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iamjucie · 2 months

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Pet (18+) pt. 4 of 4

Ascended Astarion x f!reader

Chapter Four: Pink

I suggest reading the first three of the series before this, there is a bit of a plot in the porn. Just a little.

Summary: Master Astarion takes away your hurt and allows you to enjoy the sweet nothing of enthrallment.

WARNINGS: Smut, Extremely dubious consent, Mind control/manipulation, Orgasm control, Abusive relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Physical Abuse

I do not say this lightly- Astarion is evil in this. This is an extremely toxic relationship. You have been warned!

(AO3 Link)

When he goes to lift your hips from him, you flinch and groan. So overwhelmed with sensitivity from both of your earth shattering orgasms.

He notices this and tuts, “Darling, I do expect you know I am not finished with you yet. Are you feeling…” he moves his hand down, pushing two fingers inside and allowing his wrist to graze your clit, drawing a scream from your lips. “...Sensitive?”

“Y-yes master I- Ah” he begins to massage inside you while you talk to him. He loves to see you struggle. “I-I don't think I can manage any more master… I-It- it hurts.”

“My poor child,” he coos while still massaging winces and hisses from your lips. “What are we meant to do about that, hm?”

You are struggling to think through the assault on your senses, rendering your brain struggling to focus on anything the pain he is bringing onto you “I-I don’t know…” you stutter pathetically, “C-can you make it stop hurting? Maybe I- You- M-Make it feel good.”

Astarion stops in his conquest to destroy your senses and places a hand on his cheek, feigning surprise. “Darling, are you asking me to compel you to enjoy it?”

“Y-yes. No, I-I don’t know. I only want to make you feel good, that is my purpose. Would that be bad? ” you inquired, genuinely confused.

“Absolutely not my dearest!” he chuckles as he reaches to caress your cheeks, as if you were a child embarrassed that she said something wrong. “I would be happy to oblige.”

You settle yourself into position ready for your master to take the wheel. Gods, you loved when he did this. You love having him in your mind, controlling your every move, your every reaction. When thinking is all you ever do, it’s blissful to not have a thought in your head.

The feeling of him entering your mind is akin to laying in a fresh set of silk sheets. Fog drapes over your thoughts and everything seems far away. Wrapping your brain in a warm, silky coating. You are no longer in your body, you are elsewhere. Here, everything is quiet.

Everything except him, and he is all that matters.

“Okay, Pet.” you hear his voice ring in your mind amidst the fog. You tilt your head inquisitively, awaiting your command. You can’t wait, you are so very eager to serve. “All I want you to do is feel good for me. Can you do that? Nod if you can do that.”

You nod.

The fog suddenly lifts slightly and you are back in your body with Astarion. Everything has a slight tint of pink to it, but that’s ok. Pink is a very good color. It makes you feel very good.

“Sigh, Look at what has become of you dear.” he reaches his hand to caress your cheek. “So utterly pathetic.”

You smile at him, the fog makes words jumble in your mind but you can hear your master’s voice. Master’s voice is so beautiful. You reach your hand to grip his on your face, nuzzling your face into it. It makes you feel very good.

He flips you onto your back, your giddiness is palpable. You giggle as he caresses you. Everything tickles a little, it feels good.

“Gods, you’re giggling like a gods-damned child.” he scoffs, “You’re a shell of the powerful woman you once were. Do you know why, love?”

You don’t quite understand what he’s saying to you but you get the impression he is expecting a response. You tilt your head with an inquisitive expression, replaying what he said to try to understand. All you can do is think about how good his voice makes you feel.

A more prominent voice comes into your mind. He has a command for you.

“Say, ‘Why, Master?’ for me, love” it echoes in your brain until it is fulfilled.

“Why, master?” you say with no thought or intention behind it. You look at him with the deepest form of affection known to man; enthrallment.

He grabs you and pulls your ear to his lips. “Because I took it from you.” he hisses, hand moving down to your clit to massage it. “I stole your strength, your talent, your mind from you.” he smiles at you.

He’s so pretty when he smiles.

“You put up quite the fight for a bit but in the end, I won. I always do.”

His fingering in your cunt gets more aggressive, he loves making you feel good. He feels so good inside you, and his voice is like music in your clouded mind.

“I beat you, fucked you, isolated you until you were exactly the way I want you.” He scoffs, “Proof that my power is strong enough to turn the strongest heroes into whores that only exist to be my cumslut. The hero of Baldur’s Gate, locked in a bedroom in my palace for me to fuck when I please.”

He starts to laugh, he must have told a joke. Master is so funny. You laugh along with him.

He lifts your hips onto his cock once more. You feel a rush of pleasure drawing a languid moan from your lips. This is what hurt before? No no- it must have been something else that was hurting. This- this is too profound to hurt.

You start to bounce on his cock, pulling him in and out fully the way your body knows he likes. It feels so good.

“You’re a fucking idiot do you know that?” he through pants as he ferociously fucks you. “Thinking you would ever be my ‘Dark Consort’, thinking I would let you in on the glory? Please.”

His voice sounds like a symphony.

“I knew from the moment I met you, you were just a desperate, stupid slut. Just needed some coaxing out by my hand.” he continues, “Say you’re nothing but a desperate slut and nothing without me inside you.”

Again, you have the feeling he is expecting a response from you but you don’t quite know what to say. You feel so good wrapped around his cock. Everything is so perfect.

He slaps you across the face and puts his hand around your neck.

The heat of the hit goes straight to your cunt. Waves of pleasure rush over your mind. It feels. So. Damn. Good. You’re on the cusp of the biggest orgasm of your undead life.

He enters your mind with a command, “I said, say you’re nothing but a desperate slut and nothing without me inside you.”

“Ah- I-I’m a desperate slut!” you try to use your voice between moans, “a-and I’m n-nothing without you i-inside me-e!”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, you’re so fucking close.

“Gods…“ Astarion is on the edge of coming inside you. “Fucking-“

He enters your mind. “Come when I say. I need to feel you clench around my cock as I have you spilling with me.”

“Three…”

Your body starts to prepare for the hit of chemicals your brain is about to receive.

“Two…”

You’re so fucking close, you’re under his thumb. He just needs to lift it ever so slightly and you’re riding this wave together.

“One. Come for me”

Your body obeys. Your scream could easily be mistaken for him killing you if this routine wasn’t so practiced. You convulse and clench around his member inside of you, milking his spend for all you can. You lay in a pleasurable bliss. A numbness like no other, with your master’s spend leaking from your cunt. Fucked beyond measure.

***

The pink fog of your vision lifts for the most part. The fog is still clouding your thoughts, it usually does until master is gone for a long while.

After a brief respite, Astarion begins to put his clothes back on. Gazing at his reflection to ensure there’s no imperfections in his appearance.

He turns on his heels to face you and clasps his hands together. “Well my love, I’m afraid I need to head out.” he explained with an exaggerated frown. “I have a very very important meeting out of town I need to attend.”

“Again? But you just came back from a trip…” you pout.

“Darling,” his eyes glow slightly in your gaze, “that was 2 weeks ago!”

You scrunch your face. Has it been that long? You concentrate on remembering the past two weeks.

He places a hand on your forehead to check for a fever. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Think… Oh! How could you have forgotten? You helped to decide the warpath of where to expand the empire you two have built. Yes, yes. How could you forget? Time does fly when you have fun.

You lay naked on the bed, watching as your master makes his way to leave your shared chambers to go on yet another important trip. You love that your master is such an important man, that is what he always wanted and what he deserves. But, selfishly, you hate that he always needs to go away. Oh well. You should be grateful you had such an eventful two weeks with him.

He knocks 3 times on the chamber door with no handles. Did that always have no door knob? You can’t bring yourself to recall, your mind and body spent beyond their limit.

Master’s assistant- whose name is lost on you- opens the door for him. As he is beginning to make his way out the door, you call out to him.

“Wait master!”

He turns to you. “Hm? Yes, pet?”

“Where is your business trip located? I forgot to ask, I like to know so I can imagine us going there together one day.”

He tilts his head in endearment and smiles at you.

“Neverwinter, my lovely. I must be going, the carriage is waiting. Now, you know the routine by now? Think of me while I’m gone.”

The images he wants you to imagine flow into your mind like a tidal wave. You hear him in your mind telling you not to touch yourself and that you can’t climax without permission.

“Of course, master. I will behave myself”

“Good girl. I will see you before you know it, my pet”

“I love you, master”

“Yes, I know. And I you.” he says as the door is shut

***

“Sire, just to ensure I’m not mistaken,” Astarion’s assistant asks shortly after the door to the vault is locked shut as she walks beside him down the hall, “your soonest business meeting is six months from now? In Waterdeep?”

“You would be correct. If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

“Of course, sire.”

***

You are sitting in the lavish master chamber of the ornate palace you call home. Gazing into your reflection in the vanity mirror combing your unnaturally long black hair, getting lost in thought. It’s really all there is to do when Master Astarion is away on extended business trips like this.

It does help, too, that before he left he told you to think of him while he was gone. It was a command. So you obey. And you think.

The End

I hope you enjoyed my very first time writing fanfiction!! If you like my style and have any ideas or suggestions, let me know! This was so much fun to write and I can't wait to write more!

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blissfulip · 3 months

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Dopamine

on AO3

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, idiots in love (?) dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut, masturbation, angry sex, unprotected sex,

Cw: uhhhh smut

Words: 2.5k

[A/N: russian very kindly corrected by soln, ly<3, tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly(ish). (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao

Previous Next

Chapter 6: Big-headed? (NSFW)

The corridor leading to Heimerdinger's office was markedly narrower and longer than the others at The Academy, as though he was covertly attempting to thwart visitors. It didn’t stop you, however, and as you found out when you got there, it hadn’t stopped Viktor either. It made sense that, at one point in his life, long before you even met each other, these halls must have been a habitual destination. His close-knit relationship with the professor also showed itself confidently in the volume of his voice, a line that, despite your frustration with the situation, you’d never dare to cross.

You had every intention of staying put and waiting for him to come out, but the half-open door compromised your presence, and given that you were almost certainly there to make a fuss about the same issue, you decided to get it done and over with; after all, perchance Viktor's presence there could give your argument a compelling edge.

"Well, I’m glad you were able to join us at last, dear. I trust you are feeling better." Heimerdinger started.

“I’m okay; yes, thank you for the concern, professor. I should say I have a surmise that I am here for the same reason as him."

“Yes, I was trying to argue that our work styles do not meld well, and making us work together for any period of time greater than 5 minutes could be catastrophic; would you confirm as much?”

“Absolutely, I can do the work all on my own if that’s necessary; just don't make me work with him.”

“Interestingly enough, he has offered to do the same. Although I do commend both of you for your altruism, I must insist. This is what the Academy has decided.”

“Professor, if I may—"

“Enough delays, my boy; the decision is final. If I were you, I would get to it immediately; you have only a couple of hours to work.” You were swiftly rushed out the door by him, swept away by tiny, impatient footsteps and a heavy wooden door closing behind you.

Another door closed right on your faces when the sweet librarian denied you access on the pretense that your arguing had inconvenienced a whole two people the past couple of weeks, and you were now banned from using the premises at the same time. You had to compromise and go in by yourself to get the books you needed and then go all the way to the half-empty and uncomfortably cold cafeteria tables, where you worked tirelessly until you were yet again kicked out once the place closed.

-------------------------

A couple infectious yawns and rubbed eyes later, you leaned back on the stiff plastic chair and stretched your back.

“What time is it?”

“Past 9.” Viktor answered after lazily turning around to try to make out what the clock read. You groaned loudly.

“We’ll need to move again—my dorm or yours?"

“Mine is probably cleaner.”

“Are you implying I’m messy?”

“No, I am affirming as much.”

“Rude.” You were offended, though only as a habit, because he was not entirely wrong.

“Oh no, have I offended you? Someone put me out of my misery!” He dramatized.

“I’d be first in line.” You said already standing up and walking in the direction of his dormitory.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Not everything needs to be done your way, you know?"

In the wake of the cafeteria work stretch, you had found yourselves completely spent and depleted. With most of the work done and text written, you had taken some minutes to stretch and rest your eyes. Viktor had informed you as soon as you got there that it was imperative that you were as silent as possible, given the next-door neighbor's propensity to complain about noise.

You did your best to keep it down, of course, and granted, you had been doing a particularly good job. That is, until Viktor decided to wonder who between the two of you would be the one actually giving the speech with the material you had prepared. Although you did your best to ask him politely at first, his immediate negative response caused you to get defensive.

“I wrote most of the text; why can’t you just do me a favor once?

“It’s not a favor if you have to throw me under a train for it! You know I hate speaking in public, and genuinely, I’m dog-tired of you being so incorrigibly selfish.”

“I’m not selfish, how am I selfish?” You said almost forgetting you had to keep the volume down.

“You never think about any consequences, ever. You can go around saying you are a free spirit and spontaneous and fun as much as you like, but if truth be told, you are nothing but cataclysmic chaos!”

“I don’t make mistakes on purpose, Viktor; it happens; you just have zero empathy because you insist on making everyone believe you are the Academy’s perfect golden boy! You never make mistakes, and you never do anything wrong, right?. But I know all you really do is push people away because everyone is afraid of disappointing you! I don't know. If you were a little less hostile, maybe you’d have some friends."

“You mean friends like you? I’d rather staple my ears together than be friends with a jumbled mess. He said, standing up from the chair, his nose flaring up as he inhaled a sharp breath and held his cane forcefully. “You are so excruciatingly intolerable, overwhelming, big-headed—”

“Big-headed?"

“That is what you take offense to?”

You couldn’t say anything beyond a dismissive shrug, and you knew your disregard for his opinion was what would sting the most anyway.

The silence was loud; it could be felt in the air between you, the irate flare of irritation in his gritted teeth, his ears colored in that familiar tone of blush, and his eyebrows uncomfortably knit together as he whisper-screamed at you. He took a couple steps forward, leaving you at no farther than a palm's distance. The sudden closeness somehow did not bother you; you could hear both of your breaths, heavy and panting from the strain of containing your screams, and you could tell by the heat you felt all over your head and stomach that your cheeks probably mirrored the flush on Viktor’s face.

In hindsight, you never really understood why you didn’t talk back to him after that last comment. You had so many things in mind you could have said, but an unknown force pulled your attention away from his amber eyes glowing with rage to his lips instead, which were a bloody cherry red from biting on them too much. You couldn’t look away, and Viktor quickly noticed.

Then his shoulders visibly lost tension.

"Ah…prydoruk,” he whispered, mostly to himself, and you wished you understood because it somehow felt like another insult. Perplexity became fright when the loud clang of his cane falling directed your eyes to the floor, but in an instant, both of his hands were holding your face firmly, and one of them slithered in between the locks of your hair.

You hated how fast your guard fell. His fingers, icy yet delicate, caressing the lines of your jaw, were enough to disarm you completely. You mouthed multiple offenses at him under your breath as you searched for his lips. You were agonizingly in need of each other’s taste. Your hands had a strong grip on his shirt, tugging at it unintentionally as your body, which desperately wanted that idiot, tried to gripe with your rationality. The war in Viktor’s mind was a similar one, but just as much as yours, his body was unable to pull back.

Eventually you needed to catch your breath from the kiss, beyond hungry, and when you pulled back just slightly, you looked at each other like two deer in headlights, frozen in place by a blend of contradicting emotions that prevented you from moving and still holding each other closely. Viktor moved first, and when he kissed you again, you could feel his hands move almost on their own, going against his orders to wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him. He felt his lungs grow hungry for air as his tongue buried itself deep inside your throat.

“Stop pulling," he tried to whisper in between kisses. You shushed him, bringing a finger up to his lips, and started leaving a trail of kisses along his jawbone. “If you tear my shirt, I—” He tried once again, but your lips got to his neck at the same time, and his sentence changed into a muffled groan.

“I won’t. Just shut up; don’t make me think too much about this; just sh—”

“So crass,” he said as he walked backwards to the bed, pulling you along with him. “You’re so unpleasant."

“You have history that says otherwise, asshat."

You already had a leg on the bed, fully intending to push him on it to straddle his lap, but he moved faster than you could think and shifted to hover above you. He crawled up slowly without ever stopping the deep kiss you were sharing and used one of his knees to push your legs apart, positioning himself between them. You tried not to react, but the feeling of his erection against you prompted a slight chuckle to come out of your throat.

“If this is how you get when I’m unpleasant, I can’t imagine what could happen if I were nice to you.” you smirked. He sank his teeth against your skin in response, leaving a small bite mark on your collarbone before he whispered.

“You are not funny, Zaychik."

“You’re just humorless." You said this as you pulled his shirt over his head. This must have been the open invitation he was waiting for to introduce a hand under your dress, completely bunching it up to gain precious access to your bare chest.

