one of the few characters in tma with an explicitly specified race and ethnicity—Chinese—and pretty much the only explicitly Chinese characters in tma, other than the mostly unimportant librarian (Zhang Xiaoling) from Beijing. But like, Haan isn’t even a properly Chinese surname, at least not in the way that it’s spelled in canon (it should be Han, one a. A quick google search tells me that Haan as a surname has...Dutch origins??).

Of course, that could be chalked up to shoddy anglicization processes within family histories, which certainly isn’t uncommon with immigrant families, so I’m not going to dwell on names too much (although I also find it interesting that John Haan’s name is so specifically and weirdly anglicized that he changed his own surname?? Hun Yung to John Haan is a very big leap of a name change and frankly not very believable. ANYWAY, this is not that important. I don’t expect Jonny, a white Englishman, to come up with perfectly unquestionable non-Cho-Chang-like Chinese names, though it certainly would be nice. Moving on).

What really bothers me about the Haans is how they almost exclusively and explicitly play into negative Chinese immigrant stereotypes. I don’t even feel like I need to say it because it’s like...it’s literally Right There, folks. John Haan (in ep 72) owns and operates a sketchy takeout restaurant. They’re all avatars of the Flesh—and John Haan is Specifically horrific and terrifying because he cooked his wife’s human meat and fed it to his unknowing customers. Does that remind you of any stereotypes which accuse Chinese people of consuming societally unacceptable and ethically questionable things like dog/cat/bat meat (which, if it’s not already crystal fucking clear, we don’t. do that.), which in turn characterize us as horrible unfeeling monsters? John Haan’s characterization feeds (haha, badum tss) directly into this harmful stereotype that have caused very real pain for Chinese people and East Asians in general.

And Jonny does nothing to address that from within his writing (and not out of it either). And, speaking on a more meta level, Jonny could’ve easily had these flesh avatars be individuals of any race (like, what’s Jared Hopworth’s ethnicity? Do we know? No? Well then). Conversely, he could’ve easily, easily had a Chinese person be an avatar of any other entity. So why did he have to chose specifically the Flesh?

(This is a rhetorical question. You know why. Racial stereotyping and invoking a fear of the other in an attempt to enhance horror, babey~)

On Tom Haan’s side, Jonny seems weirdly intent on having other characters repeatedly comment on his accent (or rather, lack thereof) in relation to his race. Think about how, in ep 30 (killing floor), the fact that Tom Haan had spoken a line to the statement giver in “perfect English” was an emphasized beat in that statement, and a beat that was supposed to be “chilling” and meant to signify to us that something was, quote-unquote, “not right” with Tom Haan. Implicitly, that’s saying that it was unexpected, not “normal”, and in this case even eerie, for someone who looks Chinese to have spoken in fluid, unbroken English. Mind you, the line itself was perfectly scary on its own (“you cannot stop the slaughter by closing the door”), so why did Jonny feel the need to note the accent in which it was spoken in? Why did Jonny HAVE to have that statement giver note, that he initially “wasn’t even sure how much English [Haan] spoke”?

This happens again in episode 72 with a Chinese man (and again, his ethnicity is Explicitly Noted) who we assume is also Tom Haan. This one is rather ironically funny and kind of painfully self aware, because the statement giver expresses surprise at Haan’s “crisp RP accent” and then immediately “felt bad about making the assumption that he couldn’t speak English,” and subsequently admitted that thought was “low-key racist.” Like, from a writing perspective, this entire passage is roundabout, pointless, and says absolutely nothing helpful to enhance the horror genre experience for listeners (instead it just sounded like some sort of half-assed excuse so Jonny or other listeners could say “look! We’ve addressed the racism!” You didn’t. It just made me vaguely uncomfortable). And again, having other people comment on our accents/lack thereof while assuming we are foreign is a Very Real microaggression that east asians face on the daily. If Jonny needed some filler sentences for pacing he could’ve written about Literally anything else. So why point out, yet again, that the crazy murderous man was foreign and Chinese?

