#and DRAMA

[that-one-dinotrux-weirdo-000]

OR

Unleash the comments

[xdevilrushx]

Summary: 'tis the season, and Yuffie is feeling… combative? Being surrounded by lovey-dovey couples leaves the young ninja feeling nauseated in an entirely new way, leading to a slight romantic fracas, miscommunication, and a sudden change of rules about certain mistletoe traditions. Hilarity (and potential heartbreak) ensues. Will things work out in the end? Maybe. Either way, someone's halls are getting decked.

Pairings: Clerith, Zifa

####

Two years had elapsed since the Deepground incident, and the Avalanche crew was gathered at the new Seventh Heaven for its annual holiday celebrations. Fresh snow covered the ground, presents were nestled under the tree, all ready for unwrapping, and the party's elaborate holiday dinner was reaching its final stages of preparation.

All in all, it was a rare chance for them all to enjoy a night of peace and quiet. Except for Red XIII, who was busy avoiding Yuffie's incessant attempts to dress him up as a reindeer.

"Yuffie, cut it out," the four-legged beast chastised her. "Why can't you act your age for once?"

The young ninja scoffed. "Like YOU would know anything about that, Mr. I'm-a-wise-old-sage-trust-me," she retorted, mimicking Red's grumpy old man voice.

Red XIII looked up at her, speechless, unable to think of a proper comeback.

Yuffie grinned. "Boom! Somebody call the fire brigade, 'cause you just got roasted!"

"Yuffie, calm down," Tifa said, suppressing a giggle as she passed them by.

"Nope," Yuffie replied, crossing her arms. "Can't stop, won't stop! Now, where was I?"

She looked at the red plastic nose and pair of fake antlers in her hands, then turned towards Red XIII again with mischief in her eyes. "Ah, right… c'mere, Rudolph!"

Red XIII promptly bolted upstairs before she could get any closer. She'd given him a good chase earlier, but spry as she was, she was still no match for Cosmo Canyon's finest. She huffed, reluctantly accepting her defeat.

"… Spoilsport."

[chrystal-ink]

I was literally going to make a short mini for outlaw shadow but it has now become a full one shot fic

Help I have a problem lol

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident - Part XV

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: Alcohol

Words: ~ 1,8 k

About: Y/n and that mysterious woman finally meet!

Part I II -> Next Part

"You?"

She looks at you, clearly stunned to see you- and you feel the same way about her for sure. You actually mentally already saw yourself in your bed after this exhausting trip- and yet here you are. Facing her in the middle of the night once again. Her gaze flickers from you to Atsumu, quickly taking in his state.

You can imagine how you look like.

Your hair looks a bit messy, and you probably look like you fell straight out of your bed. And Atsumu next to you is a mess. Without a doubt. His shirt is half-opened, his broad chest almost fully on display, and you have been doing your best not to stare at his body while you're supporting his weight. His head is hanging low with his cheeks tinted pink and his eyes glassy, and the noises that occasionally escape his lips are a mixture of nonsense blabbering and snores. You definitely look like a strange combination - one might even get the idea that you got him drunk.

The woman is frozen for a few moments, simply taking in the sight of you and him, too stunned to say something. You can't blame her for that reaction, you would have been stunned too to see such a strange couple. You start to sweat slowly, Atsumu's weight considerably resting on you, now that you both have stopped moving. You have no idea what you should do, though. Just who the heck is she? And what is she doing at his apartment again?

After a few moments pass, she finally seems to make up her mind. She moves, coming closer without any warning until she's right in front of you - only to pass by briskly without giving you any attention. Now you're stunned, not missing the look of disgust and hatred on her face or the way her eyelid seems to twitch in rage when she walks past you, and you stand there with Atsumu next to you, who hasn't even looked up ever since you both came to stop.

You turn your head, watching her back as she strides towards the elevator and then presses a button, impatiently waiting for the doors to open.

You know that you only have this chance to talk to her, only these few moments- and you suddenly feel brave enough to do something.

