#ownlore

dare i say.............

elena gilbert + edward cullen

elizabeth bennet + benedict bridgerton

gansey + blue or adam!

darlington + richard papen

pamela dawes + richard papen

the knight parts his lips,    and the knight promptly closes them,    caging his first instinct behind gritted teeth.     he can feel the irritation rising within him,    crawling upon his skin.     of course he had noticed her boredom before she spoke!     he had witnessed the shift in her weight,    the agitation curling around her shoulders like smoke.     even if he were not so attuned to the force he would have recognized the tell-tale signs.    how many times had he been in her place,    staring at obi-wan with drooping eyelids,    begging to be released from meditation so he could do something,    anything,    else?    still,    when she speaks,    the word bored almost seems to bite with small,    honed canines that settle behind his ribs.     it should not matter.     it should not matter,    yet it does,    because it reminds him of lonely temple corridors,    of lessons that stretch until his bones ache,    of masters who pay him no mind unless they are reprimanding him for saying the wrong thing and feeling too much and being too much.   

he straightens his back as an old tendency takes over,    spine perfectly taut due to years of correction.   an eyebrow lifts    —    to those unfamiliar,    he would seem merely amused,    and as per usual,    impatient.      ❝      i  didn’t  realize  it  was  my  duty  to  entertain you,      ❞      it comes out in sharp edges,    his voice petulant.     he hates it.     heat rises in his chest,    in his throat,    then vanishes,    swallowed down with the learned control he has been both praised and punished for.     (   YOU SHOULD BE BETTER THAN THIS,    ANAKIN SKYWALKER.     A JEDI DOES NOT RAGE,    A JEDI DOES NOT REACT,    A JEDI DOES NOT CARE   ).     gaze shifts,    so very briefly,    settling somewhere far from her face:     the floor,    the walls,    the shape of coruscant beyond the windows,    beckoning him.     after letting out a deep exhale,    he turns back to his companion.      ❝      we’re almost done.     if you’re so bored,    then you’re welcome to leave.      ❞      

music for the soul ! [ ... ] accepting.

although her ongoing predicament was that she didn't seem to be interested in anybody, not some obstacle preventing her from being with someone she wanted to marry. but she knows she hasn't exactly been trying either. "every family has that one member who never marries, don't they? i've come to accept that it will probably be me in mine."

the last thing kate sharma had anticipated when trailing her younger sister like a hawk had been any sort of interruption. it was no secret that the people of the ton didn't particularly like mary and perhaps kate even less. she had expected a quiet night where she would weave through bodies like a shadow as her sister waltzed gracefully from arm to arm. for surely, no one would pay mind to a spinstress like herself, nearly six and twenty years of age ! so when the lilting words reached her, she turned to find an unfamiliar face in her periphery. unfamiliar yet not wholly unwelcome. she could do with some respite.

unsure of where the conversation would lead, she turned her sights back to the dance floor with a small grin. " for the sake of my sister, i must pretend to be nothing but overtly enthusiastic. " as if on cue, the younger sharma shot a look over at her sister as though she were the one checking on her rather the other way around. kate flashed her an encouraging smile, pearly whites and all. as soon as edwina's attention had been recaptured by her dance partner, she tilted her head closer to her new companion and dropped her voice to a whisper. " however, if not for her, this would nary make my list of things to do in the ton. "

he shouldn't have been surprised by the pig sputtering its last breath before they reached their destination; the event had already occurred so many times that its opposite happening would have warranted more of a fanfare. that fact, however, did not stop resentment from growing. nothing ever stopped it. he could be sitting on his bed, doing nothing but throwing pieces of paper for chainsaw to pick up mid-air, and the ball of anger would assault his throat, descend to his chest, and stay there, lodged between two ribs. it didn't matter that gansey was already trying to calm him down with pure, terrible logic. none of it mattered once the ball had started rolling.

