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spookyrea · 4 months ago

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... Though I'm Not That Flexible

(part 2 following You Can Wrap Me 'Round Your Finger)

You prepare to tell Loki you love him. Much to his embarrassment, Loki has to tell you something, too.

(aka - frost giant biology is weird and Loki has to suffer the consequences) (and you're kinda into it) (oops)

Chapter 2 / 2 -- read it on AO3 here

Word count: ~9k

Warnings: 18+ !! fem reader; courtship/nesting behaviour, smut (and I mean... smut)

You watched Steve haul himself into the boxing ring, internally groaning at the thought of going toe-to-toe with the Man with a Plan himself.

Loki hovered at your shoulder looking decidedly out of place in a button-down and trousers; he was off the training roster for the week after Bucky had benched him for his ‘poor attitude’. The only people currently brave (or stupid) enough to spar with him were Steve and Thor, the latter of whom was banned from sparring with Loki indoors because of, to quote Pepper, the 'Thor-And-Loki Event' in June.

Privately, you agreed with Bucky’s assessment – Loki had been acting strange lately. Clingy, extra affectionate but equally as moody. Any time you tried to pry you were met with the same response – that Loki was “fine” and “had complete control” over the situation.

Sometimes the best option with Loki was to let him come to you. His desire for absolute control was multi-faceted, but it usually worked out best if he could ask for help and feel like he had an explanation as to why. You knew from experience that hounding him could dig up raw insecurities about worth and ability. So - you made the most of it; if Loki was going to be clingy, he could at least be useful and clingy.

“Hold these, please.” You pushed your towel and water bottle into his hand. Loki accepted them with only minor complaint, tucking them under his arm to make room for everything else you were sure to pile onto him.

Steve rattled the ropes fencing him inside the boxing ring. “Come on, soldier. Don’t keep an old man waiting.”

Loki stretched to hide his sparkling fingertips; you knew his seidr well enough by now to recognize how Steve’s shoelaces unraveled with a mind of their own.

With his arms raised like that, there was no denying Loki’s ‘growth-spurt’ – the buttons on his shirt strained to stay in their buttonholes, gaping a little across his chest. You fought back a grin, watching a young intern (definitely part of Tony’s university pipeline program) spill water down her front while admiring the pull of yet another too-small shirt. A few of her friends giggled, their faces downcast but their gazes teasing, peering up through their eyelashes every few seconds.

“What?” Loki glanced over his shoulder in the direction you were looking.

“Nothing. Some kids are staring at you, that’s all.” You honestly weren’t offended - you remembered what it was like to want Loki from afar, and you weren’t blind. You knew passersby were going to gawk and shoot him longing stares. Loki, however, seemed uncharacteristically upset. His eyes narrowed, upper lip curled slightly in dissatisfaction, and he turned back to you with his shoulders drawn taut. He hooked his fingers in the pocket of your hoodie – Loki’s hoodie, actually, since yours seemed to have mysteriously disappeared – and tugged you into his chest, pressing a firm, dry kiss to your mouth.

You blinked dazedly at him once he’d slunk back. “Is this one of those ‘obviously not interested’ moments?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“People stare all the time. It’s nothing new.”

“I know.” A pretty pink blush was creeping up his cheeks, warming his pale complexion. “I just thought it pertinent to make my intentions crystal clear.” Then, after a beat- “Do you think anyone would notice if I locked the changing room doors and had my way with you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course they would. Now– help me up. I have a senior citizen to cream.”

If anyone was getting creamed, it was you.

You circled the boxing ring on shaky feet, watching Steve round on you with that quiet cockiness of his. He flicked his stupidly perfect bangs out of his stupidly beautiful eyes and mimed a one-two punch combo while you considered giving into the universe and letting your limbs turn to oatmeal. Bucky sat in a folding chair on the sidelines, picking your scrimmage apart with his stupidly brilliant and equally beautiful eyes.

You hated them.

Bucky picked up on details you would never have noticed – your uneven stance, the angle of your elbow when you raised your fists – and, while helpful on paper, it only served to raise your blood pressure by a few degrees. Not helped by the fact that Bucky seemed to know what moves Steve was going to make before he did, so could comment on your form before you’d even finished a move.

PAL whistled encouragement when you just barely blocked a left hook. Tony had set him in Bucky’s lap so he could watch you and Steve train. (“He’s so little. He can’t see over anything.”) At least PAL liked you, even if he was out for blood.

“I agree with the pest, darling. You should wring his neck,” Loki offered from the sidelines. He leant his head on his forearms where they were draped over the ropes, his bored expression betrayed only by the way his brow furrowed whenever Steve got too close to landing a hit.

(You were admittedly not very good at hand-to-hand combat. As a telekinetic, your fists were usually a last resort in the field.)

“This would all be so much easier if you stopped - hey! - swinging so much.” You swept the back of your hand across your eyes, hoping to clear the sweat pouring into them. “Also, has your stuff been going missing lately?”

“Kind of defeats the whole purpose of combat training.” Steve frowned, then threw his body weight into a kick to your chest, which you only barely dodged. He stumbled but quickly corrected, spinning to catch your right hook effortlessly. “But no, nothing’s gone missing lately. Well, my veggie straws have been disappearing but I buy those because Bucky insists he doesn’t like them and then sneaks them from my cupboard. Has he been breaking into yours too?”

You squirmed, planting your feet and leveraging your upper body to try and pry out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, Steve was two hundred and seventy pounds of solid steel pretending to be flesh, so you might as well have been a leaf trapped under a fourteen-wheeler. “No. My pillows keep disappearing.”

Your feet briefly left the ground when Steve lifted you by the wrists. He dumped you unceremoniously on the padded floor of the boxing ring and proceeded to loom over you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and fatherly rage. “Someone’s been perving on you?”

You pushed yourself upright, wincing when you felt your muscles protest the movement. “I don’t know!”

“Weird. Maybe you have a secret admirer. Loki!” Steve mimed an elbow drop but pulled his weight at the last second; he rolled to the side and sprawled out, all six-feet-four-inches of him laid out next to you without having broken a sweat. “Keep an eye on your girl, ya’ hear?”

Loki visibly preened at the idea of you being his girl. You felt a whisper of seidr across your cheek, a sparkling green kiss so fleeting it could have been a trick.

Steve squinted up at him from the floor of the boxing ring. “Are you bigger?”

“You’ve gotta start throwing punches, kid.” Bucky interrupted from the sidelines. PAL bobbed his head in agreement. “Look, I was just like you. A sharp shooter–”

“I’m telekinetic.”

“My point still stands. I did all my best work from a hundred yards away. But sometimes, in the field, you’re gonna have some guy get in your space and wail on you, and I need to know you won’t just fold like a deck of cards when that happens.”

“I’m sorry I’m not built like a tank, Bucky.” You swiped the edge of your shirt over your forehead, grimacing when the already-wet material slid over your damp brow.

“I’m not saying you have to put on a hundred pounds of muscle. Just-” Bucky slipped under the rope and into your personal space, rounding on you from behind to wrap his flesh arm around your throat. His other hand shot out and circled your wrist, holding it at an awkward angle so that your muscles locked uncomfortably. “Just play dirty. If I get this close, I will kill you. So what are you going to do about it?”

You hissed, jerking under his metal hand. “Ow, Bucky, I get it–”

It took all three of you a moment to register that the noise rumbling through the air was coming from Loki. The fluorescents overhead flickered in waves, darkness ebbing and flowing from a point above Loki’s head. They buzzed and crackled unnaturally with displeasure. Bucky’s arms dropped away to put a bit of space between your bodies. Loki’s eyebrows drew tight in the middle, a scowl twisting his pretty face.

“Hey, My Chemical Mischief,” Tony yelled from across the gym. “Cool it with the dick measuring contest, will you? We get it, she’s a kept woman - I don’t think Barnes wants any of that.”

Thor laughed. Racking his barbells, he straddled his padded bench and flicked sparks of electricity from his fingertips, a strange side-effect that manifested whenever he strained himself. He taunted something to Loki in their mother tongue and the effect was instantaneous; Loki gaped at his brother, his growling cut short, and hurled something – an insult? – back.

With a few words they reduced the other to adolescents. Though none of you mortals could even hope to dissect their twisting language, it was clear that the two of them were rehashing centuries of arguments all at once.

Loki reeled back when Thor, his nose tilted to the ceiling, punctuated a sentence with a nod in your direction. “You will do nothing of the sort,” Loki snapped in English.

“Loki.” Exasperation dripped from Thor’s tone, mingling with the kind of joy that came from lecturing a younger sibling. He folded his arms and shot Loki a smarmy do-as-I-say glare. ”This is only going to end in disaster.”

Loki’s jaw snapped shut with a click. His pinched expression seemed to push Thor to hysterics. Thor goaded him on, wagging a callused finger; Loki’s hand fisted at his side as he moved to strangle his brother.

They must have been terrible pests on Asgard.

In English, Thor continued: “I have never been happier that you were adopted. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You’re preening. ”

Loki crossed the gym in a few long strides, a veritable storm cloud brewing over his head. The air crackled, ozone heavy in the air; the difference in pressure caused the open changing room door to slam shut, as if a draft had kicked up. Tony hopped to his feet, pointing between the two brothers. “Nuh uh. You guys take it outside. I am filled with too much scrap metal for you two to be throwing thunderstorms around inside. Again. ”

Loki grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck. Thor stumbled, still laughing, and tucked his shoulder into Loki’s chest as if to throw him over it. Loki hissed something unintelligible - Tony hollered something unrepeatable - and then the two brothers blinked out of sight in a flash of bright green.

You ran into them in the lobby on your way back from the corner store that evening. Both of them were soaking wet, their plainclothes plastered to their skin. Loki brushed by you with a stormy expression, anger rolling off of him in palpable waves; Thor followed a few feet behind, decidedly more jovial. Loki called over his shoulder: “do not say anything, Thor. I’m handling this.”

They left a trail of rainwater in their wake, their shoes squeaking across the marble floor. Thor clapped you on the shoulder as you passed and, through the widest grin you’d ever seen, said: “my darling friend – make sure you use protection.”

A flash of green sizzled across Thor’s knuckles; he yanked his hand away with a shout, raising his hand to examine a line of fresh, pink welts. Loki hissed at him; Thor cast you a sideways look, then winked. To his brother, he called: “I am always right, am I not?”

Loki snapped his fingers, calling Thor to attention like a master might call their dog to heel. Except Thor was the oldest, and had a petty streak longer than the continental United States, and his younger brother’s displeasure clearly brought him unbridled joy, so Thor slung one arm around your shoulder and gave you a squeeze, rubbing his prickly cheek against yours for good measure.

You squirmed under his arm. “Is this another Asgardian thing?”

Thor answered “no” at the same time that Loki answered “yes”.

Loki stormed back to your side and wrenched his brother away, speaking in a low tone. Fixing his brother with a scathing stare, Loki rubbed his thumb over your jaw, then rode his hand down the curve of your neck to sit on your shoulder, as if to wipe the physical evidence of his brother’s touch from your skin.

Thor sidled up behind Loki and scrubbed a hand over your cheek; Loki, hackles raised, elbowed his brother in the side, setting off a chain reaction of flying fists and snapping teeth.

Your groceries were definitely melting. “I’m gonna go. Uh, Loki, you can… You can come upstairs when you’re… done…”

Loki, who was trapped in a headlock by his older brother, nodded jerkily to you. “Of course, dear– Thor. You foul–”

You watched as your boyfriend transformed into a glossy black snake. He fell to the marble with a sad, wet slap and played dead, lolled tongue and all.

Luckily, your ice cream was mostly salvageable.

The shower was hot. Maybe a bit too hot. Steam cloyed, clouding your periphery and leaving you feeling flushed. You contemplated switching the tap a half an inch toward to the right, but then you risked overshooting and being too cold.

“I’m being called away,” Loki said by way of greeting. He was still a bit damp; his hair had just begun to curl around the ends. The steam, its attention caught by the open door, billowed around him on its escape path. “I was going to tell you earlier, but my brother had other plans.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. Close the door, please?”

“Right. Sorry.” The door slipped shut with a click. Loki hoisted himself onto your bathroom counter, his hands clasped loosely between his knees while he watched you rinse the last suds from your legs. “Believe me, darling, I don’t want to leave you, but it seems that Fury wants my head on a stake.”

“Thor, too. What was that about?”

Loki waved a hand. “Brotherly taunts. Now would you hurry up? I want to ravish you before I’m a decrepit, thank you very much.”

“Give me a minute.” You turned your back to him for a better angle under the shower head. You heard the shower door slide open – you assumed so that Loki could ogle you properly – then startled when his shadow crossed over you.

“Loki!” You shrieked, cringing when wet cotton slid over your belly as he wound his arms around your waist. “You’re fully dressed! You can’t– bad! Naughty!”

“I was already wet. Now I’m warm and wet.” He tsked, rubbing his cheek against the curve of your shoulder with an arrogance only a prince could muster. “I just couldn’t resist.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Truthfully, pet, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less remorse in my life.” His wet fingers fumbled with the top button on his shirt. The plastic was slippery and the buttons small, so it took more than a few tries to get the first one out; by the time he had wrenched the third free, he was cursing. “Ok,” he said around a laugh. “Maybe I’m a little remorseful. But this is your fault, let it be known.”

“My fault?”

“Yes.” Two more buttons down. Loki growled, then tore the rest of them out with a firm jerk of the button placket. They scattered, bouncing off the tile with tiny sounds, and Loki struggled to pull the sleeves off his skin. “You’re so beguiling. I’m– I can hardly tear myself away.” He threw the shirt through the open shower doors, then considered his trousers. “Oh, nevermind.” With a flick of his wrist, the last of his clothing melted away. “Why do I even bother, honestly?”

You tipped your head back against the shower wall and hummed, enjoying the simple pleasure of Loki’s nearness. He was a vision under the spray, dark hair plastered and curling over pale skin and pink lips parted, glossy with water. When his fingers crept over your hip to tease the skin under your ribs, your chest soared, the hollow space between your lungs aching ice cold.

(You loved him).

(You promised yourself you would tell him when he returned from whatever mission Fury had assigned, come hell or high water - and you almost believed it.)

When you opened your eyes, you found Loki to be looking at you with the most peculiar hunger. “What?”

“I can’t look at you?”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘looking’. I would say you’re eating me with your eyes.” You rolled your shoulders, then reached around him for the tap. “I’m starting to feel a bit dizzy. Let’s dry off and you can tell me all about why Fury is taking you away from me.”

“You mean you let me suffer through that whole ordeal for naught?”

“I didn’t ask you to climb in here fully clothed. Now– chop chop, loverboy. You’re closest to the towels.”

He left in the early morning. It seemed to take a great deal of physical effort for him to extricate himself from your bed, even greater than it did on Sunday. By the time he had slipped into his last piece of armour, his breath was short and tense, and his mouth turned down in a harsh curve.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’m fine. Just don’t… Just wait for me, okay?”

You were a couple seconds behind, your brain still heavy with the early hour. “What do you mean, honey?”

Loki shook his head. He leaned his weight on the edge of the bed and curled over you, pressing a dry kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry yourself. Go back to bed.”

“I can help–”

“I have it all under control. I’ll be back in a few days.” He said the last part like he was trying to convince himself more than he was you.

Only three days later and you were going a little stir-crazy. Maybe whatever clinginess-disease he had had rubbed off on you.

You couldn’t take it anymore – you missed your boyfriend. He had been scheduled to return that morning but another impromptu snowstorm had pushed his arrival back by a day, leaving you with an empty afternoon to putter. But once your laundry was done and your shower scrubbed, there wasn’t much left to do besides twiddle your thumbs and marathon episodes of Forensic Files.

You took the elevator to his floor and let yourself in with a spare key. Your shoulders dropped, an unregistered tension draining as you breathed in the familiar smell of Loki’s cologne and lavender incense. There was a certain comfort in the menial reminders of him – his shoes by the door, his coat on the rack. You tossed your keys on the kitchen counter. “So much for man-eating wolves.”

You half expected his fridge to be barren, considering how much time he had spent over the last week in your apartment, but you were pleasantly surprised to find it well stocked – too well stocked. Whatever occasion he was preparing for was unknown to you, but he seemed to be anticipating an apocalypse or city-wide shortage of seasonal fruits and vegetables. You helped yourself to some from a pre-cut container and shuffled toward his bedroom to take a nap.

You stopped dead in your tracks under the threshold.

“You are the pillow thief.”

Fabric was draped languorously from every surface - a stack of quilts over his desk chair, pillowcases folded neatly on his dresser. The curtains were drawn tightly, two or three panels layered on top of each other to block out as much natural light as possible. He appeared to have gathered every pillow in his apartment - and a few of yours - and piled them in a semi-circle against the headboard. A few had fallen to the wayside, at the foot of the bed or scattered across the carpet, and a great spread of throw blankets was draped across the comforter. You could just make out the corner of one of your t-shirts peeking out from his pillows.

There was a decidedly two person-sized divot in the centre of it all, like you were meant to burrow in together.

“What have you been up to, my darling boy?”

You crawled across the covers and peeled them back, layer by layer. More of your shirts tumbled out, as well as a hoodie and a cashmere scarf. It was bewildering to say the least, but not entirely out of the norm for Loki. (He once spent two weeks meticulously replacing all of your cutlery with a mismatched charity shop set, so what was a little blanket theft, really?) You just couldn’t quite put your finger on why he had chosen this prank, nor why he would bother to build a veritable nest out of his spoils.

Tired and more than a little giggly, you tucked yourself between two comforters and curled up on your side. You’d have to ask him when he got home.

(In his defense, it was really comfy).

You blinked awake to the sound of your phone vibrating. It took you a moment to find it among the layers of blankets and pillows but eventually you wrenched it free and swiped accept. “Hello?”

Loki’s voice carried through the little speaker. “Where are you? You’re not in your apartment.”

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “That’s because I’m in yours.”

There was a long, drawn out silence. Then, “you’re what?”

“I’m in your apartment. Which– you have so much explaining to do.” You pushed yourself out of his bed. Through the phone, you heard FRIDAY greet him and a familiar jingle when Loki punched the button for his floor.

“I… You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You laughed. You could hear him struggling to find his keys, his anxiety palpable even through the phone. “Loki, was this some sort of prank to keep me from refusing to sleep over?”

“No, it…” His keys ground in the lock. “It was…”

You pulled the door open for him. He blinked owlishly at you, his phone pinched between his shoulder and his cheek.

“Hi,” you said, and your voice echoed through his phone.

He ended the call. “Hi.”

The two of you walked together, Loki on tentative feet while you guided him, pulling on one of his harness straps until you were through the threshold. His bag slid from his shoulder with a thud; he was still wearing his armour, which you smoothed your fingers under and began to unclasp piece by piece, setting it on the table by the door.

“Loki,” you glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you want to explain the nest in your bedroom?”

His shoulders tensed. “Thor, you bastard.”

You worked one of his leather straps free, tossing it aside. “What?”

“Just - ignore this,” he said. “Go back to your apartment. I have to go kill my brother, and then burn everything I own, and then maybe I’ll be able to scrounge up the dignity to see you before sunrise.”

He made an aborted movement to turn out from your arms, but you reached out with your mind and slid the deadbolt in place before he could slip through the door. “Nuh uh. What does Thor have to do with this? Is this about your fight? I haven’t spoken to him since I ran into you two in the hall.”

“Wait.” It was your turn to face Loki’s ire, it seemed, because he whirled on you, his finger raised accusingly. “How did you know about the nesting then?”

“I was joking.” You pulled the final knife sheath free, leaving him in his leather breastplate and heavy wool trousers. “I mean, you piled all of our collective pillows into a queen-sized bed. Do you mean to tell me you’re actually nesting? Is this another Asgardian courtship thing I should know about?”

“I-” Loki looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. A familiar curl of self-consciousness had begun to spoil his expression. He turned his cheek and spit out a curse. “Nevermind.”

“Loki, please.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “If you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you one in return.”

If there was one thing Loki loved more than self-pity, it was being let in on a secret. His eyes bolted up from glaring a hole into the hardwood to catch yours, assessing your deal. “Do not make bets you cannot pay, darling.”

“I already have the perfect secret picked out. Explain.”