"You know that I'm married to him, don't you?" You finally say. Judging by her reaction, this bold statement definitely took her by surprise. She turns her head and looks at you with a blank expression, but you can see how her nails dig into her palm. She doesn't reply; she simply stands there without breaking your gaze. You slightly lift your chin and hope that you exude confidence while you stand there with a snoring Atsumu leaning against you.

"If I ever catch you here again, I'll call the police. They will surely be happy to escort you out of my husband's apartment." She narrows her eyes at your words and turns her head when the elevator doors open, getting inside without even bothering to say something or acknowledging you.

You exhale deeply, feeling like you've just run a marathon. You still don't fully understand what's going on, but you at least feel somewhat better, now that you could get your anger off your chest. You don't know her, but you somehow find yourself disliking her. But you should maybe direct those feelings towards Atsumu, depending on what he'll tell you as soon as he sobers up. Even though you're not sure if you can trust him yet. You mentally curse when you realize that you still know nothing about this woman, other than that she apparently likes to hang out in front of his apartment. Why couldn't Osamu just tell you everything? You could maybe try to call him, but he seemed exhausted back there at Onigiri Miya's. He's probably asleep already and you feel somewhat sorry for him.

A groan next to you makes you look at Atsumu, who uncomfortably hangs around your body, and you're quick to push him towards his apartment. "We're almost there, please, just a bit more, Atsumu." You beg, and you don't know if he's able to hear you, or even understand you, but he is somehow actually trying to help you, and you finally make it into his apartment. It's probably the adrenaline in your body that makes you heave him onto his bed, and you simply fall on your knees when you finally manage to get his weight off you.

A groan escapes your lips, and you sit there with closed eyes for a few seconds.

That woman.

She's trouble. That much you're certain of when you think about her reactions. You're convinced that she has no positive connection to him. She might be his ex. A pang of jealousy rushes through you when you think about the beautiful brunette right next to Atsumu. The media would love them together.

And yet, here you are. Still married to him for another eleven months. Even carrying his last name, even though you don't even know what he's done with her after he kissed you in that one night. He maybe even slept with her back then. So much about Yachi's hypothesis of the volleyball team being too busy to date.

But that is something that Atsumu needs to tell you. You know that you will only be able to forget about him if he personally tells you that he's not interested. Then you might finally manage to erase him out of your life and move on. Maybe even start dating someone. Yachi had often asked if you feel up for blind dates. She told you that she knows a police officer, who's cute and single and who would absolutely be your type. You had laughed back then, but maybe it would help you get your thoughts away from the blonde volleyball player in front of you.

You get on your feet, looking at Atsumu and contemplate what you should do with him. You slowly look up and down his body, his face looking so soft while he's snoring, his hair hanging around his face, messy for sure, but it probably feels soft to the touch. His chest is still bare, his shirt almost fully opened, but you don't think it'll be too uncomfortable for him to sleep in it. Your gaze lingers on his belt. That will definitely be uncomfortable though.

You internally fight with yourself, a part of you feeling like a pervert when you reach out to the belt and try to quickly undo the clasp. It takes you a few attempts to open it, but you quickly pull it off him as smoothly as you can. You're just glad that he did not wake up during that procedure. You also open the button of his jeans but don't touch the zipper at all. His shoes are quick to land on the ground too, and then you take the blanket and throw it over him, securing it over his body and then making an attempt to go back. You freeze though when he starts moving, a groan escaping his lips along with something that sounds like your name. His eyes open, and you both stare at each other, though you're not entirely sure that he can see you - yet you're still flustered at his gaze.

You're both in his bed after all.

"Y/N - stay here." He mumbles, clumsily reaching out for you. You freeze when he manages to catch your sleeve and you place your hand over his quickly to pull it away.

"I - I don't think it's a good idea for me to stay here." You answer, your voice coming out softer than you intended it to. He hurt you, yet you still missed him. Missed how he makes you feel, missed his goofy side and the way he makes your heart skip a beat when he gives you that sweet smile. You missed everything about him.

