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hopelessrromantix · 2 years

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content: long because i combined two days, degradation, dacryphilia, yoru being an asshole (but what's new tbh)

You were the peaceful type, you really were. You were one of the protocol’s resident healers, and a protege of Viper. Despite working with weaponry and fighting constantly, when it came to your team members, you tried to stay as calm as possible.

Being a controller and a healer, your job was to protect everyone above all else, and you took that job seriously. Even when Viper recruited you, she’d told everyone you were a source of balance that the team needed.

You, Sage, and Sova, always managed to act as voices of reason. Even when the group was at their craziest, they always took your words into account. It was something you were grateful for, it made protecting them that much easier.

All around, everyone in Valorant treated you with kindness and respect.

Everyone but Yoru.

He was a narcissistic bastard who always put himself above others. Even when his teammates had to save his ass, he always found a way to make it look like he was the hero.

As a duelist, he was always charging, picking off people as he could. He never made healing easy. He’d come crawling to you, beaten and bloodsoaked, still acting like he was perfect.

He never thanked you, either. It was always some sarcastic comment about how he didn’t even need you, how he’d already done all the work. To some of the other protocol members, it was annoying. But he always seemed to come after you, like some kind of personal vendetta.

“It couldn’t be Skye or Sage?”

“Why are the rest of you even here, huh? I’m doing all the hard work.”

“Can’t you heal me faster? And smoke them off better next time, this time sucked.”

It was always those little, stupid comments. You never argued with him, always putting the mission above your own feelings. You weren’t anyone’s punching bag, but every time you explained to him what he was doing wrong, he waved you off. So, in favor of staying alive, you always bit your tongue in the middle of the field.

But this time, he’d taken it too far.

Despite your team mostly being duelists, you’d managed to ace, getting them all back home safely. They were all injured, though it was nothing lethal. It’d taken a lot of healing on your part, but you were just happy to be back home. Well, as ‘home’ as you could be.

The rest of the team had congratulated you, Jett and Phoenix offering the rest of the protocol exaggerated retellings. Even Viper gave you a nod, which, coming from her, was a lot.

Yoru, on the other hand, couldn’t help being petty.

“Oh please, the only reason he managed to do anything was because I’d injured them. The only reason he ever manages to do anything is because of us.” He’d waved off Jett and Phoenix’s retorts, simply scoffing. “You’d be more useful healing, but half the time you can’t even do that right.”

And something about that was enough to make you snap.

Jett and Phoenix froze in their spots, a few other protocol members doing the same. Some of them opened their mouths to defend you, but you acted faster than they could.

“I’ve had enough of your shit,” You mumbled, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him out of the dining hall. Most of the agents were focused on their dinner, so they didn’t seem to care.

“Yeah, he’s gonna get his ass kicked,” Jett joked, shrugging as Yoru looked shocked at their lack of reaction.

You pulled him all the way to your room, one of the furthest in the protocol. The hall was completely empty since most of the protocol was down eating. The only exceptions were Cypher, Killjoy, and Chamber. Cypher never ate with the group, Killjoy spent far too much time in her lab, and you were pretty sure Chamber thought he was too good for the protocol’s food. Still, an empty hall was the perfect place to yell at Yoru without Viper getting upset at the noise.

“The hell are you doing,” He muttered once you let go of him. He dusted himself off, as if touching you had contaminated him.

“I’m tired of this, Yoru,” You began. You saw him roll his eyes, another sarcastic comment about to come out of his mouth. But you simply held up your hand and talked over him, forcing him to listen.

“You think it’s alright to insult me, to belittle me. What, because I won’t fight back?” You questioned, your tone seeping with venom. “I’ve been nothing but kind and patient. I’ve put up with everything you’ve had to say, every stupid little comment about how you’re better than me, or how I’m fucking useless.”

By now you were fully yelling. Yoru looked surprised, and honestly, you were too. You never got mad like this, but right now, you didn’t really care.

“I’m not putting up with you or anything you have to say anymore. If you want my help, my healing, my kindness, smoke, if you want absolutely anything from me, I’d better get one hell of an apology.”

He stared blankly for a moment, looking like was still processing your words.

“Well? Nothing to say?” Yoru wasn’t meeting your eyes anymore and you could see his face heating up red. Did you embarrass him? You weren’t entirely sure what the hell was going through his head, but at the moment you didn’t really care.

“Look, unless you feel like begging, you can go to hell for all I care,” You huffed. Still, there was no response. “One chance, Yoru. Your next words better be good.”

“I’ll do a lot more than make it up to you,” He muttered. You opened your mouth to say something, but he grabbed your collar pulling you closer to him.

He leaned up, his lips meeting yours. Your eyes widened before you shoved him off.

“The hell are you doing?!” You yelled, looking at him incredulously. “Are you insane? I ask for an apology and you take it as, what, a confession?!”

“You’re hot when you yell,” He offered, shrugging. “Besides, you wanted me to make it up to you right?”

You paused for a moment, analyzing his face. It took you a minute or two to believe he was even serious.

“You fucking slut,” you scoffed. “You finally pissed me off enough and your only solution is to suck my dick and make up for it?”

You chuckled at the way he avoided your eyes. His cheeks were red, though he attempted to turn away it wasn’t helping him hide.

“What, do you do this to everyone you piss off?” You questioned. “Or did you just wait for the opportunity to do it to me?”

He looked offended at your statement. “You think I ask random people to fuck often?”

You shrugged. “With how easy that was, I wouldn’t be shocked if it’s a regular activity.” You chuckled at the way his brows furrowed, expression shifting to anger. “You wanna be a slut? I’ll treat you like one.”

You grabbed onto his arm again, this time with more force, and dragged him inside your room. The door shut behind you, the small light beside it turning red to signal it was locked.

You didn’t waste any time, pinning him to the wall next to your door and catching his lips in yours.

The kiss was rough, your teeth clacked and he bit at your bottom lip after only a few seconds. You chuckled at how eager he was.

Lifting one leg to your hip, you felt how hard he was already.

“Don’t tell me your hard just from this,” You laughed. “You really are a whore.”

You captured his lips again, this time gaining a low moan from his as you did so.

You finally pulled away from his lips, attacking his neck instead. He tilted his head to the side, giving you as much room as he could.

You slipped off his jacket, watching as he eagerly took his shirt off before tugging at yours. You obliged, sliding it over your shoulders and focusing back on him.

“Strip.” Your voice was stern, a tone you didn’t use often. Yoru seemed a bit surprised at the aggression in your voice. He opened mouth with a half smirk on his face, obvious with some stupid retort in mind. Instead, you reach up to firmly grip his throat, your hand steady. “Don’t you fucking talk back, you strip and get on your knees.”

His nod was hesitant, but he did, tossing his clothes aside. You did the same, watching eagerly as he sank to his knees. You could see his eyes tracing you. He was fully hard by now, twitching slightly as he looked at you.

“Well?” You questioned, looking at him expectantly. “Start making it up to me.”

His eyes flicked down to your half hard cock, taking it in his hand and stroking it slowly. You let out a sigh as his tongue flicked out to lick the tip. He watched your expression carefully, tongue softly circling your now hard dick.

“Aw, you can do better than that,” You cooed, grabbing onto his hair and shoving him all the way down your length. It hit the back of his throat and he let out a loud gag, tears instantly gathering in his eyes. You groaned at the feeling of his throat constricting around you, his tongue tracing the underside of your dick. He was still trying his best to suck, but was more focused on not gagging.

“There you go,” You smiled, dragging him up and down your length. “I like you so much better when you’re quiet.”

You saw his eyebrows furrow in anger, but it went away the second you started fucking his face.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, his face flushed and eyes wide. He still stared up at you, watching the pleased expression on your face.

