#wedge's gamble

[incorrectstarwarslegendsquotes]

Corran Horn: Gavin? Gavin Darklighter: Yes.  Corran Horn: Don't ever stick your dick in crazy.  Gavin Darklighter: I have no idea what that means.  Corran Horn: I know. 

[bluntblade]

I have been trying and failing for two hours now to winch my jaw back into place after the otterfuckeni- I mean, the scene in Wedge's Gamble in which Gavin Darklighter (played by Marc Thompson as a 13-year-old with his balls mid-drop) asks for and gets Corran Horn's considered opinion on whether dating outside your species (in Star Wars) can ever be OK.

I really thought if I talked about a book this week it would be Ashes of the Sun, how it pulls a Watchmen or The Boys with SW by taking place in its own setting where "what if the Jedi Order was ethically seriously dubious?" can be posited without awkwardly bumping up against prior canon, and how Hakens are the coolest not-lightsabers I've seen (also how this book is horny in ways not even Claudia Gray has brought to Star Wars), but no. My brain is entirely taken up with this... passage.

I've even got a little ditty out of it:

🎶 Otterfucker Horn, Otterfucker Horn, E-i-ally-o it's Otterfucker Horn oi!

[haveyoureadthisscifibook]

vote yes if you have finished the entire book.

vote no if you have not finished the entire book.

(faq · submit a book)

[trombonecock]

It's very funny when Imperials insist on calling them The Rebellion. Every time they do it, it's very easy to imagine them making a soyjak face

[starwarsbookclub]

Hello There Readers,

The theme poll has closed and the votes are in! We are excited to announce that the theme for February is the 90s!

The novel and comic polls are now live in our Discord Server, and you have until 10pm GMT (5pm EST) January 8th to vote for what we will be reading together next month. Our options are listed below:

NOVELS

1. I, Jedi by Michael by Michael A. Stackpole 2. Wedge's Gamble by Michael A. Stackpole 3. Ambush at Corellia by Roger MacBride Allen

COMICS

1. Tales of the Jedi (1994) 2. Star Wars: Republic (1998) 3. X-Wing Rogue Squadron (1995)

Happy voting in the Discord Server, and may the force be with you!

- Star Wars Book Club

[bornitereads]

Wedge's Gamble - Michael A. Stackpole

X-Wing Series Book 2

Reread: Jun 2023

Wedge, Corran, and the gang are back at it again. This time with an undercover mission to Coruscant. No space battles in this one. It was really fun to read what was kind of a James Bond novel, but for Star Wars. They were sent into help with the liberation of Coruscant from the Imperials. I enjoyed the disguises they used to get on world. It was very much in the espionage genre. Again Stackpole has some great character work. This book is exciting, but it's always the characters that I love the most. Even when I first read this in the 1990s, I was taken by the characters. I have to credit Stackpole for making me really and truly fall in love with the Star Wars EU. Even the new characters introduced were great, which often isn't the case, but I was in immediately.

Info: Bantam Spectra; 1996

[wantonwinnie]

The Bacta War Review

7/10. About halfway through I was feeling “eh,” and while it got better toward the back half, I think it still warrants a lower score than I have usually given for Star Wars books so far. I have a lot to say on this one because I'll be covering the first three books in the series a bit, as well.

To preface, I generally like canon better than a lot of the older legends stuff, but I still enjoy much what I’ve read so far (I also loved playing the KOTOR games). My main experience, albeit limited, is the first four novels of the X Wing series, and overall they were great! I really like the first three (Rogue Squadron, Wedge’s Gamble, The Krytos Trap). However, I think this one kinda suffers when compared to those.

Since they’re all a part of the same series, I’ll talk about what I liked in the first three. Rogue Squadron had excellent starfighter combat and engaging tactical discussion; Wedge's Gamble had interesting military strategy and related controversy, as well as espionage; The Krytos Trap, perhaps my favorite in the series, had questions about judicial policy, mysteries related to Isard and Corran, and Imperial subterfuge.

This begets a problem for The Bacta War – it has to wrap up whatever was left after The Krytos Trap, which wasn't much, without starting much new stuff. Most of the important mysteries were already resolved, including Corran's past, the main betrayal, and Isard's plans. And it’s totally okay to just want to continue the story with another fun adventure! Not every book will keep the same mysteries going, and the payoffs in Krytos made that a stalwart favorite of mine. People will read for the characters they came to know and love, which is totally cool.

__________________________________________________

Spoiler from here on

However, that leaves me in a weird position. I like the characters just fine, but I don't have the same attachments to them as maybe others do, nor do I find them especially compelling. Corran is courageous, cunning, talented, and charming, but is also just an ex-cop who half the time is lamenting Booster Terrik as a hardened criminal or whatever. Booster himself is fun but straight-foward. Mirax is fun but ultimately felt like Corran's love interest more than her own character in this installment. Wedge is Wedge – hardened fighter who always gets the job done. I liked Ooryl and exploring the Gand culture.

That brings me to the main problem – while it didn't need to start anything new, I think it lost a lot of the political dimensions that made Wedge's Gamble and Krytos so awesome. Maybe it wanted to return to Rogue Squadron's focus on space combat or something, I don't know. But I was pretty disappointed in the lack of attention in the 12-hour (audiobook) read to interesting political questions that got asked and were left unanswered by the story (other than to say that they're irrelevant). I mean, they mention the New Republic can't get directly involved because that would be a violation of Thyferra's sovereignty, thus leading to other worlds leaving the NR. This is stated as fact without the perspectives of the Provisional Council or Thyferran people, and even less, barely weighs on any of the characters (and why would they care when they already decided it was a worthwhile venture?). Of course, the in-universe angle justifies itself; Isard is definitely evil, and making sure she doesn't control the Bacta cartel (+ liberating the Vratix from human oppression) is undoubtably good. But Rogue Squadron doesn't have to worry about sovereignty, and they honestly barely care about liberating enslaved workers (it’s more about Isard = evil). And that makes sense. But since we are only given their perspective, we never develop the political issues involved here.

