#but good lord was i unprepared for all of THAT

[kindahoping4forever]

Ash IG Story (Parts 1 & 2)

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

[mokulule]

Take Out for Dummies - part 1

Ship: Dead on Main

“Excuse me?” Jason asked in disbelief.

“How would you describe your ideal date?” the man repeated the question calmly as if he hadn’t snuck up on Red Hood on a rooftop in the middle of the night and didn’t have two guns pointed at him by said surprised vigilante.

Jason had no idea what to think, it was absurd. Only one thing made the smallest bit of sense. After all some reporters would do anything for a story.

“Is this an interview for a gossip magazine?”

The man blinked. “No, this is for personal use only.”

Okay. That was even weirder. With that thought he holstered his guns, grabbed his grapple instead and jumped off the building. He could move his patrol elsewhere for tonight.

Oo o oO

It had been a few days, the strange encounter forgotten about as he’d quickly come across a shipment of unsanctioned drugs entering his territory; Black Mask was making moves towards Crime Alley again. Red Hood had to nip that bullshit in the bud. Just because he was more vigilante than crime lord these days didn’t mean he’d gone soft.

So, Jason had forgotten about the strange man on the rooftop and was wholly unprepared when once again he was standing on a rooftop taking a small break in his patrol and someone spoke:

“So I assume dinner is out what with the whole helmet deal, but what about chocolate?”Jason spun around heart in this throat, guns pointing towards the direction of the voice. It took a moment for him to even find him. This time he was sitting on top on the slanted roof of the stairwell.

“What the-“

“A box of chocolate could be enjoyed later, would that be a suitable gift?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Too many things to remember off the top of my head.” The man jumped down and walked towards Jason, once more showing his absolute disregard for the guns pointing at him.

“Do you have a death wish?”

That for some reason brought a smile to his face.

Somehow, Jason was the one taking a step back despite being the one holding the guns. That at least stopped the man’s advance and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry man, I guess this whole showing up on a rooftop in the dark is kinda creepy.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “It’s just with you being you, I don’t know where else to catch you.”

Jason felt an incoming headache, and he was feeling increasingly silly pointing his guns at the man when he didn’t react to them at all.

“How about you explain who you are and what you want?”

“Oh!” He slapped his forehead as if he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. “I’m Danny, and I’ve been hired to take you out.” He smiled brightly.

Jason stared in disbelief. Who in their right mind just announced they’d been hired to kill someone, to the person they intended to-

No…

It couldn’t be…

He’d been asking about dates and chocolate. He couldn’t possibly have misunderstood take out Red Hood as take out Red Hood on a date. Nobody would be that stupid…

“Why would someone hire you to take me out on a date?”

Danny, if that was his real name, shrugged. “Maybe they thought you were stressed and needed a nice evening? I don’t know. I don’t ask questions. I just do odd jobs for money, keeps the lights on, you know?”

Jason didn’t respond. He couldn’t believe this.

“And like this job pays extremely well for some reason, so like I’d like to do a good job of it hence the questions?”

Of course it payed extremely well, it was meant to be a freaking hit! Still could be of course, but then it was the oddest way to go about it that Jason had ever experienced and he’d taken out quite a few would-be assassins in his time.

Danny’s face fell at Jason’s continued non-responsiveness. He sighed. Then brought out a notepad and scribbled something down, before ripping off the paper and holding it out to Jason.

“Look,” he said, when Jason made no move to take the paper and still just kept his guns trained on him, “here’s my number if you change your mind. If you haven’t called back in three days, I’ll return my advance and tell them I can’t do it - no matter how sad I’ll be to see that money go.” He looked pained at the admission, but then looked back up at Red Hood with determination.

“Still please reconsider, Mr Hood, I promise I’ll show you a good time if you agree to a date.”He looked expectantly from his hand with the paper to Jason’s helmet. Jason sighed. Holstering his right hand gun he took the paper. It was indeed a phone number, above the number it said Danny with a little smiley face drawn after the name.

Danny’s face brightened into a smile.

“Have a good night then Mr. Hood, I hope to hear from you.” Danny walked backwards with a wave and promptly tripped on an empty bottle someone had left.

“Woah!” His arms windmilled and he only just saved himself from falling back and hitting his head by sheer luck as he caught himself in the sort of gravity defying pose that would win him most limbo games. He laughed sheepishly as he put a hand down and turned around to push himself back up.

“So that was embarrassing. Should look where I go, huh? Never know when you’ll be assaulted by littering…” his voice trailed off as he walked away. He threw a last wave over his shoulder before jumping onto the fire escape and beginning his climb down.

Jason was left standing on the rooftop, paper clutched in one hand, trying to comprehend the whole baffling conversation. Also there was a distinct curl of embarrassment that he’d actually felt threatened by the guy at one point.

Yeah, he wasn’t gonna unpack that. He put the paper in a pocket of his utility belt and took a running leap to the next rooftop.

Oo o oO

Jason could not believe he was actually doing this.

It was three days later. In the mean time he’d asked around his old enforcers if they heard about a guy named Danny who did “odd jobs” as he’d called it.

As it turned out, there was indeed an odd-job-Danny, sometimes just called odd-Danny, with an increasing reputation on the streets of Gotham for doing all sorts of jobs - everything from helping old ladies carry groceries home for pennies and a pat on the cheek to heavier lifting by the docks. When he asked one of the street kids about him, he was told he also helped look for lost pets for pretty rocks or whatever the kids had in their pockets at the time, and he could fix just about anything - which had to be an exaggeration, but then again the street kids weren’t prone to overly positive opinions about adults, so he’d certainly made quite an impression on them.

Yet despite a lot of people knowing about him, apparently nobody knew a last name or where he lived. It was a mystery.

All that to say that Jason was curious… and apparently doing this.

He looked down at his phone, where he’d already put in the number. His thumb hovered over the call button. He still could not believe he was doing this. If this was a trap he was apparently walking in.

With a sigh he pushed the button.

It rang three times before it connected.

“Hello?” A hesitant voice asked.

“Is this Danny?” “Who’s asking?”

“You ask me on a date and you already forgot, I’m hurt,” Jason deadpanned hoping he would catch on to it not being wise to mention Red Hood’s name on an unencrypted line.

“Oh! So is that a yes?” He piped up excitedly.

Urgh, why was it charming that that he sounded so genuinely excited?

“Yes.”

“Sweet. Did you consider my questions?”

“Nope,” Jason popped the p and found himself smirking, “gonna have to impress me all on your own.”

Danny huffed. “Have it your way. I’ll show you a good time, you’ll see. How does… Sunday afternoon work for you?”

“’s fine.”

“Meet you in front of the building we last met, at 2 pm? Also unless you wanna take the bus, maybe bring your bike? I don’t drive.”

Jason scoffed. Letting some stranger hired to kill him close to him on his bike was a recipe for disaster. Still he found himself answering:

“Sure.”

“Great! I’ll see you Sunday then.”

With those words the call ended.

Jason looked down at his phone. He couldn’t believe it. Jason, no, Red Hood had a date for this Sunday. A giddy feeling bubbled up in his chest and he couldn’t help laughing. Red Hood going on a date. It was fucking ridiculous.

Yet, he was kinda looking forward to it. -

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[springcourtrose]

Please, stop... | Part 4

Pairing: Helion x reader (x Nessian)

Warnings: mentions of death - MINORS DNI

Prompt: you’re Nesta and Cassian’s mate and yet you are so different from them. From day 1 you tried to be a good mate and do as they wanted and liked but they like it rough and you just don’t. Not only is it not enjoyable for you, it is actually painful. And not just in bed. You always excused their behavior as being overprotective but recently you started calling it something else: controlling. And one night, all changed as you uttered the words you had tried so hard never to say, but always thinking if you ever did they would listen. But they didn’t. And that night, everything broke.

(A/N: Thank you for all of your support, this has been fun! I hope you enjoy this last part 🩷 PS: English isn't my first language)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Nesta and Cassian were lying in bed, facing each other, staring at the empty space in the middle, where you used to lie in between them. They did so every day, twice a day in fact. Once in the evening, when your absence kept them awake, and once in the morning, when it made them want to die.

They had no time for it this morning, however, as Rhys had called a meeting, and they were already late for it.

It had been a little over a year since you left and they had never recovered from your loss. And they never will. They didn't want to.

Their friends had gotten used to their empty eyes, to the bags under them, to the paleness of their skin. They had even started to forget the sound of their laughs or the way they smiled. It was an unspoken rule not to mention you in front of them, ever. And had they been paying attention, had they cared at all about anything anymore, they would have noticed their friends' nervous behavior. They had gotten used to the pity in their eyes, but this morning, there was something more than just pity. They sat on the couch across from where Rhys and Feyre waited for them. Amren in the armchair on their right, Mor on their left, Azriel standing behind her, his back against the wall. They had no idea what the meeting was about, they didn't care. They were utterly unprepared for what they were about to hear.

"We have news," Rhys started carefully." From the Day Court."

Nesta stilled. Cassian looked up at his brother, a hint of light in his hollow eyes.

"Y/N?" he asked, your name only a murmur on his lips, as if he could hurt you again just by speaking your name.

"Yes."

"Is she alright?"

"She's fine. She... Helion sent word to every court. They have married, and he's made her his High Lady."

Neither of them felt the watchful eyes of their friends as their High Lord told them the news. They had no idea what to expect from them. When it came to you, their behavior had been surprising ever since you had gone. They had given up so quickly. They had let you go. They hadn't even tried to go and see you in the Day Court. As if every day since your departure was self-inflicted torture, penance, for what they had done to you. They were miserable, and they knew they deserved it and worse.

"That's good," Cassian nodded, a small smile forming on his face, quickly fading away. "Helion makes her happy. I'm glad."

