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symphonyofsilence · 1 year

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The Sons of Fëanor: headcanons & hot takes: part 2: Maglor (Part1: Maedhros)

So apparently I can't be normal about this family. And this post, too is a very, very long-ass one.

So here we go:

There was always something tragic about him (something so magic about him). He was very emotionally intelligent and had great empathy. From his early childhood, he could sense his father's sorrow and fears. His grandfather's grief and codependency and the spot that would always remain empty in his life, he could also understand his grandmother's exhaustion and trauma and emptiness and how she was pressured by the man she loved even in death and eventually betrayed by him, his step-grandmother's sense of not belonging and never being enough and always living under Míriel's shadow, his aunt's and uncle's hurt at being again and again rejected by their brother and feeling ignored by their father. If an elf loved another elf and that love was not returned he would feel their pain. He would always put himself into others' shoes, and he would pour poetry into the void and he would turn pain into ballads and make meaning or meaningless beauty out of loss. He would even write tragic tales in his head for strangers. And he himself had the dissatisfaction and an inner battle of a perfectionist who knew things could always be better. His mind had more to offer the world and the world had more to offer him. Permanent dissatisfaction was built into him and that was tragic.

Most of the sons of Fëanor were both cocky and insecure. Being popular princes, pampered from the moment they were born, and each having their own specialties and being nearly the best in them boost their confidence. But also always living under Feanor's shadow knowing that they would never be as good as him made them insecure. Maedhros escaped this by being good at something Fëanor was not good at; being a politician. And he decided very early on that he did not have an interest in any smithy work. So not being as good as Fëanor at it was not a problem for him. Maglor didn't have any interest in smithy work or politics. So he didn't care about them. He didn't feel inferior to anyone. He knew he was the best at music, and this gave him confidence.

Despite not liking smithy work, he would go to his father's and grandfather's workshop and work beside them and his little brother, 'cause they seemed like they most enjoyed themselves there and Maglor thought that people were lovely when they were in their element and doing what they loved and glowed with the delight and energy of it. He also believed that he should show at least mild interest in the interest of his loved ones. Except when they had trash taste in music. He would not hesitate to disrespect their taste and he would NEVER listen to those kinds of music.

He was Mama's boy. He would play for her while she worked. Usually, when he wrote a new ballad he would sing it for her and she would give very helpful feedback.

He loved his dad and enjoyed a limited amount of time with him every day, but after that limited time, his dad would get quite overbearing. It was the same with almost all of his brothers.

Clearly, he was closest to Maedhros among his brothers. I explained my headcanons for their relationships here. I headcanon that Maglor was the good cop to Maedhros' bad cop when dealing with their little brothers' shenanigans, especially in Beleriand. I also think that Maedhros was his best friend. He had many acquaintances but very few true friends. Maybe people assumed that they were his friends but it was not mutual. His definition of 'friend' was much deeper. He felt like he could not be his true self with most people. He had to be a lot less deep than he was.

He disliked small talk and talking about trivial matters such as other people's lives and family dramas. So he disliked court and its tedious balls or councils or other things. But especially balls. He felt like people were most fake in the balls and he quickly recognized and vehemently disliked fakeness in people. He preferred to just play in balls but as a prince, he was mostly obliged to socialize. So he had to look polite and do small talk but usually, people got the feeling that he wanted to be anywhere but here and cut the conversation short. He was not good at faking and his smiles and polite conversations looked most forced.

Aside from Aredhel who was beloved by all the sons of Fëanor, among his cousins he was best fond of Finrod. He felt like he could easily talk to him and he would understand him. He had the soul of a poet and the deep thinking of one. He had his own beautiful outlook on life even if it wasn't always one with Maglor. Maglor liked to hear them and learn from them. He had kind eyes and the sweetest smiles and he was so nice and pure he couldn't be real. Maglor highly valued kindness. After them, he liked Fingon. The time he spent with Fingon was usually due to Maedhros and Fingon & Maglor were seldom alone but Fingon always brought energy and delight with him and had a great sense of humor, the wildest tales, and crazy ideas. He listened to Maglor's poems and tunes with great enthusiasm and always loved them and gave the kindest compliments. Even in Beleriand, he was a source of positivity and the very definition of "sunshine".

I've had some headcanons about Maglor's wife, but I read @dramatic-dolphin's headcanons about her & I loved it. So Headcanon accepted. (their version of his wife's personality was kinda similar to what I had in mind for Caranthir's wife. But I realized that it would be better for Maglor's dynamic with his wife so I kinda changed my headcanon for Caranthir's wife's personality.)

I think neither Maglor nor his wife liked the drama of the court. So they kinda separated themselves from everything and lived together somewhere away from the drama, until Fëanor was banished and Maglor thought that not siding with his father and going with him to banishment would look bad for Fëanor in the eyes of the public. (Even though he thought that what Fëanor did was too extra). And his wife agreed. In any case, she liked Fëanor. He was a very good father-in-law. He treated his daughters-in-law like they were his own daughters. (He & Nerdanel would really like to have a few daughters. But since that didn't happen, daughter-in-law, it was then.)

He did not joke like his other brothers. But his sense of humor shone through when without intending to be funny he was very seriously complaining about something.

Always had the finest wines.

The popular "artistic" style (Shawl around neck and looser robes and loose hair) originated from him.

While Maedhros, Caranthir, and Curufin had their fathers' proud pale grey eyes, and the rest their mothers' blue, Maglor had very big, deep, sort of sad, or at least burdened blue/grey eyes. His face was softer than that of his brothers (though they all had killer bone structure. Sharp cheekbones and jawlines.) He didn't have the generally haughty look that the rest of them naturally had without even being particularly haughty at the moment.

Very soon he was on par with his brother and his "fairest of the Noldor" cousin, Finrod, in popularity among the eligible young gentlemen of the Valinor, due to his "tortured artist" aesthetic.

He was not confrontational, he found most of his family's personalities too strong and thought that they'd start a fight over the smallest disagreements and he was too tired to put up with pointless fights. So he was the avoidant type. He would only argue with Maedhros because they were very close and close friends, especially siblings argue all the time. (Thus only arguing with Maedhros over kinslayings after all the rest of their family were dead. And the hosts of Fëanor & Fingolfin not having any interaction while Maglor was acting as regent while tension was building between them) Their arguments got worse and worse after the Kinslaying at Sirion. It was as though Maglor was emptying all the fights he had kept inside himself during all his years with the rest of the family on Maedhros. And Maedhros gave as good as he got.

Calm and mild-mannered as he might have been, he still had an aura of undeniable authority and was someone that anybody knew should not be crossed. His anger was frightening. Suddenly he'd be as cold as ice, with murder in his unyielding, icy stare.

He had an easy grace and a sense of nobility, calm, and serenity in him that he kept until the last of his days. Even when he was at his most deranged inside. The more he saw loss and defeat, the serener he looked. By the end, he looked like some kind of a mythological deity. Wise, calm, burdened, and powerful, he was the true embodiment of what the other races always had in mind when imagining the elves. But everyone at all times was aware that if he wanted, he could set fire to realms and few could stop him.

After Doriath, he did not sing or play anything for a long while, only after the Death of the Ambarussa, he sang in their lament. The saddest song anyone except Mandos had ever heard until that point. After that, he sang lullabies for Elrond and Elros. And then started teaching them music. And then started to sing and play again. But he couldn't compose anymore. If he forced himself, he could come up with something. But they all felt forced to his ears. None of them were satisfactory. It was as though he was losing...his music. Something essential was lost inside. He couldn't pinpoint it. But it felt lost.

I think what most likely has happened to him is that he has faded by the third age. Elves in better condition wouldn't make it in Middle-earth without a ring of power for that long. It's kinder for Maglor if he hadn't lived to see Elros' death or what happened to Celebrimbor.

Maglor's view of himself was shattered. He saw himself as a kind, gentle, mild-mannered poet and artist. He saw himself as a genuinely good person. And he was. He didn't think he was built for killing. At first, he'd say that he was a noble warrior, fighting to keep the peace and avenge his grandfather and thereby keep his family's honor. He was a tragic figure who was forced to do what he did not love but had to be done. But he could not forget the first kinslaying. And after Doriath, he desperately said to his brother who, too drown in his own misery, didn't seem like he was listening: "I wasn't a murderer! I was a poet!"So after the kinslayings, he doubled his efforts in helping others in any way he could, being as understanding and as nice and gentle as he could be, and doing any good he could. It wasn't pretense. He didn't have to force himself to do any of it. He was a kind person inside. He wanted to be good. What he did pained him. He hated himself for it all. And so all that hate, rage, and resentment inside, towards mostly himself, and then the world, made him the most ruthless and dangerous of warriors on the battlefield. He was unstoppable. The very air around him felt hot as he fought with one sword in each hand with agility, ferocity, and precision. His grace, elegance & natural rhythm of movement was such that even his fighting looked like dancing.

Deep inside, he blamed himself for never going to Angband to rescue Maedhros. When he saw his brother's broken, pitiful state for the first time after Fingon rescued him, his guilt worsened. Especially because Fingkn rescuing him proved that he COULD be rescued all this time. So he directed all that rage at the host of Melkor who did that to his brother & murdered them with viciousness. The same would happen to anyone who meant Maedhros harm. & until Maedhros' last moment in life, Maglor would never leave his side.

Elrond and Elros came into his life at the exact right time. He was so done with everything. He had lost all of his brothers except one. And almost everyone in his family. For nothing. And would probably never see the ones alive who he left in Valinor. And even if he had a chance, he wouldn't have the face to see them. Even though he needed his mother like never before, he was afraid of finding out what she would think of him now. He couldn't bear to see the look that he thought she would have if they ever come eye to eye again. Letting Nerdanel down pained him so, so much. He thought that she was living a dreadful life in Valinor due to her association with them alone, let alone that she had lost all her family except her parents. And he could not live with the horrible guilt he felt over everything. Elrond and Elros were above all two children that he had orphaned and who needed protection. He took them in due to pity. And then maybe some responsibility and guilt. Later, on some very bad nights, he might have subconsciously thought that they were his chance at some sort of redemption. But he'd push those thoughts back. (Though Maedhros would insist that that's how Maglor thinks of them.) And they were children who needed him, so he had to go on for them. But very, very soon, they were just Elond and Elros. Lovely, precious children. He could easily tell them apart. They each had their own unique qualities, behavior, and expressions. Each endearing. Each great. Children he loved to see happy, carefree, flourishing, and reaching their full potential. He loved to care for them, teach them, protect them, and spend time with them. Children he'd love to see one day maybe becoming kings and lords and healers and musicians, marrying and having their own kids. Even if he had a foreboding that he wouldn't be there when these happened. Children he loved with all his heart. Children, he'd do his best for. He'd be his best for them. Dare he say, his children. Maedhros would remind him that considering those children family and maybe even keeping them close might put them under the curse of the House of Fëanor. (though Maedhros himself subconsciously against his best efforts considered them family), that they had their own parents, and he was the reason that their parents were not there to raise them. Maglor would push the guilt he deep inside felt even deeper and answer that their parents had a choice to put their children above Silmaris. And they made their choice. (Just like Fëanor did.) And that even if Mandos & Eru wanted to harm Elrond and Elros, he would fight Mandos and Eru.

Near the end of the first age, he developed OCD. His intrusive thoughts were many. (Like something happening to Elrond & Elros, or to Maedhros. Or like thinking that he had always been a moral coward, who could save his family by stopping them, but didn't, etc.)

At first, Maglor imagined that it was his filial and honorable duty to avenge his grandfather and king, take back what was stolen from his family, and follow his king and father. And even though deep inside he was scared of the Valar's verdict for his house and the doom they laid upon them, still he thought that the Valar were wrong and his father was right and being damned and abandoned by the gods and going to war with Satan because the gods were too cowardly to do so was the height of epicness (he used that in of his motivational speeches before battles when speaking about the grandeur of the Noldor). But immediately after the kinslaying, he realized that this whole thing was too much for him. Even though he firmly believed that the Silmarils belonged to them by right, and they had every right to want to avenge his grandfather and that he took the oath of his own accord, and even though he blamed the world (Melkor, the Valar, the house of Thingol, though he understood where the latter was coming from, he didn't think it gave them the right. I talked more about it here) the more the kinslayings and the losing war dragged on, the more he put blame on his father and brothers for taking the oath, coming to Middle-earth, and continuing to pursue to oath at the expanse of others. His brothers shouldn't have pursued the oath, but if they did, he couldn't leave them alone. He was just being loyal. He couldn't possibly leave his family by themselves at this point. Could he? (He felt the looming of the oath over themselves and he feared the everlasting darkness, whatever it was. And he feared that if they don't take back the Silmarils, his dead family who couldn't fight for themselves now would be condemned to eternal darkness. His family making the choice to fight FOR him relieved a lot of the burden. Though, he wouldn't admit it.)

But the last time, when Maedhros convinced him to invade Eonwe's camp, even though still a lot of his motivation was that he can't leave his only brother alone, as he ascended to Maedhros' proposal and sealed the deal, prepared to go, and carried on with the plan, at that time, he KNEW all of it was his own choice. He had the chance to go back at every step, and Maedhros even said that he wouldn't mind (to which Maglor sharply replied how dare he even suggest that, interrupting Maedhros before he even finished his sentence) but at every step, he chose to carry on.

When it all was over, and he could HEAR Noldolantë playing in his mind,, played with an orchestra of intruments that he did not have even one of them in hand, and some were perhaps not even invented, with the crash of the waves playing along with him in harmony, in such a trance that he did not even realize what he was singing, or maybe even that he was singing aloud, while singing with everything he had, screaming his heart out, and KNOWING that he was singing all he had ever kept inside, from moments ago when his brother jumped into the chasm, to Eonwe letting them go, to Elros and Elrond who must be mourning them right now, to Sirion, to Doriath, to Nirnaeth, to when he first saw his older brother's broken body, to his father's death, to the burning of the ships in Losgar, to the first kinslaying, to the years of the trees when he first met the love of his life, to when he first held Celebrimbor in his arms, to when his mother had taken his reluctant father's hand and made him dance with her on his birthday because Fëanor's birthdays were reserved for visiting his mother in the gardens of Lorien and mourning her and he didn't want a grand ball so Nerdanel said that it would be a little party between them then,to the grand balls in which everyone, all his family, his parents, his brothers, his cousins and aunts and uncles were dancing gracefully and happily around the hall, to when after the party he and his brothers, wife, sister-in-laws and cousins snatched the drinks and went to the beach and lit a fire and had their own little party, to when his father held his hand as he mounted a pony for the first time, to when his mother carved him a little wooden horse as he he laid in her lap,...He knew that he had finally given the world the best he could give.

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blaiddfailcam · 9 months

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Exploring the relationships of Empyreans,Marika and Ranni, and their Shadows, Blaidd and Maliketh is so interesting

I can brainrot all day about how tragic it was

One of Maliketh's words was "Marika...why...wouldst thou gull me....why.... shatter". This can indicate a lot:

1. He doesn't understand why she had forsaken him,which means he didn't know about the failsafe inside of him. He said Marika lied to him, could it be that she never told him about the failsafe?

2. He doesn't understand her motives,he probably knew about the Elden Ring being shattered and he wasn't really let in on the plot. I'm following the theory that Marika had an elaborate plan to destroy the Elden Ring and it was less about her grief over Godwyn's death. He even tried to restore the Golden Order bcuz that was what she wanted without knowing she probably wanted the Order destroyed

What are the chances that the Shadows didn't know they are meant to hinder their Empyreans?

I mean we know Shadows are double bladed knives of the Empyreans, but not Shadows realising their double bladed aspect, they just seemed to know that they're meant to die for their Empyreans should the day come

This can paint the picture that the Shadows are endlessly and blindly loyal to their Empyreans to the end,even if their Empyreans can be forced to abandon them at some point should the inevitable come

Just like what Maliketh said in the Abridged series: "I'm her sworn Shadow, I would've have given my life for her if she had asked"

It's painful knowing that the Shadows will do just anything for their Empyreans even if they might be betrayed in the end

Yeah!! I love mulling over this dynamic! (In fact, I was planning to eventually write an entire blog post about it, but I have several others I'm already chipping away at.)

It feels to me as if Blaidd and Maliketh's corruption isn't entirely the result of an outside influence, but rather the sting of betrayal by their beloved masters is what drives them mad. The two of them were "created" to be unconditionally loyal and to admire their Empyreans almost like siblings. This bond is so powerful, I think, that breaking it causes them such severe anguish that they lose sight of themselves, lashing out at their own Empyreans.

The actual trigger that causes Blaidd to go mad is the simple act of picking up the Dark Moon Ring. While he likely has no way of knowing when the player does this, I like to think it illustrates Blaidd's anguish over abandonment, and that maybe he wishes he could have followed Ranni to the stars in our place. The player's action is in itself another form of betrayal toward Blaidd. After his death, Iji confesses that he gravely misjudged Blaidd's resistance to the Two Fingers—even after Ranni discarded him, he still defended her with his life, as agonized he might have been.

As for Marika, I feel that she had become disillusioned with godhood and Eternity long ago, hence her declaration to "search the depths of the Golden Order." I don't know that I believe her intention was always to shatter the Elden Ring, but I'm more inclined to believe that Godwyn's death simply proved what she felt in her heart, and so she vowed to destroy the Golden Order.

I agree that Maliketh likely didn't understand this (especially if he'd been isolated in Farum Azula for so long), which is why he expresses so much frustration over her trespass. Unlike Blaidd, who determined to reject fate if it would lead him to hurt Ranni, Maliketh's loyalties are toward the ideals Marika was supposed to embody. He sacrificed everything to elevate her to godhood, and in the end, she threw it all away. I imagine that would have hurt a lot...