Moreover, after defeating Isard, the establishment of a new government is an afterthought in the story and pretty fucking simple somehow. It’s literally turn the page and now Thyferra has a provisional government joining the New Republic. Blink and you'll miss it.

I think the most dimension The Bacta War gets is from the economic disruption of Isard's bacta supply, which is interesting, and definitely necessary to make the book a more worthwhile read.

I don't feel like the major characters had much development in their story arcs here. Corran is slightly more aware of his force abilities, though highly limited. He and Mirax grow closer. Corran gets over Booster a bit. Wedge gets more tired. Tycho tries to let go of his past trauma for a bit. That said, I don't think the characters are the strong-suit.

Speaking of, diversity is a big issue in this book (as with the first three, where most of the characters started). It’s human-centric, which isn't a big deal (Andor was probably the best show Star Wars has made yet, and that had an extreme lack of non-humans). However, this installment was even more human-centric than the others in terms of the characters given sufficient time, though non-humans were still relevant (Vratix, Ooryl). But more important – I was BEGGING for some non-white humans. I mean, holy shit. Corran? White. Wedge? White. Mirax? Booster? White. Isard? White. Tycho? White. Iella Wessiri? White. Gavin Darklighter? White. Pash Cracken? White. Elscol Loro? White. I just named almost all the major characters in this novel (and many are major to the first three).

There are exceptions (Wookiepedia doesn't say the skin tones of humans Erisi Dlarit or Fliry Vorru, who are both major characters, and Winter is described as "tan," though she's a minor character). I don't want to belabor this point, but I think it’s an important one. The author could have stood to make a few more non-white characters in the first place, especially considering how many non-legacy character options there were. And I've always thought it was so weird that, with Luke Skywalker being a white man, and Wedge Antilles being a white man, the author decided to make the titular character of the series (Corran Horn)... another white man? Not to mention the second new and important character, Tycho, another white man? I think we have enough of those in Rogue Squadron alone to cover our bases here lol. I can only speak for myself (another white man), but I have to imagine it’s difficult for non-white readers to see themselves in this series and especially this installment.

Of course, any relationship or potential relationship in this series is depicted as heterosexual, and all the characters have binary pronouns, though I never had any expectations in that regard. I'm really spoiled by The High Republic and other modern canon books, because those do a much better job than 1990s legends, which is both hopeful and unsurprising.

So, ultimately, how did I feel about this novel? I think the most important question for any novel is: did I have fun while reading it? Yes, I did. The space combat was exhilarating, tense, and surprising; the tactical questions were interesting; and the story had its moments. I don't feel like I wasted my time reading it. However, at the end of the day, I think it’s pretty, erm, skippable. It’s another story with the same characters, and I totally jive with that, but I think the missing elements made it a bit of a letdown compared to the first three books, which got better with each successive one.

I think next on my list is either the Doctor Aphra audiobook or Shatterpoint.

[quietwingsinthesky]

what if. Amy “fix-it” because hallucifer makes sam so paranoid about dean leaving for no reason that sam gives in and follows him and is witness to the whole thing

[eclipsedrawsthings]

Pros of reading the Rogue Squadron books: Wedge and Tycho being gay and in love, Gavin Darklighter, Nawara Ven: Ace Attorney, that one scene where Wedge pretends to be Gavin’s dad, an insight into X-wing pilot slang

Cons of reading the Rogue Squadron books: copious amounts of Men Writing Women, Corran Horn.

[barstoolblues]

something that i couldn't stop thinking about while watching andor was how similar it was to a lot of legends/EU themes and storytelling (specifically 90s pre-prequels novels). Say what you will about EU canon but where it shined was its ability to explore the politics and life of a galaxy in a power struggle post-rotj, and while andor obviously takes place before that, the ethical dilemmas power struggles darker side of the rebellion/burgeoning new republic, oppression and colonization (NOT necessarily done well in the EU by white male 90s scifi authors lol but still explored in a way the live action sw did not) that are the meat of a lot of EU novels are very much present in andor in a way that we haven't seen on-screen or really in disney's new canon at all. I am not generally a fan of the new canon "EU" but i am excited with how andor is making an effort to flesh it out in a way clearly inspired by legends

[am-i-interrupting]

Hi!!!!! Would it be possible to request Vox with an affectionate s/o and the relationship has to be kept a secret?

Secret Snuggles

“Baby doll, what are you doing?” Vox asked as he typed away at his computer.

You’d just slipped into his office a few minutes ago. For a moment or two you feigned interest in looking around the room you’d been in hundreds of times like it was something new before you focused on what you were really here for, Vox.

You moseyed up to his chair. You placed your hands on his shoulders and your head against his, not caring that the sharp edges of his face would leave an indent on your cheek. When that got you nothing you removed yourself from him with a huff. You huffed again, louder. Still, he was hyper focused on his work.

That is when you got on the floor and crawled underneath his desk. You placed your hands on his knees and finally, finally you got acknowledged!

You didn’t answer him with words. Instead you elected to use action. You pushed yourself up, curving your back so you didn’t hit it on the desk, until you were wedged between the table and Vox.

He raised an eyebrow at your antics. This time you ignored him and settled yourself in his lap.

“We’re in public,” he reminded you but his hand still went to hold your thigh to keep you steady.

“I know. I just needed this today,” you told him.

You nuzzled closer to him. He sighed but didn’t move you. He simply used his free hand to pull himself closer to the computer and tried to type one handed.

You weren’t supposed to be like this with Vox. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to be around Vox.

See, the thing is, when you first arrived in Hell, you signed a contract handing your soul over to a gambler named Husk. You liked Husk, even to this day, but looking back you should have known better.

Husk had no problems with you getting chatty and friendly with Vox. He had other things to worry about and if he needed you, he knew he just had to call.

