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gamchawizzy · 3 days ago

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"Look Into My Eyes.", a Byrgenwerth Trio-inspired playlist

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺…𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.

This was a playlist I made a long time ago while I was figuring out characterising my headcanons for the Byrgenwerth Trio (Micolash, Rom, and Laurence). It eventually sort of morphed itself into becoming a partly-cohesive story. Maybe some of you guys might want to hear it.

All the songs added in are either 1. the lyrics fit the characters/story or 2. the melody adds to the atmosphere

Anyway songs and interpretations under cut if you like reading that stuff. I did my best to make it as chronological/sensible as I could but feel free to suggest any rearranging!

Photo credit: Portrait of Raskolnikov by Samanyu Sharma ( flic . kr/p/5fxXGf )

Astronauts - Rom is the butt of everyone's jokes, the one who struggles the most in class. Maybe she is better off not having gone to Byrgenwerth at all. Maybe she should've stuck to being a countryside florist. Maybe she's dragging the others down. The best she can do is keep her head down and push forward. She's lost a little bit of herself along the way, but that's okay. She knows they'll be proud of her in the end.

Now I close my eyes, my ears and start to walk forward. I can't hear your voice, and can't see your smiles, but it's fine.

Clair de Lune - Ok no brainer since the name translates to "Moonlight", but I imagine this is what Byrgenwerth in its glory days would "feel" like. Classy, sophisticated, and a little lonely. Every student is on their own at the end of the day, after all. It's an unspoken race.

Take It From Me - Still very Rom-themed! Also flower-themed lyrics. Finding friendship in Micolash and Laurence. School is hard but life goes on. They're helping create a future for humanity after all.

Trinity Eye - Laurence this time, being a young determined man who knows his research is right. If only the school wasn't so opposed to the blood. Willem's teachings and his early findings about Flora, the Moon Presence keep clashing and have made him cynical.

Can you feel my rage? I'll go again: go against the light It towers all amongst the stars at night, between the trinity eye Everything stops and starts again when I feel your heart In a minute can we go again? Go against the light

I Should Be Allowed To Think - Definitely both Micolash and Laurence. Brilliant minds who seem to be asphyxiated by the very institution they come from.

Hey Moon - Laurence finding solace in the moon, knowing the Moon Presence is out there, somewhere, somehow… Being a foreigner in this strange city is lonely. The only constant he has is the moon.

Stars - More Rom because I love her. I think she grows closer to Micolash. Similar ideas and sweetness in their friendship. I like that this song combines both of their motifs - stars and flowers.

Sleepwalk With Me - Hints of one-sided Mico/Rom, chattering into the wee hours…

Manta Rays - More Mico/Rom :33c My Mico is ace/greyaro so this is more of a queerplatonic bond-type of situation. Feelings are so weird for him hahah

ocean eyes - Mico/Rom. I've headcanoned that Rom's always had a lot of insight! A bit of clairvoyance, too, seeing a future Micolash and a ruined Yharnam.

Antigravity - Micolash gaining more insight, his research pushing him to new heights. Eyes open.

I Wish I Was The Moon - The research wears Rom out. Overworked, underpaid, alone - She wishes she could stop. Wishes she could sleep forever, but she can't. Not when she's so close.

Bringing It Down - Shortly after the Fishing Village incident. Micolash witnessing the lies of his colleagues finally falling apart, particularly Rom, Laurence, and even Maria. It makes him even more embittered towards them. Rom most of all - she isn't as innocent as she seemed. Her moral grandstanding meant nothing. They're all in this damned mess together now.

Asleep, and Unwell - Both are for Rom! As she draws closer to ascension, having either been blessed by Kos, or having "used" her - Rom is slowly having the realisation that maybe ascension isn't all that what it's cracked up to be. Doesn't seem worth it from what she's had to go through. Now she's alone and friendless once more. But it's starting now, and she can do little but wait.

Misery Fell - Laurence introducing Blood Healing to the public. No more of that classist education. No more of those expensive medicines. Blood is free.

Evil Eye - DEFINITELY Micolash coded song, I think this is when he gets his own school. Now he's a big shot. Sure, Laurence is bigger, and still hates him. He knows it and gloats over it.

Spleen - Rom probably on 100 insight at that point and spouting prophecies and nonsensical blabber while she is locked away in Byrgenwerth.

Andromeda's Eyes - Kinda self explanatory. Rom's full name is definitely Andromeda in my canon lmao. I think she's fully ascended into Kin at this point. Laurence and Mico know she's finally achieved perfection and visit her for one last time. Willem is still blabbing away at how they've gone and thrown Yharnam to the dogs.

Puzzles, and What's He Building? - Both Micolash themed ambiences.

Don't Stop - Laurence at the height of his power as the Vicar.

Who Will Save You Now - Micolash descending into madness as he's turning the entire school rogue against the Church.

Fresh Blood - Mostly just Yharnam-themed. After the ashen blood, the beginnings of the beastly scourge. A lot of the first victims to beast attacks are most likely women of the night.

New Person, Same Old Mistakes - Micolash tamping out the last bits of his humanity and memories, justifying it all with the grift that he comes to believe himself.

Dark Matter - Mensis Ritual! aka the Cool Micolash moment. I imagine at the end of this the Wet Nurse emerges from the cosmos as Micolash is in the eye of a swirling nightmare, enveloping him and his colleagues

Give Me A Sign - Micolash is still praying to Kos, but she doesn't seem to hear him…

Glass Spiders - Rom kind of just. Mourning her friendships

Volatile Times - Laurence as he slowly falls sick to the scourge. I think the word "volatile" fits the situation so well - everything is literally on fire at this point. Soon enough, even Laurence himself.

Where Owls Know My Name - It's lonely at the top. Having ascended into Kin, Rom now exists on a different plane.

Waste of The Moon - More Rom regrets!! If you haven't noticed at this point I love making this story revolve around everyone having regrets

Bloodstream - Sad Laurence moment where he has a "conversation" with the Moon Presence. He can't go where she is.

Let It Burn - More sad Laurence! His hopes for humanity, his soul, and Yharnam - they all burn. The Great Ones, The Moon Presence - they all do not hear him.

Hurt - Micolash, alone in the Nightmare. No one hears him too. He's too far gone into what he's done. He's had regrets too. Too bad he'll never quite internalise it.

Those Were The Days - Just looking back at old Byrgenwerth days.

ECNALUBMA - MERGO IS HERE IT'S SILLY TIME AGAIN. I know everyone's dead but I think it'd be funny if "the men in fancy uniforms" were the other students. "Marry me and be my wife" sounds so funny too, I think he'd say that to Wet Nurse and she would visibly shudder

Evening Harmony - Rom as she ponders the state of Yharnam now and what's become of her former friends.

For The Departed - Laurence as he transforms into the Cleric Beast.

The Irremediable - Another one of Rom's prophecies and/or incoherent ramblings. A damned man descending endless, bannisterless stairs, Going lampless down the brink of a pit Whose stench betrays its watery depths, Where slimy monsters glare With great phosphorescent eyes That deepen the darkness of the night And make nothing but themselves visible

Curses - Laurence in the Hunter's Nightmare.

Lost At Sea - Rom in her dying moments, knowing Micolash will soon be next.

Bright College Days - A farewell to Byrgenwerth memories.

Mirror Man - yeah it's another Mico song

Blood - Of course

Eternity and A Day - Really just end credits, but also The Hunter (Luce) as he is trapped in the Nightmare with the strange man with the cage on his head, the odd bespectacled man who shares drinks with him, the mysterious winged figure, and the most unnerving being of all - the invisible baby.

#bloodborne #soulsborne #micolash #micolash host of the nightmare #rom the vacuous spider #laurence the first vicar #byrgenwerth #praying to the old gods and the new that this doesnt get shurdurburnned because i embedded a spootfoot link. let me know what u think gaiz #i spent 2 and a half hours writing this shit UHUHUHUHU

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diamond-dangeresque · 2 months ago

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i am now emotionally stable enough that i can put down some miscellaneous Awakenings/DA2 hot-takes (for Tumblr) in this post under a readmore.

fair warning, possible/subjective rancidity. please avoid if you're not here at my blog for this nonsense.

Anders and Fenris are wrong, and they're also right. I want this out of the way right now, both have solid viewpoints and both also look for reasons to tear the other down at any given time. They're antagonizing each other because they each see the counterarguments of their viewpoints in the other and don't want to come to terms with the fact that, wait shit I might actually be wrong

because if the last (checks watch) eight to twelve-ish years of looking at the country I live in and its people morph wildly have shown anything, it's that a lot of people take having their worldviews or opinions shown to be wrong as a personal attack on their character and sometimes on the community(/ies) they represent, and when "attacked" like this most people behave vitriolically at the attacker

Anders romanticizes Tevinter in a way that is really uncomfortable and is even willing to overlook the whole "slavery is legal and A-OK in Tevinter" thing, but at the same time can't come to terms with the dog-eat-dog mentality that Letting Blood Magic Be A Thing opens up. literally: if you're not taking advantage of all this Free Power by abusing these Not-People you are legally allowed to have, you are either going to fall behind or get merced by someone else who sees you as a threat. Or an annoyance. Because Tevinter also lowkey works on Might Makes Right. "Just say no" isn't enough over there. (this post and the first two responses actually go over the issue with blood magic really well and summarize it in a much more succinct way than i ever could. give those a read, and then ignore the rest of the thread. lector emptor.)

but i also get why he does so. it's just using the same framework that people use to frame a place like modern russia as some rightwing-friendly anti-lgbtq paradise, but i get it. and if you're going Friendship route with Anders, you don't really have a way to tell him "I understand why you're romanticizing this place, but this isn't very healthy or productive. Or, you know, just."

(speaking of: Justice and Merrill are getting their own post. this one is enough of a mess as it is and it's mostly Fenders-adjacent so far)

Fenris is deep in the antimage paint, to the point of being sympathetic towards Templars even when he really shouldn't be. i understand 1000% why he would be so deeply antimage and see the Circle and the Templars as a net good, but like...

bruv i dunno how else to tell you this. but a templar will just as likely smack around elves as they will mages. like elves are only barely above mages in the eyes of the Chantry, even if they convert and go full Andrastrian

because while the Chantry and that system in Tevinter are overt hypocrites, the Chantry and system in the rest of Thedas are covert hypocrites. by the time you see the deception, it might be too late. and for someone as deeply traumatized and hurt as Fenris, he's gonna try real damn hard to avoid looking at the deception until someone smacks him with it outright because the lie doesn't hurt as much.

i.e. the Chantry would absolutely use Fenris as an antimage warhound and maybe even think about lyrium tattoos versus mere Magical Singing Rock Heroin Addiction, and Fenris would just end up having a new master at the end of the day 🤷

and if the Templars ever lose an easy target of oppression in the mages, they will turn to the elves next and go "well. maybe Andraste was...a teensy bit wrong?"

(you know. like Tevinter.)

Really, a good chunk of the DA2 cast are just Straight Up Wrong about a lot of things and they still try, and it's IMHO one of Dragon Age 2's two linchpin story themes: most of the characters you meet have very myopic views on things, or have views shaped by their extraordinary experiences that don't really let them see the other side (or any side not their own) as clearly as they could or should be.

no no no, don't give me that "but [x] is right tho?" "[x] is right to me 💖💞" shpiel because that's not what this post is about, focus

Everyone in this ragtag bunch of criminals and ne'er-do-well do-gooders—especially Hawke—has Been Through Some Shit, and that shit has defined a lot of their worldviews and ideologies and the ways in which they interact with people. Tons of NPCs in Kirkwall have Been Through Some Shit and are laying out their worldviews and mentalities colored by these experiences. Everyone is hurt, has been hurt, will be hurt, and it defined and continues to define and will define their actions and thoughts until those characters find a way and some time to clear their head and sort their thoughts and trauma.

(but it's really hard to sort that shit out when you have a first enchanter who watched Re-animator way too many times, a knight-commander about thiiiiiiis 🤏 close to crossing her own rubicon (and yes the Rome analogy is important for this context), and a grand cleric with her thumbs up her ass thinking neutrality is an acceptable form of activism)

(along with like 16 gorrillion other issues Kirkwall has, but i digress)

And part of Dragon Age 2 working so well as a tragedy are these major character flaws. Anders and Fenris can't see each other as allies for the same cause because superficial differences keep them at arms length. Merrill wants something that seems to come so easily to other people, even to nonmages, but can't ever seem to grasp it. Aveline is desperate to hold onto the love and memory of her husband and exerts that through her work and behavior, but she also can't keep her subordinates at arms length because she sees Wesley in every guard under her who dies. Isabela does what she wants when she wants because so much of her life before this point was hounded by others controlling and using her (on top of Qun-flavored religious trauma). And so on and so on.

And all these things, and many more things, make these characters butt heads with each other in their banters. In the cutscenes. In the major pivotal game points. In how they agree with or disagree with your decisions in-game.

But like. It has to be said, again: many of these characters are Wrong, and about a lot of things, and quite frequently! And, in the grand context of understanding this story and its characters, that's fine. These things are meant to be explored critically, introspected on, enjoyed with things revealed by hindsight, etc etc.

Just...don't be weird about it. Please.

#dd.txt #dragon age #rant

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denimbex1986 · 7 months ago

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'Premiered on 4 April 2024, this period thriller drama will take viewers back to 1960s Italy with Andrew Scott stepping into the shoes of notorious grifter Tom Ripley in the new Netflix series.

While Patricia Highsmith’s bestselling Tom Ripley novels have been morphed for page-to-screen adaptation several times, it is the 1999 film The Talented Mr Ripley, starring Matt Damon, Gwyneth Paltrow and Jude Law, that has become a classic favourite among cinephiles. If you have seen it, you might have a fair idea of what you’re getting into.

The TV series, helmed by Academy Award winner Steven Zaillian, depicts a compelling journey back in time via black-and-white frames. Coupled with gripping performances by the entire cast, the new take on The Talented Mr Ripley renders a rather ominous vibe to the plot.

With so much being talked about and mystery swelling around the complex life of Tom Ripley, the natural question is are any more seasons scheduled for release?

Will there be a season 2 of Ripley on Netflix? Here’s what we know

What is Ripley about?

Though viewers are no strangers to the dark world of Highsmith’s morally dubious character Tom Ripley, the story gets an episodic makeover as a 2024 Netflix show.

The eight-part story revolves around the protagonist Tom Ripley (Scott), a small-time swindler in 1960s New York. His life turns around when a wealthy man hires him to travel to Italy and convince his trifler son, Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn), to return home. Accepting this offer was just the first step towards a descent into a world of deception, fraud and murder. When he reaches the serene town of Atrani where Dickie is perfectly settled with his writer girlfriend Marge Sherwood (Dakota Fanning), Tom is awe-struck by his lavish lifestyle. A clever presentation of truth with an unmissable charm is enough to get the master con artist into Dickie’s good books. From here, Tom climbs his way up into Dickie’s close quarters and ends up going to extreme lengths to make that life his own.

Each episode has a runtime of about 50 minutes, while the finale is 74 minutes long.

Ripley is based on which book?

Highsmith’s Ripley books make up a series of five novels, dubbed ‘Ripliad’, which debuted in 1955 with The Talented Mr Ripley.

Netflix’s Ripley is based on this first book. It is followed by other titles — Ripley Under Ground (1970), Ripley’s Game (1974), The Boy Who Followed Ripley (1980) and Ripley Under Water (1981).

Speaking to Vanity Fair in December 2023, Zaillian said, “Almost 70 years after Highsmith created him, contemporary figures are still being compared to him. He won’t go away.”

Interestingly enough, the book also led to the evocative monochrome filming style. “The edition of the Ripley book I had on my desk had an evocative black-and-white photograph on the cover,” Zaillian said.

“As I was writing, I held that image in my mind. Black and white fits this story — and it’s gorgeous,” he added.

The Ripley cast and crew

Besides Andrew Scott, Johnny Flynn and Dakota Fanning the cast also includes Eliot Sumner as Freddie Miles, who suspected the diabolical nature of Tom’s congeniality, Maurizio Lombardi as Inspector Ravini and John Malkovich as Reeves Minot.

In March 2024, Town & Country quoted Scott commenting about portraying the titular character. He said, “I feel like you’re required to love and advocate for your characters, and your job is to go, Why? What’s that? You don’t play the opinions, the previous attitudes that people might have about Tom Ripley. You have to throw all those out, try not to listen to them, and go, Okay, well, I have to have the courage to create our own version and my own understanding of the character.”

The project is written, directed and executive produced by Zaillian. Besides him, other executive producers include Garrett Basch, Clayton Townsend, Guymon Casady, Benjamin Forkner, Sharon Levy and Philipp Keel.

How does Ripley end?

The brilliant chiaroscuro acts as an omnipresent cast member throughout the series, accentuating the sombre tone, which almost reaches a crescendo in the eighth episode. By the end of the final episode, titled Narcissus, Tom Ripley has a body count of two — Freddie Miles and Dickie Greenleaf — and has successfully ripped off Dickie’s life by using his name and money. However, the Italian police are after him for one crime he didn’t commit, the murder of Tom Ripley.

Seizing the perfect opportunity, Tom plays another card by conveniently walking into the police resuming his own identity. He manages to convince Inspector Ravini, Marge and Mr Greenleaf that Dickie died, albeit with strong undercurrents of suspense and tension that could make viewers sit up anxiously, as there are pressing moments when his deceit is on the verge of spilling out.

Once the dust is settled and mystery is buried like Dickie’s corpse at sea, Tom Ripley plays another con trick to begin his new life as Timothy Fanshaw, but that is another story to tell.

Production and filming of Ripley

The Ripley series was originally being developed by Showtime, but Netflix picked it up in 2023 while it was in post-production. The principal shooting took place in Italy — Rome and Venice — in accordance with the book’s setting. Certain portions were also filmed in New York to capture the 1960s vibe of the city.

Economic Times states that although production was slated to begin in 2020, it got delayed until 2021 for certain reasons.

Will there be a Ripley season 2?

Netflix has billed it as a limited series. The episodes have rounded up both the plot quite well, though certain creative liberties from the book make it somewhat ambiguous.

Although there is no official nod from Netflix about a second season, the OTT platform states, “But given the opportunity, Zaillian would love to continue to adapt the affectionately nicknamed ‘Ripliad’.”

Speaking to Tudum in April 2024, Zaillian said, “I think that the other books are good, and we see Tom in a lot of different ways as he grows up.” Who knows, this can be a step towards creating a ‘Ripliad’ franchise by expanding Tom Ripley’s world.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

-Is there a second Mr Ripley? Released in 1955, The Talented Mr Ripley did not have a sequel. The 2024 Netflix series, too, is a limited series. However, there is a wide scope to explore other Tom Ripley stories and make them into new seasons.