Although the energy of the room had shifted noticeably, the pooling heat in between you never replaced the ravenous disposition. You still felt the frustration in him as he bit into you multiple times, leaving a wake of purple and red bruises you would have to explain the next day. You didn’t know if his motivations were guided by a fit of lust or if it was a way to punish you for all of the irritation you had caused him throughout the years of knowing each other; either way, it felt good, and you did not care to keep pondering.

His hand trickled down to your underwear in excruciatingly slow designs, one of his eyebrows raising in a self-congratulatory expression when he felt the dampness of the fabric.

“Pat yourself in the back; why don't you?” You said, rolling your eyes. He did not answer, and, to your astonishment, he did not take your underwear off. He took his hand back up, bringing the fingers wet with arousal into his mouth, pulled down the elastic of his sweatpants and underwear to reveal a cock you wished you hadn’t gasped at, and pulled your underwear to the side to position himself at your entrance, all without ever breaking eye contact.

Even though he was panting abnormally loud and you could tell he would probably soon burst into a cloud of smoke, he still nodded slightly at you, asking for confirmation, and when you nodded back, he impatiently tilted his hips as far as the position allowed it and his leg could withstand, plunging into you with hungry zeal. He didn’t start slow; he was incisive and deep with every thrust, making sure he was completely inside you with every move. Calculated bastard

You used both hands around his back to hold yourself steady, your not exactly manicured nails digging into the soft flesh of his shoulder blades as you did your best to not make any noises too loud. Down on the bed under him, you pondered the dim light in the room and the curious designs of the roof. They might as well have been figments of your imagination, swirls of light and haziness as your eyes filled with tears.

You confused the erratic rhythm of his hips for what you thought at first was the arrival of his unraveling and immediately realized was simply his leg tiring out, and you gathered enough momentum to push him off of you, his back now on the bed, and you were ready to ride him. Long overdue, you thought, you couldn’t let him get his way with you without having a mirriad of his whimpers to your name. Your pace wasn’t slow either; you drove him into you with the roll of your hips, making sure you could feel him in the right spots.

The look of enamoured trance on his face as you bounced on his lap was far from the vexed expression you were expecting, and the suppressed groans of pleasure touched something in you that made you suddenly bashful. You leaned over to nuzzle your face against the crook of his neck and pressed your lips against his when his grin was getting too wide for comfort. You devoured each other again for what felt like too little time before you could feel the overwhelming heat in your core preparing you for your climax.

You tried to tell Viktor you were about to come, but something in your face must have made that obvious, because he brought you close again by the back of your neck, your mouths nearly touching each other as he spoke.

“Say my name,” he murmured into your mouth.

“Yeah, right”

The hand on your neck slithered its way up to your hair, which he tugged at firmly.

“Say it; I know you’re close.”

“Fuck you.” You hissed, neither of you being able to contain a half-pleasure, half irritation, out-of-breath groan.

It didn’t take much longer before you felt the brief pain and sweet spasm that followed it, and Viktor revealed the feeling of your walls contracting around his cock. You took a second to compose yourself with your forehead pressed against his, and then gave him a devilish grin as you slid down to his lap. His eyes opened wide when you pressed the heat of his erection flat on your tongue, taking it in as far as you could manage.

His head shot back and his face contorted in pleasure, the hand that hadn’t left your hair oscillating between pulling at it harshly and gently caressing your head. You tasted him, salty, in your throat soon enough, and sat up after swallowing every drop of it. Viktor drew you back to him, and you laid there next to each other, avoiding eye contact, even though you were too high from your orgasms to feel any regret yet.

‘Yet’ came soon enough, though.

#viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic

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thenatashamaximoff · 11 months

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Whispers In The Dark; Ch. 2

Summary: When a casual one-night stand develops into a deeper, forbidden love, you and Wanda try to keep your relationship a secret as you navigate the challenges of balancing your growing emotions with the fear of being caught.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Warnings: 18+ (nsfw), mentions of death

Words: 6,174

✎ | ❁

┌─────────────ᗢ─────────────┐ @diaryoflife @women-am-i-right @creatively-analytical @obsessed-with-wandamaximoff @beforeoursecrets @iliketozoneout @olsensnpm @hoefnagel521 @chasingmaximoff └─────────────ᗢ─────────────┘ ┌─────────────∞─────────────┐ @myfavoriteficss @pinkytoecrust @cyncity32 @romanoffomixam @peachbear88 @magicallymaximoff @therealmeari @peggycarter-steverogers @ba-romanoff @natashabelovas @morbid-gaymer @reminiscingtonight @when-wolves-howl @idontknownemore @natashasilverfox @sayah13 @fuxk182 @scarletwitchofthewilds @natashamaximoff69 @wuwu96 @jsonebraincell @whendarknessturns @marvel4liferz @red1culous └─────────────∞─────────────┘

“Yes, sir.” You seemed to have stopped listening for a while now. You weren’t sure what he had said. The words had jumbled in your mind, making it difficult to comprehend the meaning behind them. You wondered if you had even articulated your response clearly, or if it had come out as unintelligible gibberish. It was as if the random noise in the back of your throat had escaped, mimicking speech without conveying any coherent message.

On the desk in front of you, Alexander Pierce’s face appeared on the computer screen. As your boss and the higher authority within the organization, his presence demanded attention and respect. Yet… you were struggling to do just that. For what was probably the gazillionth time in the span of twenty minutes, your eyes slowly shifted away from the virtual meeting to land on the folder resting amidst the scattered papers that littered the desk’s surface. Wanda Maximoff’s name was emblazoned in bold, black ink on the tab, enticing your curiosity. It seemed that the comprehensive dossier on her had arrived just before this unexpected meeting commenced. You hadn’t had a chance to explore its contents, as other pressing matters took precedence.

You had hoped that it would’ve faded into the recesses of your mind, much like the other neglected folders resting amidst the sea of unpacked boxes in your apartment. Yet, its persistent presence refused to be ignored, exerting what felt like a gravitational pull on your thoughts, compelling you to explore its hidden contents.

The allure of the folder became too enticing to resist any longer. With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, you reached out… but the moment your fingers grazed it, you were snapped back to attention by the mere sound of her name rolling off of Alexander Pierce’s tongue. “It has come to my attention that you sent Wanda Maximoff on a highly sensitive operation this morning.”

“Yes, sir.” The fog that had clouded your thoughts began to dissipate, replaced by a renewed sense of alertness. You recalled the mission you had assigned her earlier, a covert operation of significant importance. “The assignment involved retrieving Loki Laufeyson, Thor’s brother,” you explained, making sure your words were clear and coherent this time. “Agent Maximoff’s unique abilities made her a valuable asset for the task. As far as I’m concerned, she executed it with precision and achieved the objective successfully. The man in question is sitting in one of our… rigged capsules.”

Pierce’s scrutinizing gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. “I hope you understand the gravity of the situation, Director,” he stated sternly. “Not only are Maximoff’s powers still relatively unknown and untested, but she also has a past that makes it difficult to trust her. We cannot afford any mishaps or breaches in security.”

You maintained a composed demeanor, acknowledging the seriousness of Pierce’s concerns. “I understand the gravity of the situation, sir,” you assured in a steady voice. “While Agent Maximoff’s powers may be unfamiliar to us, she has demonstrated her loyalty and commitment to the mission. Her past may raise questions, but she has been thoroughly vetted and deemed fit for the task.”

Pierce’s expression remained wary, but a hint of curiosity flickered in his eyes. “Vetting can only provide limited assurances,” he cautioned. “We must tread carefully when dealing with individuals of such complex backgrounds. Their loyalties can… shift unpredictably.” His eyes were guarded behind a steely look as his words hung in the air, underscoring the delicate nature of the situation and the potential risks involved.

You met his gaze head-on, unyielding in your resolve as a determined spark ignited within you. “I’m well aware of the risks, sir,” you responded firmly, your tone brimming with conviction. “Agent Maximoff’s past may be complicated, but her actions thus far have shown dedication and commitment. She successfully apprehended Loki under the radar. I entrusted her with a mission, and she exceeded all expectations.” Leaning forward, you rested your elbows against the top of the desk, emphasizing your earnestness. “I understand the need for caution, sir, but how can we expect someone to earn trust if they’re never given the opportunity?”

You could’ve sworn you caught Pierce’s expression softening, but he was quick to catch it, steeling himself once more. “You have an optimistic view of her,” he remarked, though his wariness remained visible in his tone. “Just ensure that your optimism doesn’t blind you to potential threats. Keep a close eye on her, Director.”

“I will exercise vigilance, sir,” you assured him. “The safety and integrity of this organization are my utmost priorities. We will monitor her closely and act accordingly should any concerns arise.” As you spoke, your attention was momentarily captured by the sound of your office door swinging open and then closing. Your heart quickened its pace when you watched Wanda confidently stride into the room, maintaining eye contact over the top of the laptop while sitting against the arm of the couch, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. The intense energy between you was palpable, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation.

Pierce’s voice brought you back to the present, jolting you out of the spell Wanda’s presence had cast. “Very well, Director,” he acknowledged, his tone authoritative. “I trust your ability to handle this matter with the necessary caution. Keep me informed of any significant developments.”

You nodded in response, slightly struggling to keep your voice steady and determined, “Yes, sir.”

With those parting words, the screen flickered and Pierce’s presence dissipated, ultimately allowing you to turn your gaze back to Wanda, who was still resting against the couch, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. You closed the laptop slowly, deliberately, allowing yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The room seemed to buzz with an electric charge, and the intensity of the connection between you and Wanda lingered in the air.

No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you knew you had to… you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull between the two of you.

“I wasn’t aware I had an open-door policy, Miss Maximoff,” you remarked. As you casually adjusted your position, leaning back in your chair, your arm subtly slid across the desk with your movement, purposefully disrupting the already-scattered pile of papers to conceal the folder containing her dossier.

She chuckled softly, lowly, yet you heard it all too well. “Well, Director, I couldn’t resist the temptation to see you in action,” she replied, her voice carrying a teasing undertone.

A playful spark seemed to ignite within you, and you found yourself leaning forward just as she was slowly moving to stand. “Is that so?” you retorted, a glimmer of excitement unwillingly dancing in your eyes. “Perhaps I should enforce stricter rules then.”

Wanda’s smirk grew more pronounced, and she began closing the distance between you with calculated steps. “Or maybe,” she offered, her voice low and suggestive, “we can find another way to bend them just a little.”

Your eyes darted to the laptop, remnants of the video call with Alexander Pierce slipping into your mind. The weight of your responsibilities bore down on you, reminding you of the delicate balance you had to maintain within the organization. The lines between professional conduct and personal inclinations blurred in the presence of Wanda Maximoff.

The air crackled with suspense as she rounded the desk, pushing against the top of your chair until you were fully facing her. Once again, the weight of responsibility is completely forgotten. Your jaw dropped open, a word on the tip of your tongue, yet no sounds could be heard when Wanda gently lowered herself onto you, straddling your lap as her fingers gripped the back of your neck. Your movements were automatic, your hands resting on her hips as you seemed to have trouble looking away from her emerald irises.

“Wanda…” You were trying to say her name with authority, trying to warn her that she shouldn’t be doing this, but your body sold you out. Instead, you said her name wanton, as if you were begging for more because, fight as hard as you can, Y/N, you did want more.

And her low, breathy chuckle told you she knew that, too. “I told you,” she whispered, bending slightly so her lips brushed your ear. “I was more than willing to wait to finish thoroughly.” She took your earlobe in between her teeth just as she drove her hips against you, pulling a gasp from your throat while your stomach twisted like a coil.

Your grip on her waist tightened with need, and you gave in to the feeling pushing against you. With one quick maneuver, your lips were pressed into hers, swallowing her moans as your hands guided her rutting. Your insides throbbed with desire, your fingers danced up her shirt as she took over her own motions, and the way she moaned your name into your ear had you gasping. You turned in the chair, Wanda bracing herself against the desk behind her, and the movement seemed to brush some of the scattered papers off of your desk and to the floor.

“Touch me, Y/N,” she whispered, panted, begged. It sent shivers up your spine.

You obliged, allowing the tips of your fingers to ride the supple surface of her abdomen until they reached the hem of her bra. The skin under the garment was warm, and she was groaning the moment your touch skirted over the area she desired to be touched the most. Her chin tilted back as you leaned forward, exposing her neck to give you more access as your lips brushed across it like a feather.

“Wanda, I’m…” Your words trailed off as a sudden clap of thunder reverberated through the air, jolting you back to reality. The sound seemed to echo in your ears, its intensity leaving you slightly unnerved, yet Wanda appeared unfazed by the disturbance. The moment you pulled back, she pushed forward, pressing her lips to the soft skin just underneath your jaw. It was like flipping a switch, plunging back into the captivating allure of Wanda’s touches and the sensations they bring. However, reality wasn’t going to let go of you that easily, reclaiming its hold as a series of sharp and loud knocks resounded throughout the room.

Unlike earlier, Wanda wasn’t as willing to part ways this time. She released a deep, irritated breath as she swiftly climbed off your lap mere moments before the door opened. A woman popped her head into the room, her eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Wanda for a moment before finally settling on you. She looked familiar, her name making an uncomfortable itch appear in the back of your mind as she fully entered the room.

“Ma’am,” her voice broke through the hazy enchantment, serving as a reminder of the woman’s identity. You recalled her from earlier in the day, realizing that she had requested your signature for… something, yet her name seemed to elude your memory. “There’s an urgent matter that requires your immediate attention.”

You pressed your lips together, scratching the back of your neck before you moved to stand up. Now that Wanda’s body wasn’t pumping adrenaline through you, exhaustion seems to be sneaking up on you pretty quickly. It was evident in your eyes, but your movements didn’t lack confidence as you followed the woman (whose name you can’t remember for some awful reason).

As she guided you down the corridors of the compound, the clamor of raised voices grew louder. Surely this was the urgent matter the woman had mentioned.

Rounding the corner, a scene unfolded before you - a swarm of SHIELD agents surrounding a central figure, their attention fixated on the source of the commotion. It was none other than Thor Odinson, radiating an unmistakable aura of anger and frustration at the heart of the gathering.

“I demand for my brother to be released at once!” he commanded, his furrowed brows displaying deep frustration and determination. His body turned, eyes searching the growing crowd, seeking an authoritative figure. “Loki belongs in the prisons of Asgard, not held captive in some mere human penitentiary! Show me to him!”

“That’s not happening,” you declared, the sea of agents parting at the sound of your voice. It was instant that Thor’s piercing blue eyes snapped onto you, eyeing the way you stood as tall as you could with your hands gripping your hips, projecting an air of superiority. “Your brother stands accused of grave crimes against humanity. He is required by law to face consequences, whether or not he is a god or the adopted brother of one.”

“And he shall see to those consequences on Asgard.”

“He didn’t seem to last very long in your prison,” you countered, your arms firmly crossing over your chest as you held your ground. The tension in the hall thickened as your words hung in the air “Considering he’s here and not there, did he get early release for good behavior?” Thor’s eyes narrowed, his gaze intensifying, while faint chuckles floated from the onlookers. Your focus remained on his intimidating presence. The soft laughter ceased just as quickly as it came to be, swallowed by the weight of the situation when he took a small yet heavy step forward, his expression becoming sterner.

“Where’s Fury?” Thor’s voice was laced with a mix of suspicion and urgency. The mention of the former director’s absence seemed to ignite a spark of concern within him.

You cleared your throat, your tone unwavering as you met Thor’s fiery gaze. “He’s no longer with us. Unfortunately for you, Mr. Odinson, that puts me in charge.” Authority floated around you as you stepped forward with confidence despite the anger displayed on his face. “Loki stays here.”

The area grew quiet, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. All eyes were fixed upon the clash of wills between you and Thor, the atmosphere crackled with tension as the two of you stood locked in a silent battle of determination. The fate of Loki hung in the balance, and it was clear that both of you were determined to defend your respective positions.

“Loki is my brother. My responsibility,” Thor announced, his voice growing deeper and more forceful. “I’m not leaving until he is at my side, and anyone who stands in my way will face their own consequences.” The agents in the room exchanged uneasy glances, recognizing the potential for conflict that loomed before them. Some even slowly moved their hands to rest on their sidearms, and you could feel your stomach twisting tautly with nerves. Hopefully, it doesn’t come down to that.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the mounting pressure. It was clear that Thor’s determination had escalated, and finding a peaceful resolution would be an uphill battle. But you couldn’t allow the situation to escalate into violence or compromise the safety of those nearby. “I understand the bond you share with Loki, Mr. Odinson,” you finally said, your tone steady despite the growing tension, “but we cannot allow personal attachments to undermine our duty and the security of innocent lives. We must consider the results of releasing Loki into an environment where he has proven to be a threat.”

Your decision was met with an intense gaze, his grip on Mjolnir tightening, sparks of electricity crackling around him. The crowd held its breath, awaiting his next move.