At this point, you might say, right, but yknow, it was just that the statement givers were kind of racist! It happens! Yeah sure, ok, that’s a passable in-universe explanation for descriptions of Tom Haan (though not John Haan, mind you), but the statement givers are fake made up people, and statement’s still written by Jonny, who absolutely has all the power to write overt discrimination out of his stories. And he does! Think about just how many minor (and major!!) characters are so, so carefully written as completely aracial, and do not have their ethnicity implicated at all in whatever horrors they may or may not be committing. Think about how many lgbtq+ characters have given statements, and have been in statements, without having faced direct forms of discrimination, or portrayed as embodying blatant stereotypes in their stories (though lgbtq+ rep in tma certainly has their own issues that I won’t go into here). Jonny can clearly write characters this way, and he can do it well. So why, why, am I being constantly, repeatedly reminded in-text of the fact that the Haans are East Asian, that they’re from China, that they’re Chinese immigrants, that they’re second-generation British Chinese or whatever the fuck, and that they’re also horrifying conduits for blood, gore, and general fucked-up-ness? It’s absolutely not something that is Needed for the stories to be an effective piece of horror; the only thing it does is perpetuate incredibly harmful and hurtful stereotypes.

And listen, I love tma to bits. It’s taken over my blog. I’ve really loved my interactions with the fandom. And I am consistently blown away by Jonny’s writing and how well he’s able to weave foreshadowing and plot into an incredibly complex collection of stories. But I absolutely Cannot stop thinking about the Haans because it’s just. It’s such a blatant display of racial stereotyping in writing. And I’ve certainly seen a few voices talking about it here and there, and I don’t know if I’m just not looking in the right places, but it certainly feels like something that is just straight up not on the radar for a lot of tma fans. And I’m disappointed about that.

Just, I don’t know. Take a look at those episodes again and do some of your own thinking about why these characters had to be specifically Chinese (answer: they didn’t.). And in general, PLEASE for the love of god turn a critical eye on character portrayals and descriptions whenever they are assigned specific races/ethnicities (Some examples that come to mind are Jude Perry, Annabelle Cane, and Diego Molina), because similar issues, to an extent, extend beyond the Haans, though I haven’t covered them here.

You shouldn’t need a POC to do point out these problems for you when they’re so glaringly There. But for those of you who really didn’t know, hope this was informative in some way. I’m tired, man. If some of the only significant Chinese characters you write are violent cannibalistic men with a perverted relationship with meat, just don’t do it. Please don’t do it.

EDIT: Since the making of this post Jonny has acknowledged and apologized for these portrayals on his twitter and in the Rusty Quill Operations Update, which went up September 2020. A long time coming, but better late than never. This of course doesn’t necessarily negate the harm done by Jonny’s writing, and doesn’t make me much less angry about it, but is appreciated nonetheless. For more on this topic there’s a lot of productive discussions happening in my “#tma crit” tag and in the notes of this post

#tma #the magnus archives #magnuspod #tma 30 #tma 72 #tma crit #racism #sinophobia #racist stereotyping #tw cannibalism #tw violence #long post #tom haan #john haan

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lokeanwelcomingcommittee · 3 years ago

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HI! I am just beginning to feel attached to Loki. I would like to know if he supports creativity and music, or is he somethin else.

oh he's definitely something else let me tell you wha-

Anyway, hi anon! My bad jokes aside, there's not really anything in terms of an overt mythological and social link like you would have with, say, Óðinn and poetry. With that said, you'd likely be hard pressed to find a Norse god that does have a comparative situation with one of the arts, but music and artistic or crafting endeavors certainly seem to be appreciated by most deities, Loki included (our art tag has a number of examples).