He watched you for a long time. Eventually, with a very careful, measured tone, he opened his mouth to speak. “I’ve never… Oh, this is humiliating.” Loki scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Asgardians know very little about Jotun customs. It’s… We didn’t have much need to study them, outside of battle. But it’s common knowledge that frost giants… mate for life. They pick someone to bond with and when they’re serious… In the spring… ”

“Loki,” you cooed. “Humor me.”

He groaned and slunk to his knees before you. His forehead pressed against your hip while both his hands curled around your calves to steady himself. He mumbled something unintelligible against your leg.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “What was that?”

Loki sighed. “When they find a suitable mate they try... I’m… My biology is trying to entice you to tie yourself to me. Forever.”

“So the nesting thing? And the um… the clinginess?”

He toyed with the edge of your t-shirt. “Yes. I… I get quite upset when you don’t respond favorably to my… advances .”

“I picked up on that. Wait,” you pinched the meat of his bicep. “Is this why you’re getting bigger?”

“It appears that my glamours are failing, yes.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re growing in some new plumage to woo me with?” You trailed your finger along a featherlight path over his jaw. Lowering your voice, you couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Are you going to sing for me next?”

A scowl twisted his expression into something mean. “You forget who you’re speaking to, mortal.”

His tone did nothing to dissuade you. So rarely were you the one with the power to tease and you intended to take advantage. “Anything else I should know?”

“Well, if I’m already speaking candidly…” It came out bitingly, Loki’s voice laced with a burning mix of self-deprecation and frustration. “I can hardly think about anything else other than bending you over every available piece of furniture and fucking you until one of us passes out.”

“Loki,” you warned as his fingers wormed their way under the waistband of your pants. “We’re finishing this conversation.”

“Later, darling.” He pushed them down an inch and pressed his mouth to your hip. “Let us at least enjoy my biology for a little while.”

“Loki.” The air crackled, seidr whispering across your skin where the two of you connected as he considered testing your resolve. You felt the phantom impression of hands around your wrists, which you shook off with a glare. “Down.”

His lip curled in displeasure but he obeyed, sitting back on his heels. “It’s infuriating. Let’s just pretend it’s not happening.”

You joined him on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “What does it mean to… ‘mate’?”

Loki’s shoulders rounded and bowed; he tilted his face away from you, hiding his expression behind a wall of thick, black hair. “You just… are. You’re partners for life. A family. I’m not sure there are words in any mortal language to explain the breadth of it.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It seems my biology has decided that you’re a good match for… that.”

“Loki…”

“I love you.” He said it so plainly, as if he was commenting on the weather. Your heartbeat turned hot and dizzy as you watched his long fingers trace the floorboard, his words rattling around in the space between your ears – I love you, I love you, I love– “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re wearing my ring, and my knives, and my clothes. You smell like me–”

“Wait–”

“I built you a nest. I’m not human. Your priorities are in desperate need of reassessment if that’s the part you’re uncomfortable with.” Loki rolled his eyes, that bit of familiar petulance peeking through his foul mood. “Anyway. It makes sense that my body would choose you. That I would… would want to convince you...”

“You know you don’t have to convince me.”

Loki picked at a knot in the wood, a loathsome smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Oh, but I do.”

You couldn’t bear the distance any longer; you crawled the last couple of feet to wrap your arms around his chest. He tipped into you, pressing his cheek against your shoulder and drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. Yet, despite his pain, a part of you sang as you stroked a line down his cheek. You were loved and in love – what greater joy was there than that?

Not for the first time in your relationship, guilt welled up in your chest. Being in love with Loki felt a little like learning a new language; he was so capricious, so aloof, that you sometimes felt like you were left out of a joke when he teased you, or flirted, or sidled up to touch you. It often wasn’t until afterward that you became aware of the fact that he was being sincere, that his teasing was earnestness wrapped up in a barbed tongue.

His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. You might not have always understood his advances, but you would try to. For him, you would always try.

“Is there some sort of ritual involved? Do I have to cover myself in runes or something?”

He shook his head against your chest. “I think it just… happens. I’m not sure. There are very few intricacies about frost giant habits with which I’m familiar. But based on how my body is responding, I would assume it boils down to ravishing you on every surface available to me.”

You hummed. “And what will happen if we ignore it?”

Loki, turned mute by anxiety, drew a line down your arm with his knuckle. Finally, he mumbled, “I’ll be fine. I’ll just be very… sad. For the next few days.”

“Sad?”

“I know logically that you’re not, but it feels… Like you’re rejecting me.”

“And how do you want me to respond?”

He sneered again and ducked his head, dragging a hand over his face frustratedly. “I want you to bare your throat to me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up inside of you. “What?”

The glare Loki shot you was bitterly cold. “Do not pretend that you misheard me.”

“No, no, Loki,” you reached out and twined your fingers together. “I mean, surely there’s more than that, right? You want me to do the same things for you? To- to nest? I’m not going to hunt a stag or something for you but I can definitely, like, go to the butcher and get you a prize cut.”

Loki shook his head. “I just want you to accept. To accept me .”

“And the throat…?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You ran your finger along the edge of your t-shirt, where it sat snugly against your collarbone, and watched his pupils dilate. Wordlessly you tugged on his hand, drawing it up to your neck, and placed it there loosely. “That’s it?”

His hand tightened, fingernails catching ever so gently against your skin. “You heard the part where I said that frost giants mate for life, yes?”

You nodded. “Mhmm.”

As if possessed, Loki leaned forward to nose at your pulse point. “So you understand that this… this is forever.”

“And ever and ever?”

“Brat.” His teeth scraped across your skin. “I’ve grown tired of this one-sided vulnerability. I believe you promised me a secret, pet.”

“I did.” You took a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

His fingers stilled around your throat. He seemed to not even breathe as he considered your confession. With a calculated effort, Loki peeled his hands off your neck and his voice, deep and rumbling with restraint, cut through the silence. “You should run.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Unless you want me to fuck you here on this cold, hard floor, I suggest that you run back to that pretty little nest I made you.”

A hot flush washed over you, starting in your cheeks and pooling in the pit of your belly. Loki leaned forward and sweetly kissed your collarbone, then reached up and tore your t-shirt down the middle.

“Loki!”

He smiled against your cheek. “I wasn’t joking, my love.” He sat back on his haunches and folded his hands in his lap, his gaze simmering with something molten hot. Though he moved slowly, projecting a characteristic aloofness, you could see the tendons in his neck straining as he worked against instinct to hold still. He grinned, all teeth, and jerked his chin toward his bedroom. “Run.”

You scrambled to your feet. The hardwood was slippery under your socks. You took a couple tentative steps backwards, watching the way Loki’s eyes raked over you like a butcher pulled pork. Your skin buzzed under his gaze as if you were standing under a powerline, electrified by a well of energy crackling overhead.

His control was crumbling by the second. The faucet was leaking– Tony had promised he’d have someone over within the week to fix it – and the water beading on its edge began to sizzle and pop, blinking out of existence in green bursts. The microwave display went black as Loki’s seidr overwhelmed the kitchen’s circuit breaker; the hum of the refrigerator died with it, plunging the room into an unnatural silence, so heavy that you could hear your own breath catching in your chest. Loki shifted his weight to his knees.

Your heart thrilled.

You broke in unison; you started to run at the same time that Loki sprang to his feet. A laugh bubbled up out of your chest; you reached out with your mind and swept the cushions off the couch, pelting Loki with them before he could reach you. He swore, and a tongue of emerald light crackled at your ankles, nearly tripping you. You stumbled but managed to make it over the threshold of his bedroom door. Something collided heavily with the wall behind you, followed by the sound of debris coming loose and littering the floor.

You landed with a bounce in the center of the bed, sending a cascade of pillows tumbling to the ground. Loki appeared moments later, breathing heavily and bracketing the door with his arms. He must have tripped during the chase; dust and bits of drywall covered his left arm. His irises had disappeared, carved to mere slivers by his blown pupils. Your breath caught in your chest when you noticed the line of his cock, hard and wanting, straining against his pants.

You shrugged out of your ruined shirt while Loki stalked across the small bedroom, still dressed for battle. He swatted a discarded pillow out of the air when you used your powers to raise it, then shredded another one in an eruption of light and feathers when you tried to catch him from behind. A low purr rumbled through him, melting into the hum of his seidr as it thrummed through the air.

Sensing he would tear through every scrap of fabric you managed to throw up between yourselves, you yielded slowly, tipping your chin back, drawing his attention to your throat.

Loki’s body hit the bed with a muffled thump. He crawled up the length of you on shaky limbs, pressing a grateful, sloppy kiss to your mouth before moving down to your pulse point. Burying his face there, Loki dropped his full weight on top of you. “You really should not indulge me. I might never let you leave.”

“I’ve always been terrible at saying no to you.”

He laved at a spot on your neck. His hips pinned yours against the mattress, shifting against you aimlessly as his arousal heightened. Experimentally, you pressed your leg into him; a groan tumbled from his mouth before he closed one hand around your thigh and rutted up a little more purposefully. “Love. My little love.”

Loki pushed up to his knees and pulled on the strap holding his breastplate in place. You sat up on one elbow and pinched your bra clasp with the other hand. It had only just come undone when Loki worked his hands under the band and tugged it off of you roughly. You tsked in retaliation, then pulled his armour over his head. Just as soon as it hit the floor, Loki was crawling backwards, sliding his hands down your thighs with a heavy reverence.

Your pyjama pants joined the scattered mix of armour and plainclothes on the floor. Now that you were completely bare, Loki slunk up to admire you, leaving a wet trail of kisses over your body until he reached the thin skin over your pulse. One of his hands pushed your knees apart to draw featherlight circles across your inner thighs.

You tugged on his hair, trying to convince him to lean up and kiss you properly. Loki grumbled but did not concede; his left hand slipped from between your legs and took your wrist, jamming it against the headboard before returning to run circles around your clit. When you pulled, you found your arm immobilized; a tangle of green light pinned it in place above your head.

“Rude,” you gasped. Loki smiled against your neck, dragging his chin through a trail of his own spit.

“Evil,” he agreed.

“Can you at least- at least take your pants off?”

The air shifted; when you glanced down, you were pleased to find that Loki had magically done away with the rest of his clothing, giving you an unobstructed view of his lithe body. You hummed, satisfied, and slid your free hand down his back to palm his ass.

Loki lazily drew his middle two fingers up and down your slit, toying with you in a display of casual dominance. Occasionally he would dip into you, pressing only far enough to leave you wanting before retreating to trace an intricate pattern of knots between your thighs. Despite the hard weight of him, nestled in the cradle of your hips and burning hot with desire, he seemed determined to take his time tangling with you. You rocked your hips, seeking some sort of pressure or friction, and were met with a haughty grin against your breast instead.

You babbled. You begged. The fingers between your thighs patronized you, pressing but never breaching, circling but never stroking.

Finally, though you suspected it was due to his own neediness and not the way you were pleading, he raised his head to kiss you, sliding his tongue, hot and possessive, over yours. Between the teasing pressure at your cunt and the burning weight of his cock against your hip, a desperation paced in the space between your ribs that left you aching, left you wanting. You tugged a little more firmly at your restraint. When that didn’t budge, you worked your free hand under him to run your fingers up and down the underside of his cock.

The bedside lamp buzzed and flared. Loki nipped at your bottom lip. “I’ll take away your other hand if I have to.”

And yet, despite his warning, Loki slid his fingers inside of you, a little deeper, curling slightly, and pressed at that soft spot you needed him to touch. A smug curl of delight rose in your belly, that you could make him so docile with a touch. You closed your hand around his cock and pumped him slowly, testing your sway.

“Pet,” he pleaded. “Just let me take my time with you.”

You bit back a sigh when he sat up, blinking wide cow-eyes down at you with an expression bordering on insecurity. “Please, Loki. My love.”

He choked out a whine. His eyes shut tightly for a heartbeat, eyebrows creased deeply in the middle. Your hand slipped free from the headboard – victory – but before you could really enjoy your freedom, Loki flipped you over on all fours.

“If all it took to domesticate you was a four letter word, I would have said something sooner.” One of his hands came down in a warning tap against the side of your thigh. You gasped out a laugh, turning your cheek to catch a glimpse of him. His fingers were splayed over his eyes, partially obscured by his wild hair, and his mouth had turned up in a grin, his usual cool demeanour betrayed by a giddy kind of anticipation. You pressed back against him. “Is this the part where you fuck me?”

He tugged you upwards, manhandling you onto your knees in front of him. You felt his chest mould to your back as he shuffled closer to slot his cock between your thighs, tauntingly, sliding through slick, heated skin, his cockhead bumping against your clit with every pass when his hips met the plush of your ass. “Oh, I’m not going to fuck you, darling.”

You reached between your legs to guide him inside you, but Loki snatched your hand by the wrist and held it there, so his cock glided just along your fingertips, occasionally catching at your entrance only to pull away at the last second.

“I’m going to lay claim to you. I’m going to breed you,” he panted against the shell of your ear. Your thighs clenched tight when Loki pressed the heel of your hand against the lip of your mound, applying pressure to your aching clit. “I’m going to ply you until you are limp and then I’m going to fill you until you are dripping, understand? I’m going to mark you so thoroughly that you will never be rid of me.”

He pressed even harder, rolling your hand by the wrist. His eyelashes brushed the heated skin of your cheek as he pressed his face to yours, drinking in the closeness of your body. “And when all is said and we’re sated, I’ll make love to you. And that’s a promise.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. You whimpered, your back arching into him while he worked you higher and higher. Loki murmured praise against your skin. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

He smiled against your shoulder. “Excellent.”

One of his arms hooked under your breasts, holding you up and flush against his chest. The other tilted your hips back, so you were nearly sat in his lap.

“Can you…” Loki huffed out a laugh against your skin. In a small voice he asked, “Tell me you love me again?”

There was no universe where you could deny him that. “I love you. Loki, I love you. Loki–”

Your eyes squeezed shut as he fed you his cock, inch by delicious inch, until you were fully seated against him. He swore, then growled out another stuttering laugh. A hot breath washed over the shell of your ear as he tucked his chin against your shoulder, and an experimental roll of his hips had you jolting in his arms, your toes curling when he slid over that spongy, sensitive spot inside of you.

“God,” you gasped.

He hummed in agreement, slipping his free hand between your legs to apply a firm pressure to your clit. His head rolled against your shoulder as he started a slow, teasing pace. “Pretty thing,” he cooed.

You felt his eyebrows furrow against your back. His mouth dropped open, panting hot air across your shoulder blades. Your hands shook, fisting in the bedsheets; you felt tears well behind your eyes as sensations overwhelmed you, a bit of pleasure and a bit of pain. You choked out a moan, a gasp, his name cut short.

“Loki. Please. I can’t.”

“You can,” he said against your shoulder. The hand between your legs grew a little desperate, sliding in tight circles while the rest of him worked you at his mercy up and down his cock. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? My pretty little mate,” he continued. “You are, I know you are. You’re going to come for me, and then you’re going to take what I have to give you. You’re going to let your mate fill that little cunt of yours and you’re going to be grateful, hmm?”

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut. You were teetering on the edge of a knife, a knot in your belly drawn tight but threatening to unravel at any moment. A gasp tore from your chest when Loki changed angles, pulling you down with more force while leveraging his body weight to thrust into your harder. Your head tipped back onto his shoulder and you squealed, one hand flying behind you to anchor yourself against his hip.

“Yes,” Loki gasped. “Yes, that’s it darling.”

Relief washed over you for a heartbeat, a small coil shattered as Loki worked himself into you. You rocked back against him, writhing in his iron grip. The pressure on your clit eased away for a moment before doubling down, his middle two fingers burning molten pleasure in their wake as seidr sparked over your skin from his fingertips. Chasing relief in your body, he mouthed at your shoulder a little mindlessly. Your name tumbled from his lips, a plea, for what you weren’t sure.

Small sounds were punched out of your chest with every thrust, growing in volume as he went on and your body buzzed with overstimulation.

“Please,” you begged. One of your hands curled around his forearm, gripping him tightly, while the other fisted in one of the long-forgotten pillows. “Please. Please, Loki.”

Your legs clamped shut when your orgasm finally crested. Loki swore, tumbling, stuttering to his own edge before plummeting; he tugged you down and held you there, spilling inside you with a shaky groan.

Finally, he lifted you off his lap and slid out of you. You tried to turn over in his arms, but he tipped the two of you onto your sides and held you in an iron grip against his chest. He mumbled something foreign in your ear, intercut by the occasional sigh or a press of his mouth to your sweat-slick skin.

You tried again to turn around but Loki held you still. “Give me a minute,” he panted.

You squirmed. “But I want to kiss you.”

Loki leaned over your shoulder and kissed you, his eyes squeezed shut. Hardly satisfied, you tried to hold him in place, but your exhausted limbs were no match for him; he slunk back out of sight only a moment later.

“Loki,” you whined. His arms tightened.

“I’m not… myself right now.”

Slowly, you rolled over in his arms to face him and soothed your hands up his chest. An attractive flush coloured his pale skin, spreading from the top of his stomach to the highest points of his cheeks. You picked a flake of drywall out of his hair.

His eyes were downcast, shuttered and turned away so you couldn’t see into them. “I don’t want to frighten you,” he mumbled.

You tilted his face up; his eyes had changed, the irises gone red. They weren’t quite gemstones, or cherries, or robins or cardinals. The same red as poppies, maybe. Startling against his pale skin, framed by thick, dark lashes, but so deeply endearing, swimming with emotion as they flickered back and forth over your face.

You must have been quiet too long; Loki huffed and buried his face in his pillow.

“No, wait,” you said. “Come back. Let me look at you.”

“No. I can’t bear it.”

“Stop being dramatic. Let me look at my pretty boyfriend.”

“Your pretty boyfriend is out of commission, I’m afraid.” His voice was muffled. He patted the bed until he found the comforter, which he then pulled over his head petulantly. “He can’t seem to control himself right now. He’ll come out later.”

You wormed your hands under the blanket and pulled it back from his face. Loki sighed and peered up at you from behind his pillow, his eyes barely open to slits to glare at you. You pushed a curl off his forehead, followed by a dry kiss to his cheek. “You know your eyes change colour all the time, right?”

“But the green is handsome. Intimidating,” he grumbled. “This is…”

“Gorgeous.”

“Horrifying,” he countered.

You pouted. “That’s my mate you’re talking about.”

That seemed to break the spell he’d fallen under. You felt the gentle brush of his fingers first, then the smooth slide of his hand down your side to hook around your hip. He drew you into his chest so he could press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “Hi.”

You returned his smile. “Hi.”

“You’re really not afraid?”

You pushed a stray pillow off the bed, trying and failing to extricate one of the blankets to drape over your bodies. Loki had been right about one thing - it was freakishly cold this week, and the chill was beginning to needle your sweat-damp skin unpleasantly. “Honestly, I’m more worried about the food in your freezer going bad. You blew a fuse in there.”

“Midgardians. You have no sense of self-preservation.” Loki reached out to help tuck you in.

“Mhm… Coming from the guy whose favourite schtick is ‘pretend to grovel until you think up a better plan’.”

“That is, by definition, self-preserving.”

“Whatever. You blew a fuse. And maybe fixed the leak?”

“I also punched a hole through the wall.”

“Tony is gonna be so mad at you.” You scraped your fingernails across Loki’s scalp, drawing a deep rumble from his chest. “Ok, five more minutes and then we need to get cleaned up.”

“I think you’re mistaken, pet. We’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the week.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not risking a UTI for that.”

Loki groaned. He pulled his mouth from your neck just long enough to kiss you. “Fine. Shower?”

“Yes, but we’re just showering. I don’t want to get waterboarded like last time.”

“Of course, darling. Not in the shower.” He kissed you again, slowly this time, coaxing your lips apart with a thumb on your jaw. When he finally pulled away it was with a hiss and a sticky, wet sound. “Although I do intend to bend you over the sink so you can watch yourself fall apart first.”

“Oh?”

His red eyes found yours. They narrowed, sparkling with mirth, as he gathered you up in his arms. “Tell me again,” he purred, “how much you love me. I might just have mercy.”

You did.

He didn’t.

Not that you minded.

