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midday0nightmares · 3 years

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27 - pry on the weak (m).

Previous chapter in your arms (m).

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

The door was shut, it won’t open, it was cemented on every side expat for the small slit under it, you try knocking, shout for someone, anyone, but to no avail.

you try the window, it opens, but the sight is even scarier. The city is quiet, too quiet. No traffic in its usually busy streets, every window in the near buildings were closed, no birds in the sky, not a single sign of life, even the sun seems stuck in its place, time isn’t moving.

Outside the closed door, you can hear muffled sounds, you peak under the door and see the familiar white socks on a pair of feet moving around the room, it’s jaemin. you shout and scream for him, but he doesn’t even flinch, he just keeps going through his day.

You were forgotten, lost forever in his room.

You jolt out of the claustrophobic nightmare, everything around you looks sound and in its right place, including jaemin, who’s sleeping next you, it was a nightmare.. you didn’t think that a nightmare would have the audacity to visit you while you were sleeping in his arms.

You snuggle closer to him, too close, not minding if he wakes up right now, it would be ideal if he can listen to you telling him about the rude nightmare and sho It away..

He buckles under your pleads,

“fine.. you can come too”

The high pitched squeal you let out almost made him change his mind.

You wore a simple, body fitting black dress, a safe choice, you walked to the living room where jaemin was waiting for you, he was wearing a black suit, the black trousers making his long legs look extra inviting.

Jeno whistle from behind you when you spun to show jaemin your outfit, you roll your eyes at his ungentlemanly behavior,

But the way jaemin’s eyes were shinning, and the compliment “you look beautiful” made your heart flutter, but the butterflies were shot dead when jeno’s hand landed on your ass in a sharp slap.

You link arms with jaemin and make the short trip to the door across the hallway to chenle apartment, the door was open, you were welcomed by upbeat classical music, not what you’ve expected.

Inside, the apartment looked like an entire house by itself, it was three times bigger than your apartment, the atmosphere was intimidating, everyone looked expensive and beautiful, there was three type of guests, men, gorgeous women, and you.

Bite sized appetizers and trays of champion were being served along side an open bar at the corner, chandeliers were hanging off the ceiling and the big glass door opens to the terrace.

Your heart sunk and your stomach turned over inside of you. You cling to jaemin’s arm when you spot that face, haechan’s face.he approaches you and they all greeted each other, you keep looking else where, doing your best to ignore him.

“Hey man! Long time no see.. what are you doing here? You know chenle?” Yes good question jaemin, what is he doing here?

“Yeah yeah..” He leans closer and lowers his voice “he’s one of my top clients” he gestures to the tens of girls around.. and it clicks in your head that they were all escorts, brought by haechan, they were his girls. you didn’t even try to hide the look of disgust that was showing on your face.

“Hey handsome” a tall, brunette, doll like girl throws her arms around jeno, “haven’t seen you in a while” she seamlessly pout. He giggles and turns into a harmless puppy in her hands, she must be one of haechan girls too, of course he will pay for company, who would want to spend time with him.

Your attention turns back to the hushed conversation between haechan and jaemin,

“… no, his father is the of a one the leaders of the Chinese communist party, powerful man. and he’s the sole hire of multiple companies” haechan says.

“What is he doing here?” Jaemin asks.

“don’t know.. but based on what I have heard, he’s not staying for long..” haechan cuts himself as soon as he notice your interest in their conversation, “And how have you been doing sweet thing?”

oh the rage that went through you, you wished you could claw his eyes out, your distain is loud on your features. jaemin’s hand reach and hold yours, giving you a gentle squeeze, silently apologizing for breaking his promise of not having to see haechan again.

And of course Hacehan is anything but dumb, he reads your mood and turns back to jaemin “come, I want you to meet someone” .. “haa you never stop working, don’t you?” Jaemin let go of your hand and slips deeper into the crowd, leaving you standing awkwardly next to jeno and his baby.

You stomp with no destination in mind. you look around, amazed by everything, but you feel misplaced, the looks that were thrown your way, you didn’t belong here and everyone knew it, there was an underlining screech the luxuries mood.

You catch the back of jaemin’s head through the crowd, an unsuspected punch of something was delivered to your heart, throwing your mood completely off. he’s with a group of giggly girls, practically drooling over them.

you regret insisting on coming with him.. you should have known, but it’s too late now, you look else where and meet the sister eyes of haechan staring at you. he winks at you, you throw him the dirtiest look you have and move out of his sight line.

You pick a glass of champagne and lean against the wall, tipping the tall glass and drinking it in one go, and another.. starting to feel better. Chenle’s bright hair stands between the crowds, he gracefully moves around greeting everyone, you didn’t notice before but he’s quit charming.. he catches you staring at him and smile at you, rising his glass towards you, you fumble almost dropping your half empty glass.. when you mange to get a grip on yourself and rise your glass he had already return to his conversation.

“Hello, mind if I join you?” The stranger man stands next to you even before you could’ve answered him, “what’s your name?” He looks like he was operating on twice the normal human energy, fidgeting and unable to stay still for more than three seconds, his smile twitches, the look in his eyes is frantic.. his pupils are blown, he’s on something.

He speaks again before you can answer “hi Im yangyang, what’s your name?” why does his friends have wired names?

You watch him like he was a train wreck happing in slow motion, “here try this” he hands you one of the two glass he was holding in his hands, a pink cocktail with raspberry, you smile politely and take the drink, he stares at you with his frozen smile.. but something behind you catches his attention, he kinda looks like a cat, just like that he leaves as fast as he came, he’s kinds cute.

You move to the open terrace for some fresh air, the breeze flowing through your hair, you zone out as you watch the city lights.. a hand graze the small of your back brings you back, you jump in surprise. “sorry didn’t mean to scare you” chenle apologize, placing a tall glass of champion in front of you, his round cheeks flushed, he looks breathtaking in this proximity, or maybe it’s just the alcohol in your system..

“To be honest sera, Im a little offended” he confess, your eyes grow double the size “offended.. why?”,

he gives you sad puppy eyes and looks around “you don’t seems to enjoy my party”..

“oh no, I do. Your house is very beautiful and everything looks amazing” you try to convince him but he’s not buying it, you just give up and sigh, “im just tired” looking down to the busy streets..

He hums “tired or jealous?” Pointing at jeno who was too busy sucking that girl’s face, you roll your eyes and chenle laughs.

“im not” you bring the glass to your lips, drinking more, a pathetic attempt to suppress whatever have been twisting your insides.

Someone calls for him cutting your interaction short, “Alright.. well if you need anything come find me” he says before leaving you. You stay at your spot, distracting yourself with silly thoughts while the party behind you was growing wilder.

Your stomach growls, you feel sick and about to throw up.. heat rising through you, you sweat and feel lightheaded, you must have had too much to drink you are not used to it.

You stumble inside and through the crowded room, looking for the closest bathroom before it’s too late, haechan grabs your arm “sera.. are you ok?” His voice is far away although he’s standing next to you, you yanking your arm out of his hold “don’t touch me..”,

The room starts spinning, you hold the wall for support, after that it all went dark.

When you came back and opened your eyes, you were laid in a bed, the strong cologne filling your noise, upsetting your empty stomach. For a minute you don’t remember where you are or what had happened, the unfamiliar bedroom doesn’t ring any bills, your head is pounding, threatening to explode you move too much, you try to get up but a sharp pain shots through you, your hips feels like they were dislocated, your thighs bruised and had blood on them, your pulled up dress and torn underwear, it all indicates to one thing.

You mange to hold yourself through the initial shock, not breaking down. With a plan to find jaemin you fix your dress to cover your exposed breast, you force yourself up, picking up your discarded heal off of the floor. You limb your way out of the room, the party has quite down, it has turned to something else..

everyone looked like a living zombie, you look for jaemin, you open every door on your way, you open a door to a bedroom, and you see group of men gathered over a passed out girl, watching them felt like an outside body experience, like you were rewatching yourself. They were unfazed by your presences as they continue their assult..

you close the door to the hellish scene, you keep looking for him but he’s nowhere to be found.

You reach the main area, being met by jeno and haechan snorting whit powder of the coffee table, surrounded by loopy girls.. jeno tries to grab you, to pull you down with them but you escape his claw like hand.

You can’t take this anymore, you were starting to crumble. you did’t feel safe anymore. you head to the door and walk out, you seek the comfort of a familiar surroundings, their apartment, a hot shower, clean clothes, your bed.. but you don’t have a key and you don’t know the passcode, you try random combinations but nothing works, the door stays closed, duff to your cries.

You break down, tears streaming your face, you give up on the door and slid to the ground, leaning against the wall you sit alone in the hallway waiting for jaemin’s return.

#nct dream #nct yandere #nct smut #nct mafia #nct imagines #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct blurbs #nct jeno #nct jaemin #nct angst #nct agnst

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fatehbaz · 3 years

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Interspecies encounters, togetherness, irreducible strangeness when creatures meet, caring for “the multitude of life we cannot sense”:

Ada Smailbegović talks of starfish time (2015). Starfish may seem to be still, but longer attention, through time-lapse photography for example, shows them moving, changing. Smailbegović also talks of larval time, the time it takes for eggs to develop and hatch, a time that is a compound entity of other variables, longer in the cold, or sped up with increasing temperature. Larval time is the right time for eggs to hatch, a deeply relational and contingent time. As she points out, “many of the temporalities that are relevant for developing a politics of time in the Anthropocene – such as minute and incrementally accumulating processes of change, or the long duration of geological time, rock time, or the temporal rhythms of non-human organisms – are beyond the human sensorium” (2015: 97). [...] For by attending to more-than-human agencies of time and weather, diverse multiplicities emerge even as they are beyond human understanding. This is the seasonal time of clouds gathering. It is also the time of hydrological cycles, of water moving through aquifers for thousands of years, of transpiration and growth. And short spirals, of the flash of lightning, claps of thunder, of traveling sound and light. Then there are beings that experience hundreds, thousands of generations within a human lifetime. For such beings, the memories, learnings and modes of passing on experience are, it almost goes without saying (yet it must be said as it is so often not), radically different from any human’s in terms of the ways they experience change. The immensity of the alterity is, literally, incomprehensible to humans. We can’t know how and what these beings know. But we can be aware that they have knowledges and experiences beyond us. For many people, coming from different cultural and ontological positions, not knowing does not mean not connecting or not respecting. For it would seem that there are things that humans cannot and should not know. We don’t need to know what starfish know. But we should know they live and experience and think beyond us. We should seek respect and be aware of how our lives are entangled [...]. It is not abstract, or empty.

(Source: Bawaka Country including, S. Wright, S. Suchet-Pearson, K. Lloyd, L. Burarrwanga, R. Ganambarr, M. Ganambarr-Stubbs, B. Ganambarr, D. Maymuru. “Gathering of the Clouds: Attending to Indigenous understandings of time and climate through songspirals.” Geoforum. January 2020.)

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We can now turn to abundant evidence that nonhuman creatures matter politically, ethically, and that they pulse with world-making vitality. [...] Studies of microbes have charted the importance of alienness and difference in processes of becoming. Helmreich’s study of microbial oceanography suggests that “the lowly microbe constitutes a force of leviathan significance” for life, but also witnesses the sense of alterity that this vast cosmos of microorganisms in the sea evokes in humans. […]. Taken together, such studies shift agency away from the bounded figure of the human and underline the indifference of the many inhuman forced folded within us. Attending to microbial life also points us to animal others that […] we do not (like to) see or touch. […] We are more intimately familiar with them than we like, but at the same time they remain alien to us, catching us in what Hugh Raffles describes as the “nightmare of knowing and the nightmare of nonrecognition.” This opens up space for friction, conflict, and misrecognition within togetherness […]. For every meeting between creatures involves an irreducible strangeness, and something singular, irreducible and vast behind each relation. […] There is a distance between beings when they meet, a multitude of life beyond sense and matter, and flourishing and togetherness emerge from this “virtual ecology.”

(Source: Maan Barua, Uli Beisel, Franklin Ginn. “Flourishing with Awkward Creatures: Togetherness, Vulnerability, Killing.” 2014.)

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Such otherness can be seen in work concerned with dimensions of human–animal conflict which is full of depictions of strange, disturbing, fraught, chance, and violent encounters. Whether the challenges of coexisting with coyotes or cougars in North America [...], the growing presence of Macaques in the borderlands of Singapore [...], shark catch and kill policies in Australia [...], or the verminization of rats in urban areas [...], notions of encounter are central to accounts where non-human animals are somehow rendered out of place or too close for comfort [...]. Many examples of human–animal encounters are about the breach of spatial and regulatory boundaries – home spaces, urban borderlands, safe swim zones, and so on – but the distinctions of human/animal, society/nature, urban/rural, domestic/wild that are central to these renderings are a reminder of the colonial knowledge-practices that continue to define humanity on the basis of the separation between humans and animal [...]. A concern with the dangers of one-sided accounts in the context of unequal relations is one that has been central to multispecies work, which has raised challenging questions about voice, interpretation, and decipherability [...]. An encounter is an event of relation – it is about two beings or things that are momentarily held together. Encounters make (a) difference [...] and are often experienced as something that disrupts, unsettles, or surprises in ways that can be as affirmative as they can be violent. [...] [W]hilst encounters can highlight distinctions, and thus forms of separation or psychological and cultural distance, it is important to emphasize that they are also events of relation. The experiences of shock, surprise, and rupture that so often accompany accounts of human–animal encounters are evidence of a moment in which something is destabilized or unexpectedly broken open; a moment in which borders are shifted, exposed, crossed, made, unmade, and undermined [...]. Encounters, then, do not simply take place at the border, and are not simply about existing borders, but are rather central to their making and unmaking [...].

(Source: Helen F. Wilson. “Contact zones: Multispecies scholarship through Imperial Eyes.” Environment and Planning. July 2019.)

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Slugs, like other often uncomfortable companions such as microbes [...], bees [...], cougars [...], test our resolve to live ‘convivially’ with non-humans [...]. Yet live we must, for the lives of humans and slugs are stuck together. Composition is the work of building a common world [...]. It is, simply put, how things come to stick together. [...] [A]gents and materials are never distributed in time or space according to [...] the authorities of Modernism [...]. In this the composers are certainly not all human [...]. [In some cases] the stickiness of composition leaves a residue that echoes through time, as narrated by [gardeners] shifting their sense of what is possible and good in their gardens after an intense connection reaction to slug death. [...] [E]very [interspecies] meeting in fact reminds us that the being we meet is and always shall be strange to us [...]. [E]verything is not just related, but also that there is something singular, irreducible and vast behind each relation. When beings meet there is a distance between, such that in encountering the slug we also encounter something beyond the slug -- a multitude of life we cannot sense. The ethic that emerges from this space ‘between relation’ is, as Yusoff puts it, part of a ‘virtual ecology’ that exceeds encounters with matter. So despite shared histories and the close proximity in which slugs and gardeners live, the slug retains a certain darkness as a creature apart; something is held in reserve [...]. And so fleeting awareness of the irretrievability of the lives of others intensifies poignancy, such that despite a gulf separating the gardener from other creatures, some connection, however, fleeting, is made to something -- however strange. Refusing to dismiss the everyday and the banal is an ethical response. [...] Slugs are there: sliming, chomping, and oozing around quietly and that should be enough to give them consideration.