While as always recreating something historical to the letter or even necessarily having an offering based on previous information or accounts isn't a, well, necessity, I did read something recently in a paper that's relevant to this ask: it's from William Sayers' "Scarfing the Yard with Words ("Fostbrœðra saga"): Shipbuilding Imagery in Old Norse Poetics," which perhaps obviously is not essential 101 material, but if you ever have an interest in ships or poetry in the future, you know where it is. In any case, the relevant excerpt:

The association of poetry and woodworking, in particular ship building, does not have mythological antecedents to authenticate it, at least not in the preserved stories for which Snorri is our only source. But it does seem very much at home in early northern culture, and for a self-reflective simile, metaphor, or metonymy-- poetry talking about poetry-- poets and their public did not have far to look. The supernatural and organic origins of poetry are complemented by proclaiming its secular affinity with human handicrafts, the skilled production of aesthetically pleasing, effectively functional artifacts.

For context, if the title wasn't a spoiler the article's all about poetry and ship building metaphors, hence the focus; I promise I am not demanding you build a boat (I will demand that if you do for some reason you should submit pictures). The notable thing here is that skálds weren't just making poetry/ship metaphors, they were making references to the actual process of the craft: specific things like joining and planing along with comparisons to the actual construction process and tools/materials used, and doing so favorably-- they recognized that even if there wasn't a specific myth or story behind the craft, other arts or handicrafts were certainly comparable to and indeed, complimentary to ones that did. (A skáld's not going to compare their work to something that doesn't make it look good, ya know?) Again, I don't think boat-building necessarily has to be a modern ideal, especially since part of the reason Sayers theorizes it's so prevalent with the Norse is that seafaring was important to the culture, and that may well be different for many folks today. But the main idea-- that the effort and skill put into any craft, and I might say creating in general, is a thing held in high regard whether it has a specific myth or story behind it or not-- is a pretty good one, IMO.

In any case, anon, I hope some of that kind of tangential storytime was helpful or interesting to you (or at the very least, the links, haha). Best of luck and feel free to write again if we can be of any further assistance.

- Mod V

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ratinacoat · 6 days ago

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This post had nothing to do with endos at all, hence why it's all CDD tags with no syscourse tag, but I'll answer anyway.

There's a difference between a disorder (something with set criteria in which you need to fall under in order to have it) and gender (a social construct with no set criteria outside of personal views). Someone SUSPECTING they have a disorder going into communities who will radically validate everything they do is harmful for a number of reasons:

They person is only suspecting they have the disorder. They could be wrong. Going into therapy expecting a specific result causes harm if you heavily believe it and turn out to be wrong.

If that person comes out of therapy with the knowledge that they aren't a system, the community will continue to treat them as if they are and keep them away from therapists because of the radical validation. That person obviously has something wrong if they felt the need to seek help and they're now being discouraged from finding out what's wrong and is instead being told to fake or convince themself they have a disorder even if that's not being said out right.

Radical validation leads to a lack of the ability to be wrong in general. If that person asks a discord server "Hey, can my eyes change color depending on who's fronting?", those members will validate the idea of it because they are incapable of pointing out obvious flaws in someone's claims. This leads to the spread of misinfo.

If the person doesn't have the disorder but is convinced they do by the communities, they themselves will spread misinfo unintentionally. You're not allowed to doubt people in those communities. You're not allowed to disagree with the people there when it comes to systems until you don't fit into their view on what a system should think or feel. That leads to speaking on behalf of systems about a disorder they do not have, thus speaking over the voices of people who know they have the disorder being told they're wrong.

Denial and struggles are frowned upon. You don't like your alters? Wow, that's really insulting and you're a horrible person. You can't control when your littles, persecutors, aggressive alters, etc front? You're not taking system responsibility. You don't treat your alters as different people? That's dehumanizing and bad. You want final fusion? Wanting to "get rid" of your alters is horrible and disrespectful. You want source separation? No! Don't do that! You're valid as your source and you should continue to ID with it! You call your alters "your alters"? That's really dehumanizing.