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki smut #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki x female reader

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auclairedetoru · 15 days ago

Note

Hi bestie!! I’m not sure if this is where I request things since I’ve never done this before😓🙏

But could you perhaps rights something about Levi?? And reader who were engaged and moved in together but ultimately ended up breaking up their engagement due to spending less time together because of work (Levi) and school( med school reader)???? But then after a few years they run into each other???

I’m jot sure if this makes sense, but If you consider thank you you’re amazing and I LOVE your writing 🥰🫶

Hi noonie~ Timeline might not make sense because I'm too lazy to create an understandable and logical one but this is fiction and in the words of Barbie, anything is possible.

Also, Levi has both parents in this fic because he's already suffered enough in his original story, he deserves a stable home life in this.

Levi prides himself on living with no regrets. No matter what happens, what he chooses to do, he considers it all part of his development and growth. Have some of the choices resulted in situations he didn't want to be in? Of course, but he still won't regret them, because he learned from them and changed.

But he does regret one thing.

See, back in his early 20s, Levi was in a relationship, which comes to a shock to many of the people he met later in life because he's always been single and not interested, but yes, he was not only dating but engaged to a beauty girl named y/n.

They started dating in college after a mutual friend set them up. Levi didn't want to date anyone at first, but then he saw her and immediately was drawn to her. She was so pretty, so kind, and so gentle, so he wasn't surprised when he learned that she was a med student hoping to become a pediatrician.

Things developed quickly between them. She moved in after 4 months and on their first anniversary, Levi proposed to her and of course she said yes. His mother was worried for them when he broke the news to her, everything happened too fast and she warned him that it might lead to problems in the future, and that's the only thing he regrets.

He should've listened to his mother.

Being older and not studying the same thing, Levi got to graduate earlier than her, and because of his qualifications he was quick to find a job that paid him well enough to live comfortably with his fiancée. The first couple of months were perfect, they were both happy and content with their lives, but slowly and without realising it, they started to drift apart, too busy focusing on work and school.

At one point, the only time they were together was in bed while sleeping. They were barely seeing each other, let alone talking. She eventually confronted him about it, but with the exhaustion and lack of communication, their conversation quickly turned into an argument, and instead of solving the problem they went to bed angry at each other. One night turned into two, two into three, three into a week, a week into a month... They weren't surprised when they finally sat down to talk again and it resulted in a break up.

They were each other's first stable relationship and couldn't imagine a life without the other so the fact they did not want to end it is understandable, but they both knew it was not healthy for them to stay together. Levi cried when she handed him her engagement ring and he refused to take it, telling her that it will always be hers no matter what. Her final wish as she was about to leave their once shared apartment was to have one last kiss, so he planted a small one on her forehead and told her that he'll find her again, if not in this life then he'll look for her in the next one.

Fast forward to now, Levi left his first job. After working there for a year, he realised they were using him to do work outside of his requirements knowing he was a newbie who's too afraid to say no, that's why he was working overtime and even at home. His current job is much better, they pay him more than the previous one and he already got a promotion. He made new friends and feels like he's in a better place in life now.

Well, except his relationship status.

He tried to go on dates, to meet new people, but he always found himself comparing them to y/n which wasn't fair at all, especially since in his eyes everything she did was nothing less than perfect. So for now, he has settled on being single, hoping he'll meet the one eventually.

He thinks about y/n a lot. She must be graduating soon. He hopes she went through with becoming a pediatrician, it's always been her dream and he couldn't think of a better person to take care of tiny and vulnerable humans than her. He wants to check on her, and he tried before, but she must've changed her phone number because an old man picked up last time he tried (and he unfortunately got an earful of cuss words that he didn't even know existed).

Levi remembers promising her the best graduation party to celebrate the successful end of years of hard work, the memory is still very vivid in his brain.

“... I'll fill the whole place with all your favourite foods. All your family and friends will be there-”

“Your parents need to be there too!”

“You want to invite them?”

“Of course! I love them more than you!”

“hey-”

He really regrets not listening to his mother when she told him not to rush things. He wonders how things would've turned out if they didn't move in together and got engaged in a matter of a year. Would they have been okay with not talking often with each other? Would they have argued the way they did? Would their relationship have lasted longer than it did?

Sigh... He misses her so much. To the point he started seeing things and they somehow remind him of her. Whether it's food, clothes, and even decor, he finds himself thinking about how she would've reacted to them.

He wishes he could see and talk to her again. He was so privileged when they were together and he didn't even realise that. Getting to look at her beautiful face everyday, hear her voice, hear her laugh, watch her do normal every day things, they all seemed so simple at the moment, but they went on to become things he's wishing to have around again.

... And somehow his wishes are heard.

“Levi ?”

He thinks he's hallucinating at first. He's missed her so much his brain has started making him hear things to cope. But then he turns around and there she is, looking as beautiful as the day he last saw her.

“Oh my god, it's been so long,” she smiles as she slowly approaches him. Levi could cry at the simple sight of her, and he's the type of person who's always in control when it comes to his emotions, but not when it comes to her, though.

“Y/n... Hi, how's it going?”

“Oh, you know, just preparing for last minute things before graduation next week.”

The sweet sound of her nonchalant laugh is like drinking a nice cold cup of water on a hot summer day. He wishes he could have a recording of it and listen to it whenever he needs to.

“Right, congratulations in advance.”

“Thank you! Here, actually,” she reaches inside her bag and pulls out an envelope of sorts, “an invitation to attend the ceremony and everything. I was supposed to give it to a friend but they unfortunately can't make it, I'd love for you to come, though.”

A small, nearly invisible smile is drawn on his lips, one that he knows only she can spot. He gently takes the envelope from her hands and that's when he sees it, her engagement ring wrapped so beautifully around her right ring finger instead of her left. The sight of it makes his heart skip several beats. Does that mean she still thinks about him? About their relationship? Does she miss him the way he misses? Does she wish things would've been different? He wants to ask her all those questions, but he feels like they're too inappropriate. After all, this is the first time they've seen each other in years.

“I'll make sure to be there for you.”

She smiles back at him, her cheeks burning at his choice of words as she looks down shyly and Levi is satisfied knowing he still has that effect on her, “bring your parents as well, you know how much I've wanted them to attend such an important day.”

Levi chuckles lightly but nods, “of course, they wouldn't miss it for the world.”

After saying goodbye (which they honestly both didn't want to do), he looks back down at the invite to her graduation on top of the forgotten bottle of shampoo he was reading, and he feels very happy when he sees that she did in fact go through with becoming a pediatrician. He'll definitely attend, and he'll bring his parents too, just as it always has been planned.

A laugh escapes his lips as he remembers the day they broke up when he promised her he'll find her again.

“Not if I find you first.”

She was right... She did find him first.

Struggled a lot with this one, had to rewrite it multiple times because for some reason it wouldn't save 😭

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alphynix · 1 year ago

Text

Crystal Palace Field Trip Part 2: Walking With Victorian Dinosaurs

[Previously: the Permian and the Triassic]

The next part of the Crystal Palace Dinosaur trail depicts the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods. Most of the featured animals here are actually marine reptiles, but a few dinosaur species do make an appearance towards the end of this section.

Although there are supposed to be three Jurassic ichthyosaur statues here, only the big Temnodontosaurus platyodon could really be seen at the time of my visit. The two smaller Ichthyosaurus communis and Leptonectes tenuirostris were almost entirely hidden by the dense plant growth on the island.

Ichthyosaurs when fully visible vs currently obscured Left side image by Nick Richards (CC BY SA 2.0)

Head, flipper, and tail details of the Temnodontosaurus. A second ichthyosaur is just barely visible in the background.

Ichthyosaurs were already known from some very complete and well-preserved fossils in the 1850s, so a lot of the anatomy here still holds up fairly well even 170 years later. They even have an attempt at a tail fin despite no impressions of such a structure having been discovered yet! Some details are still noticeably wrong compared to modern knowledge, though, such as the unusual amount of shrinkwrapping on the sclerotic rings of the eyes and the bones of the flippers.

———

Arranged around the ichthyosaur, three different Jurassic plesiosaurs are also represented – “Plesiosaurus” macrocephalus with the especially sinuous neck on the left, Plesiosaurus dolichodeirus in the middle, and Thalassiodracon hawkinsi on the right.

They're all depicted here as amphibious and rather seal-like, hauling out onto the shore in the same manner as the ichthyosaurs. While good efforts for the time, we now know these animals were actually fully aquatic, that they had a lot more soft tissue bulking out their bodies, and that their necks were much less flexible.

———

The recently-installed new pivot bridge is also visible here behind some of the marine reptiles.

———

Positioned to the left of the other marine reptiles, this partly-obscured pair of croc-like animals are teleosaurs (Teleosaurus cadomensis), a group of Jurassic semi-aquatic marine crocodylomorphs.

A better view of the two teleosaurs by MrsEllacott (CC BY-SA 4.0)

The Crystal Palace statues have the general proportions right, with long thin gharial-like snouts and fairly small limbs. But some things like the shape of the back of the head and the pattern of armored scutes are wrong, which is odd considering that those details were already well-known in the 1850s.

———

Finally we reach the first actual dinosaur, and one of the most iconic statues in the park: the Jurassic Megalosaurus!

Megalosaurus bucklandi was the very first non-avian dinosaur known to science, discovered in the 1820s almost twenty years before the term "dinosaur" was even coined.

At a time when only fragments of the full skeleton were known, and before any evidence of bipedalism had been found, the Crystal Palace rendition of Megalosaurus is a bulky quadrupedal reptile with a humped back and upright bear-like limbs. It's a surprisingly progressive interpretation for the period, giving the impression of an active mammal-like predator.

This statue suffered extensive damage to its snout in 2020, which was repaired a year later with a fiberglass "prosthesis".

———

Reaching the Cretaceous period now, we find Hylaeosaurus (and one of the upcoming Iguanodon peeking in from the side).

Hylaeosaurus armatus was the first known ankylosaur, although much like the other dinosaurs here its life appearance was very poorly understood in the early days of paleontology. Considering how weird ankylosaurs would later turn out to be, the Crystal Palace depiction is a pretty good guess, showing a large heavy iguana-like quadruped with hoof-like claws and armored spiky scaly skin.

It's positioned facing away from viewers, so its face isn't very visible – but due to the head needing to be replaced with a fiberglass replica some years ago, the original can now be seen (and touched!) up close near the start of the trail.

———

Two pterosaurs (or "pterodactyles" according to the park signs) were also supposed to be just beyond the Hylaeosaurus, but plant growth had completely blocked any view of them.

Although these two statues are supposed to represent a Cretaceous species now known as Cimoliopterus cuvieri, they were probably actually modeled based on the much better known Jurassic-aged Pterodactylus antiquus.

A second set of pterosaur sculptures once stood near the teleosaurs, also based on Pterodactylus but supposed to represent a Jurassic species now known as Dolicorhamphus bucklandii. These statues went missing in the 1930s, and were eventually replaced with new fiberglass replicas in the early 2000s… only to be destroyed by vandalism just a few years later.

(The surviving pair near the Hylaeosaurus are apparently in a bit of disrepair these days, too, with the right one currently missing most of its jaws.)

Image by Ben Sutherland (CC BY 2.0)

The Crystal Palace pterosaurs weren't especially accurate even for the time, with heads much too small, swan-like necks, and bird-like wings that don't attach the membranes to the hindlimbs. Hair-like fuzz had been observed in pterosaur fossils in the 1830s, but these depictions are covered in large overlapping diamond-shaped scales due to Richard Owen's opinion that they should be scaly because they were reptiles.

But some details still hold up – the individual with folded wings is in a quadrupedal pose quite similar to modern interpretations, and the bird-like features give an overall impression of something more active and alert than the later barely-able-to-fly sluggish reptilian pterosaur depictions that would become common by the mid-20th century.

(Much like the statues themselves, the "modern" reconstruction above is based on Pterodactylus rather than Cimoliopterus)

———

The last actual dinosaurs on this dinosaur trail are the two Cretaceous Iguanodon sculptures. At the time of my visit they weren't easy to make out behind the overgrown trees, and only the back end of the standing individual was clearly visible.

Named only a year after Megalosaurus, Iguanodon was the second dinosaur ever discovered, and early reconstructions depicted it as a giant iguana-like lizard.

The Crystal Palace statues depict large bulky animals, one in an upright mammal-like stance and another reclining with one hand raised up. (This hand is usually resting on a cycad trunk, but that element appeared to be either missing or fallen over when I was there.)

Famously a New Year's dinner party was held in the body of the standing Iguanodon during its construction, although the accounts of how many people could actually fit inside it at once are probably slightly exaggerated.

A clearer view by Jim Linwood (CC BY 2.0)

Considering that the skull of Iguanodon wasn't actually known at the time of these sculpture's creation, the head shape with a beak at the front of the jaws is actually an excellent guess. The only major issue was the nose horn, which was an understandable mistake when something as strange as a giant thumb spike had never been seen in any known animal before.

(The fossils the Crystal Palace statues are based on are actually now classified as Mantellisaurus atherfieldensis, but the "modern" reconstruction above depicts the chunkier Iguanodon bernissartensis.)

———

Image by Doyle of London (CC BY-SA 4.0)

I also wasn't able to spot the Cretaceous mosasaur on the other side of the island due to heavy foliage obscuring the view.

Depicting Mosasaurus hoffmannii, this model consists of only the front half of the animal lurking at the water's edge. It's unclear whether this partial reconstruction is due to uncertainty about the full appearance, or just a result of money and time running out during its creation.

The head is boxier than modern depictions, and the scales are too large, but the monitor-lizard like features and paddle-shaped flippers are still pretty close to our current understanding of these marine reptiles. It even apparently has the correct palatal teeth!

Next time: the final Cenozoic section!

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quack-quack-snacks · 2 months ago

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Time Will Tell - Chapter 21

My Time Will Tell Masterlist

My Cha Hyun-su Masterlist

My Navigation and Masterlist

The Time Will Tell Glossary

Warnings: Blood, crying, Hyun-su being a sweetie. He's so baby gorl. Word Count: 2,150

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As you entered the apartment you’d lived in for so long, you felt the way your whole body relaxed. You just stood there for a moment, standing a few feet in front of the door breathing in the familiar air of home and finding comfort in the way things had mostly stayed the same in your absence. The only unusual things were the half-melted candles that were placed on the floor, their wax having dripped onto the carpet and stained it. The curtains were drawn but you could see the dying light of the sun shining through the cracks.

After reminiscing and seeing Hyun-su’s concerned gaze on you, you walked in the direction of your room to start collecting everything you needed. You grabbed all the essentials: clothes; jackets; a small throw blanket that was on your bed; and some food from the secret snack drawer you had in your dresser. You stuffed all of it in the biggest pocket of the biggest bag in your closet, deciding to leave your work bag in your room since it wasn’t all that big. After that, you traveled to the bathroom you shared with your siblings, grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste along with each of your siblings ones, some washcloths, and then finally, all of the tampons and pads that you had under the sink. Closing the door and replacing the toilet paper you had used as a substitute for one of the hygiene items, you were thankful you were a bit of a hoarder when it came to personal hygiene products. You knew they would only last you so long, though.

This would’ve been a great time for you to have bought period underwear or a Diva cup.

Finally, you went into your siblings’ shared room and grabbed as many clothes as you could, folding them tightly to fit them inside your bag. Distantly, you could hear Hyun-su rummaging through your pantry, trying to find anything food-related he could bring down to the group. You weren’t sure how much he would find since you hadn’t gone grocery shopping recently but whatever he could find was helpful.

When you were done, you walked out of the room and down the hallway but stopped abruptly at the final door of the house.

Your dad’s.

Your eyes lingered on it, fingers caressing the little markings of your and your siblings’ growth over the years on the frame. You decided to just go in and see the room for the last time. It was the only way you could get closure. The only way you could say goodbye.

You could hear Hyun-su calling out your name as you entered the room, but you couldn’t find it in you to respond. Everything in there was just as it always was. A little messy and cluttered on the desk and an overfilled laundry hamper in the corner of the room. His bed was also messy, looking like he let the kids sleep in the room with him since they were probably scared. The framed photos on the bedside table showed old and new pictures of your family. There was one of Su-yeong, Yeong-su, and you on your first day of school from last year. Everyone was smiling brightly, mostly because you were tickling them when they complained about going to school. On the nightstand, there was also a velvet box. You picked it up gently and caressed the fabric layer covering it. You knew it held your father’s favorite necklace from your mother’s collection along with her wedding ring immediately since it was something you had talked about with him often. The necklace was broken, unfortunately, and your dad was too scared to give it to a jewelry repairer. So it stayed in that box with the ring for years. He kept it well shined and you often found him holding the box in his hands while staring off into space.

Your mother wanted them to be yours when she passed, but you couldn’t stand the thought of taking it away from your dad. The ring didn’t fit you anyways.

But now he’s gone.

Hyun-su called your name again, this time closer and you realized he was standing in the doorway, looking at you with a first-aid kit in his hands. You turned around to face him with the box in your hand. You hadn’t realized you were starting to hyperventilate and tears were falling down your face until the concern on his face tripled.

You scrubbed your hand over your eyes and cheeks to rid yourself of the liquid sadness but it just kept falling like a rainstorm; and no matter how many times you sang the song, the rain would not go away. Letting out continuous shaky breaths that you couldn’t control, you tried to assure him you were fine but you couldn’t speak. Each time you tried to form a word with your mouth, a whimper of hopelessness and grief came out instead.

Hyun-su took a hesitant step forward, and then another one. He kept moving forward until he reached you and led you towards the bed. While he wasn’t very good at comforting people - especially in times of grief - he knew a thing or two about taking care of wounds. Courtesy of Kim Do-hun in high school, he guessed.

He brought your still wounded and surprisingly still bleeding hand into his lap. He was a little surprised you hadn’t noticed the blood dripping from your fingers, but the shock of grief can do stranger things than distraction. You stared unseeingly at the wall in front of you with the tears still falling. Your breathing had at least slowed down, and you briefly wondered if that had anything to do with Hyun-su’s naturally comforting presence beside you. You knew other people would disagree with that statement, but you couldn’t help the feeling of calm and safety that surrounded you whenever you saw him. With a shock, you realized exactly what it was.

He felt like home.

You barely registered the feeling of the small tweezers plucking the small shards of glass that remained in your hand or the sting of the alcohol wipe as it gently wiped itself along your skin. The bruise on your hand was already starting to form and you knew it would hurt for a while. You only looked away from the wall and over to where he was treating your hands when you felt something fabricky wrap around the back of your palm. It was a gauze roll he was using, and he was carefully wrapping it in between each finger and across your whole hand. The way he was so deathly gentle with you made you feel even more emotional. It was the kind of touch you hadn’t felt since your mom died and it somehow made the affection you felt for the boy increase tenfold.

The first sob fell from your lips as Hyun-su finished bandaging your hand and he slowly looked up at you. Your eyes were still focused on where your hand laid in his lap, him holding it so cautiously. It started slowly, but soon enough you were full-on sobbing, trying to keep as quiet as you could but failing. He dropped your hand and your disappointment at the lack of touch only lasted so long when his hesitant arms wrapped around you, one around your shoulder and the other chastely grabbing your waist. Your head fell against his chest, your face pressing into the crook of his neck, and your fallen tears collected on his hoodie.

“Why did it have to be him? Why him of all people?” You sobbed out quietly. Your injured hand stayed in his lap, limp, while the other reached up to grip his hoodie in your fingers.

The boy holding you didn’t say anything, he just held you tightly, rocking gently as you cried. It took a short while, but a few minutes after you stopped crying, he whispered, “Let’s go downstairs, yeah?”

You nodded, pulling away from him despite the ache doing so caused your soul. Standing up, you placed a kiss on the velvet box in goodbye before setting it down on the bed.

“You don’t want to take it?” Hyun-su asked. You looked at him as he stared at the box and shook your head.

“It’s my father’s favorite necklace of my mom’s along with her wedding ring, but the necklace is broken and the ring doesn’t fit me. Bringing them would be pointless,” you said sadly before walking off.

You leaned against the wall beside his spear as you waited for Hyun-su to follow you out of the room. Your backpack was secured tightly around you and you were thankful you got a backpack that had a buckle around the torso. Your uninjured hand held your newfound axe tightly while the other one fell to your side. It was pretty useless while it was wrapped up so you didn’t bother trying to do anything with it.