(Source: Franklin Ginn. “Sticky lives: Slugs, detachment and more-than-human ethics in the garden.” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers. 2013.)

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minor-solemnity · 3 years

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Invention and Intrigue pt.3

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

“You know, my friends call me Tom.” He interrupts you, sounding faintly amused, a small, irritatingly handsome smile curling his lips.

“And that’s what we are? Friends?”

You start meeting him more regularly after that. He finds you after dinner most nights and you spend hours in abandoned classrooms, researching and practising obscure forms of magic. Thankfully, he doesn’t bring any more fluffy animals for practical demonstrations. You swap theories and notes on cursed objects; delve deep into the histories of generational bloodline curses; and break down spells - both light and dark - into their most base forms to learn their mechanisms and constructions.

Honestly, it’s strange how easy it is to sit in companionable silence reading from the ancient tomes that Riddle has somehow managed to source. Riddle is patient and oddly kind when he explains aspects of magical theory that you don’t understand; he’s a good teacher. Given his reputation for being a studious, polite, and unendingly fair young man you don’t think this should shock you, but it does nonetheless.

More interesting is the gratification that lights his expression when he succeeds in performing a spell for the first time, and the morbid curiosity he has for everything that could be classified as ‘dark’. You think that you should be concerned or nervous or scared but it’s difficult to summon those (very sensible, very reasonable) feelings when you are just as interested in what you’re discovering as he is.

It’s nearly seven o’clock and you think you should probably be thinking about heading back to your common room in case Melanie starts to wonder where you are. Except… From where you’re sitting on the floor with a large, dark green blanket wrapped around your shoulders that Riddle had conjured for when when you’d complained about being cold, you can watch him without him noticing. You can study the way he curls over the book on legilimency he’s reading, head bowed, dark hair falling into his eyes and casting shadows along the sharp planes of his face. He pauses every so often to scribble down a thought or annotation and you watch the crease that forms on his forehead whenever he reaches a part of his reading that particularly interests him. He looks calm is the thing. Content. Peaceful.

Unbidden, an image of him stretched out on a sofa, a book in his hands, you curled at his side, springs fully formed to the forefront of your mind. You can picture the way he might absently run a hand through your hair, or maybe it would be you tracing patterns against his chest… It’s a horrendously tempting portrayal of domesticity. You’re so lost in your fantasies that you don’t realise that you’ve been staring until he coughs politely and you’re brought thundering back to reality. He’s watching you with an expression that reads as part amusement and part consideration and you feel your cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny.

You get up and brush yourself off, folding the blanket over your arm and studiously ignore him. “I should… I need to get back. It’s getting late.” You say and are proud that your voice only wavers slightly.

He hums softly in contemplation and nods. Once you’ve both gathered your things, he offers you his hand and you are reminded of the first time you’d spoken. You slumped against the wall, shivering and scared and him, holding his hand out to you like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Let me walk you back,” He says. Just as before, he doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach the entrance to your common room. When you try to return the blanket, he shakes his head and presses it back into your hands. “I conjured it for you. I’d like for you to keep it.”

Just as before, he departs and you’re left holding the blanket, soft and warm and deep emerald green. Slytherin colours. His colours.

***

Three days later, you’re ready to take back every nice thought you’ve ever had about Riddle. You are seriously regretting ever having caught his attention. Sure, it’s been fun, you’ve learnt a lot of interesting things, and you’d be lying if you said that you’d not been enjoying getting know Riddle beyond the persona he puts forward to the rest of the school, but none of that can make up for the fact that he is leading you down into the bowels of the castle once more without a care in the world for your comfort or sanity.

“You don’t like the dungeons very much, do you?” He asks, taking in your jumpy demeanour and suspicious gaze with a sardonic smile. “Why is that, I wonder? Too scary for a good little girl like you?” The emphasis on the word ‘good’ serves both to underline the obvious sarcasm in his words and make your stomach clench in a way that is entirely inappropriate for the conversation at hand. You could curse yourself for the incredibly misplaced crush you’ve apparently developed.

You fold your arms over your chest and stare at the floor, unwilling to let him see how much his comment has affected you. You let out a shaky breath and murmur, “Self-preservation is not the same as being scared. Excuse me for not wanting to actively tempt fate and die in some godforsaken dungeon.” You snip, well aware that you’re being a little bit dramatic and not caring in the slightest.

Riddle purses his lips together in a hard, thin line and it’s not difficult to see that you’re irritating him. “You seemed perfectly capable of defending yourself the last time you ventured down.”

“Just because I can defend myself doesn’t mean I want to have to.” You snap, following him through the door he’s holding open for you and glancing around in case this has all been some elaborate hoax Lestrange is waiting in the shadows to hex you to hell and back.

The door slams shut behind you and you whirl around, your wand outstretched. Riddle leans against the closed door, arms crossed, looking incredibly bored. “I would have hoped you’d have a little more trust in me by this point.”

And well… He’s right, as much as it pains you to admit it. He’s only ever been kind to you - maybe a little condescending and arrogant at times, but that only serves to add to his charm. With a twinge of embarrassment, you stow your wand away and clench your jaw, unwilling to admit defeat quite so soon. “Yes, well, that was before you decided to lure me into the dungeons, Riddle. Forgive me for being—"

“You know, my friends call me Tom.” He interrupts you, sounding faintly amused, a small, irritatingly handsome smile curling his lips.

“And that’s what we are? Friends?” You stare at him blankly. Because… Well. You’re not. Friends, that is. Up until a few weeks ago, Tom Riddle hasn’t spared you a second glance since first year and why would he? You are… Well, you’re you. Angry at the world, melodramatic, and apparently, a budding dark sorcerer. It’s strangely reassuring to realise that it’s these things that he likes about you.

“Why wouldn’t we be? We’ve been spending plenty of time together, we have similar interests, we know things about each other that no one else does,” He’s circling you now, sweeping closer and closer until he’s right in front of you, perched elegantly against one of the desks. “What else would you call us?” He sounds so… calm. Congenial. Like it’s the most obvious and simple thing in the world. Except that there’s nothing congenial about the heat that flickers in the depths of his eyes.

He cocks his head to the side, as though considering something very carefully, and then reaches out and catches your hand. With the same surprising strength that he’d displayed the last time you’d been in the dungeons alone with him, he pulls you forwards. Velocity and inertia work in tandem and you stumble towards him, prevented from collapsing against his chest only by his hand that moves to clasp your waist. Unbidden, your hands move to rest on his thighs. You can feel the way his muscles tense under your touch and you wonder if he’s as affected by the sudden proximity as you are. You wonder if his heart is tripping over itself the way yours is. You wonder (and a distant part of your mind laughs at the ridiculousness of the thought even as you think it) if he wants you the way you find yourself wanting him: entirely. You want to wrap yourself around every part of him, insert yourself into every aspect of his being. You’ve never considered yourself to be a possessive person before; you might have to start reconsidering that now.

You feel, more than you hear, his short sharp intake of breath and he spreads his legs just enough to provide a space for you. You press forward, tucking yourself between his legs, hands on his thighs, emotion and heat and, god, want flooding through you with all the unstoppable force of a tsunami crashing over a seawall. His eyes flicker between yours as he brushes a lock of hair away from your eyes, tucking it carefully behind your ear. He tilts your head up and lowers his until his lips are barely grazing yours. There’s something almost tentative about the way he holds himself, as though he’s holding himself back.

Nervous. You think he might be nervous. And isn’t that just the most delicious thought?

Your heart thrums wildly in your chest and your fingers tighten instinctively against the fabric of his trousers. “Definitely not friends,” You whisper against his lips before you finally give in to the want that’s been building inside of you for weeks.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #minific #jinxqsu

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 3 years

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What if… I touch and taste you?

1 of 3 chapters, or 4, depending on the muses. Rated M.

The night after Dulcy had agreed to go out on a date with him, just him, no kids, Davarax has to handle the accumulated UST by himself to be able to sleep...

(Writer was consequently arrested by the Pun Police, but regrets nothing!)

Davarax likes to think of himself as a rather uncomplicated guy. He is given a target, focuses on it and goes after it. It’s what makes him an excellent bounty hunter. He’s known for his ability to focus. He goes out and gets what others need, tries (fails) to be there for his kids, patches up his wounds and head out to get new ones, and that is what his life has been about.

Until she came along.

Saving someone in need? Davarax does that all the time. He travels in rough places and does what he can to improve things for souls he meets on his way. It’s not much but anything he can do to make the Galaxy maybe a little better for his kids to grow up in, well, that is worth doing. He didn’t think too much about it when he took down those cretins who tried to grab that woman off the streets, but the way she hadn’t hesitated, despite the danger to her own life, to rush over to protect her child with her own frail body had made an impression.

She was no Mandalorian, but she certainly acted like one. Her courage caught his interest, her dignity despite the humiliation earned his admiration, the child’s innocence to their hopeless situation roped in his empathy and soon Davarax was far too invested to let them just wander off to be eaten alive by the darkness of the Galaxy.

Dulcy is beautiful, Davarax is not blind, he appreciated that from the very start, but it isn’t fair that she turned out to be so much more than just a pretty face. Her protective nature and unconditional love for her son makes his heart clench. It is what he feels for his own kids and what he so desperately wishes their own parents could have shown his little crew of troublemakers.

Also, while life in the Covert is a far cry from how he suspects she used to live, Dulcy didn’t once cower or hide away while trying to get her bearings in an unfamiliar place and culture. She keeps striding forward, takes on challenge after challenge, never loses her smile, and the second she gave that smile to his kids, Davarax knew there was no turning back for him.

He has found his heart.

Falling in love is bad enough, Davarax hopes he’s not making too much of a mess of it as he hasn’t courted anyone in years and he has no idea what someone fancy like Dulcy will think of his humble life and meagre offerings. He tries to show her his feelings despite the differences in their cultures making it a bit of a challenge, does his best to act respectful while he seeks out her company and proximity, but... trouble is how he’s now fallen in lust with her as well.

Davarax can’t help it. As stated before, he’s not blind. While the appreciation of the shape of her in the very beginning had been an almost absent-minded thing, like admiring a fine weapon he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on, in the Covert Dulcy had decided to bring him crashing to his knees by appearing in those damn pants that not only underlined those gorgeous, round hips of hers, but also showed off the incredibly well-shaped legs she’d hidden under those skirts.

He had not been prepared and could only stare as lust stabbed him in the gut.

And maybe, just maybe, he would have been able to contain that initial wave of primitive want, maybe, if that beautiful, horrible woman hadn’t caught him looking and had gone for his throat by very deliberately bending over in front of him and flaunting what he had been staring at.

Dulcy might have the face of an angel, but she has the fearlessness a Mandalorian.

He didn’t stand a chance. Especially after he’d playfully warned her from the very start that he wasn’t as good of a guy as she claimed he was, and she still chose to tease him like that.

Yet, at the same time, Davarax suspects that men looking at her with that kind of hunger is something she’s all too familiar with and he doesn’t want her to think he’s like them. He wants her heart and her trust. He has already given her his, even if she doesn’t know it yet. He wants to give her everything.

Which means that when Davarax lies in his bed, savouring the fact that Dulcy had agreed to spend time with him tomorrow without the kids, just the two of them, alone, and he feels heat coiling low in his belly? He closes his eyes with a sigh and resents his own body.

Ignore it, he tells himself. Let your mind wander.

But the heat doesn’t go away because his mind wanders directly back to her and how perfectly she fits in his arms, how sweetly she had curved to fit against him during that kov’nyn, and those legs of hers...

Rolling over on his side, Davarax opens his eyes and stares ahead as his body reacts even more to the memories. The fingers on one hand curl to take a firm grip on the sheets.

Davarax swallows. He remembers the deliciously evil look in her eyes when he apologized for staring and more blood gather below his waist. He exhales carefully. Tries to will it away but his entire body is heating up now. His sleeveless shirt and night-pants begin feel stifling after heavy thumps of his heart pumps blood where it has no business going right now. His fingers tighten their grip on the sheets.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

But she’s so beautiful and it’s been so very, very long since…

Davarax’ fingers slowly uncurl and his hand move down his body to where even his own touch is more than welcome despite the want for something very different.

Shame and guilt mix with the sweet pleasure of just gingerly pushing the heel of his hand against where he’s already hard and Davarax hears himself exhale a shaky breath. Oh, the craving for more tears at his gut, shatters his weak determination and he can’t resist.

Like this, he’ll have it out of his system. If he does this, as bad as it may be, at least that means he’ll be able to be with Dulcy tomorrow with a clear head and not be shaking with want if she so much as smiles in his direction.

He tells himself this and reaches inside his pants.

Her smile. He wonders what it would feel like to kiss those lips…

Fingers curl around him and they move. It’s not perfect but that is fitting right now. He’s succumbing, not indulging.

Davarax has worn the helmet since he was thirteen and lived mostly in isolation with his sister before that, so while Davarax knows about kissing from others, he’s never tried it. And just the idea of kissing Dulcy…

Heat pulses through him at the thought. He tightens his grip a little without slowing down. His thumb gives an extra caress that he can feel in the very marrow of his bones.

Davarax closes his eyes, focuses on what he loves about Dulcy; which is everything, and he tries to block out the sound of his own shaking breath as he works his want towards his release.

The golden locks that will curl up by her neck. That look in her beautiful eyes. Her small and elegant hands. Her breasts that look like they would be a perfect fit to his palms. The curve of her back and her hips. Those damn legs… wrapped around him… holding him tight… urging him on...

Everything is tightening up, becomes urgent, and Davarax can’t hold back a couple of quiet gasps as he imagines feeling like this with her. Dulcy and this feeling, the combination is driving him insane. He wants to make her feel this good and but he’s scared she’ll think less of him for wanting her like some brute. He shouldn’t do this but it feels so good he can’t resist.

It builds and builds, until he forgets all about guilt or to curl up with shame, merely does what his body wants and tries to keep quiet while doing so. A drop of sweat trickles across his skin.

Finally he feels the first warning signals radiating out from low in his gut, tingling up his spine, and Davarax has just enough time to get some air into his lungs before his hips buck hard and then he’s coming.

Arching, shaking, Davarax bites back a choked, unsteady groan. His hand moves without him being aware of moving it, drawing out the feeling of euphoria, even after it becomes too much, and he has to shy away from his own touch.

Sweaty, breathless and dazed, Davarax lies there, just mindlessly panting for a while. The relief numbs his brain for a delicious amount of time, leaves him feeling sated and with a sense of peace. The urgency is gone, the tension is gone, he’s just heavy-limbed and content.

He wonders what she would look like after...

And then the shame hits and it hits hard.

Clenching his jaw, Davarax gets out of bed and marches into the refresher. After cleaning up, he stalks back to the bed and burns with self-resentment as he yanks off the sheets to replace them with new ones just because the very sight of them will remind him of what he did.

He’d warned her he was not the good man she claimed he was, but Davarax hates that he just proved it. Dulcy deserves better than this. He will be better.