The radical acceptance only goes so far. They don't actually believe everyone should be valid, they just believe all systems who don't fit under the diagnostic criteria are valid, which is untrue. (I'm talking about DID incase you forget, this isn't an endo debate) If you present medically, less dramatized, less overt, less like the way the system community has made DID out to be over the years, less willing to accept and blindly agree with misinformation, they don't like you. You're sucking up to the singlets. You're not as entertaining. You're trying to be one of the good ones. You're isolating your alters. It's actually much worse than you think and we need to help uncover that trauma.

I could go on and on and on about this. I was in these communities for a LONG time. None of this is overexaggerating in the slightest. Pretty much all of it applies to endo communities too which is fun. /s

Radical validation isn't a good thing. DID isn't an identity it's a disorder, a result of trauma, something that impacts someone in their day to day life. It's not something that can always be valid and that's something more people need to wake up and realize.

Watching a newly suspecting system slowly get sucked into the toxic radical validation side of system communities (It's a canon event)

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andyquynhnickyjoebookernile · 4 years ago

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Joe & Nicky

This post has been a long time coming but I have been procrastinating like nobody’s business and I don’t even know why? One theory I have is that I want to hold onto this feeling for as long as I can and I’m scared that sharing it will change it, but I need to do this. I need to talk about this.

So, I don’t know when this happened but sometime ago my tumblr feed started sending up posts related to “The Old Guard” and I do realise that there was a shipping tag involved but I wasn’t paying it any attention. Anyhow, over time I decided I should probably check it out. So, I went on Netflix and watched the trailer which was pretty interesting so I decided I was going to watch the movie. And then one day, last week and I’m truly incensed that I don’t remember the date, but my guess would be the 21st, I finally watched it and oh, God it was so good.

Like, I don’t care what anyone says, this movie was phenomenal and it made me so happy, that I can’t put my feelings into words. That’s how amazing it was and that was in no small part because of Joe and Nicky.

In hindsight, probably there were clues but I had no idea what was going on till the train scene and I feel like there were a lot of people in the same boat as me, who had no idea what was happening till that scene.

Once there was someone talking about representation and they said it was harder to represent sexuality because the character had to come out and express that part of themselves and it wasn’t something that could be done without saying a single world and I truly believed them. But, then along came “The Old Guard” and my belief was completely shattered. That’s when I realised that it wasn’t impossible to represent a relationship and the implied sexuality without a single word, it was just that doing it would require a bigger commitment, because it’s easy to tell us and not show us but it’s impossible to deny something you have already shown us.

Also, Joe and Nicky are so extra. God, I have too many emotions and feelings about the way they sleep. Like, it’s too much. A lot of people talked about the lack of physical contact between them but the only thing going through my head was that these two have been together for a millennium and they still sleep like that. Like literally they are spooning and the movie goes a step further and shows them sleeping for a second time, and they are still spooning in a similar manner. If there is a single instance you can still argue that it isn’t setting a precedent but the moment you go for a second, you are very deliberately telling people that not only are these two together but they sleep like that almost always.

I have too many feels about them sleeping, like not only is that how most of the audiences would have realised that they are a couple but I feel like it very effectively conveyed who Joe and Nicky are.

The biggest hurdle that the movie had was to establish this relationship as something that was extraordinary, because this is the most established couple to ever be established. And the movie does a great job of doing that even without that van scene and that is saying something.

Of course, the movie always had the option of establishing them as a couple with physical touches, kisses and sex but it didn’t do that and I don’t think people realise how brilliant that was. I feel like it’s easier to establish love but harder to establish the other feelings and emotions that are part and parcel of a long-lasting relationship. This is where the movie hits a masterstroke. It has Joe and Nicky not engage in any physical contact before the train scene because, any overt affection between them prior to this would make their relationship feel like a budding one when it is anything but. Instead we see them sleeping and spooning and basically all out cuddling, like I can’t get over how cute that is. But, cuteness aside, this was an amazing piece of showing and not telling.

While kisses and physical touches can convey love, the act of sleeping together (as in actual sleeping together) conveys love, trust and comfort something that would be the hallmarks of any long-lasting relationship.