“Stand aside,” Thor growled, his voice filled with anger and resolve, “or face the full fury of a god.”

Your heart raced rapidly, beating against your chest as he seemed to stand taller before you, but you stood your ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Violence is not the answer.” You lifted a hand in an attempt to calm him down as you added, “We must find a way to resolve this without causing harm to anyone.”

The air seemed to tremble with the unspoken clash between the two of you. The agents watched on, their loyalty divided between their duty and the power emanating from Thor. At that moment, you realized that finding a compromise would be even more challenging than anticipated. The fate of Loki, the security of the organization, and the potential for a confrontation hung in the balance, awaiting a resolution that could satisfy both duty and familial bonds.

Heavy silence suffocated you as Thor’s gaze bore through you, his muscles tensed and ready for action. It wasn’t a debate anymore, it was a standoff. A battle of wills that threatened to tip over into chaos. The weight of the decision rested upon your shoulders, and the outcome would shape the course of events to come.

It was a moment of unexpected intervention. As Thor attempted to wield his hammer, a surge of red energy surrounded his wrist, hindering his progress. His mighty strength rendered ineffective against the force, causing his brows to knit together with rage, his pupils narrowing even further to mere crumbs. His gaze shifted behind you, and you turned to witness Wanda, her eyes ablaze with a fiery crimson hue, exerting her own power to counter Thor’s aggression. You found your stomach uncoiling when she met your stare with a soft, easy smile.

Hushed whispers filled the air as the two powerful beings struggled against each other, the agents watching in awe and apprehension, unsure of how this unexpected turn of events would unfold.

“Release me!” Thor’s voice boomed, his demand filled with indignation and defiance.

You felt a renewed sense of empowerment surge within you, a willful smirk curling your lips. The tables had turned, and you held the upper hand for now. With a determined gaze, you stood your ground, undeterred by Thor’s wrath. “Not until you calm down,” you declared, voice steady and commanding. It was a bold move, challenging the god of thunder himself, but you were resolute in your stance. The safety of everyone involved and the preservation of order was paramount.

Thor’s expression shifted from anger to incredulity, his eyebrows furrowing deeper as he grappled with the unexpected resistance he faced. The room crackled with charged energy, the clash between power and authority hanging in the balance. “I’m calm,” he finally said.

Wanda’s crimson eyes locked with yours once more, a silent understanding passing between you. She released her hold on him, and Thor straightened his form as his eyes danced back to you. He stared at you for a moment, feeling as if he were sizing you up, or as if he were forming another plan in that brain of his to get his brother back. Either way, you didn’t back down.

“Very well,” he conceded, his voice tinged with disappointment. “But know this, Director, I will be watching closely.” He turned on his heels, the crowd of agents instantly parting to give way as he marched away. The presence of the Asgardian gradually faded, his departure leaving behind a lingering sense of tension in the room.

You nodded, clapping your hands together while you announced, “Back to work, everybody.” As the agents returned to their normal rhythm, dispersing to resume their duties, the weight of the confrontation slowly lifted from your shoulders. You turned to fully face Wanda, but your gaze slowly drifted to Coulson lingering behind her in time to catch his small nod before he left.

“That was very impressive,” Wanda mused, struggling to hide the mischievous smirk that played upon her lips. With each sly step she took towards you, your heart quickened its pace, climbing up to your throat, unable to escape the intensity of the moment. The darkening depths of her eyes added an electrifying allure, casting a spell upon your senses. “It takes a special kind of courage to challenge a god, especially one consumed by anger.”

The surge of pride coursed through your veins, straightening your posture and bolstering your confidence. With a casual shrug, you maintained an air of nonchalance, even as you found yourself drawn closer to her magnetic presence. “I wouldn’t be a very good director if I cowered away at mere inconveniences, Miss Maximoff.”

She responded with a whimsical hum, her playful head tilt accompanied by the tantalizing sight of her teeth capturing her bottom lip. Her eyes glistened with desire, casting a bewitching spell that ensnared your senses. Lost in the haze of her allure, your arm instinctively reached out, compelled to gently sweep away the stray strands of hair that adorned her cheek. For a fleeting moment, you forgot your surroundings - that you weren’t in the solitude of your office, nor the seclusion of her apartment - until an abrupt chirp shattered the illusion. Your phone, a stark reminder of reality, jolted you back to your senses. Like a switch being flipped, full control over yourself snapped back, causing your breath to hitch in your throat as you hastily stepped away from her. The passionate darkness in her emerald irises wavered, replaced by a tinge of disappointment as you cleared your throat, forcing yourself to avert your gaze and reach for your phone.

The spell was broken, and the weight of your responsibilities crashed back down upon you when you read your boss’s name on the screen, serving as a harsh reminder of the boundaries that needed to be maintained. The boundaries you are constantly neglecting.

“Excuse me, Miss Maximoff, but duty calls,” you uttered, your voice betraying a hint of reluctance. As you lifted your eyes to meet hers once more, a strange sensation washed over you, causing your legs to momentarily falter. Lost within the depths of her captivating gaze, you found yourself trapped in a trance unlike any before. The usual desires, seductive playfulness, and mischievous glints were replaced with something different - something softer, more powerless.

In that brief instance, vulnerability danced in the depths of her eyes, as if revealing a hidden side that had previously remained concealed. It tugged at your heartstrings, stirring a mix of emotions within you. The allure remained, but it was laced with a yearning for connection and understanding. It was a vulnerable invitation, silently pleading for you to acknowledge the unspoken depths of her being.

However, duty compelled you to tear yourself away from the enchanting pull. With a resolute sigh, you mustered the strength to regain control over your legs, willing them to move forward. Yet, the memory of that moment lingered in the recesses of your mind, leaving an indelible mark upon you.

You could feel her eyes on the back of your head as you walked away.

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“Come in,” you announced automatically, barely lifting your gaze from the papers scattered across your desk. The routine had become second nature to you: someone knocked, you acknowledged their presence, signed whatever document they presented, and swiftly dismissed them. Your hand instinctively reached out to receive the clipboard, expecting the familiar weight of papers to land in your palm. But the footsteps approaching your desk seemed unusually slow, causing a flicker of curiosity to interrupt your monotonous rhythm.

Lifting your head, you found yourself locking eyes with Coulson. To your surprise, his hands were empty, folded neatly across his chest as he fixed an expectant gaze upon you. The absence of paperwork left you momentarily puzzled, prompting a question to escape your lips.

“Am I missing something here?” He maintained his composed stance, the air in the room growing heavy with unspoken revelations, and the gravity of the moment enveloped you. “Out with it, Coulson,” you pressed.

“Mr. Pierce is waiting for you in the conference room.” He met your gaze steadily, clearing his throat as he patiently waited for your mind to process his words.

Confusion furrowed your brows for a brief moment before surprise widened your eyes as you frantically sifted through the papers on your desk, searching for your phone. Desperation laced your voice as you hastily denied the imminent arrival. “No, he’s not due until tomorrow,” you protested, a touch of desperation seeping into your words. “It’s-”

“Ten in the morning.” Coulson interrupted your frantic search, his head tilting to the side as he observed your panicked movements. The unspoken thoughts that passed between you were evident in his expression. No, you hadn’t gone home. No, you hadn’t slept. Yes, you were doing all this paperwork Pierce sent over last night. Yes, your mind had been consumed with thoughts of Wanda Maximoff. The weight of your responsibilities and the unanticipated turn of events collided, leaving you reeling with a mix of exhaustion, longing, and apprehension.

In the corner of your eye, a glimmer caught your attention, obscured beneath the papers on your desk. Relief washed over you as you successfully fished your phone out of the chaotic pile. However, any fleeting sense of triumph swiftly dissipated when you glanced at the screen. Coulson’s words echoed in your mind, confirming Pierce’s untimely arrival and a wave of anxiety surged through you. The details of this meeting eluded you as if shrouded by a foggy haze.

Without a second though, you sprang to your feet with such haste that your chair careened into the wall behind you. The loud thud punctuated the urgency of the situation, emphasizing the disarray that mirrored your racing thoughts. Time seemed to accelerate as you quickly gathered your composure, determined to face the impending meeting, even if you couldn’t recall its purpose.

You exited the room, the door slowly sliding shut behind you, leaving your deputy director alone. However, it didn’t take long for a realization to dawn upon you, prompting a swift about-face. Sheepishly, you poked your head back into the office, a contrite smile adorning your face. “Where’s the conference room?” His finger pointed in the direction you needed to go, and with a nod of gratitude, you swiftly disappeared once more, determined to find your way to the meeting.

Upon reaching the conference room door, the sound of laughter emanating from within caused your muscles to tense up. One laugh was unmistakably Pierce’s, characterized by its gruffness and rigidity. However, the other laughter resonated deep within you, igniting a warmth in your gut that was undeniable. The mere sound of her laugh had the power to captivate you, making you hesitate to open the door and disrupt the harmonious melody unfolding on the other side. But you quickly snapped out of your daze, remembering that Wanda Maximoff should not be engaged in friendly conversation with your boss.

With resolve, you entered the room and confirmed your instincts. Wanda was indeed immersed in a cheerful conversation with Alexander Pierce, both of them sporting smiles. You forced one of your own, but as soon as you met those sparkling green eyes, your grin became authentic. “What’s going on in here?” you inquired, closing the distance to the occupied table.

“There you are, Director. Please, take a seat and join us,” Pierce greeted with unexpected cheerfulness, a major difference from the stern man you’d spoken to through the computer not that long ago. He gestured toward the seat next to Wanda, and you reluctantly settled into the chair while attempting to maintain a noticeable distance from the woman. “Where have you been hiding this one from us?” He looked toward Wanda, whose face had grown brighter when she saw you. “She’s an absolute delight! And she’s already ours for the taking.” Soft laughter lingered in his voice, leaving you intrigued about their earlier conversation.

The sight of Pierce’s ease and comfort with Wanda - as if they were old friends - immediately after issuing a strict order for you to monitor her due to a lack of trust in the new Avenger sent waves of unease rippling through you. It was disconcerting to witness such a stark contrast in his behavior, as if the order had been mere words with no real significance. Your mind raced with questions, trying to comprehend the motives behind his contradictory actions. Did he genuinely trust Wanda more than he let on? Or was there a hidden agenda at play? Doubt gnawed at you.

Wanda chimed in playfully, answering on your behalf while keeping her eyes trained on you, “Oh, Y/N just loves keeping me for herself.” However, as she spoke, Pierce’s demeanor shifted abruptly, returning to his usual strict professionalism. He studied Wanda intently, causing her to divert her gaze from you to meet his scrutinizing one. A knot of anticipation formed in your stomach as you watched him silently analyze her.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head for a moment before turning to you. “I’m impressed by how you handled the Loki situation,” he confessed. A glimmer of pride shone in his eyes, contrasting with his rugged expression. “It was your first assignment, a significant one at that, not to mention. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you had what it took, but I’m not one to shy away from admitting I was wrong.”

Leaning forward, Wanda placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and spoke, her voice filled with admiration, “It’s only been a day, but I think Y/N’s been doing a wonderful job so far.” This time, your smile remained forced as you subtly shifted your shoulder, discreetly removing her hand from your touch under Pierce’s watchful eyes.

“I can handle anything thrown at me, sir,” you commented in an attempt to divert his attention.

He cleared his throat, his eyes dancing back and forth between you and Wanda for a quiet, tense moment before asking, “Do you let all your agents call you by your first name?”

“No, sir-”

“I don’t see how that’s really relevant here,” she interrupted, not mincing her words. You swallowed the thick saliva that had formed in your throat, the knot in your gut beginning to grow tighter. “I believe that she-”

“Agent Maximoff,” you interjected swiftly, your voice firm, trying to regain control of the situation. You avoided meeting her eyes as they flickered toward you. “That’ll be all for now.” The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, with Wanda watching you, Pierce observing her, and you staring at the table, desperate to dodge all eyes.

“Yes, Director.” You winced subtly at the tone of her voice, ultimately telling you that she was not pleased with your dismissal. Surely she wasn’t one to hold a grudge over something so minute… right?

Pierce adjusted his suit jacket as she made her way out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. The sound of the door closing resonated in the quiet before his voice finally cut through it, “I’m not questioning your ability to do this job, Director.”

“Hasn’t even crossed my mind, sir,” you assured.

“I mean, you’re the first female lead since the fifties. I have the right to be cautious.” His smile appeared forced, lacking the sincerity it held when you first entered the room. The tension returned, and he seemed to fully revert to his usual self. “I came here to ask about your plans with Loki.”

“We have him contained in a specially designed confinement capsule aboard the Helicarrier,” you began, your voice steady and composed. “The cell is equipped with a failsafe. Any attempts to escape or breach the containment will trigger a rapid descent mechanism, dropping whoever is in the cell a significant distance.” You glanced at Pierce, ensuring that he was following your explanation. His eyes narrowed slightly, indicating his focus on the matter at hand. “I made it clear to Loki about the consequences of any efforts of escape,” you continued. “The knowledge of imminent death should serve as a deterrent and discourage any further disruptions or attempts to regain his freedom. My plan for Loki is to keep him imprisoned to prevent any further damage to Earth.”

Pierce nodded, slow and precise movements, but you sensed by the way he leaned back that he was ready to voice his concerns. “You want to keep him locked up for the rest of time?” He scoffed, a humorless laugh crawling out of his throat as he shook his head. “Loki has caused substantial damage to New York, costing us billions of dollars.”

“He has also taken just as many innocent lives,” you quickly claimed. “It’s not about the money, sir. People-”

“That’s beside the point,” he interrupted. “Keeping him locked up isn’t enough.”

Your eyebrows knitted together deeply as you eyed him, trying to get a good read on his face, but he was a closed book with no chance of getting it to open. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying.”

Pierce’s gaze solidified, his tone growing more serious. “What I’m implying, Director, is that simply containing Loki isn’t a long-term solution. We need to consider more permanent measures to ensure he can never pose a threat again.”

A flicker of concern crossed your face as you contemplated the weight of his words. “Are you suggesting…?”

He leaned forward, his voice lowered. “I’m suggesting we explore options for a more definitive resolution,” he explained.

Your breath caught in the back of your throat, the earnestness of his proposition sinking in. “You’re talking about… terminating Loki?”

His expression remained impassive, but there was an underlying intensity in his eyes. “I didn’t propose such an extreme measure, Director.” He shrugged loosely, a sly smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Loki is a prideful god. He views humans as insignificant and feeble creatures. It’s only a matter of time before his arrogance is bound to make him disregard your warnings and… attempt to escape his rigged prison. If he chooses that path, we cannot be held accountable.”

You paused, allowing his words to sink in, fully aware of the subtle subtext beneath his statement. It was a strategic maneuver to absolve himself and the organization of any responsibility. By framing Loki’s demise as a consequence of his own pretentious choices, he aimed to keep your - and his own - hands free from the stain of his blood.

The knot in your stomach - the one you had thought had dispersed at Wanda’s departure - reappeared, only this time it launched itself into your throat. The way his eyes gleamed with a sinister glint made you feel nauseous. “Sir, I understand the severity of Loki’s actions, but we must also remember our duty to uphold the principles of justice and due process. We cannot become judge, jury, and executioner,” you argued.

His gaze bore into yours, his voice unwavering, “We can’t afford to let sentimentality cloud our judgment. Loki has proven time and again that he is a danger to global security. We must be willing to consider all options, even if they are difficult.”

The weight of his words pressed upon you, and you knew you weren’t going to convince him otherwise no matter how hard you fought. Still, you didn’t plan on giving in so easily just yet. “Then we must exhaust all alternatives, explore advanced containment methods, and leverage our resources to ensure the safety of both our agents and the world.”

Pierce’s face hardened, the lines etched deeper into his features. “Director,” he began, folding his hands on top of the table between you and him, “there will come a point where we have exhausted all options. Don’t you think it’d be a waste of time, resources, and money to only end up at the same outcome?” He smiled lightly, a wicked tinge to the expression. “We cannot shy away from that possibility.”

Your eyes locked with his, a silent battle of principles and pragmatism. You had gone head to head with the God of Thunder and won. Yet, here you were, butting heads with a mortal man and on the verge of losing. “I refuse to believe that we must sacrifice our values is the only path to achieving the greater good. It is our duty to explore other solutions, to seek justice and preserve life - all lives. We cannot embrace the mindset that justifies shedding blood. There must always be a line we will not cross.”

His gaze softened ever so slightly, a flicker of begrudging respect crossing his features. “I must admit, Director, your unwavering dedication is commendable.” However, the smile that lingered on his lips revealed his underlying satisfaction. It was evident that you had officially lost this battle, succumbing to his ability to see to it that you would never step foot inside a SHIELD building for the rest of your life. “I expect a comprehensive report in my email by the end of the week.” He swiftly rose from his seat, adjusting his jacket with deliberate movements. “An autopsy report,” he clarified his tone laced with a chilling edge. A twisted smile played on his lips, the sinister glint in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. It was a reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath his polished exterior.