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #what if #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Hands on action #the Pun Police are after me

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plumeriaheart · 4 years

Text

How to persuade your dummy [Mammon/Reader]

I would give Mammon my soul within seconds. Also that one devilgram story for his ssr card, the Mammon Way, made me wish it ended differently so here’s me fulfilling my own wish.

FANDOM: Obey Me!

RATING: more fluff, with a little bit of spice

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

„Ugh, why do I have to bother with some stupid homework assignment?! This is beneath the Great Mammon!”

His sudden outburst doesn’t phase you nor Satan – it’s his fourth one already. Although Satan already explained to him that he had to finish his course work – lest he wants to repeat the year – it simply doesn’t seem to get through his head. And you can tell that he’s growing more exasperated by the second. If you look closely, you can see his smile twitch as he watches Mammon flipping through the pages of his exercise books.

“Satan, would you like me to handle this?” Not to mention that you’re just as much at a loss as he is; still, you would rather avoid him losing his cool. If everything else fails, you could simply command Mammon to do his work, right?

“Are you certain that you’ll be able to?” He seems hesitant, considering whether this is something he can leave in your hands. The concern on his face makes you wonder – does he think that little of you? After all, you were able to make most of the demon brothers enter a pact with you. You would have thought that you had proven yourself more than capable at this point.

“Of course I am. I have a pact with him, remember?” This seems to reassure him, and only a few seconds pass before he nods with a confident smile.

“Then I will leave this job to you. Do let me know about your success later tonight when you return to the House of Lamentation.” With those words, he bids you farewell. As soon as he’s out of eyesight, though, you hear Mammon getting up from his chair.

“Finally! Thought he wasn’t gonna leave at all!” You watch him as he stretches his arms above his head, a carefree grin on his face. Unless you act fast, you know he’s going to take the chance to disappear as quickly as he can.

“You know, I thought you looked pretty cute working on that assignment...” Voice as nonchalant as possible, you sit down across from him and notice his cheeks burning up right away. He turns his face away from you quickly as if to try and hide the fact that you made him blush.

“Ya’ think…? I-I mean, ‘course I did! I, the Great Mammon, always look pretty cute! And, uhm, attractive, too!” He’s right, technically, you do think he always looks rather attractive, but maybe you could use this to make him continue his work?

“There’s something really attractive about somebody that’s so focused on their work in front of them...” You mumble, letting your eyes drop down to his opened books. “I really like seeing you that focused, Mammon.”

You’ve never seen him sit down as fast as he did right now, frantically searching for the pencil he used to pretend to work while Satan was present.

“L-like this?” His voice is low and he doesn’t even look up at you, eyes glued to the page in front of him. Whether he’s actually trying to read or if he’s just pretending to, you can’t tell. Though you can see that he’s still blushing.

“Yeah, just like that – it’s really difficult to hold back the urge to kiss you right now.” His grip around the pencil tightens and the lead breaks from the pressure. With a gulp, he dares to look up at you for a mere second only to see you smiling at him. As if you didn’t just make his heart stop!

“Pfft, that’s… That’s just like a human, being too weak to… to ignore my devilish charms,” he mumbles, eyes flitting from your lips to the curve of your neck. Suddenly, he’s hyper-aware of how enticing you look to him; the thought of how soft your lips must feel and how delicate your skin looks. Mammon gulps, finding it even more difficult to focus on the work in front of him thanks to you.

You wonder if your plan backfired, if you only made it more difficult for him to finish his work, but then… Another idea sparks inside your head. Anything is worth a shot to make him work.

“I think my self-control is strong enough to hold myself back right now. But if you were to finish that first book… I don’t know if I’d be able to hold myself back then.” It’s unclear whether Mammon can tell that you’re sweet-talking him into doing his work or not, but the important thing is that it’s working. He’s pulled the book closer to himself, underlining passages within the text and scribbling down stuff in his notebook. And unlike before, they’re not just wiggly lines.

You grin to yourself, watching him work away – too focused to even look up for a single second. Now that you have to wait for him to finish the first book, you take out your D.D.D. and start a new group chat with the other brothers. You take a quick snapshot of Mammon and send it to them with the caption ‘I found a way to make him work!’

Immediate responses flood the group chat, all five brothers wondering just how you managed to convince him. You’re not willing to tell them you practically seduced him into doing it, but… Asmodeus can probably figure it out himself.

‘Did you promise to send him exclusive voice lines from Ruri-chan if he finishes his work? ROFLMAO If yes, you have to send them to me. Plz do it. Mammon’s such a normie he wouldn’t know how to appreciate Ruri-chan’s precious voice.’

‘Did you offer to pay him? With all due respect, you didn’t seem like the type of person to possess enough wealth to do so.’

‘I bet she promised to make dinner for him. Maybe even his favourite meal? I bet he couldn’t say no to that.’

You hold back a giggle to those texts, but then you feel as if somebody’s staring at you. Looking up from your D.D.D., you see Mammon with a confident smile – he’s at the end of the first book, and his eyes are watching you expectantly.

That was way faster than you imagined!

“You’re done already? I’m impressed, Mammon,” you say. His only response is a grin, a quick nod and another slight blush on his cheeks. He’s really waiting for that kiss you mentioned, isn’t he?

As you get up from your seat and move to sit next to him, he suddenly averts his gaze.

“This was nothing for somebody as clever as me!” His voice is not as cocky as his words, and he gulps audibly as you sit down next to him. Your arms touch, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him. You’re more than willing to hold up your end of the bargain, but he refuses to turn his head to look at you. As if you weren’t able to see how red his face was from this angle!

That’s not enough to stop you, though. You lean closer to him, placing your lips just below his ear. He jumps in his seat, clearly not having expected you to be so bold.

“I’m really proud of you, Mammon. You’ve done really well, you know? And the next two books are going to be a cakewalk for you,” you whisper. He shivers at the feeling of your hot breath caressing his skin. It’s entertaining to see how much such a simple action can affect him; it brings you more joy than you’d like to admit. Another soft kiss is placed, this time, a bit closer to his cheek.

“You’re… You’re right! This is nothing for me!” His hands are shaking ever so slightly as he reaches for the next book, aware of just how close you are to him. His skin still tingles where your soft lips touched. You decide to rest your head on his shoulder, watching him as he continues to work. The proximity makes his heart beat faster, nervous about how close you are, but you see him begin to work once more. Since he’s doing his best at focusing on the words in front of him, Mammon doesn’t notice the pink tinge on your cheeks.

It takes him slightly longer than before, which can be attributed to how close you were, but eventually, he finishes the second book as well. He doesn’t say anything, but… He does glance at you. He’s not going to say it, but he wants to hear you say how well he did.

You lift your head from his shoulder, humming a little.

“Can you look at me?” You ask, smiling brightly as he does. Raising your hand, you gently stroke his cheek with your fingertips; eyes never wavering from his. “I’m really glad to see you give it your all.”

His eyes widen as if in shock, but then he nods. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again – he can’t find any words to say to you right now. He’s way too overwhelmed: he’s nervous because you’re so close, anticipating the kiss you talked about before, and also exhausted from doing actual work.

You gently make him tilt his head so that your foreheads touch, and now you feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. At this rate, he’s likely to break a world record in blushing, you think to yourself.

“Do you think you need a little break before you continue?” It’s the least he deserves. “I can get us something to eat, and then you’ll finish the last book, okay?” He nods, but his face drops a little as you get up to order. If he had a say in it, he wouldn’t let you go at all. He finds an irritating amount of satisfaction in having you this close to him, being gentler than anybody had ever been with him before. He’s not the Avatar of Greed for nothing.

When you return, his face lights up with a smile. He may have begun to miss you already, but he also realised that all the thinking had made him hungry.

“I got you some coffee and a backstabbing sandwich – your favourite, right?”

He might just tear up at how kind you are to him.

Roughly two hours later, all three of the books are done. The final one took a toll on Mammon, being way harder than the previous ones, but somehow he pulled through. Maybe it was the way you smiled at him when he let out a frustrated sigh, or maybe it was the way you rested your hand on his when he needed to take a little breather.

You’re way too patient, Mammon thinks to himself, enduring his antics and lack of intelligence. He’s so used to the way his brothers talk down to him that he can’t believe anybody would take the time out of their day to stay with him, to encourage him – and yet that’s exactly what you did. No wonder you manage to make his heart flutter with joy.

“Should we go home?” You ask him as you get up to stretch your legs.

“Yeah… I’m beat. But...” He looks away from you, embarrassed to be asking for this. You did promise him a kiss, and you had yet to kiss him on the lips! How can he ask for it, without actually asking for it? He’s way too stubborn to openly admit to wanting you to kiss him, even if he knows that you can tell. You’ve got a certain way to read him, and Mammon’s not sure if he likes it or not.

“I haven’t forgotten about your reward.” Those words make him choke on his spit, cheeks crimson once more. A reward, huh? It has a nice ring to it, he has to admit. And to hell with it, he does deserve one, doesn’t he?

Gathering the books and his notes, both of you get ready to leave. When you take his hand and entwine your fingers with his, you catch him by surprise. You half expect him to pull his hand away, but he merely mutters unintelligibly as you two leave.

You tell Mammon to rest in his room as you bring the books to Satan. He accepts them, pleasantly surprised to see the results. There’s a fair share of mistakes, but not enough for the committee to fail Mammon. With a spring in your step, you return to Mammon’s room to share the good news with him.

A knock on his door to signal you’re back, Mammon jumps up from his bed and opens the door. You barely get a word out before he pulls you in, slams the door shut and wraps his arms around your waist. With a smile, you gently pat his head and hear him grumble into the crook of your neck.

“You’ve done so well today, Mammon,” you tell him. He raises his head to look up at you, and you wonder if you’re seeing things – do his eyes seem a little watery? The way he looks at you is unlike anything you’ve seen before, a mixture of gratefulness and pleas. It tugs at your heart to see him like this.

When you take his face into your hands, you can feel the heat rising to his cheeks once more. But this time, you’re not going to pull away like the times before. You get up on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips, and when they touch, it’s as if he’s revitalised.

He kisses you back with fervour, with such longing that you wonder how long he’s been holding back. His lips crash into yours as if he was starving for you, eager to taste more and more of you. Now he’s not the only one that’s blushing, you’re taken by surprise at how forceful his kiss is. He rests his hands on your hips, trying to pull you closer and closer until you can feel his heartbeat against your chest.

You barely manage to break away to gasp for air before his lips crash into yours once more, hungry, begging to have a taste of you. One of his hands travels up your back, resting between your shoulder blades. The heat coming from his touch is enough to consume you, to set your skin aflame.

When you allow his tongue to slip past your lips, a groan reverberates from him; strong enough to send a shiver up your spine. You’ve given him a taste of yourself now, and it fuels him. The more he touches of you, the longer you kiss, the greedier he becomes – you’re unlike anything else he’s ever had, and suddenly he finds himself breathless, as well.

“P-Please,” he finds himself whimpering, and he’s not sure what he’s asking for himself. There’s an ache in his chest, and his heart is pounding painfully.

“Mammon?” You whisper, unsure what to do next – you can still feel his hot breath on your lips, almost touching. He refuses to open his eyes, not looking at you – but you ask yourself if you can see a tear glistening in the corner of his eye.

You run your fingers through his hair, and then you smile.

“Hey, can you look at me, Mammon?” For a couple of seconds, he refuses to do so, but you don’t mind. You give him as much time as he needs before he finally opens his eyes, looking at you with such a pleading expression that almost makes you wonder if he’s in pain. He remains quiet, gaze burned into yours.

“I like the way you kiss me. Can you do it again?”

You don’t need to ask twice.

A/N: I may get over myself and write a sorta sequel to this that’s more mature than this, given that I... gave it such an open ending tbh. we’ll see!! thanks for reading <3

#obey me!#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #mammon x reader #obey me fluff #obey me fic #this boy has me WHIPPED!!!#i LOVE him #and i want him to be HAPPY

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 20 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 19 here. Part 21 here.

Summary: You wonder where Ren got his teaching license. His education strategies are unorthodox.

Words: 4800

Warnings: snowballing, Commander Ren’s a Nasty Boi (tm)

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hi and welcome to Anna makes herself Sad. I love y'all so much--so happy to hear you enjoy Ren in this fic. I love writing him! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too. I'm deeply appreciative of any and all feedback.

(p.s. sorry but snowballing is hot, deal with it)

You pushed open the two curtained French doors and walked into the den, easing them shut behind you. The lamps in the room were out--the only light spilling from a blazing fire at the hearth. A warm orange glow filtered through, an incandescent film, the room transformed into a sunset. Tall shadows stretched across cherry hardwood, now bubbling with a magma aurora, grazing the ivory wallpaper, revealing the tiny golden threads woven through its curling pattern. Gold-trim paintings gleamed at the sides of heavy maroon curtains, their inlaid marble settings flickering with the fire’s breath. Its heat crawled through your toes, up your ankles, inspiring sweat at the backs of your knees.

Or maybe what was making you sweat was at the opposite end of the room--your Commander, Kylo Ren, seated behind a large, chestnut desk, its thick Cabriole legs appearing delicate against the background of his enormous frame. In front of the desk was a single Chesterfield chair, upholstered in a luscious blue velvet. Ren, impassive, met your gaze, focus dipping over your figure before he straightened, directing you to sit with his eyes.

Throat dry, you obliged.

Under the pressure of his presence, even the scratching rustle of your dress as you sat seemed ear-splintering. You focused on the desk--across it was the Bible, open to Samuel. More notations in the margins in that loopy, lovely handwriting. Only one word was identifiable, underlined at the bottom of the page.

Obedience.

Ren’s stare lingered in the silence. You weren’t willing to break it. It was a rush of relief when he finally spoke.

“You’re not happy here.”

You raised a brow, studying the folds in your gloves. “No. I’m not.”

“That needs to change.”

“You’re saying you care about my happiness?” You still refused to meet his eyes.

“No.” He sat forward. “Your willingness. Your compliance.”

“My obedience?” You held back the snark in your voice.

Ren shifted again, thumbing the page in front of him. “It’s not enough to be obedient,” he said. “We strive for acceptance. Understanding. The end result is happiness.” He paused. “Tell me what needs rectifying.”

The words floated like buoys in your mind. He was, in his own bizarre way, asking your opinion--but what you wanted to say was never going to be what he wanted to hear. Finn’s words, distant, echoed: You’d have to get on his good side. Here now was an open opportunity to endear yourself to Ren, to bathe yourself in pliant understanding, to assuage his concerns and, with any hope, use your increased proximity for your own gain. All you needed to do was lie. You glanced at your hands again, tracing the seams of your gloves.

“I’m not sure if anything needs rectifying,” you said. “Some Handmaids are just… defective.”

“Defective.” The word shriveled on his tongue. “Is that how you classify yourself?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t really seem to get this stuff through my head, you know? I don’t think that means there’s anything wrong with the system.”

“You believe that the fault lies within your own shortcomings.”

“I do.” Your tone was even. Cool. And, hopefully, convincing. “There are plenty of Handmaids who don’t do the things I’ve done.” You sighed, as if frustrated with yourself. “You have to leave room for human error. The problem is with me. Gilead… I mean, what else could you do? There’s been a lot of thought put into it as it is.”