Hyun-su walked out of the room after a minute and you saw the first-aid kit in his hand. “I still have room in my bag, let me take it,” you told him. He hesitated, looking at your bag and seeing how heavy it was but eventually gave in and handed you the medium-sized box.

He walked over to the door with his spear after you zipped your bag back up and followed closely behind. You waited for him to make the call on his phone that would warn him if any monsters were nearby, inwardly cursing yourself for breaking your phone at the beginning of all this.

When he deemed the area clear, he opened the door and you followed him out. He hesitated for a moment, looking between you and the ground for a minute before deciding what he was about to do. He reached a hand out and delicately grabbed the wrist of your injured hand, making sure not to grab any of the parts that were cut. You looked at it in a bit of shock before snapping out of it and glancing up at him with a burning face. You were satisfied to find he was doing no better, his cheeks reddening from the act.

With a soft tug, he pulled you towards the staircase and opened it, leading you down in a comfortable silence while his thumb rubbed small circles into your wrist.

You could hear the buzzer even from the outside when he pressed it as you reached the bottom and arrived at the door. Unfortunately for you, Eun-hyuk was the one who answered it. Hyun-su dropped your wrist immediately at the sight of him and you tried not to feel hurt as the warmth of his hand went cold.

“What were you thinking?” The bespectacled boy asked. You sighed, opening your mouth but he shot you a pointed glare that shut you up. His gaze returned to Hyun-su and he asked the question again. “What were you thinking? How did you think bringing her up there was a good idea? She could have been killed! Do you kno-” he cut himself off when his eyes landed on your bandaged wrist and his glare hardened even more than it already was. “She got hurt? Ho-”

You cut him off aggressively. “It wasn’t his fault. None of this was! I went up there by myself after he had already entered the staircase. I was the one who snuck behind your back. I was the one who punched my hand into a glass container. It was stupid, I know. You don’t need to tell me that.”

You pushed past him, grabbing Hyun-su’s wrist with your injured hand, ignoring the pain that shot through your whole arm at the movement, and pulling him with you. You only took a few steps when Eun-hyuk wrapped a hand around Hyun-su’s shoulder and pulled him back, pulling you back as well. “I can’t let you take him wherever you please,” he reminded you much too calmly for the rage that was building inside you.

“And why’s that?” You snapped.

“He’s dangerous. He needs to go in the arcade room.”

“That is such utter bullshit and you know it. He’s proven he’s not dangerous! Why do you insist on isolating him?”

Hyun-su whispered your name and your glare shot over from Eun-hyuk to him, softening instantly at the sight of him. His face showed reassurance and a plea for you to calm down. “Just let me go with him.”

You moved your gaze back and forth between the two boys before sighing and slowly releasing your grip on the sleeve of the boy’s sweater that you were dragging. Eun-hyuk tried not to scoff as he led Hyun-su away, leaving you to watch as he once again got locked away when he was providing everything this apartment needed and wanted.

#Time Will Tell 💌 quack-quack-snacks #sweet home #cha hyunsu #cha hyun su #cha hyun su x reader #cha hyunsoo #cha hyunsu x reader #cha hyunsoo x reader #cha hyun soo #sweet home x reader

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mrs-stans · 1 month ago

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GQ Hype

How Sebastian Stan became Donald Trump in The Apprentice

With an uncanny performance as a young Donald Trump in The Apprentice and an even less recognisable turn in A Different Man, the shapeshifting actor is embracing his freaky side

By Ben Allen Photography by Daniel Jack Lyons

Coat by Loewe. Boots by Dolce & Gabbana.Necklace by Cartier.Daniel Jack Lyons

When Sebastian Stan was growing up in Romania in the 1980s, he began to learn English through passive immersion. His mother, a concert pianist, would regularly play English music and language lessons on the family record player while they were going about their day. “I’d be playing with toys and I’d hear, like, ‘frog’ and ‘dog’, or whatever,” Stan says. It meant that by the time the actor moved to Vienna at age eight, where he attended an American international school – and later, when he moved to New York at 12 – he had a decent jumping-off point. “I’m a big believer in putting yourself in a situation where, subconsciously, there’s work being done.”

In the past two years, Stan has put that method to use in a very different way. As he entered preproduction to play Donald Trump in Ali Abbasi’s The Apprentice – which charts the former President and current Republican candidate’s early rise through the New York property scene – he started spending his waking hours with tapes of the young Trump playing in his ears. He brushed his teeth with Trump, he went grocery shopping with Trump, he spoke to friends with one earphone in, Trump still nattering away in his ear. “I slept with him, by the way,” Stan says, well aware of how strange that sounds. “It just sort of ends up taking over your life.” He’s sitting somewhere in Los Angeles at lunchtime, speaking to me over Zoom, with the afternoon sun reflecting off his chlorine-blue eyes.

Jacket and shirt by Gabriela Hearst. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Ring by Cartier.

The Apprentice, which Stan first signed up for in 2022, explores the question, ‘How did Trump get like this?’ (The answer, it posits, has a lot to do with Roy Cohn, a lawyer and prosecutor who had risen to prominence in the 1950s as Senator Joseph McCarthy’s attack dog in the communist witch-hunts.) The film is the latest in a string of freaky, transformation-heavy roles that have run parallel alongside Stan’s very mainstream 13-year-and-counting stint as Captain America’s pal Bucky Barnes in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, which has made him a globally recognised action star. The Apprentice lands this month in the UK, two weeks after A Different Man, an A24 production in which Stan plays an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis, a genetic condition that has caused the growth of non-cancerous tumours on his face. They’re not your typical actor-in-between-superhero-outings roles – and the fact that Stan is spending so much time in the make-up chair outside of the blockbusters is indicative of a desire to get truly lost in his work.

I started to think a lot about the American dream. What is it? Is it a ghost you keep chasing?

Preparing to play Trump, he says, was like any other time he has portrayed a real-life person – take, say, Tonya Harding’s ex-husband, Jeff Gillooly, in I, Tonya, or Tommy Lee in Pam & Tommy. But this time around it came with an added layer of stress. “There’d be nights when my anxiety levels would be through the roof, because I’d be like, Why did I say yes to this?” he says with a laugh.

But Stan thrives when he leans into fear. He had been terrified of I, Tonya, and even more terrified of Pam & Tommy – which, in its exploration of the couple’s romance and sex tape, involved a scene where Lee converses with a silicone puppet of his penis. (The latter earned him Golden Globe and Emmy nominations.) Trump was a different beast. “I thought, I don’t know if this is doable. I don’t know if I have it in me,” he says. “But it’s not not gonna happen because I’m scared of it.”

Coat, shirt and tie by Ludovic de Saint Sernin. Trousers by Gabriela Hearst. Boots and gloves by Versace. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Daniel Jack Lyons

Jacket and shirt by Gabriela Hearst. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Daniel Jack Lyons

When his mother told him he was going to be leaving Vienna for the United States at 12 years old, Stan felt like the floor had fallen from beneath him. “It was like you were telling me that my life was over,” he says. His mother was a single parent and had met an American man and fallen in love; he wanted to bring them both to live with him in New York. Stan remembers crying in the shower in the days leading up to the move. After departing Romania a few years before, he had worked hard to forge new friendships. Now, he’d have to rebuild from the bottom up again. “That did feed me resilience, because it did allow me to get better at restarting and restarting,” he says. “It fed a lot of who I am.”

Upon arriving in America, he started working on his impersonation of an American teenager. “I was so traumatised by being different,” he says. He refused to speak Romanian, even at home. He didn’t tell anyone he was from a foreign country. “I wanted to change my name to Christopher,” he says. “I wanted to be as normal in America as anybody else.” Having already set the ball rolling with his passive English lessons as a child, he was able to adopt a seamless New York accent, leaving little to betray his otherness. He tried out every personality marker available to him at school, to figure out which one fitted: debate team, forensics, every sport he could muster, and drama, eventually gravitating towards the latter. “I became popular in high school through acting,” he says. “I went on dates. I found my path.”

Still, this otherness was a part of Stan, as much as he initially tried to suppress it. As he came to appreciate life in America – in a middle-class household, with a good education – he began to reappraise his background, and felt a sense of gratitude to his stepfather for bringing them over, and for the drive it seeded within him. “This idea that you’ve been so lucky to have been selected to get this opportunity,” he says. “I was able to seize it and work with it, but on the other hand it’s a never-ending burden because you go, ‘You better not blow it!’” He remembers taking a walk through the city on their arrival, gawping up at the skyscrapers, when his mother impressed upon him that very sentiment: “You see these buildings? This is where you have a chance to become something.” He thought about this conversation quite a lot while he was playing Trump, probably because it feels like a scene ripped right out of a more varnished biography of the former President. “I started to think a lot about the American dream, and sort of like, what is it?” he says. “Is it a ghost you keep chasing?”

That was a way of me understanding that you're just out there, like target practice.

When Stan was doing theatre in high school, he loved getting a chance to transform and become a different person entirely. “You’re 14, 15, and you’re playing parts where you have to be, like, 35 years older than you are, and you have to change your appearance, you have to change everything, and you have to walk a certain way,” he says. “That shit was fun.” He would find himself craving those meatier transformations later, after landing a run of roles in Hollywood playing traditionally hot villains and heroes in Gossip Girl and in the Captain America movies. “Watching Christian Bale do The Fighter and watching him do Batman and Vice and The Machinist… He was a guy that, to me, could have made very conventional choices because he’s very good at any of it. But then he’s trying these things.”

Opportunities like this aren’t necessarily afforded to nascent actors. In a weird way, you kind of have to wait for your face to become recognisable before you’re allowed to start messing with it. The first real taste Stan got of this was in 2017 – after he had been solidly established as a Marvel hero – in the Margot Robbie-led, Oscar-winning I, Tonya, which told the story of the assault on figure skater Nancy Kerrigan, orchestrated by her Olympic rival Tonya Harding’s camp. For Harding’s ex-husband – who sets the assault in motion – they were looking for someone very different to Stan. The real Gillooly is slight and short, with narrow features. Stan felt his teen-drama looks would work against him in the audition process. “I’m like, ‘I’m gonna walk into that room and they’re gonna see the taller guy, The CW [the young-people-melodrama US TV network that first aired Gossip Girl] guy.’ I felt like I was going to be immediately judged.”

Coat and pyjamas by Dolce & Gabbana. Daniel Jack Lyons

I, Tonya director Craig Gillespie saw in Stan a capacity to become Gillooly. “I was familiar with Captain America: Civil War and his work there, and I couldn’t quite picture it [at first],” Gillespie tells me. “But he actually turned up [to the audition] in the turtleneck and the moustache, almost in character. And the transformation, and his instincts tonally and comedically… He was actually improvising things in the scene that worked incredibly well.”

Gillespie was impressed not just by how Stan had remoulded himself in the shape of someone else, but by his ability to tap into the character’s humanity, too. “It has to be emotionally resonant,” he says. “You have to be able to connect to the characters… He completely commits, which is an incredibly scary proposition for an actor.” Still, Stan was filled with anxiety heading into I, Tonya. “The amount of fear I had was almost traumatising,” he says. But then he did it. “I worked so hard for that movie, and it worked.”

A DIFFERENT MAN takes things up another notch. The film was written and directed by Aaron Schimberg, a rising indie director whose work has explored how disability has impacted his life (Schimberg was born with a cleft lip and palate). In it, a prosthetics-heavy Stan plays Edward, an actor whose biggest break to date is a small role in a corporate training video about how to treat employees with facial differences in the workplace. Edward’s spirit has been crushed by the world around him, weathered by the relentless gawping of strangers and rejection. Then, he takes part in a clinical trial for a new drug that could remove the tumours from his face. It works. Edward fakes his death and adopts a new identity, looking just like regular old Sebastian Stan. But when Edward’s kind neighbour – played by The Worst Person in the World’s Renate Reinsve – stages a play about him, he finds himself in competition with Oswald (played by Adam Pearson, a British actor with neurofibromatosis) for the part. It is, to put it mildly, a confronting drama, excavating both society’s unwillingness to treat people with disabilities fairly and the fallacy of our terminal dissatisfaction with our looks.

Coat by McQueen. Shirt by Louis Vuitton. Trousers by Louis Vuitton. Tie by Dolce & Gabbana. Boots by Versace. Daniel Jack Lyons

Though the film treads across the noir and comic horror genres, and at points tips into the absurd, it feels most like a parable. “It’s another version of the American dream, right?” Stan says. “Don’t wish for the things you want; you don’t know what’s going to happen.”

During the shoot, Stan often had long stretches between having his facial prosthetics applied and his call time (the film’s make-up designer, Michael Marino, was simultaneously working on The Marvelous Mrs Maisel, and would sometimes have to squeeze Stan into make-up in the early hours before running to that job). So Stan would walk around New York, including parts of his own neighbourhood, wearing hyperrealistic prosthetics, getting just a little taste of what his life would be like if he had been dealt a different hand. At one point, he went to his local coffee shop, where a barista he has known for years was working the counter. “She was so busy handling stuff, and suddenly she turned and she didn’t expect to see me,” he says, “and I could see the shock going immediately into overcompensation.” Pearson told him that those are the reactions that he is most often confronted with as a person with a disability: shock verging on repulsion, and guilty, over-the-top kindness.

Schimberg helped Stan to draw a neat line between Edward’s life and his own experience of fame. The one thing they had in common is how they’re observed in public spaces. “He said, ‘You have to think about what it’s like to be recognised. And the sense that you’re fair game out there.’ That I could understand,” Stan says. “I’ll go to lunch with my mom and somebody will be filming me the entire time, pretending they’re not. Or I’ll see somebody look at me strangely and then they’ll whisper to their friends. Or I’ve had someone come and tap me and run away. The invasiveness of that… And I can’t do anything but just receive it.”

Stan is quick to clarify that his experience as a famous person is not really comparable, that it comes with all sorts of upsides. But this point of similarity helped him to fully embody the character. “That was a way of me understanding this thing – that you’re just out there, like target practice.”

Coat and pyjamas by Dolce & Gabbana. Daniel Jack Lyons

Production on The Apprentice was hazardously stop-start. Several times over, Stan began his Trump immersion routine – which also involved pounding Coca-Colas and peanut butter and jam sandwiches, among other things, to put on some very un-superhero bulk – only to find out that production had been suspended. At one point, the project came so close to overlapping with his next Marvel outing, next May’s Thunderbolts, that he had to start shredding instead – only for Thunderbolts to be postponed because of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes. Straight back to the PB&Js. All that work wasted. “I’m fuckin’ 41; I just worked pretty hard to get in shape here!” he says.

Stan’s Trump is admirably nuanced, particularly for a person who has been so widely imitated – on SNL, on late-night talk shows, every second of every day by comedians trying to make a name for themselves on TikTok – as to be reduced to a caricature in the public consciousness. Initially, it feels quite removed, but then you spot the shape his mouth curves into while enunciating words like “deal” and “loser”, a subtle pursing of the lips when he’s being spoken to, a hand gesture. As the movie progresses, the man with whom we’re all exhaustingly familiar comes closer and closer to the fore.

Suit and boots by Versace. Vest top by Schiesser. Hat by Gladys Tamez. Watch by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

The challenge, in Stan’s eyes, was to tread the very fine line between interpretation and imitation. “It’s a balance between having the familiarity without it becoming sort of a schtick,” he says. “There is a small window of time where you are going through the impersonation phase, because you’ve got to get through that in order to come out the other end,” he says. “There is a mechanical, technical piece to it, and that comes from actually studying a person.” According to Stan’s mother, he spent much of his childhood relentlessly impersonating people he came in to contact with. “I’ve always been good at watching people,” he says.

I'm going to commit the fuck out of it and surrender myself to the story.

Once he got comfortable enough, he would take the show on the road – trying versions of the character out in restaurants to see if anyone would pick up on it. “Because there’s a thing getting born,” he says, “and you want to test it out in the world, but you don’t want to overdo it too quickly – then it gets frozen.” No one seemed to notice in the moment, which was at least some indication that he hadn’t tipped over into parody, but some friends who have seen the movie realised retrospectively: “They’ve come up to me after and said, ‘Now I see this fuckin’ weird thing you were doing!’”

When we meet Trump in The Apprentice, he is a footsoldier in his father’s company and significantly less self-assured, though he’s got the trademark wispy hair and the ill-fitting suits. The wheels begin to turn when he meets Cohn – portrayed here in typically committed fashion by Succession’s Jeremy Strong, with whom Stan only had the chance to interact in character on set – who begins to sculpt Trump in his own image, laying out his rules for success, which will be very familiar to anyone who has paid attention to Trump’s political career: 1) attack, attack, attack; 2) admit nothing and deny everything; and 3) always claim victory and never admit defeat.

Coat, trousers and shoes by McQueen. Vest top by Ami. Sunglasses by Jacques Marie Mages. Pin by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

Stan seems reticent to get into the politics of The Apprentice, which depicts Trump as, among other things, a rapist, in a scene referencing allegations made in a deposition by his first wife Ivana during their divorce proceedings. (Trump has previously denied the rape allegation; Ivana later issued a statement clarifying that she had felt violated, but was not raped in a “literal or criminal sense”.) But the movie speaks for itself. And Trump’s camp is already speaking back: after the film premiered at Cannes in May, the presidential campaign’s chief spokesperson Steven Cheung called the movie “garbage”, “pure fiction” and “election interference by Hollywood elites”, while also threatening a lawsuit. In a press conference at the film festival, Abbasi suggested that an ideal release date would be in mid-September, to align with the second presidential debate (but the film, as it happens, is now due out on 11 October in the USA, and 18 October in the UK). It wouldn’t take Alan Turing to decipher the message being transmitted. But I try and press for a direct answer: does Stan feel an added sense of responsibility playing Trump in an election year? “You can’t not think about it,” he says. “But I had tremendous trust in Ali Abbasi and his vision for the movie. And it is an important story – I think the movie makes a great attempt at exploring: how did we get here? But I approached it with the same responsibility as I approached anything I ever got involved with, which is, I’m going to give this my all. I’m going to research the fuck out of it; I’m going to commit the fuck out of it and surrender myself to the story.”

Does he have any concerns about backlash from Trump or from MAGA supporters? “I mean, is there anything out there now that doesn’t get backlash? You can’t worry about what people think,” Stan says. “But I’m fully aware that I’m doing things that are not going to be for everybody.”

He’s not far off the mark. Even Marvel, the world’s highest-grossing movie franchise of all time, has faced quite a bit of criticism in recent years – in part for the way in which they’ve handled the transition to a new set of heroes and storylines since 2019’s Avengers: Endgame. Stan doesn’t have any time for it. “I’ve never been part of a company that puts so much heart and thought into anything,” he says. “I think if Marvel was gone, it’d be such a big hole to try and fill up. Don’t just go out there and shit on something without offering something better.”

Coat by Loewe. Boots by Dolce & Gabbana. Necklace by Cartier. Daniel Jack Lyons

He’s certainly not done with the MCU yet. Thunderbolts, which he’ll headline alongside Florence Pugh, will arrive in May next year. And he’s already looking beyond that, to a potential reunion with Robert Downey Jr, who has been announced to return in the next Avengers movie – not as Iron Man, but as the villain Doctor Doom. “I hope I’m in a scene with him,” Stan says. “Is there any other guy that could pull that off? I don’t know, probably not. After Tropic Thunder, is there anything that guy can’t do?” he says, laughing. It is perhaps the movie that I least expect Stan – or anyone, to be honest – to reference in 2024, but I should know better. Downey Jr is a transformation master, too. Game recognises game.

Trump doesn’t exist in the Marvel universe – or at least not yet – but if you spot a hint of him in Thunderbolts, you’ll know why. “I went off to Marvel after [The Apprentice],” Stan says. “And we were doing scenes, and I would do something, a thing or two, and be like, ‘Fuck! This is still living somewhere.’”