"Y/n - missed ya... s'much." He whines into the pillow, his hand curling into yours, and you feel the wall inside of you crumbling. It's... kind of late after all. It's probably for the best if you don't walk home on your own. But sleeping in the same bed? After everything that has happened? But then: what if he needs you during the night? What if he throws up or something and you're too far away to help him?

You sit there for a few moments and then finally nod while you watch him. "Fine. I'll stay with you. Is it okay if I borrow one of your shirts?"

You don't really expect an answer of him, but he nods and mumbles something and raises his arm to show you a direction, and you simply open the wardrobe that he's pointing to without trying to look too much at the clothes and grab the first thing that comes into your hand. It's a simple black shirt that will probably fit comfortably on you. You look at Atsumu, who is now mumbling nonsense, and turn your back to him while you change into the shirt. You decide to leave on your sweatpants; it would feel weird to sleep next to him half-naked. You hesitate before you go into the bed, thinking about getting some water for him, but then you're quick to spot a bottle on the nightstand and then shrug your shoulders. That will be enough.

You're tired.

The adrenaline is slowly wearing off, and you're in no state to go home right now, that's for sure. You yawn and simply let yourself fall into his luxurious bed, and take a mental note to have a closer look at his bedroom in the morning when you wake up. You yawn quite loudly once again before you reach for the light switch and turn the lights off. It's comfortably dark now, and you reach for the other blanket and wrap it around you. You try to quietly shift into a more comfortable position, in order to not disturb Atsumu, but then you feel him shifting again and moving closer until your bodies are touching under your blanket. He smells like a mixture of beer and a smell that you only associate with him. Something manly and comforting; it's hard to tell.

After a few more moments, you hear him breathe deeply and evenly, a pleasant noise while he wraps his arms around you, pressing his hot body against yours. His chest is heaving against your back with every breath he takes, and you feel a tingle run down your spine when he nestles his face in your neck. You don't have it in you to fight this, and you definitely like how safe you feel in his arms. So you simply adjust your legs until you lay there comfortably and listen to the sound of him breathing.

And while Atsumu holds you maybe a bit too tightly in his arms, you feel warm for the first time in a few weeks and finally succumb to sleep.

[e1lqix]

guys, stay behind me, I'll protect yous from the chaos thats going on with the AM yumeshippers. *grabs gun*

( @rukorukie - @ihateloginwallsfuckyou - @freakenomenon - @supersuburb-chix )

[snarky-magpie]

“Reggie! Reggie! Reggie! Do you hear me? Are you okay?” 

The bloody annoying wanker yelling at the top of his lungs until he’s blue in the face has the audacity to shake him, sending bright zips of pain through his injured limb.

“Leave off, you prat. Mind the arm.” What is his brother doing here?

“Thank fuck.” Sirius hugs him while avoiding his mangled body part. “I thought you’d gone into shock.” 

Regulus can’t say for sure that he hasn’t. He’s at the end of his rope, barely holding it together, but a complete breakdown will have to wait till later. He can’t afford to fall apart until he knows James is out of the woods. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks Sirius. On the periphery, he registers the remaining members of the Magpies and the Falcons touching down around them. Amelia lands the closest, so Regulus can’t miss the floppy golden wings peeking out of her balled fist. Everything happened so fast that he didn’t catch the whistle announcing the end of the match. 

I was too busy with my world ending instead. 

His teeth begin to chatter, and Sirius shoots him a concerned look. 

“Come sit down, Reggie. Somebody should examine your injuries.”

“No.” Doesn’t Sirius recognize that a handful of scratches and a broken bone don’t compare to what James is going through? Doesn’t he grasp with his ignorant little mind that Regulus can’t afford to waste time? That he needs to apparate to St. Mungo’s immediately to support him? 