-How many Ripley episodes are there? Netflix’s Ripley has eight episodes.

-What is the 2024 Ripley series about? Netflix’s Ripley is the latest screen adaptation of The Talented Mr Ripley. It follows grifter Tom Ripley who is hired by a wealthy man to go to Italy and convince his dilettante son to return home. However, when he sees Dickie’s lavish life, Tom decides to make it his own.

-What is the ending of Ripley? Ripley is based on Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Talented Mr Ripley. It follows Tom Ripley (played by Andrew Scott) arriving in Italy to convince Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn) to return to the US. However, his life and opulence captivate Tom. He hatches a plan to overthrow Dickie and live his life. The series revolves around the heinous crimes committed by Tom and the ensuing investigation.'

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takeariskao3 · 2 years ago

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Hey, so I noticed you said Draco was one of your favourite characters and outta curiosity what do you like about Draco? Tumblr and fanfics seem to have this love for him that I’m trying to understand but I’m a confused. I honestly just want someone to explain it to me without getting upset. Personally I never found him to be an interesting character, just the usual high school bully who’s racist and flaunts his parents money and status like he’s earned it himself. I’ve been trying to read more fanfics with him being paired up with him and Hermione or even Harry and Ginny to get a better perspective of what some people are seeing that I’m not but whenever I read a story of him it’s not true to character. They change his personality completely and make him out to he this lonely saint who’s a got this sexy bad boy side (they give him personality traits from Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny) and usually drop dead gorgeous. I don’t get it. For me it’s just that if you have to change a character’s personality so much why not just invent a OC? He was never brave, loyal, compassionate, or kind. He was selfish, arrogant, coward, and pompous. The only people he cared about where his parents everyone else were just chess pieces for his plan of survival, even his best friends. Fans usually talk about him crying the toilet but that was because he was scared for his parents life, his is own life, and the task he was handed. He wasn’t a killer and I’ll give him that but I don’t think he was a nice person. He didn’t think about his peers when he brought Death Eaters into the school or when he was about to use Cruico on Harry. I think we saw a glimpse of what he would do in power when Dolores gave it to him. If Voldemort won the war and he was put in a high rank Draco would flaunt it around and hurt innocent people, he wouldn’t kill but he would hurt them. I find the fanart confusing too because he was never good looking, I know people automatically think of the stereotypical “blond hair blue eyed hunk”, but none of his features portrayed in the art are true to character. I feel like fanartist are taking Tom’s good looks and combining it with Draco’s blonde hair. Why can’t he just look like a regular blonde guy? Why does he have to be redeemed to look like some type of sex god? The fanart I see of Ron and Harry is usually geeky scrawny duo, which I get because that’s what they’re like in the book. Hermione on the other hand is usually decent looking or average unless she’s paired with Draco then she gets transformed into a Greek or African goddess. I just don’t get it! When she’s paired with Ron or Harry she’s depicted as a nerdy average looking girl but when she’s with Draco or another Slytherin … wow complete transformation. Are they trying to say unless she didn’t look like a Greek or African goddess the Slytherins wouldn’t be interested? She would have to completely change her appearance to get the Slytherin boys attention? The only ones that would fall for her as she truly looks is Ron and sometimes Harry? I find that insulting to women. I get it if you want a redemption Slytherin character but why not give that to Theo or Blaise? We don’t know much of them and when you read about them you can actually say it might be true to character instead of completely changing a canon characters personality so much to make them seem like a whole new character or morphing multiple canon character’s personality to make Draco 2.0.

hey anon.. i am going to put my answer under the cut so this doesn't turn into a "do you love the color of the sky" post

yes, draco is one of my favorite characters. not because of what he did or how he acted in the books, but because of where he could go post DH. my preference is a post-war au where we get to see him grow and change and choose to be a better person. but that's because i *LIKE* redemption stories. in fact i would even go so far as to say i prefer them. give me a character who is the worst of the worst, someone mean and horrible and unlikeable, break them down until they're at rock bottom and watch as they put themselves back together better the second time around

you say you've read fics but you feel like his character is changed? that's probably valid... but also you have to remember that dramione has been around since like 2001. no seriously. dramione fics have been on live journal since prisoner of azkaban came out. TWENTY YEARS AGO. i read my first dramione fanfic in seventh grade in 2003.. so you have to remember that there is a lot fandom has adopted and adapted in that amount of time and things that are considered staples of the genre if you will. just like how we (in our little hinny corner of the internet) have headcanons and dynamics that are considered universal, dramione has the same thing.

"fans usually talk about him crying in the toilet but that was because he was scared for his parents life, his own life, and the task he was handed." you are almost there, you are so close to getting the point. just follow that line of thinking just a little bit further... half blood prince/deathly hallows is the START of his redemption. not the end of it. at least in my view. draco gets his first real taste of the ideology he has bought into in half-blood prince when he realizes his family's name or his money or his status no longer grants him favor. in fact he's pretty much a pariah, in the inner circle of the death eaters for his father getting caught, and in the outer realms of wizard society for his father being outed as a death eater. this is the BEGINNING of his arc. if you look at deathly hallows!draco you see a kid who can't make up his mind which side he wants to be on. that year during the war he witnessed unspeakable atrocities (countless people tortured & murdered in and out of school, classmates held prisoner in his cellar, the muggle studies professor eaten alive on his dining room table) and if you take all of that and put it into a scared seventeen year old (no matter his house alignment) you end up with a person who has no ideals left. they deal in realities. we see this when harry, ron, & hermione get snatched. draco is visibly and clearly reluctant to identify them. he knows its them. WE KNOW HE KNOWS. but maybe he's reached a point where he doesn't want to see any more torture and murder. maybe he's reached a point where he thinks harry is the only one left who can defeat voldemort and he doesn't want to be the guy responsible for putting an end to the rebellion. then during the BoH.. maybe draco sees the writing on the wall, he sees and thinks that voldemort has won, that's why he takes crabbe and goyle into the room of requirement to look for harry, because if voldemort is going to reign supreme, he sure as hell is going to try and find favor. the point is, you can add whatever context you want for his actions. in my opinion, by the end of deathly hallows, grey isn't even a character alignment anymore for draco, its a cold hard truth. in his mind, there is no overarching good in the world, there is only what people are and are not willing to do to each other in the name of power. that's an excellent jumping off point to try and put together an enemies to lovers, redemption story romance.

i don't have much to say about the fanart piece except for there is no superiority when it comes to the way we create and consume fan works. full stop. no one is better or worse for interpreting the character a certain way. pretty hermione, ugly hermione, harmony, dramione, romione, it doesn't matter. no one gets to say what is right or wrong when it comes to enjoying fiction. because at the end of the day, draco and hermione are not real. they are tools for a narrative. they are make believe. they can be whatever someone wants them to be.

the last point i want to address is this: "i get if you want a redemption slytherin character but why not give that to theo or blaise?" blaise had exactly one speaking scene in the entire series and theo had none. what sort of redemption do they have to earn?? that's the whole point of redemption stories, someone gets redeemed and who has more to atone and apologize for than draco?

if you really are interested in a draco redemption story i have several recs that actually address and work through his school bully/junior death eater phase and show him coming out of it as a much more humble and well adjusted individual. i have my reasons for liking him paired with hermione but those are personal to me and since you didn't really ask i won't get into it just now.

hope this answered your questions.

#anon #answered #why i like draco malfoy

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consumeroflemoans · 4 months ago

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Even more questions about Freakshow

I keep sending in asks as soon as a question pops into my head and then seconds later I have a new thing to as

So Shadow, I don't quite have anything specific about him, I'm curious what he does within the story

Is he literally a living shadow? Is he corporal in form?

Spider Lady is married to Goblin Guy as stated, how long have they been married? Did they know each other before the show?

I'd have about the same questions about him in relation to Lemonhead as I do for her, if any of them apply, are all three of them close or was there a dynamic between him and one of the two to which the third got introduced through the relationship?

I wanted to ask if Lemonhead is edible, but technically speaking everyone is, so rather is he safe to ingest and does he taste like lemon?

So Shadow was originally a different oc with his own story that I brought into the freakshow. I haven’t entirely worked out his place in the story, but I do have some ideas. He was one of the human victims but was one of the few characters that wasn’t killed by one of the members of the freakshow. He managed to escape the deadly attractions and make his way into the depths of the freakshow along with his little brother unbeknownst to the ringmaster. They discovered the magical core that powers the freakshow, a crystal that hides in a labyrinth underneath everything (This may be changed in the future). Shadow’s little brother was curious and approached the crystal, only for a shockwave to be triggered the moment he touched it. The cavern began collapsing and Shadow went to flee, abandoning his brother.

From there, he became lost in the labyrinth, slowly dying as he struggled to find a way out. He began to hear noises echoing around the tunnels that made it sound like a wild animal was in there with him. He approached the noises, figuring that even if he found a wolf or a bear, at least they would likely know the way out. What he discovered, however, was a hulking creature that didn’t resemble any animal in particular. It was large and hunched on four legs like a bear, but had an amalgamation of fur, scales, and skin patches. Strangest of all, its face, sunken into the rest of its body, was human. When he approached, he realized it was actually the face of his brother. He managed to survive the initial cave collapse, but he was morphed and twisted into a hungry beast by the magic within the crystal.

Shadow fled, now having a renewed desire to escape. It took a long time, but he managed to find the exit. The moment he approached, however, the cave began rumbling again. He raced towards the exit only to have it collapse on top of him and kill him.

He awoke as a literal shadow of himself. He’s not dead, but in a constant state of limbo. He is essentially a ghost with his incorporeal form. He has very few memories of his previous self. All he knows is that he abandoned his brother and needs to save him and that he needs to stop the freakshow from hurting any other humans.

He spends his time sneaking around the freakshow and trying to help any humans to escape. Once one wanders in, they end up becoming a victim to one attraction or another. The ringmaster ensures that. It’s Shadow’s goal to stop the ringmaster, even if he doesn’t understand why exactly he’s doing it.

He’s a protagonist and ally of sorts within the story.

Also his original name is Serif with his brother’s being Roman (:

Also fun fact he has a girlfriend who’s @smolponcho’s oc lol

Im probably going to remove the goblin guy from the story as I feel like he really doesn’t fit anymore. I just created him because I needed more characters. He might still exist, but won’t be a major character.

The lemonhead is edible, but good luck eating him before he eats you. He is essentially a sentient lemon so he is edible and does taste like a lemon.

#lemon’s freakshow #ask lemon #shadow is the oldest character of all of these so I have a ton more info on him

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hibewriter · 5 months ago

Text

Take Me (In the Midnight Hour)

Masterlist Read it on AO3 WIP

Chapter 1 2

The Rings of Power / The Lord of the Rings | Haladriel / Saurondriel | 10.1K | E

One

To preface this story is to do it an injustice.

After all, how does one preface something they don't know the ending to? I'm still here — waking, living, breathing like before. Yet, unlike before, there's something new. Something within me has shifted and morphed into an unrecognizable mass of darkness. Darkness that strives to serve — to follow, to hold — the devil with whom I share a bed. Something within me wants to swaddle him in my arms and let him take every piece of me to Hell, where he has made his home. He said he wished to guide the beleaguered masses back to civility. To guide or to rule. To rule or enslave. His union of those wronged by the very hand he fed upon.

Before, when I was young, I relished a day spent at the lakeside of my family's home in Mithlond. When the colonial-style house stretched far into the sky – its pillars visible from grassy shores where I would eventually take a rest. There was no perversion in me then, no broken heart or sordid promises. Not when my brother would carry me inside after a long day of play. But the emptiness had been there when I held Celeborn's hand. The emptiness had been there at every dinner between our two families, and each date at our city's finest restaurants. Superficial and hollow.

Hollowness drove me to his arms. Running from my mind drove me to his bed. But staying, in both, might have been the most frightening thing of all.

It took four months of living in Tirharad for my brother to call me. Four months of wondering if my choice was wrong, or if perhaps I had acted too rashly on the day I had stormed out of the safety of Mithlond. Four months of wondering if I was truly alone, sitting in a cramped studio apartment waiting for the phone to ring or perhaps a letter to appear with an apology from an all too distant mother. I wondered, then, when the phone rang if I was hallucinating. Or if perhaps there had been something in the pie I ate, a nightmare or a dream born out of innocuous food prepared the day before in a kitchen perhaps a touch too small.

"Galadriel," his voice came distorted through the line, taking on the slight hum of the phone line that somehow never went away despite years of advancement in technology. Nonetheless, he sounded breathless, as if he'd run to catch me even though he'd called.

"Finrod." His name was heavy on my tongue. A weight of attrition, a forced distance between me and him. The degradation of his name to merely a stranger I had just met, instead of a brother who I'd known and loved. It's easier to stare at the pan on my stove, the one that has been there since I cooked instant ramen noodles three days ago. Empty with a shallow layer of salt and preservatives coating the walls.

"Let's be reasonable," he says. "We all said things we don't mean, and Cel said he'd be willing to keep the engagement on if you said sorry."

"I don't want to say sorry," I say, still staring at that stupid pot. I should clean it. Or get a new one. One that wasn't a stupid hand-me-down from college. He sighs, clearly about to say more when I proceed anyway. "It's been four months. The first thing you have to say is get back with Celeborn?"

It's laughable if not painful. I always knew that my family placed more emphasis on the "Noldor Family" as a reputation than on happiness. A sense of duty to marry into a respectable station of equal or higher value than our own and pump out beautiful babies that would have blonde hair until all of Lindon knew us. Or feared us. It was all the same when you had power and influence.

"I – you're right," he says, though his tone tells me he is far from done speaking. "How are you?"

(I buy a new kitchen set from Williams Sonoma, a cream granite one with that non-stick coating that screams studio kitchen, and not a girl who mostly just reheats pre-packaged food. It's aspirational, I rationalize — the pans are weighty in my palms as I try to wrestle them onto the sleek countertop to check out.

The man at the counter glances at me, and I can tell he's trying not to stare as he rings me up. Since moving here I've not seen a single person who looks like me. Dark-haired girls who are shorter and plumper flood the streets. They wear cottage-core outfits straight from Pinterest, though if I had to guess I'd bet my life that they mostly worked comfy jobs in offices that spent too much money on cafeterias and not on salaries.

I blink, dazed as I step out of the store. I've been staring at one such girl, and I have to cough and apologize when she raises an eyebrow in my direction as if begging me to say something. I don't know when I got so judgmental.)

"What can I get you?"

"What do you have?"

After my call with Finrod, it's easy to find a bar within walking distance of my studio. It's loud, one of those open concepts where the entire room is centered around a square bar, two bartenders on either side filling the mouths of any and everyone with ten dollars. They don't care about the girl walking in, as long as her card is running. The nametag on the bartender's shirt is faded – smudged and chipped in several places, but still. Its owner's name was clear as day. Elendil. I didn't particularly care at the time, but he bore witness to my misery, and every witness deserves a name. Not to mention his pour was heavy, the gin bottle noticeably emptier when he returns it to the well.

So I spend my night rejecting advances from men who think they have a shot and drowning my sorrows in gin and tonic until the room begins to blur at the edges.

There is a man who tries to follow me out, trailing behind me enough that even in my addled state I could recognize the predatory way he stalked behind me when I left the door. Instead of right, I turn left, my pace brisk as I head down the street toward the city's center. Away from my home and the safety of a bolt lock.

The streets are surprisingly empty, dark, and wet from an apparent storm that I was lucky or unlucky enough to miss. It's nearly three blocks before I spot people. Two. It's instinctive to cross toward them. I immediately embrace the smaller of the two, a woman, in my embrace.

"Help me," I whisper in her ear.

Tonight I'm lucky, making new friends as we wait for the stranger to disappear from the block. Her name is Bronwyn. Her boyfriend drives me home.

(The plan comes to me that night, cuddled into my bed under two fluffy blankets as I scrolled The Tirharad Independent looking for places to visit in the city. The statue was bronze, a boy standing atop an anvil, raising a hammer to the sky: Sauron and the Sun.

I liked it.)

"Walk away," I said as I sipped my gin and tonic. It's been six months since I moved to Tirharad. Today I was supposed to go with Bronwyn and Arondir on a double date – their version of friendship came with the idea that singleness was a problem to be fixed. But for some reason I found myself plopping down for a single drink that had turned into four. An apology was already typed on my phone the closer it got to my planned meet-up time. Not that I had an issue with them trying. Planned dates with vouched-for men or women were certainly more advisable than what happens here.

"I was just wondering what a girl like —"

"I'm engaged." It's easy to show the ring I'd found at an antique store, lifting my left hand in the general direction of the stranger. The opal center reflected against the low lights of the bar, brass catching rays of the sun. It looked hand-made, something forged from love and dedication I'd certainly never felt before. But does he get the message? Of course not.

"Do I know him?" The look in his eye is lecherous, leering as he pays attention not to my ring but to the thin straps on my top. He leans into my space. If I'd been in a correct mood, if I'd even wanted the attention of a man, he would've been attractive. He wasn't dressed like the other men here, the black turtle neck tucked seamlessly into his slacks as if he were trying to hide a violent nature beneath a veneer of soft and muted clothing. Or maybe I'm just projecting in hindsight.

"He's a blacksmith," I say, head lowered to my drink as I contemplate getting kicked out for assault. He hasn't done anything yet. Nothing to warrant a kick to the shins or a smack in the face. Something that could be a disservice.

"I know so many blacksmiths in the area. What's his name?"

"Sauron," I deadpan. He laughs, brisque and loudly.

I decided then that I didn't like him.

There was a dark glint in his eye — as if his humor had been found in a secret past I knew nothing about. It's been nearly the same reaction all month, one that typically goes away with a steady gaze and a bored expression. This guy, however, likes to push.

"I know Sauron, kid," the man says. This. This wasn't planned for. In the past two months that I've been running this gambit, no one had known Sauron. Or professed to. Most assumed that he was a made-up man with no connection to reality. "There's no way someone who looks like you would want anything to do with him."

"You think you know me based off of looks?" I start, knowing now that he'll never get the hint. "You, whatever your name is, have no idea what I want. Or who I want for that matter. And you never will, because the only thing you need to know is that whatever I want — it isn't you. Now. Like I said. Walk. Away."

I should've known then that it wouldn't be the last I'd seen of him. The shift in his face from amusement to dead serious within a fraction of a second. His smile is now a straight line, the glint in his brown eyes gone, replaced only with black. But my trepidation was placated when he nodded, reaching into his pocket and producing a card. Simple bold black lettering as he slid it toward me on the bar counter.

Melkor Ainor Master Welder

"Tell Sauron that his old friend is looking for him." His words feel like a threat. But he's gone before I even look up from the card.

(Never trust a man who insists he knows you better than yourself.)

I focus my attention on the bartender and raise my glass, dangerously close to empty. A fifth to drown away the past and present. A sixth to quiet the thoughts.