Styled by Sean Knight Hair by Erica Adams Grooming by Kc Fee using iS Clinical at Redefine Representation Set Design by Daniel Horowitz Production by May Kielany

#Sebastian Stan #The Apprentice #A Different Man #Thunderbolts*#Interview #Photoshoot #GQ British #GQ Hype #GQ #mrs-stans

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amuseoffyre · 1 year ago

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Since insomnia is kicking my arse of late, I naturally tilted into the thoughts about the nature of the 3-act structure and why S2 of OFMD may have felt off and incomplete to a lot of people.

I am fully in agreement that we lost a lot of valuable time with only 8 episodes and a lot of it did feel rushed, but for the amount of story and set-up and growth and development they needed to fit into 4 hours of television, they did astonishing things.

DJenks has said from the very start that this is a story that has been planned out to take 3 seasons. It's literally a 3-act play and we are currently right in the middle of the worst part of that timeline according to every traditional 3-act structure.

Act one/season one is self-explanatory. Like New Hope in the Star Wars Trilogy or Fellowship of the Ring, this is the set-up. We're introduced to our protagonists and antagonists, the relationships are given a foundation.

The beginning is Stede's journey to becoming a real boy. The inciting incident, the one that actually pushes his change beyond "playing pirates" is meeting Ed. The second thoughts come together in episode 8/9 after his confrontations with Jack and Chauncey and episode 10 is the climax.

Act 2/season 2 is never going to be as smooth and simple as act 1/s1. A big part of the A2/S2 job is set up for A3/S3 and this is what we're seeing and why a lot of story threads seem to have been left dangling.

Again, to call back to Empire Strikes Back and The Two Towers, the structure is much the same: the original batch of people are divided and scattered, the big enemy from A1/S1 is looming, new allies make themselves known. In SW, this meant the introduction of Lando and Yoda as allies plus the hint of the Emperor lurking in the background. In LotR, we have the Rohirrim, Gondor and the Ents as allies and the expansion of Sauron's forces in Helm's Deep, Osgiliath and the winged wraiths.

There's a clear trajectory following the A2/S2 structure:

obstacle 1 - the crews separated and struggling

obstacle 2 - the end of episode 2 and the repercussions of his actions

twist - just when things start to settle, the Ned Low situation happen and Stede kills for the first time

obstacle 3 - Ed's struggle with his identity leading to him leaving

disaster - Ricky's assault on the Republic

crisis - do-or-die battle because they have no other choice

climax - the last 15 minutes of ep. 8 live here.

As with SW and LotR, there's an ending, but weighted with the knowledge of a story that is meant to continue. Each of those act 2 films end with the heroes still aware of the looming threat, some of them heading out on new missions, and some of them resting and healing. There's brief pause, brief respite, a moment to take a breath.

We have all the characters in place now and the battle-lines have been drawn. Luke still needs to confront Vader (I see you, impending Ed and Hornigold confrontation), Frodo still needs to destroy the ring, Aragorn still needs to lead the army against the Black Gate, the second Death Star is still hanging in the sky.

I'm so excited to see what S3 brings because we have so many arcs ready to go: Zheng's vengeance trip, the inevitable enforced out-of-retirement arc for Ed and Stede, Hornigold, Ricky trying to maintain his tenuous control of the republic given how many of his people were killed when the crew escaped, the pirate rebellion gathering forces.

Also how often do we get shows/films where the supporting cast are given this much storyline? We have a named/speaking-role cast of upwards of 15 central characters. That is a staggering amount of people to work with, when most shows would only focus on the leads and a couple of their friends. Six is the average for most TV shows, while comedies can inch higher because ensembles, but most ensembles don't get as much as our crew did.

I know a lot of people aren't happy about Izzy's death. I know I would have liked to see him a lot more, because he's such a grumpy old bitch and I love him and him affectionately roasting Ed and Stede would have made my entire month. But I'm also aware that narratively, as a figurehead of the old ways of piracy and "we were Blackbeard", it was a symbolic death as well - a sign of the death of the old ways of piracy and of Blackbeard as was.

(Also, they Obi-Wanned him. I'm not over that. Gave him the "if you strike me down I will become more powerful" speech. I'm just... guys, your star wars nerdery is showing XD)

So while it was flawed in places and pacing, given the scale of the story they're telling, the number of pieces and characters they had in play, and the arcs they have been setting up while also still keeping the humour, I am giving a standing ovation for a remarkable piece of work.

#ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd meta

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xxsycamore · 2 years ago

Note

Hello, can i ask for sex pollen with Clavis?😳

Maybe you can 😳 My requests aren't open though... it would be very bad if I get inspired and write this on a whim!!

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

↬ 🌹 Clavis gives you a bouquet of some really special flowers.

Clavis Lelouch x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Sex Pollen; Aphrodisiacs; Flowers; Oral Sex; Cunnilingus; thigh kink; Vaginal Sex; Multiple Orgasms; Creampie• wordcount: 2,325 • masterlist

"I already told you. Those are Rosa Lelouchiae. An extraordinary flower for an extraordinary woman."

Made-up etymology aside, you're surprised to see actual results born from Clavis' claims that he's making a new flower in his name especially for you. You're not sure what the process entails, but he did tell you he recently laid his hands on a special fertilizer that is supposed to enhance petal growth, color...even scent. From there on, he just tweaked the formula a little bit.

True, the bouquet looks like nothing you've seen before - resembling the roses you're familiar with, but only somewhat - and bright purple in color. You're far from excluding the idea that he might've gotten those from his many connections abroad, but for the sake of not disappointing him, you're going to will yourself to believe in your lover's skills.

"They're lovely. Thank you so much, darling!"

Clavis grins at the nickname, his teeth showing for a brief second before his smile grows wider and sweeter. "I hope the scent is to your liking."

Prompted to take another whiff, you flare your nostrils to let the scent engulf your senses... oh, that's better than some perfumes you've caught around here. And that speaks a lot when you're in the circles of nobility.

It's almost like it soothes your brain, the way smelling a hot cup of tea at the end of a tough day would work away the tension built in your temples until your brows are not unconsciously furrowed anymore... or like a harmonious melody that makes you stop in your tracks and listen because it pulls you off your thoughts.

"-of the pigmentation. Are you with me, dear?"

"Oh? Uh-huh, I was just... Those smell really well, Clavis! Here, hold them for me, please? I'll be right back."

You only hear his trademark laughter as you hurriedly cross the room to look for a vase, quickly picking yourself up after that strange spacing out you experienced. Maybe you're just tired.

When you return, Clavis is holding the bouquet close to his nose, his smile hidden behind the colorful paper they're wrapped in - and without the chance to judge it, you're unable to read his gaze that is holding yours. But it's strangely intense.

Before you can react, the vase slips from your hold and falls to the floor, shattering in a hundred pieces. With the sound still ringing in your ears, you panicky bend to pick them up, but a gloved hand coves yours before it can touch the sharp pieces.

"Watch out, you could hurt yourself. Are you alright, dear? Do you need to lie down? Your face seems red."

Does it now? It certainly feels like it, now that he mentioned. Your hands are remarkably colder when you touch your cheeks, and you approach the bed to take a seat. Somehow, even getting there troubles you, but it's not like you're out of breath. Your heart suddenly pumps up blood faster, but you get enough air, because your mouth has fallen open unintentionally to draw it in. It's when a quiet groan leaves it that you realize - and clutch your jaw shut.

"Lay down, easy now. Tell me what you're feeling."

Clavis' tone is concerned and you'd hate to make him worry, but it's also great that you have a lover who is knowledgeable in this department. You're sure it's a momentary thing, with pain being the last thing you're currently feeling.

"I'm just a little hot. Maybe after laying down for a while I'll feel better! Do you want to keep me company?"

It's a little sad, how this could've been the perfect little date, with your plans for today and all that. Though, you're positive it will still end in spending time with Clavis, one way or another. A little time made for lying down and then you could go about other activities. Or maybe he could lie down next to you.

Or maybe he could cuddle you, or something. You were dying to kiss him earlier when he gave you these pretty flowers. Why didn't you pull him in a kiss?

When was the last time you and Clavis had sex, actually? Why does it have to be a date outside the palace? Would it be that bad if he just got you naked and-

Where did those thoughts come from?!

"Here, let me."

You shriek and nearly jab at his hand when he starts unbuttoning the top buttons of your blouse. He looks at you with those wide amber eyes, utterly puzzled.

"You said you were hot, dear?"

Oh.

"Yes, that's better, thank you... wait, Clavis, are you okay?"

With the way he got on top of you for the sake of helping you out, his face is now close enough to make out the evident...blush that was spreading on it. Coupled with half-lidded eyes. It reminds you awfully lot about his state in the morning when he stays up late the previous night.

"Me? Well, I too feel a little hot, to be frank. Must be because of you, haha!"

Now that was such a bad lie, and he knows it. The fingers carding through his ashy purple locks ruin his perfectly combed hairstyle and make him look more of a mess. A hot mess.

"Mm?"

Did you say that out loud? The strange boldness taking shape within you tells you it's no big deal. On the next rising of your chest - that feels awfully restricted by the way, so you reach to undo one more button - your lungs fill with more of the strong scent of those mysterious flowers, and thus you're reminded of their existence. They were abandoned at the little decorative table by the window... you should probably attend to them soon. But you're rather distracted, especially now that Clavis shifts to a more comfortable position on top of you.

"I don't know about being a mess yet, my love, but I do agree that I'm hot - so, if you'd let me, I'll take a layer or two off."

"Two."

You giggle the second his expression turns surprised again, bringing the knuckle of your forefinger between your teeth in mischief. The man above you flashes a smirk and nods, as if you've dictated something wise and reasonable - and follows it.

"No fair, darling. Now you're more dressed than me."

You have no idea when Clavis took off his gloves too but you're playfully trying to prevent him from unbuttoning your blouse all the way, and you note that his hands are the same temperature as yours, as the fire from your face has spread all across your skin. You have to admit, the more naked you get, the better it feels, and you wiggle and try to get him to take it all off you.

He makes clothes disappear like a magician as you turn around in bed and raise your rear to make the process even faster when he gets to your underwear, taking a note about how good it feels where the cool bedsheets rub against your naked skin. The sensitive nubs at the top of your breasts are stimulated and perked up by the friction and you want more of it. But you know the man above you can give you much more than that and you don't even have to ask.

"Clavis, there you go burring your face between my thighs again! You wanted that as soon as you set foot inside my room, is that not right?"

With wet kisses pressed against the delicate skin of your inner left tight, Clavis has to halt the loving assault on the right one to answer you, starting with a troubled sigh but finishing it off with a hint of laughter. "You know me so well, how could I not think those filthy things when I have a lady like you by my side? Or maybe..."

His lust-hazed gaze clears up for a second as his mouth shuts, almost as if realizing something.

"So that's what that potion does. Hahaha. I should've known."

The way his eyes return from the random destination they landed on somewhere in the distance, to you, with that naughty glint in them sparkling stronger than before, you feel your core clench. Is that a normal reaction, again?

"What potion?"

"For my fertilizer. If my understanding is correct, the flowers I gave you have produced pollen that is... a bit more special. Bluntly said, it could have the effects of an aphrodisiac."

Aphrodisiac. Now that's... almost hard to believe, but also very believable at the same time, given the circumstances. You turn on your back again, not bothering to close your thighs. One look down between Clavis' legs confirms your suspicions. His brain is working surprisingly sharply for someone with a hard-on and under the influence of that pollen, you should give him credits for it.

"What do we do now? I feel like I'd go crazy if I don't..."

"Go on, finish that sentence for me."

You watch as Clavis' head dips down between your legs again after he'd risen up prior. His nose nudges lightly against your weeping core, and you shudder when he takes in a breath. Is he getting drunk on the scent of you, or that of those devious flowers?

"I'd go...ah... crazy if you...d-don't... make love to me soon!"

"Gladly."

Diving in tongue-first between the glistening folds of your core is not the type of making love you're craving for, but Clavis is fully capable of working you with his tongue until you can't really tell the difference. His hot muscle penetrates where you want him most and easily makes you sing in wanton moans, each time getting you closer and closer to uttering his full name. The effects of the pollen make the pleasure overflow, sending you straight to the brink of culmination before Clavis can even get his full of bullying the bundle of nerves at the apex of your folds. Or maybe he did? In the haze of it, time warps strangely, making you wonder how much time in total you and Clavis are going to spend tangled in each other's limbs until the last drop of desire is wrung out of your hot flesh.

"You're giving me so much of your delectable nectar... if I didn't crave so greatly to be connected with you, I could eat you out all day, my dear."

His words are gilded with grace, yet the way he palms over his straining cock is nothing short of illicit, giving him away. He did admit to craving it badly, though, but you want to see more - so with hands crawling to the underside of your raised hips, you present yourself better for his eyes.

"I want you inside, Clavis..."

You swear you saw his cock jump inside its confines - not even caring that your eyes wandered to bad places and you ended up missing the change in his gaze. The parted fringe hides it sexily as he looks down, busying himself with removing the rest of his clothing. You simply lie down and wait for him with open arms.

His skin feels so good on top of yours. You want to feel it all on you, intertwining fingers with him before he can even guide his cock in - luckily he doesn't need the aid, your impatiently trashing hips at fault for the accidental perfect aligning.

The first thrust is simply euphoric.

Clavis' cock feels fuller than ever, scraping deliciously against your hypersensitive walls and sparkling unseen pleasure across every millimeter of your insides with how well it fills you. You're used to him taking his sweet time building the pace, teasing you, watching you writhing, feeling oh so generous when he finally speeds up and sees you throw your head back. Now that he's no good, lust dulling the satisfaction of those little games and instead having him crave the pure, unrestrained pleasure of friction, he simply gives it to you. His trusts are erratic, deep, he listens to your growing moans and makes sure to hit the spots that made you sing louder.

His moans are oh so beautiful. His voice is beautiful on itself, but while colored in desire, it's even more beautiful - to you, that's it. It surprises you when he lets out a particularly heavy groan, and his following ministrations confirm your suspicions.

Clavis pulls out in attempt to cut off the unbridledly flowing pleasure that has unseeably worked him to orgasm, but he can't help it. Ropes of semen land on your lower belly, sticky and hot, and you pant hard as you watch the scene. He gives his cock a firm squeeze from base to tip, giving you everything he has... and is it a lot. With wide, lust-blown pupils, you suck on your breath as you see just how much cum he disposed on your burning skin, the emptiness of your core calling as you helplessly clench around nothing.

Clavis rubs the tip of his cock on the mess he made, a mere tease while he is catching his breath. Your eyes meet, and he is chuckling a little. The clash of your lips is inevitable and makes your head spin, and once again proves to be an aphrodisiac more potent than anything else that could attempt to hack the chemicals in your brain.

You feel something hard and slick entering you, your insides sucking it in with no resistance before you can realize that Clavis is, in fact, diamond-hard again, and attempting to fuck his cum inside you - and probably on his way to disposing more of it in your depths, after another heated round.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his torso, you chuckle and place a kiss on the side of his nape, wishing to fall deeper in this endless pit of lust, together with him.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @aceuuuuu @tele86 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri clavis #ikemen prince clavis #clavis lelouch #ikemen clavis #ikemen prince fanfic #ikemen prince smut #ikemen series #ikeseries #cybird #otome #late spring tryst ccc

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violetsaffron5 · 1 year ago

Text

In Another Life (2)

Chapter 1 • series masterlist • chapter 3

2 | Curse User

Pairing: Gojo x f!Reader and Geto x f!Reader

paying a visit to an old friend

Words: 3.8k

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

It’s been a few weeks since you read the content of the letter received by your “future self” - still not entirely sure what to think of it.

There are a myriad of curse techniques you’re unfamiliar with, so it’s really not out of the realm of possibility for a technique such as that to exist.

Satoru’s noticed a change in your demeanor, though you’ve tried really hard not to let the letter affect you, it has in some ways. It was rare for you to let your thoughts slip back to Suguru and what you had but nowadays it’s all you can think about.

The first time you laid eyes on Suguru with his shoulder-length glossy ebony hair shining in the sunlight of the practice field at school; the way his eyes, dark as onyx, formed little crescent moons when he saw you staring at him, giving a large smile and waving from across the field.

Your dreams have been taking you back to a reality that’s been long gone - the way the salt water of the beach would smell when you walked the paths during the morning hours. The way the early rays of the sun would glow on his smooth skin when he told you he loved you for the first time, and every time thereafter. The warmth his body emitted when he would sneak into your dorm room and hold you at night until he had to leave, so nobody would notice.

It’s not fair to Satoru, the way your heart is still hurting after reading the letter and you can’t help but think there’s at least some truth to it. As much as you would never admit it out loud, you do still love Suguru, even after all this time - it’s evident with the way your heart is breaking to be by his side once again.

And it’s not fair to Satoru, the way you also love him. Greeting him when he comes home after a long day of work and missions, smelling the familiar cologne on his neck as he sheds his uniform and holds you close before your lips meet and he’s whisking you off to shower with him. Satoru holds you close at night now, because he can. Because he’s been here for you and by your side when you needed someone the most.

Since Suguru left.

Along with the many things the letter got right about your feelings, there are several things it got wrong.

Satoru isn’t just beginning to show interest in you. Clearly, that had happened some time ago since you now lay on his bed with a giant rock on your ring finger, a ring that you’re currently twisting due to the anxiety of thinking about this letter yet again.

But it’s hard to deny that there is so much it got right too. Your feelings, the guilt that stunted the growth of your relationship at first with Satoru. Getting caught by Haibara when sneaking out with Suguru - something not even Satoru knows about.

Haibara would have never told a soul after you asked him not to, so two possibilities lay before you.

Someone else saw you and wrote this letter for their own sick amusement, or it’s absolutely real.

And the only way to really get to the bottom of this is to ask someone who has immense knowledge of various techniques, who holds those techniques, and where to find them: Kiyotaka Ijichi.

Rolling out of your shared bed you let out a deep sigh before showering and getting ready, throwing on a loose, low-cut blouse, jeans that Satoru always says makes your ass look amazing, and a pair of heels to accentuate the length of your legs because you have a plan.

Jujutsu Tech campus has always been a second home to you.

It’s literally where you grew up during your teenage years, having to stay on campus with your own little dorm room during the four years you spent here.

It was both freeing and terrifying when you graduated, moved off campus, and got a place of your own but every time you step foot back on the grounds, there’s always a sense of relief.

Back where you should be, next to your fellow sorcerers and friends.

It’s a beautiful day, bright blue skies - no matter how bright, blue, and clear the day is, the sky is never as beautiful as the eyes belonging to your fiancé.

You try to remind yourself of that as you make your way down the hall of one of the more traditional-style buildings where all of the offices are stationed, including your own.

You can hear Satoru in his office, surprisingly, talking with someone so as you walk by, you poke your head in and give him a wide smile.

“Oh, hey baby,” he says smoothly in front of Nanami, a grin spreading across his face at the sight of you, “you look great in those jeans.”

Satoru’s in his uniform as usual with his black blindfold covering his eyes. You blush slightly, thoughts coming to mind of all the ways he had just used that silky piece of fabric on you last night.

Nanami looks smart, as always, with his deep blue shirt and khaki pants held up by a dark brown belt.

You hum, walking into his office and making your way to the side of his desk he’s sitting on before wrapping your arms around his shoulder and kissing his cheek. You smile up at Nanami who gives a curt nod and tight smile before exiting the room.

“Whatcha working on?” You ask curiously, looking over the blank report on his laptop screen.

Satoru gives a heavy sigh before answering, “Just finishing some stuff up for one of my missions. I fucking hate doing this paperwork.”

The whining about having to do his own reports is something you’ve grown used to over the years, he never wants to do them, thinks they’re pointless if nobody got hurt, and if there was no damage in the vicinity.

“You okay, babe?” He asks when you don’t respond to him, grabbing your hips so you’re sitting in his lap. “Thought you had the day off?”

Resting your head in the crook of his neck you take a deep breath, debating on letting him see the letter, but ultimately decide not to because you don’t want to hurt him with what's written when you don’t even know if it’s true yet.

“Yeah. Just worried I missed something in the report I turned in yesterday so I wanted to double-check it.”

A simple, yet believable lie. It wouldn’t be the first time you had come in to check on something like that, always more astute to do your reports than Satoru’s ever has been.

Satoru smirks before catching your lips with his, giving a deep kiss, and moving you to straddle his lap. You gasp when he rocks you against his growing length, taking the opportunity to entwine his tongue with yours when your hands make their way to his hair, tangling your fingers between his silky tresses.