the most immediate issue with gansey's approach was that ronan did not respond well to rationality. to him, it felt like a cheap trick: words that held meaning because you trusted that the world wouldn't shift mid-sentence. but that reality did not exist for him. ronan lynch fell asleep, and upon waking, he would lie in a tangible dream. rationality was worthless, held together by a belief that he could simply not subscribe to. anything could happen. catastrophe was always a minute early, and it would meet you mid-sentence. a nightmare was nothing but a dressed-up dream, which in turn was nothing but a wish for the sleeping.

he didn't stop to think of his actions. the anger started emitting its own static noise and ronan let it lead him away from the fuming pig. that car wouldn't start again, which meant that they were fucked. he registered the opening & closing of the driver's door, could hear gansey's rushed steps, but none of it made him slow down. blood was rushing near his temples, faster & faster, while gansey started a rant on ley lines and mechanical disturbances, as if the pig wasn't well-known for breaking down at random times, often when its occupants really, really needed to keep going. in that aspect, perhaps ronan and the pig were similar. he, too, could not prevent himself from his equivalent of a break down: simmering anger, a 'fuck' or two hurled at a friend, regardless of the feelings he was bound to hurt.

"there's no need to think: we're fucked.", was ronan's ever helpful comeback. he didn't know how gansey did it, how he managed to convince himself that if he thought hard enough then perhaps the world would align perfectly. maybe it was the rationality thing: maybe he was deluding himself into thinking everything would be okay, because that's how the world usually reacted to him. gansey liked old books with stories that had already happened, their issues already solved by the time he heard of them. that enjoyment of things past correlated with his present: things tended to solve themselves when they concerned richard campbell gansey the third. ronan always tried not to resent him for that, but in moments like these, it was harder-- perhaps gansey had forgotten yet again that the current equation of his reality involved ronan, which meant than a happy ever after was completely out of the question.

that much is obvious -- jyn hardly needs eyes to see that the dregs are comprised of a large group of people whose experiences in childhood would fall under the category of hungry, scared, and alone. it's ineffective to play this move when they all have the same cards -- they all have trauma, so it cancels out. even playing field. and if this is supposed to sway her mind ( or, gods, if this is an attempt at pity ), it isn't going to work.

her voice is familiar,   disgustingly alike her own,   save for one detail:    she would never be caught being this stupid,   wearing fear on her sleeve,   a spectacle for her enemies to feast upon.   it’s impossible to avoid the roll of her eyes.    katherine turns from her position near a window,   now stares at her doppleganger,   at the dullest possible version of herself.    first,   her gaze is cold and analytical,   none of her hatred or anger or envy showing,   and she remains frozen,   just for a moment.    just watching.    her upper lip almost curls into a snarl   —   elena gilbert,  this miserable slump of a girl,  this tragic idiot who has had everything handed to her and still manages to drown. ( you remember being that small once,  before the world changed and turned dark.   all but a child,   shaking in a room you could not escape from,   the devil smiling like he knew exactly how to break you.    but he failed.    and you learned,   didn’t you?    you learned that crying is no saving grace.    it could not save you,   or your family,  or the person you dreamed you would become.   )                   

laughter blooms from her chest,   poisonous.     ❝     oh,   please.    ❞    sweet disdain drips from the words,   as sharp as it is rotten,   allowing the truth of her feelings to shine through.    ❝    is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?     ❞    she moves closer.    her movements are slow,  calculated,   a predator circling its prey only to toy with it.    the shadows bend around her frame,   as if they recognized an old friend.    ❝    if they wanted us dead,  we’d already be dead.    ❞    though she despises the idea that she’s been careless enough to be captured,   no worry prickles at her skin,  not when she knows this is temporal,   an inconvenience she will solve,   whatever it takes.    i always survive.    a tilt of the head,   a cruel smile honed in years of immorality.    ❝     which means whoever kidnapped us wants something.    ❞    her gaze darkens.    it’s calculating,  the same look she has used a thousand times while clawing her way through the centuries.    freedom is a transaction,   after all,   and she drives the best bargains.     the vampire leans back against the cold wall,   lifting a brow delicately.    ❝    do as i say, and maybe you’ll walk out of here with your pretty little head still attached to your body.    ❞                   

music for the soul ! [ ... ] accepting.