Bronwyn sent 11:57AM

Hey, we're going to switch to later tonight, is that alright?

Read 11:57 AM

You sent 12:02 PM

How much later tonight?

Read 12:03 PM

Bronwyn sent 12:03 PM

We were thinking 9. We wanted to hit up that new sports bar down on Greenier.

Read 12:03 PM

You sent 12:07 PM

Maybe. I've been feeling sick today. Read 12:08 PM

Bronwyn sent 12:08 PM

Sick like last week?

Read 12:08 PM

(Sick like always.

I don't respond.)

It takes eight months in Tirharad for my mother to talk to me.

At this point, I had a weekly call with Finrod. We talked like coworkers most of the time. How was your weekend? Turning into each other in broken records as if we cared what stalls were at the farmer's market, or whether or not his kids knew who he was talking to when he stepped out of the room. It was one of those such calls before I heard the shuffle on the other side of the line. The "just let me talk to her" was muffled by what I assumed was Fin's hand over the receiver. Before there was a drop and a brief silence. And then —

"Galadriel," her voice came in. My mother always carried the tone of a woman who had just finished running. A breathlessness followed each syllable as if they were in a race to exit her mouth first. "When are you going to stop this foolishness and come home?"

Eight months of foolishness. As if my mother were simply waiting for me to return from a tantrum I'd thrown. I felt the bile rise in my throat. Anger manifested in my throat as a solid weight, a pain that refused to dissipate. Rise or sink would've been preferable but instead, it sat stuck, needing to be broken apart instead of relocating. It was different than with Finrod. Then I simply had to shift the conversation away from what he wanted to talk about – he was a perpetual puppy, distracted if you shook a toy in front of his face.

"Galadriel?"

Eärwen Noldor was not so easily distracted.

The next thing I know, my screen is black. The call ended without saying a word.

(She calls me several times after, from her number this time. Each call is met with a prevailing silence, voicemails in the trash while I contemplate throwing my phone off the balcony.)

When you reflect upon your choices – in something like this, which at its core is a memoir of my consciousness and my failures – you learn what pushes you. Is it rage? Surface level — yes. The initial rage that flows from a mother's latent misunderstanding of who her daughter is. That "tantrum" that follows. Powder can only sit in a keg for so long. So what do you do? What did I do? I drowned my gunpowder in liquid fire and waited for the flame to swallow me whole.

I met the devil on a Wednesday afternoon. He is the flame that leads to a spark – though I hadn't known that then.

He finds me at a bar I wasn't a regular at. Some sports bar as Arondir wanted to watch a team play. I'd never so much as seen the man smile, but of course, he watched the screen with that same rapt attention he gave everything.

I still wore the ring, my signal to Bronwyn and Arondir that I didn't want their wingman services. It didn't matter. Their services never worked. Men tended to think we were a poly couple, which I would say was confusing but – my arms wrapped around Bronwyn's waist, Arondir draped over her shoulders and I won't lie and say I didn't know how the brown sugar lipgloss tasted coming off Bronwyn's lips. The gin and tonics were strong at this bar, but the drinks are always strong when we're together. We should probably talk about it. Not tonight.

Tonight he had caught my eye, not unlike my initial appraisal of Melkor. The tense air around him seemed to not affect the others in his group. They were surrounding him as if this club were the ocean and he was the only raft in sight. He stood casually, back to one of the only spaces along the wall of the bar that wasn't filled with other people. There was a small huddle around him, at least two girls clinging to each sleeve of his jean jacket as he told whatever story he was regaling the group with.

I don't know why I kept staring at him. If Bronwyn or Arondir had noticed they didn't say anything, letting me sip on the clear liquid in my glass as I stared across at him. Something so familiar yet unrecognizable about him as I did. Then his eyes – green, not like the forest but like a snake, treacherous and alluring all at once – met mine.

I wish I could say it was immediate magnetism – that the second our eyes connected he made me swoon with the idea of a future together based only on his gaze boring into mine or that there was an electric pull that brought me to him setting me alight. But that wouldn't be the truth.

His gaze felt like a weighted blanket. All the rushing thoughts in my head suddenly evaporated, silenced by a sea of green.

It doesn't take much to shake Bronwyn and Arondir from my side. I slip through the crowded bar mostly unnoticed, just another face pushing against clusters of shoulders just trying to get to the bathroom. I'm foolish enough to think that a splash of water and a quick pick me up will return my mind to something other than the stranger on the other side of the room.

The water is tepid against my skin. The paper towels are coarse. In the back of my mind, Eärwen scolds me for wasting expensive skincare items on subpar materials. She would've hated how I'd switched from her beloved Tatcha creams to the generic brands sold at the bodega across the street from my home. She would've hated this bar and my friends. Probably would've hated the clothes on my back or the way I wore my hair. It's enough to make me smile.

He's there when I exit the room. He leaned casually against the opposite wall, studying me as if at a museum and he was finally close enough to see the details in the art. We stare at each other. Or more, I stare and he moves into my space. I smell him now, all steel and smoke, as he backs me toward the bathroom. I don't think to speak, just letting him head me back inside.

He seems to have made up his mind about me, shepherding me into the stall furthest from the door. It's spacious, one of those specifically built for handicapped patrons. Looking back I probably should've scolded him, perhaps argued about the locale and the fake ring on my finger. Demand he let me go and head back into the crowd to find my friends. But I don't.

Instead, I bite my lip when he turns toward the door to the stall. He's tall – taller than I would've guessed from across the room. My brain immediately turned to a litany of tallbigtall, all warning bells muted in favor of attraction.

"I'm Halbrand," he says. It shocks me how he provides the barest of introduction before he locks the stall door behind us. For a moment I had thought he wouldn't speak at all, content to just let two strangers use each other for stolen minutes in a bathroom stall. It was cliche. But if didn't feel that way at the time.

"Galadriel."

His lips were on mine within a second of my name leaving my lips. His kiss was hard, all of him pressed into me as he bent to consume me. Lips, and hands, everywhere on me – his arms coiling around my waist. He was crushing me into him, refusing me the option to move away and catch my breath. Whatever he'd seen in me he saw fit to push and mold me into whatever he wanted me to be.

There's something so devastating about releasing your mind into the hands of another.

Even worse is finding that you like it.

By the time my brain caught up to what was happening my body was already responding. My hands were needy, insistent as they grabbed at his hair. My lips were an uncoordinated mess, desperately trying to catch up to his initial dive. But somehow it worked. His hands had moved from my waist, so far south he was lifting me by my ass, pulling me into him. I want to say he didn't have to pull. I would've followed him anyway.

Instinctively I wrap my legs around his hips. It's a drug, the feeling of his hardness, blocked by lack of foresight and the sensible "don't-try-to-fuck-me" jeans I'd worn. He was hard, heavy weight against the burgeoning heat in my core as his lips left mine to explore the exposed skin of my neck. It was disorienting, having gone months feeling numb to the feeling of skin against skin, only for a stranger to pull the dormant lust in me to the surface.

It felt like fire.

The noise I made when he pulled the slightest inch away from me would be embarrassing if anyone but him had heard it. But he was pulling at the waistband of my pants, urgent hands doing their best to pull them just low enough before he turned me to face the stall wall.

"You gonna be quiet for me?" He asks, lips against my ear as he manages to get my jeans to pool around my knees. I heard the zipper of his jeans, what I hoped was the ripping of a condom. But to be honest – I couldn't care less. "Or are you gonna let everyone hear what I'm gonna do to you?"

Looking back, I can't tell if I asked him to wait. If I asked him to slow down, or maybe finger me a bit before I was filled. All consuming, wholly, filled. Each push of his hips craved a new place inside me for himself. A goodbadgood burn as his girth pushed me past the limits I previously thought I had. By the time he was fully inside, hips pressed to mine, I was a whimpering mess.

"Didn't even need prep, did you, baby?" His breath was gruff against the hollow of my ear. Deeper, more desperate as he pulled back – which I think was worse than being filled, the emptiness he left behind an ache that only the returning push of his cock inside me could cure. All I could do was moan, my knuckles curling against the hard plastic of the stall wall as I scrambled for purchase.

I don't pretend to be above a cry, the pinpricks of water falling from my eyes as he began a harsh pace inside. "Mmm, i' hurts."

His fingers gripped my hips tightly, a dark laugh coming from his throat. His chest was to my back, his body encompassing mine and it was too much. It's too fast, it's too hard. He knocks the breath from me but still, I blush. I'm overwhelmed but my cunt craves him – walls clenching, gushing around him as he slips, cruel, a single finger to rub at my clit.

It's hard to care about the sounds we're making. The clear slapping as skin meets skin, the soft moans from my mouth, or the groans from his throat –

He asked if I'd be quiet but I'd never been louder.

"Fuck," his voice was low and ragged in my ear. The hand not on my clit winding up my shirt to grasp my breast – kneading, pinching, pulling at the soft skin in a way that sent electricity through my body. My orgasm was winding up inside me, coiling tighter and tighter as he drove me into the fucking wall. We were pressed so close together I was surprised the thick plastic hadn't given way to his harsh thrusts. He added a second finger to my clit, rolling the bud between the two as the pads began to press on where our bodies joined together. The coil snaps, my orgasm hitting me like a light-rail train. I feel the gush come from me, my entire body seizing around his length and forcing gasps of air out of my throat. Panicky, shaky breaths as I fall apart in a sports bar bathroom while the veritable stranger behind me continues to fuck into me like a beast. I could only hang on the best I could, my legs feeling like jelly. His hand left my breast, gripping my waist to hold me up as he chased his release.

By the time he came, I was slumped, boneless against the wall as he slammed inside, grinding harshly into my backside. Each push drove the warmth of his spend deeper and deeper inside me, my brain a haze as I tried to remember whether or not I had taken my birth control, or if I had asked if he had worn a condom, or if I was just misremembering the sound.

He's still inside, both of us panting. His hand comes to my throat, and he turns my head to look at him. "Come back to my place."

It's not a question, more of a demand. Still, I find myself nodding, eyes glossy as he smirks down at me. It's sinister, it's cruel. It makes me clench around his softening cock, earning me a hiss and swat to my ass before he pulls away from me. He cleans me up. He takes me home.

When I was young my father used to tell me that running only prolonged the pain. Eventually, you'd have to come home and face the music, and it'd be worse because you put the time and distance between the initial wound and taking care of it. A festering wound can never heal and other euphemisms that meant the same thing. At the time I took it to mean that he didn't want me to hide my report card from him or that I should apologize when I was wrong.

The problem was — I got excellent grades, and I was rarely, if ever, wrong. At least, until I started dating Celebron.

I was no stranger to waking up alone.

I'd done it for the majority of my engagement, then every day since I moved to Tirharad. (Excluding the one night with Arondir and Bronwyn — a drunken engagement that will never happen again.)

I was not used to waking up pleasantly sore, the feeling of being thoroughly used and pushed past the normal maintenance orgasms a vibrator could provide. I was not used to waking up in sheets softer than silk, feeling like I had slept on a cloud while the smell of bacon wafted through the apartment. It was nice. It couldn't happen again.

It only took me a few moments to find my clothes, sans panties - which seem to have disappeared into the ether. I guess he'll have a memento.

There was no use tip-toeing out of the room. My brief introduction to the space the night before made it clear - while it was spacious, it was open concept and the kitchen was between the front door and both rooms in the apartment. It's a shame. I would've preferred avoiding the "that was fun but I don't want to see you again" conversation.

"You're awake."

He's leaning against the doorframe as I finish pulling my pants up. Unabashedly staring, when I turn to face him, though I can't fully blame him. He already saw it all and worse the night before.

"Yeah," I cough, avoiding his eyes. There was something so...intense about him in the daylight. His face said a neutral impassiveness, but his eyes held a sharp glint I hadn't seen before. I'm not sure what it was, but I didn't want to find out. "I have a, uh, meeting. With my mom."

I never said I was a great liar.

He seems to notice it, eyebrow raised in skepticism as he straightens his posture. "Okay."

I thank every deity I can that he decides not to push it further. He steps out of the way and lets me out of the room.

(Speak of the devil and she will come.)

I had answered the phone without checking it. A rookie mistake as I began walking the blocks back toward my apartment.

"Hello?" I answered, staring into the distance as I thought about the interaction with Halbrand. He hadn't done anything outright sinister. Unless you counted holding my hips down as he —

"Galadriel, finally." Fuck.

"Mother," I sigh. "Your persistence knows no bounds."

"And your stubbornness seems equally as vast, darling. I'll make this quick."

I pause on the sidewalk, turning to look at a small cafe. It was decorated for Halloween, with cut-out paper lanterns and pumpkins scattered in between faux webbing and paper mache bats. It was cute, it looked cozy. When I left Mithlond it was January, snow had hardly melted, and yet, I had found comfort in Tirharad's little propensities. My mother was the type to skip the Halloween decorations, opting instead to spring straight into Christmas and her House of Noldor gala decorations.

"I want you to come home," she said. As if it was simple. As a matter of fact. "I want you to apologize to Celebron for causing a scene, and I want you to keep the spring wedding you always wanted."

"I'm not doing any of those things." I step into the cafe. There's a soft classical tune playing I'd never heard of and everyone inside seemed too preoccupied with their own lives to pay attention to me. The line isn't too long, and the wafting of an apple cinnamon concoction is too great for me to pass up.

"Why do you insist on ruining yourself for –"

"I'd advise you to reconsider that statement." I hum, scanning the selection of pastry options. It was one of those displays with a clear face, and you could practically see the steam from the fresh selection as they sat, waiting for someone like me to pick them.

"Galadriel I am your mother and I can say what I know to impart on you as wisdom and –"

"Actually, you can respect my boundary and not insist I'm 'ruining myself' considering you're the one who's harassing me. Or I can simply block all of you. Can I get the apple pie cinnamon roll, please? And the iced espresso with cream, yes."

"Are – are you in public?"

"Did you think I would sit around my apartment moping?" I ask as if I hadn't done exactly that for the past eight (or was it nine?) months. Time moved quickly if you blacked out most of it. But it was days like today that showed in my mind's eye with the most clarity. Down to paying with cash. Seventy-eight cents change – dropped directly into the tip jar.

"Well yes, honey. You were dumped just three months before the wedding for that scene you caused." I can see the bait from a mile away. Her inflammatory language was only there to urge me into a rage. She wants me to scream, to force myself to embarrass myself in this area now that she knows I am surrounded. Normally she would succeed. Normally I'd yell, insist that wasn't the truth. That we both knew the truth.

"Well," I say, moving to the end of the counter to wait for my order. "If catching Celeborn with his pants around his ankles while fucking the waitress from our engagement dinner, berating him for it then leaving to pack all my shit out of his house is 'getting dumped' then I guess I was dumped. I'd do it again now, down to the slap to the face, and calling him a shrimp-dicked cretin."

"Galadriel," She hissed. A warning, discomfort flowing through her veins. Even when she was trying to bait me, she still couldn't let go of her notions of propriety.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, mother. I didn't realize my description of getting cheated on would upset you so much. I'm so glad that you care so much about my happiness to realize that what Celeborn did was terrible and I shouldn't take someone like that back into my heart."

"Honey, sure he has his...flaws. But he is stable! He's the son of Senator Doriath! Does our family mean nothing to you?"

"I didn't realize my marriage was just to be a political bargaining chip for you." I did. But I never expected her to brazenly say so. Then again, I never expected to be in this situation at all.

The barista stops in front of me, handing the pastry and drink. I'm out the door in an instant, slipping into the daylight once again. This time my pace is drenched in speed, not taking the time to savor the sights or stop at a cushy-looking storefront.

"Well honey, what else would it be?" I would think the answer was obvious to her. But like everything about the past three years of my life, I was wrong.

"I don't know mother, I must've been under the impression that people married each other for love."

"Oh honey, no one marries for love anymore."

"You would have me marry a cheater and a liar on the off chance he was honest about leveraging our family to prosperity. Chain myself body and soul to a crook?"

There's silence now. A chasm between us that she knows can not be crossed. She sighs. As if finally seeing the logic. As if the logic was what she needed. She couldn't accept that his actions were bad enough on their own.

"You'll do what you wish then." The line goes dead.

#haladriel #saurondriel

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imagineyourworld · 3 years ago

Text

The Wife

Wolffe x Fem!Padawan!Reader

Summary: When visiting a backwards village Plo Koon’s Padawan has to pretend to be married to Commander Wolffe in order to get the residents to back off

Warnings: Misogyny, a bit of nudity, a bit spicy making out

Check out my other work here

-------

You had been walking for what felt like hours when your Master, Plo Koon, received a message and asked you to join him at the front of the train of walking soldiers.

“(Y/N), my dear, I have some unfortunate news”, he started.

You looked at your Master expectically. Unfortunate news could mean basically anything and you could only hope that it wasn’t anything that would massively complicate your relief mission.

“As you know we’re going to deliver supplies to the Gonchee people here, and we don’t know much about them.” You simply nodded, not wanting to interrupt your Master, who continued just a moment later. “Master Yoda just forwarded me recent information we gained about the Gonchee. It seems they see human women as nothing more than, for a lack of a better word, prices or trophies to be won or taken.”

Your curious expression morphed into one of shock and disgust. Of course you knew that not every planet had the same standards when it came to equality between the sexes, but this level of misogyny was something you hadn’t expected to be confronted with.

“If I had known earlier I would have offered to let you stay on Coruscant or accompany another battalion”, Plo tried to apologize. But you just shook your head.

“It’s quite alright, Master. If I am to be a Jedi knight soon I will have to learn to handle situations such as this one, though I cannot say I am happy.”

Plo put a heavy hand on your shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. He knew you were capable of handling yourself and could fight off a couple of Gonchee if necessary, but as your Master he still felt responsible and worried for your safety and wellbeing.

“Master Yoda also said that the Gonchee usually don’t bother married women, they consider them to be claimed by their husband.”

You looked up to your Master, expecting him to continue, but he just stared straight ahead, his expression never betraying his thoughts.

“I am not married, though”, you finally said.

“No, you’re not. You’re a Jedi and shouldn’t have attachments”, he answered.

Part of you wanted to correct him. You were not a Jedi, not yet at least. But the other, bigger, part was overjoyed your Master considered you a Jedi and not just a Padawan.

“I suppose I could ask Commander Wolffe to pretend to be your husband. Just for your safety, of course”, Plo continued.

For a fraction of a second you lost your balance, but quickly managed to catch your footing again. He couldn’t know about your crush on Wolffe, could he? Sure, your Master was a great Jedi, strong in the force, and he knew you better than anyone, having raised you like his own daughter, but you have been so careful to hide your feelings for your commander.

“Only if that’s what you want, of course.”

You took a moment to consider the proposition. Feelings aside, it was a good idea. If being ‘married’ would make sure the Gonchee wouldn’t bother you and ensure you could do your job that was a good thing, the rational thing to do.