With that final unsettling gesture, he exited, leaving you alone with the weight of his demands.

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda #maximoff #phil coulson #shield #reader insert

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literary-illuminati · 8 months

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Book Review 48 – Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree

I will be honest, I read this book because it was nominated for a Hugo award and I have a mildly masochistic personal commitment to read every nominee I can (and so remain at least slightly aware of the genre at large). Otherwise, I’m quite certain I never would have touched it – everything about the pitch and marketing made it seem like something I would hate. I’ll try to be fair and approach the book on its own terms but, well it wasn’t exactly painful I wouldn’t say my initial impression was wrong either.

The book follows Viv, an orcish adventurer in a generic D&D fantasy sort of world, as she decides to retire from the dungeon-delving/monster-slaying game with her last big score – a magical stone that, when buried, is supposed to bring ‘the ring of fortune’ to whatever you do above it. She opens the city’s first and only coffee shop. The book follows her collecting a cast of lovable misfit friends/employees (Calamity the hobgoblin carpenter, Tandri the succubus barista/eventual love interest, Thimble the ratfolk baking savant, a bard whose name I’m blanking on, Amity the dire shop cat/security) as they run the business and develop it into what by complete coincidence will end up looking very familiar to the a cute quirky modern indie coffeeshop. There is theoretically some conflict happening, first with the local mob boss and then with one of Viv’s old adventuring companions, but they both feel pretty perfunctory and like they’re only included out of a sense of obligation.

The actual meat of the book is basically focused on Viv instantly becoming fast friends with all her employees/coworkers and how endearing they are, and also the step-by-step of the coffeeshop's development. First in renovating the property into her vision, then in the branding and marketing, and then the gradual addition of menu items and live music. Through it all Viv and Tandri have a developing romance that (rather appropriately) feels like a coffeeshop AU fanfic where the author decided the slowburn tag meant ‘every other character will just assume they’re already dating by the halfway point but they’ll act like flustered teenagers and refuse to actually discuss their feelings until they kiss on the literal last page’.

So, the book is ‘cozy fantasy’ which as far as I’m aware does basically means ‘no tension slice of life fanfic but with original characters’ (alternatively, ‘2000s ‘cute girls doing cute things’ anime but with a moderately more diverse cast and in sf/f book form’). The only other books in the genre I’ve read are Becky Chambers’ stuff which, while I didn’t particularly love them, I now feel I was being way too harsh on. Those have legitimately impressive worldbuilding and coherent themes and at least gestures at real compelling character arcs and dilemmas. This, well, what you see is what you get? Like, there’s zero false marketing, the entire book is entirely dedicated to hitting the exact broad emotional beats you would expect it to. There’s not really any interest in the world beyond the cafe, it is in fact a plot point that Viv attracts a found family she clicks perfectly with and their relationships are all uniformly positive, and there is exactly one point where she suffers any sort of real reversal – which lasts for about five pages before everyone comes together and rebuilds things even better than ever. There is a wizened gnome whose clearly living time backwards who takes the time to pat Viv on the should and reassure her that everything turns out alright, in about as many words. There's clearly a market for this, and I am not it.

Morality in the book is basically synonymous with niceness. If someone is friendly or at least polite to Viv then even if they seem like an obvious problem in the end they’ll turn out to have their heart in the right place and only want the best – as, for example, the local crime boss proves to be a nice old lady who accepts an order of cinnamon buns every week as ‘protection money’ and donates several shipments of materials to rebuilding the place without any expectation of payment or stake in return. The only two characters in the book who are rude assholes to someone in the cafe are also coincidentally the only real villains there are.

All of this is stuff that on some level I more or less expected opening into the book. The thing that actually disappointed me is that this fluffy book about opening a coffee shop doesn’t actually care about coffee. If you’re going to make it the centrepiece of your whole book, I expect some exultation and appreciation of the stuff! Give me self-indulgent passages going into detail about the smell and taste and smell and experience of it. Make me put down the thing actually craving a latte!

But the book’s mostly interested in the, like, trappings and signifiers associated with a cafe, not (despite Viv’s theoretical obsession with it) the actual coffee. This feels like a point that generalizes. (There actually is a decent amount of detail spent on the baked goods their genius baker invents, which just makes the lack feel stranger.)

As an aside, and I know this is very clearly not a book that expects you to care about the worldbuilding, but it’s kind of strange that coffee is presented as this new exotic novelty to a vaguely European fantasy metropolis that is explicitly already familiar and comfortable with tea? Like obviously the historical analogues aren’t worth getting into – Viv is creating a cute neighberhood coffeehouse by a college campus, no a 17th century Venetian cafe – but it’s not the first place I’ve seen the same portrayal of the two drinks and it’s, odd? Like it’s not like tea is any less foreign to Europe, or arrived particularly earlier.

But anyway, yeah, didn’t enjoy this but can’t say I was misled. It is in fact a book that you can entirely judge by its cover and not be surprised one bit.

#legends and lattes #sff #hugo nom #book review #travis baldree

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wanderer-six · 1 year

Text

Heartaches

AN: This is my first fic on tumblr aaaa I hope u love! As a Crosshair wife and a Tech wife I wanted to invite any forlorn Tech kissers to the dark side by writing the least dark, most generous interpretation of Crosshair known to man LOL - also I made this take place during TCW but pretend Phee smooching Tech at this point makes any timeline sense sdlkfhl. please lmk what u think!!! Hope it's cute💖

Relationships: Crosshair x Fem Jedi!Reader, implied history of Tech x Fem Jedi!Reader (unrequited)

Summary: After seeing the clone you had your eyes on smitten with someone else, you head to 79's to drown your sorrows. An unlikely friend arrives to offer some comfort. (minor alcohol mention)

Word Count: 1.6k

Of all the places you’d hoped to be tonight, 79’s—all by yourself—had to be at the bottom of the list.

Sitting at the lonely bar, you frowned over the little martini glass swirling in your hand. You’d never been one for drinking, but if anything could compel you to take a sip of the stuff, it’d be the events that brought you here in the first place.

How could you have been so foolish? Maybe all those lessons you’d learned in the temple about forming attachments hadn’t been hollow talking, after all. You felt the lowest you’d ever been—worthless, alone… jealous. So very jealous.

“What are you doing here?”

That sly, breathy voice slithering into your ears could only belong to one person. When he took a seat beside you at the bar, you could barely manage a smirk in his direction.

“Hey, Cross,” you sighed. “Good to see you, too.”

Crosshair’s demeanor didn’t change in the slightest, but that much was normal for him. He kept his cards close to his chest—frankly, you could learn a thing or two from him in that regard.

“You’re drinking?” he observed, a hint of judgment buried in his tone. Bitterly, you rolled your eyes.

“Trying to. It’s not working out, though.” Languidly, you slid the martini glass over to him. “You make it look so easy.”

Though he caught the glass by the stem, he kept his eyes on you. You couldn’t bear to look at him. On missions, you always tried to look your squad in the eye when they spoke to you, to prove to them that you see them as your equals. Try as you might to continue that behavior off the clock, these were not ideal circumstances.

For a moment, the two of you fell silent. The low drone of music carried through the speakers, along with the chatter of the bar’s sparse attendance that evening.

“Is this because of Tech?”

Just hearing his name caused an uproar of emotions in your chest. Shame, sadness, insecurity, dejection. Though a soft chuckle parted from your lips, the heel of your hand wiped away the stray tear in the corner of your eye.

“I hoped it wasn’t that obvious…” you huffed. Crosshair hummed, idly pulling a toothpick from his belt and placing it between his lips.

“I don’t think I’d need a scope to notice,” he snarked. “What’s the problem, anyway? So he fancies someone. What about it?”

Your lip trembled, the weight of your thoughts much too heavy for your tongue to carry. It was already dangerous for a Jedi to have feelings like this, let alone for one of her soldiers. And while the Bad Batch was a bit more lenient with rules, you still felt you couldn’t be fully honest in these instances—for their sake as much as your own.

With a long sigh, you rested your head in your hands.

“I’m just… happy for him. That’s all,” you said.

Crosshair scoffed. “Clearly.”

“I am!”

“Look at you.”

“What do you want from me, Crosshair?!”

Your question came out louder than you’d expected. You looked around the bar, thankful that it held so few patrons that evening, though you were still embarrassed.

Crosshair, thankfully, didn’t seem disturbed by your outburst. He leaned in closer, looking you in the eyes.

“I want you to be honest with me,” he muttered. He jutted his finger against your sternum emphatically, “and with yourself.”

With misty eyes, you shook your head in defeat.

“I just… wanted him to like me,” you mumbled.

For the first time that night, Crosshair’s expression seemed to change. He leaned against the bar, his usually furrowed brow softening slightly.

“Tech?” he asked.

You nodded, drawing idle circles on the bartop with your finger.

“I always thought he was so sweet. I know the Order says it’s wrong, but whenever he would talk about… you know, anything, I just couldn’t help but fall for him,” you explained. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to cause problems—I’m his general, you know? I thought maybe when the war was over, I could finally tell him how I felt.”

Despite your best efforts, the slightest scowl found your lips. “But now this new girl’s here, and he’s just… smitten. It makes me wonder if he ever thought of me like that in the first place. And I…” You pinch your eyes shut, trying not to let your tears slip past. “I just feel… pathetic.”

Again, silence falls between you. The longer it lasts, the more humiliated you feel. It really would be just like Crosshair to listen to your little sob story and walk off without a word, wouldn’t it? Maybe the friendship you shared with him had been all in your head, too. Hell, maybe every last person you thought you were close with was just a surface-deep connection, and you really were alone…

“He’s a fool.”

You perked your head up, wiping your eye with the back of your hand.

“What?” you murmured.

Crosshair hummed. “You heard me.”

You pouted at him, giving his shoulder a light shove.

“Don’t say that—he’s your brother,” you scolded, “not to mention the smartest man in the galaxy…”

“I didn’t say he was stupid,” Crosshair corrected you. “He may be able to build a starship out of spare parts. But to blow his chance with you?” He clicked his tongue, shifting the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “Foolish.”

A half smile found your lips. You knew you didn’t agree with him, and on any other occasion, you’d stand up for Tech. But just for tonight… just this once, despite every lesson on compassion you’d been taught since the day you arrived at the temple… it felt a little nice to hear.

“... thanks, Cross. It’s nice to know you care,” you said.

Crosshair’s intense eyes softened, his gaze leaving yours briefly. He almost looked… shy. But that seemed so unlike him.

“Well… someone had to step in,” he muttered. When his eyes met yours again, he wore a dry smirk. “Who knows how long you might have been moping otherwise?”

Your smile widened into a grin for the first time that evening.

“Right. That’s your job, isn’t it?” you snarked back at him.

Wordlessly, Crosshair got to his feet. When he started off in the direction of the door, you worried that your lighthearted jab had truly pissed him off. But before you could panic too thoroughly, he stopped in place, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Are you coming?” he asked. Caught off guard by his question, you quickly fumbled for your things. You dropped a handful of credits on the counter before hopping down from your barstool, hurrying to Crosshair’s side.

“Where are we going?” you asked, going in stride beside him.

Crosshair pulled the toothpick from his lips, flicking it expertly into the waste receptacle by the door. You walked outside, and the cool night air felt refreshing against your skin.

“I figured once you were done wallowing, I’d take you somewhere nice,” he explained, all too casual. “I’ll be damned if I spend a date in that run-down old bar…”

Date?

Now it was your turn to stop in your tracks. Crosshair walked a few steps further before noticing you hadn’t joined him. He stopped soon after, looking back at you again.

“What?” he asked.

“A date?” you returned softly.

The slightest pout formed on Crosshair’s features.

“Problem?” he asked.

Try as he might to put on that cool demeanor, you could read him better than that. In the Force, you could sense the way his heart raced in his chest, the quiet panic that built in the back of his mind.

But even without your Jedi abilities—even just as someone who’s known him as long as you had—you could see a side of him he never showed anyone. His eyes pleaded wordlessly with you: if you were to let him down, please don’t make him regret being so vulnerable. He made that mistake so rarely… and this time, he clearly hoped it wouldn’t be a mistake, at all.

To be honest, you had never looked at Crosshair with that kind of interest. Of course, every man in your squad was perfectly handsome, but with the sniper’s reserved and aloof nature, you’d assumed from day one that he tolerated you at best. But perhaps you hadn’t been looking closely enough. After all, he cared enough to watch over you on countless missions, clearing droids out of your proximity with unmatched diligence. He cared enough to follow you through short battles and long campaigns. And he cared enough to see that you were hurt tonight, giving you his shoulder to cry on.

No, you wouldn’t make him regret being vulnerable with you. In fact, you hoped you could help him see just how worthwhile it could be.

Finding a shy smile at last, you walked up to Crosshair once more—though this time, you hung on his arm as you joined his side.

“No problem at all,” you beamed. “Where are we headed then, handsome?”

You met his gaze, and his intense golden eyes looked back at you with the most sincerity you’ve ever seen from them. When he looked away at last, a flustered smirk appeared on his lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he snarked.

You rolled your eyes, though the bright smile you wore never left your face. Though the night hadn’t begun as you’d hoped, ending it on the arm of someone who could make you smile despite it all meant the galaxy to you.

You only hoped this could be the first date of many with the sniper who stole your heart.

AN: Thank you for reading! Like I said above, this is my first fic on tumblr, so any feedback on formatting/tagging etc is appreciated ✨✨

#the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #crosshair x reader #the bad batch x you #I actually think phee and tech is very cute but im def sympathetic for the parasocial girlies who feel a little bummed lol #this is for you! look at this sad man give him a smooch!#W6Fic

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 3 months

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Howdy, Sex Witch! I'm hoping you/your many lovely followers might be able to help me figure something out. I've realized recently that I may be demisexual, but I'm just not sure. I'm 25, have recently started dating, and I'm getting to know the way my sexuality responds in a relationship. I grew up in a very repressive culture, and I was on hormonal birth control for years; I thought I was either asexual or a Very Good Girl because there was just nothing going on for me sexually. But I ditched the bc and suddenly things changed. I now have a very healthy libido and act upon it frequently, but never with other people. I get hot very easily for fictional characters, but I do need to get attached to them first. They can't just be hot, they have to be compelling.

But I've started dating this guy who I think is a great fit for me, and the sparks just... aren't flying yet. It's been the same the last few people I went out with. I feel like, in theory, I should be getting hot for the guy (he's objectively good-looking, our values align, we have a lot to talk about), but all I have so far is a sense that there's potential, if that makes sense. I can think about being sexual with him without feeling repulsed, but it feels "too soon" and kind of weird. The good news is he feels the same way; he described it as being "romantically slow to warm up". So maybe we're both demi? We've decided to keep seeing each other and either wait for the heat to happen or, if it doesn't, to keep hanging out as friends (we have lots in common and friends are hard to make).

Does this sound like demisexuality? Or am I just not attracted to this one guy? Maybe I'm allosexual but kind of slow to warm up? It's weird to want to be attracted to someone but your hormones just won't kick into gear. Any advice is much appreciated. Thanks for all you do!

hi anon,

respectfully, you're going about this just. totally backwards. your sense of self isn't something that you can test into by exhibiting all the right symptoms; I can't diagnose you with demisexuality. labels are just words for you to use or discard as you see fit, and the only qualification necessary to call yourself demisexual is whether or not you want to do that.

does the idea of being identified as demisexual bring you any kind of sense of happiness, peace, relief, or better self-understanding? awesome, then maybe you should do that. congrats on learning something about yourself!

does it not spark any particular positive emotions for you? alrighty, maybe that one's not your thing. congrats on learning something about yourself!

ultimately, what you call your sexuality isn't nearly as important as what you actually do, especially when it comes to recognizing your wants and boundaries and actually honoring them.