Pulling away, he playfully bites your lip, “And don’t worry, I already mailed out the engagement party invitations.”

A soft smile spreads across your lips as you look down, watching the way Satoru’s chest rises and falls with each breath with you on his lap.

Through all the worry, and thoughts that have plagued your mind, you’ve also spent a lot of time planning an engagement party that will take place in two weeks - a large enough party to host his clan, your friends, and co-workers, as well as the students.

Satoru grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He searches your eyes from behind his blindfold. You know he’s wanting to know why you don’t look more excited, but he doesn’t press.

He’s confident you’ll come to him if you need to tell him anything or have any worries.

You wish you were as confident as him.

“Thank you. I don’t want to waste my day here when I’m supposed to be off so I’ll see you at home for dinner?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You smile, pressing your lips against his, needier than last time before pulling away.

Once you make your way out of his office, you close the door so he can concentrate on working on his report with minimal distractions, and also so he doesn’t see you beeline to Ijichi’s office door, knocking quietly before opening it and poking your head in.

He sits behind his desk, laptop in front of him as he looks up. His hair is neatly parted in the center, with curved black eyebrows and sunken cheeks that give him a resting bored expression at all times.

Ijichi says your name slowly, curiosity and a little fear evident in his voice, never knowing what Gojo’s fiancé will need from him, “w-what can I do for you?”

As much as you love Satoru, and how excited you were to say yes to marry him, it’s almost as if most people have forgotten you’re your own person still.

You’re still a teacher, a sorcerer, a damn good one too - but now that you’re betrothed to the strongest, that’s all most people see now.

It’s annoying and infuriating.

As if everything you’ve worked towards on your own, to get where you are in your career on your own means nothing anymore. Now, you’re expected to marry, become the matriarch of one of the three clans and pop out heir and maybe a few spares.

“I need some information on a cursed technique I’m not familiar with,” you state, stepping inside his office and closing the door behind you. “I’m not sure of the name, but it would have to do with being able to send things, objects, back in time.”

Ijichi squints, eyes tracking your movements as you take a seat at the chair on the opposite side of his desk, staring daggers into him, waiting for him to tell you what he knows.

“What’s the reason for this inquiry?”

“Why?”

He sighs, a deep, heavy, already clearly frustrated with you sigh, “I’m supposed to log every inquiry on cursed techniques along with the reason as to why it’s being asked. A new procedure from the higher-ups.”

“Of course it is,” you grumble to yourself before leaning over his desk, absentmindedly drawing little circles on the smooth surface. “Look, Ijichi, I can’t tell you that. I’m working on… my own mission of sorts but need to gather as much information as possible.”

You watch as Ijichi’s Adam's apple bobs, cheeks flushing and eyes flicking down to your chest before meeting your gaze once again, “then I can’t assist. I’m sorry miss -”

“Ijichi, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to hold your head underwater for an hour.”

He stares at you for a solid minute, blinking a few times, likely debating on the best move, the best course of action to take with you, and your line of question.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance before turning around and grabbing a book, flipping a few pages before setting it flush against his desk.

“The technique you speak of is rare but possible.”

You purse your lips and nod your head, mind running a thousand miles a second, thinking of a million questions to ask as your heart begins to race in your chest. The reality of the letter becomes more and more plausible by the second.

“Is it… accurate? The timing of the technique, I mean.”

“Unless the person is well trained, the timing with sending things back is incredibly inaccurate as it takes a great deal of cursed energy to pinpoint an exact location in time.”

Ijichi is reading from the notes in his book on the technique while you wonder what happened to the poor soul who dared to send this letter.

Did your supposed future self realize his inaccuracy? Would she even know? If she did and found out, what would she have done to him in retaliation?

Shaking your head, you remove the thoughts from your mind. There’s no point in dwelling on what that dynamic was and what potentially happened. You weren’t there for it - but maybe you will be one day, should you choose to stay with Satoru. Would you find yourself looking for someone with this technique in ten, fifteen, or even twenty years?

“Do we know of anyone with this ability?” You ask suddenly. Might as well be prepared for any potential possibility.

“We have a suspected curse user in our peripheral but there’s not a lot of information on him right now.”

Annoyance is evident on your face as he answers and you sit up from his desk, crossing your arms and leaning back in the chair. You put on your best icy stare, one you’ve seen Satoru dawn several times when he meets with the Kyoto principal or the higher-ups.

“Where’s Suguru hiding out nowadays?”

Ijichi’s eyes go wide at the seemingly sudden subject change. You continue to stare, not faltering. Spending so much time with Satoru has really paid off in this sense, learning tactics to scare Ijichi into doing what you need and want.

You’re nowhere near as intimidating as Satoru, so it takes Ijichi several minutes but eventually he tells you where you can find Suguru - in an old temple just outside of Tokyo that he recently took over for his nefarious deeds.

“I advise not going to see him.” Ijichi states slowly, hesitantly, “he’s not the same as he used to be. You know this already.”

“And I advise you to keep this conversation to yourself. You know what Satoru will do to the both of us, should he ever find out.”

It takes you a few hours to work up the nerve to actually make your way to the location Ijichi provided.

Since you don’t have the wonderful ability to warp around like your dear fiancé, you choose to take his car, hoping with it outside, within the vicinity, those who recognize it won’t dare to mess with you, thinking he’s nearby.

He has several vehicles, including one he gifted you when you started dating, but you opt for the one Suguru is familiar with - a sleek black sports car he’s had since high school. The car Satoru would take out when he asked Suguru to go out with him and be his wingman.

It’s been years since you’ve seen Suguru, and your palms are sweaty with the realization that you’re willingly going into his temple, his domain so to speak, empty-handed and without anyone having the slightest idea as to where you are, with the exception of fucking Ijichi.

Despite everything that Suguru has done over the years, what he did when he defected, he’s not the one you’re worried about. You know he would never hurt a hair on your head - but the others, the company he keeps now?

You don’t know them, don’t know the things they're capable of, or if they’ll keep their mouths shut about seeing you. The last thing you really need in your life is the higher-ups, and god forbid Satoru, finding out you’ve come here today.

Pulling up to the temple, it’s grand and gorgeous.

A dome covering the top with beautiful ivory columns supporting it from the base. It’s a Buddhist temple and you wonder just how on earth he managed to get his hands on this place and make it his new base of operation. There’s a stone staircase in the front that you make your way towards, climbing each of the steps slowly until you’re met with large double doors.

Outside of the temple, it’s deserted with no sign of life and you wonder if maybe Ijichi gave you the wrong address; that when you open the doors, you’re going to be met with Satoru’s unshielded glare, his cold, crystalline eyes judging and waiting for a reasonable explanation of what the fuck you think you’re doing.

Instead, the doors creak when you open them and a tall busty woman in a purple dress with light pink hair makes her way down the hall. It looks like she has a tablet in hand, heels clicking on the marble with each step toward your location.

“Excuse me,” she says, chewing on a piece of gum, “do you have an appointment?”

“Um, no? I’m an old… friend. Here to see Suguru.”

She raises an eyebrow at your casual use of his name, checking something on her tablet before looking at you up and down, making it incredibly obvious that she’s not impressed with your choice of clothing.

“Geto doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.”

“Trust me, he’ll want to see me.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but you know it’s just going to be more bullshit about how you’re not allowed to see Suguru without scheduling something.

So, taking another page from Satoru’s book, you push past her, quickly making your way down the hall, her heels clicking and clacking after you until you hear a commotion coming from one of the nearby rooms.

The sight you walk into makes your stomach curl in on itself, a wave of nausea making itself present in the depths of your belly.

Suguru sits at the front of the room, sprawled out sporting a gold-colored Kaseya over black yukata robes with white socks on his feet.

In front of him are rows and rows of sorcerers bowing down, worshiping and praying to him as if he’s some sort of benevolent god who was sent from the heavens to take away their pain and make all of their dreams a reality.

And you’re sure that’s what Suguru think’s he’s doing as well.

When Suguru sees you come through the door, confusion written on your face, he smiles. It’s that simple smile you used to always love, all pearly white teeth, soft as he stares at you from across the room.

It’s all so incredibly fake.

Yet when directed towards you, there’s also a certain sincerity held within his gaze and smile. It makes your heart flutter.

“I’m sorry Geto but she-”

“That’s quite alright, Manami.” He says to the pink-haired woman as she finally catches up to you, panting from running down the hall in her heels, “You’re all dismissed.”

Turning, you give the woman a triumphant smirk as she sneers, looking you up and down once again before turning her nose up and walking out of the room with a “hmph.”

“Please excuse her,” Suguru says as he stands to his full height at the front of the room, “she can be a little dramatic.”

“I noticed.”

You also noticed how Suguru’s hair has gotten longer over the years, now well past his shoulders, reaching down to his collarbone and the top of his chest. He has it pulled back into a half bun, several tendrils left out in the front framing his face.

His face has also aged; eyes crinkling in the corner when he smiles in a way they never had before. Jaw sharp and more defined. No longer the face of a young boy who’s lost his way but that of a hardened man, a criminal.

“It’s been a long time. What, three years?”

Your jaw is clenched, watching as he glides across the room with ease snubbing the flame to several candles you had no idea were lit due to being purely focused on your ex-lover.

“Yeah, three years.” You answer quietly.

Satoru doesn’t know, but about a year after Suguru defected he came to see you. He just wanted to talk, and give his rendition of events - he thought it would help give you closure at the time, and it did, or so you thought.

Obviously, you disagree with his decisions, the way he sees the world, and what he wants the future to hold, but there was a part of you that couldn’t bear to part ways with Suguru once again.

So you kept seeing each other in secret, purely platonic.

When you and Satoru began seeing each other, your visits to Suguru became less and less, trying to tear yourself away from the grasp he held on your body and soul and move forward with your life. When you told Suguru you had agreed to date Satoru, that’s when your secret time together ended.

You swallow thickly, remembering the anger Suguru held towards you and Satoru for getting together “behind his back,” so you quietly slip the ring off your finger and pocket it before he turns back around.

“So, what brings you back to me, my love?”

There’s a pang in your chest from the pet name, and two opposing feelings blossom deep within your chest.

One; fear that’s telling you to run away and leave because you know it’s wrong to be here without Satoru’s knowledge and the other a deep yearning for Suguru to continue to call you his and tell you that even after everything, he treasures you above all else.

“I just… wanted to see you. See if you’re still alive.”

“Now, I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

You take a deep breath, biting your lip and avoiding his intense gaze, “I also wanted to see if you knew anything about a curse user who could transport things through time- I just- I thought if anyone knew someone with that technique and had them in their sights, it would be you.”

“That is an interesting technique,” he muses, cocking his head before narrowing his sharp eyes, “why?”

“Personal reasons.” You find yourself standing straighter. Trying to emulate as much of Satoru’s confidence as you can possibly muster in Suguru’s intoxicating presence.

He smells woodsy with a hint of vanilla and everything that’s right in the world even though he himself is so wrong in so many aspects. But even now, you can’t help but feel the draw you have to him, can’t help that you’re subconsciously leaning ever so slightly in his direction.

“No. I don’t know anyone with abilities like that. Is that the only reason you came here today?”

You clear your throat, willing yourself to not take a step forward like your body is begging you to, “Yes.”

Suguru smirks, always knowing when you’re lying even when you don’t know you’re lying to yourself yet.

“Mm. And how are things with my best friend?” He’s watching you, smile on his face but you know there’s still anger residing deep in his soul from what he considers an act of betrayal on your part.

“Things are fine. Good- great, actually.” Suguru raises an eyebrow as you stumble through your sentence awkwardly, but he doesn’t press for more information. Doesn’t particularly care to.

Suguru hums, “truthfully, I had hoped Satoru would have cheated on you by now. If that had happened, I’m positive you would have come crawling back to me, never one for being able to be alone.”

You scoff and turn away, not bothering to try and make any more conversation, you’ve seen and heard enough in the few minutes. The feeling in your stomach turning more and more sour by the second.

As you walk away, turning your back on your once lover you can without a doubt say your future belongs with Satoru.

@s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui @saiewithakatana @yihona-san06 @shartnart1 @lilith412426 @ambersea7 @ikilledsparky2 @creolequeen11210 @ichigojamjam @simpfully-heartbroken @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @shan-nein @witchbybirth

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frankiesmileshow · 1 year ago

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Crystal Project Review

Ive been having a lot of fun with Crystal Project, a well made FF5-inspired RPG. The combat is very tightly designed and the exploration aspect is top notch. The art style put me off a bit at first, but I think it grew on me over time.

The game does a great job of slowly uncovering its breadth and letting you break its sequence through curious exploring. Lots of fun to search every part of its gigantic map for secrets. This is a game that loves hiding secrets within secrets within secrets. You might even occasionally stumble into a late game area, and exploring carefully could lead to finding items meant for the end of the game, giving your party a significant early game boost.

Exploring will often lead to surprise optional boss battles that are completely out of your league - but dying has few consequences in the game (you just lose a bit of money) and dying from bosses has no consequences at all, so you rarely feel truly punished for having explored too far, and its always worth it to have a peek at a boss battle.

Don't expect too much of a story. There is one, but it keeps a very light touch, this is mainly a game about exploring and fighting monsters. It does have characters and some personality, but dont expect something dense story wise.

It manages to avoid feeling like an open world game - it feels more like a linear game that just lets you break out of the confines of its intended path if you explore enough. It strikes a very good balance between having direction and having freedom. The world map just keeps expanding as you play, leading to many little shocks about the games' scope, a feeling you might be familiar with if you played Elden Ring.

The games combat uses a very well balanced, strategic system. Battles give you a lot of information to let you choose your actions carefully - you can see any enemies' next action in advance, and you even know who the enemy will attack next (notice the dotted lines in the screenshot above). Manipulating the enemies' current target is actually one of the fundamentals of the game- enemies choose their next target based on a "Threat" system which is entirely open to you as you fight, and many classes have abilities to help you manipulate this. Some class abilities also depend on the current threat state of a character - for instance, the rogues' many powerful skills only work if they are considered an enemy's bottom threat, and will otherwise always miss, which requires careful actions on your part.

The class system will be familiar if you played Final Fantasy 5 - you obtain new classes by exploring the world and finding large crystals, each unlocking a new one. The classes set a characters' stat growth on level-up, equippable items, main abilities and all have a unique "Innate passive" which are usually quite powerful (for instance, the base Cleric class receives a significant boost to all healing spells).

You can also add the abilities of a secondary class to your characters' moveset- like adding a clerics' healing spells to your Samurai. There is a lot of fun to be had mixing one class's abilities with anothers' passive boost - for instance, one class has an ability which makes the first action this character makes in a battle always target All enemies or All allies, allowing you to either massively boost your whole party or nuke the enemy party with a powerful spell usually meant for a single foe.

There are also passive abilities you can unlock from any class and assign regardless of a characters' current class, limited by a point cost system. These can range from a boost to max HP, to adding a poison effect to any weapon attacks, to allowing your character to equip a shield regardless of their class.

You can get very creative with the games' class system, there are countless ways to mix and match character abilities and classes to figure out some powerful strategy. The endgame has several challenges that might require you to make custom party setups just for them, turning the combat system into something resembling a kind of puzzle - though one with many possible solutions.

Boss battles have a way of feeling like a desperate struggle of improvising as your strategy falls apart - then winning by the skin of your teeth. This happens a lot. At least half of the boss battles for me ended with most of my party dead, and being one or two turns away from a full wipe-out.

I think the only real misstep is the games' analogue to chocobo breeding, introduced at the very end of the game. It feels tedious, I gave up on it after an hour of wasting my money on food for the creatures and not getting anywhere. Luckily it seems to be completely optional.

All in all I recommend it to anyone who likes FF5 and who likes RPGs that have a focus on exploring. Visually it might look a bit basic, but underneath that is an extremely robust game.

#game development #rpg #indie rpg #crystal project #final fantasy #final fantasy v #game review #video games

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deepdeanvsweston · 2 months ago

Note

Sorry if this is an unwelcome ask, but would you tell us about ur new OC? (no pressure!!)

NOT an unwelcome ask!!! I love this ask!!! My previous post was literally just me shamelessly fishing for someone to ask me about her :)

I've thoughts lots about her!!! She's currently called Theodora Dupont, though liable to change because I am unsure about her surname and I can't decide between Theodora and Isadora (so uhhh. please weigh in team on what we like best)

I always thought it to have been hilarious for Beanie to have had a gf and just having a completely chill time while everyone else had a menty b about their sexuality. Daisy's on her third summer lez breakdown meanwhile Beanie's out here skinny dipping with her gorgeous French gf without a care in the world

She's been in my head for a while, and was originally called Elderflower. She lives in a manorhouse in Nice, France. Their families are old friends because their fathers know each other through their button business (I think that the Martineaus are in the button business? Anyway they are now). When Beanie was 4, they went to visit the Duponts' factory in France to trade, and set up a partnership. Beanie ofc was put with Theodora for the duration of the trip, with a nanny to look after them. They pretty much became best friends immediately.

Theodora was delighted to have a female friend because she has 3 older brothers, and so always felt slightly left out - especially being homeschooled. Beanie was just glad to have a friend at all.

Very slightly inspired by Irene in the Malory Towers series, and so is very scatterbrained and always forgetting where she put anything. When it's windy, her mother will say to her 'look! There goes your mind'. Often speaks to her mother, and has even rung Beanie up occasionally, to tell them she's going put something down and will ring to ask where she put it when she needs it for later. Her forgetfulness makes her upset sometimes because she can forget that she said she'd do a favour, or someone's birthday.

Theodora's generally pleasant, though can be very cynical about things she doesn't like, though at root of her cynicism she's simply fearful to try new things and get out her comfort zone. Exceptionally judgy about Kitty when Beanie talks about her (though it's very likely it's just jealousy 👀). Contradictorily, can be very idealistic and when she wants to do something (ie. convince Beanie to go swimming with her in the ocean at midnight) she will take an 'it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission' approach. Her idealism makes her very happy go lucky and optimistic as her plans do go right (most of the time).

Theodora used to be taller than Beanie (only by about an inch thought) but since Beanie's growth spurt, she's shorter. She has dark skin, and curly hair that reaches about a quarter of a way down her arms; Theodora doesn't like her hair in her face but enjoys having it down so will often be in a half up half down hairstyle.

Desperately desperately desperately wants to be a ballet dancer and dreams of being a prima ballerina, though her parents are trying to push her towards something they deem more realistic. Her governess has noticed she loves animals and is trying to get her to foster an interest in that. She'll grow up to be a vet and does like her job, though confesses to Beanie she still dreams of sparkly tutus and pirouettes and floating on air.

This turned out SO long,,, genuinely had no idea all this was stacked up in my mind about her. If you want to know anything else, please ask!!!

#murder most unladylike #mmu #mmu oc #beanie martineau

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brunhielda · 5 months ago

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I am currently watching through The Lord of the Rings again (as you do).

I love these movies. I will show them to my children (or nieces/nephews) and grand children and great grand children. There are quotes from these films that see me through dark days.

(Reason I can accept the flawed Hobbit films is that they too have quotes that stick around)

That said, as I watch with my parents and thier even older friend, I am listening to them react to Boromir the same way I did the first time I watched it. Knowing what I do now about the back ground of canonical Boromir, it hurts a little bit.

If you are a fan who has read the books, or even is involved with the online fandom- you know. Boromir is a good man- the best of men. He is supposed to be a shining example of the best of us, and his fall to the Ring is meant to show that it could happen to ANYONE. It is meant to be a message to us all that you are not your worst moment, or your worst fault.

And yet because of all the foreshadowing and arguing over choices to make during the quest, we the audience of the movie see him as someone just one step away from betraying everyone. His attempt to take the Ring is not a surprise, or even a tragedy, but a confirmation. The surprise is his redemption in death.

I think there is a version of “The Fellowship of the Rings” that I would have liked to see.

Indulge me:

Part of the problem is that Aragorn is falling into the spot Boromir could be filling. He’s just too epic to allow any other man next to him to look impressive. 🤴🏼

This not only does a disservice to Boromir, but to Aragorn himself, who could be having a much richer personal growth.

So, imagine this.