That all changed when Husk gambled and lost not just his soul but subsequently all the souls contracted to him. Now your soul was in the hands of the Radio Demon and he was not a fan of your choice in company. You were glad you knew that before you ever met the man in person otherwise you could have found yourself making a very big mistake.

You didn’t get to see Vox often as a result but you craved his company, his voice, his touch. You craved it so much. You knew you had to keep this a secret. You knew what you were doing was dumb but you needed some solitude with your partner.

You’d gotten spoiled in the seven years that Alastor had been gone. Now you were torn away from your lover’s embrace both day and night. Instead you’d been forced to stay at the Princess’s hotel.

You liked the people at the hotel, make no mistake but they weren’t a replacement for a man you’d known almost your entire time in Hell.

Luckily for you, Husk knew that and he could see you beginning to get twitchy. He promised to cover for you while you went to your paramour. Not for the first time, you cursed Husk for not being more careful but thanked him for his caring soul.

Vox’s hand stroked up and down your thigh. Your skin tingled, even through the fabric of your clothes, where he left a trail. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, arm wrapped around his waist. You closed your eyes and just savored the moment.

Then, of course, the door burst open. “Hey, Voxy!” Velvette greeted, eyes glued to her phone as the two of you jolted up. When her eyes flickered towards the chair, she fell silent, “Oh, sorry, babes. Didn’t know you two were having a moment. Quick question though, can you fix my phone? It’s been acting faulty all day. It’s driving me fucking insane.”

Vox groaned and extended his hand. Velvette slipped the phone into it. He pressed some buttons and did some other things you didn’t quite understand. Then it was back in her palm.

“Thanks! Kisses, lovelies, kisses!” she said as she left the room.

The next day, you were preparing a quick lunch for the Hotel when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out and opened it to see a message from Velvette. Your heart melted when you saw a picture of you and Vox cuddling. You smiled and shook your head when you saw her accompanying words:

You’re welcome in advance! Give that run down radio a hard day for me and Voxy, ‘kay? OK. 💋💋

[incorrectstarwarslegendsquotes]

Asyr Sei'lar: Who are you guys?

Nawara Ven: [thinking to himself] We can’t tell them we’re Rogue Squadron. We don’t know what they will do with us.

Gavin Darklighter: We are Rogue Squadron.

[19burstraat]

Random SOC Trivia I Gathered On My Reread

I'll be using this for fics, but it's fun just to read!

Jesper does not hold alcohol well (though this is according to Kaz, who is not exactly impartial)

Wijnstraat, Nemstraat, Havenstraat, Ammberstraat are all street names if you want em

Van Eck has been involved in trying to clean up the Barrel; pious. (Allegedly pious, I doubt he really is)

1/5 Van Eck (or general Kerch trading?) vessels are lost at sea

Kaz arrested three times at ten, twice at eleven, once at fourteen. Does stints in jail but it does not say prison (ppl assume he's been to Hellgate / another prison but I don't think so. He'd never have shut the fuck up about it if he had; I assume the Stadhall Jail)

Kaz's cane is lead-lined. I wasn't sure if this was canon or fanon

Kaz runs book on prize fights, horses, and chance games. Floor boss at crow club since fifteen-ish. Youngest to run a betting shop and has doubled the profits.

Gambling halls: Treasure Chest, Golden Bend, Weddell's Riverboat, Silver Garter

West Stave brothels: The Blue Iris, The Forge, The Obscura, the Willow Switch, the House of Snow

Van Aakster is the widow mercher who sees Nina to ease his grief

Inej likes orange cakes in white paper

Black Tips tattoo is a hand with first and second fingers cut at the knuckle, Razorgulls is 5 birds in wedge formation

Nina Jesper and Kaz definitely all have the crow and cup; the others don't

Jordie seems to like books

ridderspel and spijker are arcade games

Bilge, clams, and wet stone smell in the Barrel (per Retvenko)

Kaz definitely is partial to dogs; Smeet's hounds and the grey dog the Hertzoon household had, the windup dogs, the metaphors. He loves a dog metaphor sorry ur not real babycakes you'd have loved thematic web weaving posts

Geldspin is the cotton mill in Zierfoort, Firma Allerbest is a cannery. Both in Alys' name

Wylan was 8 when Marya 'died'

the black veil tomb is carved like an ancient cargo ship

3 flying fish on a grave: government. Palm trees and snakes: spices.

Inej's mother braids her hair with orange ribbons (colour of persimmons)

University a series of buildings built around the Boekcanal and joined by Speaker's Bridge (where people debate and/or drink). Boeksplein four libraries built around a central courtyard and the Scholar's Fountain

Shipping container at third harbour is a Liddie hideout; Jam Tart House is an old hotel near the slat that the Razorgulls use

Long scar across Kaz's right knuckle

Violating contracts and interfering with the market can get you hanged in Kerch; same sentences as for murder (this is. Insane)

Haskell holds court with his mates at the Fair Weather Inn every week

Belendt is the second oldest Kerch city and sits on the Droombeld River

Jesper was 7 when Aditi died

Inej has an uncle (who seems to have some sort of ringmaster role) and cousins; Hanzi and Asha

Kaz convinced a locksmith in Klokstraat that he was the son of a wealthy merchant who highly valued his collection of priceless snuffboxes, and that's how he knows what locks the rich are using

Hubrecht Mohren, Master Thief of Pijl, who Kaz doesn't appear to think much of; one of Haskell's old cronies

Martin Van Eck, Wylan's great great grandfather, was a ship's captain, brought back a big shipment of spices from Eames Chin and started the Van Eck fortune

Kaz and Jesper (+ other Dregs boys) taught Inej to fight

Kaz and Jordie are from a town near Lij, as per the 'Johannus Rietveld' exposition, but Lij is seemingly the closest major city/county so it's easier to just say they're from Lij lol

The last time the Council of Tides appeared in public was 25 years prior to CK

Kaz found Filip running a monte game on Kelstraat; he also got the clerks who turned over fake info, the fake attorney, the man who gave them free hot chocolate