He reached his hand down to his own cock, intending to stroke it when you slowed down. “Don’t you dare touch yourself. Sit there and be a good little fuck toy, got it?”

He nodded as best he could, his hand reaching up to your thigh as your pace started up again.

It was brutal, your balls slapping against his chin as you thrust into his mouth as deep as you could.

“Fuuuccck yes,” You hummed, feeling your orgasm approaching. “Takin’ my dick so well. Such a good whore.”

The whine Yoru let out spurred you to the edge. You pulled out of his mouth, stroking your cock as fast as you could manage.

“Mouth open, bitch.”

He compiled without question, mouth opening just as you came. Ropes of cum decorated his face, a good amount landing in his mouth.

“Swallow, you fucking cum rag.” Yet again he complied, taking down everything in his mouth and licking a bit outside.

When you looked him over, you noticed the white covering his stomach and the floor. You almost laughed at the sight. The man who thought it was so funny to torment you, kneeling on the floor covered in cum.

You gripped his chin, forcing him to meet your eye. “You always act like you’re better than everyone else, yet here you are. Whoring yourself out so you don’t get your ass kicked.” His face flushed more, a few stray tears falling. You leaned down slightly so he could hear you better. “You’re a hell of a lot more tolerable like this.”

He let out a near whimper at that, his half hard cock twitching slightly at your comment. You chuckled at him, looking so desperate despite how willing he was to put you down.

“You can clean yourself up, then get the hell out of my room.” He seemed a bit disappointed at that, and admittedly, you wouldn’t mind doing this again. Not that you could tolerate him for longer than it would take to fuck him. “Don’t get too upset, I’m sure I’ll need to shut you up again.”

Yoru was ashamed at how much he liked that idea.

#letters to valorant #dom male reader #x reader #male reader #top male reader #yoru x reader #valorant yoru #yoru #valorant x reader #valorant smut

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nottapossum · 2 months

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Do you have anymore headcannons for little!Clara?

Of course!

🖤Clara is the sweetest little one ever! Very good at please and ty!

Odette tried to teach her thank you in American sign language for when she cannot speak. (Which if you don't know, Thank you in American sign language is putting your fingers near your lips or chin and move it down to the person you are thanking.)

Clara understood that Odette was showing her "Thank you" but she ended up just blowing her sister a kiss.

🖤When Carmilla is too busy to hold Clara or if she thinks Clara should try to be a little bit more independent...Clara will just turn to Zestial to hold her...he can't say no to her. (He's no monster!)

🖤Clara loves her sister more than anyone! She's very protective of her. If Carmilla punishes Odette, Clara will defend her, even if she's in baby headspace. Babbling as she scolds her mama.

Clara: "No, Mama! Otet good! No bad!"

Odette hugs Clara: "I'm okay, Clara. But thank you."

(Zestial would take Clara's side, of course)

Zestial: "Clara makes a valorous argument."

Carmilla: "Don't you start."

🖤Clara likes light pink and black! 🖤🩷 Goth baby, goth baby, goth baby!!!

🖤She loves stuffed animals! Especially bunnies!

🖤Carmilla was worried that Clara might favor Zestial, because when Zestial isn't around, she pouts and asks where he is constantly.

But when Carmilla isn't around, Clara will cry uncontrollably. She loves Mama very very much and can't stand being away from her! ❤️

🖤She loves it when Carmilla sings to her. She can't sleep without her singing to lull her.

@todayimfour

@trophyxtissues2

@ask-dusty-boy

#ittybittysinners #ittybittysinnersq&h #hazbin hotel agere #hazbin hotel age regression #little!clara #cg!Zestial #cg!Carmilla

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greencruz · 9 months

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maybe they get slightly jealous while out, so they grab onto their partner's hand to establish their relationship (lenora & peter)

I WANNA HOLD YOUR HAND : ACCEPTING !

paradas em portos às vezes eram necessárias, fosse pela política de boa vizinhança nas "juridições" de outras tripulações ou para vender ou trocar os achados por algo de maior valor (piratas também tem honra, oras! não vivem só de roubos) e peter sempre fora instruído pelo pai que o melhor método de sobreviver em alto mar era tendo aliados em todos os cantos do mundo, especialmente os que você não quer como seus inimigos. deste modo, a "missão" que havia dado a si mesmo era de conseguir novas armas, especialmente porque havia perdido uma de suas favoritas durante uma tempestade marítima que se seguiu de um ataque orquestrado pelo maldito governo. a quantidade de recursos perdidos foi significativa, então, quando dividiu a equipe, o mais importante para ele era conseguir se equipar novamente, já que não sabia quando viria mais uma batalha.

enquanto fazia a separação junto de piper, a mesma alertou: "mantenha a lenora no seu encalço, ela sabe se defender, mas o porto é um péssimo lugar para chamar atenção" e, ciente de que não havia possibilidade de que ela se escondesse ou ficasse no navio, ele também preferia que estivessem perto um do outro. o que, claro, era uma preocupação traduzida em reclamações incessantes pela inconveniência de lenora em, basicamente, existir. uma pena para ele que não havia uma única pessoa no diabo do mar que levava isso a sério a essa altura, especialmente quando tinha tanto cuidado com a moça: prestava atenção no que ela comia, quando ela acordava e nos seus hábitos solitários, especialmente os artísticos, que, apesar da amargura, tinham um fundo de admiração.

muitos rostos parecidos vinham daqui a acolá atrás de seus próprios suprimentos, e peter tratava sempre de sorrir e acenar para todos. e, não tão discretamente assim, tratou de desabotoar a camisa já exposta, apenas para que parecesse mais "simpático". não que fosse dizer em voz alta como se considerava bem apessoado o suficiente para ser o tipo de todo mundo, mas de fato achava mais fácil arrancar o que desejava dos outros se seu sorriso carismático tivesse um ar cafajeste. em especial quando havia escutado que os fabricantes de armas eram conhecidos pelo seu interesse especial em "trocas de favores".

assim que terminou de ajeitar a roupa, seus olhos pararam em lenora, e, como uma reprodução automática da estratégia mental, sorriu de maneira sugestiva. — você precisa de alguma coisa? — apesar de ter sido uma fala determinando um desafio, em seguida se tornou só um desvio de um assunto que não havia sido verbalizado ainda, porque precisava manter o foco. — materiais, eu digo. eu notei que os seus não estão muito bons. — tentou soar casual, e então, apontou com a cabeça para que seguissem pelo corredor lotado de barracas, no mais absoluto caos. gritaria para lá e para cá, cheiro de álcool, vendedores anunciando os produtos em voz alta e brigas que começavam e terminavam sem explicação clara. — deve ter algum lugar aqui que vende. — parecia bastante determinado. e então seu rosto se iluminou. — na verdade, eu sei exatamente o melhor lugar.

e encontrou. de longe era possível ver uma mulher com roupas coloridas e cabelo avermelhado, uma antiga conhecida e jovem vendedora de mapas, que também tinha os materiais necessários para navegadores em apuros. apesar de não serem da mesma tripulação, peter a conhecia das idas e vindas entre suas paradas, porque seus pais foram amigos. — sally black! viva e com os dois olhos conservados! — exclamou, deixando o lado de lenora brevemente para abraçá-la. — como está o velho black? — e então, deu espaço para que lenora se apresentasse como bem desejasse. o que o surpreendeu, no entanto, foi o modo como ela tratou de agarrar sua mão com rapidez, enquando falava. observou também a maneira como a comerciante arqueou uma das sobrancelhas para o ato, direcionando o olhar para peter num questionamento silencioso. honestamente? ficou entretido. isso era ciúme? ele queria que fosse. e estava tendo dificuldade para conter sua própria satisfação. no fim das contas retribuiu ao aperto e continuou segurando a mão dela durante a compra.