Ren sat, considering you, your heart a timpani in your temples, the distant echo of your concussion rapping the edge of your skull. Silent, he snapped to his feet, circling the desk. Then circling you. Every breath drawn into your lungs wilted in the silence of the den, his attention a laser, searing the perimeter of your skin. He stopped--you felt his powerful grip at the back of your chair.

“That’s not what you believe.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t believe you’re defective. Or that Gilead is errorless.”

Clearing your throat, you shrugged again. “How would you know that, sir?”

Ren swooped and pinched your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I’ve told you to use my name.”

His eyes, live coals glittering with the fire’s reflection, disintegrated the oxygen in your chest. Warmth licked a line up your spine to your nape.

“Kylo,” you corrected. You kept your neck straight. “How would you know that?”

He released you. “Because it’s not what I believe.”

“What?”

He returned to the head of the desk, looming over it, palms planted on either side of the Bible. His eyes roamed, searching for something either intangible or invisible, before looking at you.

“You’re not defective,” he said. “It’s precisely because you’re not like the others that I want to know what you think.” His jaw tightened. “I want to know what you want.”

You blinked. “What I…”

“If Gilead was errorless,” he said, “then you would accept your role. You would want for nothing.”

“You want me to want for nothing.”

A pause as he held you, briefly, in silence. “Yes.” His eye twitched. His lips trembled. “I want that.”

Your palate was more arid than a desert. His admission battered your guard. How could it be that both of you could sit, drenched in your desire for the other, each attempting to justify it through your politics? Here you were, pretending that you craved a connection to him only for the benefit of the Resistance. And here he was, using Gilead as an excuse to secure your safety, your happiness.

Perhaps he’d been right. You and Ren were separated by a mirror’s edge--one and the same, both bound by shame and fear. Honesty could be your only respite from this misery. Whether he was ready for it or not.

“I want you, Kylo.” To speak the words into existence, acknowledge their truth with your tongue felt more dangerous than anything you’d done since entering his home. “I want you in ways I can’t have you. To know you in ways I can’t, ever.” An ache throbbed its way to your skin, pulsing raw and red from your belly. “And all of that is Gilead’s fault.”

Ren watched you, chest swelling with air, his shirt buttons straining with each breath, his shoulders crowding. The tendons in his hands tensed like violin strings tightened to the tune of his conflict, the tips of his fingers paling as they scraped the desk. His lips parted, his tongue darting to wet them. He’d caged an animal behind his flesh--an animal that, having heard its name, wanted nothing more now than to ravage you.

“I was right.” His mind pared you, an apple, sinking teeth into your tender core. “You are me.”

“I am,” you breathed. “God forgive me.”

Kylo Ren rose to his full height. “Oh, little bird,” he said, meandering toward you. “Forgiveness isn’t our lesson, tonight.”

Lust grew a thick knot in your throat. The question of whether or not you were going to fuck him didn’t even enter your mind--now that this forbidden longing, the one beyond pure lust had been named, it burst, a storm surge, washing you both in its riptide. So you swallowed.

“And how will any of this engender obedience toward Gilead?” you asked, only half-serious.

He sniffed in amusement. “We’ve said it ourselves. Gilead is flawed.” A large hand encircled your wrist, tugged you from the chair and against his solid frame. “I want you obedient to me.”

“Oh…” If breath were steam, your eyes would’ve fogged. “Fuck.”

Ren leaned forward, hot exhale whispering over your ear, his palms gliding along your sides, snagging the fabric of your dress--you shivered, a familiar burn kindling between your thighs. His teeth grazed the helix of your ear, and a whimper escaped you as you inched closer to him, grasping the lapels of his jacket to remain steady.

“I can’t stop thinking about your body,” he murmured. “I can’t stop thinking about how you taste…”

You nestled into his chest, heat streaming into your face. “How I--”

“Mm.” He nipped your ear. “Since I had your cunt last night, it’s all that’s been on my mind...” Ren pressed his lips to yours in a firm kiss and tore off your bonnet, your hair rolling free. “Take off your clothes, and get on my desk.”

Stilling your lungs, you nodded. It was a process--first your gloves, your shoes, your socks, then your dress, then the slip underneath that, your undergarments--but from the corner of your vision you saw Ren studying you, mesmerized, the entire time. You hadn’t the courage to look at him while you stripped, the reality of your red uniform still chaining your boldness, but when you stepped out of your underwear (hardly sexy enough to be called panties), you met his gaze--and suffocated under the gravity of it.

In Ren’s eyes, you could see nothing but complete and utter worship, as if your body was an altar, and he’d arrived for his blessing--or, maybe, his flagellation. This was a benefit of Gilead, you thought, the starvation for connection so intense that your nakedness had the power to bring Commander Kylo Ren to his figurative knees. And his hunger resonated--your pussy twinged with need.

You only basked in his admiration for a moment before you hoisted yourself onto his desk, the cool wood pimpling the backs of your thighs, and in seconds, a large hand seized your hip, another coiling itself in your hair as Ren pressed his mouth against you, plush lips smothering yours. Whimpering, you scooted forward, pinning your knees together to put pressure on the growing ache between your legs.

He drove his tongue in your mouth, slipping it over yours, the hand on your hip skimming your skin and finding your breasts. The feeling of flesh on flesh drew a moan from his throat, his grip greedy, possessive, kneading your tits while his kiss turned primal. Ren pinched your nipple, rolled it between his fingers, mouth moving to attack your neck, tongue tracing heat as he nipped at the sensitive skin, another shiver rippling through you.

“No--” If he left a hickey, you’d be dead. “Please--”

“Quiet.”

Grunting, he moved lower, licking a long line across your collarbone before lancing you with lust-addled eyes. Holding you in his stare, he teased the tip of his tongue across the tender tissue--and then growled, drawing it up between his teeth and sucking a harsh, dark mark into the skin. You whined, fighting the urge to let your head fall back; instead, you dipped forward, gripping his shoulders, burying your face in the thick waves of his hair. His smell--smoky and wooden and wintry--scrambled your brain. Taking in a long breath through your nose, you held it there, stupefying yourself in his scent.

Ren’s greed grew--he dug his teeth into your clavicle, breaking blood vessels, birthing a network of bruises across your upper torso. Electricity crackled in your veins, hips bucking toward him, clit growing stiffer with his aggression--in response, his hand left your hair, wrenching your thighs apart and smoothing over the soft, exposed flesh.

Your mind spun with how quickly this had escalated--mere moments had passed and now you were naked, on your Commander’s desk, body screaming for him--but the fact that you’d both charged forth, possessed with passion and unashamed, was liberating. Within this tiny prism of space-time, Gilead’s hold had vanquished, its roles banished to irrelevance, the raw nerves of instinct exploding to the surface like cicadas--a hungry, blind swarm.

“I need to taste every part of you…” His mouth drifted again, pressing kisses across your sternum until he reached your breasts, gazing at them in awe. “You’re beautiful...”

This dunked your brain in desire, left it to swim--you crumbled in his grasp, shuddering with want. Ren flicked your nipple with his tongue, relishing your full-body squeal before sucking it past his lips, a lewd, desperate moan escaping him. Pleasure buzzed over you, and you inched closer, your sex seeking any scraps of his touch it could manage, core throbbing wildly. He laved your peak, his other hand skating over the lips of your pussy, two digits testing you, peeling you apart by millimeters.

“Fuck.” Fingers foraged his mane, seeking purchase while he suckled at your tits. “Fuck, yes…”

Ren snickered, releasing your bud, trailing his mouth lower still, strong hands prying your thighs wide as he littered hot, furious kisses down the roll of your belly, streaks of saliva in his wake. Your blood pulsed with an insistence that dizzied you--or maybe it was the fact that Kylo Ren, your fucking Commander, was growing dangerously close to putting that beautiful fucking mouth on your cunt.

His two digits opened you wide, a third feathersoft on your clit, and you gasped, limbs jerking, nails biting into his scalp. He growled and snatched your wrists, tacking them to the desk, gazing at you from between your legs, a mask of deviancy on his face. It occurred to you then--Ren, not only figuratively, but literally on his knees.

“Is this what you wanted, little bird?” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his nose, brushing the tip over your folds before his lids fluttered open. “For me to make your pussy cum on my tongue?”

Face hot, you could do nothing but nod.

“Say it.”

You groaned, tucking your chin to your chest. For all of this egregiously illegal intimacy, he hadn’t lost his desire to humiliate you, it seemed. “Please,” you said, “please… um, please make me… um...”

“Go on.”

“But--”

Ren pinched your clit in reprimand, and you squeaked. “Go on.”

“Please…” Embarrassment scalded you, flesh in flames. “Pleasemakemecumonyourtongue.”

The corner of his lip curled in the slightest acknowledgement. “Almost.”

Kylo Ren purred in anticipation and pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh, leaving soft, slow kisses there, warmth flooding you as he worked his way toward your wet, pulsing heat. Stuck under his control, you squirmed when his lips grazed your cunt, ghosting your folds, moving to your other thigh, nuzzling it and nipping the skin. Your walls clenched, and you whined, desperate, strained to snapping in your need for him.

“Please,” you gasped, “please make me cum on your tongue--God!”

He huffed. “No need to deify me.” He licked a flat stripe over your slit, and you snuffed a scream. “Desperate little thing.”

With that, Ren placed a deep, vulgar kiss to your pussy, tongue delving into your slit, a trembling groan echoing in his throat when he swallowed your wetness. His eyes, in the pits of perversion, watched you, soaking in your speechless delight while he explored each tiny crevice of your cunt. Bliss built inside of you, blocks of white hot energy, stacking with every second those velvety, full lips massaged your folds. Your mouth fell in an open pant, your hips rocking into his face--his hands moved, sticking your wrists to your hips as he gripped you there.

Your mind attempted to flash to the last time a man had his face in your cunt; the memory was hazy, forgettable. But this--the heat from the fire stoking sweat down your back, your breathless, wanton whimpers, the tickle of Ren’s hair at your thighs and the soft, urgent pressure of his tongue exploring your sex, the waves of pleasure cresting over you as you strained in his grasp--this was, would be, indelible. Resistance and its sacrifices be damned, you could die with this memory being your last, satisfied that you’d had the most beautiful man you’d ever seen place his lips to your pussy.

It was as you thought this that a spear of infatuation pierced your heart, and you gazed at Ren, chest tight with the distant reality that your temporary tryst could never flourish outside of these four walls, that beyond them, Johana was sleeping--or maybe sobbing--beyond them, Poe was dead and the Resistance was waiting. Beyond them, you were his Handmaid, a womb in his service, and your life, infinitely expendable, laid in his hands.

Thankfully, his tongue, expert enough to interrupt your exi-sexual crisis, fluttered over your clit, effectively wiping your brain blank, and you released a whining breath, hips jolting into his face when he drew the stiff nub into his mouth. Your head tipped back, pleasure crashing over you, tiny moans leaving you while he sucked slowly on your clit, engorged and throbbing at his lips.

Your core thumped with a demand to cum--Ren was reining you to a cliff, your desire a wild animal, bucking with abandon and ecstasy. His tongue swirled over your nub, slipping wet circles around it before he groaned and sucked it hard between his teeth. You wailed, calves wrapping around him, tugging him closer, your lungs emptying rapidly.

“Oh, fuck, fuck--”

Biting your lip, you fought yourself, your walls clenching with your impending climax. Ren slicked your folds again, pressing another greedy, rough kiss to your swollen pussy, gathering the cum at your core and gulping it down. Your clit twitched, screamed for him--he soothed it with the hot cavern of his mouth, the beating of his tongue--you almost cracked, hands fisting at your sides.

“That’s right,” he muttered into your flesh. “You know what I want to hear…”

“Kylo...” It left your lips without hesitation. “Yes, fuck, Kylo--”

Ren sucked fast at your clit, so deep in your pussy his nose flattened against you--and you broke, orgasm gushing through you, a geyser, a cascade of ecstasy that left you quaking, your walls spasming at his chin. He swallowed it hungrily, clutching your hips to his head, as if the evidence of your pleasure sustained him, laving at you until you squeaked and jerked from sensitivity.

With a satisfied gasp, he released you, still stroking the sides of your hips, mouth glossy with your juices, watching with tethered emotion while you descended from your high. “As perfect as I thought you’d be.”

The cycle of anxious air in your chest slowed, and you allowed yourself to sigh, internally panicking at the level of tenderness that was trying to settle into your heart like a tired puppy. A tremor crept over you, evidence of the dangerous game your mind wanted to play. You ignored it. How horrific your desire to nurture feelings for this man, this murderer, manipulator, misogynist--how horrific that in this moment, you didn’t care. And how horrific that he’d guided you here, with his soft mouth and terrified eyes and need to hear his name.

Fuck, you hated him. And you wanted all of him, from the bottom of your accursed, wretched soul.

Ren rose, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before cupping your head, pulling you to his lips. Humming, you allowed his tongue--still coated with your cum--in your mouth, the tingling of your post-orgasm skin lapping up the physical comfort. Your legs wound around him again, your palms resting at his chest while he kissed you, his other hand petting your side before pushing your pelvis toward him, the steel urgency of his clothed erection grating your sensitive cunt.

You broke the kiss with a whine. “Kylo--”

His digits gouged your flesh, and he tensed, back swelling. “Needy thing, aren’t you?” He squeezed your ass, shoving you to his body. “We can fix that.”

Ren stepped back, keeping you attached as he moved to his chair and sat, leaving you naked, on his lap, covered cock grinding into your heat. It was automatic--you dropped your hips, seeking friction, and his hands seized your face, your fingers finding his hair. Your mouths met like magnets, your bodies writhing in rhythm, his tongue wrestling with yours as you groaned, smearing your cunt over his slacks.

His kiss was rabid, almost angry, teeth clacking, hands groping your ass, your thighs. The memory of his body from the night before blinked in your brain--you fumbled at his neck as you loosened his tie, pulling the ends apart and tossing it to the side. A moan escaped him, muffled by your mouth while you then worked at the buttons on his shirt, popping them free.

The second his chest was exposed, you scoured it, skin-on-skin sending a clench to your cunt. You mapped his muscles to your memory--the strength of his breast, his firm, powerful abdomen, all of it hot with need--breathless at the sight of his beauty under your palms. Your touch sent a quake through him, and he released you, trapping you in his stare while he grappled with his belt, face flush with relief when his cock sprung free.

It was a combined effort--he fisted his length, angling it at your core, your hands clutching his shoulders as you sank onto him, ribcage still as he split you wide. God, you couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe you were in your Commander’s den, riding him at his desk; you’d ask to be pinched if he hadn’t done it already. You felt shameless, naked but not exposed, only exalted, only desired.

Your fingers burrowed into his shoulders while you throbbed around him, seeking air, and he snarled, setting a brutal pace from the very first thrust. Cries fled you, pushed from your lungs from the force of his hips, and Ren consumed you, sucking at your tits, hands bearing bruises into your ass. His dick stretched you wide, fucked you deep, wracking your body with its punishment--pain ripped through you, pleasure hot in its wake, foaming in your veins, an effervescent euphoria.

“Oh, Kylo…” Now his name spilled from your lips unbidden.