The spelling of Zentzbridge lapses to Zentsbridge, not sure which is right or if they're actually separate bridges or if there's a lot of wrong quotes floating around lol

Dryden house symbol is the golden wheat sheaf bound with a blue ribbon; Van Eck is the red laurel but we knew that

Kaz taught himself finance and gambling hall rules

Church of Barter roof is copper and long has turned green

Church of Barter built around the First Forge / The Mortar, which is a flat lump of rock that's supposedly Ghezen's altar

Ghezendaal Hospital is. Idk. a hospital. Just thought ppl might want the name

[fayes-fics]

Mrs Bridgerton

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Your ex-husband craves you in a way you had no idea about until one fateful call...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, explicit language and thoughts, dirty talk, sexting, sex tape, masturbation, pregnancy kink, smidge of breeding kink. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy, custody, parenting, heartbreak, emotions. Bit angsty maybe? Not sure.

Word Count: 4.3k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill from January here. (tldr summary: ex-husband Benedict can't stop thinking about you) Nonny, I changed up a couple of details of your ask; the porn he watches is your old sex tapes from when you were married. Also, he doesn't call once he was spent; he accidentally calls very much in the act ;) I hope that is okay. Guys, I have no idea what this is; sorry. Thanks to @colettebronte for checking I haven't completely lost it and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif used above. <3

“Mrs Bridgerton!.... Mrs Bridgerton!” A teacher calls out across the playing field as she jogs towards you. It takes you a few seconds to realise she is indeed addressing you. It's been a couple of years since you went by that name—almost a ghost from the past at this point.

“Ah, actually, it’s Ms y/l/n now,” you correct as she draws closer. “I’m, well, I’m divorced from Emilia’s dad,” you explain somewhat apologetically.

“Oh, I am so very sorry! I'm new here. I just asked her if her parents were here, and she pointed you out.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It's an entirely fair assumption to make,” you placate, shielding your eyes from the sun to catch Emilia's gaze and give her the thumbs up at the end of the grassy running track.

“Well, I just need one of you to sign this permission form for the trip to the Science Museum next week,” the teacher states, thrusting a clipboard towards you.

“Oh certainly, no problem,” you assure, taking the proffered pen and signing on the dotted line she indicates. You know how excited Emilia is about that upcoming trip, even though she insists on going to the museum with you or her father at least once every few months.

“Wonderful, thank you.”

You just nod as another teacher brings them all to the starting line with a blast from their whistle, and your focus shifts entirely to cheering on your five-year-old daughter in her first school race.

-----

He knows you haven't seen him, and he doubts even Emilia has clocked him, wearing a baseball cap pulled low as he is. He deliberately keeps a low profile when you arrive. He is here to see Emilia on her first sports day. Only that. Or so he keeps telling himself.

But then he sees you, and something in his stomach knots hard. It’s been more than two years, and still, every time, it floors him. A few months after your split, he took to using Eloise as the go-between for your shared custody arrangements and has never stopped. Since then, he has not seen you in person, too cowardly to face you. His biggest mistake was letting you go.

You met in your late twenties at a party hosted by mutual friends, and that night, he knew his life would never be the same. Something about the connection was instant and electric. He had the best sex of his life, right there in a spare room of a party. Both drunk and foolish, you didn't use protection. So it was only a few weeks into your burgeoning relationship when you found yourselves staring dumbfounded at a blue and white stick that would alter your lives forever. You married quietly two months later at the town hall, with just a few family members and close friends attending, neither of you wanting a big fuss. It was a big gamble in many ways, but you were both willing to try, crazily in love and filled with a youthful optimism that can be so blinding.

All was well until parenting a newborn drove you both to exhaustion and beyond. A wedge grew between you, even as your beautiful daughter developed into the best miniature version of both of you, with his beauty and your brains. You tried to make it work. But bickering about petty things and distancing became the only constant in your dynamic. Part of him had hoped Emilia would be enough glue to hold you together, but it was too much to pin on a small child. Just after her third birthday, he watched his world crumble as you tearfully packed up your possessions and took the light from his life with you.

And now. Now it's a regret that haunts him every day. Replaying the mistakes he made over and over, the ones that meant you slipped through his fingers. Too preoccupied with his career frustrations and plagued by chronic lack of sleep to realise the damage before it was irreparable. He knows now, too late, that with a little more effort and compromise, perhaps you would still be together as a family. He certainly never stopped loving and desiring you.

So when the teacher calls out Mrs Bridgerton, his heart almost stops beating and, to his shame, there is a stirring in his jeans. God, he wishes that was still your name, so much so there is a bitter taste in his mouth as he watches you correct the teacher in an endearingly accommodating way. A large part of him wants to leap up and grab you, lift you into his arms, beg that you use the name again. His name. But he doesn't; he just lingers in melancholic reverie, recalling with perfect clarity how it felt to push the white gold band shakily onto your left hand as you recited your vows.

Then with a sharp nearby whistle blow signifying the race start, his focus is pulled back to why he is here. His little wonder, the centre of his universe. Emilia Bridgerton. The most beautiful person on the planet. 

“Go, Emilia!!” he shouts, transfixed as his little girl moves out ahead of the pack, unthinking of anything but supporting his baby girl.

-----

Your head cuts to the side, and you freeze. You would recognise that voice anywhere. And how many Emilia’s can there be in the race?

He's not looking at you; his whole focus is on the field, but you can't seem to look away. Not even to watch your precious daughter. You haven't seen your ex-husband in more than two years. Using his sister as a go-between just seems like the best way to deal with your residual guilt about leaving him. But now? One look and your insides feel like you are falling down a chasm, lungs suddenly too small for the breaths you need to take.