#sex edventures 2024

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corviiids · 3 months

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ahip: patrocles x achilles from the classics or hadesgame whichever

thank you i like your username

ship it / don't ship it

1. What made you ship it?

i think it's hard to understand this relationship and what it represents and then NOT think of them as a soul bonded pair. they come as a set. they only make sense together. taken apart they kind of just wander in little lost circles. like what else am i meant to do with that

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

most compelling thing to me is what they represent to each other and the way they complete each other thematically to only become like a whole fulfilling entity as a duo. patroclus as a representation of achilles' humanity and the thing that grounds him in the mortal world where achilles is otherwise this near-divine creature, like, achilles is the stuff of legend and could almost have been a god but then it's almost like he's empty without patroclus being there to be his soul like augh argh ough agh ogh (taking damage from standing in minecraft lava)

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

to me the romantic element of the rship is like the least important part. like yes obviously i want them to kiss and touch butts but if someone made an adaptation of the iliad where they werent romantically involved but that still centered their relationship as fundamental to the story and to each other and highlighted that they were each other's most important thing then i'd be happy with that. what matters is the love! the form the love takes is less important to me. i think the intimacy of their relationship transcends any effort to define it. lovers seems like too small a word anyway

#asks #they should still kiss. obviously

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hanasnx · 2 years

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That ask about Vader got me thinking... n my mind started wandering abt where we (y/n) would stand once Anakin becomes Vaded. Like this man lost Padme he'd be a wreck!! But imagine he finds some princess on a planet to take all for himself n we have no choice but to comply bec Vader himself came n the relationship seems like ur average friends with benefits bec Vader Anakin seems so emotionally gone that all he uses us is for a stress relief and keeps us satisfied by showering us in the most expensive of gifts bec you can tell me this man doesn't have it! But over time it's not enough bec I'm sure everyone and their grandmother's heard about what happened to Padme n everyone knew about Anakin and hers relationship so I feel like it's a subject Vader Anakin would avoid until suddenly his mistress is confronting him about it.. like we want to know Ani, not Anakin Skywalker or Vader.. but Anakin himself. Vader probably wouldn't even know what to say bec he left Anakin behind on mustafar a long time ago.. I can only imagine that conversation😩

I am so sorry for rambling about this but I had to share bec this man is infecting my mind🥺

☥ the way i imagine him staying at the palace- invited by your parents to nurture good connections with the empire after they’d been investigated for fraternizing with the rebel alliance. something happens that prevents him from returning to his ship and he must stay at this estate. he takes the opportunity to investigate further into the dealings of this ruler

☥ you, good natured and kindhearted, would be encouraged to show your respect for the enforcer of the galaxy. you take quite the shining to him, suddenly youre finding excuses to be near him. its like his silence presents a challenge to you, and you want to be on his good side with the occasional joke. you feel pride when he grants you a side glance through his mask.

you rejoice when he experiments with a dry joke back.

☥ inexplicably, he feels compelled to stay. turns down a replacement ship being sent to pick him up in order to return to the mother vessel. he says its because he needs to investigate further. somethings not right here.

in truth, it’s because he looks forward to your visits. you ask him to come walk with you in the gardens. you bring him trinkets and little gifts that made you think of him. occasionally you flirt (as innocently as possible). at one point he flirts back without thinking, and you playfully hit his arm “lord vader!” you scold with a curl to your lips

☥ he’d threaten your parents with charging treason unless they agreed to give you up. “i’d look the other way to the obvious signs of your treachery should you agree to my terms.”

you would not be happy about being taken from your home.

☥ he’d shower you with gifts that you would pretend not to care for. however your heart sings when one gift resembles something you’d described to him on one of your morning walks in the garden.

☥ you’d shake your head at the note he left with a gorgeous dress that read “i expect to see you in this tonight.”

☥ the way he would be able to sense your desire because he’d purposefully tap into it. like the pervert he is he longs to know how your body reacts to his presence, and he’s pleased with what he discovers.

“it’s a shame i’ve vowed to loathe you for all eternity.”

“a great shame it is, my dear. however your scent suggests otherwise.”

“and what is that, my lord?” you ask tauntingly

his next word is spoken barely above a whisper, “desperation.”

☥ because not only are you neglected as is (if not completely virtuous) you have such an undeniable crush on the dark lord. he stirs something deep within you, and you ache to hear him speak to you in that soothing voice. a tone that conveys need for you. you dream about his weight in your bed, his warmth, his length…

☥ you wonder what he looks like underneath his suit. if he’s a cyborg. or completely robotic. it was said there was a general once that was completely droid with flesh parts stuffed inside. perhaps this vader was the same

☥ the fwb thing would just happen naturally. it’d be so hot if you asked him for help in relief once he’d pointed out how your body was calling out to him. “take care of it for me, please, my lord,”

fucigkdf IMAGINE— he’d honestly welcome the invitation. to see you part your legs for him, and have him work out your every desire all night. there’d be no sleep your first time. he forgot how much he missed sex. he’d refused to have any after what happened on mustafar

☥ now its like youre called to his side constantly. always getting you alone. using you like a little personal concubine. youd get fucked into the shape of his cock (pleasantly surprised to see he had one at all)

☥ tbh i dont see how people would know vader is anakin or that anakin and padme were involved the way they were. because it seemed like everyone that knew them died or went into hiding. if this is just part of your prompt thats fine but like imagine asking vader about his past

he would put it off and put it off, after flat out refusing you the first time. you gave up asking because he’d become so cold after you mention it, but one day he musters up the courage, and relays the story

☥ you can understand what he means when he tells you that “anakin skywalker” is not who stands before you today. it’d give you a lot to think about but, would you even care? if you met him as vader, knew him as vader, got close to him as vader and knew of the things he’s capable of… would anakin skywalker hold any meaning to you?? i wonder..

☥ i love talking about darth vader smut im loving this vader attention <3

#kentovana #thanks for the msg!!#indy shoots the shit #darth vader x reader #darth vader smut #x y/n #x f!reader #princess!reader #dv

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billfarrah · 2 years

Text

So I finished my first Young Royals rewatch in a long time and I have thoughts - Part 1: Wilhelm

So I did not realize initially how much I would run my mouth so I’m actually going to separate my thoughts about the characters into different posts starting with Wilhelm. If this post does well, I’ll do it about the other characters too, because tbh I have a lot to say about everyone:

- First of all I cannot emphasize enough how much watching the whole series from start to finish just hits different. After so many months of just looking at gifs and photos, I am always blown away when I eventually rewatch the show as a whole by good it is. It’s the show’s vibes and atmosphere, cinematography, music, and fantastic pacing that make the show so compelling and that just doesn’t translate when you don’t watch the whole thing. I’m always worried I won’t like the show as much on my next rewatch and I’m always floored by just how much I love it every time.

- This point isn’t directly related to Wilhelm but I wanted to address it as I just noticed it this time. I’ve always suspected that the drugs the society are on in episode 4 are painkillers, but I’ve seen most people believing they were taking the ADHD meds. On rewatch, it’s very clear they’re using painkillers. In episode 2, I just noticed Simon steals Tramadol from Micke - which is a fast-release opiate painkiller. That can get you high as fuck. Many people take them recreationally as a way to get high and they’re a common source of addiction. Micke has a bad back we presume as Simon asks him how his back is in episode 1, but obviously Simon thinks Micke takes them recreationally. In the society party scene, the boys are taking the pills from the prescription bottles, which are likely also painkillers. So no, they weren’t using ADHD meds to get high; they were using opiates. Are these drugs illegal? No, but taking them for recreational purposes would definitely get you in a lot of shit if you were caught with them at a boarding school, or any school for that matter. As far as Simon only feeling responsible to pay Micke back for the booze and not the pills, I am not Swedish so I don’t know how it works, but from what I researched, one does not need to pay more than 2,300 krona per year for prescriptions, and most of Micke’s drugs were probably free as they are all prescription. Please correct me if I’m wrong.

- Anyway, I fucking love Wilhelm as a protagonist. I love how raw, gritty and unapologetic he can be. I could talk about his character for hours. He’s so nuanced and he rarely says what he is thinking or feeling, so I can understand why some viewers perhaps had a hard time connecting with him, but if you pay attention to his actions, everything he does makes sense without him needing to say a single word. I love that his sexuality is actually one of the few things about himself that he’s genuinely comfortable with; yeah, he has a few minutes of gay panic and he does push Simon away because he worries having a relationship with him would be too complicated, but Wilhelm’s feelings and sexual attraction for a boy is never the main thing he is concerned about and he is actually extremely comfortable with expressing that side of himself. He is elated by Simon, euphoric; he is electric with Simon beneath his hands. He’s in love with a boy and he knows it; that’s not what scares him - it’s the implication of what being in love with a boy means in the context of the rest of his life where the problem lies. It’s so refreshing to see a queer protagonist be so unabashed and expressive in his sexuality.

- Wilhelm’s dilemma is very clear despite, like I said above, him rarely verbalizing his feelings. The first episode makes his position perfectly clear - it’s not that he has an issue being a prince, he just hates how little control he has over his life, how little say he has in decisions that impact him, and the fact that he’s constantly being punished and scrutinized for the tiniest slip-ups. Wilhelm is ultimately just a person who wants control over his own life; he does not resent his privilege at all but rather the restrictions that come with it. When he gets into a fight at a party that wasn’t even his fault, he has to make a public apology and is sent to boarding school without being consulted by his parents, because they feel it is what he needs to do to save the image of the family. When he gets to Hillerska, Erik tells him essentially to just do whatever August tells him to do, even though Wilhelm clearly does not like August. When Wilhelm starts making his own friend in Simon, August is constantly meddling and telling him he shouldn’t be spending time with someone like him, and admonishes him for going to the football game with Simon and even gives him punishment for it. Even though Wilhelm is away from the palace and his family, he still has August there trying to act like he knows better than him and telling him how he should act.

Now enter Simon. As viewers, we have discussed at length how Simon completely shakes up Wilhelm’s world and perspective already so I won’t rehash that. However, there was one scene that stood out to me in connection with the above paragraph, and it’s one where Wilhelm does something that probably would be considered “bad” or a “mistake”, and Simon does not punish him for it. I’ve seen some people say Simon went too easy on him for calling him high and drunk on the football field, and I disagree; I think Simon’s reaction was exactly what Wilhelm needed, As I said above, Wilhelm is constantly being criticized and torn apart with consequences for even the tiniest or most minute thing, so for Simon to smile softly at him, tell him it’s okay and that he still likes him probably moved fucking mountains for Wilhelm. He did something stupid and he’s not getting scolded for it? Simon actually has compassion for him AND still likes him? No wonder Wilhelm immediately put himself between Simon’s legs. Wilhelm is a kid and he deserves to be a little bit reckless without being judged or admonished for it, and no, I don’t think him calling Simon was wrong or traumatic for Simon. Wilhelm was in a fragile state and Simon was concerned for him; he was not triggered, but I’ll get to that if I end up making a Simon post.

- Wilhelm is not shy. He has his moments of anxiousness and he is a bit awkward around Simon at first because he has a crush on him, but Wilhelm is actually very good at talking to people; he just doesn’t want to a lot of the time. He’s an introvert and he doesn’t really have patience for bullshit. I find people portray him as some shy little baby, but he’s actually quite blunt and curt sometimes in a way that I find amusing. He just genuinely has no patience for the frivolities and fakeness around him and while he knows how to play the game very well, he would rather just keep to himself than do so. His behaviour during his arrival to Hillerska is actually quite rude; he rolls his eyes when the PR lady tells him and the Headmistress to switch places for a better photo, utterly annoyed by the manufactured nature of it all. This isn’t me trying to say Wilhelm is a rude person; he isn’t and is actually very kind, but he isn’t always shy over expressing his displeasure; he just doesn’t do it all the time.

- People are too harsh on Wilhelm for most things, but one that stands out for me is his and Simon’s fight in the music room. Wilhelm came at the argument from a bad angle, yes, but he tries to make it right; unfortunately he struck a nerve with Simon and Simon walked away. He never once says he thinks Simon should take the fall; he just wants to have a dialogue with Simon over what their options are, but Simon was already angry and didn’t want to talk. He really did try to communicate with him.

- By the time of Lucia, Wilhelm is deflated. He is exhausted. He was terrified of losing Simon so he did what any privileged person would do, the only thing he knew how to do (and perhaps what was the only thing he could’ve done) - blame someone else. Simon still isn’t happy with him. Wilhelm doesn’t know what to do anymore. He feels like everything he does is wrong, he is wrong, he’s not cut out for anything. He doubts every decision he makes. All he wants is control over his own life but even when he takes matters into his own hands, it blows up in his face. This is why he was so easily manipulated into denying the video; he’s been through so much in such a short period of time and is questioning every decision he’s making. He doesn’t know what’s right or wrong anymore. Maybe his mother is right.

- I love that the writers weren’t afraid to make Wilhelm messy. To me there is nothing interesting about a protagonist that does the right thing every time because there is no room for them to grow. Wilhelm is such a fantastic protagonist because he has so much growing up to do. He makes mistakes and he’s a bit self-centered and caught up in his own world and he hurts Simon because of that, but he’s also motivated by incredibly pure feelings of love, passion, desire for his own autonomy and acceptance, control over himself and the things in his life. He is kind at heart but occasionally callous, he is anxious but also incredibly strong and powerful when he needs to be, he’s a giddy teenage boy in love but leaves Simon breathless with his confident mouth and hands. He is not just one thing all the time and that’s why he’s so exciting to me.

- During the scene where Wilhelm exposes August in front of the society, Edvin’s acting is particularly brilliant; we see that he has a powerful, assertive side to his personality, and is capable of being a leader, but you can also see in his body language and expression that he is a little bit anxious about it. His arms are crossed and his jaw twitches a bit; he’s working through his anxiety to do what he thinks is right, and we see him do this so many times throughout the series 0 most notably when he works through his anxiousness to connect with Simon, a boy he’s so desperately drawn to. He is not a shy uwu baby and he is not always crippled by his anxiety; it’s just a part of him.

This got away from me completely as I just have so many thoughts about this show. Please let me know if you’d like to me see talk about the other characters.

#young royals #prince wilhelm #wilmon #edvin ryding

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findafight · 10 months

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i do want catws opinions!! so much!!! mcu cap am was one of my major interests for quite some time, so i am Very interested! tbh don't much care for the rest of the mcu all that much, like ive seen quite a few of the movies but absolutely far from all of them. and like tbh i cared the most about catfa & catws and then steve and his relationship with people, idk i just love his character so much, I've done some sort of analysis inside my head of his character, but it's been A While so i don't remember any of it in words, just vibes lol. also idk how i feel about cacw, it just sorta didn't feel like His story, it felt more like avengers 2.5 or smth.

also related to steve & peggy, i feel like the thing that makes their story stay so strong Is the missed opportunity, the longing for something that can never be. it's this thing that was on the brink of possibility, and where the potential was so big and tangible, and they both felt it, and then all of a sudden the possibility is gone, it's lost, forever. idk like i think steve going back in time to dance with peggy would be sweet, But, it just doesn't move me as much unless peggy also knows that the moment is a promise fullfilled and a dream that can never be, it's one more aching moment together and then it's goodbye. idk like i thought the scene in endgame when they danced was absolutely beautiful, but to me it is a dream, and to me it feels kinda disrespectful to all of them(steve peggy & bucky) to have steve go backwards, that's not him, maybe when he first woke up after the ice, if presented with the possibility he wouldn't be able to resist, but otherwise his character is LITERALLY about getting back up again!! and then also peggy had a life?? with someone else!! and she was happy with her life! he literally knows this, he talked to her when she was old! why would he disregard that?? and then why would he live the rest of his life knowing bucky is the winter soldier and then NOT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT????????? idk it's just like, when SO MUCH of steves story is so closely intertwined with bucky it just doesn't make any sense to leave him??

also while i am a romantic stucky believer, truly more than that i am a soulmates stucky believer! so the stobin tws au really really hit me in the feels yk.

Okay so. What makes CAWS so good, and one of the best mcu films, is that it uses superheroes not as a genre, but as a vehicle for a genre. Winter Soldier is a spy thriller. Arguably TFA also does this by being a war film? But WS embraces it. It's so clearly a spy thriller with a superhero setting! More superhero movies should have co-genre I think. It can be watched as a stand alone, with good solid introductions to characters, to the point that it's bascially the only mcu movie I've watched with my mother that she hasn't asked "who's that?" and why they were doing stuff. Basically every other one, besides the first in their series require prior knowledge of characters for most of the impact of them.

WS doesn't? We see Steve and Natasha have a friendly relationship, that steve's a supersoldier and also takes risks (no parachute), that they're some kind of soldiers, that there's some secret operations going on. We get this! Then we meet Sam and we see that Steve is also incredibly lonely, we see him at the Howling Commandos exhibit, and sure maybe it's hamfisted by focusing on bucky or whatever but that sets it up! we now who steve is, why he's lonely, and some of his values.

and even without TFA, as soon as the mask comes off, we know this is someone steve knows. When he insists on saving Bucky, he uses the line "even when I had nothing, I had Bucky" having watched tfa before just makes it hit harder.

I'm going to be real with you I've watched civil war once and was like "this is kinda stupid? very stupid" and then stopped really paying attention to most marvel movies.

oh yes so true about Steve and Peggy. It's compelling because the could have beens. If that had happened, but then steve went back to present, I would not be mad. It wouldn't be weirdly stealing someone else's life? Especially combined with the Agent Carter Tv series, Peggy has closure for Steve's death. Though it's still an ache, and she mourns and misses him, she's still living her life. She isn't caught up on him as a romantic interests. She has multiple (they should have given us more cartinelli tbh we were robbed in s2) in the series! She had a good, long, and happy life. Steve just dropping in sometime in the 40s(?) with the expectation of pursuing a romantic relationship with her would likely be a shock, and unwanted. They both would have changed from where they left off, both having mourned each other and their relationship. It wouldn't have worked! But to have him drop in. tell her "hey. I can't stay for long. I'm sorry it has to be this way. But I owe you a dance, and it's been killing me breaking a promise to my best girl." That!!! would have!! been! so sweet! A final goodbye for both of them. The final closure and fulfilled promise from oh so long ago.