— te vejo na próxima, black. — fez um aceno com a cabeça, e, despreocupadamente, passou um dos braços pelo corpo de lenora assim que se viraram para seguir caminho. — o que foi aquilo lá? — abaixou o rosto para olhá-la. — somos um casal agora, por acaso? — o tom havia voltado a ter o mesmo mau humor de sempre, e um tom acusatório usado apenas com ela, embora não tivesse a soltado nem por um segundo. — pensando bem, talvez até ajude nos negócios. fiquei sabendo que os dente de prata gostam mais ainda de "trocas de favores" com namorados. — e então, subiu as sacolas pelo braço, apenas para que pudesse utilizar a outra mão para sacudi-la de leve pelo queixo.

#dynamics: peter & lenora.#partner: nala.#respondidas.

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mcmahonkinney03 · 2 days

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Getting My best of valorant To Work

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#valorant #gaming #gaming video #valorant highlights #valorant clips

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penisbagelbite · 20 days

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Who could have foreseen that being an ignoramus and basing your whole identity - your specialness - on what you viewed as "exclusive" to you - an illusion of exclusivity that came to be wholly because of your ignorance - would have consequences when confronted with everything you have blinded yourself to in favor of your own ego. And what are you going to do now, faced with the realities and facts of the world that occurs outside of you that you so diligently ignored and erased? Are you going to put down your ego and adapt your world and understandings to material reality? No? You're going to throw tantrums and lash out, attacking and denying all that exists outside of yourself to defend your stolen valor and preserve your miserable bubble? Oh yes, very smart.

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centerspirited · 5 months

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#IFTTT #centerspirited.com

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thetitansocietyorg · 6 months

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Defeating Deficiencies: The Warrior Society’s Battle for Courage and Strength

The Warrior Society: Alke ‘Courage and Battle Strength’ - Oracle: Andrew Rogers.

“Position is actual, your defeat is imminent as you are deficient in requirements to defend yourself and your people, this is a result of your ideology and circumstance and your beliefs” - Alke ‘Courage and Battle Strength’.

Our society has always valued the virtues of courage and battle strength. Alke, the embodiment of these qualities, delivers a stern warning to those who find themselves in a vulnerable position. With unwavering conviction, she asserts that your defeat is inevitable if you lack the necessary means to defend both yourself and your people.

Alke attributes this vulnerability to your ideology and circumstances, as well as your beliefs. In his view, these factors have ultimately contributed to your current predicament. It is a sobering reminder of the importance of being well-prepared and equipped for the challenges that lie ahead.

As members of the Warrior Society, we are called to rise above such deficiencies. We must approach any confrontation with a resolute determination, fully aware of what is at stake. Alke's words serve as both a wake-up call and a call to action, urging us to reassess our beliefs and adapt our strategies accordingly.

Now, more than ever, we must remember the true essence of courage and battle strength. It is not merely about physical prowess, but also about having the mental fortitude to face adversity head-on. Let Alke's message serve as a rallying cry, a reminder to embrace our warrior spirit and stand strong against whatever challenges may come our way.

Stay vigilant, my fellow warriors, and may the flame of courage forever burn within us."

Alke, the Spirit of Courage and Battle-Strength in Greek Mythology

In the rich and diverse world of Greek mythology, Alke holds a significant position as the spirit and personification of the abstract concept of courage and battle-strength. Revered and celebrated by ancient Greeks, Alke's presence is often depicted in various mythological narratives and artworks.

One of the most notable mentions of Alke can be found in Homer's epic poem, the Iliad. In this timeless tale of the Trojan War, Alke is portrayed as a powerful entity, standing alongside Athena, the goddess of wisdom and warfare. Together, they feature prominently on Athena's iconic aegis, a protective garment bearing the heads of Medusa and various divine symbols. Alongside Alke, other fearsome spirits like Ioke, Eris, and Phobos grace the aegis, symbolizing the collective forces of battle.

Alke's association with battle-strength and courage illustrates the profound importance that the ancient Greeks placed on these qualities. Warriors sought her favor and invoked her name, hoping to channel her spirit and gain exceptional strength and bravery in times of conflict. Alke represented the inherent bravery and resilience required to face the challenges of warfare, embodying the unwavering determination to stand firm against adversity.

Beyond her appearance in the Iliad, Alke's influence extends to other mythological tales and artistic representations. She often serves as a source of inspiration for heroes and warriors, motivating them to display acts of valor and to overcome daunting obstacles. Alke's presence is a reminder that courage and battle-strength are not merely physical attributes but are deeply rooted in one's character and spirit.

It is worth noting that Alke's depiction varies across different interpretations and artistic renditions. While some portray her as an ethereal and radiant figure, others depict her as a fierce and formidable warrior, wielding weapons with expertise. These diverse representations underscore her multifaceted nature, capturing the complex emotions and qualities associated with courage and battle-strength.

In conclusion, Alke, the spirit and personification of courage and battle-strength, occupies a significant place in Greek mythology. Her presence alongside Athena on the aegis in the Iliad serves as a testament to her importance in the realm of warfare. Warriors sought her aid and sought to embody her formidable spirit in the midst of battle. Through various interpretations and artistic representations, Alke continues to inspire courage and serves as a reminder of the unwavering strength needed to face life's challenges head-on.

The Warrior Society, promotion, study and research of the truths and values represented by Ares Olympian ‘God of War’ and King Leonidas I ‘King of Sparta, Spirit Guide’, Oracle: Andrew Rogers – Destroyer Incarnate. The Warrior Society is established by Andrew Rogers, Ares, and King Leonidas to re-establish and establish of the warrior systems and training from ancient to modern, restoration of locations of training from ancient to modern, buildings and building new training locations and warrior culture and represent Warrior Gods, Goddesses and Spirits and all the Warrior Representatives to influence the modern world and its people. To assist The Warrior Society are assets and infrastructure that is Earth Based and Non-Earth based to facilitate the requirements of The Warrior Society. In addition, what is represented by The Warrior Society from 1969 the start of Andrew Rogers present life cycle and linked back eons of warrior activity in the Earth and Non-Earth Realms as from the life cycles of Andrew Rogers as known in the present life cycle is of the same with assistance from Gods, Goddesses, Spirits, Spirit Guides, Sentients, Aliens, Cybernetic Cyborgs and AIs assets and infrastructure that is Earth and Non-Earth based to facilitate the requirements of the Andrew Rogers and The Warrior Society linked to Gods, Goddesses, Spirits, Spirit Guides, Sentients, AI’s, Cybernetic Cyborgs and Demons. The Warrior Society reflects a modern position of Warriors for example as of from 1969 in position, action, reflection and information lead by Andrew Rogers a Destroyer Incarnate with Warrior Skillsets and linked to Gods, Goddesses, Spirits, Spirit Guides, Sentients, Cybernetic Cyborgs, AIs and Demons to undertake a correction upon what the realm of Earth understands and reflects on a Warrior for example and validate the existence of Warrior Skillsets as truth in position, action, justice, honour and existence.

The Warrior Society: Reviving Ancient Warrior Systems for a Modern World

In a world that often dismisses the virtues and values of warriors, The Warrior Society stands as a beacon of hope, dedicated to the promotion, study, and research of ancient warrior traditions. Led by the formidable alliance of Andrew Rogers, Ares Olympian, and King Leonidas I, this organization strives to restore the warrior systems and training that have defined the history of combat.