Time seems to slow like molasses as you observe him. He’s wearing a baseball cap, almost akin to a disguise, but you can see underneath it that profile that still makes your heart flutter. Too much, really, considering you are exes. But his beauty was never the problem; it was part of the reason you always stayed. Those soulful eyes would draw you back every time. Those eyes that now haunt you daily, the Bridgerton genes far too strong not to override all of yours. Emilia is the prettiest little female version of your ex-husband you could ever imagine, and it's both your greatest joy and your greatest pain point, living with a growing reminder of the person who still owns your heart regardless of how much you might wish otherwise.

Looking back now, leaving him was an impetuous decision made from a place of utter exhaustion, not able to see a way out of the treadmill your lives had become at that time. But pride stopped you from admitting perhaps you made a mistake, serving divorce papers before you could think too hard about it. He didn't contest and agreed to all of your terms of custody without a fight. You didn't ask for spousal support; you earned more from employment anyway, most of his income coming from his trust. You never loved him for the Bridgerton name or fortune; in fact, sometimes, it felt like you loved him in spite of it. 

And now, one look at him, and you are breathless and in a complete emotional and, yes, physical quagmire. Your body yearning for him, your traitorous brain supplying image after tumbling image of intimacy, the likes of which you have never known before or since—warm bodies wrapped around each other in ecstasy, that velvet voice pleading with you to come with him, for him, always so eager. It makes your chest heave so hard you have to look away to regain composure, doing so just in time for the universe to seemingly return to normal speed, as you watch Emilia cross the line, victorious in her first-ever race. 

You cannot help it; you leap up and cheer too. And she looks over, beaming and jumping up and down. Running towards you and throwing herself into your arms as you kneel with a huge grin.

“Mummy mummy mummy!!” she peals excitedly, her breath gusting hard into your ear. “I did it! I won!”

“I know; well done!” you exclaim, rocking her happily in your arms. “You did wonderfully!!!”

“Did I see Daddy?” she asks, craning over your shoulder. You tense and swivel yourself to follow her eye line, but where he was standing just moments ago, there is now just an empty patch of grass.

“Oh, I don't think so, my love; it was probably someone else’s daddy who looks similar,” you suggest, the lie feeling odd on your tongue, It's obvious he doesn't want to be seen, and a part of you is grateful to avoid an awkward meeting. Emilia is still scanning the crowd, unconvinced by your assertion. “How about an ice cream from the van over there?” you offer cheerily, wanting to distract her from looking too hard for him.

“Okay!” she chimes happily, squirrelling a warm little hand into yours and pulling you towards the pedestrian gate. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spy a navy blue Jaguar pulling out of the other gate and know without a doubt it was him.

-----

He couldn't do it. He thought he could, but he feels the weight of your stare and has to leave. The minute Emilia crosses the line, he gives a little victory punch and takes off. Not able to face you. So much of him wants to, but the gutless part of him apparently resides in his leg muscles. Before he knows it, he is in his car and pulling out onto the West London streets, not daring to look back. It's not his day to pick up Emilia; that's still two days away. He would not want you angry for overstepping the agreement you have in place.

As he pulls up at a traffic light, his phone pings a match on the dating app Anthony bullied him into downloading last week. The temptation to fling his phone right out the window is strong. The idea of being with someone else, especially after the tumult of seeing you today, just feels wrong. 

The only person he has slept with since your divorce was the second biggest mistake of his life. Someone he met at a bar celebrating Colin’s last birthday after too many whiskeys. A close enough facsimile to you that, through the haze of alcohol, he let himself be seduced. The lizard part of his brain somehow convinced it was you, even as she rode him in a way that chafed. Nothing like the way you moved, positively undulated, on his cock. Regret clung to his skin, the fug of hangover already kicking in as he watched her wordlessly re-dress and leave almost immediately, never exchanging numbers. He never saw her again. The fact he called your name as he came was probably the majority of the problem.

The only thing that stops him from flinging the phone is all the history it contains. Pictures of Emilia growing up from a tiny infant to now. But also his text exchanges with you, that increasingly he finds himself scrolling back through on self-indulgent nights, back to when things were good, and you would send each other little notes of love interspersed with sexting that; even now, he can barely read without getting hard. Unable to resist, as he waits for the light to go green, a dozen or more quick thumb flicks upwards on the thread for your previous number, and he finds some of his guilty pleasures.

8 March, 3:25 pm

Y/N: You had better plough me over the kitchen table when you get home xoxox

4 April, 5:02 pm

BB: Tough work day, need you, babe

Y/N: How’s this, daddy? 

Y/N: [photo of your naked glowing, slightly rounded pregnant body]

BB: Fucking helllllll, I am one lucky man

Y/N: Come home, fuck me, daddy

BB: You need to stop calling me that…

Y/N: Why? I am literally pregnant with your child.

BB: Yeah, and that’s why it's so wrong…

Y/N: Just get here, pls. I am so fucking wet….

He is pinch-zooming on the photo, head tilted, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth… when a car horn makes him jump, the phone slipping from his grip and falling onto his emergent hard-on. 

The traffic light has turned green. 

With an apologetic nod in the rearview mirror, he drives off, shaking his head, knowing it’s probably very wrong to be looking at pictures of you, his ex-wife, and wanting to fuck you so bad that his foot leans heavily on the accelerator. His blood pumping hard, already knowing he will be taking himself in hand the minute he gets to his place.

-----

Emilia is happily smushing the cone of her 99 ice cream in her little fist as you walk the few streets to your sister's place, where you left your car earlier. She has kindly agreed to let Emilia stay tonight and have a sleepover with her cousins. 

Later, you have your first date since your divorce, and you’ll probably need the rest of the late afternoon to psych yourself up enough to go. You've already cried off so many matchmaking attempts that you had to say yes eventually, just to stop the incessant badgering from all angles. Strangely, this one is Eloise’s doing, and you are still slightly weirded out that your ex-husband’s sister is engineering your first date in more than seven years.