Nesta said nothing. She didn't react. She just stared at nothing, like she so often did now. Cassian placed a hand on hers and squeezed gently.

"That's good," he repeated.

And that had been that.

Your laugh echoed through the courtyard, like it so often did now. The servants and caretakers smiled as they watched you and their High Lord embrace in the sun.

You were brushing Thea's mane when your husband had come up behind you and pressed a kiss in your neck. His hands ran down your body as he enveloped you in his arms.

"Good morning, my love."

"'morning, sunshine," you smiled, leaning into him.

Thea had been his wedding gift to you. The most perfect pegasus, 'a steed fit for a High Lady', he had written on the note. Unfortunately, you had said, you would not be able to ride her for a few months. That had been your gift to him, and you swore the smile on his face, as you brought his hands to your swollen belly, had shone brighter than the sun.

You were only three months along, but already so big. You had complained about it to him, feeling somewhat insecure, but he had assured you you had never looked better. And the healer the next day had easily explained it. You were carrying twins. A boy and a girl. Both healthy. You were both overjoyed.

The past year had been absolute bliss for the both of you. There was really nothing that could ruin it.

It was the middle of the afternoon when it happened. Two months after your wedding. You were sitting comfortably on your canopy in your chambers, reading a book, when death came upon you.

The scream that came out of you was the scariest thing Helion had ever heard. He rushed into the room to find you shaking on the floor, bent over your knees. He knelt in front of you and seized your face in his hands, checking you for any injury. He found none.

"What is it?"

The look in his eyes was wild with worry but yours, yours were grieving.

"Cassian," you breathed. "He's dying."

Cassian's screams echoed in the Court of Nightmares as Madja and two other healers worked on him. They had managed to control the bleeding of his opened wounds but his wings... it was his wings that made his screams so horrible.

It took two more healers to save him from death's grip, but his wings... only time would tell if he would ever be able to fly again.

He slept for hours, only waking for a few minutes at a time. Nesta never left his side. She had already lost one mate, she wouldn't lose another. She had threatened and barked at the healers to save him. It was the most spirit she had shown in the past year and a half.

He was awake, however, when Rhys came in.

"How are you feeling, brother?"

"Half-dead," he coughed, "half-alive."

"There's someone who wants to see you, if you're feeling up to it?"

The Illyrian warrior frowned.

"Who?" Nesta demanded.

And if the bastards who had ambushed him that morning, about 20 men against one, hadn't managed to kill him, the sight of you standing behind his brother could have finished him right then and there.

"Y/N," Nesta breathed as she slowly stood from the bed.

Your eyes quickly moved from him to her then back to him again. He stared right back at you, at a lack for words. He wondered if he were imagining it, if he were hallucinating you. He wondered if you had come to spit on his dead corpse.

Helion stood behind you and remained close as you approached and came to a stop at the end of his bed.

"Hey," you said to him. You spoke to him.

"Hey," he murmured back, tears in his eyes, a knot in his throat.

"I felt you die."

He swallowed hard. "I couldn't die without seeing your pretty face again." He tried to smile. But ended up wincing. You didn't smile back. Tears fell on his cheeks. "You're pregnant."

You took a deep breath as you nodded, your hands coming to rest on your belly. You eyed Nesta quickly. Her cheeks were wet. You understood she never thought she would ever see you again.

"I'm glad you're not dead," you said, and this time, his smile was true. And this time, you smiled back.

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, near where Nesta stood. You nodded at her. She nodded back.

You slowly brought a hand to Cassian's face and cupped his cheek, wiping tears away with your thumb.

"Will your wings heal?"

"'don't know."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't," he shook his head. "Don't ever apologize to me, to us," he said as he took your tiny hand in his large one. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," he sobbed. "I'm so fucking sorry."

You nodded, then looked up at Nesta. You didn't expect her to apologize. She didn't apologize to anyone, and you doubted she would to you.

"We fucked it up," he spat, angry and disgusted at himself. "We didn't take care of you like we should have. We didn't treat you right. We hurt you, and I'll never forgive myself for that. Ever."

You nodded again. It's not that you couldn't find the words. It's that you had absolutely nothing to say to that. To them.

"I will always love you," he continued. "As long as I'm alive."

"I know," you finally said. You had felt it that day you had tried to destroy the bond. That was that tiny thread left between you. Their love, however painful it had been to you.

He smiled again. A sad smile that should have broken your heart.

"Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Then I will die a happy male."

"You won't die at all, even if I have to bring all the healers of the Day Court to save your life."

He chuckled, then winced.

"Spoken like a true High Lady," he said with a proud smile. "So," he cleared his throat. "Boy or girl?"

You smiled slightly. "Both. Twins."

"I'm so happy for you," he beamed at you. You felt Nesta boil from where she stood. You knew she was trying her very best not to say a thing. Not to ruin this moment. For Cassian. And for you.

"Be happy, Cassian," you told him, running your thumb once more on his cheek before letting go of his face.

You gestured for Helion to help you back up and he was with you in an instant. You looked up at Nesta as you stood on your feet. She wouldn't say a thing, but you saw enough in her eyes. She had lost any hope of happiness the day she lost you. And she would live with that for the rest of her life.

You smiled at your husband as he linked his arm to yours and walked you to the door. You were halfway across the room when a voice stopped you.

"Tell me what I have to do to have your forgiveness."

You turned to meet Nesta's eyes. Determined. Desperate.

You had thought about it. You had thought about it many times. What it would take for you to forgive them. You never could find the answer. And as you stood there with her you understood there was nothing either of them could do. Nothing they could say. But there was one thing you were dying to know.

"Why didn't you stop when I asked?"

Cassian's face turned grave. Nesta didn't even flinch.

"I didn't want to," she answered honestly. "I took what I wanted from you and I didn't stop to think how that made you feel. I didn't even consider the possibility that I was... that we were hurting you. Because you were my... our mate, and you were mine..." she paused, a knot forming in her throat as tears formed in her eyes. "And I was so wrong."

"So you didn't know you were hurting me?"

She shook her head. Cassian said nothing, he only lowered his eyes in shame.

"Would you have stopped, would you have changed, had you known?"

"Yes." It was Cassian who answered. "But we should have known."

"We should have known," Nesta nodded.

You paused to look at them both for a moment. Then, you squeezed Helion's hand before you turned your back to your mates once more.

"Yes. You should have."

The end!

I hope you liked it! I am curious though, do you think reader should have / could have forgiven them? Were you hoping for another ending? 🤔 Let me know!

Thank you all for the likes and reblogs, I really enjoyed writing this, I haven't written in so long! 🩷

Tags: @chessebookgirl @impossibelle @esposadomd @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @63angel @azzydaddy @ghostbutaliveidk @queerqueenlynn @randomperson1234sblog @nyx-the-alien

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 21

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I am very tired.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, the king acquires you a full outfit to face the cold. A fur trimmed hat to replace your standard linen cap, a pair of lined hide gloves, and thick boots that go to your knees. He has bolstered you to face the elements but you are wholly unprepared to face the corridors as the glances of soldiers and servants meet you with a new glint of judgement.  

You wear the king’s cloak as before. You keep your head low under the hood as he walks ahead of you. It is a farce. A poorly acted charade. How naive you’d been for so long not see through it all. You were the perfect fool for an intent audience. 

You descend and come out to the west of the castle, through a door beneath a sharply peaked arch. The snow continues to heap over the land though the winds have relented. The king pauses as you emerge and reaches to take you by the wrist, as if he fears you might be lost in the powder. 

He walks you across the yard towards the stables built across a flat of land nestled along a curved rock wall. The doors creaks as he pushes through and the heat of braziers and horses’ bodies greets you within. Sniffs, snorts, and knickers rise in the air as you walk between the stalls. There is one in which a single horse resides, the rest crowded in pairs and trios. 

You look up at the steed’s dark snout, it’s eyes even bleaker as it snuffs out harshly. It’s nostrils flair at your approach and the king clicks his tongue at the beast. It raises its nose then shakes its head. It’s ebony iris fixates on you as its master touches its braided mane. 

“Roach,” you murmur into the dry air. 

“You remember,” he comments gently. 

“Yes,” you watch the horse as it watches you. It bows its head, nose coming close to yours, fuming hot breath around you. It sniffs the trim of your hood. 

“Let the animal see you,” the king advises. 

You bring your hands up and push back the hood, letting it hang over your shoulders. You stare at the dark eyes. Roach continues to twitch his nose in your direction then further dips his head, pressing against your chest. Uncertain, you bring your hands to touch his soft ears. 

“Ah,” the king sighs, “Roach is rarely partial to any but me. Even I receive a nip or too from the curmudgeon.” He chuckles and touches the horse’s thick neck. “others have nearly lost a finger and even sacrificed garment or two.” 

“A creature so volatile, he makes a good war horse?” 

“She,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, apologies.” 

“I doubt she minds,” he muses and pets her long nose as she raises her head. “She is restless. She would do good for the exercise.” 

He lowers his hand and unclasps the stall door. He pulls it out as you step out of the way. The horse clomps through, kicking impatiently as it blows through its lips. The king moves parallel to you and draws you before him. Before you or Roach can react, he has you aloft, urging you onto the horse’s unsaddled back. 

“Hold tight,” he girds and puts his hands to the horse’s shoulder, “come, Roach.” 

The horse starts and you press your hands to her back, clamping on with your thighs. You rock with her motion to keep from slipping. You duck with the mount as she bends through the door the king holds open. The winter snows dusts down on you as you emerge. 

The king drags his palm along the horse’s side and swings himself up with little effort. He sit behind you, Roach not missing a step or buckling at his ascent. He pulls you snug to him, tugging up your hood as the chill nips at your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and clutches a swathe of the horse’s braids. He whistles and leans, guiding the horse away from the castle. 