Origins and Mission

The Warrior Society traces its origins back to the indomitable spirit of Andrew Rogers, known as the Destroyer Incarnate. Since 1969, Andrew has embodied the warrior mindset, seeking to reconnect with the eons of warrior activity that stretches across Earth and Non-Earth Realms. With assistance from gods, goddesses, spirits, spirit guides, sentients, aliens, cybernetic cyborgs, and AIs, Andrew's mission becomes intertwined with the divine and otherworldly.

The primary purpose of The Warrior Society is to reestablish and establish the ancient warrior systems and training methods in modern times. Their mission extends beyond mere physical combat, encompassing the restoration of ancient training locations, the construction of new facilities, and the nurturing of a vibrant warrior culture. The vision is to represent not only warrior gods, goddesses, and spirits but all the diverse forms of warrior representatives, in order to influence the modern world and its people positively.

Unity of Earth and Non-Earth Assets

To fulfill the ambitious goals of The Warrior Society, both Earth-based and non-Earth based assets and infrastructure are crucial. These resources provide the necessary support to facilitate the Society's requirements effectively. The Society's connection to the divine and other realms ensures a vast wellspring of knowledge, power, and guidance, accessible through the collective efforts of Andrew Rogers and his allies.

Andrew Rogers: A Modern Destroyer Incarnate

At the heart of The Warrior Society lies Andrew Rogers, a reincarnation of the legendary Destroyer Incarnate. Equipped with ancient warrior skillsets and an unwavering determination, Andrew leads the charge in reevaluating the perception of warriors in the modern world. His connection to gods, goddesses, spirits, spirit guides, sentients, cybernetic cyborgs, AIs, and even demons, amplifies his quest for truth, honor, and existence.

A Modern Position of Warriors

The Warrior Society, under Andrew Roger's guidance, is a testament to the enduring relevance of warrior skillsets. By reclaiming these values, both individually and collectively, they seek to correct the misconceptions surrounding warriors. Through their actions, the Society aims to validate and exemplify the essence of warriorhood—taking position, acting with integrity, reflecting on their impact, and sharing vital and enlightening information.

In a world where warriors are often misunderstood or overshadowed, The Warrior Society stands tall, to honor the ancient warrior traditions and uplift their significance. Through the collaboration of Andrew Rogers, Ares Olympian, King Leonidas I, and their divine allies, they strive to reinstate the warrior virtues of truth, justice, honor, and existence in the fabric of our modern society.

So, embrace the call of The Warrior Society and join the ranks of those who understand the profound truths and values embodied by warriors throughout time. Together, we can forge a new era, one that remembers and honors the warriors of the past while building a stronger future.

All images, text, design, and art license owner Andrew Rogers©.

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astrothights · 1 year

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10 New Thoughts About Online Astrologer in Chennai _ Astro Thoughts

In Vedic soothsaying, Sun is one of the huge planets. It addresses authority and capacity to give the assurance and conviction and favors with splendid organization capacities. The immense work action of the Sun in the Horoscope is circumstance on the birth frame because the Sun hints human activities, both positive and negative. Sun will describe your relationship with your family members, like your father, mother, accessory, and so on.

Right when Sun gets together with the Expert, it shows the relationship with the father and how it will emerge. While Sun merges with the Venus, it reflects the relationship of the Couple. The Sun accomplices with your Horoscope to show your valor, explanation, and that is just a glimpse of something larger. online astrologer in chennai

Real factors about the Sun in Kundali Planning

One of the Cardinal planets in the Planetary gathering is Sun. It is seen as an essential piece of Vedic soothsaying. It helps with finding the facilitating of one person's life in fogginess and daylight.

Beside Gem looking, the Sun is a colossal piece of everyone's life considering the way that our everyday schedules will move with the SUN. In Gem looking, why do we consider it a critical work? The picture of the Sun will describe your power and strength. It is moreover called the exuberant energy of the planet.

A couple of basic centers associated with the severe thought are the explanation we contemplate the Sun everything. Since Sun is the most widely recognized Yang dynamic nature of the Planetary gathering and is of the masculine association, it acknowledges to be a Heavenly power of Suryabagavan. Upon the appearance of Visit Puja, people acclaim the solicitation of the Heavenly power of Sun. In visionary considerations, it tends to Human impulse and portions of their life.

Sun is considered to be a male sign and arranges on the eastern side. Sun-obliging planets are the Moon, Mars, and Jupiter. The unbiased planets of the Sun are Mercury, and the unfriendly planets are Venus, Saturn, Rahu, and Katu.

Prophetic Worth of Sun in Vedic Soothsaying.

In Vedic Soothsaying, the Sun is an enormous work we got at past at now we portray how it will stay with the Twelve Houses.

Aries House on Sun - Aries character is outstandingly red hot, serious nature, and an exceptionally persevering representative; they are natured and extremely basic in their work.

Taurus House on Sun - Taurus significance under the Sun; they are consistent, patient, and absolutely loveable characters enlivened by customs and dauntlessness. They love to live in comfort.

Gemini House on Sun - Gemini character with the Sun solid areas for is, and speedier in their work. They complete the work with their fortitude and stand with their words.

Illness House on Sun - Threatening development carried into the world with the Sun are solid areas for regularly hold their careful ones and defend them, yet they are somewhat grouchy person.

Leo House on Sun - Leo character with the Sun nature, they are delightful individual, unwavering on it, their system could seem, by all accounts, to be extremely different. They are mental self views and burning of another side and put sincerely in their exercises.

Virgo House on Sun - Virgo significance are devoted, extremely curious, and nice; they love in significant. Now and again they are restless and touchy. They are fanatics.

Libra House on Sun - Libra heavenly implications with the Sun; they are changing creatures and faultlessness. They are the middle ground and confidence in the middle manner, yet they are revering and calm people.

Scorpio House on Sun - Scorpio ascribes with Sun serious areas of strength for are poise, capacity, and confident nature. Using the confident, they cross their most horrendous time, persevere and transform it.

Sagittarius House on Sun - Sagittarius nature carelessly confides in people. They really excuse others and neglect to recollect the disturbance. They are express and essential in nature.

Capricorn House on Sun - Capricorn ascribes with Sun are coordinated in their work, sensible and practical creatures. They are wonderful in character, love, jaunty, and fun of life.

Aquarius House on Sun - Aquarius suggests that Sun is a smart, insightful soul. They love an open door, and breaking chains will work with people's worth. However, every so often their accomplished will could a couple of issues for themselves as well as others.

Pisces House on Sun - Pisces significance with Sun is occasionally the intuition that could tell on your life unequivocally. They are world sticklers and find a time to hold something. They are the name of diligence. online astrologer in chennai

The occupation of the Sun in Vedic Precious stone looking is a monstrous worth inside your life, oversees almost everything in your life and examinations. Sun stays in different Zodiac signs. It will rise, and falls happen to the sign's turns of events. So guarantee the pathway that exorbitantly before ahead.

#astrologerinchennaionline #bestastrologerinchennai #famousastrologerinchennai #goodastrologerinchennai #topastrologerinchennai

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accountsvalorantigv · 1 year

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Best Gun in Valorant: Weapon Tier List 2022 - The Details

Valorant is a tactical First Person Hero Shooter game created by Riot Games. Even though you play as one of the many Agents on the Roster, you are primarily going to kill your Enemies with Guns. Weapons in Valorant Accounts play a very important role & with every update, the balance of power shifts between them. The game has a variety of weapons that fit certain roles like SMGs for close-range & Snipers for long-range. Certain guns are going to be better than the others.

A Tier - Great

The A Tier guns are strong but generally have a situational drawback. Some might perform better at offense or defense, but generally not both. They have less than optimal cost versus effectiveness.

Sheriff

The Sheriff is the go-to gun for pistol rounds, as it provides a guaranteed kill with a headshot within 30m. Be wary, though: The slow rate of fire will lose to other close-range guns if fans don't get that headshot off. Headshots past 30m won't kill fully shielded players, whereas the Marshall, costing only 150 credits more, would. The Sheriff pairs nicely with the Operator as a close-range secondary weapon.