Somebody give these dopey wolf boys a hug :')

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testudoaubrei-blog · 3 years

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Well, it’s not quite a master’s thesis, but this is (the first of) a series of posts on why Catra and Adora are the best love story in the history of kids TV animation and maybe the greatest love story in the history of TV. This may in some ways be faint praise - romance on TV is generally not very good compared with books or movies. Often it’s just some will they/won’t they sexual tension that is defused by getting characters together and re-heightened by breaking them up. TV is full of nearly shark jumping pointless dramas like Sam and Diane (Cheers, holy fuck am I dating myself, though that was technically before my time), Ross and Rachel (Friends, which was no Cheers) etc, but also some less annoying couples like Ben and Leslie (Parks and Rec) or Amy and Jake (Bk99) who are mostly just kind of cute and fun. Other shows, like the X-Files, teased viewers for years with unresolved sexual tension. In kids shows most romances are, appropriate for their target viewers, mild, sweet relationships based more on self-conscious flirting and blushing than on complex and conflicted feelings or deep passions - which is pretty realistic when the characters are young teens or even mid-teens. Some of these relationships are really well done - Finn and Flame Princess, Dipper and Pacifica (yeah I ship them), the early stages of Katara and Aang (before the showrunners imbued this childhood crush with cosmic significance), Steven and Connie, etc. Catra and Adora, though, are different. Their love story is not a side plot or a sub plot, it’s the heart of the show. It isn’t a childhood crush, it’s a very messy and passionate relationship between two young adults. She-Ra is an emotionally complex lesbian romance just as much as it is a thrilling action/adventure show. Everything about their relationship is baked into the show’s plot, its themes, hell even its musical score. The dramatic tension between Catra and Adora is not the result of stretching out a flirtation for ratings, but a coherent dramatic arc that runs through the entire show. As Noelle said, he made Catradora so central that execs couldn’t take it out without ruining the show. And the show is better for it. In this series of posts I’m going to try to show why, as well as showing why She-Ra is such a fantastic love story.

First off, let’s talk about how Catra and Adora’s character arcs are foils for each other, and how they come together and apart through the series. This is actually a post that I’ve been working on for a while but I keep summarizing the show rather than cutting to the chase, so I’m not going to recite many plot points so much as sketch out what’s going on with the dramatic structure at the time. But also, let’s talk about what each character’s arc is saying, and how they are commenting on each other. Spoiler alert: Catra’s arc is a subversion and critique of stories of empowerment through ruthless self-assertion and revenge, while Adora’s arc is a subversion and critique of chosen one narratives and stories of self-denial and self-transcendence.

When the show starts, Adora and Catra are shown as rivals and friends - their first scene starts the recurring motif of them reaching out for each other as one of them dangles above an abyss, as well as establishing their flirtatious banter and easy camaraderie. We quickly learn that these two young women plan to conquer the world together. These scenes and later flashbacks show Catra and Adora as deeply enmeshed in each others lives, to the point where neither of them (but especially Catra) have clear identities outside of one another. There is so much genuine love on both sides before Adora leaves, but also resentment, envy and fear, especially on Catra’s side, as well as a protectiveness on Adora’s side that deprives Catra of her autonomy. They are both being abused by Shadow Weaver - Catra physically and emotionally, Adora emotionally. It wouldn’t be too much to say that Shadow Weaver holds Catra hostage to control Adora (this is why critiques that Adora abandoned Catra to be abused are actually kind of messed up, since they accept Shadow Weaver’s premise that Adora is responsible for what Shadow Weaver does to Catra). In addition, Catra and Adora actually see the world incredibly differently. Adora already sees the world in terms of right, wrong and her destiny to right wrongs - this is why it’s important for her to accept the Horde’s obvious lies - she couldn’t keep living if she didn’t. Catra, on the other hand, sees the world solely in terms of survival and personal loyalty - everything for her is about preserving herself and the person she cares about - Adora.

Then, when Adora finds the sword, she leaves because it’s the right thing to do. Catra doesn’t even have a concept of ‘the right thing to do’ being something she should care about, or perhaps, something she can care about as an irredeemably evil, awful fuck-up. So at Thaymor neither one understands where the other is coming from, and Catra and Adora begin to part. This is the first turning point in their relationship. Adora chooses duty over what she desires, Catra chooses to protect herself (such as she sees it) and nurse her sense of betrayal and abandonment.

Their relationship until Promise is a kind of weird Frenemy thing that is fascinating to watch and sold me on the show. Neither one wants to fully admit to themselves that the other is now their enemy, neither one has given up on changing the other’s mind. Each is furious at the other, and desperate to see her again at the same time. There’s a lot of heartache and just as much sexual tension, especially at Princess Prom. Both of them come alive when they fight each other (more about that in a later post). But they’re already growing apart - Adora embracing her destiny as She-Ra, Catra rising in the ranks for the Horde. Adora now has the purpose she always wanted, plus other friends and a sense of being chosen to do something great, while Catra now has power - the means to protect herself from people like Shadow Weaver as well as the vindication she had always been denied, and even the opportunity to beat Shadow Weaver at her own game.

The next turning point is Promise. Holy fuck, this episode. It’s an episode that is even more heartbreaking after you’ve watched the show because you know just how much worse things are going to get, and yet, it’s a necessary part of both of their character arcs. Even through season 1 Catra and Adora had remained very much enmeshed in each others lives in an increasingly fucked up way as they grew apart but refused to turn away from each other. Even though they aren’t -exactly- a romantic couple (Adora doesn’t recognize and acknowledge her feelings until the last episode of Season 5), Season 1 of She-Ra is one of the worst breakups I have seen on TV. As I said in a couple of previous posts, this is the kind of shit that the Mountain Goats write songs about. Everything that was poisoning their love for each other even before episode 1 bubbles to the surface and combines with them fighting on opposite sides of the war to make a truly fucked up situation. In the end, it’s Catra that makes the choice to turn away from Adora. This isn’t a -good- decision. It’s spiteful, and destructive, and based on an outright deluded understanding of their relationship (inspired by Light Hope’s manipulations and her own issues), but it’s in some ways a necessary decision. Catra has been so wrapped up in Adora for so long that she isn’t going to be able to figure out who -she- is without cutting Adora out of her life. And the same is true of Adora.

But each of them do this in about the worst way possible. Catra embraces destruction, ambition, manipulation and outright cruelty, turning the tactics of her abusers against them and against everyone around her. She first triumphs over Shadow Weaver and manipulates Entrapta into trying to corrupt Etheria itself. Meanwhile Adora ‘lets go’ and commits herself to the self-denying mantle of She-Ra. Over the next several seasons, their respective paths will nearly lead both Catra and Adora to their deaths (in the Season 4 finale).

For the next season (counting season 2 and 3 as one) Catra and Adora are still closely linked, but as enemies. Still, there’s more than enough flirtation between them (that ‘Hey Catra’ in the first episode of Season 2 is something else), and especially on Adora’s side we see her hold back with Catra, and often take responsibility for the harm Catra inflicts, just like she had when they were kids. Yet they still drift apart - after facing off every other episode in Season 1, they spend less and less time on screen together through season 2 and 3. Catra continues her ascent to power and descent into villainy while Adora becomes more of a stressed out mess as she takes the fate of the world and the wellbeing of everyone she cares about on her admittedly broad shoulders. Catra’s one moment of vulnerability is rewarded by Shadow Weaver’s betrayal and her exile, then Catra triumphs in ruthless badass fashion through sheer desperation and aggression. In the Crimson Wastes, we see Catra at her most independent, and she almost seems happy. But once Adora shows up and Catra hears about Shadow Weaver, she’s sucked back into the worst of her resentments, and she makes very clear that being happy is less important to her than making sure Adora is miserable.

This changes everything. Catra completely breaks with reality and tries to kill Adora, herself and the world rather than lose to Adora and Shadow Weaver (I do think it’s important to remember that she does that after Shadow Weaver nearly kills her). Catra betrays everyone around her when she exiles Entrapta, threatens Scopria and lies to Hordak. Then she flips the switch. When Adora tries to fix things, Catra fights to her own death to make sure that the world disintegrates with her. For her part, Adora fights first to understand what is wrong with the world and then to fix it. Finally she tells Catra that destroying the world is her choice and she has to live with it, decks her, and then sees her off with a death glare once the portal is closed. With this, Adora writes Catra off even if, as she says later, she never never hated her. By doing that, Adora casts off the guilt that had dogged her and takes responsibility for her own life rather than someone else’s - this is actually a huge step for her, and one that will become more important in Season 4.

Season 4 is in many ways the nadir of their relationship. They only see each other once during the entire season, in Fluterrina, when Adora tries to blast Catra, much to the latter’s shock. There’s a sense in that scene that Catra is trying to have the same flirtatious enmity she used to have with Adora, and Adora is having none of it. Catra almost seems hurt by this, which is an early hint at how isolated Catra is beginning to feel. Catra spends the rest of the season at her highest and lowest. On the one hand she spends most of 12 episodes winning by every standard she has ever claimed to care about, besting Hordak himself in single combat and making herself co-ruler of the Horde and coming within a day’s march of ending the Rebellion. In many ways it is the ultimate empowerment fantasy - the abused young woman has defeated her abusers, showed up everyone who doubted her and forced everyone to respect her. But I think it’s striking that the show starts with her and Adora dreaming of conquering the world together and in Season 4 Catra nearly succeeds in conquering it alone, almost like she was trying to live out her old shared fantasy while proving she didn’t need her former best friend.

At the same time, Catra is clearly miserable. She’s always been unhappy, but in Season 4 we see her completely isolated and lying to herself and everyone who will listen in a desperate attempt to justify her actions. Turning the tactics of Hordak and Shadow Weaver against them to gain power and then against Scorpia and Entrapta to maintain it haven’t vindicated Catra, they’ve made her more and more alone as Entrapta is exiled and Scorpia drifts away. Meanwhile Catra reaches out to Double Trouble, and her interactions with them reek of a kind of desperate desire to have someone in her life (the feeling of their interaction is of an unhealthy casual relationship where one partner becomes emotionally invested and the other takes advantage of that while denying the other the closeness they desire). As people leave her, one after the other, it becomes clearer and clearer that Catra doesn’t want power at all - she wants connection, friendship, love, and power is a very poor replacement. As I said in my long Catra rant, Season 4 is both her ‘Walter White as a Catgirl’ season and the beginning of her redemption. Everything comes to head when Sparkles destroys everything Catra has tried to achieve, Double Trouble delivers those harsh truths and Horde Prime shows up and makes it all irrelevant, just highlighting how futile all her struggles and sacrifices and crimes have been.

Meanwhile Adora spends Season 4 becoming her own her and her own woman. After telling off Catra, she grows more and more disillusioned with Light Hope and critical of Glimmer (though the latter has more than a shade of her old habit of taking responsibility for others - Adora’s development is not linear). She’s gained the courage and confidence to strike out her own path, not just follow a destiny. At the season’s end she once again breaks with her best friend to do what is right, and discards the destiny that she was being prepared for. But in this case she isn’t chasing one packaged destiny for another, instead she’s making her own choice and literally shattering the thing that she thought gave her life purpose. It’s badass, and heartbreaking, and along with decking Catra and jumping after Catra into the abyss (see below) it’s the perfect Adora moment.

In many ways Season 5 starts with Catra and Adora farther apart than they have ever been. They aren’t even enemies anymore, they’re completely out of each other’s lives. And both Catra and Adora are lost at the beginning of Season 5 - Catra is useless and alone on Prime’s ship, completely defeated despite ostensibly being on the winning side, and she goes through the motions of her normal plotting without any particular conviction and none of her normal flair. Meanwhile Adora is even more miserable and self-destructive than usual, throwing herself at Horde Bots and working herself until she drops of exhaustion. In a very real way they both stay lost until they have a chance to help the other. Catra takes responsibility for what she’s done and what she can do, saves Glimmer (at least partly for Adora’s sake), apologizes to Adora, and sacrifices herself. Adora only seems to come alive when she decides to turn around, face Prime, and save the cat. And when she does, Catra and Adora’s arcs, which had separated so completely in season 4, come crashing back together to end the series.

Adora during Save the Cat is such a contrast with the uncertain, hesitant and self-destructive wreck we’ve seen so far in Season 5. This is possibly her craziest plan in 3 years of mostly cazy plans, but she never wavers or questions herself. Even when Chipped Catra appears and we see Adora’s heart break while we watch, Adora doesn’t back down or relent. She keeps at it even as the tears stream down her face. She fights better trying to save Catra without She-Ra’s powers than she fought at the Battle of Bright Moon with them. Catra’s just about as desperate - we see her cry and plead, and now is probably as good a time to any to point out how amazing a job both VAs did throughout the show, but especially in this episode, and how good a job the board artists did.

Seeing each other for the first time in a year, and only the second time since Catra blew everything up, Catra and Adora are probably the rawest and least restrained we’ve ever seen them. There’s barely any banter, no bravado, and no pretense that they are anything other than two women who desperately need each other (Prime doesn’t help with ‘You broke my heart’.) Then Catra is flung to her death, Adora jumps after her, breaks both her legs in the fall (we see her crawl to Catra, as though she couldn’t walk) and becomes the real She-Ra. It’s such a triumphant and deeply queer moment seeing a woman transformed into a warrior goddess to protect the woman she loves, and it’s the reason that, as dark as it is, Save the Cat is my Comfort Food episode.

Let’s not sleep on Taking Control, though. This episode is like a microcosm of what this show does best, especially the A plot with Catra and Adora. Catra’s reversion to lashing out at everyone and her refusal to be open to Adora shows just how much of a struggle this whole ‘being good and trying to connect to people’ thing is. Catra’s outburst gives Adora a chance to stand up for herself and refuse to be Catra’s punching bag, while also not trying to control her. Adora’s ultimatum gives Catra a chance to reach out to Adora (quite literally), and allow herself to be vulnerable. In this episode, we see just how far Catra and Adora have come since the messed up stew of their relationship in Season 1. Adora lets Catra be responsible for her own actions; Catra lets herself be vulnerable to Adora and takes responsibility for her actions. They’re both better people and better friends and better partners than they were, and the show has shown this in a strikingly nuanced and realistic way.

The important thing to note in the next few episodes of Season 5 isn’t just how much closer Catra and Adora get to each other and how much they flirt (So much. So much, y’all) but just how -happy- they are. We see both of them transformed in the other’s presence. Basically, since they’ve parted, both Catra and Adora have been defined in no small part by how miserable they often are. They have both had their triumphs and their lighter moments, but there’s been a sense of melancholy dogging both Catra and Adora since episode 1. And now that they’re together again, that lifts, somewhat. Catra’s verbal barbs have lost their venom, and she can openly show how much she cares for Adora and even Bow and Glimmer. She’s still herself - snarky, cynical, somewhat devious - but she’s not engaged in a self-destructive zero-sum struggle with everyone around her. Meanwhile Adora has spent 4 seasons being a neurotic and sometimes nearly joyless mess who takes responsibility for everything and often doesn’t let herself enjoy anything other than the odd BFS group hug (exceptions include trying to uh...impress Huntara and reveling with the butterfly ladies of Elberron in Flutterina). Around Catra, though, she’s a cocky, swaggering jock who gives as good as she gets. It’s a side of Adora we’ve only seen hints of before, and one that’s so much more confident and joyful even as the world is ending around her. Apart, Catra had tried to protect and vindicate herself with power and conquest, while Adora had tried to forget herself in duty and sacrifice. Together, they can be themselves again. This dynamic is crucial to the show’s portrayal of Catra and Adora’s romance because it doesn’t just show how much they love each other, but how they’re -good- for each other now that they’ve grown as people, and that they are so much better than they were when they were apart.

Until Shadow Weaver shows up. Their old abuser reintroduces tensions but even then things are different than they were. Now Catra isn’t just resentful of how Shadow Weaver prefers Adora - she’s protective of Adora, which is clearest in Failsafe when she calls Shadow Weaver out for being willing to sacrifice Adora. And while Adora takes the Failsafe, it isn’t to follow her destiny or because she has a death wish - it’s because she loves her friends, and she is the only one who has any hope of doing this and living (though Catra’s suggestion that Shadow Weaver take it is a good one). And finally, when Catra leaves Adora, it isn’t because she hates Adora, nor, despite what she says, is it because she really thinks that Adora chose Shadow Weaver. At least, not exactly. It’s because Catra loves Adora, and can admit that to herself, and can’t stay around and watch the woman she loves sacrifice herself rather than choosing Catra. Before Catra leaves, she asks Adora ‘What do you want?” It’s a question that echoes Shadow Weaver’s speech in Episode 1: ‘isn’t this what you always wanted since you could want anything?’ As much as Adora has grown as a person, and defined herself and stood up for what she thinks is right, she still has never answered that question - it’s never been ‘what do I want’ but ‘what do I have to do?’ and that’s how Adora answers Catra’s question. This is Adora’s last gasp as a self-transcending hero, letting go of what she wants (not that she ever dared articulate what that was) in order to do what must be done. And it nearly kills her and dooms the universe, because Adora can’t be the hero that she needs to be by being anyone less than herself.

But it’s losing Catra that inspires Adora to tell off Shadow Weaver for good (not that she’d ever really warmed to her after season 1). And it’s love for Adora that inspires Catra to stand up to Shadow Weaver and demand that she do the right thing. In both cases, Catra and Adora aren’t just standing up to their abuser, but holding her to account for the harm she’s caused, and it’s the love that they have for each other that inspires them to do this. In Catra’s case in particular her refusal to let Shadow Weaver weasel out of finding Adora is a much greater triumph over Shadow Weaver than beating her up and breaking her mask in Season 1 - it’s proof not so much to Shadow Weaver but to Catra herself that Catra really is better than this and that she deserves better than this. It’s not turning her abuser’s tactics against her, but truly holding her to a moral standard and demanding that she do the right thing.

And then there’s Catra and Adora together at the heart. Catra has already come back for Adora and stayed to the end, choosing to die with her even if she can’t share a life together (not out of some death wish, but because Adora needs her). And Adora, who’s been avoiding answering the question for three fucking years, finally let’s herself want Catra when Catra finally confesses her love (breaking the last of her self-protective shields) and asks Adora to stay -for her-. And by admitting what she wants, Adora can truly be at peace with herself and be the hero she needs to be, lesbianism saves the universe, The End.