Steve had spent at least ten years out of the ice before endgame. I just. How could they slide him back to what he would have done directly after being thawed? Like I don't think even lost sadman beginning of ws steve would have stayed back. He's changed and he can't go back to what things were. he keeps getting up, even when he shouldn't! That's what's endearing about Steve, his stubbornness, and his willingness to put himself on the line to protect people. That's why he was the first and only (official) American supersoldier. He carries on, even when it's almost unbearable for him to do so.

It's so... It felt cheap and insulting to him and Peggy and Bucky. Because you're correct!! It means Steve went back to nineteen fourty-whatever and chose not to do anything about the 80+ years of horrible things that happened in the world. Especially chose not to do anything when he knew exactly where Bucky, who he had previously jumped behind enemy lines with nothing but a wing a prayer and a shield to save, who he had defied governments for, who he's nearly died for multiple times, was??? how in the WORLD did the same screenwriters and directors who made one of the best marvel movies that highlighted and used their friendship in such a compelling way also write/direct that for them? how? valuing romance over any other kind of relationship I guess?

yeah I think what's compelling about stucky is that there is so much love there, that they've known each other for their whole lives, and will continue to be (or should be) a vast part of each other's worlds no matter what that relationship looks like. They're soulmates, whatever that looks like for them. and if it's romance then that romance is built upon the deep devoted friendship they have. That's everything about them. Everything is built on a sickly and scrappy kid who couldn't leave well enough alone and got pushed into the dirt by bullies he stood up to over, and over, and over again, and some charming schmuck who looked at him and thought "I'm gonna help him keep get back up". to the point where they broke over half a century of brain washing because of it.

#findaanswers #anon do you remember the glory days of like. 2012-2014 avengers fandom. esp 2014 post winter soldier #my god. it was simpler times. didn't know what we had until we lost it.#mcu #caws #captain america #stucky #cap #tbh it's kinda similar to how I see blr? like the romance is interesting and heartbreaking because they are friends first #and that anything other than that must be built with that massively devoted friendship in mind #but obviously yeah stobin fits ws because they're unhinged and decidedly abnormal about each other. they're soulmates #Robin WOULD go behind enemy lines for steve. steve would break decades of brainwashing and torture by seeing robin's face #anonasaurus #finda's rambles #meta #steggy

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ceaseless-bitcher · 10 months

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-TMA Spoilers(?)-

As I re-listen to The Magnus Archives (again), I become increasingly aware of our lack of actual knowledge about how the characters’ relationships develop. We only hear what The Web deemed relevant enough to lure the Fears: interactions directly related to The Fourteen. We hear statements, commentary, encounters, and fights/conversations that specifically develop The Mother’s own plan, as that is what allows her to build her literal web on Hill Top Road.

Even in early seasons, when it isn’t just The Web compelling various people to start recording at points (or turning on the recorders itself), we literally only get post-statement commentary and interruptions. So few give us direct insight into who these characters are beyond their jobs.

It kinda breaks my heart that we don’t get to hear how Jon and Martin slowly grow closer, becoming friends after such a rocky start. We hear Jon’s fights with Tim and Melanie, but the only things we actually get are the breaking points. There are massive gaps in their personal and private lives over the years the story occurs. Jon, Sasha, and Tim were close friends, and yet it takes nearly the entire series to realise that!

We hear Tim make some very interesting remarks in episode 65 (Binary, statement #0170701), in his fight with Jon:

“And the worst thing – the actual worst thing – is that no one here has my back. With any of it! Elias doesn’t care, Martin just wants a tea party, and Sasha – ugh – and you! – you’re treating me like I’m somehow to blame for it all, like I didn’t suffer the worst right alongside you!”

What I find fascinating here is the, “and Sasha- ugh,” as he sounds highly distressed in the recording. We know the two are very close, particularly due to the 2015 Tim-Sasha interaction played in episode 162. They were best friends, so Tim was the most directly affected by the Not!Sasha’s new personality. We can compare the two Sashas to find that the original was far kinder, showing her goofier side almost exclusively to Tim. Right after Tim’s own traumatic experiences with Prentiss in episode 40, his best friend completely changes, refusing to offer him any support. In Episode 78 (The New Cousin, #0011206), Jon can hardly get through a sentence talking about the Not!Sasha. It is so heart-wrenching to know that they experienced that hurt and confusion we never hear in those 7 months (29th Jul, 2016-16th Feb, 2017).

Also, Melanie and Helen were friends??? We never hear Melanie and Georgie’s relationship develop! Listeners are, deliberately, deprived of the soft character-building one has come to expect from media.

I think it’s a fantastic plot device and I completely understand why they did it, but another part of me desperately wants to know the smaller details of their lives. What was the break-room gossip like? What other weird things were kept in Artefact Storage?? How did the rest of the Institute react to the Archives constantly nearly dying??? How often did Elias come down to fuck with them????

What I am arguably most curious about is whether The Mother intended for these recordings to be heard in the universe they enter next. The last word we hear from them come from Basira, after the Panopticon’s collapse:

“If anyone’s listening… Goodbye.

I’m sorry, and… Good luck.”

It implies that the diegetic reason we hear these 200 episodes at all is because our universe was the one the Fears were flung to. If that is the case, then it would make sense that the Web would ensure the next “round” of humans was fully equipped to repeat the actions taken to allow the Fears to escape entropy- the plan is put at much higher risk because the Fears enter at a point where the human population is much greater, with advanced technology and communicational tools that could enable The Watcher’s Crown too fast for favourable conditions for The Web to develop as well.

Maybe the recordings placed into the Hill Top Web weren’t just to attract the Fears, but also to prepare a new humanity to confront them.

#tma spoilers #mine #tma #the Magnus archives #commentary #ARE WE CANONICALLY THE NEXT FEAR UNIVERSE

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handspunyarns · 3 months

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You Were Marked: Day Twenty-one point Five (Marathel).

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 7.2K

chapter summary: Marathel sings, bakes, reveals her age, and severs relationships.

warnings:  angst, mention of incest, sexual abuse, inbreeding, and suicide, violence to women, English and Mando’a cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***   

You Were Marked: Masterlist

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter

Marathel did not know how or what to feel. Her tears were of pain, of joy, of heartbreak … and of confusion most of all. She felt glad that she had finally spoken out loud her life on Unmanarall; now that she understood the wretched newly found truth of the culture there, she had felt compelled to unburden herself. Unfortunately, the only way Marathel knew of to unburden herself was to burden the man who professed love for her, which brought her sadness and regret.

Marathel didn’t understand love, not in the sense of whatever it was that the Bounty Hunter felt for her. She had been told growing up that certain words meant love — sort of. Olba later told her, back when Marathel was still in the Hold and failing to fully change, that many Oldtalk words had changed meanings, that the true meanings were only spoken amongst the Diwhyns. For example, rwy’n di’rugar, the Oldtalk phrase for I love you, actually meant my heart breaks to keep you safe. This phrase was specifically meant for children … and even more specifically meant for the little girls, for the boys didn’t need rwy’n di’rugar any more than they needed the protection of the Mothers that Went Before that twinkled in the night sky.

Ng’riad, which she had said to the Bounty Hunter when she uttered fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi was a different word altogether. The Diwhyns told the changing girls that fi ng’riad meant love me, but it really didn’t, according to Olba. Literally, it meant ruin me. Not love me, hold me, I am yours, but I am yours to take and ruin. The point of saying it was to hand herself over to a man for his use. Love was not part of being a Whyn.

Again, I have lied to the Bounty Hunter. No matter how much I tell him, it is not enough. It will never be enough. Just like how I failed to become a Whyn, I will always fail the Bounty Hunter.

Marathel knew how to love Grogu, but not Din, and she tried to tell him so. She thought she loved him, but she felt certain that she had no concept of what loving a man actually meant. Din’s love for her confused her. Frightened her. Excited her. Was it some kind of ownership, like being a Whyn? It seemed that way to her, somehow. Not in any way could she have explained, for Marathel didn’t know the right words.

She was sitting on Cobb’s lap, crying on his shoulder. Cobb had pulled her off the windowsill and onto his lap, into his strong arms, and then he … said he was sorry, which she did not understand. Din had walked out, which she had expected, which she had wanted him to do. She had wanted to drive him away. She wanted to drive all of them away from the monster that was Marathel. It was the only way she could protect them from her.

What kind of man is this Cobb, she wondered, that he is not disgusted by me?

But she was exhausted, emotionally spent, having vomited out all those words to explain her reason for existing. And Cobb’s arms were strong. And warm. And gave her enough safety to allow her to fall apart for a moment. She had wept for some time before he had kissed her softly on the cheek, like he had the day they went to the market. Men didn’t kiss on the cheek, they didn’t kiss on the lips, they didn’t kiss at all in her experience.

Cobb’s kiss had comforted her like she was a child, yet it had also warmed her, thrilled her like Din’s kiss had. Catching her breath, Marathel had then surprised herself by lifting her hand to run her fingers through Cobb’s hair, silky and fine, like she recalled a Duke’s hair to be, yet Cobb was taller than any Duke she’d ever known ... and then she had heard the quietest of moans from Cobb’s throat, surprising her again, and then he dropped his lips to the exposed skin of her shoulder.

And behind her came the low, hostile voice of the Bounty Hunter: we leave tomorrow morning.

How long had he been there, watching her on Cobb’s lap? Did it anger him to see her there? Did the kiss enrage him? Cobb’s lips on her skin, the skin that the Bounty Hunter said he loved to touch, to caress? It certainly sounded that way. Marathel quickly turned, only seeing the Bounty Hunter’s back from the corner of her eye as he left the room. And she felt shame at sitting on this man’s lap, with his hands on her, his lips on her cheek. It may have been as innocent as anything, but for the moan from Cobb’s throat … the same kind of moan she’d heard from Din when he was eating her bread, when his hands were on her skin, when he was deep inside her.

Oh, great Frith, what am I doing?

Marathel stood up and turned towards the door, towards Din’s voice, but he was already gone.

What have I done?

“Marathel? Honey?”

I am a whore.

She felt Cobb’s hands on her shoulders, turning her back towards him, and she closed her eyes tight.

I am an inbred incestuous whore cunt freak.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking that.”

Whore cunt.

“You hear me?” Cobb gave her a little shake, and her eyes flew open.

I’m a whore who has broken the heart of the first man who was ever good to me.

“Honey? Talk to me, honey.” Cobb’s voice was sounding distressed.

“Let me go,” whispered Marathel, and Cobb released her immediately. Her shaking hands went to her face.

“Marathel …” said Cobb, gently touching her arm. She shied away. “You’re … you’ve suffered so damn much. Now, your mind is addled, like you said, and you’re not thinking straight. And Din … listen to me, honey, please … it’s a lot for him to take in …”

“He hates me. As he should,” said Marathel, wiping her cheeks. “It will be easier for him to leave me there.”

“You don’t have to go back there!”

“This is the …”

Cobb grabbed her by the upper arms again, roughly this time, and she felt anger in his hands as they clutched at her. “I swear, if you kriffing say this is the way …”

Marathel drew in a sharp breath at Cobb’s hands on her once more. If I need to make them hate me to let me go, then that’s what I’ll do. Her eyes dropped down to his chest. “Hit me if you want, but you will not make me change my mind.” Cobb lessened his grip, looking shocked and dismayed at even the thought of striking her. Marathel’s face softened as she suddenly felt a sense of deep calm. Or perhaps it was the sense of nothingness. “Thank you for being my friend,” she said quietly as she slipped out of his grasp and walked out of the room, heading for the kitchen.

As Marathel entered, Silnima straightened up from the sink, where she had been washing her face, red and puffy from prolonged weeping. She went over to the Headwoman and took her in her arms, comforting her, whispering, “Don’t pity me, Silnima, I’m all right.”

“Oh, Marathel, I’m so sorry,” whimpered Silnima. Why? wondered Marathel. Why do they pity me? I do not deserve their pity. “I’ve never heard of such horrible things, and I was here when Jabba the Hutt ran the palace,” said Silnima as she drew back, holding Marathel’s face in her hands, yet Marathel refused to look her in the eye. “My dear, why do you feel you have to leave? No one wants that for you. Stay here, with us, let us help you.”

“I can’t, Silnima. I can’t be trapped in a kitchen anymore.”

“You don’t have to be in this kitchen. You don’t have to be on this planet, even. You can be anywhere. Anywhere but that horrible place you came from,” Silnima pleaded.

“It will be all right, Silnima.”

“No, no it won’t, Marathel! And what will you do back there? Those men will come for you!”

“She’s right, you know,” said a voice at the doorway. Marathel turned to see Fennec. “They’ll kill you as sure as they killed the women who helped you.”

Marathel sighed. “I won’t … I won’t go near the Hold. I plan to just collect what I can carry at the hut, and then … just walk. Walk until I’m far enough away. Away from them. Away from everyone.”

Fennec put her hand to her forehead in frustration. “If you want to be a recluse, you have a million planets to choose from! Even kriffing Jakuu would be better! Why does it have to be there?”

“Because it’s the only place where I’m not afraid all the time,” said Marathel with such a sense of detachment that Fennec worried even more for Marathel’s state of mind. “It’s the only place I understand. It’s the only place I think I’ll be safe from everyone.” And you’ll be safe from me.

“Safe, she says. In a place where you’ve actively tried to kill yourself. A place where you’ve almost been killed,” scoffed Fennec.

Marathel shrugged. “I’d rather die somewhere familiar. Wouldn’t you?”

Fennec glared at Marathel. “After all we’ve done to help you, practically bringing you back from the dead …”

“I asked none of you to do that for me. Least of all the Bounty Hunter.” Fennec’s face dropped into shock and anger. Marathel took a breath. “I am grateful, truly I am. But this is the only way to set things right.”

Fennec was at a loss. “Marathel … this is what you want?”

What I want has no bearing on what must be, thought Marathel.

This is the way.

Marathel finally replied, “What I want … is to make bread. I can think of no other way to repay your kindness. I will be using your ingredients, unfortunately, but …”

Fennec held up her hands, frustrated beyond belief. “Make bread, Marathel. If that’s what you think will … settle things in your mind, make all the damn bread you want.”

“Thank you, Fennec,” replied Marathel, so flat and emotionless that Fennec wanted to smack her and scream at her to wake up! It was as if Marathel, once she had released all her pain to them, had transformed into a droid.

Silnima stepped up and fired the gas jets on the large ovens. “I’ll help you, Marathel.”

“Thank you, Silnima,” replied Marathel as she began to seek out the large pans the palace used for bread-making. Silnima brought out the things Marathel requested: certain size cups, specifically shaped bowls, particular ingredients. Fennec pitched in; she’d put aside trying to convince Marathel to change her mind for the moment. Marathel wanted -- or perhaps needed -- to bake bread, something that at least was in the direction of positive.

Marathel washed her hands, put on an apron, and began setting the cups and bowls into a precise and complicated arrangement on the massive worktable. She then noticed that Boba and Cobb had come in and were watching her. “Baking bread was fun in the Hold. The only song made it fun, and we each would make 12 loaves of bread.”

“Is that important?” asked Boba. “The number of loaves?”

“It is. When you have 12, they can break off into 66 possible pairs. Then you can break 66 apart to get 6 and 6, then you can make them 12 again. That’s very important.”

“Now why is that?” asked Cobb.

“Gyll’wdh chi triiar whundil yn tyfu'n awhl gyda'n gilyff.”

“Meaning?”

Marathel turned back to her lines of cups and bowls. “‘You can break us apart, but we will grow back together.’” Marathel pulled the kettle off the fire and began pouring the hot water into the cups. “Now, I haven’t done this in … thirty-some years, apparently.” The others looked at her with surprise. Marathel frowned and paused her water pouring. “I just found that out too. I forgot to mention that to the Bounty Hunter. Still not quite sure what a year is, but … forgive me if I suddenly falter.” She tested the water. “Still too hot.”

“Marathel,” called Cobb. She looked over to see him holding up a small holopad. “Say again why the number 12 is so important.”

He’s … what’s the word? Making a record of me in that little device, so that even when I leave, he’ll still have a piece of me. Typical man. Can’t let me have all of myself to myself. Take take take, like a little boy. Like a Cyilogg. Like a Bwrrdyr. Like an Elder.