He seethed, muscles rigid for only a moment. “Fuck--”

Ren buried his face in your tits, biting the bouncing flesh, decorating you with desire. His cock pumped into you, summoning another orgasm from the bottom of your brain, and his hand wiggled between your legs, teasing your over-sensitive clit. Squealing, you squirmed on top of him.

“Mm, I want you to cum again,” he muttered. “I want to make you cum over and over…”

“Jesus Christ…” Lava flowed through your bloodstream, scorching you from the inside.

“This is what obedient girls get...” Ren’s voice was ragged, shorn with lust. “Have you learned enough, little bird?”

You smirked. “I don’t think I have.”

With a growl, he stood, holding you on his cock with one arm as the other swept across his desk. The Bible, pens, wooden organizers stacked with paper clattered to the floor--and he slammed you on the open surface, crushing you with his weight and fucking you hard. You wailed, nails scraping his chest--this drove him wilder, and he grunted, tearing into your shoulder with his teeth. The wail became a scream, and you curled around him, cunt clamping his pulsing length as it slammed you, the rest of the world whittling to waste. You and Ren were the only extant beings on the planet, both enthralled by the unspeakable, terrible force between you.

His fingers went to your clit again, toying with it. Ecstasy splashed at your toes, a tsunami at the horizon. “Filthy thing,” he muttered. “You love this.”

“I--I do.” Your words came out strangled through your hiccuping breath. “But y-you knew I’d love it the m-moment you met me…”

“Fuck…” The head of his dick smacked you deep, and you yelped. “That’s right--you were begging for it in your sleep.” His hips moved faster, length plunging into you. “And you’re still not satisfied.”

Satisfaction seemed foreign in the world of Gilead. But that’s not where you were, right now. You were in some other world, a world where getting fucked on a desk by a married man wasn’t the result of months of suppressed emotion.

Well, maybe that particular world didn’t exist.

“Oh--Maybe I’ll n-never be satisfied…”

“We’ll see.”

Ren threw the heft of his frame into you, pounding your pussy, sucking at your neck, his hair brushing your face. His digits rubbed at your sore, swollen clit, pleasure ricocheting through you like lightning, overriding whichever system was pleading for pause. Your face screwed in bliss, and you sobbed, witless, a body broken by the ruthless ramming of his dick. Another breath, another, heat flashed your flesh--you quailed, so fucking close--

“Do it,” he hissed. “Cum.”

A violent orgasm ruptured through your thighs, and you quailed, submitting to it, cunt convulsing, tightening around his cock. Ren choked, cursed, his hair spilling over your throat as his hips stuttered, desk creaking across the floor with the throes of his orgasm. The room itself seemed to shudder, a tremor rumbling in the hardwood until he had finished and collapsed--a spent, sated beast.

You stared into the ceiling, lungs heaving, skin veiled with sweat and sparks. Wood snapped in the background, a shower of light cast over the room as embers sprayed into the hearth. Ren returned to reality, peeling his sticky chest from yours, glancing at himself as he rose and slipped out of you--half naked, painted in pleasure, a shining example of the results of oppression: furious, exhilarated rebellion.

Two large digits dug into your cunt, scooping out the concoction of your cum--you winced, but raised your neck, watching while he guided it into his own mouth, sucking his fingers clean. Heat raced over you, and before you could respond, he tugged you forward, catching your head and pulling you into a deep, slow, kiss. The viscous, salty mix, blended with his spit, spilled into your mouth. It was repulsive, delicious--you moaned, rolling it over your tongue before you passed it back, threading your hands through his hair. Ren sucked in a breath through his nose, swirling it a final time before forcing it over your lips, a demand for your obedience. Grateful, you swished it from your teeth and swallowed.

He pulled away, lips gleaming. Silence settled in the separation of your bodies, each staring into the other, processing the connection. Your chest constricted--shame. Yearning. Despair. His face was wiped clean of emotion, the only hint of his confusion a flicker in the shadows of his eyes. Then Ren broke away, adjusting himself back to decency. Sound returned to your ears. You could move.

“This is insane.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing him, or yourself. After all--you still had to expose him to the Resistance. “We’re going to get killed.”

Ren’s face was stone. He’d moved to buttoning his shirt. “No.”

Deciding you needed to redress, too, you eased off the desk, searching for your clothes. “No?” Underwear first. Socks. “Easy for you to say. Johana knows.” Dress, now. “Why are we doing this?”

“Why?”

You threw your hands in the air. “We can’t be together like this, Kylo.” Where the hell was your bonnet? “And the reason we can’t is by your design.”

He sniffed. “Not mine alone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. “Is your design to destroy Gilead?”

A pause--he glimpsed you before pulling his tie from the floor, measuring it under his collar. “No.” With practiced ease, he flipped the fabric around itself. “My design is to perfect it.”

“You can’t perfect what’s inherently broken.” You found your bonnet, started to wrap your hair and tuck it onto your head. Ren was gathering the items from the floor, replacing them on the desk. “What’s your goal, then? To--to what, have me and Johana and a baby? To fill your home with resentment?”

His jaw tensed. He pulled the tie tight, dusting off his jacket. “My goal is to have you,” he said. “And you alone.”

You swallowed, heart clenching. “What?”

“As we agreed.” Ren turned, stalking toward you. “The system is broken. And I will correct it.” He reached out, fingers grazing your chin--you flinched. “Johana is irrelevant. You will belong to me.”

The fire seemed to have incinerated all of the oxygen in the air. You shook your head, imperceptibly. “I don’t want to belong to anybody.”

His gaze passed over you, assessing, before he plucked the Bible from the floor, flipping through it. “Hm.” His eyes met yours. “We’ll see how you feel when our lessons are complete.”

Ren’s hand enveloped the back of your skull as he pressed his lips to the lump at your hairline, igniting a shock of pain. “I trust you can get yourself to bed,” he murmured against your skin. “Goodnight, little bird.”

Tucking the Bible under his arm, he stopped at the fire, shuttering it to its death, then opened the doors to the home. The air of Gilead rushed in, stiff and cold, stealing the warmth from the room, extinguishing the lingering joy in your belly. You stood, listening to Ren’s footsteps down the hall, a statue until the flames in the hearth guttered, drowning you in darkness.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #I Love Snowballing: the TED Talk

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i-believe-in-soriku · 4 years

Text

Essay Part 1: Riku’s Journey

Riku is undeniably the character who has experienced the greatest evolution throughout the series.

His journey begins in Destiny Islands, when he was just a little kid who wanted to live adventures with his best friend, Sora.

Riku: When we grow up, let's get off this island. We'll go on real adventures, not this kid stuff!

That's that will of discovering the world, and the fact that he was really close to his friend Sora, that lead him to make a promise:

Terra: Is there some reason you're interested in the outside world?

Riku: Yeah. I wanna be strong one day. Like that kid who left. He went to the outside world - I bet he's really strong now. I know it's out there somewhere - the strength that I need.

Terra: Strength for what?

Riku: To protect the things that matter. You know, like my friends.

Riku had a very strong friendship with Sora. The two of them used to fight with wooden swords, explore the islands, and watch the stars together. But then, Kairi came to the Islands and became part of their life. Years passed and their friendship became stronger - but somehow something was missing.

That's when Kingdom Hearts happens. At this time, Riku wanted to explore the other worlds, feeling trapped on Destiny Islands - will he had already expressed ten years before. Riku was jealous of Sora, and probably of Kairi and Sora's growing proximity. Riku felt lonely, as we can see during the game. These dark feelings caused him to be manipulated by Maleficent, and to turn to darkness.

There are also other reasons: he wanted to see the world - which he already wanted as a five years old kid-, he wanted to become stronger in order to protect his friends - even if he did it the wrong way, he didn't forget that goal, as proved by this scene:

Riku: So, Kairi's like a lifeless puppet now?

Maleficent: Precisely.

Riku: And her heart was...

Maleficent: Taken by the Heartless, no doubt.

Riku: Tell me! What can I do?

Maleficent, as the evil witch she is, manipulated him strengthening his feelings of loneliness, jealousy and betrayal.

Maleficent: You see? It's just as I told you. While you toiled away trying to find your dear friend, he quite simply replaced you with some new companions. Evidently, he values them far more than he does you. You're better off without that wretched boy. Now, think no more of him, and come with me. I'll help you find what you're searching for.

Ansem, on his side, pretended he knew the way to make him stronger, as Riku was jealous of Sora's strength...

Ansem: The heart that is strong and true shall win the Keyblade.

Riku: What? You're saying my heart's weaker than his?

Ansem: For that instant, it was. However, you can become stronger. You should not fear in stepping through the door to darkness. It held no terror for you. Plunger deeper into the darkness and your heart will grow even stronger.

Riku: What should I do?

Ansem: It's really quite simple. Open yourself to the darkness. That is all. Let your heart, your being, become darkness itself.

... but he used him as a puppet to achieve his goals. The way he asked advices to bad people shows how lost that boy was. However, Riku finished by regain control of himself, and at the end of the game, decided to help Mickey close the Door to Darkness, even if it meant being somehow left behind - a beautiful act of redemption.

But that's only the begining of his story. In Chain of Memories, we follow Riku who has to fight his own darkness, embodied by Ansem (and also Repliku who mocks his fear of darkness). At first, Riku totaly rejects the darkness inside of him, afraid that it might overpower him once again.

Riku: All you have been talking about is the darkness. I can only assume you wanna pull me back in... so you can play Puppet Master.

And he doesn't want to hurt people like he did.

But we can see that he's becoming more and more mature, because this game is also about how Riku began to accept the part of darkness inside him as a strength (and I think Mickey helped him to do that). That's what makes him choose the way to Dawn.

Riku: What are you making me choose now?

DiZ: Between the road to light - and the road to darkness.

Riku: Neither suits me. I'm taking the middle road.

DiZ: Do you mean the twilight road to nightfall?

Riku: No. It's the road to dawn.

During 358/2 Days, Riku's will is to make sure that his best friend sleeps in peace - actually, he wants him to recover his memories and wake up. He teams up with Mickey and DiZ/Ansem the Wise to do so. In this game, Riku embraces the darkness in his heart while fighting Roxas...

Riku: I have to release the power in my heart- the dark power that I've been holding back. Even... if it changes me forever.

...a sacrifice made even though he's aware he may not find his own body anymore - which illustrates how Riku has finally accepted that darkness isn't 100% evil. We can also see that he's no longer bitter towards others: he's not even angry against Sora's Nobodies for keeping him away from his friend - just sad.

Xion: So, do you hate me for taking your friend away?

Riku: Nah. I guess... I'm just sad.

Still, in KH2, Riku is ashamed by his appearence and hides himself from Sora, even though he keeps on protecting him at distance. When they finally meet again, he tells this shame calling himself "a castaway from the darkness":

Riku: I'm no one---just a castaway from the darkness.

But he recovers his true self.

KH2 insists on the fact that despite a clear maturation, Riku still has doubts and still feel a little bit lonely. Sora points at:

Sora: Riku... C'mon, man! Why did you try to do so much on your own?You got friends...like us!

He still needs his friends to reassure him and accept him, and still thinks he can't get rid of his own darkness - his shame is still here:

Sora: You're coming back with us, right?

Riku: I had given in to the darkness.

Sora: Riku!

Riku: How'm I gonna face everyone?

Dream Drop Distance is a turning point to Riku's character. During the game, it is underlined that Riku is holding back some stuff inside of him, by four characters including himself.

Riku (to Quasi): Are you sure that's what's stopping you? Because I think something else is holding you back. Ask your heart, Quasimodo. [...] Wish I could take my own advice.

And:

Quasimodo: Master Frollo--he made me live inside the bell tower, but the real walls were the ones I built around my heart. You helped me see that, Riku.

Riku: I was...speaking from...personal experience.

Phoebus: I'd say you still keep a lot locked inside.

He also admits that he feels like his darkness will always follow him:

Riku: I gave in to the darkness once. And ever since, it's chased me around in one form or another.

But the end of the game proves that Riku has achieved a balance (a confidence that we can see in KH3).

Indeed, during the last parts of 3D, Riku is shown as a being of exception, whom heart has light and darkness in balance...

YMX: I don't know how you did it, but you really have found a way to trap darkness inside your heart

...balance which enables him to protect Sora, becoming his Dream Eater - he is able to change his very NATURE and didn't even noticed it.

Riku finally obtains the title of Keyblade Master showing that he is worthy of wielding a Keyblade - which he seemed to doubt at the beginning of the game:

Riku: My Keyblade--it just sort of...popped into my hand when I needed it most.

He has learned how to open his heart throughout his adventures, which can be seen in KH3.

In KH3 his new goals are to save Aqua and, with the others, fight the Seekers of Darkness. During the road, Mickey helps him to realize that he finally has the strenght he was aiming at since the very beginning: to protect the one person that matters.

Riku: I'm in control now. Maybe it's because you're with me this time.

Mickey: It's not me. I think it's because you've finally found inside you that special strength to protect what matters.

And the game lets no doubt: this person is Sora. He sacrifices himself to protect his friend against the Demon Tide in the Keyblade Graveyard.

This is a very brief summary of everything Riku did, but that's enought to come to a conclusion. If you have read carefully, you should have noticed that I didn't spoke about Sora that much. Because, even if Sora is actually what matters the most to Riku, the main reason why he did all those things, Sora is not what defines Riku.

Riku has a developpement that shows that he has to fight his own demons, overcomes his doubts and searches the strenght to protect who he cares about. He has other relationships than his (wonderful) relationship with Sora: for example, his friendship with Mickey.

He faced many things with the King and they share a special bond, just as Sora's with Donald and Goofy. He also shares a link with Terra and somehow Aqua, even though it's not developped that much.

Regarding of those elements, it is completely unfair to say that Riku isn't well written or too much written around Sora. Riku is interesting, relatable and touching, and I hope that he's going to have a good treatment in the future of the series. Watching the end of KH3 and Re:Mind, there's no doubt about the fact that he has an important role to play.

I want to close this part saying that Riku also has a personality. He's determined, selfless, mature, of good advice, a little bit sassy. Riku, even if he has doubts, can be now considered as confident. He is empathetic, cares about others, knows how to confort his friends, especially Sora. There are other important points - like the fact he's smart ~ but I think those are the main elements.

Intro • Part 2

#kh #kingdom hearts #riku #riku kh #kh riku #riku kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts riku #character analysis #essay #analysis #kh analysis #kingdom hearts analysis #my essay #first essay #character growth #writing #my thoughts #thoughts

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hyperionswrath--archived · 4 years

Text

@onepartbrave

That damned smirk… it used to instant piss him off the moment he saw it manifesting on his former rival’s face but tonight it hadn’t so much as sparked dull annoyance. Another anomaly to contend with atop of ever-growing pile. Blinking slowly, feeling as though he was in a shrouded daze, he caught the words spared to him from Seifer just before his head completed its turn back. the blond agreed with his tormenting statement only to return-fire without missing a beat. Innate fire spurred to life, competitive and raring to retort vehemently to the provocation, but it was snuffed out just as quick when the vibration came to his own glass, realising he’d just been essentially ‘cheered’.

Huh…

Waiting for more of a thought to materialise, he was left wanting. Right corner of his lip lifting in a vexed notion, he let go of the pointless chagrin in favour of just—enjoying himself. For once, without natural dereliction or someone trying to force it upon him. He was warm, cushy, feeling snug as a bug in the too-large coat and positively imploring the alcohol to hijack his mind for the next few hours. Carefree wasn’t a feeling he was granted often but damn, he sure as hell loved it when he was.