Turns out, he underestimates his brother, who sets his jaw in a stubborn line after one glance at him. “That was not a request, Regulus. Get treated first—swear to Merlin, if the Healers don’t do their jobs, I’ll heal you myself—and then you can go to James, all right? Not a minute sooner. Not in this state. You won’t do him any good like this. He’d have my head if I let you run around injured. You know how he gets. He’d want you to take care of yourself first.” 

[skarkkk]

I feel like my heart is going to explode. A new episode has been released. I got some spoilers, but MY GOD A NEW EPISODE HAS BEEN RELEASED.

I'll come back to give my opinion, and if I don't come back it's because I really had a heart attack.

[ovriit]

" bullshit. " so shocked by the thought that he can't even bring himself to speak right now. " you didn't fuck my brother. " / @sunliights

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

Briaxis Core

ACOTAR moodboards

[dare-to-dm]

So at my job we have the opportunity to request funding for an improvement to our personal office space. Something like a standing desk, or a lamp if you don't like the overhead lighting or a more comfortable office chair, etc.

But what I want is a gong. I want this so that I can ring it every time I complete a mundane task and then declare in a dramatic intonation "IT IS FINISHED".

Do you think they'll approve my request?

[stormysunday98]

[xdevilrushx]

Cloud held the ring up to the light, watching the subtle glint within the embedded diamond as he turned it between his fingers. He leaned over the bar counter, sighing. He'd been planning to propose to Aerith during the holidays, but doubt was beginning to creep into his mind again. It never seemed like the right time, or the right place. Moreover, he'd debated all night whether to do it in private, or in front of all their friends. Would it be too much? How would she even respond? What if she said 'no'? There was no reason for him to believe that she would. Their relationship was going perfectly, after all. And yet… he couldn't help but worry.

Tifa knew as much, and gave him an encouraging look from her vantage point at the opposite end of the bar. She hadn't pushed him, exactly, but she'd been rather profuse in her dispensation of booze tonight, perhaps figuring that what he needed was a bit more liquid courage in order to get him to finally make his move. Reaching the same conclusion, he flagged her down for one more scotch.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden ruckus as Denzel and Marlene came rushing through the room, shunting bar stools aside and crashing into tables and chairs as one gave chase to the other, laughing themselves hoarse all the while. The decorations for the 7th Heaven were long since done, but that didn't stop the kids from chasing each other all over the bar, ducking behind furniture while firing party poppers in each other's direction, as well as leaving streamers everywhere in their wake.

As "excess" was not a word in Yuffie's vocabulary, she soon found herself joining in the chase as well, terrorizing the duo, resulting in them joining forces and ganging up on her. Aerith, watching from the sidelines, couldn't help but laugh at her antics. "I swear, she's more excited than the kids."

"Yeah…" Cloud said.

Aerith, noting that something was troubling him, walked over to where her boyfriend was sitting. "Cloud? What's wrong? Is something on your mind?"

"Uh… it's nothing," Cloud replied, hurriedly placing the ring back into its case and slipping it into his pocket before she noticed.

Aerith frowned. Something was definitely bothering him. She could tell as much, but decided not to press it. He'd tell her in due time.

[blackjackkent]

Ahhhh, I'm excited - time to meet Minthara properly! (And to figure out a reason not to let Rakha just finish the job of killing her. :P )

-----

"I WILL NOT BE SLANDERED!"

The words echo to the high rafters of Moonrise Towers' central chamber just as Rakha and her companions push in through the main doors.

The room itself is an extraordinary display of decayed opulence. A ragged carpet of faded velvet lines the pathway to the dais at the front, upon which is a sturdy stone throne. This central path is flanked by ornate columns and long, low benches that suggest this was once a gathering place - a meeting hall or church perhaps. All of it is draped in dust and cobwebs like a recently opened tomb.

No one is making use of the benches, though. The small crowd in the room is all clustered around the dais, where some sort of impromptu tribunal appears to be taking place.