“She is obedient,” you remark at her agile response. 

“I prefer mares for that reason,” he returns. You wonder if it is a quip meant for the queen or yourself. Perhaps both. “It isn’t very far, though the path is steep.” 

You nod and stare at the white expanse, a few jutting rocks pocking out above the carpet of snow, leafless branches reaching out here and there. The horse carries you to a ledge, narrow and treacherous, and you lean back into the King Geralt as the edge has you dizzy. He slips his hand beneath your cloak to squeeze your hip. 

“I have you, treasure, you needn’t fear,” he assures.” 

“Yes, your highness, thank you,” you touch his knuckles and shiver. 

“Sweet summer maid,” he purrs as he draws you snugger. “This winter is harsh but I will keep you warm.” 

You shudder and hang your head. For so much comfort as he offers, you find little. It isn’t only the snow which chills you. 

You ride on, the impact of hooves softened by the layers below, the air hollow and biting as it seeps beneath your hood. The sky ripples grey and seems to darken as you descend the curling path along the cliff’s edge. At once, you are plunged into thick blackness. 

The world levels out and the king shifts, sliding off the mount to land on his feet. You peek over your shoulder and see the grim light through the mouth of the cave. The king touches your leg and you turn, letting him help you from the height. Roach kicks and spits. 

The king frames your waist before he releases you. You listen to his steps as he moves through the dim. There’s is a scratch as he strikes flint and flame illuminates his shadow. He bends and takes something from the ground. He pauses and works with one hand, wrapping something around the thick stick. He lights the length of linen around the wood’s tip, a torch to see you along. 

“She will stay, she is not keen on confinement, especially underground,” he girds and removes his own cloak, draping it over the horses back, “the air enlivens me, I shouldn’t need that much.” 

He wears a leather coat, sewn of thick strips of black and studded with silver. He approaches you and bends his arm, offering it gallantly as a gentleman might with a lady. You hesitate and hook your arm through it, hugging his elbow as he leads you deeper, the torch flickering with each step. 

You enter a tunnel with rocky tendrils stretching from top to bottom, encased in layers of ice and frost. The flame illuminates the frozen layers. Deeper and deeper you go, quiet as your curiosity mingles with concern. Where are you going? 

Your boot slips on a slippery patch but the king keeps you upright. You thank him and bring your other arm across to steady yourself on his bicep. You feel his muscle bulging beneath. You do not doubt his promises. He will keep you safe. Down here, but you doubt what he might do without. 

He raises the torch as the air thins and you the cave opens up. You look around as the walls lay beyond the breadth of the torches glow. Your eyes are drawn by the icy fingers hanging from the ceiling. There is one close to you. You reach to touch its pointed tip. 

“Icicles,” the king says, “be careful of the thin ones, they might fall.” 

He moves the torch to show more, all around you, light fangs the line the cave, lining the edges. The flame sparkles on their eerie translucence. Then the king lowers the light and you look down beneath your feet. You’re stand on ice! 

“Your highness,” you instinctively pull yourself closer to him, your soles sliding as you try to walk further. 

“It will not break,” he assures you as he urges you on, “this cave never thaws, even in the warmer months. They call it the Moth’s Den.” He leads you across the ice and your eyes catch on the icicles, thick and thin, some pointed, some reach to touch the floor. You hear an odd hum, almost a buzz, and he sweeps the torch before you. 

You stop to gape at the wall before you. It looks soft and fluffy, almost like fur. Then you lean closer and see the wings. Pale silver moths, fluttering in place, clinging to the wall. Their fuzzy bodies line every morsel of the space. 

“Snow moths. Harmless creatures. Unlike their summer counterparts, the detest the light,” he extends his arm and a circle along the icy wall is sudden bare as the moths move to avoid the glare. “When I was a boy, I always wanted to have one as a pet. I could never get one past the entrance before it escaped and flew back to the depths.” 

You blink and lower your hand from his arm, though you stay hooked onto him, “I didn’t think this was your home.” 

“As a boy it was. At least, that’s how I saw it. My father, king of the day, sent me here to train with Lord Vesemir. As much to keep me out of trouble. I am not unaware of myself. I was not the best behaved. Vesemir took me in and he bides no mischief,” King Geralt explains, “though he does not rule without compassion. He taught me many things more than discipline. He taught me,” the king peers over at you, “that my heart should be heard just as plainly as my mind. If you do not balance them, then it will all topple.” 

You look back at him. Your chest aches deeply. Doesn’t he know you don’t have that privilege? Can he not see that you do not get that choice? Even for a king. 

You might never had cared for Lady Rezlyn and her gossip. You think it cruel and unkind. Often you wonder if she spoke less of others, if she might gain more friends. You never engaged much in Merinda’s whispers either. But you heard them and you know what becomes of mistresses. 

The other woman. That’s what you’ll become. A whore. A name to be spat. A figure to be avoided. A maid might be ignored but she neither favoured or despised. She just is. She has her purpose. A mistress only has the stain put upon her. The one who taints who my walk away, but she never will. 

“The ice becomes you, treasure. The cold it... pales to your beauty,” he smiles down at you. His gold eyes are vibrant and his fine features are even more admirable in the limn of the flame. 

He lifts his chin and takes steady steps away from the wall and leads you towards a jutting stone at the other end of the cavern. He bends to plant the torches base in the crevice at its foot. The torch leans but stands on its own. 

He faces you, untangling from your arm, and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to know what you think. Tell me. Do you like my homeland? Do you like the winter?” 

Your lips part and you glance up. Your eyes wander around the space and you turn your head. You raise your hands to touch the king’s leather gloves. 

“I think I do,” you answer. You can’t deny the beauty even if it is deadly. “I might think differently should I meet a bear or a wolf.” 

“It is why you must stay close, treasure, I would never let a beast get anywhere near,” he avows, “I refer to all beasts. Be it man or animal. You will always have me. You needn’t be afraid.” 

You lower your eyes. You can’t say the truth. He knows it but he refuses it. His is a king, he might bend even the world to his whim. You let your hands trails down his forearms. He drops his hands and takes yours. 

“Will you tell me more? About when you were a boy?” You ask, hoping to forget the present a little longer. You are intrigued to think of this man as just a child. It is a rather impossible concept. 

“Hm, well,” he lets go of you and moves around you. He comes behind you and presses himself to your back. He rocks you as he turns you to admire the cave, “I would come to these caves and talk to myself...” he laughs rockily, “you see, if you holler loud enough, your voice bounces back at you. Lord Vesemir, he is not always in the mind for conversation and horses can be just as finicky.” 

He continues to turn you with him. Even without his cloak, his warmth seeps into you. 

“And I would gather bouquets of frostwart and white willowrods for they are the closest to flowers that grow here. I would put the bunches all around, as if I was too be coronated. I was told every day I would be king and I wanted to be ready, but mostly, I’d pretend I was at tourney. I would have my practice sword and I would parry with the air. The air was not so mean as Vesemir with his jabs.” 

You listen, closing your eyes, trying to see it in your head. A white-haired boy with his golden eyes and flowers and swords. Now a man who’s marched through blood and dirt. How time changes more than the seasons, it transforms all. 

“What of you, maid? I want to know of you. When you were a child, did you frolic with the rabbits and the squirrels?” 

You go rigid. You try to pull away but he has you caught. You lean back and exhale heavily. 

“The life of a maid isn’t very interesting,” your murmur. 

“You were always a maid? Even when you were young?” 

“Always,” you affirm. “I emptied pots, brought Lord Dustan his boots, though at times, Lady Jazlene required a playmate...” 

He’s quiet at the mention of his wife. You feel the crack in your heart. Your nose is numb and tingling. 

“Yet, how did you become a maid? Before that, was there nothing?” He asks. 

“Please, your highness--” 

“I bid you call me by my name.” 

“Geralt,” you utter, “please, I beg you, I wouldn’t speak of before.” 

“Did you have parents? Siblings--” 

“None of it,” you hiss and elbow away from him, throwing your arms out to keep balance. You spin and shake your head, “please. My parents are dead. Long gone. And the memories I have of them are nothing more than that. They’ve only ever been dead to me.” 

He is taken aback, his face pale and cheeks tight, “treasure, forgive me, I only... I want to know everything of you--” 

“You know what I am. I am a maid. That is it. That is all I can ever be. I am not a lady, not a wife, not a queen,” you clap your hands together, the impact softened by your mittens, “you cannot make me anything different, king as you may be. I will only ever serve, and you will only ever command.” 

His lips part and he steps towards you, “that isn’t true.” 

“It’s what must be true,” you look to your feet, “might I make a request?” 

“Anything,” he says. 

“Take me back to the castle,” you raise your eyes.  

He nods solemnly and reaches for you, “as you wish.” 

[dunmeshistash]

Hi, so recently there was a dunmeshi signing (?) event with Ryoko Kui in Korea. And I have found some posts from korean fans about their experience and a bunch of illustrations. @Dgae_715 is the acc on twitter i have found most of information from reposts. But basically here are the most relevant facts that I have found (Please note that they may be inaccurate due to me relying on online translator):

A fan asked if post canon Falin will live longer, Ryoko Kui basically answered “maybe so, right?”

The same fan asked if Thistle without desire will able to live happily with the care of others, and as far as I got she said “I hope so”.(Note: I am really not sure if I got this one right at all) The fan themselves said the way Ryoko Kui answered was rather unprepared, so she may not have an answer in mind really on such specific questions.

Another fan asked how Mithrun is in post canon, Ryoko Kui said that he is doing well, working and pursuing hobbies.

Somebody asked Mithruns about strength, he is weaker than a soldier, even though he is got the fighting skills, but he developed them mostly because of his sense of professionalism (?), rather than for fighting.