Finally you nodded. “Only if Wolffe wants to, though. Otherwise I’ll ask Sinker.”

-------

Wolffe hasn’t been watching you and the General, that would be ridiculous. And of course he hasn’t noticed how your hair shines in the sun or how you smile at your Master with love and trust in your eyes. And when Plo Koon asked to talk to him a while later he wasn’t hoping to find out more about your conversation with him, that thought never crossed his mind.

“Wolffe, I have a favour to ask you.”

Wolffe simply nodded. He would to anything for the kind Jedi who treated him and his brothers like actual people, who never showed them anything other than respect.

“Of course, General. What is it?”

“I want you to be married to (Y/N).”

It took all the self control Wolffe could gather not to look at the Jedi, not to blush and not to let his feelings show.

“Is this a test?”, he asked. Though it seemed out of character for Plo, maybe he was trying to get Wolffe to confess his feelings for you. Feelings he had spent months and months trying to deny and repress, feelings that would get him in more trouble than he could ever imagine if anyone were to find out.

“No, no”, the General reassured his Commander. He then told Wolffe about the situation and why he was asking this of him.

Wolffe nodded along with the explanation before finally daring to look at Plo.

“Did (Y/N) suggest me as her fake husband?”, he asked, trying his best to keep his voice even and steady. He knew it was a arisky question that might tell the Jedi more about his feelings than he should know, but he couldn’t help but wonder and he wouldn’t agree if you would rather be fake married to one of his brothers instead of him.

“It was my idea, though she seemed to be quite happy with you as her ‘husband’“, Plo answered in a tone that told Wolffe the Jedi had to be smiling under his mask. “I just thought you were the obvious choice, considering how close the two of you are.”

Wolffe nodded, not knowing what to say.

“That makes sense”, he finally said.

Plo looked at the young man next to him. Though Wolffe’s expression was usually stoic, now it was even more so. It seemed forced, as if he was trying his best not to let any feelings show. The General couldn’t help but realize just how similar the clone’s expression was to yours just a bit earlier.

“Maybe you should go to (Y/N) to discuss how you’re going to handle the situation. I’ll inform the others to play along”, Plo suggested after a few moments of awkward silence and with a quick “Yes, sir” Wolffe turned around to find you amidst the soldiers.

-------

By the time you were nearing the village, you and Wolffe had just finished your plan.

“Let’s go over it one last time”, he suggested.

You opted not to tell him that that would be the third ‘one last time’, partly because you knew he didn’t like being corrected and would not hesitate so snap at you, partly because going over this plan like any other mission made it easier for you to let it sink in that this was just that, a plan, a mission, pretend. You were not married to Wolffe, nor would you ever be. The two of you were friends, nothing more. Because no matter how you felt, how you’ve been feeling for quite some time now, you could never be together, even on the off chance that Wolffe reciprocated your feelings.

“The Gonchee don’t know anything about Jedi, other than that we’re here to help, so they won’t find our ‘marriage’ suspicious. We’ll them we met at the beginning of the war and have been married for a couple of months. Really, Wolffe, it’s not that complicated, I’m sure we’ll both be able to remember to play the part.”

The snark reply you had been expecting didn’t come. Instead Wolffe simply nodded and stared straight ahead.

“Just remember to keep physical contact to a minimum”, he reminded you for the fifth time.

You rolled your eyes. Sure, Wolffe had never been one for hugs and cuddling, unlike many of his brothers, who often seeked you out for a comforting hug, but he really didn’t have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself every couple of minutes, you were not some hormonal teenager.

“Will do, Commander.”

Without another word, or even so much as a nod, Wolffe speeded up his steps to join Master Plo at the front.

“What’s gotten into your husband?”

You turned around to find Sinker looking at you with an amused expression, Boost right beside him sporting a smug grin.

“Guess he’s just not too thrilled about being fake married to me”, you tried to joke, even though just the thought hurt more than you cared to admit. Of course you knew nothing could ever happen between you, but you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t hoped that this mission would allow you to pretend for just a little while, to maybe get closer to him.

“If he really didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t do it. I heard him talking to the General, Plo asked him, he didn’t order him. Wolffe could have stepped down and let one of us take his place. And I’m sure most of us would have happily done so”, Boost claimed, laying a hand on your shoulder and sending you a warm smile.

Maybe it would have been better to do this with someone else, someone who would put his arms around you to really sell the story and who you could laugh about the whole affair with afterwards. And yet you knew that being in a ‘relationship’ with anyone other than Wolffe would have been worse than Wolffe’s obvious dislike of the whole situation.

“It’s fine. Wolffe’s just being Wolffe, he’ll come around once we arrive at the village”, you tried to reassure both the troopers and yourself.

-------

Wolffe had, in fact, not come around by the time you reached the village. He had spent the rest of the way talking to your Master and completely ignoring you. It was moments like this that made you question why you even had feelings for him, he was so hot and cold, sending you gentle smiles and sharing inside jokes one moment and acting like you didn’t even know each other the next. But it was those few moments when his gentler side, which you alway thought was more his true self, showed, that kept you hooked.

It was Plo Koon who interrupted your thoughts by asking you to join him and Wolffe at the front to greet the Gonchee.

The small creatures were no bigger than Jawas, had greenish fur and ears that reminded you of Loth cats, other than that they looked pretty human.

“Good evening. I am General Plo Koon, these are Commander (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Commander Wolffe and the 104th. We were sent by the Republic to deliver supplies and help you reset your village.”

The Gonchee at the front, who seemed to be an older man, bowed his head slightly, the others, all male you realized, followed suit.

“Welcome, Jedi Koon. I see you have brought a female with you, I don’t suppose she’s here to stay with us?”

The way he licked his lips with his yellow tongue made you shudder. You could sense resentment practically rolling off your master at the Gonchee’s words, but more than that it was Wolffe’s arm around your shoulder that calmed you.

“My wife will most certainly not stay with you, she’ll be by my side, always.”

Maybe you imagined that his arm tightened around you as you leaned into him, but you certainly didn’t imagine the growl coming from his throat as the Gonchee looked you up and down.

“Such a shame. Having a human woman is an honor to us, you know and this one seems to be a fine specimen. You’re lucky to have her.”

Though his words sounded as if he was buying your lie and letting go of the thought of having you, whatever that meant, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that he, or any other male Gonchee, would leave you alone. Not even Wolffe looking at you from the side, a small smile on his lips, could relief you of your anxiety.

“I feel like the luckiest man in the galaxy every minute I have her next to me.”

His words were directed at the Gonchee, but somehow they felt like more. Like something one would whisper to a lover in private.

It was only when Plo spoke up again that you could tear your eyes away from Wolffe, from his warm gaze and full lips.

“The men will bring in the supplies now, if you’ll allow, and then we’ll settle for the night.”

The Gonchee at the front nodded.

“Of course, of course. Though the lady should stay with the other women. You see, we don’t allow women to do any physical labour.

-------

Several Gonchee had offered to accompany you to the hut the women of the village spend most of their time in, but you had declined. That didn’t mean you could go alone, however. The entire 104th seemed to have noticed the glances the male Gonchee shot you and had silently agreed to never let you out of their sight while you were in the village. Which is how you found yourself with your hand in the crook of Wolffe’s elbow, being lead to the ‘women’s hut’ as it was called.

“I’ve been to many planets and have met people of many cultures, but none of them were as backwards as the Gonchee. If they could see you in action they would know not to look at you like that”, your companion grumbled.

You swallowed down the urge to tell him that quite a few shinies have made their moves on you in the past, though you had shot all of them down and had to admit that none of them reduced you to your body the way the Gonchee did.

“It’s only for a couple of days. It’ll be like a mini vacation for me, not having to do any work.”

You could feel Wolffe eying you from the side but refused to look his way.

“I wish I could stay with you”, he said, more to himself than to you. “I mean someone. I wish someone, one of us, could stay with you.”

You chuckled. It was rare to see this side of Wolffe, the side that corrected his words, that stuttered and almost seemed nervous.

“I’d like you to stay. But you have a job to do and I can defend myself, should anything happen.”

You placed a hand on his arm, and though you were sure he couldn’t feel it through the plastoid armor, he seemed to relax just a little bit.

“We both know that I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s only for a couple of hours, I’ll be with you again before you know it.”

He nodded, but the frown never left his face entirely.

“I’ll have someone come in and check on you every now and then. It’s not without reason that we have to pretend to be married, we cannot be careful enough.”

Wolffe’s tone told you that there was no use in arguing. And maybe he was right, if even your Master, who you knew would never disregard your ability to fend for yourself, thought it would be safe to always have a man, to always have Wolffe, with you, it couldn’t hurt to be safe rather than sorry.

“Sounds reasonable.”

Just as soon as the words left your mouth you stopped in front of the the small building the Gonchee had told you to go to. It looked ancient and primitive compared to the skyscrapers on Coruscant and shining starships you were used to, but through the open door you could spot pillows and blankets and a roaring fire inside. At least you’d be comfortable.

The women inside seemed to have heard you approaching, because most of them stopped their work and conversations to catch a glance at you and Wolffe.

“I guess this is it”, you said more to yourself than your fellow Commander. He nodded nonetheless.

“Be careful. Don’t do anything reckless.”

You tried your best to swallow any remark since your usual answer to something like that would be exactly what Wolffe would describe as “reckless”.

“I’ll see you soon”; you replied instead. And because you could still feel the eyes of the Gonchee women on you, you lifted yourself up on your tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to Wolffe’s cheek. After all, you had to make your marriage believable.

The low noise Wolffe made shocked you for a split moment. It was a mixture between a grunt and a sigh that didn’t speak of surprise as much as... disbelief? You couldn’t quite place it. Though you tried not to think about it too much as your turned away from him and entered to hut, where the women started questioning you immediately.

-------

True to his word Wolffe had sent someone of the pack to check in on you every ten minutes or so, but despite their reports that you were perfectly fine and just talking to the women of the village, Wolffe only felt a sense of relief when he saw you again himself.

You were sitting next to Sinker on one of the many logs surrounding the fireplace. The rest of the pack as well as Plo Koon were either on logs or the ground nearby while the Gonchee, mostly the men but a few women as well, sat on the other side of the fire.

As Wolffe stepped closer you lifted your head, and as always he couldn’t tell whether you had heard his footsteps or felt his force signature.

The old Gonchee who had greeted you was the first to speak up.

“Ah, the husband returns. Such a shame, I had thought I might have a chance with that lovely woman of yours after all.”

Wolffe knew that the polite thing to do would be to answer him, but one of the first things General Koon taught his men was that it was better to say nothing at all if you didn’t have anything nice to say. So he simply walked over to where you were sitting and squeezed himself into the space between you and the end of the log, which resulted in you being squished between him and Sinker. A scenario Wolffe, being the overly protective man he is, usually wasn’t too fond of, but in this the more of the Wolfpack were around you, the better.

It was only when he felt you moving impossibly closer to him, when he smelled the last clinging bit of your sweet perfume, that had somehow endured the walk to the village and your time in the women's’ hut, that he was finally able to relax. You’d be right next to him, or at least one of his brothers or the General, for the rest of the night, meaning you were safe from the Gonchee for now.

Suddenly he felt your lips right next to his ear, your breath hitting his skin.

“If we wanna sell this marriage you cannot just sit there like a droid, Wolffe.”

The way you whispered, almost purred, his name made shivers run down his spine. And though he tried to suppress it, your soft giggle told him that you’d noticed.

With a small sigh he put his arm around your waist and pulled you even closer to him. So close that he could practically feel your body melting into his, though he tried not to think about how right it felt to have you in his arms, how your body seemed to perfectly fit right next to his.

“Is this better?”, he whispered in your ear. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you biting your lip and even pressing your thighs together. He shook his head, he must have imagined that. It was probably just you trying to get comfortable in this new position.

“How long have to two of you been married?”, one of the younger Gonchee asked.

For just a moment you tensed beneath Wolffe’s arm before relaxing again.

“Just a couple of months”, you replied. Your smooth lie impressed Wolffe, being raised by Plo Koon you were usually a fan of telling the truth and he couldn’t help but wonder where you learned to lie like that.

“And you let your wife fight?”, another Gonchee asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.

Wolffe sneaked a glance at you. How could anyone look at you and not see a warrior? Sure, your appearance might not be the most threatening, but wasn’t it obvious that the way you pressed your lips together spoke of determination? That you eyes told anyone who looked into them how much you’ve been through and how deeply you cared? That your hands were calloused from holding a lightsaber and yet soft enough to comfort a clone in distress?

“It’s not up to me whether she fights or not.”

A grumble of disagreement was heard from the assembled Gonchee, or at least from the men.

“We are very fortunate to have a warrior as great as (Y/N) fighting besides us every day”, the General said after a while. For anyone who knew him it was obvious that he was trying to end the subject while defending you at the same time, but the Gonchee seemed to think of his statement as a challenge.

“But what about children? How will she carry children if she is fighting?

From the way your shoulders tensed underneath Wolffe’s arm he could tell that you were close to telling the Gonchee of once and for all, and apparently SInker on your other side could tell as well, because now he jumped into the conversation.

“They’re still newly weds, children can wait until the honeymoon phase is over, don’t you agree?”

The oldest Gonchee leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“We do not care for such sentiments. Our women cook our food, sow our clothes, take care of our children and warm our beds, believe me, it’s easier that way. Perhaps you should try it, Commander.”

For what felt like the thousandth time that day Wolffe looked at you. Of course you knew that you had to represent the Republic wherever you went, but usually that didn’t stop you from speaking up for what’s right. He wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed by or concerned about your self restraint.

“It’s very different in our culture. We marry for love, most of the time at least”, you finally said. And if he hadn’t been staring at you already Wolffe would never have noticed the way your eyes flitted over to him when you said “love”.

Several of the Gonchee opened their mouth to argue, but lucky for the entire 104th a few women carrying trays with various foods and drinks appeared and rendered the men silent.

-------

Shortly after a near silent meal your Master stood up.

“I suppose it would be best for us to call it a night. We will have to be up early tomorrow if we want to reach out ship again before nightfall.”

The Gonchee leader stood up as well and slightly bowed his head before the Jedi.

“Very well. We have prepared our assembly hut for you, I will show you the way.” He stopped for a moment and looked over to where you were still sitting between Wolffe and Sinker. “Though I know you follow different customs, we Gonchee do not allow women to sleep in a room with people they’re not related or married to, which is why we have also prepared an empty hut for the Commander and his wife. And I suppose they will need privacy so she can perform her marital duties. My son will show them the way”

You were quite certain that at one point throughout the day your own rank as Commander had been mentioned, but even though you really wanted to correct the old Gonchee, you were tired of dealing with them all day and decided against it. Though the same could not be said for the Wolfpack. Several of them, including Wolffe and Sinker next to you as well as Boost next to Sinker, spoke up to correct him.

A younger Gonchee, who you assumed was said son, stood up and looked at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Alright, Commanders”, he said. The ironic way in which he pronounced the word made Wolffe roll his eyes, which by now you could tell even if you weren’t looking at him. “Follow me.”

The two of you bid goodnight to the others and did as the Gonchee had said. The thought of probably having to share a bed with Wolffe crossed your mind for a moment, but it was gone as soon as it came. Though as soon as the son opened the door to a small hut, smaller than any you had seen before, it returned.

The ceiling was low, the room was small and the only pieces of furniture were a small bed and a single bedside table.

“It’s not much but it’ll do for the night”, the Gonchee said. Though the words were probably supposed to be apologetic, his tone was anything but.

Wolffe, bowing his head due to the low ceiling, stepped into the hut while you remained outside. That, however, proved to be a mistake just a moment later, because the Gonchee stepped closer, closer than you would have wanted, and looked up at you.

“You might rather spend the night in my room, it’s bigger and more comfortable and I could really use someone in my bed, especially a pretty human woman such as yourself.”

Due to his words and the way he eyed you, especially with your private parts almost in his eyeline because of his short height, you wanted nothing more than to punch him. Maybe kick him. Maybe cut off something of his with your lightsaber. And if it hadn’t been for Wolffe you would have, and ruined your mission within a split second.

But there was Wolffe, knight in plastoid armour protecting you from any rash decisions. He had left the hut and was now standing behind you, from where he put his arms around your middle and, you were sure, glared daggers at the Gonchee.

“I suggest you leave my wife alone”, he growled and tightened his grip on you even more.

You weren’t sure whether it was his words, the growl or his arms around you and your back to his chest, but something about his behaviour did something to you. Something that would make it a million times harder to share a room, share a bed, with him tonight. As if your crush on the Commander wasn’t already bad enough...

“I thought in your culture you love the one you marry and if you love this woman you wouldn’t want her to miss out on spending a night with a real man, would you?”

If the situation wasn’t so tense you would have laughed. A real man? He was covered in fur!

“Wolffe gives me everything I need and more. I wouldn’t leave him for any man in the entire galaxy.”

It was only when the words left your mouth that you realized just how true they were. You really had to get that under control, having a crush on your fellow Commander was bad enough, you would not allow yourself to actually fall in love with him. You couldn’t jeopardize your friendship, your future as a Jedi knight, everything and everyone you’ve ever known for a man who you knew thought of you as a friend.

The Gonchee looked you up and down one last time before glaring at Wolffe.

“Then I suppose I should bid the two of you good night.”

And without another word he turned around and left the two of you alone.

As soon as he was gone Wolffe let go of you and put some distance between you.

“You should lie down, you must be tired after dealing with those idiots all day.”

His words made you turn around to face him. Once again you just couldn’t read him. One moment he made your heart beat faster by actually acting like your husband and the next he pretended like you were nothing more than acquaintances. But for once you grew tired of this behaviour and refused to oblige, instead you stepped closer to him again and put a hand on one of the arm he had crossed across his chest.

“I’m sure you’re just as tired, if not more. Let’s both go to bed.”

He raised one eyebrow, but other than that he didn’t make a move to break contact with you again.

“There’s only one bed.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, a gesture you had often copied from Wolffe himself.

“I know that. But we’re old enough and trust each other enough to sleep in the same bed for one night”, you argued. You didn’t know what made you do it, but you couldn’t resist the urge to lean even closer, stand up on your tiptoes and whisper into his ear. “You’re my husband, after all. And husband and wife usually sleep in the same bed. And how else are you supposed to protect me from the Gonchee?”

You were too close to his ear to actually see his face, but you were sure he was smirking as he scoffed.

“I thought you were plenty capable of handling the Gonchee yourself, Commander.”

The way he said your title did something to you you’d rather not investigate any further. He was teasing, of course he was, but though two could play that game you were simply too tired.