Odin

An expensive choice at 3,200 credits. The Odin, with its high-capacity magazine, is great for suppressing enemies, multi-kills and wall penetration. The drawback of not having one-hit headshot kill potential is offset by the high rate of fire. There's not much more to say other than this is the classic "spray-and-pray" gun.

Judge

The Judge is hands-down the best shotgun, even at the higher price of 1,850 credits. It is full-auto, and it excels at both aggressive and defensive close-quarter plays. The obvious downside is that the damage falloff and bullet spread is not good for mid to long-range combat

Spectre

The Spectre offers great value for its cost (1,600 credits), making it a solid choice early on. It has a very high firing rate but lower damage per bullet. The damage output is still high and it consistently performs well in close-range combat.

D Tier - Poor

Starting off with the worst, these guns are at the very bottom in the D Tier, due to not having any distinct advantages over all the other guns. They are generally seen as a waste of credits.

Shorty

The Shorty has terrible range and only two shells before needing to reload, making it very difficult to use effectively. It is one of the worst buys in the game, even sporting the lowest price point of 150 credits. The Classic (which is free) would be a better choice.

Tactical Knife

The starting Tactical Knife isn't a gun and technically shouldn't be on this list, but since it can be used as a weapon, here's where it would end up. It doesn't impact base movement speed like other weapons, so this makes traversing the map a bit quicker. It also has the potential to one-hit kill with the alternative fire mode from behind, but the likelihood of this happening is very low. It should be replaced as soon as possible.

C (Average)

Judge (1,850 Creds)

Frenzy (450 Creds)

Bulldog (2,050 Creds)

Shotguns are rarely top-tier weapons in tactical shooters. Their short range means they’re worthless in most circumstances. But the Judge is far from the worst weapon on this list. If you want to defend a spike site, hold a position, or lurk behind your enemies, buy a Judge. If you find yourself up close and personal with the shotgun in hand, it will almost always come out in your favor.

If you’re trailing behind or strapped for cash and you need to find an extra round or two, there’s nothing wrong with buying a Frenzy. If you can get into the right position, it can easily score a kill. It can also be surprisingly effective in the first round of a half.

Burst fire can be a nuisance in tactical shooters, especially if you’re on the receiving end of a rush. There’s almost nothing you can do but tap your gun and hope for the best. The same can be said for the Bulldog—but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad gun. In the right circumstances, it’s perfectly acceptable to buy a Bulldog. Point your crosshairs down a lane and it could shock your enemies.

B-TIER

Among of the game's most specialized but surprisingly effective weapons, B-tier guns in Valorant can still succeed in some ways. These wholly non-meta weapons include the Odin, Judge, Ares, Shorty, and Ghost on our tier list. The danger they pose can easily bump your KDA up whenever you succeed in flanking the enemy team. However, they all share a serious weakness: they are all terrible at long-range firefights. Most notable is the Operator, whose increased walking spray further detering player movement, and lessens its accuracy despite its sheer damage output. When employing these firearms, hiding behind a corner and maintaining a close angle are your best bets due to their varying precision.

There’s the gun tier list for Valorant, filtered by each category. While there are pros and cons to each weapon, this list will better inform your choices as you venture through Future Earth. If you want to know more information or Buy Ranked Valorant Accounts , I recommend visit https://www.igv.com/Valorant-Accounts

#valorant accounts #Buy valorant accounts

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neusastorti · 2 years

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Quem é você na 'ninhada'? Tudo o que eu não desejo é que alguém se comporte como aquele que se deixa nominar por 'bestão'.

Bestão, na linguagem coloquial, é quando alguém perde (ou nunca conquista) a sua identidade e age como um 'João que vai com os outros', um crianção que, questionado, ainda dá uma de chefe mandão e autoritário que não tem ainda, no frigir dos ovos, absolutamente nenhum valor.

Líder autêntico, sim, seduz.

Líder autêntico, ao contrário do chefe autoritário, tem carisma, fala baixo, tem alta inteligência emocional, social.

Chefe autoritário ou, em outras horas, João vai com os outros, tem só amor visceral.

Amor visceral é o mais primário de todos.

Amor visceral prefere e só defende a família de origem (há desdobramentos, uma hora eu falo deles).

Tudo a favor de amar a família de origem e voltar a ela pra 'carregar a bateria', mas, querer estar perto da família de origem o tempo todo e só se sentir protegido nela e resistir a cortar o cordão umbilical e não querer alçar voo, isso é retrocesso, uma hora implode.

Na hora do aperto, correr pra barra da saia da mamãe ou da ninhada ou afundar a cabeça na areia como o avestruz, sem aproveitar a onda pra dar o próximo passo ou o salto quântico da vida, aí é recusar o andamento e o desenvolvimento natural das coisas!

Até se casa, mas, se precisar optar, não vê escolha, seu instinto o faz correr pra saia da mamãe, da ninhada, porque é o mais próximo que ele conhece do cordão umbilical, das vísceras, das entranhas, do útero em que foi gerado.

Um amor assim é imaturo, emocional, desconsidera, pula o capítulo do preceito bíblico que diz 'Por esta razão, o homem deixará pai e mãe e se unirá à sua mulher, e os dois se tornarão uma só carne'. Assim, eles já não são dois, mas sim uma só carne. Portanto, o que Deus uniu, ninguém o separe". Mc 10, 6-9

A ninhada também não é capaz de aconselhar "vai, cara, vive o teu matrimônio, enfrenta a vida, volta com os teus só pra passeio".

Quem é você na 'ninhada'? A ninhada também tem amor visceral, imaturo, irracional, instintivo e faz tudo pra se manter coesa. Por isso igualmente não cresce e se perpetua assim, no ninho, e não incentiva o fortalecer de asas.

Os Joões, com medo de desagradar, vão ficando na ninhada, solteiros, viúvos, divorciados.

A não mudar, não acolher o diferente, o que pensa, não incentivar o bater de asas e a punir com o banimento o mais ousado, acaba implodindo, fazendo morrer no ninho toda a ninhada.

Cada geração precisa ter o ideal de evoluir, assim é que caminha e evolui a humanidade!

Esse texto o fez lembrar alguém ou algo que você já viu de perto ou algo que você já viveu na pele?

#Comente aí nos comentários.

#imaturidadeemocional #sistemalímbico #ninho #inteligênciasocial #egocentrismo #issonãoéamor #chefeautoritário #ovelhanegra #amorirracional #amorvisceral #líderautêntico #liderançaautêntica #imaturidadenocasamento #relacionamento #casal #famíliadeorigem

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traumacatholic · 3 years

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Oh most noble Prince of the Angelic Hierarchies, valorous warrior of Almighty God and zealous lover of His glory, terror of the rebellious angels, and love and delight of all the just angels, my beloved Archangel Saint Michael, desiring to be numbered among your devoted servants, I, today offer and consecrate myself to you, and place myself, my family, and all I possess under your most powerful protection.

I entreat you not to look at how little, I, as your servant have to offer, being only a wretched sinner, but to gaze, rather, with favorable eye at the heartfelt affection with which this offering is made, and remember that if from this day onward I am under your patronage, you must during all my life assist me, and procure for me the pardon of my many grievous offenses, and sins, the grace to love with all my heart my God, my dear Savior Jesus, and my Sweet Mother Mary, and to obtain for me all the help necessary to arrive to my crown of glory.

Defend me always from my spiritual enemies, particularly in the last moments of my life.

Come then, oh Glorious Prince, and succor me in my last struggle, and with your powerful weapon cast far from me into the infernal abysses that prevaricator and proud angel that one day you prostrated in the celestial battle. Amen.