Waving goodbye a few minutes later, you slip into your car and sit for a few deep calming inhales, trying not to think of how much Benedict stole your breath earlier. Some part of you thinks maybe you just imagined him there, a fevered mirage, your subconscious telling you to cancel this stupid date idea and stay home with your two best friends, Ben and Jerry. But then Ameila seemed to think he was there too, and honestly, it feels like you don't know what to do about anything anymore. 

-----

He wastes no time, flinging aside the cap, tossing his car keys onto the hallway table and sprinting upstairs to his bedroom, only pausing to insert his noise-cancelling earbuds and discard his clothing.

He is already leaking a little when he throws himself onto the bed and fists his cock with a groan. His other hand is hovering over the play button on the video he definitely knows he shouldn't be watching, hidden in a nondescript folder.

Your soft giggle tickles his eardrums as the video jolts to life. It's one he shot of you on his phone on your honeymoon—it’s one of his favourites lately.

“Bennnnn,” your voice a teasing murmur as the screen fills with a glimpse of your breasts, his hand trying to take a sweeping shot of your body as you writhe underneath him, both of you buried in a soft glow under a tent of sheets wrapped around your bodies.

His own younger self chuckles loud in his ears, behind the camera as he is, both of your breaths loud as the movement becomes more pronounced.

This is him fucking you and filming it. The camera pans down, and there, almost too tough to see in the grainy low light, is his cock surging into you; the shot is never still enough to see in full detail.

Somehow the lack of clarity makes it more of a turn-on. Benedict whines low as his hand moves in a firm motion, jerking hard, losing himself in reminiscence of what it is like to be buried inside you, your scent, younger you panting hard, pleading quietly for him.

His hand speeds up, and he gasps as the video grows more urgent, the noises so loud right in his ear. He can hear the delicious sound of your wet cunt around his shaft, and it's like a sense memory, that viscous heated cling he can never forget.  

“Ben, oh god Ben, you are so good, fuck me harder,” younger you moans loudly on the video, and both Benedicts, the old and new, couldn't resist that siren call.

“Y/n, oh god, give me your all, y/n,” Benedict growls, screwing his eyes shut, just relying on the auditory experience of the video now. 

But not realising with his slurred speech; it's just given his phone a command…

-----

You are driving towards your place when your hands-free car display lights up with the last name you expect.

Benedict.

Your stomach plunges. Just like earlier when you found yourself staring at him and reimagining so many things you know you shouldn't. You reach over and click the little green button to connect the call, heart in your mouth.

“Ben?” you say his name softly, almost timid. Worried about what it might mean after that strange non-encounter less than an hour ago.

The noise that greets you makes every hair stand on end. It's a throaty groan. He seems to hiss your name, and all you do is frown as your car speakers vibrate with the sound.

“Ben, are you okay?” you check.

“Oh god, I am more than okay, baby,” he growls, and every inch of your body is rioting. “Just please, please don't stop, fuck you feel so good. So tight and hot. I want to live inside you,” the words panted, desperate.

Your foot slips hard on the pedal, and you almost crash into a damn tree. 

-----

Your voice sounds different in his ear, and there is a background hum that wasn't there before, but he is so close to something so intoxicating he doesn't think to open his eyes and check the video.

“Talk to me,” he pleads low, knowing you on the video won't respond but somehow still wanting to talk to you regardless, “tell me how you feel.”

There is silence and then a slight shaky exhale. 

“Ben.”

“Yes, yes, yes, say my name,” he pleads, leaking over his own knuckle as his hand becomes a frenzy on his cock.

-----

You pull over, quaking. There is only one reason he uses that tone. That's his bedroom voice, and fuck if it doesn't make you as weak now as it did back then. You can only assume his phone has accidentally dialled you while he is what? Masturbating? You flush so hotly at the very thought, and yet you can’t school what you say next. Your treacherous libido taking command of your lips.

“Are you touching yourself for me, Ben?” you breathe, and your clothing suddenly feels too tight, too hot.

Your speakers vibrate your seat as he groans loud and lewdly, and it's a beeline straight for your clit, now throbbing insistently against your car seat.

“Yes baby,” he moans and now, in the background, you can hear it, a slight slapping sound, his cock passing through his fist. 

Your pussy clenches instinctually, and you feel a heavy pull, a depth charge of lust. Your lips tingle with the thought of kissing him, running your mouth over his body, wrapping around that cock you remember so well.

“I want you to come for me, Ben,” you plead, a hand straying down between your thighs, scarcely believing what is happening, what you are doing so brazen, parked up on the street mid-afternoon on a Wednesday.

“I will; oh god, I'm going to come so hard,” he snarls. “Do you want it inside you?”

Your fingers glance your clit over your yoga pants, and the heat is overwhelming. “Yes, Ben,” you pant, “inside me, give it to me, give me more of your beautiful babies.”

What you are saying is taboo. And so truthful you don't think to censor it. You would bear as many children as he wants to fuck into you. Still, even now.

“But you are already pregnant with my baby darling,” his voice taking on a softer edge, more wistful, “and you look so, so beautiful.”

You freeze.

“Benedict?” you say quietly.

“Yes, my love,” he purrs.

“Who do you think you are speaking to?” your ask is awkward, screwing your eyes shut, your hand moving away from the apex of your thighs. Suddenly mortified, perhaps it's not you that he thinks he is speaking to after all. Oh shit, did he get someone else pregnant? The panicked bile rises until he sighs the following words.

“Y/n, my wife, my life. God, I miss you so much. I know this must be a fever dream; I know we didn't talk like this in the video, but fuck if it doesn't sound so real,” he ends so wistfully.

“What video?” your question is slow, a weird weight on your chest that is your heart pounding out of control.

“Our honeymoon, darling,” he moans, and you can hear he is still masturbating, although slower-paced now. “When you let me video us fucking. I watch it so much these days that I'm surprised it's not worn out. And yet I can't not; every time I fuck my fist, it's to you.”

“You watch us? Every time you…?” your hand clutching your chest now.

“Yes, my love. I miss you so so much. I should never have let you go. You are my angel, the love of my life, the mother of my child and the only person I ever, ever want to fuck.”