Shaking herself back to the present, Marathel tossed some sweet into the oven, which didn’t melt, but it was close. “Four of us would each make twelve loaves at a time. One type for the men and boys. One type for the women and girls. It would have been better if twelve of us could make the bread, but we didn’t have enough cups and bowls. Well, we might have if we didn’t keep breaking them. Clumsy cunts, we were,” she said with a dry chuckle. “We had to use the cups and bowls because the loaves had to be a specific size and weight. Perfection in bread form. It was considered an honor to be one of the four making bread. I was taken off bread-making shortly before I left the Hold. I had one of my fainting spells, and I pulled several of the men’s loaves down to the floor with me, and they couldn’t be salvaged. The head kitchen Diwhyn would have stripped my hands, but I cut myself badly enough on a broken bowl to nearly sever my little finger.”

Marathel looked at the thick scar at the base of that finger, mostly obscured by the metal splint. “I had forgotten all about that until now. Hmm.” After studying the scar for a while longer, Marathel looked up, blinking at the line of cups, as if trying to remember where she was and what she was doing. “But you were asking about the number twelve. When you have 12 women, they can break off into 66 possible pairs. Then you can break 66 apart to get 6 and 6, then you can make them 12 again. Gyll’wdh chi triiar whundil yn tyfu'n awhl gyda'n gilyff, we said amongst ourselves — just the women, that is — which means ‘you can break us apart, but we will grow back together.’ Now the water is almost right.”

Marathel picked up a bowl that held dry leavening. She sifted it with a spoon, and then measured a spoonful of the stuff in the palm of her hand. She did the same with a small bowl of sugar. She placed both bowls in the crook of her arm and gripped the spoon in the other. She took a breath, and sang:

“Cowyn bach o wd’dr gymwsh, Arn’erygg anyl fyd’dwsh, Mewn iddi eidiwsh nach oery Byddhi'n anad’wl’u, Gadewsh iddi hi’n ei bywyd Anad’wl’u ei ni bywyd.”

As she sang, Marathel went down the line of cups, adding leavening and a tiny bit of sugar to each cup of water, then stirring briskly. She repeated the last two lines until she finished the last cup. Humming, she went back to the first cup and frowned. “Your leavening breathes a little slower, I think. It’s breathing nicely though. Oh, what I said was:

Little cup of water, take this gift Breathe life into her Do not burn or chill Let her breathe her life She will breathe her life into us.

Now I must get the dry ingredients mixed while the leavening continues to breathe.”

As Marathel spooned flour and salt into the bowls, she sang, “Ash’yd a flw’ad, pinsywd a holyn,” in a rhythmic manner. “Cup of flour, pinch of salt.” Stirring the dry ingredients with her hands, she chanted, “Flw’ad, holyn, cwsan, cwsan!”

“Flour and salt, stir, stir’?” asked Cobb.

Marathel turned slightly pink. “Flour and salt … kiss, kiss.” She went back up the line, digging a small divot in each bowl of dry flour, singing, “Bidd cladd’ia,” at each one. “Dig a little grave,” she clarified. “We bring the leavening to life and then we bury her alive.” She glanced at the four pensive-looking people sitting on the kitchen table, watching her. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill her,” she said with a small smile, continuing her task and humming. The others looked at each other, all worried about her mental state. Nonplussed, Marathel picked up a wooden paddle and poured the leavening mixture into the first bowl’s flour divot.

“Claff’wsh hi i lawr, Claff’wsh hi yn d’fawr, tall’wsh ei hawyr i t’wr!”

Marathel pulled the bowl into the crook of her arm and vigorously stirred, chanting, “Doffeg ar y de’wyth, doffeg ar y che’wyth!” Flour flew up in a little cloud as she stirred, and Marathel slung the first bowl back to the table, leaving it spinning while she moved to the next bowl and repeated the process with the same chants. By the time she was halfway down the table, the others were chanting with her, making Marathel smile, even though their pronunciation was terrible. She’d forgotten she missed this part of Hold life. The next bowl she chanted in Basic. “Bury her down, bury her deep, cut off her air! Twelve to the left, twelve to the right…”

“Punch up, slap down, fight fight fight!” said Cobb, and the others gave him an odd look. “Well, obviously none of you went to the local murderball matches when you were kids.”

Marathel laughed, surprising them all. “No sitting down in the kitchen!” she said, and she continued down the line. The last six bowls she added honey, singing,

“My’el wsh ef, my’el wsh ef, dagon i by’dio an ny’dio, oher bywyd yn llonydd. Pace an ny’dio, bywyd yn llonydd.”

Marathel sobered again when she’d finished pouring the honey, thinking about how the words she’d just sung translated from Oldtalk to Newtalk. Finally, she sang,

“Sweeten him, sweeten him, enough to not hurt us, for we will be still. Please don’t hurt us, for we will be still.

This bread is for the men. They get honey in their bread.” She sighed deeply and chanted again, “Doffeg ar y de’wyth, doffeg ar y che’wyth,” while she stirred the mixtures in the remaining bowls together. This job done, she tossed another small handful of flour on the tops of each bowl and saying “Cws’yl, cws’yl,” in a little song-song voice as she went up the line.

“What did that mean, Marathel?” asked Cobb.

“Oh … cloud, cloud, like a little poof of flour.” Marathel dumped out the first bowl on the table, scraping the bowl clean with the wooden paddle. “Silnima! I forgot to grease the pans! And I need oil!” Silnima hurried over, setting the oil bottle next to Marathel’s elbow, and then she went to grease the pans as directed. Marathel, meanwhile, attacked the first ball of dough, singing:

“Gyd’wsh ei, lop’wsh ei, treb’wysh ei, Duegyn iddi gusfydd hel ei! Dygsu bwth yn gusfyyd, gws’wsh hully eto ei! Tachga’le, machcy’le, gwlly nyt’twsh ei! Neu’gwny Belwhyn honi, onsah gusfydd ei!”

Marathel kneaded the dough in syncopation with the words twice through, finishing with coating the loaf with oil, and then throwing the dough with great force into the pan on the final word. As she continued down the line, her singing and kneading took on a more frenetic quality. By the time Marathel had finished the sixth loaf, she was singing at the tops of her lungs, and kneading and flipping the dough almost haphazardly. After throwing the loaf into the greased pan, she stepped back from the worktable, breathing hard, her hands trembling at her sides. Marathel said,

“Grab her, flip her, slap her, Make her learn her place! She will never learn, so do it again! Harder, faster, pull her hair! Or make a Belwhyn out of her, if she won’t learn!”

Marathel stood silently for several moments before turning over the next ball of dough on the table. She went back to kneading, but sang quietly, under her breath. The last six dough balls were oiled and returned to their bowls. “The honey loaves are braided.” Marathel took a loaf and shaped it some before deftly cutting it into four even pieces. “It is a braid with four strands. It represents … the four ways …” Marathel’s voice crackled. “The four ways … a Whyn is … taken.

Whyn, ben’wy, as’whyn, tw’ylo. Mhynd ma’dy sot maen a ei.”

Again, Marathel moved in beat with her words. She took each lobe of dough and twirled it once before deftly braiding the loaf and placing it in the oiled pan.

“Cunt, hands, ass, mouth. This is how he takes her.”

Quietly, Marathel said, “I said that the only song made the bread baking fun, didn’t I? I suppose … I never thought about the words,” as she began working on the next ball of dough. “I suppose I was still when I made bread in the Hold. But now, when I come to think of it, I don’t make the loaves for men anymore. Well … why would I, once I left the Hold?” She picked a piece of dough out from under a splint on her finger. “I couldn’t eat the men’s food, so why would I make it for myself? And I never sang the only song after I left the Hold. I haven’t made the men’s or the women’s bread for … I guess … thirty years. However long that is, I don’t know. I only make simple crusty rounds, now.” Marathel silently prepared the last of the braided loaves, and then tossed some sweetener into the oven. The sweet melted. “Would you please put these in, Silnima? I just need to slash the women’s loaves.” Silnima began sliding in the bread pans, and Marathel picked up a sharp knife, slashing the unbraided loaves deeply from the center to one edge.

“Bywyd, bywyd, fwl’ono dy, Huetor’dyl yn y gwr’wsh ei, Rhony’dwl nildy fywy mw’an inni bywyd, Bywyd, bywyd, fwl’ono dy.

Breathe, breathe your last, Let her bask in the heat, Give us your life that we may breathe, Breathe, breathe your last.”

Marathel’s brow was deeply furrowed, and her lip trembled as she placed the remaining pans in the oven, and then tossed some water into the oven as well, creating steam. Collecting all the bowls and cups, Marathel said, “I’ll wash these, and when I’m done, so will be the bread.”

Silnima began, “I can wash those …”

“If I wash them, then the bread will be done when I am.” Marathel found the soap and a dish brush and set to scrubbing. “We usually did an egg-white wash on those loaves; Silnima, I forgot the eggs.” Silnima nodded and prepared the egg wash as the kitchen became redolent with the smell of the bread.

Fennec sat with her hands over her mouth and her eyes full of tears. There was not a single aspect of this poor woman’s life that was not filled with torture. Even the act of baking bread, such a simple and innocuous thing — something Marathel enjoyed — was defiled by the males of the Hold and their disgusting treatment of the women and girls. She got up and went to Marathel at the scullery sink. “Marathel … please, please don’t go back. I beg you, please, we all beg you …”

“Don’t,” said Marathel, not looking up from her task. “There’s no point.”

“Din isn’t going to take you back there. He won’t take you back.”

“He will.”

Fennec grimaced. “No, he won’t, Marathel, not if he ...”

“He will,” said Marathel firmly as she looked in the oven. “Almost done.” Marathel finished up the last of the cups as Fennec stepped back. Using the long wide paddle, Marathel pulled the braided bread out of the oven, turning the loaves out of the pans. Silnima brushed them with the egg wash. The loaves were perfect, all matching in size and shape. Marathel and Silnima did the same with the unbraided loaves, the “women’s” loaves, with their asymmetrically slashed tops. Cobb wondered — they all did, save Marathel — if that was by design, as the slashed top, to them, could resemble … well, a woman’s area.

“The bread is … beautiful, Marathel,” said Cobb.

Marathel stood still, staring at the twelve loaves. “It will be a while before it is ready to eat. It continues to bake as it cools. I think … I think I’ll make small round loaves now. I think I’m done making Hold bread. I think I’m … finished with that now.” She shut her eyes tight, hugged herself hard, and tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Silnima came over and took Marathel’s hand. “What do you need, Marathel?”

Marathel took a deep breath. “Heavy flat pans. Perhaps round ones, too … May I also make cake? I make good cake. And cookies, if there’s time …”

Silnima squeezed her hand. “We’ll make whatever you want.” Silnima went to find the pans Marathel asked for, while Marathel began searching through the spice rack, opening each jar and sniffing to find the herbs and spices she wanted. She made a little collection and brought them back to the table and began the process of proofing more leavening.

Looking over at the table at the others, Marathel said, “You don’t have to stay.”

Fennec, who had returned to sitting on the table, said sadly, “I’ll keep watching, if you don’t mind.” Boba said nothing but put his arm around Fennec.

Cobb shook his head. “I ain’t leaving, either. I’m recording this for … posterity.” For Din. For myself. To remind myself that a woman like you existed.

Marathel shrugged, and began to measure her dry ingredients, using her hands, adding her chosen herbs. She didn’t sing but she hummed, occasionally whispering a word or two of the only song as she worked. When she got to the kneading stage, her movements remained calm as she flipped and stretched the dough, working it deftly with her splinted hands. Leaving the batch to rise, Marathel began mixing batter for spiced cake. Her soft humming continued, putting Fennec in the mind of a lullaby. Marathel was sugaring the sides and bottom of a greased cake pan when Fennec said, “Marathel, you said that you left the Hold thirty or so years ago. Did the Reconstructionists give you an idea of how old you are?”

Marathel nodded. “As far as they could figure, I have lived somewhere between forty-five and fifty Basic years. I’m not sure what that means, precisely … I don’t understand time. Not the way you do.” Marathel poured the batter in the prepared pans and put them in the oven. As she went back to working with the risen bread dough, she said, “I understand what I can get done while those cakes bake. I can track when Mist will come, or when the Dahls will rise to mate, by counting the moonrises and watching where the sun rolls through the sky. If there is rain, I know when the fairy light insects will come. If it is dry, I know when the hoppers will swarm. But years, minutes, hours … I don’t understand these things.” Marathel began placing rounded balls of dough on a prepared sheet pan. “I understand when the bread dough will rise. I understand how much yarn I can spin from a handful of creek fattails. I thought I understood how people are supposed to be, supposed to act.” She cut diagonal slashes into the small round loaves and put the pans in the oven.

“Well, hell, Marathel, I don’t understand people at all, so don’t let that bring you down,” said Cobb. “And you and I are next door neighbors in the age game; same street, anyhow.”

Fennec snorted. “Are you one of those people who says that age is a social construct?”

“Nah, I’m one of those people who doesn’t give a shit.” Fennec and Cobb laughed, and Marathel took another look at Cobb. He had some wrinkles in his face and some white in his hair and beard, but he was not dour and cross like the men in the Hold who appeared like him. However, the Hold made terrible people who didn’t laugh and joke like Cobb … or who were fair and honest, like Boba Fett. The Hold certainly didn’t create women who would fight to the bitter end, like Fennec, or even Silnima … Marathel knew she didn’t want to be on her wrong side.

I will miss them. So much. As much as the Bounty Hunter and his boy. She wondered just how old the Bounty Hunter was. She had heard his not-youthful joints creak, seen his not-youthful hands, but his voice had a youthful sound, as if he wasn’t accustomed to using it much. But then she supposed it didn’t matter. There was no point in wondering.

Marathel went back to kneading dough and shaping larger loaves. The small rounds were almost ready. The oven needed to cool down a small amount for the cake to stay moist. Silnima was asking if she could slice the first loaves to pass around. Marathel told her that it should be fine, and Silnima cut a loaf into thick slices and slathered it with a sweet cream spread for the others to try.

Cobb tore his slice in half and brought it over for Marathel. “The master baker should enjoy her efforts,” he said.

Marathel gave him a wan smile, but then looked down at the slice. It was from the braided loaf, the bread that was meant for the men. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She kept backing up until she bumped into the worktable. “That’s the men’s bread!”

Cobb’s eyes narrowed in frustration. “You’re not in the Hold, Marathel. You can eat what you please.” He tried to grab to hand, to force her to take the bread, but she kept breaking free of his grasp.

“I can’t, I can’t … please, don’t make me,” she pleaded before escaping to the oven to pull out the small rounds and put in the larger loaves. “The cake is almost finished.”

“Honey …”

“You will never understand, there are things I cannot do! I can’t eat the men’s food. I can’t wear shoes. I can’t cut my hair …”

“Can’t cut your hair? …”

“… and I can’t stay here. I can’t be anywhere other than where I came from.”

Irritated, Cobb kept trying to capture her hands. “Honey …”

“And no more honey! Or your… hands, touching me! No more! There’s no point, Cobb Vanth, Marshal of Freetown. Just … no more.” Cobb dropped his hands. Marathel turned back to the oven and began pulling out the cake. “Excuse me,” she said, shouldering him out of the way to put the cake pans on the table to cool. A pan slipped in her hand, and she burned her fingers. She hissed and went to put her fingers in her mouth, but Cobb seized her hand and put it under the cold tap at the sink, even as she kept struggling against him.

Looking at her, Cobb said, “And you can keep trying to push me away, push Din away — all of us away. But it’s not going to work, honey.”

“You’re a man, you may think what you wish.”

Cobb’s grip on her wrist tightened. “Don’t you do that, Marathel, that kind of game is beneath you.”

“I don’t know what you mean," muttered Marathel, finally pulling her hand out of Cobb’s grasp.

“The hell you don’t.” Cobb felt anger rising, which alarmed him; he rarely got angry anymore, there was no point in anger, especially at a woman who deserved so much better.

“No, I don’t, Cobb Vanth. I am only a stupid cunt.”

“Stop calling yourself that!” hissed Cobb.

“It is what I am. A stupid, whore cunt.” Cobb suddenly slapped her across the face. Fennec and Silnima gasped. Silence filled the room. Fennec put her face into her hands, and Boba held her tight. Fennec sobbed quietly; Cobb had finally done what she herself had wanted to do for days and given Marathel a smack ... a desire that now she regretted terribly once that cracking noise reached her ears.

Marathel took a step back, her face blank, her eyes down, her hands going up her sleeves. Quietly, she said, “You hit me, but I still did not change my mind.”

Cobb’s face, filled with shock and dismay at what he had done to her, done to a woman, began to crumple. Whispering, “I’m so sorry,” he stepped back, and then stalked out of the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he was certain he saw Din lurking in the shadows, but Cobb didn’t want to deal with his shit as well, so he continued in the opposite direction.

Two down, three to go, thought Marathel as she gathered the pans to clean them. She sensed movement from the table and looked over to see that Fennec and Boba had finally left.