“Just join me in bed when you’re ready. Otherwise you’ll have to sleep on the cold floor and I’ll have to explain to Master Plo why his Commander is sore all over tomorrow.” You could have left it at that, you should have, but you just had to add one more sentence. “And I can think of more pleasant ways to make you sore.”

As you left him standing and entered the hut you could hear a choked noise coming from him.

-------

“Finally decided to join me?”, you teased when Wolffe slipped underneath the cover.

Wolffe didn’t answer. He couldn’t think of an answer, couldn’t think at all. Not with you so close, laying beside him, trusting him to sleep next to you, to defend you if any of the Gonchee were to try something while you were in your most defenseless state.

“Wolffe”, you whispered after a moment of silence.

Now he had no choice but to answer.

“What is it?”, he grunted. And instantly regretted his gruff reply. This was his one chance to have you close, to forget that there was no way the two of you could ever be more than friends.

“Thank you, for today. And tonight. I’m glad you’re my ‘husband’.”

Wolffe wasn’t good with words, but in that moment he really had no idea what to say.

“It really showed us what we’re missing, didn’t it? The chance to be in love, to be married and not have to hide your feelings”, you continued.

For a second Wolffe’s heart stopped beating. Could you be talking about him not having to hide your feelings or was is just a general statement? Or did you maybe mean that you... No, that was impossible.

“Anyways, we should get some sleep now, we have an early start tomorrow”, you concluded.

From then on it only took a few seconds for your breathing to even out and just was Wolffe was about to sigh in relief that he no longer had to pretend that being near you wasn’t affecting him, you rolled over from your back onto your side and were now pressed up against Wolffe.

It wasn’t just his heart that stopped now, his breathing did as well. How could he move even to take another breath with you so close, with your head resting underneath his chin, your legs intertwined with his and your arm lazily thrown over his torso.

“Damn it”, he mumbled, though he instantly came to regret having made a sound. Luckily you were still fast asleep, if anything you cuddled up even closer to Wolffe.

Slowly, more careful than he had ever been, he lifted his own arm to wrap it around your waist and pull you even closer. He let out a content sigh, breathing in the scent of your shampoo in the process.

Wolffe knew for a fact that he wouldn’t get any sleep that night. This was his one chance to share a bed with you, and even though he would have loved to fall asleep and wake up next to you, he preferred cherishing every second of the night.

-------

The next morning you were woken up not by the sun shining directly in your face, nor Wolffe’s sort snoring or the birds chirping outside, but by the unfamiliar voices speaking in what you recognized as the language of the Gonchee.

You decided that it might be best to pretend to still be asleep, which is why you moved even closer to Wolffe and buried your head underneath his chin. In turn he pulled you closer to him, which made you realize that he had had one arm around you the entire time. You were almost too distracted by the warm and comforting presence of Wolffe next to you and the safety his arm around your waist guaranteed to notice that his breathing changed as he slowly woke up. Though like you Wolffe must have decided not to make it known that he was awake, it was only the more uneven breaths and the stiffening of his body that made it obvious.

“Might I ask why you have invaded my commanders’ privacy?”, a familiar voice cut through the Gonchees’ conversation. And though you knew that it was safe to ‘wake up’ not that Plo Koon was here, both you and Wolffe still pretended to be fast asleep. Which had nothing to do with the fact that you simply didn’t want to face a reality where you weren’t cuddling in bed with Wolffe, nothing at all.

“We... I....”, one of the Gonchee stammered.

“We were here to wake them up”, another voice, who you recognized as the leader’s son, tried to explain.

You both heard and sensed you master coming closer, and though part of you was worried what he may say, or worse think, about the position you and Wolffe were in, the bigger part was comforted by the fact that the Gonchee were either afraid enough or had enough respect for the Jedi to hurry out of the hut within seconds.

“I know you’re awake.” Your Plo’s voice sounded amused rather than mad, though to be fair, in all your years of being his Padawan you had only seen him angry a handful of times, and almost never at you.

It took a lot of self-restraint to fight the urge to cuddle closer to Wolffe for one last second before opening your eyes, but you managed. In moments like these you really wished Plo wouldn’t have to wear a mask, it would make it worlds easier to guess his feelings if you could just see his face.

“I take it the two of you slept well?”, he asked. “The Gonchee certainly seemed to think so.”

You didn’t know what to say. Was there anything you could say without letting either Wolffe or Plo Koon know just how well you slept with your fellow commander by your side? How much you never wanted to go to sleep without him in your arms again and how much you already missed him, now that he was just a few centimeters away?

“Did you understand them, sir?”, Wolffe asked. It didn’t escape your notice that he didn’t answer the question either, though that could simply be due to the fact that Wolffe despised small talk, even with the man who was like a father to him.

“I understood enough to know that they believe the two of you to be very much in love. As well as a few comments I’d rather not repeat, or think about ever again”, Plo replied. As he spoke his eyes shifted between you and Wolffe, though you tried your best not to meet his gaze. You knew that he could already tell more than enough about your emotions through your force connection, if he saw your face, saw the love and admiration that must be visible in your eyes, he would know just how much you cared for Wolffe.

“I’ll let you get ready then. Be outside in 10 minutes, we’re leaving in 20.” With those words Master Plo turned around, left the hut and left the two of you alone.

You looked over at Wolffe, who, same as you, was leaning against the wobbly headboard.

“For what it’s worth, I really did sleep well. Better than I had in a long time”, you said with a slight smile on your lips. Maybe this was overstepping a boundary, but right now you didn’t care.

All Wolffe, in a very characteristic yet disappointing, fashion did was nod before standing up and starting to put on the first pieces of his armour. Other than you, who had actually changed into a pyjama while Wolffe had still been outside the hut last night, he had slept in his blacks and didn’t really have to change, or rather undress.

You, however, did. At first you glanced around the hut, looking for some sort of privacy you knew you wouldn’t find. Then you considered your options: You could ask Wolffe to leave, or to simply turn around, while you would change and he’d do it with probably only an amused smile, or you could just change real quick while he was still busy with his armour. In the blink of an eye you decided on the second option, partly because Wolffe, as well as the other clones in the 104th, had seen you bloody and sweaty, with torn clothes and in various states of undress before, either in the medbay or when you had been in a particular hurry, but mostly you just didn’t want to send Wolffe away, not after having spent the night together.

It was only when you had already changed into your regular trousers and just put on your bra when you came to regret your decision.

“What the kriff do you think you’re doing?”, Wolffe asked, his tone mostly shocked, though there was an emotion in there you couldn’t quite decipher.

“What does it look like? I’m changing.”

You had previously had your back turned to Wolffe, but his question, or rather the way in which he asked, gave you the confidence boost needed to turn around and face him.

“Would you rather I went out in my pyjama?”

This trip really was proving to be most unusual, since Wolffe seemed to be speechless.

“Of course not”, he finally said, though his voice did sound a bit off. “But you could have asked me to leave.”

By now you really didn’t know where your confidence was coming from, but as if an autopilot you stepped closer to him, close enough to see the way his eyes, as well as his pupils, widened.

“Maybe I didn’t want you to leave.”

It was a bold statement, and maybe not entirely true, but it seemed to do the trick, since a smirk found its way to Wolffe’s lips. His eyes, previously focused on your eyes, flitted down to your chest for a moment before going back up again.

“Then what is it you wanted me to do?”, he asked. “What do you want?” A clear challenge to either back down or take a leap. A challenge you shouldn’t accept, but found yourself really wanting to.

“I want you to be here, with me. I want you to be with me wherever I go. I want you next to me in bed when I go to sleep at night and when I wake up the next morning. I want you to always look at me the way you’re doing right now. I want you to touch me and kiss me and make me yours. Maker, Wolffe, I want you!”

The words were out of your mouth without thinking. Just like that, you had voiced every thought running through your brain, made yourself vulnerable to Wolffe’s reaction, whatever it might be. Though you had never expected it to be an arm, already covered in plastoid, to wrap around your waist and a hand, warm and steady, on the back of your neck.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that”, he mumbled before crashing his lips against yours.

Though you didn’t have much experience, you knew that this was what a kiss was supposed to be. It was not a clashing of teeth, like your first kiss, nor hesitant and barely there, like your second, but a perfect mixture. Wolffe wasn’t rough, though there was just enough force to tell you that he could be if that’s what you wanted. His lips worked against yours as if they were made to, teeth softly grazing your bottom lip a few times before biting down. He nibbled on your lip, then caressed it with his tongue before giving the same treatment to your top lip. Some time during the kiss your hands had found their way into his hair, pulling it and pulling him closer at the same time, finally feeling the soft strands between your fingers and causing Wolffe to moan at the sensation. By the time his tongue made its way into your mouth you could have sworn that your legs were made of jelly, that you had moved on to whatever came after this life, that this was a dream.

Even when Wolffe pulled away to catch his breath you didn’t dare to open your eyes, afraid of the reality you would find if you did.

You heard Wolffe’s low chuckle before his lips were on you again. This time he gently kissed your cheeks, the corners of your lips, before making his way down. He spread small bites on your jaw and then followed his teeth with his tongue, soothing the slight sting. Though it was a spot high up on your neck, just beneath your jaw, that finally got a reaction from you. You tightened your grip on his hair as his lips ghosted over the spot and moaned when they pressed harder.

“So needy”, Wolffe chuckled.

All you did to reply was pull his head up again for another kiss, one that was faster and more heated than the last. Though as soon as you pulled away his lips found their way to the same spot again. He began to suck while at the same time pulling you back to the bed. You wondered how he had enough sense to sit down and pull you into his lap, all your thinking had abandoned you the moment his lips first met yours.

“Wolffe, I - kriff, stop -”, you panted.

As soon as you said the word he pulled away, though his hands still had a grip on you, it loosened and he looked at you with nothing but love and lust in his eyes.

“What is it, mesh’la?”

For a moment you leaned your forehead against his shoulder before straightening up again and looking at him.

“As much as I’d love for you to leave hickeys all over, we both know that you can’t. No one can know this ever happened”, you told him, making sure to put just enough authority in your voice to make him take you seriously.

A sly grin was on his lips as soon as the words left your mouth.

“I know, cyare”, he reassured you. He leaned closer again, though this time his lips didn’t move to your neck, but to your ear. “But later I’ll mark you in places where no one but me will see.”

The thought alone send shivers down your spine and heat to your core, but it also placed a smile on your face.

“Looking forward to it”, you said and placed a quick peck on his lips. Though you should have known that Wolffe wouldn’t leave it at that. He pulled you closer once again, the hand on your waist now moving upwards and to the front until it cupped your breast. Gently, in stark contrast to the way he bit down on your lip, he squeezed and massaged in before moving on to the other one.

Another moan escaped your lips, this one even louder.

“Careful, we don’t want anyone to hear you, do we?”

You were about to nod in agreement when an idea popped into your head.

“I bet hearing me would make the Gonchee really believe that we’re married.”

Wolffe chuckled as he once again moved his hands to your waist.

“I think they already believe us, cyare.”

-------

It had taken the two of you a while to finally separate and make yourselves look presentable, and only when you heard Sinker calling for the last men to hurry up did you finally leave the hut.

Now, on your way back to the ship, the two of you were finally together again after you had talked to Plo Koon and Wolffe to the other clones for a while.

“You know, I’m really glad it was you I was fake married to”, you confessed in a whisper.

Wolffe’s hand brushed against yours for a second while he chuckled.

“You know, maybe one day we can scratch the ‘fake’.”

He saw the surprise in your eyes as you looked up to him. Truth be told, he hadn’t meant to say that in that moment, but he knew he wanted it to be true. Some day, when the war was over, if you would still want him by your side by then.

“I’d like that. I’d like that very much”, you said with a smile. “But first, I think there’s something else we need to do, once we have some time and privacy.”

Wolffe knew exactly what you were talking about, and though he couldn’t wait to feel you, to hear you and touch you again, he also couldn’t wait for the day he would get to call you his wife for real. Maybe, after such a long time of denying his feelings and then refusing to act on them, this trip to the Gonchee village and pretending to be married had been good for something after all.

I tried to put a little bit of everything (and by ‘everything’ I mean some of my favourite tropes) into this story, I hope you enjoyed it.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. <3

#wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #commander wolffe x you #wolffe x y/n #commander wolffe x y/n #commander wolffe imagine #wolffe imagine

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therealvinelle · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Esme?

I have them.

To start with, I see Esme quite differently from the way this fandom appears to see her, yet also quite differently from the way Meyer intended for me to see her.

I think we all on this website have noticed that fandom has morphed Esme into a very different character than the one we met in the books.

Now, some people take this further than others, and it’s gotten to a point where I can’t tell if fandom believes this new and shinier Esme is canon, or if they know she isn’t canon but don’t care. Either way, the common denominator to all variations of fanon Esme is that this fandom is sick of the way Stephenie Meyer writes women, and see Esme as the worst affected by all. And fanon Esme is a vindication, one where Esme is an assertive, intelligent, feminist woman with a fantastic sex life and an impressive career. The ideal American woman of the 21st century.

And to each their own - if this makes people happy, then by all means. This meta is my personal opinion on her, though, and since fanon Esme has gained such a strong foothold in fandom I would be amiss not to bring her up.

Another thing I’d be amiss not to bring up is movie Esme. The Esme portrayed in the movies is, like so many of the characters, a different person than the one in the books. She is charming, warm, appears to have no difficulty controlling herself, and off the top of my head I can think of one time where she’s given what was originally Carlisle’s moment. I’m talking about sparing Bree - in the books this is something only Carlisle would do, something that has the others going, “jeez, Carlisle, only you”. In the film, this is a decision he and Esme make as a couple. This changes both their characters.

So, these versions of Esme exist, and they’re good characters, but they’re not the Esme I see in the books.

What we meet in canon is a woman who contents herself with being a 50’s housewife. No one in the house eats, she still knows how to cook. Making beautiful homes and keeping them beautiful is not just her passion, it appears to be all she wants to do. Now, humans can be housewives, and that’s a choice I respect very much, but Esme is a vampire, living in a vampire coven. The Cullens have zero need for a housewives. And she doesn’t do other things, either. There is only the creation of homes and being a mother.

And so Esme floats through eternity, embodying the Mother archetype, going through all the motions mothers do with no deeper meaning to any of it.

She gives me the creeps.

I don’t know if anyone here has read Coraline, but in that book we meet the Other Mother. Other Mother always has time for Coraline, she makes all the delicious food Coraline could ever want, and loves her very much. The cat tells us that this may be, Other Mother may love Coraline, but it could also just be she wants to eat her. And since Bella does end up sowing buttons into her eyes, I can’t shake the association.

I think the Esme Platt who ran away to fend for herself and her child, who got a job and struggled to be independent, died with her child. This was her last tie to hope, to this world, and with his death she gave up on life in a way nothing could meaningfully recall.

She then wakes up as a vampire, beautiful (I’m guessing here, but one of the most common things men like to insult women is by demeaning our appearance. An abusive husband, living with Esme in a time where a woman’s appearance decided her worth even more than it does today, would definitely use this against her. Not to mention, it is a cornerstone in female socialization that we’re taught to value our looks. Becoming inhumanly beautiful would boost anybody’s spirits and install confidence, and I doubt Esme was an exception), stronger and faster than any human man, invulnerable, powerful in a way she never dreamed she could be.

The man she idolized since she was a child, who was supposed to be an unattainable dream, is there, and even more wonderful than she remembered. He’s the one who saved her, and within the year he becomes her husband.

(This by itself is too fantastical, too storybook ending, and I imagine snapped whatever remaining strings Esme still had tethering her to sanity. Any newborn vampire would find themselves in a surreal new state of being, but this is a step further. There’s getting to have it all, and then there’s... well, then there’s this.)

Then there is Edward. Days after she lost her son, she’s presented with a young man who lost his mother.

(And this might be a post of its own, but: we never see Esme be a mother to any of the other Cullens, and I don’t think she is. It’s just Edward. And she loves him all the more for it. She wouldn’t blink at Bella dying if Edward decided his thirst weighed heavier than his fascination with the human. This is canon - they have a conversation about this, and Esme make her stance clear. She puts Edward above absolutely everything else in this world.)

What I’m getting at here, is that Esme was handed perfection on a silver platter. All the things she’d lost, all the things she’d lacked, things that had been taken from her in the cruelest manner possible, were now given to her, in perfect condition at that. Esme will never have to worry about things like money, sickness, aging, or even Edward growing up and leaving the nest. (And even when he does get married and have a baby, he still doesn’t leave the nest!)

Esme was given the ultimate do-over with vampirism, and she spends it being what she never got to be in life. (And I’ll link this post, because Bella’s in the same situation, if less extreme, and they’re both in for a rude awakening. And I don’t think Esme will cope at all.)

To Esme, vampirism is startlingly similar to the afterlife. It’s her tailored paradise, eternal and perfect. There’s the fact that every so often she slips up and eats people, but that only adds to the eeriness of it all.

Esme Cullen is more a ghost story than a vampire to me, haunting whichever house the Cullens inhabit under the guise of being a homebody.

(As for the her supposed sex life with Carlisle - Meyer said they have a spiritual relationship. That’s hilarious, and code for they’re not having sex.)

#there's something very appropriate about this woman looking like she stepped out of a fairytale #snow white in the flesh #and snow white fell into a death-like sleep #only for esme when the prince kisses her something else wakes up #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #carlisle/esme #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #this is the part where my blog gets controversial #carlisle what the fuck did you marry #Anonymous #ask

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party-gilmore · 3 years ago

Text

This is still just a half formed thought but @pebblesrus got me thinking bout The Pool Scene and Eliot viewing his body/safety as something to physically exchange for that of others, combined with the commentary about how Eliot was counting the seconds Hardison was without air, like

There's still the thrum of angry tension stretching out from Hardison between them through the night, during Flores's call, on the way in and through the airport... Eliot isn't avoiding Hardison's angry gaze, but he's not seeking it out either. It burns under his skin, a hot coil of discomfort and the sinking sensation of having ruined something unless he manages to make things even.

At some point midflight, Hardison gets up to pace near the bar (because it might have been last minute, but he's NOT gonna make the team fly coach - even though he's still upset with Eliot and may have thought about it for a minute). Eliot follows a few seconds later and catches Hardison on the way back, quickly shoving him into the small lavatory and locking the door behind them.

"Man! What the hell! If you don't get your hands off me, I-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Hardison stops flailing against Eliot's grip around his wrists and just... stares, incredulous.

"...what?"

"You were without air for one minute, nineteen seconds."

"...you were counting." It feels a little like a question, although it isn't. Not really. Eliot's grim expression softens often imperceptibly. Hardison would've missed it if they weren't crammed so tightly in the small bathroom. Eliot answers the non-question anyway, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"Course I was."