So anyway, that’s how Catra and Adora’s stories are woven together and how they compliment and comment on each other. Narrativiely, Adora and Catra start together, come apart, find something of themselves, and truly find themselves and each other when they are reunited. Thematically, they are critiquing seemingly opposing narrative tropes - empowerment narratives and narratives of self sacrifice. But by showing the flaws in both types of story and showing how neither self-seeking empowerment nor self-negating self sacrifice can actually make us happy, She-Ra asks and answers more profound questions than most prestige dramas for adults do. I’ll get into how the show sells the idea that the power of love can bring us happiness (and save the world) in a future post. But next up, I’m going to celebrate just how much Catra and Adora’s relationship revels in ambiguity, complexity and contradiction and so tells a grown up love story in a kid’s show.

#she ra #she ra spoilers #she ra adora #spop #catradora #she ra netflix #she ra and the princesses of power #goat ship #long #meta

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

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Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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kallypsowrites · 2 years

Text

Kallypso’s Next Shadow and Bone Fic poll

Happy first Wednesday with no Scars of Light update because its DONE!!

But I feel weird not posting anything, so here’s another poll about what my next project should be. I am taking a break from starting anything new until at least spring, but I still want to know what’s next on the docket. The last poll, you guys picked the Modern Darklina AU I am currently publishing. But what SaB fic should I work on next?

1. The Darklina (possibly Malarklina) role reversal fic. Alina is still immortal after the events of the trilogy and she retains the sliver of the Darkling’s shadow powers after she loses her light. She becomes the new Darkling and a few centuries later, Aleksander is reincarnated as a sun summoner. Other familiar faces are also reincarnated (including Mal, who is Aleksander’s BEST FRIEND NOW) and Alina suffers with the irony of it all. Rated M.

2. Darkolai, Heartrender! Nikolai fic. Nikolai discovers he is actually a heartrender and goes to the Darkling for help. Aleksander sees an opportunity to put a Grisha on the throne, so he trains and radicalizes Nikolai…and also maybe they seduce each other in the process. (What am I saying ‘maybe’ that definitely happens). Big old political thriller/romance. Rated E.

3. Darkling backstory of the events that led to the creation of the Fold. Focuses especially on Aleksander’s relationship with Luda and of the king who betrayed him and tried to kill him. Rated M/E. Haven’t decided yet. But it’s gonna be sad.

I’ll keep this up for a week! Hand me your votes! What do I do?

#my fics #darklina #darkolai #aleksander morozova #sab fic #aleksander x luda

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darthkruge · 3 years

Note

Hello! Could you do an Anakin x reader where the reader is jealous of Padmé so goes on a walk through the night, and leaves a little trinket of hers so Ani doesn’t worry. She runs into a bounty hunter and Ani senses her danger through the force and saves her? Thanks 🥰

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Jealousy and Rescues

Summary: Jedi!Reader gets themself in some trouble after going on a walk during the night and Anakin comes to their aid

Warnings: Angst, jealousy, torture (knives), blood, kidnapping, ends w/ fluff I promise

Words: 3.8k

A/N: Yess!! I loved writing this so much and I’m sorry it took me longer than I expected to get out. I think I went a bit angstier than your request implied but that’s where my brain was at today slfksjd! I am also rushing to post this so if there are some grammatical errors whoops

gif credit

After a few threats to the Senate, your boyfriend was assigned as Padme’s bodyguard. You knew, rationally, their relationship was strictly professional. He’d never be disloyal towards you and you did trust him. There was nothing for you to worry about. Or, at least, that’s what you repeatedly told yourself as you saw them walking and laughing together.

Being in a secret relationship is difficult, you wouldn’t deny. Especially when your boyfriend was one of the most attractive and charming men in the entire galaxy. You would see people flirt with him constantly and there was nothing you could do without jeopardizing both of your careers as Jedi.

You played with the necklace he had given you when you spent your first Life Day together all those years ago. Your home planet on one side, Coruscant on the other, symbolizing your past and your future -- your future with Anakin. It always calmed you; it was something you could hold and feel in public, a reminder of the realness of your hidden romance.

You let out a sigh, dropping the pendant as you tried to shake off the unease you felt as you watched them interact. It mostly worked, too. When you remembered all Anakin had done for you, the intense moments of happiness and love you’d shared, you never felt more secure. But for some reason, as you saw Anakin lean down so Padme could whisper something in his ear, that anxious and guilty warmth ran through your veins.

You hated feeling jealous. It didn’t matter that you logically knew you had nothing to fear, the emotion remained. It embarrassed you, making you feel childish and small. It made you want to crawl out of your skin and hide away, yet simultaneously run up to Anakin and beg him for reassurance. It made you hate Padme, a woman so kind you cursed yourself for feeling that way. It made your mind run wild, conconting torturous scenarios that made your insecurities flair.

Even though it brought you pain to watch, you had to expend great energy to tear your eyes away from them. You returned to your apartment, waiting for Anakin’s shift to be over. All you wanted was some time alone with him, to hear him tell you how much he loved you, to feel his arms around you and lips against yours. To hear him gently laugh as he picks up on your jealousy and mumble reassurances into your ear. You awaited his beautiful words that would evidently overtake your thoughts and leave you feeling secure and peaceful.

Letting your brain run for a while, you felt yourself unconsciously picking at your fingernails and playing with your hair, doing anything to keep yourself busy. You jumped as C3PO entered your room, too lost in thought to register anyone’s presence.

“I apologize Master L/N, but Master Skywalker instructed me to inform you that he will be working late this evening.”

You felt your heart start to pound as your eyes grew heavy with tears. “Threepio, what do you mean? Did he tell you why?”

“Senator Padme has to go to a special dinner this evening to meet with the leaders of some other planets and he must accompany her.”

“Oh.”

C3PO walked closer to you. “Are you alright, Master L/N? Should I call for Master Anakin?”

You shook your head, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’m fine, thank you.” You said, trying to keep your voice as even and happy as you possibly could.

The droid exited your apartment as you walked onto the balcony, the cold air hitting your cheeks and quelling the hot embarrassment that flowed through you. There is nothing to worry about, you rationalized. These dinners are formalities, Padme goes to them all the time! And Anakin is just her bodyguard, he would never cheat on you!

Even as you thought the words, you felt frustratingly unconvinced. You decided to go for a walk, the silence in the apartment that your boyfriend was supposed to be back at driving you mad. Even so, you didn’t want him to worry on the off chance he returned home before you. Sighing, you slid the necklace off and placed it on the nightstand, quickly scribbling a note that read “on a walk, be home soon.”

You pulled your Jedi robes closer around you as you walked the Coruscant streets. You had no particular destination in mind, nor did you know how long you intended to be gone for. You let your body drive you, walking around as if in a haze while using all your energy to expel the thoughts from your mind. You made random turns, walking in various directions until you felt yourself calm.

You looked up and to your left and smiled as you saw your apartment. Anakin. You smiled to yourself and shook your head at your foolishness. You didn’t know why you’d gotten so worked up over his and Padme’s relationship; at the end of the day, he would always return home.

Perhaps this was why you weren’t paying attention. Or maybe it was the way you were focussed on Anakin’s force signature, honing in on him and letting the rest of the world fade away. It could have been your exhaustion, emotionally drained for the day. Whatever the reason, you were unprepared when a dark figure jumped out of the shadows and stunned you. All you knew was that one minute you were on your way home to him and the next you were surrounded by darkness as the ground quickly caught up to you.

Anakin rushed out of dinner, feeling quite guilty for leaving you alone all day. He hated working late, especially during the few times you and him were both on Coruscant. Frequently, your missions kept you apart and, thus, the days where you were home together were sacred. He reached out to you, surprised to not feel your force signature in the apartment.

He opened the door and was met with a darkness and stillness that immediately set him off. He pulled out his lightsaber but was careful not to ignite it just yet. He looked around and came upon your note and necklace and relief flowed through him. However, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was off. The words in your note felt clipped and cold and he knew you must not have been happy to hear he was running late.

He walked to the balcony, trying to see you but quickly realizing the futility of the plan. He paced in the apartment, reaching out farther with the Force. Although he hadn’t completely found you, Anakin’s blood ran cold as he sensed with overwhelming clarity that you were in danger. You wouldn’t have lied to him about your whereabouts so he knew you were on foot and, thus, couldn’t have gone too far. All he hoped was that he found you quickly and wasn't too late.

You groaned, already knowing what had happened. The Council already briefed the Jedi that there was an uptick in bounty hunters throughout the galaxy, specifically those targeting the Jedi order. You couldn’t believe you were stupid enough to walk around, unnattentive, through alleyways, at night. The bounty hunter came into your cell and pulled off her mask. Her features were sharp, her face hardened. You looked into her eyes and were met with a predatory gaze.

“What are you going to do with me?” You almost didn’t want her to answer.

The woman simply laughed. “Kill you, of course. But why not have a little fun first? I bet you’d look so nice begging for mercy.”

“I’ll die before I beg for anything from you.” You spat.

“I’m sure I can accommodate both of those things, sweetheart.” With that, she grabbed a knife and plunged it into your foot, anchoring it to the floor.

You bit your lip, tasting blood as you tried not to scream. You clenched your fists, your hands shackled above your head. Your foot felt hot, the crimson blood running down its sides. Just as the pain began to numb, the woman pulled out another blade and slowly cut the bottom of your other foot.

You screwed your eyes shut, desperately trying not to give in. She laughed at your feeble attempts before bringing the knife down. The force she used pierced through both muscle and bone and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out an involuntary cry.

Your brain was a muddled mess, tears leaking down your face as you willed your pained whimpers to die in your throat. She cut through your pants and into your thighs. With each line she carved, you felt more and more helpless. She made her incisions deep and languidly, as if pulling every ounce of blood from your body. You tried to squirm away from the blade but the twisting movements made the knives dig even deeper into your feet.

You tried to reach for Anakin, for some reminder that there was peace waiting for you if you could only hold out through this. You faintly felt his force signature. He’s still out there. He’ll come for me, I know he will.

“Ready to beg yet, Jedi?” She cooed, the tip of her knife under your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes.

Your gaze hardened as you thought of him. She would never take you from him, nothing could tear you and Anakin apart. Your determination remained. She’s not going to break me.

“Never.” Even as the tears ran down your cheeks, even as you felt your grip on the world weakening, you’d never meant a word more than that.

“We’ll see about that.”

You cried out as her knife cut across your cheek. The sharp sting from the newer and shallower cuts combined with the throbbing ache in your legs and feet. The sensation and blood loss made you dizzy. Even so, you forced yourself to remain conscious. You’d get through this, you had to.

Anakin drove his speeder through Coruscant, following a combination of his instincts and the Force to track you down. Every minute, he felt your fear and pain intensify through your Force bond and he grew more and more desperate. By now, he knew you must have been taken by a bounty hunter, there was no other explanation. However, he was occasionally met with a spark of determination and defiance.

He smiled. Whoever had you might be causing you pain, but you definitely weren’t an easy capture. Pride filled him as he thought of your strength. You’d get through this, you had to. Hang on, Y/N, just a little while longer.

The bounty hunter had left the room a few minutes ago, probably frustrated of waiting for you to give in. She’d moved onto cutting through your shirt, your stomach and chest now littered with deep, red, lines. It hurt to breathe, every movement tugging at one of the gashes and causing more blood to ooze out. You were honestly surprised there was still blood left in you to give, as your head felt light and body heavy.

You were so weak, so dizzy that you couldn’t support your own weight anymore, even sitting down. Your head hung down, lolling unimpressively as your neck refused to cooperate. Your mind was swimming and you were delirious, half-convinced you were already dead.

“Y/N!”

You used all your energy to lift your head, meeting a pair of beautiful blue eyes that you would recognize anywhere.

“Anakin,” You breathed out. “Anakin please, help me.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” He knelt down beside you and you looked at him, immeasurable relief coursing through you.

He put his hand gently to your cheek, careful to avoid your cuts. “Hold on, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused. “Why aren’t you helping me?”

“Hold on.” The whisper of Anakin’s voice remained in the air as his figure melted away. You screamed in agony, despair clutching at your soul. You desperately looked around, willing the hallucination back to you. Even if it was a cruel trick your fatigued, weak, blood-loss ridden mind created, you wanted him back.

“Please, Anakin, please come back to me!” You cried. You sobbed, the pain of losing him in any form impossible for you to bear.

You begged and begged and begged, trying to will him back to you. You screamed and thrashed until your hands wore raw against your restraints, until your cuts had reopened, until your throat was sore and your eyes burned from crying.

You whimpered out one final plea before your eyes fluttered shut, the fight completely drained from your soul.

Anakin’s heart pounded. He could feel you slipping away, your determination slowly fizzing out. He couldn’t blame you; these bounty hunters were notorious for their torture, for leaving their victims as broken shells before they were killed. He forced the image out of his mind, refusing to think of you in that position.

Finally, he made it to an abandoned building on the edge of Coruscant. The Force had guided him here and he felt you strongly, or as strongly as he could given your broken state. He jumped out of the speeder and saw a woman twirling a knife, leaning against a wall.

Igniting the lightsaber, he walked up to her.

“Anakin, I presume?”

He froze but quickly regained his composure, eyeing her and trying to figure out what her motives were.

“Don’t fret, young Jedi. They were just calling for you. Quite pathetic if you ask me.”

“If you hurt them I swear-”

The bounty hunter’s lips curled into a bone chilling smile, giving Anakin all the answers he needed. He swung his lightsaber, deflecting her blaster shots with ease. She pulled out two knives and threw one at his middle, making Anakin jump to the side to escape the blade.

Anakin twirled the saber, once again trying to get traction. She was quick, swinging herself up onto the room of the building by flipping backwards from the balcony. He, however, was quicker. Anakin jumped up gracefully, continuing to spin his weapon and stalk her in this intense, choreographed dance they were engaged in.

The woman sent her other knife flying at Anakin’s neck and he used his trained reflexes to catch the hilt right before it cut through his skin. Now, it was his turn to smile. He watched as her expression faltered, paying attention to her footing to sense her next move. He followed her, catching up quickly before running the blade through her, barely waiting for her body to drop before bounding off the roof and into the building to find you.

His breath caught as he took you in. Your unconscious body was limp and blood was seeping out of you. He grimaced, seeing the blades running through your feet. As much as he didn’t want you to lose more blood, he needed to remove the knives in order to carry you out of here. Your flesh squelched as he pulled the blade out as evenly as he could and a low whimper escaped your throat.

“Y/N, Y/N can you hear me?”

“No, no, no, no, no, please, not again!”

“Angel it’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Anakin said, moving to meet your eyes.

“You’re not- this isn’t- no!” You tried to pull yourself away from him, unable to watch this hallucination falter.

“Y/N, please, let me help you. I need to get you out of here before you lose any more blood.”

“This isn’t real!” You screamed. “Please, stop, this isn’t real! You’re not here, you’re not here, you’re gone, I’m gone, it’s not-” You continued to spew unintelligible words, tears already bubbling up in your throat.

Anakin caught on to what was happening. “Angel, look at me. I promise I’m here. I’m real, okay? Please believe me.”

“I can’t!” You sobbed. “I can’t let myself hope again!”

“Y/N, okay, okay. Remember that necklace I gave you? It had your home on one side and ours on the other. You left it for me, a token to prove that you were safe when you went for a walk. I think you were angry with me; I was working late because I was guarding Padme, remember? It’s me, I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Despite yourself, you believed him. “Ani.” You said softly, tears coming to your eyes as you allowed yourself to have faith that you would be alright.

“Yes, my love, it’s Anakin. I need you to be still for me, okay? It’s going to hurt but I need to get us home.”

You nodded, cries escaping you as he pulled the second knife from your foot. Your vision went white, the pain profound. Anakin gently hushed you, hand smoothing down your thigh to comfort you as he worked. He went to your restraints next, releasing your hands and watching as they fell heavily. He caught your body as it wrenched forward, making you gasp as the cuts on your chest came in contact with him.

Anakin apologized quickly, pulling off his robe and wrapping it around your body, your cut clothing offering almost no protection from the cold, nighttime air. He also wanted to help you as your body was clearly going into shock from the trauma.

Anakin placed you in his lap, holding you to him with one hand and driving with the other. For anyone less talented at riding a speeder it would have been precarious. You weakly wrapped your arms around him, too, as best as you could.

You were in and out of consciousness the whole way back, barely registering how Anakin pulled you up and into his arms, the sway of his walking faster and more desperate than usual. He went into medbay, placing you gingerly on a bed and calling over a medical droid to determine the extent of your injuries.

Noting how empty it was, Anakin took the risk and held your hand. He knew it was dangerous, the fear of getting caught weighing constantly on both your minds. But after he almost lost you, nothing else mattered.

The droids informed him that you had lost a severe amount of blood, but the cuts themself should heal with time. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized you would be fine. Anakin begged them to let him take you back to your room, saying that the trauma from the torture would only grow worse if you woke up in an unknown environment.

They allowed, so long as he made sure you were supervised and rested for at least the next week. He agreed hurriedly before scooping you back up. You groaned at the movement and he whispered a quick apology, trying to get you into your bed as soon as possible.

He set you down, resting your back against the pillows just as you liked. You were all bandaged up and looked so fragile in your current state, a far cry from what he was used to. He hated it. You were such a skilled Jedi, he sometimes forgot that you were vulnerable, too, and this reality check was immensely painful.

He watched over you as you slept, refusing to move for hours. Finally, your eyes opened and you looked at him blearily.

“Hi.” You croaked out.

Anakin’s eyes snapped up to yours, gently laughing from the relief of hearing your voice and its gravelly tone. He floated the cup of water by your nightstand to your mouth while using his other hand to brace your neck, coaxing you into a sitting position so you could easily swallow the liquid.

You hummed your thanks as he slowly set you against the pillows.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner, I should have told the Council I couldn’t do the extra meeting and just come home.”

“No, Anakin, it was your job, I shouldn’t have been upset. I was just jealous, I guess. I saw you and Padme together and,” You trailed off. It felt so unbelievably stupid now. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have left, I shouldn’t have been so careless.”