Silnima quietly joined Marathel at the scullery sink, and they did the task together. “What do you want to make next, Marathel?” asked Silnima.

“Perhaps more of the small rounds … and maybe some sweet bread, if you have dried fruit.” Silnima nodded. “Maybe, Silnima, you can teach me how you make a sweet bread.”

“I know a good one that uses a local squash, and needs no leavening,” said Silnima.

“That sounds good. Can we?” Silnima nodded again, and they cleaned the pans in silence, occasionally bumping elbows. Marathel sensed a familiarity between the two of them, and it wasn’t just about kitchen work and bread making. “It’s just us, now.”

Silnima nodded. “Yes, it is.”

After a few more minutes of silence, Marathel asked, “Who was this Jabba the Hutt?”

“A most disgusting creature. He was the crime lord for this area. He had … peculiar tastes. Boba knew him back then. I was here too … but as a slave … and a woman of pleasure.” Marathel could hear the disgust in Silnima’s voice. “That foul fat worm made me do the most horrendous things. Not unlike those Elders where you came from.”

“But he is now dead?”

Silnima nodded. “Killed by members of the Rebel Alliance. A princess turned soldier strangled him with the very chain he used to imprison her.”

“Good for her.”

“It was hard for a while, once I was freed. I kept running back to what I knew – which was easy -- rather than crawling forward to learn new skills, which was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. And now my life is infinitely better.” Silnima sighed and began drying the clean pans. “You hear what I’m saying, Marathel?”

“I do.”

“But are you listening to me?”

“I am. Can we start on that squash bread of yours now?”

Silnima pursed her mouth. If Marathel was listening, she was not going to be deterred, which made Silnima’s heart ache. She finished scrubbing a pan and gently placed a hand on Marathel’s shoulder. “I’ve felt like you do now. Defeated, lost, that you’re worth less than nothing because of what they did to you, that you deserved what they did to you ... thinking they’re right … whomever they are. And people like Cobb and Fennec and Boba … they don’t get it, do they? Fennec comes as close as she can, trying to help people like me. And you.

“It’s like being at the bottom in of the deepest, darkest pit, with only a tiny bit of sky visible above you, and no matter how hard and far you climb, that little patch of light doesn’t seem to get any bigger … but as long as there’s sky up there, you have something to climb up towards, right?” Marathel sighed. The deep dark pit, she understood perfectly. But there was no patch of sky, no light above her; only more darkness. No ladder to climb out with. And she felt that she still had further down to go. Silnima drew Marathel into her arms, held her tight, and stroked her hair. “I promise you, Marathel, as sure as the Maker made little black melons, that it will get better.” Marathel didn’t believe that at all. Nothing was so bad that it couldn’t get worse. And she didn’t know who this Maker was; if the Maker was anything like Frith, the Maker was certainly another tymffod, so she just remained silent.

Silnima released Marathel, and they went back to baking. For hours they baked bread, cakes, sweet breads, small hand-held pies containing minced fruit, soft cookies with sweet icing, hard nutty biscuits for dunking in caf ... only speaking when necessary for the task at hand. Eventually, Silnima was so exhausted she left Marathel alone with another plea to reconsider leaving Tatooine. Marathel only responded with a kiss on Silnima’s cheek before she went back to scrubbing the pans yet again.

An hour or two before dawn, Marathel was sitting alone in the nearly dark kitchen, elbows on the table, hands clasped together against her mouth as she considered the enormous array of baked goods on the worktable. She heard Din’s voice, flat, uninflected, saying, “You’re done?”

Marathel sighed. “We ran out of flour.”

“I should think so, looking at all that,” he said, sitting down at the other end of the table, mimicking her pose. He sighed as well. “I could hear you singing your only song from my room. I hated it.”

Marathel shrugged. “I hate it now, too. The bread-making part, at least.”

“I hate your Hold, and what was done to you there.” Marathel’s throat filled with tears, so she only nodded. “I hate that Cobb struck you. If I were in here, I would have...”

Marathel quickly said, “No! It was nothing, nothing of consequence. He was angry with me, and the fault is mine.” They were silent for a few moments. “Is it time to go?”

“Not yet.” Din took a deep breath, then said, “Marathel, please, don’t make me ...”

“I am not discussing this further. There is no point.”

“Why are you making me take you back to the Hold?”

Marathel’s brow furrowed. “You’re not taking me back to the Hold, just to Unmanarall.”

Din turned to her. “Why does the bite mark burn when you say, ‘there’s no point’? Why does it burn when I dream that I’ve ... when I dream about you? What are you doing to me?”

She shook her head, confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m doing nothing to you!”

With a swift and silent motion, Din stood and swept Marathel off the bench and into the deep shadows at the back of the kitchen, where she could not see at all, and he pinned her fully against the wall. Her hands trembled against his cuirass, but she did not struggle, because she knew there would be no point; her strength was no match for his. The Bounty Hunter could snap her neck as easily as a chook leg bone. “You marked me with that bite, Marathel, as sure as a Dahl marks her mate, like you said to Fennec. But I was yours before you did that. I was yours when I saw you smile at Grogu. I was yours when you invited me into your home. And I’m so sorry, mesh’la, I’m so sorry I didn’t save you. I’m so sorry I didn’t take you away before you ever entered that Hold. The coins were worth nothing, not if it meant I had to lose you. And I’m sorry for tonight, I’m sorry I rejected you after you told me the horrible things that were done to you, the appalling life you’ve had to endure. I’m sorry I misunderstood Cobb comforting you; he was only doing what I should have done! I’m weak, I’m a coward, I couldn’t bear it, I thought only of myself, and I am so sorry. I will spend the rest of my life begging for your forgiveness, if you will let me ... but please, please don’t make me take you back to that place. Don’t make me let you go, please! And don’t you dare say ‘there’s no point’!” Din undid the catches that held on his cuirass, and he tossed it to the floor. He undid the top of his flight jacket, grabbed her hand and placed it on his bare skin, over the bite she had left on him. Marathel gasped; his skin was hot to the touch.

“Din, no, you must have an infection ...”

“No, it’s not infected ... well, it was, but Grogu healed me, it’s better now ...”

“You’re raving, Din, you must have a fever!”

“I’m not sick, Marathel! You bit me, Rodanthe told me to love you, you told me to leave my weapons behind and to be still! You have control of me through this bite mark!”

Marathel burst into tears. She tried to pull her hand off Din’s bare skin, but he captured her hand in his. “You’re not making any sense, Din ...”

“I don’t understand it either, mesh’la, ner kar’ta, ma’mwsh ha’laa...” Marathel could hear the tears in Din’s voice, even with the voice modulator in his helmet. She hated to do this to him, to this good man, but there was no other way.

There is only this way.

“Stop it, Din! Don’t you see? My madness, my sickness, I’m infecting you with whatever disease that I am! I’m dragging you down with me and I cannot let that happen to you! This is why you must take me back!” cried Marathel.

“You’ll kill yourself when I take you back! I know you will!”

“If that’s what will save both you and Grogu, then YES! And GLADLY! Now, LET ME GO!” Marathel managed to twist halfway out of his grasp, but Din held her fast. She cried, “If you think I can control you through that bite mark, then you will do as I say! LET ME GO!”

The bite mark flared with heat on Din’s chest, making him gasp, and his hold on Marathel faltered. She broke loose and ran from the kitchen. Din yelled at her retreating figure, “Haar’chak, Marathel, DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!”

At her door, Marathel turned, and said, “I’ll be ready to go when you are,” before shutting the door and locking it.

You Were Marked: Next Chapter

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian angst #din djarin angst #mando angst #star wars fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork #pedro pascal characters #pedro stories #pedrostories #mando x fem oc #mando x plus size oc #mando x female oc

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verbforverb · 1 year

Text

Eurovision ranking, part two! The set of entries I have stronger opinions about. You will note this post is uh somewhat more verbose than the last.

AGAIN, PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG

Cat2: Your choices are not my choices, but I respect them

Croatia: My initial note on this was "I appreciate that they are trying to make a point which I’m sure will be clearer when I can look up the translation but also this is, sort of, 4 different songs in one, and not in a good way." And I still stand by all of that. Love the energy! Love the mood! Parts of it are even catchy! Unfortunately, do not actually enjoy the experience of listening to this song.

Finland: This has grown on me more than I expected. I still wouldn't say I like it, but I don't mind it as much as I thought I did, the live performance is extremely compelling, and I do at least respect its choices. While I wouldn't seek it out, but it's definitely not forgettable, and I could see myself liking it eventually, maybe. But whichever way it definitely brings a certain something to Eurovision.

Ukraine: I am so close to liking this song. It's got that Bond energy, momentum, lyrically I've certainly heard worse. But the synth is just a bit grating to me still. There are also several parts where I swear it sounds like a Wilhelm scream, extremely distracting.

Israel: On first listen, the hysteria set in somewhere around the first "power of the UNICORN" and did not let up at any subsequent point. What IS the power of the unicorn? The first thing that comes to mind is the power of being an attractive young bi woman who is happy to be a no-strings third in an otherwise straight relationship. For all I know that IS what she means, it certainly adds another element to the song if so. I loathe the attempt to make "femininal" happen like few other things in this competition and resent this song for making me hear it multiple times. Musically it's all over the place, it feels like at least two and maybe three different songs trying to be one thing. And yet. AND YET. It is catchy! Noa Kirel blows the performance out the goddamn water! I guarantee I will not forget about any element of it, not for want of trying! Makes no goddamn sense. Compels me though.

Spain: So I do get the appeal. The layering of the sounds, the repeated lines, the almost sampled-sounding chanting which is a cool effect. Maybe this just needs longer to grow on me. For whatever reason, probably a large part underexposure to the style, I find this hard to listen to. Which is a shame, because it's the most interesting thing Spain has entered in years.

Serbia: I want to like this so bad. I love the aesthetics, the energy, the ridiculous 90s video game synth intro, and I can get behind what it's going for, thematically. Unfortunately I cannot deny the experience of my ears, and I do not like listening to this song. But I very much appreciate its existence!

And finally, Cat1: songs I feel positively about! With an actual ranking!

15 Cyprus: This would have faded into the mush of broadly-forgettable Eurovision ballads for me if it had not been extremely, inescapably reminiscent of Britney Spears' If You Seek Amy. But, like, a lounge version intended for background listening in a fancy restaurant. Once heard, this cannot be unheard, and that definitely gives the whole experience a certain indescribable something, the only reason I've ranked it so high.

14 Romania: Unfortunately there was no way to divorce this song from what I watched in the national final. This is a real shame, because I like this song! It's a jazzy waltz, we never get those, it has drama and range, and the guy can pull it off, vocally! In another universe I could see this making my top 10. Unfortunately, this is the world that we live in, and it contains... that whole situation.

13 Czechia: This was so close to being in the "I don't like it, but I do respect it" category, but you know what? I do sort of like it! The spoken word / chanting is just about on the right side of annoying for me, and you can't deny it is memorable. And you have to have a deranged song about feminism and/or national solidarity from central europe, it's the rule.

12 Poland: LOOK. I am not immune to a thirst trap bop. Is this song and its background as an entry ridiculous in all ways? Yes, absolutely. It's still stuck in my head now and forever. Plus I find the "VISIT POLAND. WE HAVE SWIMMING POOLS AND HOT GIRLS AND... FRUIT" music video extremely funny.

11 Slovenia: I'm not saying this is good. But I am saying a solid chunk of the foundations for my music taste were 00s pop rock, and this is a pitch perfect example. In Slovenian. It's upbeat! It's catchy! It's got a drop! If the lyrics are bad I can't tell! Just a fun time all round.

10 Moldova: Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go apeshit? God I love a good flute/whistle line. Sometimes you are creeping through the woods towards a giant bonfire circled by sillhouetted dancing shapes, human? more than human, or perhaps just somewhere off to the side? you are unseen yet all-seeing, and you crave the perfect soundtrack to that moment, and you know what? Moldova have you covered.

9 Belgium: This is great fun, it's got those synthy disco vibes, and it's lyrically touching as well. A bit of a dark horse in that it's crept up my rankings every time I've listened to it. It's just a little too one-note - not a unique problem for Eurovision songs, but to me it kinda feels like listening to the same song two or three times in a row.

8 Norway: Sometimes, a song can just be a good bass drop and a fun hook. It's not clever, but it is absolutely a good time. Similar to Belgium, it just doesn't do quite enough to climb higher - feels a bit repetitive - but what it has is very pleasing.

7 Sweden: I do fully enjoy most things about this song. The tune is good, love the synth, Loreen is a fantastic performer and I'm here for any staging which can be described as "surprise! you lift up a paving stone and discover a eurovision performance". There's just one problem, which is that it occasionally falls back on the most godawful rhyming, and then hits it as hard as possible complete with musical emphasis and pauses. Like, first listen, "It will come a - day, when we will find our ..." "don't say way" "WAY". And then by some combination of singing style or mixing choice those rhymes were all I could make out at first, like "mumblemumble PAIN mumblemumble RAIN mumble YOUUU mumble TATTOOO", and, just, infuriating. It's a real shame because I really do like everything else about the song but those bits are so incredibly distracting. The only other note I have is that the repeated "all I care about is love" just makes me think of the song from Chicago, which is a VERY different vibe.

6 Portugal: Love the energy, love the high-tempo cabaret feel, catchy as hell, and god, what a performance! I don't know whether to be impressed, terrified or both. The only place it falls down for me is that it just doesn't lend itself, really, to humming or singing along, because it is SO high energy and high range in every sense. Instead I'm just sort of watching open-mouthed, so the song itself doesn't stick with me the way some of the more conventional entries do. But without doubt a great entry.

5 Australia: First things first: it is incredibly weird to me that I managed to straight up forget these guys existed after listening to their music quite a bit some 8 years ago. I do like them! And this! They have this crisp progmetal sound that really works for me, and you always have to love a keytar. Add to that, I think these guys can pull off a performance, god knows they've been hyping up crowds for long enough. My only complaint aside from the harsh vocals (see also germany - why?? you can do metal without them! they won't take away your hardcore card!!) is that repeatedly asking "have you ever done anything like this before?" completely out of context - and not given more context that I noticed - is one of the most baffling ways they could have chosen to open the song, and mostly makes me want to yell "like WHAT, voyager? anything like WHAT?" But that's a detail.

4 UK: To anyone accusing me of pro-UK bias, I would say that this year and the previous year are the only times in the past decade, or maybe more, I would have ranked us above the bottom 5. I would not go so far as to say this year's entry was worth the wait, or worth having had to know that Teenage Life exists, but I do love it a lot. It's a bop! A minor key bop! It's catchy! It has deranged energy! It's got an inexplicably London spoken word bit that I even think adds to the song! Ranked only on craft, it wouldn't make the top 10, but on sheer enjoyment I have to have it up here.

3 Austria: When we first listened to this, I was making noises about how it was just kind of a meme, while my wife was fully into it, proving that ultimately she is right about all things. This has grown on me so, so much to the point where I love it both as a song and a meme, and we do just occasionally say to each other in the worst attempt at an american accent imaginable, "who the hell is EDGAR?". It's catchy, funny, it has a great synth line and it's about creative control and reward in the music industry! What more could you want? No idea how this will play on stage, but I'm officially a fan.

2 France: Ough. The moment I saw this I said "that's @docholligay bait" and you know what, I don't even care because it's fantastic. The confidence? The voice? The BASS? It's simple, elegant, and it could not possibly be more French if she was holding a baguette and smoking four cigarettes simultaneously. Even the fact that she's Canadian adds to this, because there's somehow something even more French about leaning into it all so hard despite not actually being from France.

1: Germany: You knew it was coming. Germany has hosted the biggest metal festival in the world for over 30 years, and is just now thinking "hmmm, we could send some metal to Eurovision." It was worth waiting for. This is maybe the only time I've ever been pleased Germany will auto qualify, because I do NOT think this will play well with the general public, but I love it.

Brief interlude while I'm a nerd: extremely Nightwish-esque instrumentals - to the extent that I spent the first two listens just trying to figure out which song the instrumental line reminded me of, maybe Bye Bye Beautiful or Storytime? - with the crisp vocals. I don't love the harsh vocal parts, but they're a minor enough part of it that I can deal. Lyrically excellent, love a song about the duality of humanity and the ways people choose who to be and how to act from the same set of parts. There are exactly two songs this year where I still find myself mulling over the words and the other one is a criticism of the music industry through the medium of spiritual possession, so. I didn't even think until @keyofjetwolf put it in her comments that the piano / rhythm playoff mirrors the lyrics, but I like it even more now if possible. One of my first comments was "never thought we'd get metal in eurovision, the guitar solo would take up most of the 3 minutes" and then Lord of the Lost released an extended version with an extra minute-long guitar outro, so I feel especially vindicated. To conclude: hell yes.

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