Hardison tumbles that around in his head for a bit. Of course Eliot was counting. Probably to know when it was too dangerous anymore to stay in character. Hardison knows how important it was to gain Moreau's trust at the time. In his head, he knows that. Knew it, even then. He was just... so afraid, at almost drowning, and angry at the secrets Eliot was keeping... but he was counting. He would've gone in for him, if he needed. Blown the whole damn thing.

Yeah the situation just sucked all the way around, sure, and yeah Alec's still a little pissed - why wouldn't he be! He's got the right! - but Eliot was counting. That means even though he'd had to put Hardison's life at risk, he was willing to risk even more - his own safety, the entire con - to pull him back out if needed. That was something, right? That was still-

-Hardison's too busy turning the pieces around in his own head to notice Eliot shifting his grip from Hardison's wrists to his hands. Tugging them closer. Pulling them up.

Alec snaps back to the present when his fingertips graze the warm, flushed skin of Eliot's neck.

"What-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Eliot suddenly presses Hardison's hands tight around his throat, guiding his thumbs to the appropriate hollows beneath his jaw.

"You... you can't be fucking serious!"

He tries to pull away, but Eliot's grip holds fast.

"Damnit Hardison," his growl comes rough, grating, as he puts pressure on his own windpipe through Hardison's palm. "You were right! Okay? I risked your life. For one minute and nineteen seconds. So that's what you get. Just... just do it, man! Get it over with, then we're even!"

"Even-... man, do you not realize how fucked up this is? I'm not... I'm not doing this!"

With a growl, Eliot tears his hands away from Hardison's, and Alec snatches his newly freed palms back to his chest. Eliot clearly wants to pace, but can't in the cramped room, so he settles with carding his fingers through his hair.

"Then what the fuck else do you want from me, man!" His voice already sounds ragged, even with how short of a time Hardison (or rather, Eliot by way of Hardison) was pressing around his throat.

"I just wanted you to be honest with us! With me!" Hardison slumps back against the far wall, anxiously rubbing his jaw as he tries to find the words. "Alright, look, I get it, what you had to do at the pool. I do. That doesn't mean my being upset about it is just gonna... go away!"

"I know that!"

Hardison flinches as Eliot slams his fist against the side wall. He knows the strike wasn't meant to be pointedly 'at' him, that in such a small space there's not a whole lot of room to safely lash out in when feeling cornered, but it was still too close to him for comfort. Eliot clocks the flinch, and for a moment the frustration on his face morphs into a clear expression of the guilt he's been masking since the pool.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't... fuck, I'm sorry," he pulls away, shrinking in on himself like he does on the grift, trying to consciously make himself seem smaller. "I just... I just don't want to have ruined us, man. Whatever is we've got... you and me, this team... I just wanna fix what I broke. I want us to be good."

"We are good, man," Hardison cautiously steps forward. He thinks to put a hand on Eliot's shoulder, but that's too close to his throat at the moment, so he goes for the outside of his arm instead. "You don't gotta... let me hurt you to make things even. That's... I don't know where the hell you learned that, but I don't like it. I'm not gonna do it. You just... you just gotta let me feel my feelings for a bit, okay? We'll get Moreau, and that'll feel fucking great, and have a little party, and everything will be fine. "

Eliot looks up at him and the ragged, raw desperation in his gaze about knocks Hardison back against the wall.

"...that's it?" Eliot's almost laughing, with a dry sarcastic bite behind his tone that makes him sound unhinged... well, more unhinged than usual. Although, he did just ask Hardison to choke him, so Alec figures we're not exactly working with the usual state of mind here.

"It's that easy, huh? You just... say we're good, and we're good?"

"Uh, yeah." Hardison shakes his head, tightening and loosening his grip on Eliot's arm in what he hopes is a soothing pattern. "That's how normal feelings work when somebody you care about pisses you off. You talk your shit out, it hurts for a bit while it heals up, then you're good. I don't know who fucking taught you you had to pay for-"

Oh. Oh but then it hits him. The dots finish connecting and he's looking down at Eliot, who's been strung tight and volatile as a clumsily stripped live wire ever since they closed in on Moreau, and in that moment Alec knows who taught him that.

He steps in close, carefully taking the back of Eliot's neck in a gentle grip, and ducks slightly to even out their gazes. Eliot’s whole body is tensed so hard he's almost shaking with it, but his eyes start to lose their sharp edge with Hardison's easy hold.

"I need you to hear me, Eliot. If I say we're good? Then we're good. No strings attached, no games, no doing any 'favors' for me first to prove any kind of loyalty or whatever. You know I don't play that shit. Yeah? You hearing me, man?"

Eliot's body starts to lose a bit of it's tension. A hesitant nod starts, but stops early. Hardison's seen Parker do that before, when she's too nervous to fully commit to a new idea even if she wants to, so he softens his tone and backs up a bit like he does with her.

"You hear me, babe?"

"I hear you," the reply is soft, almost embarrassed, and Eliot's eyes dart away. Hardison let's him go, indulging the gruff 'pretending to shake off the touch' Eliot does a second too late to be any kind of believable, and respectfully ignores the clearing of his throat and wiping at his eyes.

"We, uh..." Eliot turns to the door, fidgeting with the handle for a moment. "So, we'll talk. In San Lorenzo. When it's done?"

"When it's done."

Affirmation granted, Eliot darts out of the room. Hardison takes a few more minutes. Washes his face. Processes all the data thrown at him in the past few minutes as much as he can before filing it away for later. For 'when it's done.'

BONUS:

I feel like later, when they have their actual talk and Moreau is dealt with and both parties are a little more calm about it, Eliot is still like okay, I hear you, I understand that you don't need this to feel like we're square... but I do. Please.

And this time, knowing a little more of the whole story, Hardison is more comfortable accepting that like you know what, okay. If this is what you need, now that we've talked it out in a much less charged scenario and I can trust that you're in (more of) your right mind about this, okay. So long as you know I don't need this, that this is for you, and that if you need to stop early you swear you'll tell me.

Eliot probably rolls his eyes a bit at that like c'mon not even a full two minutes of getting choked out? He's had to go [absurd amount of time] without air in [equally absurd situation] in [obscure country], he'll be fine.

So Hardison sets a timer, and gently presses Eliot up against a wall, hands wrapping round his throat, Eliot's hands around his wrists - the deal is that he holds on for as long as he's good, if he let's go then so does Hardison - and he starts pressing in.

The whole scene is far softer and more intimate than either of them expected. They keep crazy intense but somehow still gentle eye contact almost the entire way through - the only exception being when Eliot's eyelids start to flutter a bit near the end, his grip loosening but not letting go - and when the time's up Eliot almost doesn't want Hardison to let go. He didn't even know that was a Thing for him. It had never been like that before, and like he said it's hardly his first time being choked... but something about trusting Hardison with that level of control... it makes him realize he maybe likes it a little too much. Putting his actual life in Hardison's hands in such a very physical, tangible way.

It kind of scares him, to be honest, how easily he'd be willing to let him do it again. And thinking about Hardison always leads to thinking about Parker, and thinking about Parker always leads to thinking about Parker's hands, and he realizes that he'd even trust "I hang off buildings by my fingertips" hand strength Parker to do it too... maybe even gets excited at the idea of it...

...and realizes he's well and truly screwed.

#eliot spencer #alec hardison #eliot spencer x alec hardison #precursor to the #leverage ot3 #Moreau's mindfuckery

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bunnymajo · 2 years ago

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Was thinking about “What do characters do if they’re in limbo because of legal red tape? If their stories just end because they have to?” and came to the conclusion that I think it’s up to anyone else not bound to this red tape (ie-fans) to finish it for them and I applied it to Scourge & Fiona and wrote this short one-shot fanfic

Enjoy:

Sometime, Someday, Somewhere:

“Scourge, come back with me, I think there’s a way out of here for us” Fiona bluntly demanded standing over her partner in crime as he laid back on a beach chair by the ocean. Despite the tropic climate she wore her usual black form fitting attire, as if rebelling against a typical vacation dress code.

Scourge lowered his sunglasses to glance at her, then pulled them back up and looked back out to the sea.

“Nah.”

“Nah?”’ Fiona mirrored. “After all that we did, you’re just gonna give up and waste away on this beach?”

Scourge sat up. If Fiona wasn’t someone he was fond of he would’ve just left her without explanation, but instead he hoped that she would ease up if he was just brutally honest.

“Yeah, actually. I’m under new management now, remember? Me and that blue idiot can’t be in the same room ever again, and because of my pretty face if my boss tries to use me I’ll wind up right back here. So I might as well kick back and have a good time, I can do literally anything I want here.”

Fiona stood silent, she couldn’t really argue with that.

“Now that I think about it, me and you aren’t even supposed to talk to each other anymore, but since we both just happen to be here anyway I don’t see why I have to follow all the rules.” Scourge continued as he pulled out another beach chair, seemingly out of nowhere, and coyly gestured for her to sit down. “I wont tell if you wont.”

Fiona sat down, her outfit suddenly morphed to a yellow and black two piece swimsuit as she laid back, still scowling.

“Ya see?” he smirked while also admiring Fiona’s new fashion change.

The two laid back in silence, watching the waves ebb & flow for long moments.

“..It doesn’t bother you then? That your whole life purpose just vanished because The Big S lost a fight? And that we had to pay the price for it?” Fiona finally asked, breaking the silence.

Scourge groaned “I mean, it did at first, but the more time I spent here thinking, the more I realized Sonic can just have it. Think about it, he’ll be fighting for the rest of his life, he’s got a lot of pressure on him to be a role model and be successful, and it can’t take a toll on him ever. What an idiot! Who wants that?” the two of them laughed.

“It was fun trying to make him squirm, I will miss that, but I also got no shortage of punks I could wrestle with here if I ever get bored,” he concluded.

Fiona finally smiles but looks down at herself. “For me, I guess I just don’t want to be forgotten, I feel like my story was just starting, I wanted to see how far I could go, but now I’m just remembered for beating up a little kid”

“Aw, but I love when you do that” he joked, Fiona playfully slapped his arm.

“I guess I’ll also be remembered for having bad taste in men” she smirked joking back.

“Yeah, you sure did” Scourge agreed. He sat up and reached over to a small table where a chili dog and a root beer float sat, he grabbed the chili dog and ate it in just a few bites. “I’m glad you were with me though”

“What was that?”

“I’m not saying it again.”

Fiona huffed, she had heard him but she wanted to hear him say it again as many times as she could get away with.

The beach waves continued to rock as they sat in silence again. They passed the root beer float to each other to share.

“If, you know, ever got its act together and you could go back, would you? You’re not in the same boat as me anymore, you still have a chance at being your own boss. Kick down as many snot nosed brats as you wanted, you might even get a cool outfit out of it.”

Fiona gulped down the last bit of root beer before answering.

“Nah.”

#fanfic #archie sonic #scourge the hedgehog #fiona fox #in which make a somber chalk zone i guess #(for some context: Scourge is now owned by Penders but since he looks like sonic. Penders can't do anything with him)#(While Fiona is a character that both Archie & Sega own - those original characters are pretty much in limbo because Sega said so)#(I should also note that I still haven't read many stories with Scourge or Fiona - I just think they're neat)

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entishramblings · 4 years ago

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The Essence of Arda [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: whoA okay so this fic took me on a whole ass adventure. I kinda just let the story go where it wanted to and ya know I’m kinda happy with how it turned out. Also, “(h/c)” means hair color...there is something I included but I wanted to make sure you guys could still see yourself as the character so yeah! Another also...I’m sorry....this was requested literally so long ago.

Request: @sokkasdarling — heyhey im gonna request smth cus i LOVE U AND UR WRITING HHHH okay so how about a jealous legolas fic where he thinks the reader and aragorn have a lil thing going on but they're just really great friends and she actually likes legolas very much?? please and thank you<3333

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) and Legolas’s paths cross in an unexpected way and the two develop feelings for each other. However, Legolas is unsure and gets jealous bc of the way Aragorn and (Y/N) interact.

Word Count: 3,661 (sorry I got a little carried away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, cuteness, jealousy, the tiniest amount of nudity

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST | AO3

Legolas had met many wandering souls throughout his travels of middle earth—weathered, withered, and warped humans in particular, for the elements and loneliness seemed to affect them more so. Elves, on the other hand, were bound to nature. It was where their hearts rested and their spirits thrived; therefore, the desperation of the empty lands of Arda did not affect him. However, that didn’t mean he did not wish for company. So, on that account, Legolas made his way north towards the Dundain, in hopes to see his good friend Aragorn once more.

It was there, in the northern wilderness, where he met the most riveting and thought-provoking individual. The intriguing nature that compelled his attention was that she was so unlike the other humans he ventured upon, specifically because she wasn’t exactly human.

The first time he had met (Y/N) was when her sharp canine teeth were at his throat.

A (h/c) she-wolf had launched herself at him with an unhinged jaw and barring teeth. The nimble creature had been so swift that he, even as an elf, did not have time to react. The wolf had pinned him down with a viscous expression—laughing at his surprise. Legolas was only quick enough to pull a knife from his belt once he was already knocked down upon the mud. However, he hesitated just before he was going to strike the blade into the beasts’ belly.

As intimidated as he was, something in those vibrant earthy eyes made him halt. Was it the deep churning of the sea? The fresh breath of the sky? The moisture of the leaves? The pooling of sun-kissed honey? The thickness of clay-like soil? Legolas was unsure why exactly, but those eyes reflected the essence of Arda—they reflected it right back into his soul. And here was his miscalculation, for the natural instincts of a wolf would not suspend for its prey—well, not without a familiar voice calling out....?

“(Y/N), NO!”

The creature froze. She reluctantly backed off of his form but she did not let her guard down. Instead, she circled him with those same barring teeth and low growls.

Legolas inhaled a deep breath of cold air as he tried to re-center himself, for it was not often an elf got knocked on their ass and enthralled so deep in a beauty.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and focused in on his elvish senses—feeling every nerve in his body scream out to be alert.

Legolas’s ears picked up the first indication—the speaker.

A sound of rough, ragged panting carried through the breeze as his gaze whispered upon the being who had previously hollered—a worn down Ranger.

A small grin crossed the elf’s face. Aragon stood before Legolas, with hands on his knees, sucking in deep breathes. An entirely human action. The Ranger clearly had a hard time keeping up with the canine creature—which he surprisingly seemed to be acquainted with.

“Legolas, by the Valar, I didn’t know you were traveling through these parts,” He exclaimed.

The elf chuckled as he stood, brushing dirt off his palms.

“Well, I suppose I am lucky for she listens to you well,” He nodding at the wolf for reference.

The Ranger shook his head and let out an amused laugh. “She never listens to a thing I say. So, you are lucky, indeed.”

The wolf released a snort-like sound as if she was retorting to his words.

The Ranger rolled his eyes before speaking to Legolas again, “Let me show you to where we are camped. A hot meal will be waiting.”

Legolas smiled softly, “Thank you, Mellon Nin (my friend).”

The group—consisting of man, elf, and wolf—traveled through the woodland tundra with small conversation between the two who could speak. They shared their recent adventures and current news across the lands until they come upon a handful of Rangers around a blazing fire. They were clad in similar attire as Aragorn, being worn leather boots and thick fraying fabrics. Each of them had the same haunted expressions as many people Legolas had met, yet nothing like the joyful grin that pulled slightly at Aragorn’s lips.

The Ranger introduced each of his companions to the elf as he settled down upon a log. Legolas did the same, allowing himself to become enthralled by the brilliant flames. The she-wolf left his thoughts.

As the moon rose high and stars stretched across the sky, the rangers began to settle for the evening. It was then when the elf ducked away to relieve himself.

He made his way through the twisting trees in silence for he enjoyed listening to the sounds of night’s nature. But the normal chirps and hoots was not what met his ears; rather it was snapping bones and ripping skin, small groans and weak whimpers—it was pain.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and crept forward cautiously, fearful of what he might find.

The sounds let him towards a rather large bolder that was impeded in the ground and covered in thick moss. He was startled as he laid a hand on the cold stone, for a leg protruded upon the side—a leg belonging to the canine species.

It bended and it snapped, morphing into one of human nature—much like his own. It then disappeared behind the rock once more. He could not hold back the gasp that left his lips for witnessing such a thing was—shocking, confusing, terrifying. It was unnatural, but then again, what was ever natural within the lands of Arda?

Legolas’s attention was drawn upwards as a naked figure shakily stood before him.

She stood straight, with impeccable posture, and a head held high; but that is not what claimed his consciousness. It was that vibrant gaze, burning angry holes into him.

She spoke sharply, “Well, are you going to pass me my clothing?”

Instead of responding or making any motion, he froze as if he was deer hiding from the predator once more. His blue orbs locked onto hers, for he dared not let his gaze wander.

Dreadful silence hung in their air as he processed that the person before him indeed was a wolf moments before—the wolf.

However, that antagonizing absence of sound was disrupted when life was breathed back into him and he could finally move his lips. Though it came out as a whisper, for elves were conservative creatures and such a sight had caught him off guard, it still came out nonetheless.

“You are—are not entirely human.” He stated with an expression that seeped curiousness and inquiry.

“Though, currently, I am shaped like one. So, as you are in my way, I will ask you once again to pass me my clothing.” She reiterated.

Legolas’s brows pulled together and his lips mumbled her words back to her as he searched his mind for the meaning. He twisted around and around until a pile of dark fabrics caught his eye. He grasped them gently and passed it over the boulder between them into her calloused hands.

He turned so his back was facing her. His anxiety and awkwardness reverberated off of every word that non-consensually tumbled from his lips. “You are a shifter then—able to alter your form? A wolf....so I suppose it was you who almost tore my throat out.” He paused before recalling her name, “(Y/N).” He should have stopped there if he could, but alas, he couldn’t. “I have only ever met one other like you. His name was Beorn—a great black bear he was—“

She interrupted him, “Most elves I come across are not so verbal. Though, Strider had mentioned you before, Legolas. A strange fellow you are indeed.”

A small grin of embarrassment flickered across his face, not that she could see. “He called me strange?”

A laugh, sounding of blades of grass rubbing together against the wind, struck the air. (Y/N) spoke, “For an elf he had said. But truly, he was too generous with those extra words.”

Legolas tilted his head at that for it seemed to be an insult; but before he could decide on such a matter, she called out to him again—this time fully clothed and ten feet in front of him.

“Are you coming?”

He quickly scampered after her.

As he and (Y/N) entered the area, Aragorn, who still sat by the fire, glanced up with a shimmer in his eye.

Legolas gridded his teeth and sat down next to the man. In a voice as low and quiet as he could muster, he spoke to the Ranger. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the wolf?”

Aragorn smirked in amusement before whispering back, “I figured you would eventually come to that conclusion and by your expression it was not of the best experiences.”

Legolas shot his friend a glare, but that only made the Ranger grin more.

Luckily for the elf, (Y/N) interrupted the moment. “Strider, did you save me some stew? I’m starved.”