A bearded half-elf in full plate armor is sitting on the throne. He looks almost bored; his head is leaned on one hand and he is lounged back with an attitude of utter disinterest. At his side stands a half-orc about Rakha's own height, whose eyes are narrowed in visible rage. Both of them are staring down at the prisoner under examination - a lithe, muscular elf in dark armor in a strange design of layered metal.

Rakha realizes with a sudden start that she knows all three of these people. She doesn't know how she knows the half-elf or the half-orc, but both faces ring like bells in her empty memory. And the drow...

Rakha blinks several times rapidly. I *killed* you. What are you doing here?

It is definitely Minthara, the drow commander from the goblin camp, a woman Rakha thought she killed weeks ago now. Yet here she stands, on trial before other Absolutists, fully intact. At first Rakha thinks she must be mistaken, that this must be some other drow with similar hair, similar armor...

...except that the commander is barefoot. Shadowheart is currently wearing the boots they took from Minthara's supposed corpse.

"General - you saw my reports!" Minthara cries urgently, spreading her hands towards the half-elf man in a gesture of supplication. "You know it's not my fault!"

General, Rakha thinks. Her skin prickles with sudden agitation, the arrested urge to dart forward and strike. Minthara called the man General; he is Ketheric Thorm, the leader of the Absolutists. The half-orc, then, must be the Disciple the guards spoke of - Z'Rell.

Her head aches with some half-realized vision. She knows both faces, both names, but why?

"The facts suggest otherwise," snaps Z'Rell, staring Minthara down like a predator eyeing prey. "You were ordered to retrieve the artifact. You failed to do so."

"If I had been given drow warriors instead of goblin trash--" Minthara begins. Whatever argument she was about to make is immediately drowned out by an explosion of noise - objections from the cluster of goblin prisoners standing nearby. Leftover dregs, survivors of the devastation Rakha and her companions wrought at the shattered temple, perhaps.

"ENOUGH!" Z'Rell thunders, her voice crashing through the room like a battering ram.

Narrator: A blast of mental energy washes over you, filling the room. Your tadpole squirms, urging you to obey.

Rakha doubles over with a groan of sudden pain. The impact of Z'Rell's mental force strikes her like a wave, grips her by the brain and twists. Obey, it commands, even though there is no order for her to follow. Kneel. She feels her legs buckle, and instinctively struggles against the power until it begins to ease.

"Let me make sure I understand this," Z'Rell sneers at Minthara icily. "You're claiming that General Thorm gave you the wrong soldiers?" She takes a step forward. On the throne, Thorm stirs, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"Yes--" Minthara starts to say, then realizes her mistake just as the word leaves her lips. "No!" she corrects herself hastily.

"You blame the Absolute's Chosen for your failure?" Z'Rell demands, taking another step forward.

"Of course it is not the General's fault!" Minthara is trying to maintain her composure, but her voice cracks with sudden fear.

Z'Rell is almost nose to nose with her now, staring her down with a strange sort of vicious hunger in her eyes. "WHOSE, then?" she snarls.

At Rakha's side, she hears Wyll give a low whistle under his breath. "Someone's in trouble..." he murmurs.

Rakha ignores him. Her eyes are fixed on Z'Rell, on that hungry smile touching the other half-orc's expression. It is unsettling, only adding to the inexplicable feeling of familiarity the Disciple's face engenders in her. It is an expression she could imagine on her own face, the moment before a kill.

As for Thorm... Rakha's interest in Minthara's fate pales beside her interest in Ketheric's - she wants him dead. By all accounts his is the hand that has driven every terrible thing that has happened to her. She wants his blood far more deeply than she wants Minthara's.

But not here. As when she faced down Jaheira at Last Light, she is deeply aware that pushing the fight here would result only in her own death. She needs to learn Thorm's weaknesses, and find him alone.

Almost by instinct, she pushes outward with her own mental force, reaching out to his mind. Can she learn something of him? Can he be manipulated, pushed into a corner to die by her hand?

[WISDOM] Try to force your will on Ketheric - push him to declare Minthara innocent.