#Catholic #Catholicism #Christianity #Christian #Art

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brazenautomaton · 3 years

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Fixing Afterlives: Bastion, Pt. 1

As it is, Bastion doesn’t work. The Forsworn don’t just have a point, they are obviously, objectively correct. Kyrian discard all their memories and attachments in a way that is horrifying, in order to perform a job that a robot could do, in order to aspire to be something lame and boring. There is nothing cool about what they do and nothing good either; every single time they tell you about what they do it’s supposed to make you sad, not proud. A little of that is fine, it’s Death. But come on. The anima diverter daily for Bastion is a test where you judge if souls should pass on or not, and on WoWHead, the adequate summary of the right answers is “If one of the answers seems more evil or horrible, that’s the one you pick.”

In fact, Bastion can’t work as it is right now, because of Maldraxxus. The Maldraxxi are the defenders of the Shadowlands, right? So all the courage and martial prowess and avenging angel-ness Bastion wants to have cannot be what they are About, the presentation wants them to be glorious and valorous warriors but they don’t have to fight anyone. And the presentation wants them to be wise and impartial but their job requires no discretion, they’re ghost UPS. They can’t be About anything cool, and to be wise and impartial, they can’t be DOING anything at all!

So here’s the fix to their concept: Maldraxxus is the afterlife of warriors, the endless skeleton war, the unending conflict where there are always an infinite supply of fighters willing to leap to the defense of the Shadowlands. Maldraxxus is the Shadowlands’ defensive team. Bastion is the offense.

Bastion does not engage in army-against-army conflict, they have individual heroes. And they are out there in the mortal world, invisibly, serving as guardian angels, inspiring as muses, fighting invisible forces, tipping the scales of Fate to have the right outcomes. Fighting extra-dimensional beasts who prey on the mortal realm to invisibly protect them, fighting down incarnate ideas of malice and ruin, but also influencing things directly or by subconscious example. Every Spirit Healer is from Bastion and they are the ones who decided “your time is not yet up”. When we get really lucky to allow ourselves to triumph over the Legion or the Scourge, it’s because Bastion was ensuring it happened, fighting for us. Bastion is supposed to be affecting things out there, making things turn out Right, instead of being powerless observers. They are the muses of artists and the muses of battle. They inspire. They lead, invisibly.

That’s why they need to be wise and free of bias -- you cannot favor one side of mortals over the other. Mortal beings need to beat the Scourge, but the Horde does not need to triumph over the Alliance and vice versa. Your job is not to punish mortals for being bad, you damn well need to be boosting both sides when there are champions and the valorous in both. You cannot go out there and say “these Orcs up here in Redridge are all evil and shit and the Alliance deserves the win so I’m just gonna go all in on defending them,” that’s not how it works, you reward individual valorous efforts on both sides. How Fate Should Go does not include taking sides in purely mortal conflicts.

So obviously you cannot be biased. You are something Beyond the mortal realm which means you can’t take sides. You actually do have to discard these attachments, and while we’re here, we need to actually make that process empowering. Right now all it does is show you “hey, happy memories, well, fuck you, gotta get rid of them.” Make more than zero effort to make this make sense. Show the aspirant in pain and yearning because of those memories and the fact they can’t come back. Don’t make them forget who they were, make them become at peace and move on.

Now obviously that won’t be convincing to everyone. And that’s fine. It just means there’s some ambiguity instead of the Forsworn being obviously right about everything.

There are four races/types in Bastion: Kyrian, Forsworn Kyrian, Stewards, and Constructs. Only two are represented in Soulbinds: you have two Kyrian and a Steward.

Kyrian are the expression of what Bastion IS, so we already covered their changes.

Constructs are anima robots. Why are there anima robots here? It’s really bad in the current version because the Kyrian job can be done by a robot so why not just make them do it? Instead, we take that idea and we make it About something: these machines aren’t Constructs, they are Principles. A Principle is a robot made of rules and ideals, the things that are thought by mortals but bigger than any mortal. Codes of honor and ideas that work beyond any of us as individuals. There, that’s it, that change of presentation is all you need to do to justify why robots are there. The changes to Bastion’s fundamentals are what makes them fit in.

Stewards are creepy. Really creepy. They serve the same role as dredgers, but the fact that dredgers bitch and moan and complain all the time lets us see them as individuals with goals and not creepy brainwashed victims. A dredger isn’t a slave, they are a worker; but work sucks and they wanna be at the pub. A steward, with one exception (Forgelite Prime Mikanikos who is busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest and also by far the best Bastion character) appears to have no personality and is a brainwashed slave.

So, first off, make it clearer that they are helpful because they are The Desire To Aid, that’s the thing they’re About. With the way they speak and act, I think what they are supposed to be in story terms is lightly comic relief, also similar in role to Dredgers but with opposite implementation. The creepiness and one-dimensionality make this fail, all their hoots and hoos and silly talk isn’t funny. They need to be cheesier. They need to be 90’s Saturday morning cartoon sidekicks. They need to be a (much) less obnoxious version of Snarf.

They need to tell awful, awful dad jokes. Just the worst. The kind that are so bad they loop back around to funny again but you’re still groaning and they’re just there like “Eh? Eh? Geddit? Geddit?” By doing something that is helpful, that we recognize as an attempt to help and that some Steward characters can explicate to us really does help (it dampens anger and fear because all of your negative emotions are refocused to that HORRIBLE pun), but that clearly NOBODY would brainwash them into doing, now we can trust their helpful efforts are borne of sincere desire and carried out to the best of their ability by their own personal interpretation.

Forsworn Kyrian, right now, are only antagonists. The ideological change of giving up on the law of Bastion makes you turn a darker indigo color scheme (which is actually really good because these are creatures of Beyond, creatures who are on a fundamental physical level About something, their beliefs changing their physical makeup makes sense!) and then become a bad guy. Forsworn are all only antagonists. We’re going to change that. Kleia is going to become Forsworn. And still be a heroic character and your Soulbind, even though this isn’t a game balance thing and so Pelagos will still probably outclass her in every way seriously that Mastery buff is fucking bananas for anyone who cares about Mastery.

Not when you meet her, though. The existing storyline of Bastion is you go there because “hey what the fuck are these Kyrian doing in the Maw serving the Jailer” but in Bastion itself nothing much is happening other than kicking pebbles down the street. You get the intro from Kleia, you go see some very low-importance things, then the Forsworn attack for the first time, and you spend the rest of the zone quest on hold with the Archon’s hotline to tell her “hey there are Forsworn this is a problem”.

Now, when you get there to ask “hey what the fuck”, Kleia is still not doing much more than kicking pebbles down the street, bored off her ass, extremely enthusiastic about someone new so she can DO something. But the Forsworn conflict already exists: it’s just not relevant to her because she stays out of it, figures that it’s above her pay grade, and she hangs out at the Welcome Center which nobody gives a shit about because there’s nobody to get welcomed so it isn’t relevant. She just knows there’s been some discussions.

We get the anima drought reinforced the first time we enter Bastion because we have to power down the other cores to get enough juice for the greeting machine, but then it isn’t really a good way to sell it because that’s the kind of thing we do all the time even when there’s no shortages of anything, that’s how WoW PCs interact with machines. So we have the player scrounge up anima from the other Principles to power up the greeting machine, and it’s not enough, it runs out of juice halfway through, and Kleia gets embarrassed and tries to finish the rest of the process by reciting it from memory (and not getting it all quite right, which is another chance to show us things about her).