Anakin’s eyes were understanding. “It’s okay, my love. But you have absolutely nothing to worry about. The only reason I was with Padme for dinner was because the Council assigned me to. No one could make me willingly skip dinner or anything else with you.”

“I know” You said sheepishly.

“I love you, angel. No one even comes close. I promise, I’ll never leave you.”

“I love you too, Ani.”

He carefully connected his lips with yours, hyper aware of your injuries and not wanting to cause you any more pain than you’ve already been through.

“Lie with me?”

Anakin nods as you scoot over. He climbs into bed and allows you to situate yourself. You eventually find a position that doesn’t put strain on your cuts and bruises and you smile, leaning your head against his chest. He gingerly puts his flesh hand around your back, looking at you to see if it’s okay. You nod reassuringly and Anakin lets his arm rest there, fingers gently running through your hair.

“I was so scared, Anakin. I thought I’d never see you again.” You say, breaking the silence.

He looks at you, silently encouraging you to go on, if you so wanted.

“I hallucinated you, you know? I thought you’d come for me. But you told me to hold on and then you disappeared.” Your voice was barely a whisper at the end, tears leaking onto his chest.

“I’m so sorry.” Those words were all he could give. He spoke them with such meaning and love that you melted. None of this was his fault.

“I love you.” You replied, your words carrying the same intensity as his.

Anakin brought his metal arm around, too, to further hold you to him.

“You’re never going to lose me, okay? I will always come for you, I will always protect you. With everything I am, I will always love you.”

“I know.” Your voice was loving and soft, exhaustion once again pulling at you.

He kissed the top of your head. “Get some sleep, Y/N. You’ll need a lot of it.”

“Hmm?” You questioned tiredly

“They assigned you to at least a week of complete rest.”

“What?!”

“Shhhh, go to sleep, angel.” Anakin chuckled.

You huffed but nuzzled closer to him. You were too drained to fight it and too happy to finally be back in his arms. Nothing could ruin the moment.

----

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#megan writes #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin x reader #anakin imagines #anakin x you #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker x gn!reader #anakin skywalker x gender neutral reader #anakin x gn!reader #anakin x gender neutral reader #anakin whump #anakin fluff #anakin angst #request

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Sam Holland - Don't Tell

A/N & WC - This is not meant to glorify or condone adultery in any way. I do not know Sam, nor do I claim to, this is a work of fiction. This was written before Sam posted about a new girlfriend: no disrespect is meant towards her. I do not believe Sam would do this: it is fictitious. 3.5k.

Warnings - Adultery, explicit smut, unprotected sex, swearing, reader is the other woman, swearing, brief allusions to SA. 18+.

Summary - When Sam booty calls you, you can't deny him, but will sexual satisfaction be enough? Or will you always want from him what you know you can't have?

THIS WASN’T HOW YOU’D PLANNED to spend your Saturday afternoon, but Sam called, and who were you to deny him?

‘Come over at 3.’ He texted you. ‘She’s leaving then.’

No kisses, no emojis, no frills, no sign off, nothing. You’re just a nameless number in his phone. You knew what it meant. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so you know the drill, it’s just not exactly pleasant.

With ample time, you left your house, your new place only a couple of streets over from the Holland household, and you walked as inconspicuously as possible. Your coat wrapped tightly around you, you refused to make eye contact with anyone on the whole walk there.

You know the drill so well by now that you know not to stick to the front of the house, but instead to head around the back—straight into his bedroom window—via the bins. Theoretically, with no one home and Sam in the living room, you could walk in the front door, but his room is safest since she has always refused to enter—’just in case.’

Your heart thuds against your chest while you hold your breath, praying not to be heard downstairs the second your feet land on his floor. You press yourself flat against the wall behind Sam’s door, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in your body clenched to the maximum. You’ve trained yourself to stay so quiet that the only sounds are your pounding, racing heart and the blood rushing in your ears.

Thankfully, before cramp can override you, you hear the words that give you the all clear.

“Bye, love!” he calls down the driveway, followed by a half hearted air kiss, a deafening crunching on the gravel driveway, and the front door at last clicking shut.

Your body finally relaxes, limbs falling loosely around you while you release one of the longest held breaths you’ve ever had.

You creak open Sam’s bedroom door, ready for him to meet you, and shrug your coat off, throwing it on the floor alongside your converse when you hear him coming upstairs. He gets like this, heavy steps and heaved breaths like they’re a strain on his body, and it usually means he’s extra horny.

“What took so long, lover boy?” you tease, standing scantily clad in his door frame, leaning against the painted wood.

His eyes darken with lust as he approaches you, his shadow from the landing already overpowering.

This isn’t like any sex or ‘relationship’ you’ve ever been in before. It’s risky, and that risk makes it so much hotter. Always leaving the door open just a crack so that the two of you could be found only by those closest to Sam, the chance of being caught together in the street on the off chance you go for drinks; after all, your reputation precedes you. But it’s the adulterous element of your relationship that makes it so fun. The fact that it’s usually after his girlfriend leaves that you’re called over to relieve his not-so-little ‘problem’, the little marks you trail across the hidden parts of his body, occasionally being risky enough to plant one on the juncture of his neck and shoulder just to test the waters.

After being together for over two years, she still refuses to do anything with him. Of course you respect such a thing: if she wants to wait till marriage and is able to resist Sam for that long, props to her. It’s just not always ideal for all party members. Sure, they’ve kissed, a little groping, but by this point, with how little Sam's lass has done with him, he’s immensely riled up.

He really likes his girlfriend, of course he does, and he’s spoken to her about this time and time again, asking why they couldn’t just do something more than a PG-12 touching session. She simply shook her head and smiled every time, “I’m saving myself for marriage, Sammy.” This infuriated him hugely. He’s been with a girl or two (or ten) before her, so is very expectant, but being twenty-two has its burdens. He isn’t anywhere near ready for marriage, but is increasingly sexually frustrated. So after an insane year of getting by with absolutely no action apart from the rare lap dance and make out, he knew he had to do something besides use his own hand to relieve the tension that was making him a complete prick.

He respects his girlfriend enough not to pressure her. Sam isn’t a bad person and so he isn’t going to coerce his girlfriend into sex she doesn’t want, seeing it as utterly immoral, so he did the only thing he could think of, and turned to the girl next door, quite literally. Not that it’s any more moral, but here you are.

As soon as he reaches you, the smirk etched upon his face is perfect, just what you expect, and his hands grip your waist tightly.

“You think you’re so cheeky,” he smirks, and his lips crash onto yours the next moment, his hands spanning your sides. His affection halts as he smacks the side of your ass. “I’ll show you cheeky.”

You don’t let him get another word in before you’re kissing him again, furiously this time, hooking one leg around his waist as the other flies to his neck, your clasp anything but gentle.

You’ve known of the Holland family for a while, living a street away, going to school with the boys and your mother having ‘neighbourhood meetings’ with the family. You, however, had had nothing to do with them, never getting involved in their ordeals, not really.

Keeping a resolutely ‘good girl’ demeanour all through school was difficult, especially when you wanted to rebel so earnestly. The first step was house parties, beginning when you were in year ten, everyone getting shit-faced and ending up giving sloppy hand-jobs in someone’s downstairs loo. That much you weren’t a fan of, so you waited until the end of school, A-Levels secured to be who you wanted to be. Trench coats, docs and chucks at every turn, short shorts and fishnets. Lots of hair dye came next, followed by a ‘scandalous’ collection of piercings, and a significant body count for someone your age, or so conservative old women perceived. Fuck them, your body your choice.

Times changed in a year and a half, though not that much. Mid way through your rebellion, you got a good job, your own place, and became a call girl, essentially. Sam’s call girl only, considering your regrettable soft spot for him.

You couldn’t care less though, even though it’s adulterous, Sam is incredible in bed. He frequently tells you the same.

“I think you’re rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, “even when she was kissing me I could only think of you.” His lips are inches from yours with your breath mingling in the confined space of his doorway as you pant.

He hasn’t touched you yet, or even moved you to the bed. You feel yourself blush a little, scared fractionally by what he’s saying but mostly flattered. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. It makes you feel like your old self is creeping in again, the girl next door that no one fell for.

“I like it when you get all shy on me, really naïve, shows me you’re a human and not just a sex goddess. My sex goddess.”

You pull his lips to yours with a burning passion, desperate to feel him up against you. Your palms settle this time on Sam's cheeks, angling his face to get the most out of the kiss, and your hold remains resolute so that he can’t pull away easily. This isn’t your dominance though, simply a ploy to hide your flushed cheeks from his prying eyes, the blush that’s been caused by his kind words. You want to keep him here long enough that you can claim the blush is from the breathlessness and the actions of his tongue slipping inside your mouth with an urgency you haven’t felt with him for a while. Is this the day that changes everything?

He backs you to the bed, walking unsteadily, and pushes you down onto the springy mattress. It pitches beneath you as he joins you, sitting by your side, his hand gravitating towards your thigh.

“Hey, what is it?” you ask, a slight hesitant stammer to your words.

“Nothing,” he sulks. “Just dunno how long I can keep doing this.”

His baleful eyes hover over your decolletage, and before you can protest and try to get him to open up about the whole situation, discussing the fact that maybe you should just quit while you’re ahead and come clean (because to be fair, it’s beginning to weight on your conscience too, even though you’ve never met said girlfriend), he kisses you, pinching your nipple through your bra until it forms a pebbled bud.

“Gonna take it all out on you,” he hisses, moving his kisses to your jaw. “All this pent up need from missing your body. God, feel so good beneath me.”

He swings a leg over to straddle your legs, and begins a ferocious attack on your neck with his teeth. You’ll have fun at work tomorrow, trying to hide them from your co-workers, one of them (on a temp basis, at least) being Sam’s twin. Harry cottoned on pretty easy, and won’t say a word, because he doesn’t want to deal with Sam’s temper when he’s been denied sex for too long. He likes Sam’s girlfriend, sure, but she doesn’t compromise on anything and looks down her nose at the lot of them, so he considers it fair play. And besides, with his track record, he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

Unwittingly, your hips buck up to meet his, feeling his throbbing need pressing against your pelvis, only for him to draw his body away from you, a bruising kiss being pressed to your lips the next moment. All in a flurry, your top is pulled down, your chest revealed to him.

“Bloody love your tits,” he purrs, a feral grin contorting his freckled face.

He rolls your pert bud between the rough pads of his fingers, palming at the other breast so as not to neglect it, only swapping when you’re beginning to writhe under him. His grin only increases.

“Sam… please.”

He knows what you want when you whine that way, so he sits up on his shins, and lets you tear his shirt open. Button by button, you watch as every inch of his pale chest is bared to you, his happy trail coaxing you lower.

“Get on with it, then,” he warns, clamping a hand around your hair in order to control your movements. He does this a lot, it’s his main power move. “They’re too damn tight now you’re around.”

You can definitely see that, the denim of his jeans pulled taut around his torso, the waistband of his boxers peeking above. He begins to pluck at your nipples again while you fumble with his buckle and zip, eventually tugging both items of clothing down at once. He stands, his lanky frame just a blur of white and freckles as he removes every last item, prowling back to you on the bed.

You, however, have other ideas, tugging him down with a grip on his shoulders until he’s helpless beneath you. In the time he was distracted with shucking his jeans off at last, you peeled your own shirt off and put your bra right. Sam’s a boob man, always has been, and takes great pleasure in fastening and unfastening your bras as much as he can, nestling into your chest for the time you spend together.

Since your last rodeo, you’ve gained some weight, and filled out a tad more, something Sam seems to notice right about now, especially as your chest hovers just inches from his face.

“Well? Are you gonna stare at them all day or take it off?”

This man… this man has the fucking audacity to lick his lips as one hand works on the hooks at the back of your bra, the other skimming the edges of the cups before it falls into his hands and he flings it across the room, knocking something off his dresser.

As soon as it's out of his way, he seems to forget everything apart from you, his eyes mesmerised by your chest, his mouth gaping a little, his eyes lingering on your hardened nipples for perhaps just a moment too long. You sigh to yourself, letting your knees dig into his navy comforter before your fingers wrap around his hand and place it onto your right breast. You know that, if you let him stare long enough, you’ll get nothing done. You need this release as much as he does. He takes the message, though, and begins kneading the flesh with a need you haven’t seen from him before. You even catch a wolfish grin when your face contorts into a silent ‘o’, overcome with pleasure. He tweaks your one nipple, and leans up to capture the other in his kiss-swollen lips, lavishing kisses around the sensitive area. You can’t help your nails leaving faint scratch marks in their wake over his freckled shoulders, tracing the silhouettes beneath his skin of muscle and bone, finding constellations within the freckles until he’s quaking beneath your delicate touch…

“Why’re you being such a tease?” he whines.

He has a point, you’re grinding down on his clothed cock in tandem with his playing with your boobs, your core hovering over his hard member, but it’s only fair with the stimulation he’s offering you. Just to shut him up, in one swift move you pull his boxers down and reach down to grasp him, stroking a couple of times before inching down, swallowing his aching length into your welcoming, warm walls.

Your moans create a heavenly sympathy, even as you stop for a moment to adjust to his size a little more, placing your hands on his pecs before grinding down on him. His hips begin to move, thrusting upwards and into you, finding a satisfying pace in tandem for you both as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.

“Baby…” he moans, reaching out with his lips puckered to wrap them around your exposed nipple, suckling viciously, hard enough to hurt just a little.

“Stand up,” you command authoritatively, with a softness to your tone despite.

He grows harder inside of you, barely suppressing a groan, but his plan fails from shock when you bend over, clenching the foot of his bed so tightly your knuckles begin to turn white.

Casting a sensual glance over your shoulder, you bat your lashes and coax him the only way you know how, a wiggle of your bum added to help convince him; “Fuck me, Sammy…”

Your gasp is shrill and loud when he enters your craving core from behind, your knees nearly buckling when a stream of expletives falls from his lips once he grabs your hips, settling there. You’re sure to have hand-shaped imprints there tomorrow, but you don’t care, and apparently neither does Sam as he continues to thrust into you at an inhuman pace.

Breathy moans escape your lips as your nails find purchase in the sheets, now crumpled in your clenched fists. The only thing that fills your ears other than skin slapping against skin is the myriad of colourful words spilling from Sam in a groan, right down your ear.

“y/n… please…” he hums nonsensically, his lips finding their way to your shoulder blade and neck, kissing you, suckling.

He’s such a hypocrite: one rule for him, one rule for you, just because he’s got a girlfriend and is too pussy to break up with her even though his needs aren’t being met. For a brief moment, your body being used for his pleasure—and bringing you simultaneous heavenly satisfaction—you’re able to forget the consequences of your fornications.

They slip your mind once again the second one of his rough hands slowly makes its way down your front, finding your clit as he begins to rub harsh circles on it.

“Fuck…” you cry out, only for the heel of that hand to press into your pelvis, the other snaking around to your neck, applying the faintest pressure. Your walls tighten around him at the double stimulation.

His hips begin to move faster, blissful moans filling the room in symphony as you both near your highs, his tip grazing your special spot on every single thrust.

“C’mon,” he purrs in your ear, “can feel how close you are…” the pressure on your engorged pearl becomes a constant, and your body begins to spasm with unbridled pleasure. “Come.”

You do, and fireworks spark behind your eyes, setting off a train reaction in your brain, your walls clenching and your body collapsing, chest first, onto the edge of the bed. You must’ve cried out at some point, but your scream became but a gasp with his hand snug around your throat.

His thrusts slow, and he aids you onto the bed by your waist, but you roll away from him, aware that he hasn’t climaxed yet. He follows you down as your fingers link around his neck, but he’s not satisfied with that—as the smirk playing on his lips, causing dimples in his freckles, tells you—so he hovers above you on his knees. The hairs on his shins grate against the duvet cover so he shifts, but your hands move from his neck to his cheeks, pulling him closer to tangle your tongues together. His erection teases your wet folds while you’re lost in the movements of your mouths, and before you know it, he’s entering you again, and your hands are getting lost in his dark, silky locks, his one hand roughly kneading your breast. His thrusts recommence at a slower pace than before, his heels digging into the mattress as his groans overpower yours in the otherwise silent room.

“Shit… oh my God—” he hisses.

He begins to move faster, so you tug at his hair, revelling in the praises he offers, eliciting various heavy moans from his preoccupied mouth in between kisses. His warm breath and the resverberation of the moan vibrate across your lips, causing your hips to rock further into his, your legs wrapping around his toned torso to give him better access to your eager core. His movements become deeper as your breathing becomes even more escalated with high pitched moans tearing from your throat each time he hits your g-spot so perfectly. The knock-on effect sends him into an even more euphoric state, and before you know it, he’s groaning your name down your ear, and painting your walls white.

“Yes, Sammy…”

Your nails leave scratch marks all over his back from the sheer height of pleasure you’re experiencing, and that seems to be what sent him over the edge, his cum seeping into you as you milk his cock. He throbs inside you, his pelvis hitting you perfectly as he thrusts lazily while emptying himself. With one final press of his long, skilled thumb and digits over your sensitive nipple and a harsh bite to your pulse point just below your ear, the bundle of lust in your stomach becomes undone as you finish once again.

Before you’re fully recovered, he’s pulling out and leaving you empty as you lie together for a moment on opposite sides of the bed, no contact other than your pinky fingers linked and overlapping in between you. Except… despite the pleasure, you’re not satisfied. Not at all. And you know, in your heart, that this can’t happen again.

“Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“As fucking if,” you mumble.

“You ok?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes, just fine,” you snap, and roll off the bed, beginning to ferret around for your clothes.

“y/n, no…” Sam moves to grapple for you, “why are you leaving?”

“Because I’m done being treated like shit by you. Used as your fuck-toy when you’re too much of a pussy to deal with your girlfriend… I’m done, Sam.”

He’s up and off the bed, shucking his jeans on with great force that causes him to trip back onto the bed as you adjust your top and zip your skirt back up.

“y/n!”

“What!” you bellow right back at him.

He shuffles his feet on the carpet, and moves to speak, but his jaw just hangs open like a fish, nothing coming out.