Past Mithrun didn’t really fight that much, he was mostly an investigator(?), he rarely had to fight in the rear(?) units.

Apparently Falin’s chimera form can get oily, so she repells water a bit

In real life, Marcille would be a med school research student, while Laios would be a “furita” (basically a freelancer with no stable income)

Someone said if Ryoko Kui considered a bad ending for Falin, and Ryoko Kui said she, as an author wanted a happy ending, but in case of Falin, she was worried after the ending (14 volume or later?), but overall she thinks it turned out well. (I think the after the ending refers to her post canon fate, and maybe thats why Ryoko kui did an extra on that specifically later on) 8. Also someone asked if Ryoko Kui would eat the dishes from dunmeshi, and she replied she is a picky eater, and she also said to someone that she drew dishes that she liked and disliked in dunmeshi (I bet she doesnt like fruitcakes).

(Note: There is a 90% chance I got this completely wrong, translator was struggling a LOT here) Someone asked about what Laios is good at, she replied “when he is a party member”. 9. She also likes Lord of the Rings and Wizardly 6(?), and she likes Skip and Loather

When asked about what word definies Laios, she said he is actually a normal/usual person(?). I have lost the post with this specific answer, so I am going by my memory;-;

Some fan showed her that picture with Tennant Chilchuck, she didnt recognise the actor unfortunately. Also apparently this meme originated from Korean dunmeshi fandom???

There were other questions and answers too, but they mostly about Ryoko Kui. And I also may have forgotten to add some;-; Also some fan suggested to Ryoko Kui that Falin in the real life should be a dentist by the way she makes them drool(????I think they meant it in non-sexual manner, like an excited dog), they kind of laughed about it. Also Ryoko Kui drew Falin the most(?) for signing postcards, other characters, and only 5-6 Senshis, 2 Winged Lions

Anonymous asked: The same anon with Korean sign event ask. I knew I forgot something, but basicaly some fan showed Ryoko Kui the day dream picture that most of fandom presumes to be a Chilchuck’s wife and asked if its true, she answered “Its up to your imagination”. So basically neither no or yes

Thank you! I LOVE SKIP AND LOAFER WEEEE

Hopefully we get some more corroborating translations for the bits you're not sure!

[david-talks-sw]

Could you please disprove the whole "jedi and their egos which lead to their down fall blah blah blah" Cus the jedi have never been egotistical to me 😭

Hey there!

So I kinda touched on this subject before, so for more details and quotes, I'll just redirect you to those posts.

Firstly... yes, to a degree, the Jedi were arrogant. They got complacent in a time of peace and were thus completely unprepared to face the Sith, who spent a millenia preparing themselves in secret.

But firstly, when people say "even Yoda says they were arrogant" they completely misunderstand what he was saying (he wasn't lamenting the downfall of the Jedi as an Order, he was subtextually telling Obi-Wan that he can be arrogant too and should cut Anakin some slack).

And secondly... there's arrogance and there's arrogance.

There's "not being ready because you didn't know a threat was looming",

and there's "being a cocky asshole who's swinging his lightsaber in a helicopter motion and saying "come get me shit lords, I've got your dark side riiiight here!""

The Jedi were the former.

To use a metaphor: they're not asleep at the wheel, they're just driving through an unexpected fog.

In fact, after Qui-Gon died, the Jedi did keep an eye out for the Sith Lord, but the Dark Side had clouded everything, by then and to use another metaphor: it's impossible to find a specific black object in a dark room at night.

So when you bear all this in mind, describing the Jedi as "egotistical" and "holier than thou" is actually an uncharitable way to define a group of characters doing their best to catch up and save the galaxy from doom.

Why is that the predominant interpretation? My guess:

Because "good guy" characters now get labeled as "goody-two-shoes" in favor of non-conformist anti-hero archetypes. In fact, due to our history, we're now used to being weirded out and suspicious of characters that label themselves as "genuinely nice".

Because the protagonist of the Prequels is a guy who's flawed, and by comparison to him, less developed characters who have already undergone their character arc (and thus conquered their flaws) won't feel as relatable to an audience as the more imperfect character.

They weren't egotistical. They were simply written in a way that a big chunk of the audience found unlikeable, and to cope they came up with a headcanon that the narrative meant to frame them as egotistical... when really, it wasn't even about the Jedi.

Hope this clarifies some stuff!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: D&D Part 7

Alien DM: Can you explain something to me? Human Necromancer: What is it? Alien: Why is your sub class a seamstress? Human Necromancer: You ever wonder why I remove the limbs of every foe we’ve defeated. Human Paladin: Because you pledged your soul to the darkness leaving me pondering why I have left you alive for this long? Human Necromancer: Close but not quite. Human Necromancer: My raise the dead skill allows me to raise one undead creature at a time as a thrall. Human Necromancer: It does not however specify the size of said creature. Human Artificer: Oh my gods…. Alien DM: What? Human Artificer: Is that why you wanted my bag of holding?!!?? Alien DM: What does that mean? What is happening? Human Artificer: He’s been stitching the limbs together to form a single creature. Alien DM: *Realization kicks in* Alien DM: *Turns to necromancer* How big is your creature? Human Necromancer: By last count three miles long and all of it very grabby. Human Paladin: *Vomits* Human Artificer: So you call it out of my bag when you need it? Human Necromancer: Pretty much. Human Necromancer: I call it “Little Bessie”. ------------------

Alien DM: Metal gates slam down from the ceiling, trapping your party in a narrow corridor. Alien DM: You hear the sound of heavy footsteps towards you and from the shadows emerges the dark lord Drakholm himself. Alien DM: His fiery red eyes look down at you all through his corrupted helm. Alien DM: “I have waited-“ Human Wizard: Question. Alien DM: What? Human Wizard: I would like to ask a quick question. Alien DM: You are cutting the dark lord’s speech off before it has even begun. Human Paladin: It is rude. Human Rogue: The man has killed, like, a thousand people. Human Rogue: Do we really care if we’re rude to him? We’re here to kill him! Human Paladin: Good point. Fuck’m them. Alien DM: *Sighs* Fine, what is your question? Human Wizard: Are these metal gates solid gates or a portcullis? Alien DM: It is a portcullis. Human Wizard: I cast Acid Splash through the metal bars and directly at the dark lord as he is giving his speech. Alien DM: You…..what? Human Rogue: No, no; he’s got a point here. Human Rogue: What kind of villain would expect someone to interrupt his big monologue? Alien DM: I guess….roll for it. *Rolls dice, and passes* Alien DM: You fire a glob of acid at the dark lord as he is giving his speech. Alien DM: He was entirely unprepared for the attack and the glob hits him right in the face passing through the opening in his helmet. Alien DM: He lets out the briefest of screams before his head is reduced to a pile of mush. Human Paladin: I am surprised with how easy that was. Alien DM: I hate you all…..so….so very much. ---------------------------------

Alien Shop Keeper: That’ll be seventeen gold pieces. Human Paladin: That’s robbery! Alien Shop Keeper: Those area my prices. Human Rogue: You know that paladins kill the sinful, right? Alien Shop Keeper: So? Human Rogue: Robbery is considered a sin. Human Paladin: *Draws sword* Alien Shop Keeper: Oh no… ------------------------------------- Alien DM: Suddenly, a group of bandits leap from the bushes! Human Druid: I cast mold earth and turn the dirt underneath them to quicksand. Alien DM: *Rolls dice, fails* Alien DM: Well…..not how I expected that encounter to end. Alien DM: Are you going to bring them up to interrogate? Human Druid: In another three minutes. Alien DM: But these bandits can only hold their breath for one minute. Human Druid: You heard what I said. ---------------------------------- Human Wizard: I cast fireball! Alien DM: The fireball direct hits against the enemy troll in the center of town. Human Wizard: YES! Alien DM: It does absolutely no damage however as it is a rock troll. Human Wizard: Oh. Alien DM: The flames roll off it harmlessly and catch several surrounding buildings on fire. Human Wizard: Oh hell….. Alien DM: The citizens of the buildings run out in fear only to be picked up by rock troll and eaten. Human Wizard: Jesus Christ!!! Alien DM: And then the puppies wander into the street. Human Wizard: For fucks sake just kill my character now and spare the puppies! --------------------------------------------- Human Artificer: BEHOLD! Human Artificer: *Removes shroud* My latest invention! Alien Rogue: What is it? Human Artificer: The ultimate undead fighting weapon! Alien Priest: Interesting, how does it work? Human Artificer: Within this sphere is a small amount of explosive powder mixed with blessed salt. Human Artificer: When the charge goes off it sends breaches the secondary holy water cylinder and sprays the entire area with holy water and blessed sand. Alien Priest: So you’ve made. Human Artificer: A HOLY HANDGRENADE!!!!! --------------------------------------------- Alien DM: The monstrous dragon roars causing the nearby mountains to shake and shatter. Human Warlock: I throw the bag of pebbles I have been holding into its mouth. Alien DM: Really? That’s it? Human Warlock: I also despell the shrinking charm I had placed on the pebbles. Alien DM: Wait, they were shrunk? Alien DM: What was their original size? Human Warlock: Boulders. Human Warlock: They were the size of boulders. Alien DM: *Defeat sigh* Alien DM: *Rolls dice and fails again* Alien DM: The pebbles rapidly expand in the dragon’s throat, suffocating the dragon and killing it. Human Warlock: I roll to skin the dragon! Alien DM: Of course you do. ----------------------------------------- Alien DM: What is the point of having these elaborate boss fights if you keep killing them with simple spells? Human Rogue: Well, you can always say it is not allowed. Alien DM: Wait, what? Human Paladin: Yeah; you can say if something is allowed or not. Human Paladin: The DM has that kind of power. Alien DM: I DO!?!?!?!?!!? Human Warlock: Wait……what do you think DM stands for? Alien DM: It stands for something? Human Wizard: “Dungeon” “Master” Alien DM: 0_0

[violetasteracademic]

Lucien Vanserra's Hero's Journey with Vassa- The Firebird Legends

Hello friends! This is my very first tumblr post, and is IN DEPTH. It seemed like a good place to explore some of the the themes I've been discussing on TikTok regarding Sarah's book structures, how closely Sarah utilizes The Hero's Journey for ACOTAR, and how many "ingredients in the fridge" as I like to call it are already there for Lucien and Vassa's story, despite arguments that there is very little on page action with The Band of Exlies. If anyone is interested in nerding out about book structure with me, I'll do a quick run through of The Hero's Journey with ACOMAF as the example (I made a video about this already!) and then fill in a possible hero's journey beat by beat for Lucien using only what is on the page. I'm not being hyperbolic when I say I could literally plot out and write this book today with everything Sarah has given us!