Narrator: Your mind extends outward and grasps at... nothing. In Ketheric's place, you feel an absence. No psionic power. No tadpole at all.

Rakha's breath jolts in her throat, as if she has tried to take a downward step that wasn't there. Her eyes open wide and she stares at Ketheric with an entirely new feeling of puzzlement - and unexpected fear. Here in the heart of the Absolute cult, a person without a tadpole feels far more unsettling than someone with one.

Minthara is still trying to plead her case. "The goblins!" she insists. "They failed me. They failed us all!"

"You lyin' little--" one of the goblins yelps, but she's cut off by Z'Rell, still cold as ice.

"And what would you do to those that have failed you?" she asks coolly.

Rakha can see the trap being laid, the blood that will follow it, but Minthara, desperate for salvation, grasps at the question eagerly.

"They are to be put to death - obviously," she says firmly.

"True," Thorm says abruptly. He stirs again and leans forward - stiffly, as if with some inexpressible weariness. "Ultimate failure must earn ultimate punishment." He lifts one hand and waves it in a dismissing gesture. "Nightwarden Minthara - your crime is incompetence and your sentence is death."

"NO!" Minthara screams - the sound a little choked off as two guards grab her by the arms and drag her backwards.

Ketheric lounges backwards in his chair again. "Make her passing slow, Disciple Z'rell," he says, a slow, disinterested drawl. "Be creative."

Again, that hungry, gleeful eagerness flashes onto Z'rell's face. Her hand rests on a dagger at her side.

And Rakha - completely without her own volition, as if voicing a script established for her long ago, speaks up. "I could make it *much* more creative," she hears herself say, and her voice is low and cold and matches that gleeful smile on Z'rell's face. "As a torturer, I am unmatched."

Wyll shoots her a sharp look, his eyes narrowing; one of his hands closes on her arm. But she doesn't even need it. She's already clamped her mouth shut, baffled by the words, by how natural they felt.

She can see Z'rell's mouth draw into a tight line, infuriated by the interruption, but Thorm merely raises an eyebrow as if he has been presented with some curiosity by an eager child.

Narrator: As the General's attention shifts to you, a memory stirs. A memory of this room, and his voice raised in anger.

"I'm surprised to see you again, True Soul," the General says. His tone is clipped, exquisitely controlled, with a sliver of barely concealed threat beneath. "You are here to assist and not to meddle, I trust. I would remind you that while in my halls, you obey me - just as you would any other Chosen." His lip curls in a disdainful smile and he leans forward again, his eyes fixed on Rakha intently. "What say you about our Minthara? It is fitting that one mad dog should judge another."

Rakha's blood feels as if it has been flooded with ice. Her body goes still; her very breath stills in her chest.

She does know him. And he knows her, just as the guard at the gate did. She doesn't know why. She has been here before, in this room - before the Nautiloid took her, before she met Lae'zel or Wyll or any of her companions.

You are here to assist and not to meddle.

While in my halls, you obey me.

Somewhere in the past, she argued with this man. She disagreed with his decisions, disrespected his authority. He shouted in her face - that memory is clear, but utterly without context.

It is fitting that one mad dog should judge another.

It's an insult. It infuriates her. She wants, more than ever, more than anything, to rip out his throat and eat it in front of his body as it bleeds out. But as always, her need for answers trumps the hunger for blood.

"You know me?" she whispers. "You know of my madness?"

Thorm smiles unpleasantly. "Better than you know yourself, it seems," he says. "But we are here to speak of Minthara, not you."

Her tongue feels frozen in her mouth. This is too much to take in - she doesn't care about Minthara's fate. She wants Thorm dead for that mocking smirk and for the tadpole in her head.

"What do you intend to do with her?" she manages to ask.

Thorm shrugs. "She will die. Eventually." He jerks his head. "Take her below."

Rakha watches, her thoughts racing, as Minthara - screaming for mercy - is dragged out of a nearby door by two of the guards.