“Yeah, I’m done here, Sam. Don’t booty-call me again.”

A weary voice from behind you calls out, “Sam?”

Shit.

This is bad. This is very bad. But what can you do? You’re the other woman, he’s the one choosing to commit adultery: why is that your problem? He can deal with his (clearly very angry) girlfriend, so livid she’s shaking, once you’re gone.

“Yeah. Your ‘don’t tell’ plan worked real good, Sammy. Karma’s a bitch,” you spit, spinning on my heels and waltzing out the door.

You mean it: you’re done. At least until he breaks up with her and undoubtedly calls back. You want him, there's no question about that, but you want him all to yourself: and that's a secret you won't tell.

#sam holland #sam holland imagine #sam holland x reader #sam holland fic #sam holland angst #sam holland x y/n #sam holland fluff #sam holland x you #sam holland one shot #sam holland smut #sam holland blurb #sam holland x fem reader #sam holland x f reader #samuel holland

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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 3 years

Text

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 22 of 27: Astoria

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

Choose Me Instead Masterlist

Words: 2.5k (it’s rather short today, ik) Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader, post war Warnings: none

Happiness.

That was one of the feelings Astoria expected to set in when Pansy told her the news at breakfast.

Happiness because you’d be no longer a concern of hers. Relief that the plan Mrs. Malfoy told her about worked. And hope – hope for a future with him. Not the man she loved but the man she needed. Weeks and months she had spent worrying, plotting, desperately trying to find a way to get you out of the picture – and now you were. However, she felt none of what she had expected. Because just when Pansy finished her sentence, Astoria’s gaze landed on Draco who came through the doors of the Great Hall, accompanied by Theo and Blaise.

Her stomach plummeted at the sight of their grim faces. They weren’t talking or laughing. Even Blaise who was always ready to crack a joke in the most inappropriate situations walked towards their table with a blank expression on his face. Theo kept glancing at Draco, worry written all over his forehead. The same worry that filled Astoria when she saw his pale, grey face.

Draco must not have gotten a lot of sleep the night prior, judging by the dark circles underneath his eyes which he kept locked on the ground and then on the plate as soon as he sat down. Astoria watched him playing mindlessly with the knife next to his plate and didn’t seem to notice how Theo put a piece of bread on it.

“Eat something,” he said but the blond man didn’t react. Any remaining hunger left Astoria’s body.

“He looks like shit,” Daphne stated in between bites. She had turned her head in the direction of the Trio as well, sharing a knowing glance with Theodore.

Astoria crinkled her nose as she looked her sister. Even with no make-up and in an oversized sweater was she the prettiest girl at this table.

“He does,” Pansy agreed. “But he’ll recover, right? I mean, that little adventure he and that Gryffindor had was just that, wasn’t it?” She looked at her friends. “An adventure? It’s time for him to return to the real world.”

Return to the real world. Astoria nodded. Yes, it was time for him to do just that. Return to the real world with her. But why did she steel feel this way? Why did the sting in her heart not fade?

“I’m not sure.” Daphne shrugged. “I know first-hand what he’s like after an adventure … It’s different. He probably loved her.”

Astoria suppressed the urge to snort. Suddenly, her sister turned her head and looked directly at Astoria. “Makes you wonder …”

The younger Greengrass narrowed her eyes and her cheeks turned red.

“Wonder about what?”, Pansy asked, completely clueless.

“If it’s worth it.”

“If you have something to say, Daphne, say it,” Astoria hissed. Pansy looked back and forth between the two sisters with wide eyes, irritated about the sudden change in the conversation.

Daphne didn’t flinch. She leaned forward and spoke with a lowered voice: “What did Mrs. Malfoy say to you yesterday?”

Anger bubbled up inside of Astoria. The same anger that had plagued her for so long. She had thought it’d leave her as soon as you were no longer around but only now did she realize that it wasn’t you who made her so mad. “Are you suggesting …?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” her sister cut her off. “I’m asking you a question.”

Astoria put down her knife abruptly and stood up with so much force that she hit her leg on the table and a glass fell over. She was done with this. With her.

Daphne rolled her eyes and took a bite from her toast. “Where are you going?”, she then asked.

“The library,” her sister said in a sharp tone. “A place where I don’t have to listen to your groundless accusations and your nonsense about sleeping with Draco.” She tried to sound stern when she spoke but the anger kept scratching at her tone and a smug smile showed on her sisters face. “What?”, Astoria spat out.

“I’m right then?”, Daphne asked. “You and Mrs. Malfoy had something to do with this very sudden end of their relationship? Let me guess, Mother was involved as well?”

The amusement in her voice disgusted Astoria. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. With a huff, she turned on her heels and left the Great Hall, balling her delicate fingers into fists when she passed Draco who still hadn’t touched his food.

“That was mean, Daphne,” she heard Pansy say behind her.

“It was necessary.”

Once the chatter from the other students began to fade away behind her, the anger vanished and got replaced by tears that filled her eyes. She didn’t know if she was angry or sad or maybe both. All she knew was that she wasn’t supposed to feel this way. When Mrs. Malfoy had come to Hogwarts, she had told her about how she’d handle this mess. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Draco’s mother said and squeezed her cold, trembling hands. “It’ll be fine. I promise you.” And Astoria had been relieved – relieved that someone seemed to care for her. For her pain and fears and by Merlin, in that moment she wished for nothing more than for her own mother to be more like Mrs. Malfoy. A wish that now might even come true. However, seeing the pain she caused Draco left her feeling guilty and ashamed instead of hopeful.

A body slamming into hers pulled her back into reality. Astoria stumbled and caught herself in the last minute. “Oh,” she let out a sharp breath.

“Sor-,” you swallowed the last syllable of the word.

Astoria’s breath got caught in her throat. You looked surprisingly well put together. She didn’t know what she had expected – after all, she didn’t think you to be someone who’d suffer publicly but seeing you so calm and tidy did leave her a little irritated. Your eyes were the ones that betrayed you – looking past the blank expression in them, Astoria noticed the slight redness. It was the same redness she had seen one too many times in the mirror after nights spent crying. You must have tried to fix it but Astoria still saw the residues of the restlessness you had endured the night prior.

“I’m sorry.” The words slipped out and she wasn’t sure if she meant the bump in that happened just now.

You looked at her as if you were searching for something hostile in the sudden friendliness of Astoria’s tone. When you didn’t find anything, you mumbled: “It’s fine.” You kept on walking down the hall.

“I –”, Astoria started but then closed her mouth again.

You stopped, slowly turning around. “What?” The blank expression was no longer seen on your face. It got replaced with cold annoyance. You looked at her expectantly but Astoria was at a loss for words. “I’m surprised you didn’t already prepare for this moment.”

Astoria blinked. “Excuse me?”

“He’s yours, congrats,” you said bitterly. “You won. You and your family and this fucked up world you’re still trying to uphold won.”

There it was again – the same guilt she had felt when she looked at Draco during breakfast. “I …I did what I had to do.”

“Right,” you scoffed. “You’re a Slytherin after all.”

A line appeared between Astoria’s brows but you had turned your back on her once more. “Get off your high horse for once, will you?”, she called after you, her wits returning.

You stopped but face her.

“Stop acting all high and mighty,” Astoria continued coldly. “You made the decision to break up with him.”

“I had no choice.”

Astoria wondered if she had only imagined the words from your mouth. They were spoken so softly, so broken, they barely reached her. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

You stood there for another second before slowly beginning to walk down the long hallway. Astoria watched you, frozen in place. Everything she ever wanted was right in front of her. The only thing she had to do was reach for it. So what was stopping her?

***

It was guilt that stopped her. Guilt that didn’t leave Astoria for days.

It came in waves – washing over her when Draco sat next to her in class, his eyes searching for you in the classroom. It threatened to drown her, suffocate her, when she saw how the corners of his mouth twitched when he heard you talk to your friends. He was trying so desperately to hide his pain, to return to the way he was at the beginning of the school year. Before you had the chance to steal his heart and crush it mere moments later. However, Astoria saw right through him. He was too far gone to return to the man he was before he found you. Now, whenever Astoria pretended not to look, Draco watched you from the shadows of the last row and the bleachers of the Quidditch field. In those moments, the guilt returned, accompanied by regret and shame and she wondered if it was worth it.

Just like Daphne had asked.

Astoria never saw the two of you together again. You stayed with your friends, the Weasley girl and Granger rarely leaving you out of their sight. The occasional hateful glance was sent your way by Weasley but you full-heartedly ignored her. Her, and Draco, and the rest of the Slytherins. Well, not all of them. One early evening, the sun had just begun to set, she saw Blaise and Theo sitting down next to you outside but Pansy had pulled her away before Astoria got the chance to eavesdrop.

A week passed and Draco remained only a shell of himself.

“His nightmares returned,” Blaise told her one afternoon in the common room.

“It’s not like they ever left,” Theo chimed in, not looking up from the book in his lap.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “They’re way worse now though,” he replied and leaned over to Astoria. “He’s using that potion again.”

“He’ll be fine, Blaise,” Theo closed the book and shot his friend a warning glance. “Stop gossiping now.”

Astoria felt the glare from her sister from across the common room in that moment. Happy now?, her eyes seemed to ask. Are you finally happy, sister?

No. No, she wasn’t.

And still, she wouldn’t a change a thing.

***

It was late when Astoria left the library and made her way back down to the Slytherin common room. Her eyes burned, her neck hurt, and she kept yawning, longing for her soft pillow and warm blanket.

BANG.

Astoria tripped on the steps and barely caught herself by grabbing onto the railing. She continued downstairs, slower now, almost tip-toeing. Reaching the end of the stairs and the hallway, she guessed the sound had come from the end of it. She stopped and pulled out her wand. All sorts of ghosts and creatures found their way into the castle from time to time and Astoria was not keen on a night trip to the hospital wing.

“Screw you, Malfoy!”

Astoria’s eyes widened. You.

“Oh, we’re using last names again?”

Draco.

“Fine, Y/L/N.”

Two figures appeared at the end of the hallway and Astoria quickly jumped to the side, hiding behind the statue of a knight. Her heart pounded in her chest. She should leave. It was the proper thing to do as this was clearly a conversation not meant for her ears. However, Astoria couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She peaked around the statue.

You came down the hallway with long strides and Draco followed you. Both of your faces were flushed with anger.

“What do you want from me?”, you asked him and even Astoria shivered from the coldness in your voice.

“What I want from you?”, Draco sneered. “I want you to stop lying!”

Oh-oh. Astoria watched as you whirled around to face the Slytherin. “When will you get this into your head, Malfoy? I’m not lying to you!” Every word was accompanied by a tap of your finger against his chest. Draco caught your hand by your wrist and held it still. You let out a sharp hiss.

“Merlin, when will you ever stop this charade?” He shook his head in disbelief and his voice was as cold as ice when he continued. Astoria felt awfully reminded of a younger Draco. “All you ever do is lie! You lie to your parents, your friends, everyone who you say means something receives nothing from you except lies and deceptions. It seems to be the only thing you’re truly good at, the only thing that –”

“Shut up!”, your voice was shrill and you tried to pull away from Draco but he held tightly on to your wrist.

The scene unfolding in front of Astoria engulfed her and so she didn’t notice how loosely she was holding on to her wand – until it hit the ground beneath her feet, the wood clanking against the stones. Draco’s eyes shot in her direction at the sudden noise. Astoria gasped and hid behind the statue again. She put a hand over her mouth, her heart beating even faster now. Had he seen her? She fully expected him to be coming her way but no footsteps could be heard. Astoria remained in her position for a few more moments before slowly bending down to pick up her wand. She let it slip into the pocket of her cloak before she peaked around the corner again.

Draco’s gaze was fully fixated on you again. He had come closer and Astoria saw how his mouth moved. She made out faint whispers, yet both of them had lowered their voices enough for her to be unable to understand the words spoken. She watched the two of you with furrowed brows and then her eyes widened at what happened next:

Draco let go of your hand and pushed you up against the stone wall in one swift movement. You didn’t resist. Instead you hissed something at him before looking to your side. Draco grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, leaning in even closer.

Astoria’s mouth felt dry all of the sudden and the realization of what he was going to do next dawned on her. A strange sensation settled in her stomach and the feeling of watching something she had no right to see became overwhelming. She watched your hips move forward slightly and wondered if it was intentional or just a natural reaction to his touch. You whispered something – was it a curse? A confession? Or just another lie to protect yourself from the damage you had done?

The sensation in her stomach grew stronger. Astoria began to feel sick – and then it happened. You tilted your head and leaned in. When your lips touched, Astoria finally turned her gaze away.

***

CHAPTER 23

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! <3

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hacawijo · 3 years

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Alright, If We’re Gonna Play with Az’s Bonus Chapter, Let’s PLAY with Az’s Bonus Chapter (Pt. 1)

I’m going to do a close reading of this bonus chapter, because this whole thing is stressing me out and I want to write out what I think I know what I definitely know and what I’m worried about. Here. We. Go.

I’m not going to directly quote supporting info in this post, but I will be using a LOT of quotes in the next few weeks, so if anyone wants me to confirm a certain statement I’m making here just let me know and I’ll drop the receipts :)

Also this is super long but I had a lot of thoughts I’m excited about! My commentary is in bold italics!

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow here is an example of contrast between light and dark, which many have made salient points on regarding the counterbalance of Elain/Azriel and their relationship of the longest night of the year.

Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs.

He knew he should get some sleep. He’d need it come dawn, for the snowball battle up at the cabin. Cassian had mentioned no less than six times tonight that he had a secret plan regarding his so-called impending victory. Az had let his brother boast. Especially since Azriel had been planning his own victory for a year now. Had been planning his own victory for a year now, and had one the past 199 years’ worth of fights.

Cassian wouldn’t know what was coming for him. And Az fully planned on capitalizing on the fact that Nesta likely wouldn’t let Cassian sleep much tonight.

Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. Note the differentiation between himself and the shadows around him - he snickers to them outside of himself, as they are not HIM, they are his companions.

Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep.

I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. Again, engaging in a conversation with them. Though he does say that they SEEMED to whisper sleep, which is interesting. He seems to communicate with them beyond worded language, this is a case where he’s translating whatever that communication is into words.

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike Yeah this guy needs some therapy for sure, love him but this feels very much like the state of avoidance that Nesta found herself in. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. so he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours. This feels very much like an extreme, one that certainly didn’t exist all of the time with Mor (otherwise he’s truly not been sleeping for…ever). I have a very, very hard time believing he would have this reaction because of lust or a coveting kind of obsession.

Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn’t reappeared downstairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother, and yet...

Azriel couldn’t stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys. This is almost exactly the sentiment expressed by Cassian in ACOFAS/ACOSF

He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire.

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Entering the foyer for what? Entering in order to go to bed? Or was he drawn there, somehow knowing Elain would be there? I really don’t know the answer and I don’t have a preference as to whether or not they are mates, but it’s worth thinking about. Also important to note that the SHADOWS ARE NOT ENOUGH FOR AZRIEL. They are his friends, an important coping mechanism, but they are not the sum of who he is, nor do they even represent the part of himself that is most realized or fulfilled.

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.

The faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. Again, imagery to highlight a contrast between the two of them, Elain as the sun at dawn. Note that it’s talking about dawn, not day. SJM has repeatedly used language about Summer, Dawn, Spring and such to describe Elain, which makes me wonder if her light is meant to transcend the courts - in the same way that the shadows are not the sum of Azriel, the sun (the Day, the Dawn, Spring, Summer etc.) is not the sum of Elain.

“I...” He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier.” One thing I noticed on closer examination, she went downstairs to leave it in his pile, not to see him. I wonder if it hurts her to be around HIM as well. Elain has said several times in this book (either on the page or in second- or third-hand account) that she is committed to this court, and I wonder if that same commitment that had her going to the Hewn City is what also has prevented her from ending things with Lucien. It’s not in her nature to be disingenuous, and so she cannot fake certain feelings for him, but it IS in her nature to be selfless, and she probably understands what their mating bond means and how important Lucien’s alliance is. I wonder also if she is unsure as to Azriel’s feelings or if she knows somehow, as Azriel sort of implies she might below.

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She’d waited until everyone was asleep before venturing down, where she’d leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed. This is another instance in which Azriel sees her when no one else does, even when she’s not intending or someone to see her. Also, of course, important to note that he can read her without his shadows - a crutch that he uses in interactions with many other people.

Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. “Here.” Elain makes ALL the moves in this scene - she approaches him, she asks him to put the necklace on her, she leans in, she says yes etc. etc. I think Azriel is actually very respectful and restrained throughout this whole interaction.

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. Azriel is ashamed of his scars, and is ashamed of them with Feyre and Mor as well as Elain, this is an across-the-board part of his characterization. She hadn’t bought her mate a present. But she’d gotten Azriel one last year — a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind The headache powder: proof that Elain has been seeing him - specifically seeing him rub his temples. Not to use, but to look at. Which he’d done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Elain is not a casual person, she can’t even handle it when Feyre (her sister) tries to talk to her and Nesta (her other sister) privately about High Fae menstruation. For every lack of flourish or formality that Elain gives Azriel, that is another measured degree of comfort she feels with him - she wouldn’t give an unsigned, familiar note to just anyone.

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, “You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. “No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone.”

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.” Elain and Azriel have similar senses of humor. Not necessarily in content, but in the way it sort of crops up off-the-cuff and sometimes unnoticed. I like that Elain makes him laugh.

He offered a smile back. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.”