Kleia is excited to have someone to run through the orientation process, and she explains that FIRST there was an anima drought, and then as if that wasn’t bad enough, THEN the Arbiter got conked out and the flow of souls to Bastion stopped. This is important, because in the story as is, the anima drought appears to be completely explained by the flow of souls all going to the Maw, since they are presented at the same time and the flow of souls is the flow of anima. When you find out the drought is because of ol’ Denny hoarding it, you go “wait how does he have any to hoard when it all goes to the Maw?”

So for right now you need to walk the Aspirant’s path to get an audience with the Archon because right now things don’t seem desperate and urgent. You go to Aspirant’s Rest and get the flight point, and you go to meet Kleia’s soulbind, Pelagos. Two things need to change right here.

One: something more needs to be happening here than “Pelagos was a dipshit and tried ascending alone despite that being not how it works at all, go in there and fight the monsters,” so do something instead of almost-nothing.

Two: Loath as I am to say something actually needs less representation compared to its original, Pelagos can’t be transgender. You find out later on, in the Kyrian covenant quest line maybe? That Pelagos’s mortal body was a woman, but his true spirit is a man. That’s great, that’s something that should come up. The problem is, Pelagos is also the fuck-up, the one we see fail all the time so he can (ostensibly) show resolve and get back up again. But Blizz didn’t show barely any details about Pelagos’s life for fear of backlash -- we don’t even know who played him -- and whether or not it is valid or invalid or that was a cover to avoid admitting this was to not offend China, Blizzard still won’t DO it. So we have this character who is battling this doubt and failure in his past but we’re not allowed to know what they are. Pelagos is cisgender so we can go into detail about what he fucked up. Kleia might be trans instead (why she is so gung-ho about Ascension), or we can have Kleia sell the Ascension process as good by mentioning that the Paragon of Wisdom, Thenios, was born a woman in life but Ascension made him into a true ideal. This can also justify a bit more screen time for Thenios and then something for Tim Russ to do. He was already Tuvok, he doesn’t need more humiliation. But whoever it is, their gender only comes up once and never again because now they’re the right way around and the former body doesn’t matter.

So what’s happening at Aspirant’s Rest? It’s a holding pen for souls. See, as it is now, you find out about the flow of souls into the Maw right away, but then all the way through the main quest and into the Kyrian campaign quest they apparently don’t know, and you don’t tell them, and then it’s a surprise when you finish the quest where you follow the guy in Redridge and have to take him to the Maw, and that’s dumb, they should know, you should have told them.

So now the Kyrian know that everyone is default-judged to the Maw. And they know this is what has to happen, this is the machinery of fate that drives the universe, but they are compassionate and know these souls do not deserve it. So they’re scamming as much as they can. Whenever possible (which they lament is not often enough, not nearly often enough), they find some loophole or corner case to count someone as not ready to be judged, and stick them somewhere in Bastion so they can wait until the Arbiter’s awake again to judge them. They can’t do much, but they can do a little, so they do that.

This guy, okay, you died, BUT, there’s a necromancer just two zones over, and your body is still intact since I dragged it to safety, and, I mean, he’s PROBABLY going to call back your soul and bind it to your body in service, so there’s no point in having you judged, you’re just coming back, right? And you, Night Elf! Okay, you got your head blown off, but, remember that angelic voice shouting “NIGHTELVESEVOLVEDFROMTROLLS!” a moment before your demise? And you know, Trolls who worship Bwonsamdi go straight to De Otha Side without being judged. Maybe you would have wanted to pledge yourself to older gods, but you never got the chance to make that decision, so, hey, you know, it would only be right to let you make that choice before you are given your judgment! And you, guy, did you know that all those patrons from the Slaughtered Lamb across the street who came into your business were warlocks? Yup, all of them, and they didn’t wash their hands either. Fel contamination. Can’t, ooh, you know, hey, might be a demonic stain on your soul, demons don’t have an afterlife like us, gotta be reborn in the Twisting Nether! Going to have to consult some demons to figure out where you go. Better wait here.

Aspirant’s Rest and the temple beneath are a soul refugee camp, and the souls within are scared and angry and don’t know what is going on and the Kyrian can’t explain it or they will all completely flip out. The Kyrian are trying as hard as they can in the limitations they have and this sells it.

Pelagos is down there. The risk is not that he will be killed -- he is not mortal, he does not die -- the risk is that his well-meaning attempts to keep things calm might ignite the powder keg down there. And those souls can’t die but they WILL go directly to the Maw if fatally injured, which is why they have to be kept penned where Larion won’t eat them and Principles won’t drag them off. Pelagos fucks up here and you have to fix it but it’s not a suicidally stupid error while doing something that has no relevance to the player, it’s an understandable mistake biting off more than he can chew while doing something the player understands. Player, Kleia, and Pelagos go down to Aspirant’s Crucible to get certified as an Aspirant and get in line to talk to the Archon.

In the existing story, you go and peer into a memory flame thing and have echoes of your heroic battles drawn forth, and you fight them while a character narrates your heroic deeds. They might be based on what expansions you played in, or might be random? Anyway, in this case, you gaze into the flame of memory, she starts to narrate your heroism, and… nothing. “Ah, there are supposed to be visions conjured here, so you can display your valor against them once again. It… it doesn’t… hang on, I might know what the problem is…”

A voice comes. “Then how about you display your valor against me, champion? A little sparring wouldn’t hurt, and I’m eager to see what you can do.”

It’s Uther, hell yes it’s Uther.

#World of Warcraft #my fiction #fixing stories #wow

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sabraeal · 4 years

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Get Up Eight, Chapter 6

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 3: Valor Exhibit courage in word and deed. Avenge the wronged. Defend the weak and innocent. Fight with honor. Never abandon a friend, ally, or noble cause.

Ojou-san’s wrist is so narrow between the circle of his fingers, so delicate, like the bones of a bird. He can’t bear to hold her tighter than a whisper. Even still, Obi’s too rough, calluses snagging on the silk of her skin as she trails behind.

He’s far too careless of a man to be handling a woman like her; it’s only a matter of time until she cracks.

“A-ah, Obi?” ojou-san hums behind him, stumbling to keep up on the hatago’s steep stairs. “Are you sure that--? Should we really--?”

He stops short at the landing, her small body careening into his. It’s only his hands that keep her from tipping back, wrapped tight around the slender slope of her shoulders. Beneath his thumbs, her pulse races.

She turns those eyes up at him, so wide and pale as jade. His mind should be on the danger downstairs, but all he can think of is how the moon had shone on her skin, how the lamplight had painted her golden, how a single drop of water had trailed down her back, caressing her spine the way a lover would--

And she had looked at him, dismayed and flushed, wrapping her yukata tight around flesh he should have never seen. A samurai would have averted his eyes, would have allowed his mistress the illusion of privacy, but Obi--

He’s not tame like those dogs. It’s only a matter of time before he proves how wild he can be.

“O-obi?” She shuffles back, brow mirroring the bow of her mouth. Her kimono shifts, baring a single flash of her feet, the bandages soaked through and red.

He grins. Ah, he had forgotten-- this delicacy is all an illusion. Her face might be soft and round, the perfect porcelain doll, but he knows all too well that steel lies beneath. A pretty fan with blades for ribs.

“I’m sure.” His voice is too low, too thick with gravel. “Please, ojou-san. This way.”

“Haah,” she breathes, hand limp in his grasp. “It’s only...I’m sure you could find more, ah...amenable accommodations.”

He stops before the entrance to their room, brow knitted. “This is the best your money could buy, ojou-san.”

Her breath catches, cheeks staining pink even in the dim light. “Ah, but I mean, the arrangement--?”

He pulls the screen aside. Ojou-san’s head whips around to take in the humble room behind it, the best the hatago can offer.

“Oh.” She blinks, those strange eyes of hers bright in the lamplight. “The futons...?”