The man passed a bowl to her as he spoke, “You know I always do, (Y/N).”

She smiled gratefully.

The Ranger stood and made his way to his bedroll, clapping the elf on the shoulder as he went.

Legolas took notice of the interaction between the two and turned his attention to the woman sitting across from him.

Once he was sure Aragorn was out of ear shot, he spoke quite bluntly, “You and Strider....are you—“

She snorted, “No, no. His heart lies in Rivendell.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, “And yours?”

(Y/N) shrugged and glanced up at the scenery around them. “Here. In the lands of middle earth.”

The elf tilted his head, examining her again.

She stopped her chewing and sent him an accusatory look. “What?”

Legolas smiled softly, “I sense that shifters are much like elves in that regard—bound to nature and tethered in the sky.”

She raised a brow, “And what makes you think that?”

He chuckled lightly at her bold fierceness, “Your eyes. I can see the essence of Arda in them.”

(Y/N) shook her head in amusement, “Elves and their poetry.” She paused, taking a moment to think. “Although what you say is true, it is within that where I think we differ. You elves are laced up spiritually whereas shifters are tied animalisticly.” When the elf did not respond she continued, “You care for morals, I care to survive.”

Legolas nodded in understanding, “Yet we both appreciate the beauty of it.”

The corner of her lip pulled upwards and she shook her head in agreement.

......

As time went on and the small group traveled, the female shifter and the elf became great friends—bonding over their infinity with nature. The two had split off from the rangers for a little while because (Y/N) wanted to see the forest of Greenwood and examine what seemed to be haunting it. However, after approximately two moon cycles, they met with Aragorn once more. He was not with his previous companions though, so it was only the three of them.

The months had gotten colder and they traveled upon open plains so (Y/N) stayed in her wolf form. It was easier for the time being. And it was in this shape that she came bounding towards the ranger that she had not seen in a while.

She jumped up upon him, knocking him to the ground as she had once done to Legolas. She plastered wet slobbery licks upon his face as his chest rumbled with laughter.

The elf could not help but feel a pang of jealous encase his heart. He had grown to develop feelings for the shifter as they had grown close over their journey.

Just as he felt bound to nature, he felt bound to her.

So he stood, with a fire burning in his heart, as he watched (Y/N) give canine affection to his human friend.

As the days continued on, Legolas’s irritation grew. (Y/N) strayed closer to Aragorn’s side—rubbing her face against his leg and pawing at his feet in attempt to trip him.

Of course, Aragorn could pick up on the elf’s mood and angry looks. He had thought Legolas was aware of his lover in Rivendell, but perhaps not. The Ranger had wanted to find a moment alone with the elf so he could assure him of the sibling-like relationship between him and the shifter; but with open freezing lands like this, there was no privacy.

The small trio had settled upon large rocks for the night as that was the only shelter available. They lit a brilliant fire in attempt to starve off the nipping wind, but it only did so much.

Aragorn, wrapped in blankets, had fallen asleep quite quickly; whereas Legolas sat brooding, leaning against a boulder.

It was a moment before he noticed those curious eyes on him. They twinkled with the emotions of Arda, searching his soul. With a tilted head, the wolf approached him slowly.

She crawled forward, so close that her wet nose was inches from his own. She resting one large paw upon his thigh but her weight did not hurt him.

Legolas did not move because he was taken by surprise. (Y/N), as partially human, did understand boundaries; yet, she did not seem to care about them in this instance. Instead, she studied him—up close.

The elf knew that she was searching him for answers given she had noticed his mood as well. However, Legolas did not wish to give any. Therefore, he held his porcelain elf features strong, not bending to her intimidation. He starred right back at her. Though this time, his eyes were filled with anger and frustration—and (Y/N) could tell.

Legolas was upset with her for she blatantly gave Aragorn affections.

Could she not see his heart?

He had said he would not bend to her will and intimidation. He had decided he would be cold towards her. He had made a choice—a choice that he could not uphold as he gazed into her soft eyes of nature.

Slowly, he raised a gentle hand. He brought it close to her face. When she did not pull away, he cupped the canine’s features.

To his disbelief, (Y/N) completed an action he had never seen her do before—even with Aragorn. She leaned into his touch.

Legolas’s lips parted as the moment encapsulated his mind.

He let his hand fall slowly and (Y/N) leaped off his lap. But she did not scamper off in a different direction. Instead, she ducked into his side and curled up against him. She let her head rest on his lap.

Cautiously, Legolas began to stroke her soft, (h/c) fur. He let the short strands slip through his fingers, lulling her to sleep.

.....

When Legolas woke, (Y/N) was not in his sights. He sent a confused expression towards Aragorn who was tending to the dwindling flames.

“She will be back,” the Ranger stated simply.

The elf stood and walked towards Aragorn. “Where did she go?”

The ranger shrugged while biting back a smile.

Legolas frowned at his playful expression, “I know you know something, Aragorn.”

The man raised his brows. “I woke sometime in the night. You and (Y/N) seemed quite close.” He paused, the tone of his voice changing, “You know, she never lets anyone touch her like that.”

“Never have you....?” Legolas let his sentence trail off as the ranger shook his head.

Aragorn spoke again, “My heart rests with another.”

Their conversation was cut short by a feminine voice. “Have either of you seen my cloak?”

Legolas’s head snapped in the direction of the sound for it had been long since (Y/N) was in her human form.

The shifter stood before them shivering slightly in her clothes. They were clearly not fit for the freezing air as the fabric was thin—so thin that her the curve of her breasts and nipples was easily seen.

Legolas adverted his eyes and instantly began to ruffle through his bag as he spoke with concern in his tone. “(Y/N), why have you shifted to your human form? Did you not say it was safer for you to travel through this weather as a wolf?”

She sighed, “It is harder to communicate in my animal form.”

Both of the men knew what she was alluding to.

Legolas cleared his throat and pulled out a couple fabrics from his bag. “I have been carrying your cloak.” He moved towards her as he continued speaking. “Wear this as well. It is an elvish tunic weaved from my homeland; it will keep you warm.”

“Legolas, you don’t ha—“

He shook his head, “Please, I insist.”

(Y/N) reluctantly took it and pulled the fabric over her head. She frowned as she handled the wrap around ties, not quite able to figure out how they were supposed to lay.

The elf smiled softly, “Here, let me.”

Ever so gently he took the extra fabric in his hands and begun to weave it around her form. He tied the delicate cloths in a simple knot before moving to fasten her cloak under her chin.

“Thank you, Legolas.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “It is no problem.”

He turned to gather his belongings as they were to continue their way through Arda. However, as he did so, Aragorn shot him an amused playful look. The elf sent him a sharp glare in retribution.

.....

Within a couple days, a winter storm hit the group. Luckily, they were not far from a human town which they gratefully took refuge in. Of course, as they busted into the inn, many weird looks were thrown their direction. It was not often this area was crossed by elves and rangers—and skin changers, but they were unaware of (Y/N)’s less than human nature.

They each paid for a room and took time to settle into the warmth.

Legolas rested on the edge of the cot, fiddling with one of his blades. He had let his thoughts wander to a place he had been avoiding. A bond with nature was one thing he knew deep within his soul, but a bond with another was something untouched and left uncovered. Of course he had had acquaintances with friends and family; however, the bond he was debating over was one with a lover. He knew where his heart craved to be, yet he was unsure how to proceed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the frame of his open door.

Legolas looked up to see (Y/N). She was wearing fresh clothing, likely washed and pressed by a maid. All the filth and grim had been scrubbed from her skin and her wet hair was pulled into a tight braid.

“(Y/N),” he stated simply. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head as she stepped into his room, “Well, not entirely.”

Legolas frowned at that comment.

The shifter walked closer until she stood only a foot from the elf.

He looked up into her vibrant eyes with question.

(Y/N) cleared her throat as she gently placed something soft and neatly folded into his hands. “Thank you for lending me your extra tunic.”

He smiled softly at her, “Won’t you need it again when we depart? The weather isn’t getting warmer anytime soon.”

A light chuckle rumbled in her chest and she shook her head in response.

Legolas placed the fabric next to him and looked up at her again. He did not notice he was staring until she whispered his name.

“Legolas, why do you do that?”

He tilted his head trying to hid his embarrassment, “What do you mean?”

Her teeth scraped her bottom lip, “Why do you look at me like that?”

The elf adverted his gaze, “My apologizes. I did not mean to offend you—“

(Y/N) interrupted him, “It is not an offense.” She sighed before speaking again. “You look at me like you marvel at nature—as if I am something so breath taking.”

“You are.” He frowned, “Do you not think so of yourself?”

The woman did not say a word; instead, she shifted her vision to the floor.

Legolas reached outwards and took her hand in his own. “You are breath taking, (Y/N)—even more so than nature.”

She shook her head, “I—I don’t understand.”

Legolas could not hold back any longer. He knew he needed to explain what he meant but no words could formulate such a thing. Therefore, he gave into his impulses and did the only thing he could think of to demonstrate it. The elf pulled her into him and grasped her cheeks with his hands. Legolas drew her face downward and smashed his lips against hers. When she did not reiterate any action he instantly pulled away. Had he taken a step too far?

“Legolas,” she breathed out in a whisper.

“I...I am sorry...I didn’t—“

She shook her head and clasped his cheeks, bringing his mouth to hers once again. Their lips moved together like the rhythmic dance of the wind—swirling and intertwining with eagerness. Legolas could taste the essence of Arda upon her lips—the sweet honey from east of the Anduin, the fresh berries from the region of Eriador, the bitter nuts from the mountains of Angmar. (Y/N) moved her body in-between his legs, but she decided that that was not close enough. So, she lifted herself into his lap, letting his calloused hands encircle her waist and hold her steady. She could feel the warmth of sparking fires, the comfort of soft wool, the shield of shelter from harsh winds. Legolas laid down upon the bed, pulling her form with him. He could hear the pounding of her heart and the gasps of her breath. Every sound she made did not escape him, it fueled him. (Y/N) tangled her fingers in his blonde locks and smiled against his lips for she recognized every aspect of nature within the elf, for it was in her too. It was the essence of Arda.

.....

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#lord of the rings #lotr #the hobbit #legolas #aragorn #Legolas x reader #Legolas fic #legolas one shot #legolas drabble #legolas imagines #legolas one shots #legolas imagine #mirkwood #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction

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barnesbabee · 3 years ago

Text

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ - ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

WONDERLAND MASTERLIST ⇜ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ- ɴᴇxᴛ ⟿

CHARACTER LIST: White Rabbit - Choi Jongho Absolem (Blue Catterpilar) - Kang Yeosang Cheshire Cat - Kim Hongjoong Mad Hatter - Choi San Haigha (March Hare) - Jung Wooyoung Tweedle Dee - Song Mingi Tweedle Dum - Jeong Yunho Bloody Red King - Park Seonghwa

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @myunvillage @mirror-juliet @jess-1404 @earth-to-leiki [Send me a DM, an ask or comment to be added to the tag list]

"Teach you what?"

"How to be a better man, how to have mercy, and compassion."

Unbeknownst to you, a little purple and pink cat watched every step you took. Of course, it wasn't because he cared. Cheshire (unlike many other Wonderland villagers) genuinely wasn't affected by your presence, or lack there of, but the Hatter had asked him, in exchange of a hefty reward, of course, to keep an eye on his beloved Y/N.

While watching over you Cheshire just did a whole bunch of growling and nose scrunching. He hated the sight of the King, and even worse, was the sight of such a man in love.

"Such a shame to be the bearer of bad news dear friend," Cheshire said, not at bothered by the fact that he had bad news to tell "but it seems as if Y/N will be our new Queen."

The cat twirled a strand of his coloured hair around his index finger, as he fell down onto one of the many chairs along with the Hatter's never-ending table.

The Hatter's eyes widened and so did his toothy smile.

"She's carrying on with the plan! She will decapitate him herself and become our Queen! Oh but I'm so happy I could dance the Futterwacken again!"

He clapped feverously and suggested a toast, clearly missing the meaning of Cheshire's words.

"I'm afraid you missed what I meant, Hatter. She will be our Queen, because she will be marrying the King."

The atmosphere suddenly became silent, eerie even. The Hatter's green, sparkly eyes transformed into an ugly, rage-filled, yellow. The man gripped the teacup on his hand so hard it broke, but the rage, disappointment, and growing heartbreak fogged his brain to the point where he didn't even notice the pain, nor the blood trickling down his palm.

The Hatter was rarely angry, but when he was, it was enough to scare poor Cheshire, who didn't hesitate in disappearing into thin air. Or he tried to. Before every bit of his body could be gone, the Hatter grabbed Cheshire's hair, making the cat groan in pain, and threw him on the ground.

"What has he done to her!? Was it a curse!?"

Cheshire caressed his head and stood up to look at the Hatter.

"It wasn't a curse Hatter, she fell in love. After you deceived her and the King showed her nothing but truth and love, the choice was pretty evident."

The reasonable explanation seemed to calm down the Hatter, whose eyes morphed back into their greenish colour. However the dread and panic in his face were still evident. Cheshire, still quite upset at Hatter's tantrum, could see on his friend's face an expression of someone about to spew a terrible, terrible idea.

"We must get her away from the Palace. It's gotten into her head. Let's get her back to us!"

The man-like cat floated back to his usual place in the air, twirling in the process. He chuckled audibly, showing his sharp canines in the process.

"Hmm yes, let's steal her away from the man she's come to love, so she could be with us, the people who lied to her for our own benefit. Sounds like a party if you ask me..."

"A party!?" Haigha exclaimed, his left eye twitching as he smiled widely at the mention of his favourite hobbie.

"That's where the King's behaviour comes in our favour," the Hatter said, patting Haigha's head so he'd sit back down "once he sees her take her beloved Queen away, he will show his true colours, Remember how scared and freaked out she was last time we saw her? She said he seemed really sweet while talking to her until he eventually snapped. Once he snaps, he will freak out and bring out the tyrant's behaviour and scare her away."

It was hard for Cheshire to admit, but his mad friend's plan wasn't so mad after all. It was possible to accomplish what the Hatter suggested, and there was nothing to lose, you already hated them anyway.

The Hatter slapped his thighs and stood up, fixing his big top hat in the process.

"Shall we go?"

Haigha was already standing up from his seat when Cheshire stopped them.

"Perhaps we should discuss the plan further... Something tells me we might need some help from Absolem and Bayard..."

Sneaking you out past the Card Knights would take a lot of help, and Cheshire had already worked out in his head the escape plan. It would take a little pressure on Absolem, as he managed to care even less about the people around him than Cheshire did, but the cat was sure he could get a shrinking cake out of the blue catterpillar. After shrinking you and hatter down to the size of a strawberry, Bayard (the loyal dog friend of Hatter's, that Cheshire tried his best to keep a distance of) would bring you to the White Rabbit's house, as it would be too obvious to come back to the Hatter's cabin.

The cat had no intention to help you, but he did like to see some drama and commotion in Wonderland once in a while, and this was his chance.

Whilst all of the furious planning went on on the greenlands of Wonderland, in the Palace you and the King sat opposite of each other on his bed, gossiping like two high schoolers.

"And then my best friend at the time, Anna, slept with my boyfriend and said it was 'because of a dare'. I forgave her because we had been friends for so long but then she told my crush that I smelled so I stopped being her friend."

The King nodded along and listened attentively (trying his best to cross his legs just like you, but failing miserably) to your story.

"Hm yes, yes, I understand. My best friend ate one of my tarts so I cut off his head."

You couldn't help but scoff at the way he compared the situations, although you reprehended him right after for the heartless act.

He had asked to know of your previous life, how it was back in your world, and so you sat there reminiscing your past for hours on end. Most people in Wonderland came from other places, but Seonghwa had never been elsewhere, as he was born in the Kingdom.

"So this establishment you call 'school', was it like a club you went to where you reunited with your peers?"

"No, no. School was a mandatory thing for all kids, we went there and a bunch of teachers taught us about different things."

"Hm, but all you've told me so far were anecdotes about these friends of yours, what were these classes like?"

You blushed slightly, realizing that in fact, you didn't remember shit from school, aside from past dramas.

"Well, they told us many things about earth, about what makes the world move, about how society works, and what makes things work. We learned about gravity, about numbers, about stars-"

"Stars!?"

The King's eyes lit up as if he was a child whom you had promised ice cream to.

"Yes, stars. Why?"

Seonghwa stood up from the bed in such a violent manner, he nearly fell. The man ran over to his closet, from where he retrieved an old book. The hard cover was beginning to tear, and the once white pages had become a weird mix of brown and yellow, but you took it in your hands nevertheless.

"This book once fell into the Wonderland when I was a child. I was alone most of the time, so it kept me company. I can tell from the images it talks about the stars, and I think I learned a lot from it since I stared at them a lot, but I cannot comprehend the alien language."

The King leaned against the headboard, and you laid beside him, placing your head on his chest, so you could hear his now nervous heart beating fast from the contact. Out of instinct, the King placed his arm around you and pulled you closer, as you opened the book.

You chuckled slightly, after seeing the author of the book and opening its pages.

"Seonghwa this isn't an alien language, it's Italian. Well, I guess it's an alien language to you, but it was funny that you said it that way... The person who wrote it was very influential back where I'm from, he taught the people of Earth many things about our space."

The male listened carefully as you tried your best to explain the things in the book as best as you could.

"This here is what we call the Solar System. It has nine planets, but only one of them has people, this one, where I live." You told him, pointing towards Earth.

Seonghwa noticed how your posture changed, after you remembered once more that you would never return home again, and panicked for a second. He disliked many things, but your tears had definitely gone up to his number 1 on the list.

"How about I ask for a picnic to be arranged in the garden, and at night we can watch the stars."

You turned to face him and smiled as you nodded. Seonghwa's thumb caressed your arm, and you couldn't help but to place a soft kiss on his lips, as a 'thank you'. No matter how many times you did that, the King never seemed to get used to it. He would always feel butterflies in his stomach and fireworks exploding on his chest. Sometimes you felt perverted, thinking of how he'd react if one day you decided to take it... further. You imagined how pretty he'd look... But you decided to take your time. Baby steps...

The King couldn't wait for dinner time, and you could tell from the number of times he had gone up to the window and pushed away the blinds to see if the sun was finally setting.

As he was staring out the window, you came behind him and wrapped your arms around his figure.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Seonghwa looked around, to make sure no one was nearby eavesdropping. He wouldn't want your secret to being known.

You tiptoed so your lips could be leveled with his ear.

"You're adorable."

Once you got back down and looked into his gleeful eyes, you smiled.

"Let's keep this secret between us!" He joked along.

"Yes, I wouldn't want the other ladies to know and steal you away."

Seonghwa held your face and lovingly placed a kiss on your forehead.

"The other ladies don't stand a chance next to you princess."