A few things to know about me: I love all of the characters involved in these ship wars. I am a die hard Elain stan, Az is my favorite Bat Boy, Lucien is one of my all time favorite characters and one whom I deeply relate to (I actually think I relate to Elain and Lucien the most, and I'll share how they mirror each other quite well) and I literally had to pull over in a Sprouts parking lot listening to the ACOSF graphic audio when Gwyn told her story. An elderly woman knocked on my window to ask if I was okay because I was sobbing. I do get passionate about my ships (Elriel and Vassien) because of my reading experience and how I process Sarah's structures. It would be the shock of my life if it goes in a different direction. BUT I love all the characters and respect all ships. My only goal is to get people excited about everything possible for our Bird of Flame and Lord of Fire, because their story stands to be by second favorite after Elain and Azriel!

Here is a quick rundown of The Hero's Journey: A three act structure famously based on the works of Joseph Campbell, an author and educator in the field of comparative mythology.

I will try my best to *briefly* break down the first act of A Court of Mist and Fury (I could do the same for Nesta's Journey in A Court of Silver Flames!)

Step One: The Ordinary World Status Quo. Feyre's status quo after Under The Mountain is the simultaneous evolution of her new life as Fae, and devolution of her spirit and personhood. In her new ordinary world, she is being kept in the dark. She is relegated to wedding planning and isolation.

Step Two: Call to adventure. Feyre is called to adventure on the day of her wedding, when the status quo has become unmaneagable. She calls out for help, and Rhys whisks her to the night court. In the Call to Adventure, our Hero learns a truth about the world that they will have to face. In Feyre's case, it is that the war is immenent. She realizes there is a threat to the safety of her sisters, and Rhys pushes her to train so that she is not unprepared if she is the only thing standing between them and Hybern.

Step Three: Refusal of the Call (in other structures or variations this is called The Debate.) The Hero is not sure if this is their story, if they are the one to face the call. They experience a period of maintaining the status quo a little longer. This is when we see Feyre sinking back into life with Tamlin. He is loosening the reigns, she doesn't want to rock the boat. She believes The Ordinary World might improve without her having to take the next step.

Step Four: Meeting the Mentor. Our hero meets someone that will assist them in their journey, and help them move forward in answering the call. This can be friendships, trainers and teachers, mystical guides, any number of things. In Feyre's case, it is dinner with the Inner Circle. She hasn't yet decided if she will join Rhysand's court and work with him in the efforts against Hybern, however she agrees to meet his court members. Each of them provide guidance to Feyre. In strength and training (Cassian and Azriel), emotional resilience (Mor), and histories/education on how the court and Fae lands function (Amren). Feyre agrees to work for Rhysand and then we cross the threshold into act two.

When I talk about "ingredients in the fridge," I am talking about a dinner that has been planned, ingredients purchased, and everything ready to go for book dinner to be on the table tonight. At this point, Sarah has been grocery shopping for future book plots for many many years! This is my personal interpretation of a really powerful story for Lucien and his hero's journey to free Vassa from Koschei.

Step One: Ordinary World. Lucien wakes up in the human lands in the manor he shares with his Band of Exiles. (I also am obsessed with how messy and hilarious it is that this was gifted to him by his mates ex fiance but I digress.) He has become so close with Vassa that he is no longer trusted to do his job for the Night Court. All the while he is worrying about Koschei, and when he will come for Vassa. Her enslavement to the deathless sorcerer pains him, and the pressure is building.

I hate to poke holes in another ship, however it is important to note that during all of these conversations Elain is not present or mentioned by Lucien in any way. However, Mor states that Lucien is choosing to live in the human lands despite Elain. And of course, in ACOSF Lucien makes it clear that even being in Velaris doesn't mean it is to see Elain, and the thought of his presence being expected only for his mate makes him uncomfortable.

I'm not saying these things couldn't change in the next book, I am however just setting Lucien's Ordinary World or Status Quo. Lucien is living in the human lands with the Band of Exiles and his main areas of concern and growing conflict are with Vassa and Koschei. This is what is being built to send the status quo to a breaking point *at present* His interest or efforts in Elain are devolving while his connection to Vassa and interest in defeating Koschei or freeing her are evolving.

Step Two: Call To Adventure. Lucien already has a powerful possible Call to Adventure (or inciting incident, as other similar structures call it) set in place. Koschei decides to reign in the leash on Vassa and force her to return to the lake, being ripped from her home with Lucien and Jurian and no longer able to provide assistance with the human queens.

Step Three: Resisting the Call. The reason Lucien is so perfectly suited for this is because he is the only character with such torn loyalties. He is loyal to Feyre and the Night Court, he attempts to be respectful to his mate, he is glad to work for Rhysand. There are many other threats present, Lucien's own father Beron suspected to be at risk of allying with Koschei. The human queens in the wind who have powers and a vendetta. While the Firebird legends retelling *could* take place with Jurian and Vassa, my issue with that is similar to my issue with Gwynriel. There is literally nothing, and I mean NOTHING that would create conflict for the character or a debate period. There are no obstacles or stakes in place that could keep the characters apart, which is critical to all storytelling but Sarah utilizes so much conflict. Lucien is the lost wanderer, torn from court to court, abusive home to abusive home, without a true family until the Band of Exiles. But it is still a matter of chosen family over loyalties he still feels to Feyre and her court. So, Vassa is taken by Koschei. Lucien now must be spurred into action, but is *he* the hero of this story? Is he going to be the one to take on Koschei?

Step Four: Meet the mentor. Oh, I think we all know where I am headed with this! What better mentor could there be in place for Lucien in freeing Vassa from her curse than Helion Spellcleaver. Aka Lucien's biological father. Helion also has maintained a consistent presence, being called in to attempt to manage the dread trove items. He has returned to the page in ways other High Lords haven't. We are gearing up for Helion 100%

Now, to get a little farther into some of the details beyond act one, tests allies and enemies, innermost caves, ordeals, so on and so forth, I simply want to focus on the stakes of this story specifically, and why I find them the most powerful.

As far as theme for Lucien, he has been aimless and suffering and ultimately ended up with no home and nowhere to spend Solstice. Feyre and Elain were a default because, in his own words, he had nowhere else to go.

Feyre urges him to call the Night Court home, but he has found a true home with Jurian and Vassa. He cares deeply for them and for their safety. He is amazed by Jurian's leadership, literally saying "Thank god for him" keeping everything together. Even at his best with Rhysand, Lucien has never put full faith in Rhys as a leader (which is very similar to Nesta who, while still an Archeron sister, continues to dismiss Rhys as her high lord and has found her calling and found family with The Valkyrie's.)

Lucien learning Helion is his biological father pairs perfectly with his metal eye, which can see through glamours. We may come to find that Lucien has hidden spell cleaving abilities making him uniquely suited to save the woman he loves. However, this brings us to...

THE BLOOD DUEL.

Lucien and Azriel blood dueling over Elain makes no sense plot, character, or world building wise. Lucien does not identify with the Autumn court or its laws, and he has been nothing but respectful of Elain's lack of interest in him and by all accounts is moving on in a very healthy way. It is stated clearly that Beron knows Lucien is not his son, hence why Lucien received such additional torment and ab*se as well as Beron's treatment of Lady Autumn. However, for Lucien to publicly display Helion's powers would make Lady Autum's affair public knowledge. This gives Beron cause to call for a blood duel with Helion over LoA. These are incredibly high stakes and obstacles. Does he risk the life of his mother and newly discovered father to save the woman he loves by revealing his true power?

As far as Lucien being sole heir to the Day Court, there is another possible outcome where Helion wins the blood duel (thus securing Eris's place as the new High Lord of Autumn, another long established plotline) and Lady Autumn and Helion get a second chance while Lucien still chooses his found family. Or, at the very least, as long of a life with Vassa as he could get before taking up the Day Court. Sarah also of course has had both mortal characters choose mortal life spans for love (Elorcan) or make mortals immortal (Feyre and Miryam.) However, Lucien stated he never had any interest in being a high lord. Of course this is up for interpretation, but I believe his character development still maintains that. This man has been through so much. He just wants to live in peace, and I think it would be a beautiful thing to know that his mother is now safe and not a political pawn.