You can kiss and have sex with anyone but if you are sleeping with someone that actually conveys this sense of comfort in someone else’s physical space that is almost unparalleled. It implies that this relationship is not only about physical pleasure it has transcended that and is more about how much these two people genuinely like and adore each other. Sleeping is also a very conscious decision and sleeping in someone’s arms doubly so. To be touching someone from head to toe as you sleep is intimate and that’s what establishes this relationship – intimacy. Their relationship is special in a way unlike any other relationship and the fact that this is how the movie establishes them means that we have already have placed these two on a higher plane of commitment which better translates to who these two are to each other.

At the end of the day, what matters is not that these two aren’t touching each other all the time but the fact that even after centuries together they still love each other so much that they spend their nights spooning and cuddling, like Nicky literally sleeps every night in Joe’s arms. Like the romance of it all will kill me.

I feel like as viewers we give higher points to romance and intimacy then we would have to physical demonstrations because kisses and sex can be used to convey wildly different ranges of meanings, scenarios and emotions but intimacy only ever has one meaning.

Therefore, we as a fandom are obsessed with how these two, sleep and are definitely onto something when we can’t imagine one sleeping without the other. In hindsight, sleeping also denotes how much these two still want to be with each other, their time together hasn’t jaded their feelings and emotions for each other but instead has made them stronger and even more surreal.

Can you tell that I’m in love with these two?

This is already a thousand words long and I’m not even close to finished but I think I’ll split my squee-fest here, and deal with the rest of how this relationship makes me feel in another post.

[Part 2]

#the old guard #joe x nicky #kaysanova #immortal husbands

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 4 years ago

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Worthy (pt6)

A/N: once again - just keep poking me until I start tagging you if you want tagged. @rampant-salamander, @bolontiku

...

I looked from Tony to Thor and back to Tony.

“I don’t understand your question,” I responded, and threw back the drink. To hell with being moderate. I was pretty sure I was about to lose my dream job on my second day, I may as well go out with a bang.

“Ella, there has to be something special about you to allow you to lift that hammer,” Tony spoke slowly. That was probably a bad thing. I suspected slow speech meant a really active brain. I was now a mystery that needed to be solved.

“There is nothing special about me at all,” I argued.

“You can lift Mjolnir. That is special.” Thor was like a sage who spoke in riddles.

“But being able to lift Mjolnir isn’t what makes me special enough to lift it. That’s a redundancy.” I, like Tony, was slipping into scientific method in order to try to sort things out.

“Do you have Aesir blood, Ella?” Thor asked.

“My family is from Washington. By way of Wisconsin,” I replied. Tony snorted and Thor shot him a dirty look.

“Before this Wisconsin?” He pressed. The way he said Wisconsin made it sound unfamiliar and strange.

“Norway and England.”

“Norway. That is where the Northmen resided.” Thor looked thoughtful. “In the time of the Vikings, the Aesir traveled on Midgard much more frequently than they do now.”

“Are you suggesting that some ancestor of mine got knocked up by a god?” I could feel my eyebrow rising. Tony smothered a smirk behind his hand. My tone was lost on Thor.

“We are not gods, Ella,” Thor corrected. “And I am unfamiliar with knocked up. What I suggest is that your ancestor was impregnated by an Aesir.”

“But in order to lift your hammer, wouldn’t it have to be you that got this mystery ancestor pregnant? I’d have to be your descendent?” I could feel the blood draining from my face. It would be just my luck that the hottest guy I’d ever seen would be related to me. Thor’s smile was mischievous.

“Not necessarily. I would have discovered offspring of mine on Midgard by now, and I know left none. But I think it reasonable to consider you may have Aesir blood in your veins,” he explained. “Which makes you very special indeed.”

“Can everyone in Asgard lift your hammer?” I asked. Thor shook his head.

“None but I.”