Your cheeks heated up and you slapped his chest out of embarrassment. The King's face grew worried and confused.

"Why did you hit me? Have I done something wrong? It was meant to be a compliment I'm sorry I compared you to-"

You grabbed his face and squished his cheeks, making him form an adorable pout with his red lips.

"Seonghwa, it was a good thing. I slapped your chest because I was embarrassed, I was really touched by your compliment."

Once you let go of his face, the King tapped his chin with his index finger, in a pensive manner.

"I have much to learn about our future interactions, I do not understand many things."

You just chuckled and took his hand in yours.

"We have many years ahead of us, you will learn someday."

The small acknowledgment of your future made Seonghwa very happy. Never in his pitiful life had he even thought of being this happy over small actions... Last week the only thing that brought him joy was the sound of a traitor's head hitting the concrete floors of the palace's main area, but since you arrived, a smile was all it took for his cold heart to start beating again.

It didn't take long before one of the frogmen knocked on the door to inform the picnic was ready. Seonghwa didn't let go of your hand as you walked outside, to sit among the red roses.

You had finally come to terms with Wonderland's weird food. You had no choice really...

"Have you never been attracted to anyone, Seonghwa?" You asked as you munched down on a sandwich of... whatever it was.

Seonghwa's expression faded a little.

"Once. I had just become King and I thought that the next step would, logically, be the find a Queen. Every woman displeased me. All but one. She was beautiful, hair as dark as the night sky, tanned skin from the sun, and a beautiful mole under the eye. But she was cold, evil... I thought that it was a perfect match. After all, I wasn't the most caring person. But she would treat me like a servant. Our relationship was purely to serve a purpose to the Kingdom, nothing else. We slept in separate rooms and spent the day apart. We only dined together, but since I saw the same behavior from my parents I thought that that was love. Our wedding had been scheduled long before she moved into the castle, we were simply waiting for the preparations to be finished. Everything was custom made, from the clothes to the flowers on every table. The day before the wedding I walked to her bedroom and found her laying with a servant of mine. You know, back when they weren't... Frogs. I had them both decapitated, of course. And I swore off love forever. That is until you came along."

You flashed him a sad smile and set down your food. He looked awfully confused as you climbed onto his lap, but he didn't protest.

You brushed his dark hair away from his eyes. Both of them. He suddenly felt very exposed and insecure, but you kissed his cheek, reassuringly.

"Ever since I came down here you've shown me nothing but love, and honesty. You didn't try to sugarcoat who you are, or what you've done, and I appreciate your honesty. My place in Wonderland is with you."

The male smiled, and kissed you, a little more passionately than all of the previous times. The male's hands trailed down your ass, and pulled you on top of his growing erection.

"For someone who has never been with anyone you're quite good at this."

"Well I... I lied. I had a fiancé after all, and we laid together but we didn't get far. There was no kissing involved, she just wanted to get it over with since I was the one who suggested we should... do it. But she made fun of me for not being good at it and I became... insecure. I was insecure and for the longest time I've wanted to try it with you, because you give me those special butterflies but I was afraid I'd disappoint you."

"What a cold, heartless bitch!" You thought to yourself. No wonder he was so bad at human interactions, every relationship he had was a trainwreck!

You grabbed his face and placed a long kiss on his lips.

"Well then, let me lead at first. If you start feeling more confident, you can take the lead, if not, I'll stay in control, okay?"

The King simply nodded and kissed you once more. This time deeper than he had ever kissed anyone. Tongues fighting so intensely the King nearly missed the way your hand expediently undid his trousers. Your hand slipped inside his boxers and took out his length. You looked down at the dick in your hand and widened your eye.

"Well aren't I a lucky girl."

You spat in your hand and kissed him again, as your hand worked up and down his shaft. The King was surprisingly very vocal, and he didn't try to hide or suppress any of his pretty moans (and for that you were thankful.

You stopped your hand, right as he was getting riled up.

"Ready for something better?"

The King watched you strip from your panties, and he cursed the frilly dress that covered your womanhood, but as soon as you sunk down on his cock, all of his worries and anguishes washed away. It was automatic, the way he gripped your hips and made you bounce on him as he snapped your hips against yours was something he did naturally as if he truly knew what he was doing. You brought out something different in him, and the King was simply doing was his body was telling him to do.

You gripped his shoulders, overwhelmed with the feeling of having him inside you.

"S-shit Seonghwa, you're good, r-really fucking good."

"Oh yeah?"

He flipped you two around, so he could pound into you with all the strength he had. Your words of encouragement were all he needed.

Your consistent (and loud) moans got him on the edge quickly, and he knew he wouldn't last long.

"Y/N forgive me, but I don't think I can last much longer."

Your hand reached down and began circling your clit, so when he came inside you, filling you up with his cum, you came right after, with a loud cry for his name.

Seonghwa laid on top of you, his face nuzzled on the crook of your neck, trying to regain his breath. You ran your hand through his hair as you did the same, looking up at the sky.

"The stars sure look beautiful today."

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hamphobicbasil · 3 years ago

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Could u elaborate about the dsmp story being bad? Not a rabid/brain dead fan, just genuinely curious and I enjoy reading people's rants lolol

oh you dont know the floodgates you just opened

a few things:

1. despite not liking the creators of the dsmp anymore, I don't actually hate most of them. [the ones that are particularly unsavory fall outside of this of course] so all that I'm saying i truly mean in a critical sense towards the story, its also just all purely my opinion as someone who enjoys fictional and fantasy stories and who like criticizing works to see what it does well and what it doesn't do well

2. for clarification I'm going to use the c![name] to indicate when I'm talking about the characters. Don't get me wrong, I think its annoying too but its the only way I'm gonna be able to write this thing without getting something across the wrong way yknow?

3. I stopped watching the streams after November 16th, [save for one Techno one but I closed out after a particularly bad story beat lol] and so all information coming afterward is all second hand from either me seeing people on twt talk abt it or people dming me. All i really know is up to dream's imprisonment and some stuff past that.

4. This is mostly aimed towards the "main" story, so stuff abt the badlands, eggpire, and whatnot are briefly mentioned.

anyways uh, i'll try to be brief but also include enough information to get why i feel the way i do on some stuff across

A. Performances Alright obviously these people are all streamers, so obviously they might not be the best actors, and hell no one is even asking that of them. However, when you're telling a story that's based on the audio with the visuals kinda coming to a second, it's gotta be pretty strong. I will say, some of the best actors in my opinion are Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo. I would include Ranboo but I never watched any of his story bits or story streams so I can't say much. Wilbur and Tommy are excellent in selling their character's emotions and feelings, when I watch the stream I don't feel like I'm watching an rp but an actual thought-out story yknow? And one of my favorite Tubbo examples was in the Hog Hunt video whenever Techno attacked him, he sounded genuinely afraid and I believed everything his character was feeling.

However, unfortunately, not everyone is gonna be that good. And I'm gonna say it; Dream and Techno have to be the worst out of the entire cast. I understand Techno's whole character is this monotoned badass, however, when really emotional moments hit I feel like he never lets that fall, and a lot of intense moments just ring hollow. And I'm sorry but Dream's attempts at being intimidating leave me laughing whenever I watch them. It feels like he watched that one scene from The Marriage with Adam Driver and Scarlett Johannson and said "Oh this is what good acting looks like! Just yelling." His whole "I don't give a FUCK about Spirit!" speech isn't as great as people keep making it out to be. And whenever he tries to act coy when being a villain it feels like a guy reading the script for the first time, a bit like he's trying too hard. I have more problems with his character but his portrayal certainly doesn't help.

Everyone else is fine, and I don't feel strongly either way about a lot of them.

B. The "Lore" Okay first off, I can't be the only one who thinks it's silly that people are calling the dsmp's story "lore" when it's not, it's the fucking story. Lore indicates backstory to either the world or the characters, which a lot of the streams don't really pertain to. This is a really petty section but god it's a weird pet peeve of mine.

Other than the misusage of "lore" vs "story", the actual lore and world-building of the world are so lackluster that new elements can be introduced whenever and it often feels cluttered or not well thought out at all. And here's the thing, I feel like if the writers sat down just for a few minutes to establish world rules and general history, a lot of this could be solved! but so much is made up on the spot that it starts to feel like they're grabbing at straws to keep people invested, trying to reach that next high and intense story beat without actually earning it.

C. The Egg / Eggpire This is a pretty minor note since I was only invested in the Egg storyline for a little bit, but god it's so underused that it's almost embarrassing. Bad has provided this super interesting antagonistic force that's infecting the SMP, can control people, and who one of our main character is immune to, and it's just never used or even talked about again? Now I understand if he wanted to keep it to a side storyline only, however, to introduce this borderline eldritch creature and force within the world and then never have it dealt with is so weird.

D. The Writing Oh boy this is. kinda a big one. Now I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty obvious I have a bias for the Wilbur writing over the current team [that consisting of Dream, Quackity, and Tommy mostly]. I don't this his writing is perfect by any means, the characters constantly bringing up traitors got obnoxious after a while, and writing Hamilton but in Minecraft really isn't the modern Shakespeare or anything. However, I think his exploration of characters and plot progression was a lot more thought out and well planned, like he actually had two brain cells behind the story yknow? The current team I think fails to be as emotional or even impactful, things happened too fast and my god was everything drowned in angst for so long.

Don't get me wrong, you gotta have your characters face hardships to make them reach their goal believable, but some of the shit they put the characters through just felt like too much. From c!Tubbo's constant comparison to c!Schlatt [who btw, fucking ordered his death and kept him from his friends in a nation he felt trapped in] and on a side note, i kinda really fucking dislike the "c!Schlatt dad!!" au's or the au's where c!Tubbo inherits some of Schlatt's features, it would be like c!Tommy getting a c!Dream mask after his exile, it's feels so weird yet people eat that shit up for some reason.

But god, did c!Tommy get the brunt of it all and in retrospect after his final death, it kinda feels really fucking gross. Now obviously, I'm not trusting any of these people to write decent mental health representation, but c!Tommy's PTSD and how it was explored was just degrading. [Specifically the scene in that one Techno stream where he saw the final control room from the first war, and had a flashback / panic attack where he started calling out for c!Dream. I understand this is an actual thing people with PTSD will experience, but it felt so fucking stereotypical it got on my nerves. I actually had to close out of the stream because it made me feel sick, fiction shouldn't leave you feeling that way.] And don't get me started on how they basically reused the formula from the previous arc. [Problem introduced -> Tensions rise as things start to fall apart -> Big confrontation -> Exile -> Return from Exile -> Blowing up L'Manberg, again.]

And speaking of characters-

E. Character Arcs, or the lack of them In my genuine opinion, some of these characters' arcs are so disappointing. Especially c!Tommy's. I'm not one to believe that he was a "selfish" character or anything, however, his goals were simply set on his discs and maybe c!Tubbo, he didn't have much outside that. However, L'Manberg gave him something to care about, he gave up his discs for it and he fought for it tooth and nail, I think it taught him to open up to others and trust more. It was a great character arc for him to have, seeing him still fight even after his first exile alongside c!Wilbur, to return safely to the nation that he and his found family had built.

But then his second exile happened, and I feel like all of that was undone.

c!Tommy's exile genuinely pisses me off for so many reasons. It's not that characters can't have their low points after reaching a major change or feeling like they've "completed" their arcs or anything, but it's more of the fact that it seems like he's never going to heal that feels like a spit in the face, especially to people who might have had setbacks like that before. Progress isn't linear, sometimes things happen and you get knocked back down, it can take a while to get back up, but I don't think c!Tommy's character is ever going to be allowed to get back up. From c!Dream, who pretty much was a constant abuser in his life, killing him then reviving him, and his still fractured relationship with c!Tubbo, which by the way I have a had time believing they would still be friends after all that happened, it feels like he can never get a win and it's generally kinda a shit way to treat your characters who have been abused. Of course, not all abused characters are going to get happy endings, I'm not trying to dictate that they all should, but c!Tommy deserves one and the fact that it's so obscure feels shitty.

Side note: we still don't have a canon reason to give a shit abt the discs. Like I'm sorry but without some sorta connection to the MacGuffin why should we give a shit about him getting them other than "he wants them lol". Like hell, I would even accept the classic "they were the last gifts from his parents" or something, but we still don't have a reason.

c!Tubbo also lacks a fulfilling arc as well, from someone who started out as a yes man, he has progressed a bit into having his own interests first, but besides that sometimes his character makes me so. depressed. He's easily one of the most pushed around and hated characters within the story, all for being a kid who didn't know what to do and he's in the same vein as c!Tommy; these kids can't get a break. Also, his anti-violence beliefs morphing into the "lets kill c!Techno lol!" bit was so out of place and without proper build-up it was like. what. And now he's building nukes?? god c!Tubbo makes me so sad because he's kicked around constantly and never given a chance to grow.

Another small note, I also don't really enjoy c!Techno at all. Besides the previously stated reasons of lack of emotions when they're really needed, I find his character to be weirdly pretentious. He talks as if he's constantly been betrayed and hurt but I personally, don't see it? Like, I think one of the main examples was the Pogtopia vs. Manberg war, yknow he wanted to end the government but they just reinstated it after they won = c!Techno upset. But this doesn't make sense to me because why did he think otherwise? The entire time c!Tommy had talked about taking back their nation and starting again, so the fact that c!Techno suddenly thought there would be a sudden change is, to put it bluntly, kinda fucking stupid. I don't want to say that he "plays the victim" or anything because that feels a bit harsh, but his character feels so far up his own ass that I can't enjoy him.

I have a major grip with c!Dream as well, but that's getting it's own fucking section.

F. L'Manberg This is a quick note before we get into the, forgive me for this, endgame, of this entire rant, since the next two sections are tied together. But god, L'Manberg makes me upset because it feels like they gave up on it.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that it is supposed to be c!Wilbur's "unfinished symphony", the thing that destroyed a once charismatic and widely loved man, his attempt at power that utterly ruined him. But the fact that it just got blown up in the end after everything and left to rot felt like such a waste of time. From the first war, to Pogtopia, to even c!Tommy's exile, it all felt fucking worthless in the end, and the story is actively closer to how it was when it started now more than ever. I wished it was actually allowed to exist and continue to be a peaceful place in what is a chaotic world, but no it was just snuffed out because why dedicate to this concept of finding others you can band together with and feel safe. fuck that noise apparently?

G. The Villains Now villain-wise, I'm only talking about c!Dream [during the first war], c!Schlatt, and c!Wilbur. And believe it or not, this is actually mostly positive.

Now I'm not gonna lie, c!Dream as a staring antagonist wasn't bad actually, he posed a genuine and threatening opposition to L'Manberg, even if we didn't know his real intentions or motivations as to why he was against it. He's lucky in this sense because he didn't have to be good, he had to be passable. If anything, he felt more like an anti-hero than a tyrant or traditional villain, and my god do I wish he kept this theme going forward.

Now quick disclaimer, I don't like JSchlatt as much as the next guy, he's an adult man who should know better than to joke about some sensitive topics and act the way that he does. But the one thing I'll ever give him is that damn, was he a good actor for his character.

Now here's the thing, c!Schlatt wasn't particularly deep at all. He had no real motivations behind his exile of c!Wilbur and c!Tommy other than getting competition out of the way, had no reason to act the way that he did and yknow? that's fine. The reason why he worked was from his performance alone, he was actually intimidating. When he came onto the stream and was doing his typical bad guy stuff, it was actually intense to see what he would do. Whenever he would almost catch c!Tommy back in Manberg, whenever he would begin to pressure c!Tubbo, it put you on the edge of your seat and it felt like everything would change at the drop of a pen. He's a villain to be a villain, and this works out because he's just charismatic and well put together enough to make it interesting, even without the backstory or motives.

c!Wilbur however, is much more tragic, and the best villain of the story. He essentially was the "mentor turned evil" trope and it felt terrible watching him descend into madness, unable to trust barely anyone except for c!Techno and c!Tommy. Hell, in the end I think he still cared about them both, despite losing everything. Sure, he blew up L'Manberg, but there was still a smidge of the old c!Wilbur in there made everything he did feel melancholic. His death at the hands of his father after achieving his final wish was chilling, and something I still think about.

Until yknow, Ghostbur came back way too soon to let people feel his loss as a character within that world. And then he got revived, pretty much-undoing everything that moment meant for his character lol.

And then there's the worst one:

H. Dream. I'm going to be completely honest, c!Dream is one of the main reasons why I dislike the current dsmp stuff so much. Outside of his actions as a person, the way Dream decided to write his character as this overpowered madman of the dsmp really just. destroyed any intrigue that he could've had. Perhaps this is from my growing dislike towards him, manifesting into a bias towards his character, but god I cannot fathom why people try to insist he's interesting when he has as much depth as a fucking puddle.

And here's the thing, I'm not even entirely against c!Dream being a villain, hell I think he would've been great as an anti-hero if anything. Make him sympathetic but not through c!George to get your precious "DNF" points or anything, but show him actually caring about the people within the dsmp, including c!Tommy and c!Tubbo. This would make his rival status with them just a bit more complicated, sure they're enemies, however, he doesn't want to hurt or kill them, and there's still a level of friendship there that keeps them bonded when things get super bad. This could've been super interesting to see, the first villain of the story receiving a sorta redemption arc then descending into madness as he started to fixate on being a god. This is all how I feel personally, but god do I feel like it would've been better than his current character, and hell would've worked with how he was during the Pogtopia arc, before the war that is. I'm not trying to tell Dream how to write his own character, but there are so many other ways he could've done the madman seeking to become god rather then. whatever the hell we got.

Because instead, we got this power-mad asshole who does things... because he can? And that's one of my major issues: he tries to surround his character in mystery to make him "intriguing" but it's kinda like c!Techno, it comes off as pretentious. Not only that, but you cannot keep waving around this mystery of a backstory without ever actually revealing it. I know the story isn't over, but c!Dream is effectively at his lowest point, now would be the time to reveal his backstory. But no just keep it in the dark and keep everyone guessing, that's totally fun and not at all tiring and annoying. (sarcasm, if anyone needs it)

And back to his performance, he doesn't sell this aloof, cynical and strategic warrior that has perfected the blade or some shit, he comes off as some angry guy yelling on reddit. which i don't need to tell you, isn't intimidating. It feels like he's trying to have c!Schlatt's intimidation combined with c!Wilbur's depth, but instead he's like a little brother who's trying to hard to mimic his older brother and is kinda embarrassing himself.

but other then that i dont feel too strongly abt the dsmp lol

but seriously, these are the main complaints I have abt the story tbh, I could probably talk about more but I wont because man. this is probably gonna get me in trouble if any of the hyper-dsmp fans actually read it.

#wow this is long #txt #anti dsmp #anti dream #dsmp crit #dsmp critical #yeah im tagging it i dont give a shit #dream crit #dream critical #the story is shit yo!

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