The confession knocks your whole world off its axis. And you crave him. The feeling is so utterly all-consuming you struggle to take your next breath. You have to go to him. You have to see him. It's not even a choice not to. Every fibre of your being needs him.

“Ben,” you murmur, “don't come for me yet; I want to fuck you.”

“You do?” the hope in that gasp makes you lightheaded.

“Yes,” you breathe, “I miss your cock so much.”

You scramble to throw the car into gear and pull out into traffic. You are about a minute's drive away or less if he is home. Something in your movements so very urgent.

“Tell me what you are doing,” you whisper, trying your best to pitch the ask just the right level of seductive as you race down the road, turning into his street.

“I’m fucking my fist,” he moans, “but I wish it were you, my love.”

“I'm almost there,” you pant, pulling into his driveway with almost a squeal of tyres. You grab your phone and jump out of your car, crushing the handset to your ear as you run up to his front door and punch in a code, hoping it's still the one he uses. The crest of victory is palpable as the lock beeps and relents, the door popping open.

“Keep stroking yourself gently,” you order as you close the door and start to disrobe as you bound up the stairs.

“Y/n…” his voice is suddenly tremulant “this…. This isn't a dream, is it?”

“No, Ben, it's not,” you breathe, and you are down to your underwear as you skid into his bedroom, panting.

His eyes are wide with shock as you stride across the room, his cock still in hand and utterly naked; he looks just as delicious as the day you married him.

“Hello, Mr Bridgerton,” you purr.

“Y/n,” he stutters, and it's everything—surprise, desire, hope, relief, yearning and ardent.

“Call me Mrs Bridgerton,” you shoot back, and the responding noise he makes is so utterly feral you almost orgasm without so much as touching him.

-----

Eight months later

“Emilia, not there,” Benedict chuckles good-naturedly.

“Then where daddy?” her pout turns epic as she hands the offending item to him. “You do it!” she huffs.

“Okay, hold still,” he laughs and slides the small tiara into her hair. “See? Just perfect,” he opines, dropping a kiss onto her chestnut tresses.

“I look like a princess!” Emilia exclaims proudly, twisting to look into the mirror.

“Yes, you do,” Benedict concurs. “A pretty princess bridesmaid.”

“The prettiest,” you agree from the doorway, and both heads turn around and greet you with mouths that gape open.

“Oh, Mummy, you look like a real princess!” Emilia gasps, running towards you and giving you a quick hug before skipping out of the room gleefully as her grandmother Violet calls her name from downstairs.

“You look breathtaking,” his tone full of wonderment as he slowly gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving you. “But isn't it bad luck for me to see you like this?” he adds with a flash of concern.

You move towards him, and him towards you, drawn together. “I think we’ve had all the bad luck we are going to have,” you smirk, very much enjoying the sight of him in a sharp, custom-tailored suit. “At least I hope so, seeing as we have this thing to deal with,” you raise an eyebrow, pointing to your five-month bump.

“Thing? Darling, I thought we agreed; his name is Henry,” he sighs in mock indignation, his large hands skating around the swell of your belly, his lips warm on your temple.

“When did I agree to that name?” you frown amiably.

“Last night,” he responds silkily, right into your ear now.

“Oh no, you can’t possibly hold me to that,” you decry. “Anything said when inside me is null and void, Mr Bridgerton; you know I can barely remember my own name at that point.”

His rich chuckle vibrates against your whole body. “Well, let me remind you….”

“I’m listening,” you sigh, eyes closing as you sway into his hot neck kisses.

“It's Mrs Bridgerton,” he rumbles. “Or it will be again in about an hour.”

“I can't wait”, you whisper. “Say it again.”

“Mrs Bridgerton,” A dark, slow tease. 

You are almost late for your own (second) wedding just downstairs.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus

[amongemeraldclouds]

Mattheo’s Gamble

Anguished by your tragic passing in the Second Wizarding War, Mattheo makes a bet with the Grim Reaper to get you back (features different AUs)

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Official entry for @thatdammchickennugget's Hogmarch challenge, prompt 3.

Author's note: Steering off the prompt a bit as I have no idea how to write sports so here's another 'game' I thought of. I usually prefer writing full fics but this idea is so complex, enjoy this bite sized version instead.

✿ Masterlist | 677 words

♡ They had no right to take you away from him, Mattheo seethes as he strides into the Grim Reaper's lair.

♡ He had sacrificed way too much in the war only to lose what's most important to him in the end.

♡ Mattheo pleads his case, the Grim Reaper has to revive you. You are meant to be together in every single lifetime, losing you in this one is a mistake. It was never meant to happen.

♡ Mattheo doesn't actually know if it's true, but he is desperate.

♡ The Grim Reaper agrees to his request, if he wins a wager. He and Mattheo will visit three different lifetimes to test his theory. If proven correct that you always end up together across different lives, Grim Reaper is ready to correct the mistake and revive you fully, as if you never left at all.

♡ But if Mattheo is wrong, he would have to spend a hundred years in damnation. Mattheo believes he has nothing left to lose so he agrees to the wager with no hesitation.

Ancient Egypt AU

⛺︎ In the first lifetime Mattheo and the Grim Reaper visit, you are the pharaoh's daughter, beloved by all people.

⛺︎ Mattheo is the high court magician, highly favored by your father.

⛺︎ You and Mattheo grew up together and eventually become lovers. Your father would not approve if he found out so you keep it a secret.

⛺︎ Meanwhile, your father is arranging a strategic marriage for you.

1800s AU

☾ You and Mattheo meet while taking an extended vacation with your family. He’s staying in the same hotel as you and you become fast friends.

☾ It doesn't take long for the two of you to fall in love and promise to write each other letters to stay in touch.

☾ After your departure, you send him a letter but never hear from him again, thinking he has moved on.