Speaking of political pawns, this is also why I believe Elain and Lucien have a lot to heal with each other. When Lucien discovers that he could have been raised by Helion and not Beron, but his mother was sold and used as a political pawn and her agency taken away, he is going to face quite a few demons. I do not personally think Lucien's story (or Elain's) is most powerfully served by he and Elain choosing to de-escalate all the conflict and spend time with each other and wind up falling in love. It COULD happen, and if it's what Sarah chooses to do, it will be lovely! But Elain is such a mirror to Lucien's own mother. The only difference being that Lucien is a good male while Beron is a monster. Lucien, when faced with this, would be motivated to prevent his story repeating itself. Elain and Lucien's mother are the only two alive today presenting as unhappy with their pairings. I believe this is what Sarah was referring to when she said Elain was a better mate for Lucien than Nesta (her original plan) because of the healing they could provide each other. While I am not stating this as fact, it is my opinion that there is enough foreshadowing for rejected mating bonds, the suffering of poor matches and females being owned with archaic laws, that Sarah always intended to have Lucien participate in the rejected mating bond story line with one of the Archeron sisters. Lucien and Elain as a rejected bond is a much better fit as Lucien and Elain are actually both quite passive about their mating bond, letting the plot develop and build elsewhere whereas Nesta would have likely just burnt Lucien to a crisp or had it take up a lot more of ACOSF which would have been truly tough to fit in.

I could go on and literally plot out the whole book beat by beat with the Hero's Journey, but I would be here all day. I truly think Lucien and Vassa in the Firebird Legends would be so beautiful and powerful. I've teared up thinking about it! It always disheartens me to see characters getting thrown under the bus for the ship wars, or to be accused of hating Lucien because I ship Elriel. I am brand new to the online ship space, and this was truly how I experienced the books as someone who loves all the characters and wants the best for them. I believe Lucien has been nothing but respectful towards Elain and deserves to be happy. I just don't think Elain is his happiness. Even Feyre and Rhys had moments of trust and connection building in A Court of Thorns and Roses before ACOMAF. Their relationship was not out of left field at all. Elain and Lucien have a LOT of work to do to make their interest in each other suddenly believable, and in my opinion now we are getting into poorly paced and structured writing to accommodate it.

I've definitely seen compelling compilations about how both Elain and Lucien are tied to Koschei and it could just as easily be their shared love story while saving Vassa, and I won't go into a rage if that is what happens. It is simply difficult for me to ignore all the conflicts that would conveniently resolve and obstacles that would be removed. I know people love to call the three brothers and three sisters "lazy" but three is simply a motif, not book structure or line level prose. In my opinion, a sudden resolution to active political conflicts by putting two characters together is much lazier when it comes to the actual writing of the book.

These are just my musings, and the things I picked up on whilst reading (and re-reading a million times tbh) and experiencing books! What do you guys think of Vassien? I personally am so excited by how beautiful it could be!

[poppy-metal]

gotta do but stuff with art so he doesn’t feel bad because he’s not technically taking my virginity, big catholic girl activities. breeds your ass so none of his seed is wasted, just like the lord wants. it’s so tight and he wants you so desperately that he doesn’t wait till you stop crying and shove it all in there. accidental painal catholic art hit my line yesterday

uaghhhhh you just want it so badly and he's not that hard to convince, honestly. you want it in your pussy - but, art would take more convincing, and he might break up with you after, because of the guilt and shame of giving into sin. at least with anal - he doesn't have to feel that guilt! plus it's because you love eachother - a form of showing your love to eachother. it feels good to kiss right, it makes him throb down there - in his cock? it's your job as his girlfriend to ease his pain, after all.

in the end it only takes you kissing on his neck and rubbing a hand over his bulge while you tell him how you just want to take care of him - and love him - and it's his job as a man to take care of you too, isn't it?

you don't realize just how desperate he really is until he uses some spit to rub on your hole - and that's it - you want to reach back and tell him it'll take more than that - his fingers and more spit than that, probably - but he's so eager and he's crowning you before you can tell him you need more prep, bent over on his bed with your dress rucked around your waist - it burns because he isn't small - you've known that for some time - and it punches the breath from your chest to feel such a big stretch in your unprepared hole.

"ohhhhhhh," you hear art moan behind you. high pitched nearly a whine. his hands tremble where the grip your hips, digging into your flesh as he rocks his hips. more of his cock inches in with every pitch forward of his hips, stretching you more and more. "oh - oh you're - you're so tight - and warm -"

he sounds so awestruck. overwhelmed. it makes the pain of him forcing his cock into your ass worth it. makes your clit pulse and you sneak a hand under your body to rub yourself there in fervent circles. pleasure warms your body - sending shivers through your body.

"all for you, baby." you tell him. squeeze down around him just to hear him gasp.

he likes knowing that you belong to him - he probably likes claiming you this way more than he'll ever want to admit. you imagine he's looking where your ass swallows him more and more - feeling that greed rise up in him - you can feel it in the desperate pitch of his hips as he starts going faster.

"this is okay?" he pants. "this is allowed?"

as if he'd be able to make himself stop if you told him no, it's immoral and more wrong than if he stuck it in your pussy - but you don't tell him that. instead you reach back until your hand is clasped over his on your hip, "It's okay." you moan. "you're doing so good. I love you so much."

"I love you too." he immediately says back. interlocks your fingers with his. your heart pinches - you really do love him. even if you have to lie to him to get fucked like the slut you are.

[thethingswedotomorrow]

Aziraphale and Crowley are both idiots, with a severe lack of common sense on any given day.

But these idiots were both tasked with watching and guiding the new humans God had created, for better or for worse. What they didn't realize was just how unprepared they both were for this task.

Before being sent out to Eden, they were BOTH given a crash course on the newest creatures, (humans??) roaming around the garden. Just the essentials, don't poke here, this does that, avoid this bit, this part leaks, etc.

Aziraphale's lesson was much more formal, only highlighting the parts of the humans that were deemed 'essential' by the Archangels

Having to sit through Gabriel explaining the purpose of a tongue for hours was enough to make anyone zone out, let alone a principality who had just been told that the place he was being sent to would be full of creatures that were filled with an odd combination of liquid at all times. Good Lord, how was he meant to protect these humans when they could explode at any time?

Aziraphale had checked out mentally by the time they started covering exactly what the eyebrows were for

Hell decided to take a more hands-on approach.

By hands-on, they meant having Dagon draw what they assumed a human might vaguely look like, and then explaining the best ways to torture the squiggly bits

Crowley spent most of the class trying to decide whether the drawing looked more like a horse or a soggy blanket crumpled into a pile

(Crowley had only recently learned about the 'horse' idea, and he was decidedly not impressed by them.)

(He could get behind this blanket idea, however. He'd have to check that one out in a few years.)

So once they'd both reached the Garden, and checked the place out for themselves, they both came to the same conclusion.

They had some SERIOUS questions about what was going on here

Naturally (and reluctantly for one of them), they gravitated towards each other. They both knew asking either of their sides would imply that they didn't pay attention to the classes. And neither of them wanted to have a repeat lesson, thank you.

"Ah, yes, hello, Crawley was it?"

"Obviously, still me. Be odd for me to be someone else, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, well. I was wondering..if you had..perhaps....noticed anything about these humans?"

"Noticed what? They're awfully boring. Told me 'get up there and make some trouble', but all they do is sleep and eat things and walk around. Made 'em trip a few times, but it got old by the 5th time around honestly."

"Well I don't think they're meant to do much more. If they were, then they would have. As is God's plan. Oh there is no need for dramatics Crawley."

It was at that point Crawley sighed VERY aggressively, flopped down onto a rather soft looking patch of grass, and looked up at Aziraphale.

"Was there a point here, Angel, or have you just come to preach?"

"I do wonder, however, if God was perhaps made aware of the issues in the hardware, as it were."

"What are you on about?"

"Yesterday, I saw Eve walking around, admiring all the plants and such. They really are truly beautiful, you know. Have you seen them yet?"

"Nah, haven't gotten over there yet. Mostly been hanging around on the rocks, very warm there. Why? What'd she do?"

"Well, she walked up to the flowers, and..then she just..sort of...." Aziraphale trails off, very hesitant about how to describe the situation.

"Sort of what?" Now Crowley is curious. Always been his downfall, that sort of thing.

"She just... she stuck her face into them."

"She WHAT?"

"Exactly! Stuck her face into them, no warning or anything. That poor, poor woman could have been killed. Who knows what those flowers will do to her tongue."

"HER WHAT?"

It was at this point that they both realized that they may not have gotten the same education on the humans and their anatomy.

"So, they aren't actually going to explode? Oh thank God."

"Well, I mean they could, I suppose. If you poked them enough, or shook them up really hard. Y'think we should try that?"

"Crawley, no."

Between both of them, they gathered enough information about the humans to have a general idea of what they should and shouldn't do to help them survive

(Crowley might enjoy watching them trip, but he's a Demon, not a monster. There'd be no point going and killing them right after they launch the whole program.)

It turned out that what they had gathered between Heaven and Hell was quite literally the bare minimum of human physiology.

They stuck together from then on, determined to find out everything they could about the humans.

The first time Eve sneezed after smelling the flowers, Aziraphale jumped up so quickly that he broke the rock he was using as a seat clean in half

Crawley and Aziraphale stood perfectly still on the wall, waiting for something else to happen.

All Eve did was sniff a bit and walk away.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, eyes wide and full of terror. They both stared at each other for a few minutes before they both silently sat down, contemplating what they had assumed was a very near-miss explosion.

The next day, when Adam stepped into the pool of water at the edge of the Garden, the angel and demon watched with the utmost attention.

"D'ya think they can breathe in there?"

"In the water?"

"Yeah, those slimy things at the bottom seem to be doin' just fine without coming up top. Maybe the humans can do that too."

"Crawley, those are fish. The humans need the air to live. I think."

"Fiiiiiish? Fsh. Fiisssshhh. Nah, don't like that. Slimy things works better, who names these things? Was it you?"

"I'm afraid that was not my department, unfortunately. I like to think I would have gone with a different choice than 'fish', if I had any say in the names."

"Mm. He's been down there for a bit, yeah?"

"Who? Oh, him. Has he? Oh. Oh Lord, he has. Adam? Adam?"

One small miracle later, the humans and the non-humans had both learned that they did need the air to live.