Strider leans more into his “Ranger in the Corner” persona. He is quiet, terse, filthy, mysterious, and comes across more like your traditional rogue than anything approaching Kingly.

Legolas is the only one to call him Aragorn, he does it exactly once when defending him to Boromir, and never again. Legolas himself is a little different- a few more sarcastic quips, more friendly and forward, the sunshine to Strider’s gloom. When they get to Lothlorian, the elves there acknowledge “Strider the Ranger” as someone known to them, but Legolas of the Woodland Realm does the negotiating. The vibe is “ah, yes… that human Elrond adopted. I suppose we should bid him welcome…” 🫤 (Obvious exception of Galadriel. She knows all. It just makes her seem more out there).

There are a couple less references to his lineage, and every time they do, the feeling from the audience should be- “Really? THAT guy?”

Arwen is clearly in a rebellious stage and looking for a bad boy. Him telling her to go very much has that angsty teen feel of “you could do better” and “I am poison to you.”

Elrond is clearly trying to get through to him, but do we think it is going to take? He remains quiet and moody. Was he the first to volunteer to go? Yes. But it was less a declaration and more of an ernest whisper meant for Frodo. Legolas’s immediate follow up is less “I am inspired” and more “My pet introvert will not survive without me, but I am so proud of you for asserting yourself.” 😂

Meanwhile- we have Boromir. Now, I love me some Sean Bean, but I need him at his most joyful. Most jovial. Give him a big old beard. Pad him out with thicker armor to give him a broader chest.

Boromir is supportive. Boromir is playful. Boromir is everyone’s big bro, ESPECIALLY the younger hobbits. I basically want every scene he has with Merry and Pippin expanded to everyone.

I want the sword drop to feel less like a stranger being disrespectful, and more like a himbo being clumsy.

I want him to talk about the path to Mordor of all the concern of the older sibling who has seen and been, and his dismissal of Aragorn to feel justified. “Yeah… sure, put that guy on the throne. Uh huh. I think we dodged an arrow there.” And I want the end of it to be a bit of a laugh and a clap on the back, and “no offense meant, Strider Ol’ chap, but you don’t seem the type!”

I want every disagreement with Gandalf or Gimli about which way to take to feel like him advocating for everyone’s safety.

I want him to slide into the role that Aragorn currently has, protecting everyone, especially Frodo, and to have Strider fall back into a quieter rear guard position, only to really speak up to sharply tell someone “don’t disturb the water” “Hide!” “get them up.”

Strider will speak on historical landmarks or lands we are entering, which always makes Legolas smile in support. “See, he knows cool things. I am telling you, you wanna be friends with my guy.”

Instead of Strider or Gandalf sending Gimli or Legolas chastising looks, we see Boromir, the peace keeper, laughing at both of them. “Come now master dwarf, the Elf will love trees as much as you love Rock, it is to be expected! I myself would be weary of being out in the open so often, and also loathe to spend as much time under ground as your kin, yet I have been known to be grateful for either tree or rock in a rough spot or two (chuckle) As I’m sure you would find the open forest or the dwellings of men far too open for your liking, but would not begrudge shelter in either when when the rain sets in. To each their own way, as my brother would say! You would like him (directed at Legolas) he speaks your poetry much better than I in any rate! (Aside to Gimli) I am more for the drinking songs myself. Speaking of, have you heard the hobbits tell you about their little place? Master Pippin- tell us, how do Hobbits live?” He just keeps cutting off rudeness with rambles about something his brother said or how the hobbits or men are like both of them, and really, do these fights between dwarves and elves matter when they have Sauron to face? Come! We are brothers in arms! There are moments they bask in it, and moments they are bonded by the annoyance of it. Either way he wins.

(In Lothlorien, they are bonded in grief, in appreciation of Galadriel, and in the strangeness of Boromir being too caught up in his own musings to try to fix them)

I want Galadriel’s speech to both Strider and Boromir to feel like a deepening of characters we are already starting to like, not confirmation of things we suspect. I want her to tell Frodo- “You know of who I speak” and have the audience to go “What?! WHO??? Who is this crazy woman talking about? Oh, she has those seer powers- what does she know?!”

I want every reference to Boromir starting to fall to the Ring to be less obvious foreshadowing, and more a sympathetic look behind the jovial curtain.

“What ails you Boromir?” “Oh- never mind me. My mind has gone back to my brother. I was meant to lead the armies you know.” Strained smile. “Now it falls on him. It is a heavy burden, but he is equal to the task. Probably better at it than me!” Laugh. “It will be well. When I see him again I will have to congratulate him on defending our people so well. And he will chastise me for being away so long to leave him to pick up the slack!”

Far away look. Any of the company gives him a questioning look. “We are not far from the borders of Gondor- she is just over that mountain.” Strained smile. “Forgive me, I have not before been so long from home. I did not realize I would yearn for it so. Perhaps that is why I keep trying to turn us that way- feet always point home, do they not?” (This would be poinant with Sam, Legolas, Gimli, or Strider)

At any of these moments, he glances at the ring. A glance. That is it.

If there are obvious moments of temptation, I want one for every single member of the Fellowship (the movie is long enough, there is room). Gimli admires its make, for all that it is wrought with evil. Dwarves know a thing or two about jewelry, you know. Very good craftsmen. Legolas speaks of the rings of the elves, How they never passed to his line- he isn’t surprised. Surprising bitter moment of saying his Father is one of the weakest of Elves. Gandalf interrupts his musing by talking about his ring. (Could be a moment of bonding with Gimli too) Strider tells Frodo he should preserve his strength- can he not put the Ring in a pocket or pass it to another hobbit? (He does not ask to take it, but music implies the question). Merry and Pippin keep talking about “I know it’s evil, but you have to admit, it has a nice shine to it, doesn’t it?” It is playful and flippant, but there none the less. Boromir might ONCE mention it’s use as a weapon, speaking of what Sauron was able to do with it “They say it was the Ring that allowed him to grow in size and strength- he could kill 8 warriors with one blow!” Only to back track when Strider or Gandalf give him a chastising look. “Forgive me,” he says with a laugh, “I am at heart a warrior, and see everything as a possible tactical advantage. Of course it would only do damage should anyone try to use it.” Gandalf turns away, mollified, Boromir whispers conspiratorially to Merry and Pippin “But imagine! Eight feet tall!” (Chuckles all around- foreshadowing to the two growing to be the tallest hobbits) The whole thing should be told around the fire at night like a good story- again, even in his weakness, we see him as an excellent big bro figure.

The point is, I want to get to Galadriel saying someone will take the Ring and the audience is suspicious of EVERYONE.

Then we arrive at the moment. We all have our suspicions. Strider has gone off to find Frodo. There are implications of everyone being out looking. We saw exactly one glance of Boromir’s shield. Out of everyone? The money is on the creepy mysterious Ranger who might have a heart under there but only seems to snap at people.

Then Boromir tries to take the Ring.

From this point on, EVERYTHING Is EXACTLY the AS THE ORIGINAL.

The context is wildly different.

The shock of Boromir taking the Ring has the gasp effect of Hans’ betrayal in Frozen.

Strider turning down the Ring has us all feeling guilty and weepy, because he’s just quiet and concerned damn it! He has always meant well!

Boromir suddenly realizing what he has done has us sobbing “He didn’t mean it! He didn’t mean it! It was the Ring!” And then he immediately turns to defend Merry and Pippin. There are no dry eyes.

We have seen Strider fight- he has precision and skill. But this fight suddenly feels like he is proving something. Like he is standing up for this man who cannot. That is Boromir, Prince of Gondor you struck down, and he is NOT undefended! Something has shifted. Strider is rising, and it shows in this fight against the leader of the Uruki.

Boromir’s final words to Strider, he calls him Aragorn. He calls him brother. He calls him king. It feels less like a shift in view to culminate a redemption, and more like placing a mantle, more like giving final support. Boromir would have been next to lead the people of Gondor- he is giving it to his friend. Vibes of : “You tried to hide, but I saw you. The elf was right. You will be a great King.” Even at the end, he is the Big Brother we all want.

The last moments of the movie when Legolas sees the hobbits across the river is a shift. “Aragorn!” He calls “they have reached the other side…. You mean not to follow them.” We suddenly realize that Legolas was never leading his quiet anxious introvert around, he was always (more subtly) following his lead. Aragorn (as he is called for the rest of the films) is standing tall, and assertive, and making a decision for the group. And they follow.

People rewatch the Fellowship 3 times its first week in theaters, just to catch the moments that warn us that Boromir will fall, and the moments that hint that Aragorn might rise. There are cries of “No spoilers! Let your friends and family find out for themselves!” People break scenes apart to analyze this dynamic for years to come.

Going forward:

Because of this shift in context in Fellowship, the rest of the Trilogy feels more like watching Aragorn come out of his shell and taking on bigger and bigger rolls.

Meeting the Rohiren is suddenly the first time Aragorn speaks for the group. He does so because these are men, and because his friends are being idiots. 😂

The rebuff of Eowyn’s affections feels like more of the same from his relationship with Arwen- he does not feel he deserves it, even now. She is a leader of her people, and he is not yet sure he can say the same. By the time he can, it is clear Arwen’s heart is with him and his with her. It also feels as if he is leaving Eowyn room to pursue her own destiny, to be a leader in her own right. Arwen is supportive, where Eowyn takes charge- perfect for a fully supportive Faramir. 👍

His approach to Theoden feels less like shrinking away, and more like feeling out when he should lead and when he should step back.

Disrespect from any character feels less like a fault of theirs and more like “I mean, I get it, he’s a bit grimy, but he knows what he’s talking about! You don’t know him! He could be a king!” Theoden’s refusal to listen to him feels more like a tragedy, because how else could it have gone?

The entire Two Towers plot becomes a discussion of leadership. Gandalf swoops in and out, and expects people to listen to him. Eomer is direct and aggressive, but only leads warriors, not a kingdom. Theoden has many under his protection, he must weigh risks and lean on older wisdoms. And then there is Aragorn, still figuring himself out, helping Eowyn to do the same. (With every step he takes, we wonder how Boromir would have fit into this discussion- would Eomer have recognized him? Would Theoden have listened more or less to the leader of Gondor’s armies? Would Boromir have stepped back as often? Would he have insisted, in his still jovial way, and would it have caused conflict? Would he inspire men in the same way? Would it have worked as well? We have no idea how he would have handled Eowyn, besides stepping in as a brother since her’s is out fighting. Suddenly this thought of Boromir is on Aragorn’s face with every decision) What Aragorn figures out is that he himself is honest, ernest, and relies on the support and help of others. The conclusion of The Two Towers is the understanding that Aragorn does not need to be a King to be a Leader. That has always been in him. Has he not lead his group this far? Does he not make friends everywhere he goes? Does he not inspire men and elves alike? (Gimli is but one dwarf, and we do not get further examples 😂) He is not Boromir, or Eomer, or Gandalf, or Theoden, but still, he leads.

The Return of the King is an obvious end to his journey, but it feels more fulfilling, since we have seen Aragorn come farther. The moment he claims his birthright with the ghosts under the mountain is a moment that elicits cheers. His speech at the Black Gate brings tears, not just because of his words, but because of how far he has come.

When he is crowned, his reunion with and acceptance of Arwen’s love means more. His moment of humility in front of the Hobbits make us all see how he HAD to be a Ranger to be the Great King he has become. Pride swells.

And we give credit to Aragorn’s growth to the leadership of Boromir in the first film.

We are also struck to the heart when Faramir announces himself as Boromir’s brother. THIS is the brother he spoke so highly of? Did Boromir that bias towards his own flesh and blood, to think THIS man, who captures hobbits and tortures Smeagle, is someone to be proud of? But by the end of Two Towers we are proud too.

At the end of Two Towers, Faramir has seen Frodo nearly fall to the Ring. Did he believe them when they said it drove Boromir mad? Of course not. We didn’t believe it. And we only had one movie with the guy. No one who knew him would buy that. But then there is Frodo, with a sword to Sam’s throat- “Don’t you recognize your Sam?” And there is a horrified recognition on Faramir’s face. Is it what he knows his Father may someday do with or without the Ring? Is it the recognition of how, even in the best of him, his brother could be like his Father? Is it a vision of himself in that position, his brother over him, because he came back with the Ring as their father asked? And does he admire Samwise that much more, because he handled the aftermath of that so much better than Faramir would in his place? (“Something worth fighting for” indeed- Boromir gave the speeches, not him. He must have LOVED this sunshiny little gardener)

When Sam tells him he is of the finest quality- it means more. They are passing on a message after all.

There may be another line from Frodo- “He spoke of you. He knew you would be a good commander. He was anxious to be home and congratulate you. I am sorry it is me here instead of him. He would be so proud.”

Maybe it is Pippin who mentions it. Maybe we get a flashback to another scene between the two of them. “You remind me of my brother- curious, adventurous, but educated, mannered. Much better mannered than I, as it has often been said!” Loud laughter. “The two of you would make for good friends, should you ever meet.”

“Don’t worry for him too much Merry. I have known one as curious as he. He just wanted to understand the world, as does your cousin. It has served him well- he out grew the recklessness of it, and there is no one I trust more.” “Your brother?” Laugh “How did you guess?”

I want us to love Faramir not only because he is good, but because Boromir loved him, and he loved Boromir. I want us to think of Boromir and what he would say to his brother every time he is on screen. I want us to see the love of Boromir direct all his actions.

The parallels of Eowyn and Faramir hint at thier future relationship more clearly in this version, because the connection between Boromir and Aragorn as different leaders of Gondor continues to shine through. Boromir’s brother could not defy his father’s wishes because he loved him and almost died for it. Aragorn’s student (she feels like a sister when he puts her to the side) does defy her father figure, again because she loves him, and is victorious in battle. Both thier fathers die in the battle. When we spot them together in the houses of healing it is not as much of a surprise. It feels right. They have much in common. Also… as Eowyn is seen to grown into a leader as Aragorn does, she also gets her supportive soft romantic partner.

I want Big Bro Boromir to be there in all but flesh throughout the entire thing. I want Boromir’s bracers on Aragorn’s arms to not only be the first thing we notice in Two Towers, but something to feel so right as to be obvious. I want “Then I shall die as one of them!” to feel like a chastisement to Legolas- “Boromir was human too, and he would want us here.” I want “Gondor will answer” to feel like a certainty, because Boromir would. I want Pippin’s rescue of Faramir to feel like a keeping of a promise to love Boromir’s brother as much as a rescue of a new friend. I want us to see the bracer on Aragorn’s arm as much as the sword in his hand when he says “I am Isildur’s Heir.” I want Theoden’s ride to Gondor to tie back not just to Aragorn, but further back to Boromir- a promise has been kept, and inspiration has come to bloom. I want us to see the white tree flags on the battle field of Mordor and feel like Boromir walked in after all. I want us to cry that Boromir is not there to greet Frodo as he wakes, as much as we cry for everyone else’s happy ending.

It’s just an image I had tonight. A beautiful image. Big Bro Jovial Boromir. Laughing down warmly at everyone from heaven. Making us proud to be of the race of men before Aragorn could.

Like I said- I love these movies. But ah, what could have been.

#character analysis #storytelling #lotr #lotr au #or at least another version of the movie #more could have been done in the first movie to make us love him #instead of adding in flash backs in the Two Towers to try to justify him #lotr fanfic #lotr fandom #like- am I crazy?#would it make Aragorn less magnificent if it took him longer to get there?#character growth #I just wanted a little more character growth #like it’s there #but not highlighted #also this would give Legolas more of a personality if he was part of a duo to start #then they let Gimli in because Aragorn needs more support than just the elf 😂#Legolas’s personality is mostly reactionary- he needs other energy to react to 😂#FotR Aragorn doesn’t give him enough #angsty Aragorn demands a protective buddy to do more talking for him 😂#Loud Jovial Boromir elicits smiles and flinches at the sheer noise in different moments #also maybe give me more parallels in costuming for Eowyn and Aragorn #we think they end up together- no they are too similar #only she is fighting to be allowed to lead while he ran #are you seeing my vision #so much could have been done here if Aragorn was a little less competent to start 😂#if Boromir was allowed to be more

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pomplalamoose · 1 year ago

Text

to love from afar

✨Master Luke Skywalker x reader✨

summary: During your training as a Padawan you get hurt and are in desperate need of help.

Of course your Master, Luke Skywalker, comes to your rescue, while you try your hardest to hide your feelings towards him.

word count: 5,451

Frantically scrambling for anything to hold on to, you tumble down the shallow hill you were standing on just a few seconds ago.

Quickly you realize you couldn't have chosen a worse spot to loose your footing, as you feel sharp stones digging their edges into your legs, scraping up your arms and shoulders.

A collection of rather thorny growths finally stops your fall, but, to your dismay, also hinders you at successfully getting up again, the thorns already having a very solid hold on your soft clothes.

Still you try to move, wanting to at least retain some last bit of your dignity.

You instantly regret that decision when a horrible pain shoots through your limps, rendering you very much helpless.

"Uhhhhhh, are you okay?"

A hesitant voice rings out and out of the corner of your eye you spot your sparring partner moving toward you with a concerned expression.

Carefully you will your head to look at them, preparing to ease their worries with some easy words.

All that escapes your mouth though, is a very pathetic noise, somewhere between a groan and a whine.

Now standing directly next to you, their eyes grow huge.

"Oh. Oh wow, oh force. Oh wow. Uhhh. Is all of that your blood?"

Instead of responding you just continue looking up at them.

Even if you were currently able to form words, it'd be rather useless, because OF COURSE it's your blood.

At least that's what you assume.

Due to your current inability to move even a single muscle you haven't managed to get a good look at yourself and your injuries.

You're not sure you want to anyways.

If there is as much blood as your fellow student's reaction indicates, you'd rather not.

An awkward silence falls, before they shake off their initial shock and crouch, trying to help you sit up.

Finally in an upright position again, you heave a sigh of relief, which immediately turns into a shriek when you spot your bloody legs tangled in thorny tendrils.

"Oh no oh no oh no, get them off, get them off of me, this hurts like hell!", you sputter at the same time they say

"Just stay here like this, I'll get help. I'll be back real fast, I promise."

Instantly you stop in your tracks, looking up at them with as much indignance you can muster right now.

"Oh don't you dare! The others can't see me like this, that would be SO embarrassing, you can't do that to me!"

When they don't reply right away, you quickly fall suspicious. Then suddenly you see a complacent expression grow on their face.

"Don't be so silly.", they say with a widening grin, "I'm getting Master Skywalker, of course!"

With that they turn around and sprint away before you can properly register their words.

Horrified you do your best to square your shoulders and straighten your back, your hands shooting up to to fix your hair.

Quickly finding it a hopeless endeavour, you hurriedly try wiping at your face instead to get it as clean as possible.

Unfortunately, with your hands full of dust and bloody sprinkles you end up doing more harm than good, eventually just slumping back down in defeat.

You are very well aware you're not getting out of this predicament alone; still you have to admit that you'd rather be surrounded by a group of snickering classmates than having to face the gentle exasperation Master Skywalker will surely display.

It's an expression he regards you with often and it never fails to make you want to curl up and hide away somewhere.

You hate having such a hard time successfully carrying out even the simplest of his exercises and while Master Skywalker has been nothing but patient with you, you want to be good enough, just once, to hear some of his rare praise directed at you instead of messing up most of the time.

The vehemence of this wish at first surprised even yourself until you awoke one morning, rather short of breath with a tingling persistence between your legs.

The realization you had developed a crush on your teacher slowly dawning on you then.

Far from the only one fawning over his good looks, you and the other Padawans happily indulge in the quick exchange of glances, the shared giggles and wildly exaggerated retellings about "that one time during dinner when Master Skywalker held eye contact wayyyy longer than necessary, I swear, he even smiled at me!!!".

Though while the others are doing everything to draw near to your Master whenever they possibly can, some even stumbling into him to hopefully get caught in his embrace, you find yourself going out of your way to avoid just that, finding his presence so overwhelming you'd rather admire him only from a distance.

Now, with the prospect of facing him in your current situation, you feel your heart rate increasing rapidly.

Force, this is humiliating.

You don't even have a good explanation for the fall you just took, simply having failed to be aware of your surroundings, only concentrating on keeping your partners saber out of your face.