Unnoticed by him was Seifer’s friends dispersing. Preoccupied with studying those he could see, Squall recorded that most were transfixed with the lovely singer, who was putting on another epic performance with the sword. A strange inkling he would be able to repeat most of those moves while in a ferocious battle wormed into his skull and refused to budge. The way he practised was slower and heavier due to the model he chose, but there was some elegance to be found. …Maybe. Not that he’d try it out tomorrow. Hyne, the last he needed was to make a fool of himself in front of Seifer after not sparring for years. Hell, it’d be his first decent one since.

His body pillow was wiggling, and he disapproved. Huffing, unfortunately not loud enough to be heard over the instruments, he waited for the man to sit still so he could keep watching. Mental communicating failing, grey-blues rolled prominently before he decided enough was enough. Tilting his head back on Seifer’s shoulder like before, he frowned at not coming face to face with the blond this time around. How inconvenient. Now I gotta move. Groaning lowly in protest, he pushed up grudgingly with the arm not squashed between his person and Seifer’s and twisted his torso to see… the bozo—Midhir? Yeah, sounded right—leaving. Wha—? Why?

Licking lips that felt too dry, his frown deepened at noting Seifer’s date wasn’t returning and was… seemingly trying to hit up another lone watcher?! “Hey!” he wanted to call out in disdain but, once again, the musicians drowned him out. At least from anyone more than three feet away. Unluckily for Seifer, he was right next to him. “He’s—just gone! Talkin’ to someone else already! What shit manners.”

Like I’m one to talk. But at least I didn’t invite someone here and then bail on them!

Frown falling into a heated scowl at the evident injustice being donned upon Seifer, Squall broke free of all gentle holds and stood upright. Rather, tried to stand upright. What actually happened was him getting to his feet only for a wave of dizziness to hit him upside the head like a freight train. Queasy as the world span, he leaned forward out of instinct and braced himself on the closest stable object that wasn’t moving. In hindsight, he could’ve merely sat back down to ride out the nauseous spell; that way he wouldn’t have wound up relying heavily on Seifer not to move, each of his hands on Seifer’s opposite knee with fingers digging into the fabric of his pants, holding on for dear life.

Head handing slightly, his breath came in unsteady pants as he valiantly battled the sickness feeling. Inclining his head up, he peered at Seifer through wispy bangs, righteous displeasure swirling in misty depths for Seifer, not at. “Tha—that jerk just left you here. ‘m go get him.”

Feeling the body wriggle against his, the blond looked down to see what all the ruckus was about, surprised to find Squall perched up a little on one arm to get a better vantage point of where Seifer's attention had been directed. Surprised to find the other man frowning with a rather heated expression, once more this night confusion settled in with him, unsure of what exactly it was now that vexed the man. Maybe he didn't approve of the attention he'd briefly spared the silverhaired stranger?

Only preoccupied by the view of the tip of a tongue gracing rather soft-looking lips for a moment too long, he blinked when Squall tried shouting after Midhir. "What are you...", he started but was interrupted by the incredulous outcry on his behalf. What the fuck? Why was Squall caring if the guy went on his merry way now?

Frowning himself at this point, he gave a sound of disapproval as the brunet wound himself free from his arm, trying to stand as it seemed. Six above, the man was harder to contain than a sack of fleas with all his jumping around tonight! It was close to infuriating. "Squall, I asked him to-", again, he was interrupted when gravity claimed the SeeD, alcohol not innocent in the matter, and the brunet next to toppling over as hands scrambled for purchase, finding it on his knee.

Having practiced as much that night multiple times already, Seifer reached out on instinct, one hand on the man's arm, the other on his hip to help steady him. "Hyne-bedamned, Squall!", he hissed, nails of the other digging into his skin from the clawing, even through the fabric of his pants. Unbelievable that his former rival even felt inclined to be outraged on his behalf, and more so willing to play fetch with what could have been a hook-up. But all this running around, especially in a vicinity like this, looking as good as the brunet did? Enough was enough, he then decided, if the guy wouldn't sit still, he'd make him.

"I told him to go." he cared to explain, before reaching out and trying to grab the other by the hips to pull him into his lap without further ado. He'd had it with all that sudden stumbling around, especially when he very much wanted the warmth and proximity in his arms right now, thank you very much. Emerald eyes piercing warningly into the pale blue ones, he leaned forward to catch the delinquent's attention. "I don't want him here," he pressed now, hoping to get through that thick head of his. He'd really have to spell it out for the dull idiot, right? Huffing in exasperation, he found one hand reaching up, wanting to trace the other's jawline because it seemed very intriguing all of a sudden. And also, he felt he needed to physically underline what he wanted to say next. Pausing as he watched the trail of digits, he then looked up again to lock eyes with the other. "There's only one company I want tonight so sit down."

#onepartbrave #rp #long post #.there you have it #.now he's assertive #.what a rollercoaster #.it's just whatever at this point I guess :D

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27timescinema · 4 years

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WORKSHOP - EUROPA CINEMAS

By Alexandra Hillström & Nikolas Zikopoulos (pics © Verónica Valladares)

Irene Angel Echeverri is the project coordinator (MEDIA, Young Audiences and 27 Times Cinema) at Europa Cinemas. During the 2020 International Venice Film Festival, 6 of 27 Times Cinema jury members had the opportunity to hear Irene in a two-part workshop named Best Practices at Europa Cinemas.

During the first part of the workshop, Irene initially explained that Europa Cinemas is a network of cinemas that gives economical funds to help the circulation of European films. For example, they organize innovation labs to help them be more professional. Irene undressed the main challenges that independent cinemas are facing as that of the content multiplication.

She explained further how cinemas develop their brands and how they ‘hook' their audience. Firstly, cinemas should bring the audiences at the center of the reflection where all the decisions are focused on what audiences want. She brought an example of Cine le Méliès in France, where audiences are asked what movies they want to watch next, by simply sticking a posted card on a board.

Secondly, cinemas should be seen as spaces of proximity. By that Irene means that cinema owners should think about the cinema as an experience and get the targeted audience involved before and after the screenings. She talked about the Mestni Kino Ptuj cinema in Slovenia, where there are a lot of games for children to entertain themselves before and after the screenings.

Irene further spoke about audience diversification and to explain that she used as an example how MUBI partnered with Filmtheater cinema in the UK giving a free ticket. But lastly, Irene underlined the importance of the cinemas differentiation, and the best example is that of LUX cinema in France, where a cinema is actually installed in a swimming pool and the spectators are on floated beds while watching a movie.

In the second session of the Europa Cinemas workshop, the Jury Members performed case studies on different initiatives and practices that European cinemas have successfully implemented in order to gain broader, more loyal audiences. The ambassadors also touched on key concepts regarding marketing and management that are necessary for a sustainable approach to running your local cinema.

The session was opened by Irene, who introduced some key elements of building and sustaining a brand. Amongst other things, Irene presented the SWOT-Analysis as a method of furthering your business both short-term and long term.

Subsequently, the jury members presented their own case studies. Pijus Maciulskis, ambassador from Lithuania, explained key steps in fundraising wherein he stressed the importance of nurturing an ongoing relationship between the parties involved, and how one must view a fundraising transaction as something beneficial for both parties, not just a way for projects to receive finance.

Further on; Aleksandra Jodlowska (Poland), Iisa Arvelin (Finland), Verónica Valladares (Spain), and Alexandra Hillström (Sweden) presented different initiatives that cinemas have undertaken in order to grow and cultivate their local audiences.

Verónica, for example, talked about the Citizen Cinema movement in Spain: a new democratic approach to cinemas where local arthouse cinemas are funded and driven by the members of the local audience themselves. Alexandra, meanwhile, presented a collaboration between Cine Le Méliès in Saint-Etienne, France, and several local high schools imposed in order to make cinema more accessible to the youth.

#venezia77 #workshops #europa cinema

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basicsofislam · 5 years

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ISLAM 101: ALMS AND CHARITY: VIRTUES OF ZAKAT: Part 4

ZAKAT LIBERATES FROM MATERIAL SLAVERY

Zakat unfetters from the shackles of excessive love for material things. Islam, in fact, insists that a person be free from all sinister fetters and turn his heart purely in the direction of God, so to speak.

For man, becoming a slave for something that he is the master of is an awful digression from the purpose of his creation. Everything has been created for mankind, who should make use of this privilege in utilizing it in the way outlined by Islam, in natural conformity with the divine will. Otherwise, this could well end in the material universe being unduly elevated to a virtual object of worship, causing a detrimental sway in feelings, thoughts, and actions. The Noble Prophet (upon whom be peace) has emphasized this most unfortunate digression: “Woe to the slaves of gold, silver, linen, and silk! If they are granted these, they celebrate, but they cannot digest when deprived of them.”

The most effective cure for this disease is, again, zakat, an eternal investment that is an excellent means of orienting the heart of the benefactor towards the Hereafter.

ZAKAT IS SECURITY

Having expressed excruciating anxiety soon after the First Revelation, the nervousness of the Noble Prophet (upon whom be peace) was appeased by the soothing words of his wife, Khadija: “No, no…I swear, God will never forsake you; for you always visit your relatives, speak the truth, help others (physically and financially), treat your guests well and be of assistance in everything pertaining to the Truth.”

Abu Bakr had come across ibn Daginna, on his attempted migration to Abyssinia, who asked, “Where are you going?” Abu Bakr replied, “My tribe has tormented me, making life hell and has finally driven me out.” Ibn Daginnah, a socially influential man, retorted “No way! Return, for you are a man who does righteous deeds and lends physical and financial help to others. From now on, you are under my protection.” All this alludes to how acts like zakat, sadaqa and giving general assistance provide the security and protection of God, as well as gaining the trust of the public.

ZAKAT IS A COMPENSATION FOR SINS

As an outcome of His unlimited mercy, God accepts good deeds as a means of granting the servant proximity with Him as well as compensation for prior sins. The Noble Prophet (upon whom be peace) has personally emphasized how acts such as ablution for prayers, the daily prescribed prayers, the Friday prayer, Ramadan fasting and even walking to the mosque compensate for sins that were committed beforehand. Indeed, zakat is no different, as enunciated in the Qur’an:

God said: “I am with you; if you establish salat and pay the zakat, and believe in My Messengers and support them, and lend to God a goodly loan, surely I shall remit your sins, and surely I shall admit you into gardens beneath which rivers flow.” (Maida 5:12)

The Messenger of God had made use of the subsequent words in accentuating the compensatory facet of zakat among other deeds: “Salat, zakat, enjoining good and forbidding evil is compensation for a person’s shortcomings towards his/her home, family and neighbors.”

The Hadith “Protect yourselves from hellfire, even it be with half a date,” underlines the importance of sadaqa and zakat, even if these be a tiny portion, in making amends for a person’s wrongs, along with providing a shield against the torment of punishment.

ZAKAT IS A MEANS OF “DUA” (i.e. PRAYER OR GOOD WISHES)

Zakat, through various ways, acquires dua or good wishes for the giver. As stated in the Qur’an, it attracts the precious dua of the Messenger of God (upon whom be peace), not to mention the sincere wishes of the recipient. Angels join the person in offering these good wishes for the rich, from whom he has received a helping hand. The Qur’an’s advice to the Prophet (upon whom be peace) is, in fact, as such: “Take alms of their wealth so that you may purify and sanctify them thereby, and pray for them for your prayers are a comfort for them” (Tawba 9:103). The Prophet’s well-wishes for people desiring to offer zakat was, and is, renowned, as exemplified here: “O God! Treat them with Your mercy and accept their dua.” From time to time, the Prophet personally uttered the name of a Companion, such as Abdullah ibn Awf, for whom he prayed as such: “O Lord! Have mercy on his family and accept his duas.”

To wish benefits from God upon providers of sadaqa or zakat is what comes naturally, as cursing such people is horrendously against human nature. Therefore pronouncing the wish “May God be pleased with you!” towards such people is virtually translating the feelings embedded in the heart. As noted before, the hadith, “Two angels descend each day; one of them praying ‘O God! Bestow prosperity on the wealth of those who are charitable,’ and the other invoking, ‘O God! Destroy the wealth of the miser,’” amplifies the attitude of angels during such circumstances.

ZAKAT HINDERS INSATIABLE DESIRES

Human has been created as a candidate for eternal pleasure, a fact attested to by his eternal desires. When human lacks the transcendental dimension of eternity, all his engrained desires become augmented here on Earth alone, causing an exaggerated terrestrial bond. The Prophet of God expands this aspect in the following words:

If the Children of Adam possessed a valley of gold, they would desire a second (valley of gold). Only soil will quench their greed (i.e their greed will only cease when they are dead and subsequently buried).

As the Children of Adam grows, two characteristics concomitantly grow with them: the love of riches and endless desires.

The existence of love, inhuman, for the world and attachment to it as well as his endless desires are for the cultivation of the world. If a delicate balance is not established, however, the outcome is either excessive or recessive, vis-à-vis, insatiable love for the world or a complete abandoning of it. In actual fact, Islam condones neither of these perceptions, promulgating the establishment of that perfect balance between the two. Undoubtedly, zakat is a major catalyst in procuring ideal moderation in terms of keeping wealth versus sharing it—and between the rich and the poor. Thus, it is an ultimate reminder of the hereafter for human, in whom the seeds of worldly love and never-ending desires perennially exist, though through zakat, we grow in accordance with the divine will, incessantly facing the eternal abode with the unshakeable belief in the receipt of an enormous reward for even the most trivial deeds. This can be deemed, in a sense, to allow transcending the shallow walls erected by worldliness, and submitting to the boundless domain of spirituality.

Zakat reiterates the utter impossibility of eternal life on earth, ameliorating the feelings of separation by virtue of preparing the person for an inescapable resurrection and thus encouraging us towards the afterlife. And this is, by no means, a small gain for human. For many concealed purposes, the Almighty has rendered earth and its contents alluring, but at the same time, desires humankind to comprehend the test and take heed accordingly:

Made beautiful for humankind is the love of desires, for women and offspring, of hoarded treasures of gold and silver, of branded horses, cattle and plantations. These are the comforts of this life, yet with God is the best of all goals. (Al Imran 3:14)

The above-mentioned verse delineates the aspects of human’s innate inclination but in addition, displays the correct approach to be adopted. The potentially destructive intrinsic feelings of worldly love and endless desires are powerfully hindered by the acceptance of others’ rights in property and the acknowledgment of God, the Ultimate Possessor of property and riches, through zakat. Otherwise, the iniquities of greed and avarice lead to an elusive quest for luxury that further opens the door to what is called “the waste economy.” As expected, illegitimate methods may also be resorted to in this senseless hunt for riches. It is these destructive contingencies that zakat combats and successfully eradicates.