The day Eve and Adam laughed together was a good day.

'What're they even laughin' at?" Crowley wiggles/walks* his way over to where Aziraphale is sat on the edge of the wall, watching the humans.

*He's still figuring out the whole leg thing, far too complicated if you ask him

"If I had to guess, I'd say they're laughing at the state of Adam."

"How'd he even get like that? Last I saw, he was running around near that pond, how's that happen? They were on your watch, Angel."

"Ah, while you went to look at the plants, he fell. Apparently when dirt and water mix, it becomes very sticky. Mud, I believe it's called."

"Blegh. Way to go Angel, I left for five minutes and you let him get all mud-ed. Looks awful, don't see why they're laughin'. They've always got somethin' stuck to em."

Despite his words, Crowley couldn't help but smile at the humans. Something so ridiculous and they stood there laughing at it, having all the time in the world to explore and find out new things.

Aziraphale noticed this, and smiled as well. Mostly because of the humans and how fond he was already of them

But also, at Crowley and a new type fondness for him, as well.

(Though it would take many, many years for him to admit that)

Crowley and Aziraphale sat and laughed, watching these new humans bumble around and laugh, being happy to just exist and discover everything there was to discover. If Crowley snuck glances at the angel while he was laughing, he'd never admit it.

Maybe tomorrow, Crowley thought, he'd see what the deal was with that big apple tree.

[angelsnkisses]

thinking about kappa with a particularly sensitive reader <3

600 followers in such a short amount of time is insane, thank you so much!! this is sort of random, but i also think it fits kappa pretty well, and i had sm fun writing it :3. not yet proofread 🫶

💟 nsfw - mdni 💟

warnings: dom!kappa, sub!fem!reader, slapping, rough sex, mocking, degrading (slut, "hole", whore), dacryphilia, oral (fem receiving).

• sensitivity was never a recurring concern for kappa, so when he finds out you're more fragile than he is.. lord, you'll never catch a break. he loves how you twitch and jerk away at any unannounced touches, how you wince at the lightest of pinches or squeezes, how he can literally feel your skin threaten to give every time he sinks his teeth into your thighs, everything. it's such an incredibly insignificant detail about you, but it turns into his biggest ally when he needs to overpower you.

"what, did that hurt? seriously?"

• he would absolutely use it to his advantage, taking his time to carefully manipulate your keen sense of touch. he'd run his rough fingers across your skin while cooing harmless taunts at you, his lips tugging up at every delicate noise that falls from your bee-stung lips.

"already squirmin' around? i've barely touched you, sugar."

"be good for me, yeah? 'm gonna take care of you.."

• he'd tease you so much, putting you on the verge of tears without even touching you properly. he'd trace his fingers across your ribs, your waist, the curve of your thigh, right along where you need him most.. but never giving you any stimulation. at least, not until you earn it.

"such a greedy little whore, hm?"

"what do you want? use your words, darling."

• he's honestly so mean to you, always mocking or degrading you effortlessly. he's real rough with you, too, knowing damn well you like it even more than he does, even if you won't admit it. he savors every single noise that you make under him, cherishing how whiny and pathetic you sound. don't be surprised if he lands a heavy slap to the side of your face before taunting or scolding you cruelly.

"answer me like a good slut.. aw, none of that, i barely touched you."

"shh, i know what you need."

• you started crying? good, he loves it. he'll kiss away your pained tears to somewhat distract you from him stuffing his cock in your unprepared cunt, ignoring your pained groan. unless you say your safe word, he won't grant you any leniency. he'll fuck you mercilessly, all but using you to chase his own pleasure. he'll grab your jaw so tight (even leaving small marks at times) while he pounds into you, tilting his head just a bit while taking in your disheveled state.

"just a hole f'me, aren't you?"

"quit your whining, you can take it."

• if you catch him in a good mood, he'll utilize your sensitivity in different ways. some nights he'll do nothing but eat you out for hours, taking his time to make you feel so good. that doesn't mean he's not still unfair, because trust me, he is. he'll coax you to your first orgasm or two with faux graciousness, letting you think he'll go easy on you. as soon as you start to feel overstimulated, he'll force your thighs open and go down on you like a man starved, his nose bumping and pressing against your clit while he tongue-fucks you eagerly. he'll push you over the edge over and over until you're sobbing, and won't stop until he's pretty much drunk on your desire. he doesn't care how much you beg, unless that safeword is used you will not catch a break.

"stay still for me, i'm almost done."

"one more, i promise.."

• he'll let up eventually, and don't worry, he doesn't forget to take care of you afterwards. he'll get you whatever you need, do anything you ask, praise you and your performance.. pretty standard aftercare. if you look just a bit past his rough exterior, you'll quickly find that he also loves receiving aftercare. being told he felt good, that you knew he didn't truly mean his aggressive comments, general reassurance, that sort of thing. he especially loves letting you lay on his chest to play with his hair while he lazily rubs his hands up and down your bare back, eventually drifting off to take a nap with you.

***

A/N: me 🤝 abrupt endings

[danpuff-ao3]

SNARRY FOR BEGINNERS

Are you a bit Snarry curious, but also sorta wary and unsure where to start? Good news: I have some recs for you!

Snarry is a tricky ship for some folks. All of its most problematic themes are what draw me in personally, but that's not to say there aren't some safe places to start for a newcomer!

What I've chosen are:

Nothing too long, so you can get a little taste to see how you feel. So I'm looking at 50k or under.

Nothing "problematic" or as few "problematic" themes as I can get. No underage. No power imbalance. No consent issues. (...or at least nothing egregious haha.)

Works that also maintain some integrity to Harry and Severus' individual characters, and the tension between them. If I play it too safe it won't feel properly Snarry to me! Half the fun is the tension between them, so we must keep that!

So...If you wanna check some out, keep reading!

An Awkward Customer

by AnyaElizabeth. Rated: E. Words: 10,768. Postwar. EWE. Romance. Humor.

Snape can't figure out why Potter is hanging around his shop.

Why Read? A nice rom-com based on the prompt: "Harry makes a bet with someone that he could seduce anyone if he put his mind to it, and that someone selected for him is Snape, naturally." Severus owns an apothecary so we get some nice flirting at the workplace!

a scratch for every itch

by bleedcolor (@bleedcolor.) Rated: T. Words: 11,478. Fluff & humor. Magical maladies. Friends to idiots in love. Romance.

Severus Snape is an itch that Harry just can't scratch.

Why Read? Surely fluff is a safe place to start! And as a person who isn't often drawn to fluff, this is one I love, and is a comfort read of mine. Very sweet and silly and a great place to dip your toes in!

Dumbledore's Folly

by Dementordelta. Rated: M. Words: 47,446. Romance. Courtship. Oldie but a goodie!

Snape must court Harry according to wizarding traditions.

Why Read? I've reread this fic countless times over the years and it's still such a fun read. If you like arranged marriage/courtship fics, this is the one for you!

The Interrupted Kiss

by emynn. Rated: E. Words: 24,291. Postwar. Romance. Hurt/comfort. Mystery.

Once upon a time, Severus Snape shared a kiss with Harry Potter. Then Harry had disappeared after killing the Dark Lord, leaving Severus the reluctant darling of the Wizarding world. When Dumbledore insists on throwing a ball in Severus’s honour, Severus is convinced the world has gone completely mad. But when he comes across an ashy-faced young man whose half-answers about his identity haunt his every thought, Severus realizes that a ball might be the least of his worries.

Why Read? What safer place to start than a fairytale? If we ignore that most original fairytales are pretty effed up, actually. This is a Cinderella-inspired work. Severus is the Prince (naturally), and Harry is the wandmaker (cool career, right??) who attracts many cute animals! (He does not sing to them, though; what a shame!)

This Time of Ours

by emynn. Rated: E. Words: 35,442. Time travel. Hurt/comfort. Romance & drama.

Severus Snape wasn’t supposed to die. Neither was Harry Potter.

Why Read? Emynn has plenty of great Snarry fics, which is why you're getting 2 recs! We start with some fun snarking, move onto sweet bonding, and then...second chances! Very light, enjoyable read.

On the Deficencies of Translation Spells

by LilaDiurne (@liladiurne.) Rated: E. Words: 41,130. Getting together. Magical theory. Professor Potter & Professor Snape. Beaubatons. Pining. Light angst. Minor Harry/others.

Divorced, single, and free, Harry lives a completely unapologetic life in Paris. Between casual hook-ups and an easy, comfortable job, he likes to think he is as close to happiness as he'll ever be. And when he gets offered a teaching job at the prestigious Académie Beauxbâtons, he thinks he may have found exactly what was missing. But Harry is thoroughly unprepared for what he finds there - a familiar face that's been haunting his dreams for six years.

Why read? It's very Harry-centric. It's Harry's POV, and very about Harry and his journey as he moves to a new place, in a new phase of his life, and settles in. There's an existing connection and attraction between Harry and Severus, and one that unfolds so sensually and beautifully. Harry's very much an adult and mature and has lived a lot of life when he and Severus reunite.

Rapture

by mia_ugly (@mia-ugly.) Rated: E. Words: 48,123. Time travel. Romance.

Snape sees the man, for the first time, on his twenty-fifth birthday.

Why Read? It's a classic! It is very beloved in the community for good reason. Gorgeous writing. The relationship develops so naturally, and the pure emotion will knock your socks off. Potentially the best place to start for Snarry. I'm not a big fan of time travel, but I love this fic!

Revealed, Gently

by sarkysue. Rated: T. Words: 22,243. Postwar. Romance. Humor.

Snape isn’t dead, he’s back at Hogwarts and in need of an assistant. Coincidently, Harry is hanging around Hogwarts, reluctant to move on with his life. Cue sniping and snarking, tears and laughter and, possibly, love.