There's no way you'll get out of this without at least some extra exercises and one on one training deep into the night.

And even more so you worry you'll be forced to leave because maybe you are just THAT bad and a hopeless case and then-

Like out of nowhere you feel your Master approaching, his presence in the force so all consuming not even you can miss it.

Breathing in and out extra carefully to calm your traitorous heart, his perfectly polished boots enter your field of vision.

At this you can't help but squeeze your eyes shut firmly, not being able to witness his immediate reaction, scared you might accidentally start tearing up in the face of his disapproval.

You hear his steps stop just short of your body, a slight crinkle as he seemingly adjusts his clothes.

Slowly you take a little peek and nearly let out a screech, your eyes shooting open immediately.

His face is hovering close to yours, the movement you heard being from him bending down.

You don't think you ever had the chance to get a glimpse of his face that close.

It's unbearable, like looking into the sun, like drowning in seas of blue.

He scrutinizes you with slightly raised eyebrows, his expression not indicating his thoughts.

When he speaks it's in a surprisingly careful tone, not a trace of the gentle teasing he normally puts forth at the failings of his students.

"I need you to stay very still for me, alright? Can you do that?"

When you nod, he comes to kneel beside you, his hands already moving towards your legs before he suddenly turns to face you again.

"I will need to touch you now. Is that okay?"

Momentarily caught off guard by the way his eyes lock onto yours, you have to gulp before you are able to weakly voice an answer.

"Yes, Master."

At this he tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement, before starting to detangle the thorny tendrils from your legs.

He works with calm efficiency, his movements precise and focused on causing you the least possible harm.

Your mind, though, is reeling.

Not from pain but from how close he is, from how his unwavering focus is concentrated on you alone.

From how-

Oh. He's looking at you again.

"You have been very brave so far, you will hold on a little longer, yes?"

You manage a nod.

"Good. Don't forget to breathe then, I won't accept you fainting on me."

Fighting down the embarrassment you follow his order, not wanting to be caught in your thoughts like that again.

Are your shields strong enough? Did he sense what you were thinking about?

"Now, isn't that much better.", he remarks and you realize your legs are free to move again.

While relieved, you suddenly feel almost sad at how fast he will move on with his day now, leaving you replaying this singular moment a thousand times in your head.

"Yes, thank you so much, Master.", you shyly say while pretending to busy yourself with straightening out your messy clothes.

"I-"

The words get stuck in your throat and a whimper escapes instead, as your attempt to stand fails spectacularly.

He is at your side in a second, hand on your chin, his voice suddenly stern.

"How come you did not deem it important to inform me about the seriousness of your injuries, Padawan?"

"I- I-, no, it's not that bad, really I-"

Flustered you watch as he lifts an eyebrow, his grasp on your chin not wavering in the slightest.

"No? But you seemed to have some trouble there right now, did you not?"

An expectant silence falls, as you try to string together your words but find you're too distraught by the way he basically has you cornered.

After a moment he speaks again.

"I don't like repeating myself over and over again, Padawan. I believe I have told all of my students how important their honesty is to me, especially when they are hurt or in distress."

"Y-yes, Master. Of course, I-"

"Should I not be told immediately if something is wrong? If one of the students under my care is suffering?"

You struggle to continue looking at him but his hand on your chin leaves you no other choice. Your voice comes out rather meek in comparison when you again try to answer.

"No, of course you should be told, Master. I know you only have our best interest in mind. I didn't mean to-"

He hums approvingly.

"Much better. Now tell me. Are you still too weak to walk back by yourself? Do you need me to carry you?"

Your eyes widen at that.

Despite your racing heart, you find yourself nodding, hoping dearly he won't notice your nervousness at the prospect of him holding you so close.

His face softens and he almost smiles.

"Good, there you go. That wasn't so hard, mmh? Put your arms around my neck so I can pick you up properly."

Shakily you comply and are immediately swooped up into his strong arms as if your body doesn't weigh more than a feather.

Careful not to hurt you, he positions your legs around his waist, then holds you close by the back of your thighs.

"Okay?", he asks.

Clinging to his shoulders all you manage is a nod.

To say you're somewhat overwhelmed right now would be an understatement.

Luckily he doesn't seem to need more than that and after slightly adjusting you, you soon find yourself among the other Padawans again.

Your friend, upon spotting you in your Master's arms, gives you a very enthusiastic thumbs up, while all around the air hums with the excited tittering of your classmates.

You can't hold back from sticking your tongue out at them.

All this attention is exactly what you didn't want.

Master Skywalker, meanwhile, steers clear of the little group, heading towards the building where his quarters are located.

Upon noticing this, you are immediately shaken out of your embarrassment, trying to get his attention.

"Master? I don't think-, uuh maybe just, let me down here?"

He doesn't respond to that, continuing forwards like he didn't hear you at all.

You decide to try again.

"The others will look after me, you don't have to worry, it's going to be fine. I'm sure of it!"

To your surprise he huffs a laugh at that.

"Oh yes? Certainly didn't sound like it a few minutes ago. You are not getting out if this so easily, Padawan."

Patting your back like one would to calm a beloved pet, he sets foot inside what seems to be his living room and puts you down on an array of comfortable cushions.

Busy taking in these new surroundings, you don't realize your arms are still clasped behind his neck until he reaches for them to gently ease them away, obviously amused.

"As much as I appreciate your eagerness to follow my order, I can't take a good look at your wounds with you clinging to me like that."

The horror you're feeling at this must be evident on your face.

And then, when you open your mouth to say something, anything, you see it.

That gentle exasperation.

Your heart sinks even deeper; he will never view you as more than a little fool committed to their Jedi training.

You're sure of that now.

Inwardly you scold yourself for hoping otherwise just because he seemed so concerned when he found you lying amidst thorny bushes.

Like he wouldn't have been concerned for any of his students under those circumstances.

Just then you feel big warm hands envelope your much smaller ones, giving a gentle squeeze.

"Look at me, Padawan. Yes, that's it, very good. I did not mean to upset you. Okay?"

He leans forward, closer, as if to make sure his words really reached you.

"Okay?"

You try yourself at a weak smile and nod, his hands squeezing yours again, before he places them down to straighten up.

Shortly after he returns with what seems to be a first aid kit, all his focus concentrated on you once more.

He regards you with such an intensity you can barely stand it, your head immediately lowering again, desperately wishing him to just go on with what he wants to do.

His boots enter your field of vision just like earlier that afternoon, but now under very different circumstances.

You recoil slightly with surprise when he kneels down directly in front of you, still not used to his vicinity, a gasp escaping when he graps your right ankle to get a better look at your leg.

His eyes immediately snap up to yours.

"No, I am okay, that didn't hurt!", you try to reassure him.

"I was just- surprised."

He hums and lifts your leg higher, carefully bending it at the knee, examining its entirety with firm touches, then repeating the same process on the left.

"How was that? It doesn't seem like something is broken or sprained. Did it feel uncomfortable in any way?"

Finally, finally you are given a chance to explain and your shoulders relax slightly.

"Actually, Master, I think the main injuries are superficial scratches. It's just. They were bleeding a lot and now I think my pants are sticking to the wounds? And whenever I move, it feels like they are ripped open anew."

"That seems most likely, yes.", he agrees.

"It might be best to remove them then, before they cause you even more harm. This will also make it easier for me to clean away the blood and make sure nothing is infected."

It is like the world around you has stopped.

His words ring true and yet you can't believe what he expects you to do.

The mere thought of undressing in front of him, your Master, the man you have harbored a hopeless crush on for so long, makes your head spin.

This wasn't how it played out in your dreams and now that you are confronted with reality, you can't think about anything else except your insecurities.

Sensing your shock, he lets go of your left leg and sits back on his heels to give you some space.

"I understand this might be uncomfortable for you.", he begins gently.

"I apologize for my forwardness. I will of course leave while you undress and trust that you are more than capable to take care of yourself just as well."

Through the force you feel his sincerity and are momentarily thankful, the feeling being quickly replaced by something like panic when he makes a move to get up.

You can practically feel your face glowing when you speak up with a quiet voice.

"Master I-, I don't think I'm able to do that on my own. I get-, I cant-"

Placing a hand on your knee he encourages you to keep going and the warmth consoles you a little bit.

Taking a deep breath you continue.

"The blood. Master, I can't see blood. And it hurts. I'm afraid I won't be able to do a very good job. But I know this is necessary, I agree with what you said. I- I need help. Please."

Daring to peek up in his eyes, you see him gazing intently at you, before nodding his agreement.

"That wasn't so hard, mmh? Of course I will assist you in this, I'm very pleased you dared to speak out and ask for help."

Taking his hand off your knee, he momentarily exits the room, leaving you finally able to breath normally again.

Feeling slightly dizzy you bury your heated face in your hands.

You are relieved he agreed to help you, but then, with a wave of nausea, you think of the way you will have to expose yourself in front of him.

Foolishly, in your deepest, most hidden dreams, you had wished for this to happen during a moment of romantic intimacy and not because you fell and rolled down a hill.

You had imagined him leaving heated kisses all over your shivering figure, ultimately dissolving your insecurities in sweet pleasure.

As always the reality is, of course, rather bleak in comparison and you feel tears of embarrassment starting to gather behind your eyes as he reenters, carrying a few medical supplies.

Spotting your agitated expression he quickly draws nearer and crouches down in front of you again, sensing your obvious apprehension.

"Relax, my Padawan, you are allowed to breathe. I will make quick work of this and with your assistance we will get through it easily."

Unhappily you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, too shy to say anything.

Your hear him release a breath through his nose, standing back up when you don't respond.

Fearing he changed his mind and mistook your silence for defiance, you helplessly breath out for him.

"Master, please, don't leave, I-"

"I'm not leaving you.", he tells you calmly as he sits down on the cushions beside you, carefully moving a hand to gently stick a strand of your messy hair behind your ear.

"I understand this is not an easy situation but be assured that I have nothing but your best interest in mind. I would not dream of taking advantage of you in any way, if that is what you are worried about."

"Master, I know you wouldn't!", you reply hastily, turning to look at him.

Only then you realize don't have another explanation you can give him for your behavior.

You have managed to keep your infatuation to yourself and you want it to remain this way, no matter how much you would like to succumb to it.

With him so close it's even harder than usual; you know he can sense your racing heart and thoughts which is precisely why you seek to avoid him otherwise.

"Please don't worry, Master.", you tell him instead.

"I'm...I'm simply all over the place from earlier, I might have hit my head too?"

You inwardly cringe at how unsure you sound even to your own ears but apart from sharply raising his eyebrows at you, he doesn't press the topic any further.

"I expect you to tell me, should you later assume this to be true."

When you quickly agree, his expression softens again.

"Very good. Let's move forward then. I'd like to position your legs over my lap while working if you'd be comfortable with that."

You´re sure your heart almost stops at that but thankfully your body reacts accordingly, scooting a little closer and lifting your feet off the floor.

Gifting you a warm smile, your Master bends down to reach for your legs, helping you to arrange yourself until you're comfortable.

"I brought some scissors to cut away the fabric of your pants.", he explains while carefully removing your shoes.

"I hope it will be easier this way and cause you less pain. Should I be too rough, don't be afraid to say so, alright?"

You mentally ready yourself and nod, leaning back slightly so he hopefully won't notice your shaking hands.

Inwardly you scold yourself for being so dramatic.

This is okay. This is a totally normal situation. In fact, this could have happened to any of the others too.

Looking down to where your Master started taking apart your pants, you feel like screaming at how ridiculously attractive he is even now.

With his head slightly bent over and strands of his soft looking hair partly obscuring him from your view, you can't stop staring.

You suddenly feel hot all over and this time you're sure it's not from embarrassment.

One of his broad shoulders is warm and steady against your chest as his capable hands skillfully work away.

Just as you are admiring his jaw and boldly wonder how it would feel to place a little kiss there, spikey pain shoots through your left leg.

You cry out and reflexively reach out, finding yourself clinging to his upper arm like a drowning sailor.

Immediately stopping his administrations, Luke lays the scissors down and somewhat awkwardly pats your ankles in an effort to calm you.

"I did not plan for this to hurt you so.", he says apologetically.

"Seemingly your left side took more damage than the right. I don't think cutting away to spare you pain is going to make a big difference here. I will have to think about something else."

"Huh?", is all you can convey and feel immensely stupid after. What an amazing contribution.

Your Master sighs and you scrunch up your nose sheepishly. Then you realize you're still hanging on to his arm and let go like something burned your fingers.

"I will have no more of your skittish behavior right now.", he says looking at you, his voice stern but kind.

It seems he has come to some sort of conclusion as he continues.

"If holding on to me is what you feel you need to do in order to get through this, you will act accordingly. You are hurt and seem very out of it and I'm not going to fault you for it. However I'm displeased you are not standing by your actions and again failed to inform me about your needs."

He is displeased. And is that disappointment you sense behind his words?

"Forgive me, Master.", you say quietly, feeling pathetic.

"This is what, the third time, I'm reminding you of this today? Even though I explicitly told all of you that I do not like. To. Repeat. Myself."

You tense up, blinking hard to keep tears at bay.

"I'm so sorry, Master. I'm really sorry."

Your voice slightly cracking you realize the hold you had on yourself until now is slipping.

The tension stored in your body since the moment you fell loosening all at once, you can't suppress a sob.

It's quiet for a few seconds but before you can say anything else, his arms are wrapping around you in a gentle embrace, pulling you into his lap entirely.

"M-Master???"

A hand comes up to stroke your hair and when he speaks his warm breath fans over your ear.

"This is not only about your injuries, is it not, my Padawan? I hope you do not fear me?"

Frantically you shake your head, face still buried in his chest.

"No? That's not it? Mmh...you certainly don't have to confide in me but I have sensed a great tension within you whenever I am close."

Still stroking your hair he continues.

"I will refrain from urging you to come forward but again I want to assure you I only want what's best for you. I want to take good care of you and make sure you're comfortable and safe here with me. If there is anything I have done to convince you of the opposite-"

"No! No Master, you haven't done anything wrong, I- it's just that I-"

He looks at you expectantly and like every time the overwhelming want to be good rushes through you, the thought of lying to his face like this unbearable.

Not being able to stay silent you squeeze your eyes shut and blurt out the next words.

"I have feelings for someone. I- I have a childish crush. I know it's unbecoming of a Jedi, Master. I was afraid to be a disappointment. I was afraid you would find out, to fail my training and to fail you. I'm so ashamed."

You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to face the consequences just yet, fully expecting him to remove you instantly from where you are perched on his lap.

Instead nothing changes, his breathing is calm es ever, not even stopping his caresses.

Unable to endure his silence any longer, you lift your head, searching for an answer on his face.

"...Master? Please say something. Do I have to leave now? Will you- will you send me away?"

He shushes you soothingly before responding.

"No, of course not. Attachment was frowned upon by the Jedi before their fall, in that you are correct.

However I do not want to maintain this as strictly while rebuilding the order. I myself have attachments and would certainly struggle without the people dear to me. You are a great student of mine and I do not want to miss your abilities."

Gripping your shoulders to get a proper look at you, he smiles encouragingly.

"I'm aware you are prone to worrying but in this be assured, you have not failed as a Padawan because you dare to feel towards those surrounding you. Okay? And of course you will remain here with me and the others, that much is out of question."

Overcome with both relief and conflicting feelings you nod fiercely and he briefly squeezes you tight before hoisting you up under your arms and setting you down in your previous spot.

"Now. Let's take another look at your legs, shall we? The best approach could possibly be to let everything soak for a short while and to then rip it off. Like a very big band aid."

You're kind of thrown by his quick change of topic, still stuck on the fact that he seems to hold you in rather high regard, so in contradiction to your previous beliefs.

But you know he is a very busy man and probably has more important things to do than to wait for your response.

So of course you agree and he applies bacta gel to your already exposed scratches while your pant leg on the other side slowly loosens from your wounds.

You watch him work, your mind reeling from your conversation and his closeness.

The relief that flooded you after admitting to your one fault is truly uplifting, yet you feel gnawing guilt at the prospect of not telling the entire truth.

How could you, though?

Just then he experimentally tugs at the soaked pant leg and while it's not pleasant, it doesn't hurt badly either.

Your preservations, though, aren´t entirely dispelled yet.

"And you're sure, you can't just use the scissors again, Master?"

He thinks for a moment but quickly shakes his head.

"I could try of course but from what I sense, I would only run the risk of accidentally hurting you more. The final decision is yours to make, of course, I won´t talk you into this."

Weighing the options you release an uncomfortable sigh.

"Then ripping it off it is, I guess."

"I promise I will be quick, maybe take hold somewhere? Can't have you flying across the room because of this."

A giggle blubbers up before you can stop it and you spot a somewhat playful glimmer in his eyes as you both get into position.

"Okay, on the count of three, hold on tight. Are you holding on tight?"

"Yes, Master.", you respond with laughter in your voice.

"Well then...one, two and three!"

With an almost comical jerk your bloodied pant leg comes off, landing somewhere in a corner.

Your wounds now finally in the open you can´t stop yourself from making a face.

That's definitely anything but sexy.

Your Master however doesn't seem to mind, gathering your naked legs close to apply more bacta.

Once again you are struck at the sheer size of his hands, one of them easily wrapping around your lower calf.

Don't stare, you sternly remind yourself, and don't get too excited or he will think you upset again.

You try to concentrate on the pain instead, which is fading rather quickly now due to your Master's administrations.

And before you know it, before you can deliberately enjoy this precious moment, it's over.

Gently your legs are lowered to the ground again and Luke gets up to collect the supplies and parts of your pants lying around.

"Let me see if I have some bandages and an old pair of pants here to lend.", he says turning to you.

"I can't let you leave in a state of undress, after all."

"Yes, thank you so much, Master.", you reply obediently while a stubborn voice inside your head insists on staying just a little while longer.

Not that his presence is any less nerve wrecking after this strangely intimate situation you shared; you simply can't seem to tire of looking at him, his features, his lively eyes.

At least you got close to him for the first time today, you tell yourself. You were recipient of his affection and care and now you'll even get to wear his clothes.

No reason to get greedy.

Rounding the corner he returns with a satisfied look about him, clearly having found what he was looking for.

"Don't worry.", he says as he is kneeling down in front of where you are still seated.

"This will take but another few minutes and then you are allowed to leave. Your pants will be replaced and for your walk back to your room you may wear this pair of mine. It's probably too big but it will do."

Laying it down next to you he starts to carefully wrap bandages around sections not yet fully healed.

This too ends much too quickly and against your better judgement your heart speeds up, your tongue desperate to blurt out your deepest feelings.

Before you can even think to open your mouth though, he reaches for you, helping you to get up.

You're briefly glad your shirt is covering half of your thighs before he hands you the pants and you rather awkwardly try to put them on.

Unlike before he does not offer his help, instead watching you with an amused expression that has your cheeks burning a fiery red.

Why is he looking at you like this? Why aren't you able to close a button normally like every other person?

"Done?", he asks when you have finally managed to put everything in order.

"Yes, Master."

He laughs at that, a truly lovely sound, one you don't hear often.

"Then off you go and take care this time, can you do that for me?"

Laying a hand on the back of your neck, he leads you back outside stopping just out of sight from the others.

"If your wounds continue to trouble you, tell me. If I find out you aren't truthful about this there will be consequences, am I understood Padawan?"

"Yes, Master."

"Repeat it."

"I understand, Master."

At that he relents and his gloved hand quickly reaches out to momentarily hold your cheek.

"Very good, Padawan. Although there is one last thing."

When he sees your confused face, he can't contain a smirk. Looking out across the wood in the distance and then back at you, he's suddenly serious again.

"You didn't tell me the whole truth when I asked what truly bothered you."

Feeling your heart miss a beat for what feels like the twentieth time today, you grow tense. Why does he manage to catch you off guard again and again?

"How...how do you know, Master?"

"The shields around your mind aren't always as well secured as you think, my Padawan. Especially under stress you tend to let your guard down. We will have to work on that, don't you think?"

Truly horrified at his words you are unable to respond in any way.

"Go, Padawan. Take the rest of the day off to regain your strength for tomorrow."

"Yes, Master."

Your voice comes out weak, barely audible, unheard by anyone.

Master Skywalker is already gone.

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