“Then I don’t buy it. I keep telling people, I’m nothing special.” I was getting frustrated with the scrutiny. I never thought I would be desperate for a cute guy to stop paying attention to me, but in that moment, I would have given anything to be able to just go hide in obscurity in the lab, building my washing machine.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Ella,” Tony interrupted. I’d nearly forgotten he was there, Thor had such powerful bearing. I didn’t think it was possible to lose track of Tony Stark, but I guess in the presence of not-actually-gods… “You are something special. That’s why Pepper and I lept on your application like we did. How did you make it through university with such a bad self image?”

“I don’t have a bad self image. I know I’m a fucking amazing engineer. I just fail to see a correlation between my ability to understand math and build things and my purported mystical ability to lift a magic hammer,” I snapped. I turned back to Thor. “You’re sure no one else can lift it?” Thor glanced at Tony, almost as though he was looking for approval. Tony gave a slight nod.

“I believe that Captain Rogers would be able to lift it, should he have the opportunity. But that remains untested,” Thor admitted. I sighed.

“Of course. He’s a legit hero. Full of righteousness and honour and nobility.” My tone was more sarcastic than I’d intended.

“Yes, intangible and arbitrary measures of worthiness. Who is to say you don’t meet the parameters in some way?” Thor shot back. I looked into my empty glass, wishing it were still full.

“Did you not see me level that d-bag in the elevator?”

“Tis nothing I would not have done myself, and yet I am still worthy,” Thor shrugged. Pepper had walked in at some point during the conversation, and Tony turned to her expectantly. She sighed and blinked slowly.

“We’ve had a discussion about appropriate professional behaviour. He is aware that if there are any further incidents he will lose his internship.” Pepper reached out for the glass of wine Tony was offering her.

“It’s a bit of a PR nightmare if we lose a second intern in as many days, Pep,” Tony commented.

“It’s a worse nightmare if, right as we’re rolling out a gender equality program and girl’s STEM mentorship program, the media gets ahold of information about how we’re allowing someone guilty of sexual harassment to remain in a prestigious and competitive internship,” she retorted. He pursed his lips and paused. After a moment he nodded in agreement.

“What do I know? You’re the boss.” His acquiescence was met with laughter from Pepper.

“What do you know, Tony? How many times did you attend the SHIELD seminar again?” She choked on her wine. “Trust me. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s a smart guy, and I’d like to think he’ll be respectful from now on.” Tony responded with some other comment and I slumped back into my seat, watching the show. If you didn’t know they were stupidly in love with one another, you might assume they were on the verge of war. But I think Tony liked to goad Pepper, and she rose to the bait. Not because she was gullible though. At least, I didn’t think it was because she was easily duped. I think she rose to the bait because it was how they clicked together. I looked away from them and over to Thor, who was sitting back on the couch, completely relaxed. The hammer was propped up beside him, handle leaning against the bolster. It was uncanny how powerful he looked, even in jeans and a t-shirt. I relaxed a little and just enjoyed looking at him, taking in the contours of his biceps, and the definition of the veins in his hands. There was a lot of him to look at, and it was all very pleasing to the eye. At least, everything I’d seen thus far.

I didn’t realize how overt I was being until he smirked. He turned to look at me, and nodded.

“Is it not considered poor manners on Midgard to stare at others?” There was a teasing tone to his voice, but I blinked and looked away, feeling my cheeks colour.

There was really no way for me to deny that I was staring at him. The only blank wall in the entire place was right behind him. I couldn’t even beg being distracted by some of the weird art that seemed to be all over the building.

“I, uh, well,” I stammered. “I was looking at the hammer?” It sounded like bullshit, even to me. I heard a stifled laugh from Tony and shot him a filthy look. I pushed myself to my feet and glanced at Pepper. “If you don’t need me, Pepper, I’m going to try to catch up with Angela. I have some things I need to pick up for my suite.”

“You can order anything you need from distribution,” Tony offered.

“Except, apparently, towels bigger than a postage stamp,” I retorted. My ears were burning and I was having a really hard time not looking over to see if Thor was following the conversation. He probably was as there was no one else for him to pay attention to.