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architectnews · 3 years

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Gensler Architects Practice, USA Design Office

Gensler Architects USA, American Design Office, Architectural Studio, Interiors

Gensler Practice Information

International Architecture Studio: Design Firm News + Images

May 12, 2021

Arthur Gensler – In Memoriam

Celebrating Art Gensler, architect, USA

photograph : Emily Hagopian

Celebrating the Life, Contributions and Achievements of Architectural Icon and Groundbreaking Interiors Proponent, Arthur Gensler, Inaugural IFI PRIZE Recipient (2020)

In 2020, IFI was privileged to award Mr. Gensler with the inaugural IFI Global Awards Program (IFI GAP) PRIZE in recognition of his indelible contributions to our discipline. As its first recipient, he established the highest benchmark for practice and the profession for this, the top honor for Interior Architecture/Design at the world level. We celebrate his life and are appreciative of his leadership and the impactful legacy he has made to the built environment. On behalf of the world community of IFI, we share our condolences with Mr. Gensler’s family, the Gensler firm, his friends and colleagues.

On this occasion, we share the following public announcement from Diane Hoskins & Andy Cohen, Co-CEOs, Gensler

We come to you today with heavy hearts to share with you the passing of Art Gensler. Art was an industry icon and entrepreneur with the vision that we not only design spaces, but that we do so with the understanding of how they have the power to shape the way we experience the world and who we become within it.

In 1965, with his wife Drue and James Follett, Art founded the firm that he led until the Board introduced the Co-CEO leadership structure in 2005. He is credited with making interior design a new area of architectural practice, raising it to a new level of professionalism. Art led the firm to break new ground as early proponents of interior spaces that reflect and reinforce a company’s brand and unique culture. His “inside-out” approach to architecture, examining the user journey in a building, laid the seeds for the human experience framework our firm still embraces to this day.

In his later years with the firm, Art’s leadership helped Gensler blossom into a full-service practice. He helped craft the blueprint for the firm’s interdisciplinary approach seen through the creation of practice areas. These decisions helped the firm earn clients’ trust and paved the way for Gensler’s expansion abroad.

Art’s lasting legacy is a global brand that only he could have created. He mentored his colleagues to put clients first, fostering a dynamic that can be seen in the firm’s decades-long relationships with clients. He championed the adaptive, proactive, and client-focused approach that treated service as a privilege and clients as partners. His philosophy of working alongside our clients to provide solutions for their most pressing challenges was part of this trademark style for yielding the most value for clients. His spirit and people-focused values will always be the pillars of Gensler.

Art passed away peacefully today, May 10, at his home in Mill Valley, California. He was 85 years old.

Art was predeceased by his wife of nearly 60 years, Drucilla (Drue) Cortell Gensler. He is survived by his four sons and their families: David and his children (Aaron, Thisbe, Dunia, and Pales) with Alisoun; Robert and his wife Gillian; Douglas and his children (Cortie, Cailin, and Mamie) with Kinzie; and Kenneth and his children (Morgan, Jake, and Sam) with Jennifer and grandchild (and Art’s great-grandchild) Charlotte.

Gensler Architects News

Gensler Architects – Latest News

17 May 2018 The Stephen Lawrence Centre, Deptford, London, UK photography : Gareth Gardener The Stephen Lawrence Centre BW: Workplace Experts is thrilled to have delivered the fit-out for Your Space; an evolution of the design of the Stephen Lawrence Centre in Deptford, London.

29 Apr 2018 The Nest, Wapping, East London, England, UK Architects: Gensler image from architects The Nest in Wapping Gensler creates creative co-working space for Cherryduck studios. A striking, architect-designed, creative co-working hub called The Nest has just opened in Wapping, near London’s St Katharine Docks.

3 Oct 2016 Temporary UK Parliament Concept on the River Thames, England, UK picture © Project Posiedon Temporary UK Parliament on the River Thames in London

29 Jan 2013 Gensler Ranks 2nd in World Architecture 100 Survey Gensler 2nd ranking : World Architecture 100 Survey Gensler has been ranked the world’s second largest architecture practice in the World Architecture 100 (WA100) survey.

16 Aug 2012 The Developing City – Vision 2050, London, UK Gensler Developing City Walking Tour A major exhibition on the past, present and future of the City of London as a centre for international trade.

image from architects office

The Walbrook Building, London EC4 21 Jun – 9 Sep 2012

5 Sep, 13.15-14.30 The City in 2050 Walking Tour Take a step into the future on this free guided walking tour around the City of London, exploring how the City might look in 2050. Led by leading global architects and planners Gensler, the walk will examine future visions for five London districts, using the architecture firm’s panoramic visualisation app.

Take a peek at the fusion of innovation and creativity characterised by the tech media and life sciences sectors which will co-exist and thrive in proximity to the well established legal and banking industries. See also how the City will expand beyond its historic walls embracing the post war ‘ring of opportunity’ which will encompass the vibrant fringe districts of Aldgate, Shoreditch, Barbican, Smithfield and the Upper Thames Street. And hear about the pioneering infrastructure, new public parks and world class transport improvements that will ensure that the City of London becomes the ultimate Business Capital of the World.

Information: This event is free but registration is essential Meeting point: Reception of The Developing City exhibition at The Walbrook Building, London EC4, 10 minutes prior to the start time

If you can’t make it take a virtual tour yourself…http://bit.ly/POIew3

An NLA exhibition in conjunction with the City of London

The Developing City – Vision 2050, London, UK The Developing City – Vision 2050 – 19 Jun 2012 London consolidates its position as the world’s Financial Centre and emerges as the first genuinely “Global City.” The competition from New York, Hong Kong, Singapore and Shanghai is over. London has positioned itself as the capital of a global free trade zone which extends from the US to China. London is no longer one of two world cities; it is the only global city.

Gensler Architects : main page with news + key projects

21 Feb 2012

Gensler Appointment News

GENSLER APPOINTS PHILIP TIDD AS HEAD OF CONSULTING

London – this leading architecture, design and planning firm is delighted to announce that Philip Tidd has been appointed as Head of Consulting EMEA. The newly created role sees Philip lead architecture firm’s consultancy practice area across the EMEA regions, building on the success of Gensler’s US based consultancy teams.

Working with Gensler London’s leadership team, led by Managing Principal Chris Johnson, Philip will work closely with senior colleagues across Europe, the US and Asia to enhance the architecture firm’s rapidly growing consulting practice area in the EMEA region. He will also be an intrinsic member of the firm’s consulting practice area global leadership team, together with US based Gervais Tompkin and Andrew Garner-Wortzel.

Philip joined the architecture practice from DEGW where he undertook a number of leadership roles over a 20 year career, most recently as UK Managing Director. His career includes more than 15 years experience across mainland Europe, including establishing new businesses in Germany, the Netherlands and the Scandinavian markets.

David Gensler, CEO Gensler said “We’re delighted to welcome Philip to Gensler, as he brings a wealth of experience garnered across Europe. Philip will be the driving force behind our strategy to emulate the success of our global consultancy practice across EMEA.”

Philip Tidd, Head of Consulting at the architecture practice, said “I am delighted to have joined Gensler. The London office continues to go from strength to strength and the consulting group has tremendous opportunities ahead of it in the EMEA region. This is a fascinating period which I believe will see more fundamental change to ‘The Future of Work’ in the next decade than we have seen in the last twenty years. At the heart of Gensler’s DNA is design thinking coupled with close and enduring relationships with many of the world’s leading global corporate organizations; and we are ideally placed to bring creative insights and solutions to our client’s challenges”.

Philip is an active member of CoreNet, the British Council of Offices (BCO), the Workplace Consulting Organisation (WCO) and the Urban Land Institute (ULI) and is a regular speaker at Industry conferences in the UK and Europe on a wide range of ‘Workplace and City’ issues.

His appointment follows three recent promotions at Gensler London. Ian Mulcahey and Duncan Swinhoe’s appointments as Managing Directors, and Krista Lindsay’s promotion to Principal. These promotions further demonstrate the architecture practice’s continuing commitment and growth within the EMEA region, whilst nurturing and rewarding the success and talent amongst its employees.

2 Feb 2012

Gensler London Appointments News

NEW LONDON LEADERSHIP

London – the leading architecture, design and planning firm today announces the appointments of Ian Mulcahey and Duncan Swinhoe as the new managing directors of the London office.

The new senior management positions underline the firm’s continued commitment to the London market. The new managing directors key responsibilities will be the strategic direction of the London business across all design disciplines and typologies, building on the reputation established since the office opened over 25 years ago. They will also provide support to regional managing principal, Chris Johnson, and the Gensler offices in Abu Dhabi and Doha.

Chris Johnson, Managing Principal EMEA at the architecture office said “2011 was an exceptional year for the London office and similar expectations are anticipated for 2012. These new positions reflect the architecture practice’s success and growth within the EMEA region. The appointments are also recognition of Ian and Duncan’s dedication and leadership in driving the business forward.”

Ian Mulcahey joined the architecture practice in 2000 and is the firmwide leader of Gensler’s Planning & Urban Design practice area. Ian has 24 years experience in the design and implementation of complex urban projects working in major cities in the UK and across the globe. Whilst at Gensler, Ian has worked on a number of high profile developments and masterplans, including Glasgow Clyde Gateway, Scotland, Saadiyat Island, Abu Dubai, UAE, Aqaba Special Economic Zone, Aqaba, Jordan and the London River Park.

Duncan Swinhoe is the architectural studio’s firm-wide leader for Commercial Office Buildings with extensive experience in large-scale architectural developments in the UK, Europe and the Gulf region. Duncan joined the architectural practice as design director in 2004 and has led numerous projects at the practice, including the World Trade Centre and Gulf Corporation Council HQ buildings in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, and the Tameer Towers in Abu Dhabi.

6 Dec 2011 Gensler Film Surface Design Show have a new video, featuring a discussion between architects and designers from this architecture practice and 1508 London on the ways their roles can complement, or aggravate, each other: (no longer active)

More Gensler buildings online soon

Location: headquartered in USA – international offices

USA Architects Practice Information

Gensler Architects Background

This is a global design, planning, and strategic consulting firm, with over 2,200 professionals networked across 32 locations on five continents. Consistently ranked by U.S. and international industry surveys as the leading architecture and interior design firm, the studio leverages its deep resources and diverse expertise to develop design solutions for industries across the globe.

Since 1965, this architecture studio has collaborated with clients to create environments that enhance organizational performance, achieve measurable business goals, enrich people and communities, and enhance everyday experiences. For its longstanding commitment to the advancement of sustainable design, the architectural studio received the Leadership Award from the U.S. Green Building Council in 2005. Gensler Architects’ Bay Area offices include San Francisco, San Jose and San Ramon.

This architectural studio is an international architecture and design firm that was founded in San Francisco in 1965. In 35 years the firm has grown from one office to a broad-based organisation with offices in London, Amsterdam, Hong Kong, Tokyo and a total of 18 offices in the USA. The London office of Gensler was opened in 1989. It has a team of 210 staff and has designed over 25 million sqft of office space and is responsible for over £1 billion of construction in the UK.

American Architects

BD’s Largest 100 World Practices 2007 : 1st place

Former Gensler designer : Marshall Strabala architect

First Featured Project by this US Architects Practice

New Street Edinburgh £100m mixed-use development by Gensler Architects received detailed planning permission but didn’t proceed: image : Gensler, architects Calton Gate was originally designed for the Cuckfield Group by one of the world’s largest practices, Gensler, with Hackland & Dore Architects of Edinburgh.

Website: Building

Buildings / photos for the Gensler Architects page welcome

Website: https://www.gensler.com/

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iamwhelmed · 6 years

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Doubt Totes Terror

Hey guys! I just wanted to doodle up a little one-shot, take a step away from WOHT for a moment, ya know? ;D Anyway, here, have this fluffy, fluffy, fluffy fic.

Summary: Isaac is very confused, very light-headed, and literally nothing about this situation is helping. What in the world happened between senior midterms and... now?

Rated T for alcohol mention (kinda, but not really), and implied sexual content. Oh yeah, and language.

Things had been rough, rougher than usual, really. Going through day after day with the Activity Club always hurt, but there was something special about that pain the last year, like everything he’d felt before had intensified. After Hijack, Isabel had clearly been beside herself with him, Ed followed suit like always, and Spender simply continued to be Spender-- but Max hurt. Max, who never deserved what he got from him, who hadn’t done anything wrong... he hated Isaac, too. Every bit of snark was underlined in angry red pen, and try as he might to do the right thing, to patch things up between them, that line grew bolder, and soon there was no reading between the lines because the lines weren’t there, just red ink turned grey and lifeless. Max remained distant and unattached, but Isaac had, perhaps unintentionally, opened his heart to him, let him a little too close for the lack of return he was getting, but he couldn’t help it. Max was cool, and funny (when his heart wasn’t snapping under the butt of the joke), and even if he never let Isaac in the same way, didn’t exactly comfort him or pat his shoulder, he still defended him. Well, he defended him in battle anyway. Maybe it was all the teamwork, all the long hours spent alone with him, but somewhere along their fiftieth trek through the woods, Max’s eyes started to look like the stars overhead.

Aside from that though, Isabel still snuffed him, Ed still avoided him, Spender still ignored him, and Max still ruffled his feathers constantly (of course, nowadays his heart did flips just to hear him call his name). He’d become the mascot forever, he supposed. He was just doomed to the bed he’d made for himself. But that wasn’t anything new, and he’d by and by become used to it.

What killed him was Johnny, and the hand he had in Max’s back pocket.

They looked good together, got along well. Max actually smiled around Johnny, and Johnny wasn’t as destructive (to himself or anyone else) when Max was around. Max told jokes Johnny didn’t get, and Johnny was touchy-feely and made Max screech. Lots of times Isaac would sit there from across the lunchtable and just watch the way Max looked at him, and as bad as it hurt to see this unique softness in a guy so disinterested in everybody around him, see the way his hand tapped over on playful fingers to latch around Johnny’s under the table (everyone saw it and pretended not to, for Max’s sake, not his), he couldn’t look away. He told himself that they were only in high school. Things would get better. Max and Johnny would date for a few months, get sick of each other and split... but it never happened.

They’d hit senior year when Johnny started openly blabbing about marriage, and half a week into midterms when Max started dropping hints about eloping.

And that was where Isaac was now, laying on his bed with the curtains drawn in the dead of night, one arm to his eyes to catch the tears that hadn’t stopped for a solid hour. What an idiot he was. How stupid he was. He’d always known he was falling like a rock down a river, and that Max floated atop the current, but he’d still hoped, and every night he still had dreams, though those dreams were mostly plagued by visions of red and blue lights melding and molding like the Aurora. All he could do was watch from where he’d been pegged to the ground, take in the sight and smile because, even if he wasn’t a part of it, even if he never would be... it was beautiful.

His body wracked with another sob, and he set the balls of his wrists to his eyes hoping to corner off some of it, but thick bold streams dripped and colored the skin of his cheek down to the bottom of his ear wet. His chest hurt, felt heavy, and he could breath but he really didn’t want to. His heart was twisting, and churning, and he was certain it’d grown tangled in its own strings.

What an idiot he was. How stupid he was.

“Max...” He grinded his teeth, knowing there’d be no response.

He turned to his side, legs curling at his chest. He lifted half the pillow and bent it over his face, muffling his sobs. He was broken. He was a mess. He’d known all along it was coming, and it was all he could do to keep from bothering the rest of the house.

He faded out for a moment, then faded in.