Why Read? It's fun. It's cute. It's a bit silly. It makes great use of how not easy it would be for these two, and having a blast with it! There is arguably a power imbalance what with Harry being Snape's teaching assistant, but it doesn't really feel like much of one. It's only a great opportunity to force these 2 to hang out long enough to fall in love!

The Sleeping Prince

by who_la_hoop. Rated: T. Words: 42,758. Postwar. Deaging. 8th year.

It's hard to ignore your past — and impossible to do so when you can't remember your future. But a meddlesome portrait, a dragon with an ancient grudge and true love's kiss teach an unlikely Prince that a regrettable past doesn't have to mean an unhappy ending.

Why Read? While probably the most questionable on the list, it's still fairly tame. Student Harry and his developing feelings for Student Severus, who is deaged postwar. It feels very much like a feel good teenage romance, wherein the characters very much act their age, awkwardness and all! The only caveat being things change a bit at the end, but there's no underage and it is rated Teen, to be fair!

The Beating of This Fragile Heart

by Writcraft (@writcraft.) Rated: E. Words: 33,146. Hurt/comfort. Fluff & angst. Serious Injury. Romance.

After the war, the last thing Severus Snape needs is the memory of a fleeting wartime kiss and a very persistent Harry Potter thwarting his plans to live a peaceful and solitary life. It’s only when Harry’s life is endangered that Severus is finally forced to confront his feelings head on.

Why Read? If you're coming from Drarry, you might be familiar with Writ's works! They've written plenty for drarry and some rare pair works, and they are a fantastic storyteller. This fic in particular is very romantic. Full of hesitancy and insecurity, and seeing how the relationship begins and how it unfolds and changes (for the better) when Severus is forced to deal with his issues. It's quite a journey but so full of love from start to finish and it's just so lovely and full of feels and one I return to again and again.

[shadowqueenjude]

So a lot of Tamlin stans are coming into my comment section saying Tamlin is not a quitter and all that good stuff, so I will be discussing Tamlin as he has been written in canon. This is not anti-Tamlin in any capacity.

Tamlin does not have the ideal character traits of a ruler. This is not an insult at all. In fact, it is something he admits himself, book 1:

“I’d realized from an early age that fighting and killing were about the only things I was good at.”

“I claimed Lucien as my own—named him emissary, since he’d already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people, while I … can find it difficult. He’s been here ever since.”

This doesn't make him less than; there's nothing wrong with wanting to live a simple life. But, Tamlin was chosen to become High Lord. And he didn't quit- he did the best he could with what he'd been given, despite all the courtiers not having any faith in him. For someone woefully unprepared for the job, he did a great job, at least until ACOWAR, but he would've had a lot more difficulties had Lucien not showed up. Tamlin had very little courtier training, and he wasn't very good at that shit anyway.

In ACOSF, Tamlin is extremely depressed. His court is in shambles around him, and he has pretty much given up on his own life.

“They say a beast prowls these lands now. A beast with keen green eyes and golden fur. Some people think the beast has forgotten his other shape, so long has he spent in his monstrous form. And though he roams these lands, he does not see or care for the neglect he passes, the lawlessness, the vulnerability. Even his manor has fallen into disrepair, half-eaten by thorns, though rumors fly that he himself destroyed it.”

“You’ve been trying to bring Tamlin back for a while. But he isn’t getting better, is he?”

You're welcome to have your own interpretation on this, but from what I'm reading, it really feels like Tamlin has no interest in ruling over Spring anymore. While he's not generally a quitter, his life has become so shitty that he has given up on himself. I am not sure that SJM will keep Tamlin as the ruler of Spring; he might be killed off, but my personal belief is that she will have him abdicate the throne somehow. I know people will claim this is a retcon, but I don't think the possibility of abdication has ever actually been discussed within the scope of the books, so it wouldn't be a retcon.

[pendragon1400]

I don't want to write my paper, so Modern BG3 au it is!

Would they have a driver's license/drive?

Astarion: Yes driver's license. Not really into driving. He is the passenger princess, controls the radio and if you don't listen to him about navigation he insults you "I said left, damn you! Why in the hells did you turn right? Do you want to die in the middle of nowhere?!" Also if he does drive lord help you. He is the most reckless puts on makeup, talks on the phone and runs a stop sign all at once. He also knows how to avoid all cops, so he gets away with it.

Gale: Of course he has a license, and he is very good a driving. He makes sure there are snacks for everyone. Need a blanket? He has a really soft one in the back. Gets to your destination earlier than expected despite following all the roles of the road. If he gets a text, he politely askes the person in the passenger side to answer it.

Lae'zel: No license, drives anyway. Uses the horn more than the turn signal. Doesn't wear a seatbelt and is pure unbridled chaos.

Shadowheart: Does have license will drive if needed, but prefers to be scrolling her phone with her feet on the dash, and commenting on your driving skills.

Wyll: Still relatively new to driving. Follows all rules, sure he may be a few points under the speed limit, but it is better than over! He has no snacks, he is dreadfully unprepared for passengers, since he is still getting used to not being a passenger himself.

Karlach: License revoked, drives at night like at 3 AM to waffle house, but other than that doesn't drive. She will show you memes or cat videos forgetting that you need to keep your eyes on the road.

Halsin: Walking/biking. He does not like cars. He feels cramped in them.

Jaheria: No one is actually sure if she has a license or not. But she can and will be driving. She is a good driver, but lord help you if you mess up her car. Those snacks had better be cleaned up after, and no you do not need to change the music this is her car.

Minsc: No. No driving, no license. Jaheria won't let him.

Durge: Doesn't drive or ride in cars. Prefers trains/subways so they can stare creepily at people.

[david-talks-sw]

These are the only three flaws I will concede, when it comes to the Jedi during the Prequels.

“They got lax/complacent.”

Yeah*. If you listen to the director’s commentary, George Lucas states the scene in AOTC with Jocasta Nu is there to indicate how unprepared the Jedi were before the Sith’s plan. They thought they were secure and ready but they were not and it turns out humble restaurant owners like Dex know things they don't.

*HOWEVER: Who wouldn’t be complacent, in times of peace?

The Sith were thought to be extinct and Dooku was once a Jedi, a revered one at that. Nobody could have suspected he’d betray the Order that raised him and loved him.

Nobody could've suspected that he'd abuse of their trust and delete a system from the Archives using the credentials of his best friend who he'd had assassinated. That's a verrrry specific scenario, and expecting them to be prepared for that is unreasonable.

"They should've sensed something!" Well, by this point in time, everything surrounding the Jedi was tainted by the Dark Side, which clouded everything. So on the one hand, this situation granted Sidious the gift of foresight and allowed them to always be one step ahead, and on the other, it caused the Jedi to be stuck trekking ahead in a fog, unsure of what the next move would be.

“They were politically-inept.”

Yes**. That’s how the Sith ran circles around the Jedi. They figured “there’s only two of us, if we march into the Temple we’ll get slaughtered, but wait, the Jedi serve the Senate and the Senate is run by politicians… what if we become the politicians? Then we can destroy the Jedi and the principles from the inside!”

**HOWEVER: The Jedi were politically-inept by choice.

After all, their function isn’t setting policy but carrying it out. They’re not politicians, they’re diplomats and as such they're not allowed to get involved in the political process.

But if they were... they still wouldn't. Because power corrupts, and if you let the space monks (who already have magical powers) have political power too, then that will lead to a very dark place.

The Jedi knew that if they tried to play politics, they’ll lose because they have neither the ruthlessness nor the status to do it well, so they make it a point of never going anywhere near it.

Unfortunately, that leaves them open to situations where the Senate or Palpatine corner them into doing something they really don’t wanna do.

It's how they were forced to expel Ahsoka, how they lost the favor of the citizens and it's how Dooku, then the Emperor, framed them as power-hungry sorcerers with his propaganda.

“The war made them hypocrites.”

Sure***. The Jedi were meant to be diplomats, not soldiers. By waging war instead of keeping the peace, they’ve compromised on their values.

***HOWEVER: The Jedi know this and they’re not happy about it at all.

Firstly, because they were forced into this situation by the Senate and Palpatine, who drafted them into service.

Secondly, because they know they’re essentially moving ahead blindly and playing right into the Sith Lord’s hand by fighting this war he orchestrated.

But finally, it’s that they know that not joining would’ve been worse. Sticking by their principles would’ve resulted in the enslavement and genocide of many populations. Sometimes, the spirit of the rules must be prioritized over the letter. Either do nothing and be true to your principles, or go against them but save lives.

It’s a bad choice to make, but not as bad as not making one.

It's a bad choice, but it's motivated by a desire to do some good and it did. They saved countless lives (sometimes at the cost of their own) and inspired countless more to form the Rebellion, later on.

So... three flaws.

But they all come with asterisks. There’s a reasonable (sometimes, even admirable) justification for each of them.

I’m pointing these out because a lot of people seem to conflate “the Jedi were flawed” with “the Jedi were at fault” when talking about their own demise. And the answer to that is:

No.

The Jedi were not at fault. Everybody else was.

The Senate was at fault for growing corrupt and self-serving.

Big Corp for their never ending greed.

The Separatists for being so blind and naive as to think Big Corp would tooootally value their principles and absolutely not commit war crimes every chance they get.

The Sith for being the mass-murdering egotistical assholes who started this whole mess.

And the citizens of the galaxy for not taking up arms in the face of blatant injustice.

Sometimes bad people win.

That doesn't always mean the good guys are at fault. Sometimes, the bad guys are just… better at the game. Mostly because they see it as a game, and the good guys don't.

Luckily, 20 years later, most of the above faults were rectified by the Rebellion, which was led by the best of the Senate, and composed of Separatist remnants and brave citizens of the galaxy.