☾ Forty years later, a mailman takes his last shift before retirement. While clearing an old pile of mail, he finds your letter wedged in between cabinets. Mattheo never received your letter.

☾ The mailman takes it upon himself to track down Mattheo to deliver your letter, his first adventure after retiring.

Mafia AU

⭐︎ The final life Mattheo and the Grim Reaper visit. You and Mattheo come from two warring gangs. He's one of the leaders of his gang, whereas your father is the leader in their rival gang.

⭐︎ To keep you safe, your father hid his world away from you and the mafia doesn’t know much about your existence either.

⭐︎ One day, your father disappears. To investigate his whereabouts, you go undercover in the rival gang to gather intel. They assign you to the subgroup that Mattheo leads.

Between the Grim Reaper and Mattheo

♡ The Grim Reaper reveals he chose the hardest timelines for you and Mattheo to end up together. During their journey across the different AUs, the Grim Reaper throws in more obstacles on your path.

♡ "Filthy cheater," Mattheo accuses the Grim Reaper.

♡ "Did you think I was going to go easy on you?" he replies with a cold smile. "I thought you were so sure about this little connection of yours.”

♡ Mattheo grits his teeth but says nothing further.

♡ In the end, you make your relationship work and end up together every single lifetime, against all odds. Thus proving that love is its own kind of magic. And oh, it is one of the most powerful.

♡ The Grim Reaper is amused by the whole wager and holds up his end of the bargain by reuniting you back with Mattheo.

♡ "How?" you ask, looking into Mattheo's eyes once you get a moment to catch your breath from all the happy tears and the vice grip of his embrace.

♡ "Would you believe me if I told you it was the power of love?" he asks.

♡ You laugh, "who are you and what have you done with my Mattheo?"

♡ "I'm right here love and you're here," he says, pulling you back into another hug, savoring the moment. Just as it was always meant to be, he thinks.

Cue Taylor Swift's Timeless: 'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this so, even in a different life, you still would've been mine, we would've been timeless.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: Changed the name to the Grim Reaper bc tumblr shadowbanned the original name starting with D.

Inspired by: The (Unalived) Hallows, Cloud Atlas, Doctor Who, Letters to Juliet, reading the Akashic Records.

[hogans-heroes]

Drabble prompt:

Combining two prompts of Gale’s childhood and Gale flinching from Bucky because he smells like alcohol.

****

Bucky is several whiskeys and several more stories into the wee hours of the morning when he noticed Gale was curled up in a chair that was wedged in the corner, fast asleep despite the party that showed no signs of slowing down. One leg was pulled up into the seat and his head and arms were pillowed against the wall and chairback in such a way as to appear the corner had been chosen especially for this purpose. Even in sleep he looked far from peaceful, and the whispered fragments Gale had once told of his childhood trickled through Bucky’s mind. 

I’m scared of the dark. Or actually, being left alone in the dark

Dad would be out all hours of the night, all nights of the week. Gambling, drinking, getting in fights. Parties till dawn.

I can sleep anywhere, through any noise, it’s a good skill to have.

Bucky’s stomach turned, guilt blooming in his chest, and set his drink down.

“I’ll see you later fellas,” he said to no one in particular, and pushed his way through the ground to Gale’s side. He crouched down and shook the boy’s shoulder.

“Hey, Buck let’s–”

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a violent flinch from Gale, shoving himself backwards and covering his head, and Bucky’s heart sank straight to the floor. He snatched his hands back and froze, holding his breath while Gale blinked at him with wide, bleary eyes until they focused and softened in recognition. 

“Bucky?” 

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah, it’s me. Ready to go?”

Gale nodded, rubbing his eyes like a toddler, and Bucky ached again. He helped Gale stand and ushered him out of the mess hall, grabbing a coffee on the way out. Even if it kept him up all night, it would help get rid of the smell of alcohol and the tense line of Gale’s shoulders as they walked back to their room, Bucky’s mind still racing.

Little Gale spent most nights being jolted out of sleep, shoved and dragged places, struck if he did something wrong or didn’t move fast enough. One time Gale was half asleep when he heard the betting grow louder, his dad running out of valuable things to wager. 

‘How ‘bout the kid?’ someone crowed. His dad laughed it off but for a second Gale had gone cold with terror. His dad had traded their car and some of their furniture before, did he really need a kid? 

Gale stumbled while stepping over the door frame, but caught himself before Bucky could help, then huffed a laugh and grinned sleepily. 

“M’tired,” he drawled, and the guilt in Buck’s stomach grew heavier. 

“We won’t stay out so late anymore,” he replied, but Gale shook his head.

“It’s alright, I know you like to party.”

“I like being with you more.” Never going to be the cause of that look again if I have anything to say, his mind screamed, but Gale only smiled up at him as he began to undress. He must have seen something in Bucky’s expression because he paused, frowning, and opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky rasped before he could say anything. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Gale shook his head. “Not your fault,” he said, pulling his pajama shirt over his head. “I was just startled when I woke up, smelled the alcohol, and…I don’t know. Instinct I guess.”

Bucky nodded. It made sense but didn’t do much to make him feel better. He looked down at himself, wondering if he still smelled of whisky.

“M’ gonna take a shower,” he murmured. 

Gale frowned again and moved closer, reaching out, but Bucky shook his head and took a step back. Gale’s face fell.

“John.”

Gale gripped Bucky’s arm, pulling him to his chest and wrapping his arms around him, but Bucky still tried to resist. He still smelled of alcohol, and he would die before he caused Gale any more suffering. 

“It’s ok and I mean it,” Gale murmured into Bucky’s neck. “I know you’d never hurt me. It’s not you I’m afraid of, ok? You’re the one who makes me feel safe.”

Pain shot through Bucky at the confirmation that Gale was afraid of something, someone, and he could only nod, not trusting his voice. Gale pressed a kiss to his shoulder and Bucky gave in, melting into the touch and wrapping his arms tight around Gale. He didn’t deserve that trust, but by god he’d try to live up to it.