When he opened his eyes the third time, they felt heavy, and he couldn’t see for anything behind the curtain of gaussian blur that’d fallen over every inch of his iris. Stern hands shook him by the shoulders. He raised one hand and tried to wave them away, but the shaking grew more forceful, so he wiped at his eyes instead. Must have been all the crying. “Isaac.”

“Wh-what...? What?”

“You’re crying. What’s up?”

Isaac sniffed, wiping away the last of the dried tears from the corner of his eye. The person before him was still a blur, a mask of browns and blues and white. He blinked a few times, then squinted, and soon enough, a clear vision of Max’s face came into view. His brows were furrowed, like he was doing his best to bunch his two eyebrows together, and he was close-- so very, very close. Isaac blushed at the proximity, and moved back a few inches to save face, and maybe get some air that wasn’t muddled with the heat of Max’s breath on his lips... oh god, were they that close? “Max? Wha- what are you doing here?”

The furrow of Max’s brows grew more pronounced, and there was a shred of-- fear?-- in Max’s widening eyes. “What?”

Isaac yawned and rubbed both eyes with one hand, because Max couldn’t know he’d been crying, and maybe he was feeling a great deal sluggish. “It’s like, midnight or something, right?”

“Yes...?”

“Then...” Isaac paused, one thought rising above all others and jarring him from his fuzzy sorrow-filled brain. He inhaled sharply, crawling away to the opposite end of the bed, scrambling to catch his rear end from falling over the edge. “Wh-why are you in my bed!” Sure enough, Max was laying beside him, under the covers, head propped up in one hand like it was completely normal for them to be sharing a bed, sharing covers and space and-- heaven forbid-- air!

Max frowned and sat up completely, frown growing deeper, and from above, more intimidating. “I mean, do you want the long answer,” he gestured to... the bed? “Or the short answer?” Isaac raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at the mangled sheets and...Max’s...bare...leg...

Oh no. Slowly, with all the caution of a horror film protag and the grace of a baby deer with only two legs to work with, he lifted the sheets from off his body, looked under, then quickly pulled them back down.

He fell silent, and Max leaned over, one hand between them as he got, once again, uncomfortably close. “Isaac?”

“We did... we did that.”

“Yeah. We’ve, we’ve been doing that.”

“No we haven’t!” Isaac whipped around, bunching as much of the covers as he could at his waist, before realizing he was unintentionally revealing more and more of Max’s bare torso and-- for fuck sake. He pulled the covers over the front of his face, up to his forehead, because it was really the only thing he could do to hide the fierce red covering the entirety of his upper body. “Ooohh my god, ooohh my god! This is not happening. This is not happening! I’m dead! I have to be!”

Max reached over and plucked the covers from his face as he would a feather from a chicken, because that’s what Isaac was right now-- a chicken. “What are you talking about?”

Isaac then covered his face with both hands, peeking out at Max between the slits of his fingers. “Maaax... we-- we--!”

“Yeah. Why are you flipping out about this?”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I mean why are you flipping out about this now, after like, three years.”

“What?”

“Don’t what me! I’m what’ing you!”

Isaac grimaced and ran a hand over the side of his face, leaving the other to fall limply at his lap. He was tired, so very tired, in more than just the physical sense. “Max, you’re really freaking me out, I have no idea how this happened. We need to tell Johnny.”

For not the first time that night, Max looked pensive, pensive and confused. He squinted at him. “Um, so, left field question here, but uh,” he pressed the palms of his hands together, then placed them under his nose. “Why would we tell Johnny?”

Isaac reeled back, jaw coming completely unhinged because-- what? What?

“Be-because he’s your boyfriend, you smartass! You cheated on him, it’s the right thing to do!” Of all the unbelievable-- Max? Cheating? Having no remorse? He knew he was bad at promises but come on! This was a bit much!

If he was confused before, he was utterly bewildered when Max reflected the exact same exasperation and disbelief, along with something else? Sticking your tongue out usually meant disgust, right? “What the actual flip are you talking about? I have never, plan to never, and will never date Johnny Jhonny!”

“Well what the frick were the last four years, then? For pete sake, you guys were” He froze, setting on elbow at his knee, resting his forehead in his hand as he took a long, trembling breath. “You guys were talking about-- about getting married, about starting a family. I heard you!”

“No the fuck you didn’t!” Max crossed his legs under the covers, turning to face Isaac completely. It almost felt like a sleepover, like they were just friends discussing the crisis of the future, of college and careers and dead-end jobs, not infidelity. “And what do you mean four years? Isaac, tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you’re thinking.”

Isaac gripped at his hair, intent on pulling it all out, every last inch of orange, with tweezers and a razor if he must. He felt like he was going insane, and he might have been. “I-- Don’t get me wrong, Max, I-- I want this. I just, I just don’t understand. W- we just took our midterm today in English! You told Cody you and Johnny were gonna elope after graduation--!”

“What.”

“And Johnny, Johnny has been talking about you and him tying the knot since the year started! You guys have been so excited! I mean, I guess you’ve been as excited as somebody like you could get about something like that, but!”

“Isaac.”

“I was just gonna be happy for you!” His voice was starting to crack, but he wasn’t gonna cry again. He couldn’t. “But now? I don’t- don’t remember how this happened!”

“Okay, look at me.”

He glanced up as Max leaned forward, cupping his face in either of his hands. Isaac swallowed, and Max got closer. Even though their noses were brushing, he saw something familiar in his face, something he’d seen a lot, though he couldn’t place it. Even if he was close enough he could only faintly see Max’s eyes, he could still make out the stars, and they were shining.

Max kissed him, softly, pressed their lips together and ran a thumb over his cheek, and his heart fluttered despite knowing it was a bad idea. Max was gentle, like he was afraid Isaac would break and turn to dust between his fingers if his kiss was anything but light like a brush of wind. He knew he shouldn’t, but it was everything he’d ever dreamed of, everything he’d ever wanted, just a kiss; he closed his eyes. Max shifted to sit up on his knees, wrapping one arm around his neck. He’d suddenly become less afraid, deepened the kiss, pulled him closer. Isaac played along, let him lead, because frankly, he didn’t know what else to do.

Again and again, their lips parted, then met, and brushed, and dived, until Isaac finally pulled away, pressing a hand over Max’s mouth. “Stop it.” He was breathless, and what would have been a command sounded more like a plea, but Max listened. Kind of.

He took Isaac’s wrist in his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, eyes never fleeting, even as Isaac pulled that hand away. “Cody was never in an English class with us. You and I didn’t even have an English class together.”

“...Huh...?”

“And you and I haven’t taken a midterm in a year, at least, not in highschool.” Max set both his hands in his lap, fingers wrapping around the bone of his blanket-covered calves. “And no, Johnny and I are not talking about marriage. I promise you, I’ve never, ever dated him. Not even briefly. Not even a fling.”

Wait, hold on. What? Isaac frowned, and glanced around the bedroom. Much to his surprise, it was not the one he’d grown up in, and certainly not the same house. The bed was a queen, but that was about as far as the similarities went. The dull yellow curtains of his bedroom, the one he remembered falling asleep in, were a light blue against a tan wallpaper (wallpaper he remembered being grey). This room was smaller, not by much, but enough to notice, and was filled with pictures of him and Max, and the club, and it all ranged from middle school to what appeared to be graduation (from middle school? High school? He was the only one not in cap and gown). Isaac glanced down. The sheets were different, too, though he couldn’t remember exactly what they’d looked like before. Yes, this definitely was not his bedroom. “Is this... your room?”

“Wow you are really out of it tonight. Since you can’t seem to remember, this is our apartment. We live here.” Max coughed, and mumbled “... together.”

Isaac blinked, and turned around to look at Max, who was looking everywhere but his eyes now, an unfamiliar (though it felt like he’d seen it before) rose dusting the tips of his cheeks, riding along his nose. “Wait, I live with you?”

“Yeah, we’re together. That’s what people do when they’re dating.”

“I’m dating you?”

“Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! You had a nightmare! Or something! I don’t know, you were kinda freaking me out.”

Isaac usually, well, felt that usually, he would have snapped back, say that he was just as, if not more, freaked out, but he was just too damn happy to reflect snark. Isaac reached forward, cupping Max’s cheeks in his hands, running his thumb over his nose, brushing his hair back with his other fingers, felt the warmth of his cheeks, which were certainly growing hotter under his gaze. Max watched him, eyes wide, lips thin. “Oh my god you’re my boyfriend!”

“Fiance, actually.”

“I can kiss you!”

“That’s the idea.”

“I can-- I can hug you!”

“Not in public, preferably, but also yeah.”

“Oh my god.”

“You okay?”

Isaac breathed and leaned forward, digging his nose into Max’s neck, reveling in the shiver he felt run along Max’s spine. He was breathless, weightless, walking on a cloud high above level nine. His hands fell to Max’s arms and squeezed them, just to make sure this wasn’t the dream, and he’d wake up to the painful life he’d been leading all by himself. Max was here. He was his. “I’m fantastic.”

He could feel Max swallow. “Okay, that’s it, never ever again are you going to bed drunk. This is too much. I can’t handle this every time you get wasted.”

“I’m wasted?”

“I mean, you were... before.” Max gestured to him. “I don’t know what this is.”

Isaac chuckled, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “I love you.” He pressed more kisses up and down the length of his side, from his temple to his collarbone, feather-light and filled to the brim with emotions he couldn’t even begin to contain. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

“I sure hope so. If you didn’t, that would make this super awkward.”

Isaac went to press another kiss to Max’s neck, only for Max to grab his chin in one hand, redirecting his lips to his own. Isaac obliged, wrapped both arms around his neck and ran his hands through his hair, making it as messy and unpresentable as possible because oh my gosh it was real, this was all real. Max’s kiss grew shallow, and it took Isaac a moment to realize it was because he was grinning. And then Max was laughing, trying his best to muffle it between kisses but failing miserably. “I thought I heard you say my name.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah, that’s what woke me up...” Max pressed another kiss to the side of his lips, but returned to an actual kiss soon after. “You were crying in your sleep. Dream that bad?”

Isaac nodded, speaking between kisses. “Yeah.”

Max snickered again, pressing their foreheads together.

“So... you guys didn’t hate me after Hijack?” Isabel sighed over the phone.

“No, Isaac. Didn’t hate you the first time, either.”

He sighed, hands wrapping around a hot mug of green tea. Max sat across from him at their small square table, one hand on the phone to keep it upright while the speaker blared. Isaac blew on the steam, watching as it shifted in the current of his air. He glanced to Max, and gave him a smile, a silent thank-you for the uncharacteristic nurture which, Max was stubborn about, “wasn’t so uncharacteristic anymore”. Max smiled right back. “Isabel, can you tell Isaac that I’ve never dated Johnny Jhonny?”

“What? He thinks what?” Then she cackled into the phone for a good, long minute. And when I say cackle, I mean that, on the other line, she had one hand over her stomach, head thrown back, and was nearly falling right over the back of her recliner. Isaac pouted, and Max grinned from ear-to-ear. “That’s fuckin’ hilarious.”

“I tried to tell him, but he just kept saying no, you guys have been dating for years, you’re talking about getting engaged--!”

“I do not sound like that.”

“How would you know Mister Amnesiac?”

Isabel finally caught her breath on the other line, and Isaac could almost see her wiping away a salty, salty tear. “Oh, Isaac, dude, no. Just, no.”

“Yeah, thanks, I get that now.” He honestly didn’t think it was so crazy. Now that his memories had, somewhat, returned, he could recall a few times where Johnny had looked at Max with a certain... desire... in his eyes, and he recalled some exchanges of dialogue where Max (jokingly, sure, let’s go with that) flirted, but apparently that was just him. Though, now that he thought about it, was Johnny even the type to get married? Was Max? Well, the matching rings on their fingers said yes.

“No, Isaac, really, it’s hilarious that your brain decided Max-- Max!-- of all people--”

“-- was dating Johnny, yeah, I get it, it’s funny.”

“No, I mean, yeah, but like... Max has had his eye on you since eighth grade.”

At this point, Max’s eye widened, and a deep crimson fell over the tips of his ears and nose, lips twitching into a scowl. He reached out to press the off button, but Isaac snatched it out of his hand, at the price of splashing some hot tea over the side of his mug, and sneered at him. Max’s scowl grew harder, and funnier. “Oh really? You know, my memories from that time period haven’t returned yet.”

“I’m not sure you knew back then anyway, but yeah,” Max reached out in a panic, swinging for the phone. Isaac stood up fast, taking a step just out of Max’s reach as he bent over the table. “I think it had something to do with Doorman back in the day? Something about that whole debacle just kinda got him all crushing on you and stuff.”

Max’s fearsome scowl had dropped to a mere, pleading look. It was then that he was truly, truly glad this was his reality, because nothing-- nothing-- was better than Max’s puppy dog eyes. He snickered and readjusted the phone to his other ear, taking a sip of his tea. “Huh, how funny. How’d you notice?”

“Isaac--!”

“Pfft, how could I not? He kept moping around when you couldn’t make it to a mission. Not to mention the extensive longing looks--”

“--ISAAC PUT THE PHONE DOWN--!”

“-- and his phone’s background. You know he just had a picture of you, the same picture, as his home screen, for like, years until you guys started dating.”

His heart swelled, and he turned to look at Max, who had his head just about buried in his arms, aura swaying erratically over his hunched shoulders. “... has he really liked me that long?”

“Like isn’t exactly the right word, but yeah.”

How, how could his brain have created such a terrible, awful nightmare when every day he lived in this reality? A reality where Isabel and Ed were his friends, friends of seven years, and Max liked him-- like, liked him liked him, enough to marry him! He could hardly contain his burst of love, appreciation, just joy, pure joy for the life he was leading and the people around him and the sheer luck of it all. He was happy. He was loved. He had friends. This was his best possible timeline, and he still carried enough doubt in him to fear Johnny in his dreams? To fear the same things he feared as a dumb kid? He laughed, for the third time that night, breathless, and shook his head. “Thanks, Isabel. We’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some rest.”

She snorted. “With a baby? Please. You were the one keeping me entertained. I’m gonna be up all night. The hubby should be home soon, but--”

Isaac blinked, suddenly very thrown off because, once again-- what? “You’re married? You have a baby?”

There was a pause, and then Isabel sighed. “Jesus christ, Max, get him to bed. If Ed finds out he’s this lost he’s gonna just fuck with him. So. Hard.”

Max groaned and sat up, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“See ya, Isaac. Get some sleep. Maybe things’ll clear up in the morning.”

“I can only hope.” With a click, the line disconnected, and Max took the phone back, gently, Isaac almost thought he’d brushed his fingers on purpose. Their eyes met, and Max ran a hand over the back of his neck, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt (actually, it probably was Max’s shirt, there was no way he’d voluntarily wear this, not according to what he remembered so far anyway). He was still blushing, and Isaac couldn’t get enough of it, couldn’t memorize that shy look on his face as much as he wanted to. He wanted it to stick on the inside of his brain, stay there with him, always. Like a light, a guiding light.

“Come on, let’s get to sleep.”

“Okay.”

#Paranatural #maxaac #imaax #Isaac O'Connor #Maxwell Puckett #Hinted edsabel #but duh #this is Whelmed we're talking about guys

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