Thorm stands slowly from the throne, stretches a kink out of his shoulder, and squints at the pint-size collection of other prisoners waiting for his attention. "Kill the goblins too," he adds dismissively.

Noises of dismay erupt from the crowd of goblins, and one of them cracks into sheer panic.

"You creaking old bag of shit!" she bellows. Hurling her full weight at a nearby guard, she manages to get ahold of his axe and - with surprising dexterity for her size - hurls it with all her might at Ketheric's chest.

Thorm slams back into the throne. The axe lodges itself through his armor and into his chest with an eruption of blood; Rakha's head snaps back, her eyes dilating, the beast rising in her head with a wave of excitement.

And then... nothing. Silence. Her hunger fades. The blood is false - it is no red tide of fading life, but something much darker, almost black, a strange ichorous mess pooling around his boots.

His eyes open. He stands, and without pain or even much evident interest, he rips the axe from his own chest.

"I'm so sorry, my lord," Z'Rell is babbling. "She's an unbeliever, outside my control--"

Thorm ignores her. In three quick strides he moves to stand directly in front of the goblin and drops the axe onto the floor in front of her with a clang.

"Try again," he says coldly.

(A/N: Fuck Ketheric, obviously, but this is such a fucking boss power move.)

The goblin swallows, bright-eyed with blank fear, and leans over and picks up the axe. Rakha can almost see the thoughts churning in her head - in for a coin, in for a coffer - and then she swings the axe again, this time a clean blow directly into Ketheric's neck.

Again Rakha watches intently, eager for that burst of satisfaction that would come with seeing Ketheric bleed properly and die... but it doesn't come. Instead, he pulls the axe from his neck, and twists his head with an uncomfortable cracking sound until it settles back into its correct position.

And without a single word, he slams both gauntleted fists down onto the goblin's head, shattering her skull.

It's a poor meal compared to the feast that Thorm's own death would have been, but at least there is proper blood. The beast purrs eagerly in Rakha's head.

"Dispose of the rest as you see fit," Thorm says absently. He seems utterly unconcerned with the mix of blood and ichor that now stains his hands, his armor, his beard. "Or better yet..." His eyes flick back to Rakha, reading the expression on her face - the involuntary eager smirk that touched her lips seeing the goblin die. "Let us take advantage of our surprising guest, and their particular creative genius. I'm sure the results will send a clear message to the troops on the importance of discipline."

Z'Rell has gone very quiet and still as well. She is looking at Rakha with unmitigated dislike - but her respect for (or perhaps fear of) the General is greater. "Of course, my lord," she mutters. "Thank you."

She takes a step down off the dais, closing with Rakha. "You heard the General. The goblins are yours - deal with them however you wish."

The beast leaps eagerly at this offer. So many ways to kill, so many ways to make them bleed and bleed and bleed...

She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting it back, trying to think clearly. Too much has happened here. She needs to take time to understand...

Contain your excitement.

Z'Rell rolls her eyes at Rakha's silence. "Here, in the seat of the Absolute's power, your authority over them is complete. They will obey any command. Report to me upstairs when you're done."

She doesn't wait for a reply, but disappears out a door in the back of the room, leaving Rakha and her companions alone with the goblins.

"Here..." one of the goblins quavers nervously. "You ain't gonna do anything drastic, are yeh? We've been nothing but loyal!"

-----

"Rakha?" Wyll says softly. "Hey. Hey-- Rakha. Come back down."

He's seen her gaze starting to go wide and wild with the promise of violence and the chaos of the last few minutes, and he's relieved to see that his voice seems to ground her a little, to draw her back.

She turns sharply away from the prisoners, squeezes the heels of her hands against her eyes.

"Did you see it?" she mutters hoarsely. "He didn't bleed. He didn't die."

"Chk. We knew he would not, already," Lae'zel points out. "The greater question - how does he know you?"

Rakha shakes her head once sharply. "I don't know. I don't--" She draws a breath, lets it out slowly between her teeth. "I have seen him before. Him and the woman both. Clashed with them, I think. But I don't remember..."