“You are aware there’s varying sizes of towel?” Tony’s tone was sarcastic. I rolled my eyes.

“Not that this is really a conversation I feel I want to have with my boss, but I grabbed the biggest one. It still barely covered me.” I was ready to pray for a hole to open in the floor and swallow me.

“Well, you’re not exactly supposed to be lounging around in your tow –“

“I wasn’t!” I interrupted. “I was just getting out of the shower when Thor showed up and I didn’t have time to be getting fully dressed before I answered the door, and then the towel slipped and oh my god I cannot believe I’m telling you all this.” I took a deep breath and looked back to Pepper. “Can I go? Please?”

“Let me walk you to the elevator,” she offered and led the way. As we walked away, I heard Tony clear his throat.

“You’ve seen her naked already, you sly dog?”

“That is enough, Stark. How you have lived so many years on this realm and not noticed how modest some of your women are, I have no idea. But you embarrassed her. Like many Midgardians, she lacks comfort with the physical form.” Thor’s words were a chastisement, and I somehow felt even more embarrassed about him having seen me naked. Because now, not only was I naked in front of the freaking Norse god of thunder, but also he took more notice of what a prude I am than that I was naked. I leaned against the wall and banged my head against it.

“That’s not how you call the elevator,” Pepper teased. “I know we all collectively keep telling you to relax, but, yeah. Relax. If Tony is already giving you a hard time, he’s assimilating you into his world as a permanent fixture. This will be something you laugh about in future years.” Her eyes were warm with empathy and it was so reassuring.

“You seriously need to do something about the towel situation, Pepper.” I stepped onto the elevator and pushed the button for my floor. Once the doors shut, I texted Angela to see how far she’d got without me. I didn’t have to wait long. I was swiping my passcard to get into my room when she stepped off the elevator.

“So, towels? Maybe a beer?” She followed me into my apartment.

“Yes. To both.”

XXX

For whatever reason, I expected getting beer with Angela would be more Sex-in-the-City than it was. She pulled me into a quiet bar after we’d found appropriate towels, and we ordered wings from the kitchen and beer.

“So I did some research today while you were meeting with Markus,” she volunteered over a heap of wing bones. I made a noise that was easily interpretable as curiosity and she continued. “I might have hacked some of Tony’s files about that hammer. Thor wasn’t kidding around when he said you shouldn’t be able to lift it. It was apparently forged in the heart of a dying star, of some crazy space-metal. And the Odin enchanted it so only Thor could lift it. Which is clearly a broken enchantment because apparently you can lift it too.”

“It says right on it that if you’re worthy, you can lift it,” I corrected her with my mouth full.

“Obviously it doesn’t take table manners into consideration!” She laughed. I hung my head in mock-shame, but made sure my mouth was clear before I spoke again.

“I don’t know how it determines worthiness. Honestly, isn’t that a little creepy? Is the hammer sentient? Does it consider the merits of each individual that touches it in that split second between grabbing it and trying to lift it? Or does Odin have some sort of approval system for worthiness, and he gets interrupted from whatever it is he’s doing to approve people in that same fraction of an instant?” I pondered.

“Way to ruin magic with science,” she groaned.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. That’s Clarke’s Third Law. The other two are pretty good too,” I shrugged.

“Oh, that was a kill shot! Come on, let me have some sort of fantasy about the mystical powers of the damn hammer, Ella!” Angela threw her hands up in frustration. I smiled and nodded.

“Of course. The hammer is mystical and powerful and absolutely should not be questioned,” I acceded. Angela swatted at me and flagged the waitress over for another round. I felt myself relaxing and forgetting about the overwhelming stress of the past couple of days as we decompressed over a second beer. When Angela dropped me back at the tower, I realized she may very well live on-site as well, but I was tired and had a bit of a beer buzz and forgot to ask before stumbling through my door and crashing on the sofa.

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