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn’t stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. Alright so, this is really curious. Does this mean that they both seem to be aware of the other’s feelings AND aware that the other is aware of their feelings? I really do wonder if, in this case, Az is an unreliable narrator- maybe assuming more certainty of Elain than she actually has. Again, I don’t think he would have such a visceral reaction to Elain and Lucien being in the same room (and not even close to each other at all) if he was just infatuated or in lust with her

But tonight, here in the dark and quiet more juxtaposition, with no one to see... no one to see, except the two of them, who always see more than others and who always see each other more than anyone else He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around. If Azriel is aware of the fact that his shadows disappear around Elain, and is still almost certainly in love with Elain, I think we can gather that it’s a positive thing for his shadows to give them privacy- which- btw, is what I think they are doing. The shadows feel to Azriel, to me, the way that the HoW feels to Nesta. The HoW doesn’t dislike Cassian, but also doesn’t need to be as diligent with Nesta when he’s around, because the House trusts Cassian with her.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary — it’s chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the truth depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. So I don’t think he’s saying that Elain is a thing here. I think he’s saying that HIS FEELINGS for her are a thing of secret, lovely beauty. It’s been made pretty clear that Elain’s physical AND inner beauty are decidedly visible and prominent. She is, the opposite of secret- though she is often described as lovely. I think what’s more interesting here is the time dedicated to describing this gift and the time dedicated to describing Lucien’s gift of pearl earrings (more on that later, but spoiler-alert, that’s the extent of the description)

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets this word choice is notable because it’s an indication of layers and depth and different sides, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows he let them do it, again the way he interacts with his shadows does not make it seem like they ARE him. It would probably say “Azriel’s shadows whisked away the box” or “Azriel used his shadows to…” etc. whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?” Again, Elain is driving the action

His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. That this situation is described in such slow, delicate detail evokes a sense of intimacy and gravity to the reader. Every tiny piece of this little bite of interaction means something to Azriel and probably to Elain.

He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin this word choice is admittedly a little strange, but the use of this and later of the word sacrilege is FAR from the first time SJM uses religiously-coded language to describe a romantic/sexual/intimate situation. In this very book, Cassian describes his sex with Nesta “as close to a religious experience” as he’d ever gotten - furthermore, there is often talk of the worship of bodies. More on this in another post! ALSO, of course he thinks about touching her in relation to himself. He is himself, for one thing, for another, one of the most reinforced aspects of Azriel’s character that has been made clear to us as readers is his belief that he is unworthy. This comes up not at all just with Elain, it comes up everywhere. It comes up when Azriel volunteers for the most dangerous assignments, it comes up with Mor A LOT, it comes up with Rhys and Cassian. I HAVE A LOT MORE TO SAY ABOUT AZRIEL SO I JUST NEED TO STOP TYPING RIGHT N. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered that’s hot and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.

Azriel’s fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine SUCH precise language, so agonizing. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.

It had never gone this far. They’d exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Another important line in reiterating the fact that there are two people participating in this interaction and the broader relationship, with the use of ‘exchanged’ and ‘their.’ It could easily also say something like, “Azriel had never gone this far. She’d sometimes caught him looking at her and he her, and every so often he’d taken the risk of brushing his fingers against hers.” Elain’s agency in these interactions and this relationship is SO IMPORTANT! It is the difference between Az viewing Elain as a two-dimensional and unattainable figure and as a real person with wants and needs.

Wrong — it was so wrong. Azriel knows, just as well as Rhys, what is at stake in Elain’s relationship with Lucien. He also has reverence for the mating bond in the same way that many other fae and faeries do. Of course he thinks it’s wrong!

He didn’t care.

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue — There is literally so much talk in Feysand and Nessian of tasting and eating out. Both Rhys and Cassian make it very clear that they spent a lot of time thinking about what their partners would taste like and how they might go about finding out for sure.

Azriel’s cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn’t peer down. Prayed she didn’t understand the shift in his scent.

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Because he knows it’s a fool’s hope. He never thinks about this as a viable path! Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep again a recognition of the separation between him and his shadows. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she’d make. See above: Nessian and Feysand are just as dirty and graphic (especially Nessian) and Rhys and Cassian are JUST AS WORSHIPFUL of their partners.

Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce Azriel’s restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there.

“I should go,” Elain said, but made no move to leave. Again, they are BOTH cognizant, I think, of the risks and dynamics at play here.

“Yes,” he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it Rhys’s WHOLE THING is that he kneels before Feyre in reverence. But Azriel just stroked her neck again. SJM repeatedly uses the scent of arousal as a way to confirm sexual interest beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. I personally think this is Azriel being self-deprecating. I think that Elain is a seer, and probably has some idea of what Azriel does. Does this mean he puts her on a pedestal or that he views her as pure? It’s possible, but I think Azriel views most people whom he loves as pure compared to himself in one way or another— even Cassian. There is a line I’ll cite eventually where Rhys muses on the similarities between himself and Azriel, since Rhys is the only person Azriel allows to see the full scope of his rage. Ditto with the pedestal.

Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege same story as my point above on the word immaculate, but again I do totally admit that it’s a strange word. I just think that we have had so little of Azriel’s perspective that we can’t really say whether this is a perversion of his connection to Elain or if this is a regular sort of attitude for him for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence.

But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. AND THAT WOULD BE IT. HE DOESN’T THINK IT WILL GO FURTHER!

“Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. You fucking go Elain get that ass Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother interesting choice of words given Nesta’s association with the Mother and Nesta’s apparent tacit acceptance of Azriel’s feelings for Elain (more on that later) might witness them.

Azriel’s hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain’s mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before flirting shut.

Offer and permission. OFFER AND PERMISSION. ELAIN WANTS THE SHADOWSINGER D!!!!!

He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

Azriel. And suddenly, the one time they both are comfortable with how they’re being seen (that Azriel is being seen by no one else BUT Elain, that Elain is finally being seen intimately, by someone, in the dark, namely, AZRIEL)

Rhys’s voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain’s sweet mouth.

Azriel. So if you were to ask me what the biggest sign of Elriel’s longevity in this chapter is, it is this: that they did not kiss. SJM built a very tightly worded and wound tension around this moment with her language, and. the fact that it is not fulfilled is frustrating, right? We know that he touched the knob of her spine - we know that she shivered. For that level of intimacy not to end in a kiss, means something. Rhys could easily have interrupted them after their lips had already touched, and if this relationship were a device serving another, that’s what would have happened.

SJM knows that the tension is built and unfulfilled, and I think she also knows that this wouldn’t have been the right time for them to have their first kiss - which is what I think many readers have noticed in so many words. Where my thoughts differ is that I think SJM is walking a line between romantically coding the moment AND acknowledging that this moment is not ideal, and that it doesn’t deserve to be fulfilled satisfyingly, especially given Azriel’s self-loathing. MORE LATER :) Which should maybe be my catchphrase.

Also, them not kissing can’t just be about the fact that it’s a bonus chapter. You can’t make that argument about their not-kiss and then argue that the interaction with Gwyn is essential to the coming story. Which, I think it is significant, by the way, I’m just not sure how yet :P

Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel looked up. Rhysand stood atop the staircase. Glowering down at them.

My office. Now.

Rhys vanished, and Azriel was left standing before Elain, who still awaited his kiss. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand away from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, “This was a mistake.” UGH. The capital P Pain.

She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, “I’m sorry.” See, this reaction makes me think that she is not as aware of his feelings as he thinks she is. That she later returns the necklace (or did she?) reinforces this. I think that if she was certain how he felt about her, she would be frustrated and maybe angry in the way that she has responded to Feyre’s comments about her mating bond with Lucien, not hurt and confused.

“You don’t — Don’t apologize,” he managed to say. “Never apologize. It’s I who should...” He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he’d brought to her expression. “Goodnight.” But at least it definitely confirms her feelings to Azriel.

PART II IS BEING POSTED BACK-TO-BACK!

#acosf #azriel bonus chapter #azriel shadowsinger #elriel #elain archeron #rhysand #gwyn acosf #acotar #acotar theory #feyre archeron #close reading #line by line #evidence #nessian #lightsinger #elain x azriel #shadowsinger

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nishisun · 3 years

Text

suna rintaro is NOT a genius.

summary: you loved the idea of soulmates. suna rintaro didn’t. it isn’t that hard to put two and two together to realize that maybe people with different opinions on things don’t belong together.

part 2

a/n: this was literally supposed to be a series, i gave up on it because i just didn’t like the way it turned out. it used to be called “out of my league” and this was the intro. i also renamed it. just emptying drafts!! please don’t get confused with the random timeskip, once again, this was a part of a series i never ended up posting😭

WARNING!!: suggestive themes, mentions of death, idk kinda angsty but tell me if i missed anything

Soulmates. Whatever the hell that means. The idea of soulmates is something I truly don’t understand. It’s bullshit, honestly. It’s all-pervasive.

My mother always told me I'd eventually find "the one.” I used to believe that when I was younger of course. But in my opinion? It’s all cliches. It's unhelpful, and it's certainly not true. Destiny is an excuse for the weak. Why do you think most marriages end in divorce? It's 'cause people who believe they are “destined to be" assume everything will fall into place without any effort. I don't appreciate people pontificating bullshit like that just to make me feel better, especially if they haven't found their "soulmate" themselves. My sister once told me, “People who believe in soulmates are more likely to break up and encounter more difficulty in their relationship, which will lead them to give up on one another eventually.”

I sure do believe that.

My mother is a prime example. Fumeiko Suna, my dear mother. Well, she clearly hasn’t found hers. I found out when I came home after a tedious day of school in 5th grade and found my dear mother on the floor crying, with bruises all over her face and a busted lip.

Initially, I thought a burglar had broken into our home once again, but if that were the case then there would’ve been missing furniture. But there wasn’t.

In fact, the place seemed cleaner than usual. When I ran up to her and asked her what had happened, there he was. The devil himself. My father. He reeked of alcohol, and I could detect his shadow towering over me. It’s funny how that I think of it. I used to fear that son of a bitch. Now, I’m way taller than him, and hate his guts. I turned around to see a faux-sympathetic smile plastered on his face.

He explained how my mother was being “clumsy” and had fell and busted her lip on one of the corners of the kitchen table and when I turned back around to face my mother, she smiled gently and nodded in agreement. She didn’t say anything after that.

It was then I realized my father had beat my mother to a pulp.

Long story short, when I found it was my father, sure, I was frightened. In fact, I remember going into my siblings’ rooms to inform them, they shrugged it off and told me that dad had been doing it for a while now.

Over time, when my dad had found out that I was aware, he didn't mind beating the absolute shit out of my mother in front of all three of us. This was when my burning hatred for that man started. Nobody in the house even attempted to stop him. I did a few times, though. He took all his anger out on me. At least my mom had a break for the day.

I almost pitied my mother. Almost. Maybe if she was strong enough to leave him, then yeah, I’d feel bad. But she still decides to stay with his sorry ass. It’s pathetic. It’s unrequited love or whatever you call it. How could she still love that asshole?

I mean, I’m not even going to lie, I’m an asshole too, but I’m definitely not my dad. I would never want to be him. He’s not someone I looked up to, he doesn’t do anything inspirational. He’s a businessman. He travels the majority of the time, and I’m pretty sure my mom invites men over when he’s gone. I don’t care enough to find out. But if I ever hear some guy rearranging my mom’s guts, I’ll kill him. I don’t even blame my mother. What she’s doing is wrong, she knows it and so do both of my older siblings. But they don't seem to care so why should I?

Who knows why she just won’t leave him. Maybe it’s cause they don’t want to ruin how people view our “picture perfect” family. I wonder what they’d say. “I thought the Suna’s were the ideal family? I guess not.”

My dad would probably lose it if he heard that.

Both my mother and my father are the cause of this broken family of mine. They never fed me or any of my siblings the love we always desired when we were younger. They never came to any of my volleyball games when I was younger. They never applauded me for the little recitals we’d have in class in primary school. They were never even here for most of my childhood. They always put money first and left us with the housekeepers. Hell, the housekeepers probably know me better than my own parents.They failed as parents. I despise them for it. They’re most likely the reason I am the way I am, but to be honest?

I don’t give a fuck.

In fact, I should thank them! Because of how they “raised” me, i’m extremely blunt, which is why people respect me. I use the hatred I have for my family and take it out on people and no, I’m not proud of that. I may be a heartless asshole, but I like that people fear me. The hell? Does that make me a sadist? Either way, people know to never fuck with me cause I’d fuck their shit up. I’ve overheard many people say it’s ‘cause of my privilege. It probably is. Money can’t buy happiness, but it sure can buy you many other things.

If my parents were broke, I’d probably be expelled from school by now. Abuse of alcohol and drugs are forbidden on school property. I don’t even take them at school, I somewhat care about my education and health, but sometimes I just need to blow some steam. Even if I did, nobody’s gonna say shit since my dad is the head of Japan’s board of education. How did his ass even get there?

Call me lonely or cynical. Maybe I am. But how is that a bad thing? Why do people need a significant other to rely on? What, a soulmate is just going to turn my life upside down then suddenly bring me happiness? Pfft, I’m gonna need actual proof that shit like that still happens. I’ve only seen shit like that in fairy tale movies. It’s whatever, though. I can live with being alone. I’ve basically been alone my whole life and it isn’t as bad as people make it.

You loved the idea of having a soulmate. The thought of meeting someone who just understood you, accepted you for who you were, and most importantly, loved you excited you. You couldn’t wait to meet your soulmate.

But recently, you weren’t sure soulmates existed.

When your older sister, Akira, came into your room and burst into tears, it frightened you. Your older sister, the one who’d always provide you advice on relationships and how to keep one was in your room sobbing hysterically because hers hadn’t worked out.

“I just can't believe it,” she sobbed.

You couldn’t believe it either. Your sister had recently gotten engaged to her boyfriend of 9 years. They started dating at the age of 15 and managed to make things work out even after high school, and out of all those years of dating, they never broke up. Not even once.

They’d go on romantic dates on Saturdays and they’d always write love letters to one another every day, just to remind one another of how grateful they were to have each other in their lives. On Halloween, they’d dress up as fictional characters from TV shows and books and take cute selfies and bake a bunch of sweets. They’d invite you to come bake with them, but you would politely deny. You knew they were only offering so you wouldn’t feel left out, which you appreciated.

Of course, they’d argue every now and then, but at the end of the day, they always managed to talk things out. Oh to have a relationship like theirs. They were everything you wanted to have in a relationship and more.

“I really thought he was the one for me, y’know?” No, you don’t know. But that doesn't matter. What mattered was cheering your sister up.

“Maybe he wasn’t ‘the one’ Akira, and that’s okay! People come and go all the time, soulmates come and go all the time as well-”

“You still believe soulmates are real, huh?” she let out a humorless laugh and sniffed her nose, “What If I missed my one shot at love, Y/N? What if I lost my soulmate?”

That’s some deep shit.

Now that you think about it, were soulmates real? Soulmates come and go, yes, you’re aware of that, but even though they leave, it’s always temporary. Soulmates always find a way back to their other half, the piece that completes them.

Your dad never made it back to your mother.

He died in a car crash 5 years ago. Your mother and father had been arguing because she claimed your father was cheating on her since he wouldn’t let her check his phone.

You were 13 at the time. Your sister Akira was accompanying you in your room, listening to them arguing back and forth with one another. There was furniture flying across the room, glass breaking, and both of them throwing curses at each other. You were scared. They never argued in front of you and your sister. They'd bicker sometimes, but it was never anything too deep.

Eventually, your father had enough of your mother’s false accusations, and out of anger, he packed his things and left home. For weeks. It wasn’t until one of your uncles called your mother and broke the news. She didn’t take it very well.

Late 2012-early 2013.

Not many people came to your father’s funeral, his family didn’t like the fact that he and your mother were together, they said your mother was trouble, but your dad still stayed with her, even if that meant it would completely destroy the bond he had with his family. Now that’s true love, you had thought. Only your mother, Akira, the Sunas, your uncle, and you, of course, attended the funeral.

It hurt a lot. It hurt when your mother informed both your grandparents on your mother and father’s side and all they could do is put the blame on her. It hurt how they had claimed you, Akira and your mother were a hindrance to your dear father’s well-being. How could they be so cruel at a time like this?

That was the first time you ever questioned if soulmates were real. Maybe they fell in love at the wrong time? Who knows.

After your father’s passing, Fumiko Suna, your mother’s best friend, was there to help your family out financially. Your mother couldn’t even find the motivating to go to work. Your mother and Fumiko have been best friends since junior high, they’ve literally been inseparable ever since. In fact, after they both got married, they decided to live right next to each other.

Your mom didn’t cope with your father’s death very well; none of you did. But your mom had it the worst.

She would cope with alcohol and clubbing which would always result in her bringing different men home almost every night. You didn’t say much about it, you thought it would be selfish to since that’s what seemed to make your mother feel better about herself, but your sister hated it. She was already 19 and in college at the time, but when she visited and found out that your mother had basically been neglecting you, she was furious.

“Seriously, mom? This is what you’re gonna do while your 13-year-old daughter is in her room having a literal mental breakdown because of your childish behavior?” Your sister had barged into your mother’s room when she thought you were asleep, she was screaming loud.

“You’re interrupting something important, Akira. You know better than to-”

“Oh, shut the hell up mom. You’re the last person on earth to be saying shit like that.”

“Well, if you’re done, you can leave my room now. You’re being disrespectful, and this behavior is not tolerated!” Your mother was screaming now. The man in the bed covering his body under the covers and looking back and forth between Akira and your mother.

“Sakiya, maybe you should hear your daughter out-”

“Not now.” your mother scarcely interrupted the man, eye contact never leaving Akira. “Y/N has never complained about this when you were in college. She knows this is my way of coping, why can’t you understand that too!”

Akira scoffed. “So what, getting fucked by random strangers you find on the filthy streets is your way of coping? Getting wasted every damn night to the point where Y/N has to drag you up to bed is okay with you? Do you even know how much this is affecting Y/N? Did you even bother asking her how she felt? I hate breaking it to you mom, but you need serious help.”

“You selfish child!” Your mother screamed, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her body, getting up from the bed. “How dare you say that to your own mother?”

“I’m only telling the truth! If you’re the mother, then it’s your job to be taking care of Y/N, not neglecting her. When’s the last time you’ve engross in an actual conversation with her when you were fully sober?”

Your mother was silent. She quickly walked up to Akira and grabbed her by the hair and slammed her headfirst against the wall.