A muscle works in her jaw as she slowly calms her own agitation. Wyll can see the effort it's taking her, and he smiles just a little in pride to see it. She would not have calmed herself like this, when they first met.

"And the drow," Rakha goes on after a short pause. "We killed her."

"It seems we didn't do a good enough job," Shadowheart says dryly. "Although Thorm seems likely to finish it for us." She raises one eyebrow. "She might be a useful ally. People tend to be rather more pliant, when the alternative is death."

Rakha grunts. "Perhaps..." she says. Her thoughts are clearly elsewhere. "And the goblins..."

She expects Wyll to tell her to release them; it isn't practical but it would be kind. To her surprise, though, his jaw sets and he shrugs. "Finish them, I suppose. That will get us in good here."

Lae'zel nods curt agreement. "Yes."

Rakha draws a slow, shuddering breath and turns back to the prisoners.

The beast is full of ideas, ways to use the tadpole's command to make them tear themselves apart. But Rakha ignores it. Flame bursts up in both palms, rising into an arc before her.

"I will do this with my own hands. It always feels better."

[wisdomnynaeve]

Wheel of Time S2 Countdown Day 2- Favorite Costume

[annwayne]

@wolveria and I have been talking about a sugarbaby!au for marvel so here's some thoughts about my oc and Loki before the fic I'm writing starts :P and also I thought it'd be a fun distraction given the sad news

Some overview

My oc, Alexandria Heide, sugar name Cherry, is a high class escort/sugar baby for the richest of rich. Which, in this world, is pretty much all of the marvel crew. It's kinda like how in Leverage everyone is a famous world thief and insurance agents go to Europe to track down art thieves, just an over abundance of rich people parties and escorts and sugar babies-it's a whole industry lol. No superpowers, no world ending disasters, none of that. Just really rich people and lots of fake countries lol.

The Thoughts

Loki actually starts to get interested in Alex when he caught her grinning at an insult he said to Tony in Asgardian (she didn't list being fluent in Asgardian, maybe she's not confident in it?) He "subtly" tests her over the rest of the night, finding no other signs of her understanding the language. This is what catches his attention.

Alex keeps her civilian life completely separate from her sugar/escort life. Realizing that Loki might've noticed her react to Asgardian made her over correct so hard that it only made him more suspicious. This is the event that triggers a whole pseudo-rivarly thing they got going on.

The pseudo-rivarly is Loki attempting to find the "real" Alex, or to him, Cherry, after he asked her to "drop the escort act." She didn't drop the escort act. He's watched her with other clients, notice's how she changes her reactions and attitudes to fit them, and he sees it as a challenge.

For a little bit, their escort/client relationship is thriving. Alex actually enjoys Loki as a client (even if she wished his attempts at prying were less frequent) and especially loved the gifts he sent her. Out of all of her sugar daddies, Loki either had the same tastes as her or paid enough attention to notice her tastes. Either way, it meant she was always excited to see what he'd picked out for her.

But that couldn't last.

Around the time of @wolveria 's fic, (which takes place after Loki and Alex have a working relationship but before my fic of them) Loki is, well he's falling apart. With his escorts he's demanding, harsh, and rude. With everyone else he's angry and rash. He's having a crisis. His dad was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma.

Thor is off being Thor, the country's golden boy despite all the partying and lack of responsibility, Hela has been all but cut off from the family, and Loki is just trying to please his dad.

At some event, after Loki is a bigger ass than usual, Alex has a real conversation with Loki. She's not working, she was invited as a guest by the host. Without the escort/client relationship in the way, Loki finally gets to see the real Alex.

They have a bit of a moment. Two people seeing each other for the first time. And Alex even surprises him by ending the conversation with an Asgardian idiom.

But a single moment cannot heal a lifetime of pain.

Loki ends up blacklisted from Alex's client list. Until she ends up owing him a favor, which looks a lot like a long term escort contract with exclusivity clauses.

divider by saradika