“You’ve got a big mouth! Maybe I should wash it with soap like I did back in the day, hm?” Akira was attempting to push her mother away, but she wouldn’t let go of her grip. The man that was still on your mother’s bed was in panic, yelling her name, which didn’t have any effect. He might as well stop.

"Look," Akira mumbled, struggling to get away from your mother's grip, "I know it's been hard ever since dad left-"

“Mom! Let go of her!” You cried from the door of her room.

All 3 adults froze and looked at your glassy eyes, mouths wide open.

“Hey, kiddo, I thought you were asleep?” Akira playfully said, your mother let go of Akira and crossed her arms then looked away from you.

“Well, I can't really go to sleep when there’s a bunch of adults yelling about my well-being,” you muttered incoherently. You quickly wiped the uncontrollable tears off your face and sighed.

“Honey,” your mom started, she walked slowly to you, carefully examined your face, and attempted to hug you, but you didn’t accept the offer which made your mother frown. She stopped walking until she was almost face to face with you and placed a hand on your shoulder gently. “Baby, your sister told me that you weren’t happy. Is this true?”

You looked away from her and stared dully at the floor, subtly shifting your feet, then you softly shook your head “no.”

“See Akira, Y/N is happy. So please stop stressing her out.” Your mother said through gritted teeth, then faced you once again. “Y/N honey, how about I go tuck you into bed, hm? I’m so sorry for the excessive noise that was caused.”

“Mom, how clueless can you be? Y/N looks miserable! It’s unhealthy for Y/N to be living-“

Slap.

Your mother just slapped Akira on the face.

“I know what’s best for my daughter! I am her mother! You are not the one who should be telling me how to take care of my own kid!”

“That’s enough, Sakiya.” a familiar voice said from the door.

“Fumeiko-“

“It’s fine. Sakiya, we need to talk.” It was Fumeiko Suna, your mother’s best friend, also known as your next door neighbor. She had been standing in the hallways the whole time, you didn’t even know she was there. Akira was the one who called her over.

That night your mother agreed to get help for her drinking problem. She was gone for 6 months. During those 6 months, the Suna’s took you in since Akira would be in college and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

You and Rintaro were the only kids in the house, being that you both were the same age and the others were in college. It was okay, they were all very polite, dinners were awkward, you could feel some sort of tension between the family but you didn’t pay any attention to it.

When your mom finally came back, it was awkward at first. She still seemed the same, loving and caring, just sober and free of alcohol. It was nice. You two spent the weekends bonding at the mall, watching a movie, or even getting your nails done. Eventually, she gained your trust back, and you couldn’t have been happier.

January 2017.

“Akira, don’t say that. You may not believe me now, but you are such an amazing person, don’t ever think you’ll never find love again. It’s all about having a positive mindset!” you said, thoughtfully stroking her hair as her head laid on your chest.

“I told you that.”

“You did,” you chuckled, “you should take your own advice.

“Oh, shut up!” you both laughed, and Akira let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Of course, you don't need to thank me. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

— so this is one of the writings that i wrote in January 😭 it’s been in my drafts and i re-read it once and instantly hated it right after. if there’s any typos please tell me!!

— also i wanna apologize again for putting gmds on hiatus,, i feel so bad 😭 i wanna make it up to you guys but idk how so if you have suggestions pls tell me

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lord-explosion-baku · 4 years

Text

Lying Is A Formal Pleasure

Yandere!Hawks x Pro Hero!Reader

Forced into a “relationship” to better your image, you agonize through the night as you pretend to be head over you heels in love with a douchebag.

warnings: non consensual touching, light violence

A/N: I posted this a few months ago, but after a bad mental health night, I deleted it like a day later. But now I’m screaming over my oneshot inactivity and the 80 WIPs that remain unfinished, so I figured I’d post something that’s done fhjfv. :’D

Blinking flashbulbs and whispering onlookers flood your audio and visual spaces, forcing you to pause while you take a moment to gather yourself, swaying uneasily in the too-high heels you’ve been forced into. You’re close to being overwhelmed when Hawks places a smooth hand on the small of your exposed back, ushering you closer to his side. He waves to a camera flickering with a red dot, the one that tells the two of you that you’re live on air. The warm impression of his fingers on your skin offers you an insincere sense of security. You’re not as used to being on screen as your ‘lover,’ so you let him take the lead. It’s easier this way, as resentful as you are to admit it.

A thin woman in a red dress holds a microphone up between the two of you and asks if the happy couple has high hopes in regards to their award nominations. Hawks, always quick to flash a charming grin, leans into the mic and says, “we’re both just very honored to be here.”

It’s not like him to be so humble, especially not when he has an audience, but your publicist recently advised you that although his pride is fitting for his singular image, nobody quite likes a power couple who, in her words, “thinks they’re the shit.” People want to see bashful, blossoming love. They want to see you be together, grow together, and develop together. You have to be shy—show that you’re excited to be by his side, and he has to be supportive—happy to introduce you to the sensational side of being a hero. It’s all a facade, even your relationship, but if you stay true to your new role, your popularity will see a serious incline.

Hawks runs his hand up your spine and you get a chill when you realize that the reporter asked you a question: how long have the two of you been together?

“Oh-” you start, shifting to look up at your partner. Amber eyes bare down on you and you swallow dryly, trusting that you look enchanted, rather than sick to your stomach. If you were to be honest with her, you’d say, ‘too long,’ but it’s not your job to be honest tonight. You have to be delightful and charming, cute and coy. So instead, you timidly blink up at Hawks, cover your shy grin with your elegantly gloved hand while leaning into him, and say, “nearly two months.”

The number two hero chuckles, moving his hand over to your side to squeeze it a little harder than necessary. He’s telling you one thing: wrong answer.

“Well, she says two months, while I say three.” Hawks is all confidence and little to no self-doubt. In a way, he’s everything you want to be, and every time you think about it in that light, the more you seem to detest him. You hate that you virtually need him in this respect to get you where you want to be in your career. You hate that he’s living this farce up. “It took my little angel a while to finally agree to go on a date with me. Even then, I knew that we were meant to be together.” His eyes slide back to you, and his tone takes a dark edge that nobody besides you will be able to pick up on. “From the very first moment I laid my eyes on her.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Hawks had barrated you to go out with him for about a month before your publicist told you it would be good for your public image to have a pro—the number two pro—by your side. Apparently, you and him work well because of your quirk: siren. Her reasoning is that you sing just like birds sing. Hawks is a bird. Therefore, you and him should go hand-in-hand. The public aptly named your relationship birdsong and you’ve already done a photoshoot where you had to pose behind a golden birdcage where Hawks sat inside, gripping onto the cage’s bars, staring up at you while you had your lips pursed subtly, pantamiming a song. The irony of your situation is that there is a metaphorical prison in your fake relationship, but it’s not Hawks who sits in the cage. The second irony of your situation is that hawks don’t sing at all; they prey.

“Awwww,” the reporter whines in a shrill, albeit melodramatic voice, looking adoringly from you to Hawks, “I couldn’t imagine how anybody could ever say no to you! That must’ve put a damper on your ego! Poor thing.”

Hawks shrugs like he does—another thing you despise. You can smell the smugness wafting off his chest that seems to puff up as he speaks. “I knew she was just playing hard to get.” He winks at you, sliding his hand down to sit not so obediently at your hip. You feel him drifting towards your ass cheek, and you struggle to not change your fraudulent smile into a full on sneer. “And she knew I liked the challenge.”

The reporter’s eyes aren’t even on you when she asks, “really, how could you say no to this dreamboat? I certainly wouldn’t be able to!”

If you want him, you can take him, you think tartly as you maneuver your arm around Hawks. He makes a sort of low, sort of grunting noise when you lace your fingers through his heavy feathers, and you realize that this might be the first time you’ve actually touched his wings. You’re bitter to admit that the feel of them in your hands are soft to the touch—enjoyable, almost. They might be the most redeeming thing about him.

You tighten your hand into a fist and tug, softly at first, but when you feel him tense next to you, you pull a little tighter, enjoying the brief sadism break you allow yourself.

“I must have been too darn shy at first!” Your words are syrup dribbling over glass. You wrench your hand, twisting into Hawks’ wings. He clears his throat in an attempt to cover up a groan, his hold on your side worsening infinitesimally. “Or maybe I just couldn’t believe that the number two hero was actually interested in me. Honestly? I was starstruck! I thought I was being used for some kind of joke!”

“Hah…” Hawks’ thumb rubs circles in your back when you guide your hand along the stream of his wings and grab at a different bunch of feathers. He whispers, “take it easy, chickadee…’

But you don’t want to take it easy. Hawks’ cheeks redden a bit more every time you move your fingers through his wings. He must be incredibly uncomfortable and you take pride in the fact that, for once, it’s not you who’s suffering. You lean into his shoulder, offer the reporter woman a smile so sickly sweet, you can practically feel sugar coating your gums when you say, “now every day I get to spend with him is a dream come true!!”

One of Hawks’ eyes twitches when you give the tuft of feathers in your hold a final twist. He spreads his palms wide on your back, and slowly curls his fingers inward, pulling on your skin.

After a few more questions, the reporter notices Hawks glancing down to the large hall being used as the ceremony venue, and thanks the both of you for indulging the public with information about your relationship. Sending a final wink to the camera, Hawks guides you through arched doors and nods at a few other well-known heroes attending the ceremony. You sneak away when you think Hawks is about to get lost in another conversation, but when you slip into an empty lounge reserved for award nominees, he’s right on your heels.

Ignoring his presence completely, you fix yourself a drink at an unattended minibar. You swirl the ice around in your glass and finally turn to scowl at your partner. He looks off, or not very present, still smirking, but dazed. Maybe he tied his tie too tightly, and he’s blocking the blood flow to his brain. You grin at the thought of choking him out while you sip on your beverage. Hawks grins back.

Engulfing and consuming the space around you, he takes a confident step towards you. You feel nothing short of a shadow to a tree with his wings puffed out and spread proudly like they are.

“Nervous?” He asks, placing a hand on the bar as he leans closer to you. You give him a half-hearted shrug, trying to be nonchalant. Even if Hawks knows you're uncomfortable, you aren’t willing to show him an inch of fear.

“You shouldn’t be,” he goes on, staring at your lips. He watches you suck down your drink and clears his throat. “You were great out there.”

“Believable?” You ask sarcastically, licking your bottom lip. You reach out to stroke the inside of his wings, running your hands along his feathers teasingly slow, enjoying the sight of each row of his crimson plume twitch down along with your touch.

“Believable,” he chuckles. “I had no idea that I was your dream come true.”

You scoff and place your empty glass down. “Mhm, my everlasting, waking nightmare.” You bring your arm back to your hip. “I’m truthful when I can be.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a goofy half-grin. It’s off-putting. He isn’t any less sharp than usual, but there’s something about him right now that has goosebumps raising on your arms.

“C’mere,” he coaxes, grabbing your wrist. You snap it back immediately.

“Oh, please.” You push past him, intentionally brushing into his wings, and begin strutting away.

“You’re such a goddamn tease,” he rasps, hooking you sideways. Both of his hands curl around your hips, and you’re immediately pulled back against him. “Have I ever told you how sexy your back is?”

“Get off of me,” you say without enthusiasm, because it’s not the first time he’s gotten handsy with you in closed spaces. Call yourself jaded, but it’s something that you’re semi-used to. So, when he doesn’t let up, all you can do is roll your eyes and fetch your compact mirror out of your clutch. While you fix your lips, Hawks lays his chin on your shoulder. His eyes find yours, and though they’re looking straight at you, they are, at once, incredibly ambiguous and eerily hyperfocused. He squeezes his arms around your torso, then brushes his lips across your cheek. Against your stubborn will, your stomach flips when he plants kisses on your jaw and trails down to your neck. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin, making your shift around in his embrace. That's when you feel a stiffening behind you.

“Hawks, what the hell are you doing?”

“Shame on you-“ his breath is hot on your ear- “touching me like that on camera, baby? Who knew my angel could be so naughty…”

You jerk your elbow back into his gut.

“I never touched you,” you seethe, ready to actually throw hands, when he rushes you forward, pushing you against the bar so that you’re lodged between it and him. Hot blood floods your face when you feel him pulse against your ass, and it doesn’t help when he snakes a hand through the back opening of your dress, sliding around to cup your stomach. He pulls you back so his bulge rubs between your cheeks.

“You’re seriously crossing the line right now!” You push against the bar, trying to bump him back, but he crowds you with his wings, shrouding you just like the metaphorical birdcage you’ve been stuck in for two—three months. You grasp a fistful of his feathers and yank on them hard, but he only snickers in response.

“Oh, little dove,” he groans, rocking his pelvis against your ass. It’s like he doesn’t even hear your protests. “Fuck. How’d you know I like it rough?” He kisses the hollow of your throat and hums appreciatively when you reluctantly shudder in response. “You have no idea how badly I wanna slip my cock into you right now. Finally wipe that sour look off your face as I drive myself in, inch by inch.” His fingers move down to pet your pubic bone. You want to scream in defiance when you feel a flash of liquid heat pool between your thighs. He dips in between your folds and he croons. “Bet you’d hug me nice and tight too. You don’t spread your legs for just anybody, do you babygirl?”

“Certainly not for you,” you rebuke. You grasp your abandoned glass, smash it against the bar, and spin yourself around, swiping your makeshift weapon across the number two hero’s face.

There’s a moment of shocked silence that falls between you two. A streak of red falls from the cut on Hawks’ cheeks and falls in spots on the whites in between his tuxedo coat. He dabs at the wound and examines the blood on his fingers, then his chest.

He snickers.

“Oh man, I wonder what they’ll think about this.” He shakes his head, grinning. “What do I tell ‘em: we were getting a little too frisky in the lounge, or do I lie and say it was an accident?”

“You can tell whoever, whatever you want,” you mumble. You know you should apologize for the sanctity of your status, but seeing his blood is cathartic to you, in a way. At least, until he speaks again.

With a clever fox smile, smug as the king of hell, Hawks drawls out, “the rising hero, Siren, is unstable and shouldn’t be trusted by the public.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. Hawks’ grin crawls wider, contented by your reaction to his threat.

“I was telling her not to get her hopes up about the awards ceremony. ‘There are a lot of other promising heroes gunning for The Best New Hero award,’ is what I told her, and she lost it…”

“Hawks—“

“She came at me with a glass she broke on the bar. Honestly, I’ve been worried about her drinking habits since day one, but I didn’t do enough to help her with the issue. In a way, it’s my fault this happened.”

“It is your fault!” You stomp your heel and throw an accusatory finger into his chest. “You attacked me!”

“Who do you think they’ll believe, sweetheart?” Hawks takes your hand in his, brings the back of your wrist up to his mouth, and kisses it. “The new hero with a pretty face, pretty voice, but is otherwise unknown, or me? Hero numero dos: Japan’s most trusted.”

You glare at him and he loves it. He enjoys every minute he puts you through mental turmoil.

“I could tell them it was an accident,” he sings, looping an arm around your waist to briskly pull flush up against him. You let him, but keep your head turned so you don’t meet his gaze. He continues—“but you’d have to make it up to me, little dove.”

His wings fall over you, shrouding you closer to him. He presses his lips to your temple, but doesn’t kiss you—doesn’t even speak again. He’s waiting for you to ask how.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” you say into his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he hums, the vibration of his voice buzzing down your neck, “we can just end your career tonight.”

“Hawks.”

“Don’t act like you’re not soaking wet right now. I felt that cunt, babe. Turns out, I’m not the only one who likes it rough.” He turns your head to face him. “You want me-“ he sneers-“and I didn’t even have to stroke your feathers to get you there.”

You close your eyes when his lips greet yours. The kiss is quick, but it lingers like old faith. If you let him in, he’ll stay there. You know that. But he’s backed you into a corner.

“You’re my girl,” he coos, “and I wanna be civil—I do, baby. You know I only want what’s best for us. But you’re gonna have to meet me halfway in order to get us where we need to be. Do you understand?”

Us...we…He throws those words around as if they matter. Then again, they do matter. They must, to him at least, but not to you. The only thing you really care about is me. Still, you nod.

“I’m gonna need you to say it, Siren.”

You sigh. “Yes, Hawks. I understand.”

“Good!” He chirps enthusiastically, any dark tone he previously took vanished. He spins you around to face the door that leads back to the hall. At first, you think he’s going to continue where he left off, but his hand finds its place at the small of your back, and he guides you forward.

“Now, let's go win us some awards,” Hawks says, bringing his hand down to pat your ass, “then we can make sure both of our dreams come true.”

#yandere bnha #yandere!Hawks #yandere!hawks x reader #tw yandere #bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #reader insert #hawks x reader #yandere male

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sillylittlestoryblog · 3 years

Text

Jesper Fahey Imagine

Jesper x female Reader

This is my first imagine ever. So pls don’t be to harsh😅

Also i m not a native English speaker so if I made horrible mistakes pls tell me nicely🙂

+ I m new to the grishaverse so there is a lot I just made up... again If I made horrible mistakes.. enlighten me 🥰

I wanna post this with he/him and they/them pronouns too. Just so nobody feels left out ✨

The winter air was terrible cold against y/n`s ears. Instinctively, she buried her face further into her scarf. She hated this time of year, especially in ketterdam. Because of the docks and the sea, it was even colder here than in her former home. She came to Ketterdam years ago, but she still didn’t seem to have gotten used to the city. The city with its dark alleys and dangerous corners. She had been told to get a decent job. Never be Outside in the dark. And above all she should Stay Out of the criminal gangs and their streetfights. And yet here she was, running again in the direction of the Crow Club to meet dirtyhands in person.

After the heavy oak door closed behind her, she took a deep breath. The warm air felt wonderful on her skin. There wasn't too much going on in the club tonight. Which pleased her very much.

" well who do we have here? I was afraid that you wouldn't come because of the snowstorm out there. ”Jesper's voice sounded happily through the room. In his hand he was holding a drink that he halfway spilled on his way to her.

Y / N didn't want to admit it, but she was happy to see him. Most of all, she was pleased that he was already a Bit drunk, so she hoped he wouldn't notice how she blushed while he hugged her.

Together they went to a table in a quieter corner of the crow club. Kaz Brekker sat there with his crowcane in his hand and sighed as Y/N and Jesper approached. Shortly afterwards she noticed Inej emerging from the shadows. She quietly sat down next to Kaz, keeping a safe distance as always. Y / N wasn't sure if she was doing it to give Kaz more space or to better protect herself. Y/N sat down next to Nina who was sitting on the other side of the table and apparently had a lot of fun giving a already drunken Mattias more and more alcohol.

Jesper sat down next to Y/N with a loud noise and started talking about his win today. He had lost a lot of money in a few card games and then won the Same Money back again after a round of chess. Inej had to explain the rules to him beforehand and was shocked that he really didn't understand how the game worked. His only luck was that his opponent understood it even less and so he had defeated him after a few rounds despite his moderate knowledge of chess.

Y/N was happy to have this group. For her, it almost felt like she had a found family, a home. The others also appreciated her very much. Nina was glad that there was another Grisha in the group. She loved challenging Y/N to play pranks on the other crow members. Even if the others wouldn't admit it, everyone loved the jokes they made up. Only Kaz usually looked offended when the two kept his people from their serious work.

She had also built up a good relationship with Inej in the two years that she had been part of the crows. Both were rather calm and liked to spend time alone. But they loved to talk about novels and books together. Inej and her had already broken into the library of Ketterdam several times at night to be able to read there in peace. Y / N fondly remembers those evenings. Especially Brekker's red-hot face when he found out what they had done. He was incredibly angry and didn't even let them be on the next mission. Meanwhile, Jesper just stood there, amused. Although he was disappointed in both of them too. But more because they didn't ask him to come along. Inej had smirked at the time and said that he was probably jealous. And to this day Y/N kept thinking about it. She could hardly imagine that he wanted to tag along because of the books.

"Hey are you even listening to me"

Jesper moved his hand up and down in front of her face.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Y / N knew this wasn't the first time he'd caught her thinking about him. She reached for the glass that Nina had put in front of her nose a few minutes ago. Hopefully that would take his mind off the nervous expression on her face.

"I thought it would be incredible if I would open a bakery with the money. You know the Money i won earlier"

Y/N looked deeper into her glass. In fact, she hadn't noticed what he'd told her. "Hmm interesting. I uh... would not have thought you were the bakery type. "

"Why not?" Jesper started to grin in amusement. Now he was glad that she was just so embarrassed and looking down. She was indeed looking really cute, while trying to come up with a logical answer that hopefully wouldn't hurt his feelings.

“Well you've shot at least 5 people in the last two days. And uh ... "

Jesper had to laugh out loud. "Hey hey little one, I was just kidding. I was Joking... Something like that happens when you don't listen. ”There was a big grin on his face. It felt like it went from one ear to the other. His dark eyes began to glow. Y/N didn't even notice how long the two had been staring at each other. Jesper looked away with a jerk and began to stammer something to himself, “I actually wanted to ask you something. Are we both going to break into that one library tomorrow night? I heard about this one book. And well we could steal it together. "

Y/N just had to grin. Maybe Inej was right after all and Jesper wanted to spend time with her.

"Sure, why not ... but you know that this is illegal?"

"It's only illegal if we get caught"

The next evening they both met below the roofs of Ketterdam's university district. Jesper's hair was disheveled, probably because he had slept until a few minutes ago. The night before had stolen both of their strength. None of them could really remember much. Once again, Nina had endured the most alcohol, but probably only because she was the one who made the others drink. Inej had gone to bed relatively early and in the early morning twilight still heard the singing voices of Matthias and Jesper. Y / N could roughly remember participating in a drinking game. And somehow she thought she had seen a smiling Kaz, but that would be too improbable.

It wasn't quite as cold as the night before, but because of the tiredness Y / N was all the more cold that day. Jesper didn't seem to have any other way. He had wrapped himself deep in his coat and was wearing a much too long scarf around his neck that he had stepped on twice while running. It was unusual for the shooter to be so calm. Most of the time he would talk out loud about his achievements in playing cards or he would consider a daring mission to get rich. He was very talkative, only today he was speechless.

Getting to the library was very easy there was a secured part in the south wing. Valuable writings from Kerch were stored there. But the two were only looking for a novel that would be insignificant for most People. It didn't take long for the two of them to get into the building over the roof of an adjoining building and through its courtyard.

Y / N knew her way around the library halls; after all, she had often come and gone there at night. Jesper ran right behind her, afraid of losing her between the tall bookshelves. It didn't take long for Jesper to find the right book. It was about tales and horror stories that used to be told to children in front of the campfire. Jesper had overheard Inej talking about this book. She had shared how she loved these stories as a child. That seemed like the right book for the right reason

y / n to dare a night break-in. He had longed to spend time alone with her for a long time. He admired her for her courage and caring. Jesper had been alone for a long time. Far from everything that felt like family. But the Crows gave him a home. Kaz was the protector of the crows and Jesper was happy to have someone like him, but somehow the warmth in the crow club was missing. But the warmth was suddenly there when the young grisha girl ran into his arms two years ago. She has been on his mind ever since. How many times had he caught himself paying special attention to her on missions. Or the many times she was turned on by drunkards and he would have loved to draw his revolver. Even now he could only think of her smile.

She had spread her coat on the floor and was tapping the spot next to her. Jesper sat down next to her, grinning, and began to read.

The warm sun shone on Y / N's face. What a nice way to be awakened. Most of the time she woke up by hearing gunshots in the street or the loud talk of seafarers stumbling towards the port. It smelled of old books, dust and leather. Only now did she realize that she was not in her bed. She opened her eyes carefully, hoping not to wake up in a prison or a cargo ship. But her surroundings were not unknown to her, only she had never seen them in this light. Next to her lay Jesper who had embraced her with both arms. She had never seen him so calm before. His chest moved slowly up and down as he breathed. How beautiful he looked.

"You should hire someone to make a portrait of me, believe me that will last longer."

Jesper's eyes were still closed. Y / N's face turned red again. She had to stop looking at him like that.

"Good morning, how did you sleep between so much Important literature?" She tried to distract from the subject.

Jesper opened his eyes and looked at her. Only now did she realize how close they were. He still had his arms around her. Jesper also noticed now what kind of situation they were in. He opened his mouth to answer when Y / N suddenly perceived voices from outside. She put her finger to his lips and turned her head towards the window. There were three library guards in the courtyard. They had just noticed the open window through which Jesper and Y/N had entered the building the night before.

Without thinking further, both started running. If they hurried they could still get outside via the west entrance before the university square is full of students.

Luckily for them it was easy to run through the great hall into the foyer, Jesper tried hard not to pull out his revolver to get them out of the situation, but Y/n insisted that they could flee without getting noticed. But it was too late, the guards had already spotted them. Jesper took Y/N by the hand and the two ran laughing like two school girls through the corridors until they could escape over the balcony of the west wing.

They laughed and hugged. "Oh Jesper that was close"

"Yes, If i had not been there, you would have never made it out of there"

"If you hadn't been there I would have never fallen asleep in there"

"That's right, but then I would never have been able to do this either."

He leaned over to her and looked at her with an asking expression. For a moment he was afraid of having lost his self-confidence. He wondered if he had misinterpreted anything. All the times she looked at him with a blushing face and glowing eyes. Maybe he was just wrong ...

But He couldn't think clearly anymore because he had already been interrupted by Y / N's lips. At that moment they both forgot everything around them. The dirty city, the cold winter air and the screams of the guards who were still looking for them.

Fuck, I think that's how it feels at home.

Thx for reading this😅 if you liked it pls write a comment. Just so i know if i should continue writing or not✨ if somebody has a request for an imagine just comment it or text me in my direct messages 🥰💗

Mai 🦋

#jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #inejgayfa #kaz brekker #netflix #booklr #imagine #six of crows #free rein

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clairecrive · 4 years

Text

“Small thing” - Alfie Solomons x reader

A/n: So, I failed to post this on saturday but here it is! Thanks again for requesting @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby! I changed a few things however I hope you’ll like this!

Summary: Alfie can’t help but step in when he sees that the man you were talking to was about to hit you. Then, one thing leads to another and eventually it’s your shared love for animals that’s what brings you together.

Word count: 2.2K (roughly)

TW: violence on animal, abusive behavior but fluff overall

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @of-love-and-of-the-sea, @shadow-of-wonder, @fandom--0verdose, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @sopxhiea, @fuseburner, @ashesbelle (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

(this beautiful piece of art was made by @fortunetellingnonesense. she has other amazing art so go check her out!)

“Hey, stop! What the hell are you doing?!" Your voice resounded in the streets, its echo jumping through the buildings amplified. You weren't one to shout, nor did you get into fights easily. But if there was one thing you hated, it was bullying. Especially when those pieces of shit always picked on people half their size or age. It wasn't fair and showed how insignificant they were. However true that might be, the cuts and bruises that their kicks and fists would leave on them weren't insignificant. Especially compared to a smaller body such as the one of this little kitty that piece of shit on the other side of the road had decided to kick.

Unfortunately, it had taken the small kitten cries for you to notice what was happening. But now that you had, you couldn't turn a blind eye to it. Not even if you weren't a strong muscular person and there was no one in the streets could give you a hand. Given the hour, the street was deserted.

"This little shit has decided to pee all over my doorstep. That’ll show him." Not happy with the kick that had probably broken the kitten's ribs, the bloke spat on its trembling body and was about to keep going.

"Don't you see that it's a little kitten? They don't even know what a doorstep is." You pointed out incredulously but wasn't it obvious?

"You almost killed him", you added to show that it was totally unnecessary and simply a dick move.

"I don't fucking care. He peed on my doorstep and I taught him a lesson." His voice became even harsher as he bragged what he thought was a grand gesture. But really, he only proved your point further.

"You're a piece of shit." Simply put.

"Oi, lady, I don't know who the hell you think you are but ain't no one gonna talk to me like that." You could see that he trying to make himself look bigger and threatening but you didn’t expect anything less from him and were set on not let him win.

"If only you cared about yourself just half as much as you cared for others than I wouldn't have to point out the obvious." Dismissing him, you turned towards the poor kitten that was pathetically laying on the floor. Their breath was uneven and you could tell they were having trouble doing so.

Your words must have confused the man, who apparently wasn't accustomed to a more complex way of speaking. You hadn't apologized but he wasn't sure that you had offended him either. By your tone though, he figured out that it must have been the second. And of course, his ego was bruised.

"Right, you sl*t, it seems that you need to be taught a lesson too." Too busy cooing over the small thing, his words didn't even register. It was probably going to be too late once they did but luckily for you, a guardian angel interceded for you.

"It ain't very manly to hit a woman, mate, right." A loud husky voice spoke behind you and you looked up, cradling the kitten to your chest, ready to make a run for it if it came to it. A tall figure of a man leaning on his cane with a big hat that cast a shadow over his face was the newcomer. You had never seen this man before but one look at him was all it took to understand that you did not mess with him. If you didn't want to end up bloodied and broken, that is.

The bully was about to shoot a retort but the burly man spoke again before he could, "Just like hitting small animals. What fucking beast would do that, hm." And then he spoke no more, only stared at the guy. You found amusing how big and mighty the guy was trying to be just a moment early when it had been only you, and how scared and spineless he was being now, under the stranger's unwavering stare.

It only took a minute, maybe even less, for him to lower his head and retreat.

"That's right, no more lesson teaching for you, bastard." You snickered, mocking him. When the man in question turned to send a death stare your way, you shivered and moved behind the stranger's back, just to be sure.

"Keep on going, mate." The stranger said fully ridding you of that menace finally.

"Asshole", you muttered under your breath as the man disappeared into his house. You must have been louder than you thought because that prompted the stranger to look at you.

"What are you doing, lass, getting head to head with a guy bigger than you, eh. Got a death wish?" As you were standing close to him now, you were able to see his face clearly since he was looking down at you for the height difference. What a lovely face. A guardian angel had sent him for sure because there was no way that such a handsome and kind man would stumble into your life by coincidence.

"Look, he almost killed this kitten and was definitely going to if I hadn't stopped him." You didn’t move to put some space between you. His eyes were too mesmerizing to look anywhere but at them and the way his lips trembled before forming a small smirk, was too endearing to miss.

The stranger’s name turned out to be Alfie, but that wasn't the only thing you ended up knowing about him. He was a fellow animal lover and the human of a sweet bullmastiff. He had a trusted vet and offered to take you to him. On the way, you got to know each other. Albeit, he did all the talking, only stopping to let you answer the many questions he asked you, it wasn't annoying as it may sound. His rumbling was… comforting, in a way. It gave your mind no room to think back about what happened or worry about what could have happened if Alfie hadn't shown up. It only allowed you to lightly caress the kitten's fur and hum now and then to what he was saying.

———————————————————————————

And after months of knowing him, you could vouch that it was.

He was an interesting fellow, this Alfie. Such a scaring looking guy, all burly and dishevelled. His cane angrily stomped the ground, his boisterous voice and confident stride successful kept away any wandering eye and unwanted attention despite how difficult it was to not notice them walking down the street. Of course, since you had just met him, you couldn't know that this happened mainly because of his reputation. And you would have never guessed either because despite his rough exterior, there was an underlying tenderness in the way Alfie looked at the small thing in your arms and how quickly and unprompted he had offered to help. It was the recipe for a sweetheart, wasn't it?

"Right, I reckon we should get him some help, don't we?" Alfie couldn’t help but find you amusing and was more than willing to spend a little more of his time with you. His day had been uneventful up until now. Besides, the small thing in your arms did need help.

After the kitten was entrusted to the vet's care and eventually saved, Alfie, moved by your love for animals, had asked you to take care of his boy, Cyril. Of course, you happily took the job. Yes, the money was good and certainly helped but you mainly agreed because of him. As naive as it sounds, Alfie had made a really good impression on you that day and always had been the portrait of the perfect gentleman around you.

He would welcome you in and offer a cup of tea when you’d get to his home in the morning and another one when he'd come home in the afternoon before you'd leave. And whenever he needed to stay at the bakery until late at night, he'd phone and tell you either offering to have someone walk you home or when you'd refused to leave Cyril alone - that was your job after all- he had given you one of the spare rooms for you to crash in and get some sleep, always with the promise of a raise for the inconvenience.

You were titubant at first, yes Alfie had always been nice to you but was it enough to trust him? Eventually, you caved and stayed the night. The door of your room locked and a route for a quick escape already in mind. You'd soon find out that you wouldn't need it though. Alfie had come home a little past midnight and despite the late hour, he didn't go to bed straight away. Instead, you heard some noises coming from the living room.

Curiosity got the best of you and you ventured downstairs. You had cooked a small dinner and left some for him in the oven. Alfie however, hadn't even noticed. The concept of a cooked meal was new and far away from him, his nightly routine mainly consisted of whiskey and the papers he'd brought from the office.

Coming home to someone was also something out of the ordinary for Alfie, so when your silhouette appeared in the doorway he thought he was hallucinating. The whiskey made him a little slow but his mind still worked quickly enough that you didn't notice his moment of disorientation.

That night turned out to be an interesting one for both of you. Looking back to it, it was also a kind of turning point in your relationship. Whiskey proved to be something that made Alfie even more prone to speaking and since the night is young, you two talked a lot, and you inevitably ended up feeling closer to him.

After that night, Alfie made sure to come home a bit earlier so that you could talk a bit before you had to head home. And you ended up spending more nights at Alfie's too.

Today was one of those days when Alfie said he would come home in time for tea. So, as usual, you had got everything ready, the cookies you had just taken out of the oven were nicely arranged on a plate beside the two steaming cups of tea.

———————————————————————————

"We are restless today, aren't we? But we just came back from our afternoon walk, so what can I do for you, eh?" You were sure you sounded utterly ridiculous, using a baby voice with him but you loved doing so whenever you talked to him. And you’d swear that he could understand you.

"A-ha, these are not for you sweet boy," you tutted at Cyril when he tried to help himself to the food.

It felt like a crescendo, your relationship getting out of the acquaintances’ stage and entering something blurry that you still couldn't figure out. All you knew was that it was warm and it felt a lot like home.

"Alright, alright, I'll give you some cuddles." Yeah, maybe you were a little soft on him but how could anyone be anything but when he looked so cute laying on his back with his little paws in the air?

Exactly.

The sound of the door closing caught your attention and you got up from the ground and walked in the hallway to meet Alfie who was taking his hat off.

"Welcome back, Alfie. How was your day?" Walking to him, you helped him take his coat off. After hanging it on the coat rack, you turn back around to listen to his answer. You expected him to have moved away instead you found your faces extremely close after you had turned around.

A gasp left your lips when your noses brushed whereas Alfie appeared unaffected. His eyes flickered between yours, his moustache tickled your upper lip as he spoke, "it's about to get a lot better, it seems pet. What do ya think?" He whispered on your mouth, referring to your previous question.

The kiss was slow at first, your lips were cautious of each other, tentative and shy. Then Alfie’s hand reached the back of your head and it was like a flip had been switched. Only a brief pause to get some air, your forehead touching, before your lips reconnected. This time with far more hunger, like you had been waiting for this moment. And in fact, you had been.

"Look who's decided to join, cheeky bastard", Alfie commented, amused at his dog who was now panting on his leg. Cyril barked as if he had understood his human and you couldn't help but laugh. This dog was something else.

Your hands trailed on his shoulders up to his neck while the kiss grew more desperate and Alfie pushed you to the wall behind the coat hanger. His hands began wandering trailing down on your body and his mouth was about to follow when something humid and wet interrupted them.

Your eyes bore into his then flickered to his mouth, so close to yours, before you answered him. "I wholeheartedly agree." And that was all he needed to hear before his mouth was on yours. A shot of electricity ran through you when he did.

"I'm sorry mate, but this is a dance for two," Alfie gave him a loving pat on his head, "now where were we?" he turned back to you before connecting your mouths again.

#alfie solomons #tom hardy #tom hardy imagines #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons imagines #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons one shot #alfie x reader #alfie solomons fluff #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine

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