There’s two, arranged so that if the room were split in half, there would be one on either side. Close enough together that if they both stretched out their arms-- and ojou-san put in a little effort-- their fingers might touch. Nothing special, nothing so fine as the bedding in Kino-san’s house, but it will serve. It will have to; there’s nothing better outside of a honjin, and, well-- ojou-san’s money might open more doors than he’s used to, but not those.

Still, her brow is furrowed, her small body stiff beside his. A girl like her has probably never seen a room so humble, let alone slept it in.

“This is not the least comfortable place I have slept, ojou-san,” he assures her, “and it won’t be the worst we see.”

“Oh, no! I only meant...” Her teeth sink into the bud of her lip, pearl laid into a cherry blossom. “This is, um, suitable for me as well.”

He smothers a laugh. How delicate his ojou-san is, trying to save his feelings. “I apologize for the close quarters, I’ve been given to understand that the hatago is busy tonight.”

“No, no, that’s-- it’s all right,” she stutters, breathless, hands fluttering in the air between them. “Really, this is more than all right, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.” He steps back, letting her walk past, taking in the lay of the room, inspecting the large screen that unfurls across it. “I’ll tell the women to bring up your bath.”

She spins on her heel, those too-large eyes blinking wide. “Bath?”

Here? echoes in the room, though ojou-san has not spoken the word. Obi is as masterful interpreter of what is not said as much as he is of what is.

“We were on the road a long while today,” he reminds her, gently. “I’m sure you’d like to clean up.”

Not to mention there will be few hatago with soaking tubs. Ojou-san might be used to such luxuries, but in a few more miles, it will only be the public baths that are available to them.

She hums, staring down at the dusty hem of her kimono. “Perhaps...”

“Besides--” he nods his chin at her, gaze dropping pointedly to the floor-- “those feet of yours could use another soak.”

“Oh!” She grimaces, taking in the rusty red stains on her tabi. “Yes, that-- that would be, ah...good, I think.”

“Good.” He lets one corner of his mouth lift, earning him another flushed look as he closes the doors. “I’ll see to it.”

The innkeeper’s mouth is a wary wrinkle on his already aged face, eyes watching him like a loose coin as he rolls into the bar. Ah, ojou-san’s money and sweet looks might have bought him dinner and a room, but without her, his looks paid a different price. His mistress might overlook the scar on his brow or the too-short bristle of his hair, but this man-- this man would not.

“My mistress is ready for her bath,” he murmurs, rolling the words around in his mouth until they rumbled. The man’s hands twist anxiously, and Obi can tell he is trying to count the seconds between thunder and lightning to see if this storm will pass him by. “See to it that it is brought up.”

The innkeep hesitates, his neck so proud and defiant before it bends beneath his glare. “Yes, okyakusama.” Each syllable is spat toward the tatami, a curse upon him. “It will be done at once.”

Obi lingers, staring down at the back of this man’s neck, watching how he trembles. The innkeep may play at scruples, but a man who sells his pride once has sold it a thousand times over.

Let the man have his suspicions. He was clearly shrewd enough not to risk exposing them; after all, the price of insulting a samurai was too high, even these days.

Ah well. He turns away, disinterested. One problem solved. On to the next.

The bar is as he left it: tables overflowing with patrons and cups overflowing with drink. The one he shared with ojou-san is empty still, their platters only recently carried away. Good. One thing going his way tonight.

Obi may not be used to the attention ojou-san brings them, but if there’s one thing he does know how to handle, it is making an entrance. He swaggers in, hand hovering over the hilt of his blade as he thunders toward the empty table. That’s how these samurai were, weren’t they? A man-sized storm, ready to strike the easiest target.

He drops to the floor, graceless, legs crossed. Ojou-san had frowned at him when he’d done the same this evening, favoring him with the same weary glare she’d given her...Kino-san, when he’d done the same. It left a bitter taste in his mouth sharing anything with that man, but-- needs must. His job was to look imposing, to put an obstacle between his mistress and all who would do her harm, and only a true asshole would sit like a shogun as he drank sake.

His eyes drift over the room, slipping his blade from his belt as if he had no distinct purpose, as if he did not have a precise idea of which men needed to be discouraged. They watch him now, he knows, voices lowered, shoulders hunched and hesitant. All except for the monkey.

He stares at Obi, mouth hooked into a smirk, a long rat-tail of hair hanging down his back. There’s something about him that sets his teeth on edge, that says trouble without a single brush stroke.

That man is a bold one, reckless. He’s nothing special at first glance, dressed as ragged as his sniveling companions, but with another--

He raises a cup, salutes, drinks.

Obi sets his sword to his left.

His companions have stopped talking now, darting nervous glances at him under the cover of contemplating their drinks. Ah yes, it’s all much less funny now that the sweet ojou-san’s bodyguard has declared his notice. Good. The last thing he needs tonight is any more foolishness.

Unbidden, he thinks damp crimson, of a water drop slipping down pale skin--

Haah, well, aside from his own.

His hand slaps the table, harsh as a gunshot. The men at the table wince, turning their faces away. Ojou-san would scold if she saw him now-- too rough, too loud to be proper company-- but he’s a man that gets results, no matter what means.

“Okyakusama,” one of the serving girls simpers, all pleasant eyes and submissive bow. “You have returned.”

“Sake,” he snaps. No, that’s too much, even for him. “...If you would.”

Her eyes widen, daring a troubled glance up at him. Of course; the man he was earlier tonight was not so rough, did not growl his words like a common thug. But now-- well, he is performing for the benefit of a different audience.

“O-of course, okyakusama,” she stammers, “at once.”

She pours him a cup, hand trembling, and he--

He can’t help himself. Her skin is stretched tight over her knuckles where he touches her. “That’s enough.”

“Oh!” she breathes, so still beneath him. “shall I--?”

“Stay,” he commands, and with his other hand, downs the drink in a single gulp. It burns the whole way down. “Another.”

“Y-yes, okyakusama.”

This time he lifts his hand as she pours, nodding when she’s finished. “Good. Go.”

She does not hesitate; the moment he says the word, she is gone. And the monkey is still staring at him.

He’s different from his friends; all their haori and hakama are worn, threadbare and dusty from the road, but this one holds himself differently, holds himself above them. Not always a traveler then, a man more used to cushion and rice paper walls than this transient life. Maybe even a man born with a blade in his hand, even if he never learned to use it.

Obi hates him already.

The monkey knows it. He lifts his cup, meeting his gaze with a smirk. Obi does the same. They both drink; steady, eyes never losing each other. Cups return to the table with precise care, fingers steady.

Obi’s legs tense. He just needs an excuse, the smallest thing, some reason to give the dōshin when they are called, because--

Because this man knows he’s seen red, and isn’t about to let it go.

“Okyakusama.” The serving girl bows, far too deeply for a man like him. “Your mistress is finished with her bath. Would you...?”

A question asked so often, and yet she flusters, cheeks flush pink as petals as she grasps for the words.

“I’ll have a bath as well,” he drawls, spiking a pointed look toward where the monkey sits, so pleased with himself. “I’m feeling quite unclean these days.”

The weariness does not hit him until he mounts the last step, every ache of the day cursing him ten-fold now that its end is in sight. The hall may be dim, but the lamps illuminate their room like a paper lantern in the night. Its soft glow draws him, pushes him on when each foot fall feels like the last.

He stops outside the door, fingers brushing the edge of the screen. Her shadow stretches over the paper, a half dozen strokes all moving in concert like the most complex calligraphy. She shifts, just so, and her head rests just under his hand, and he thinks of it, of pale skin glimmering in the moonlight, of a bead of water tracing down it, disappearing as it rounded an intriguing curve--

His fingers jolt back from the frame. A smart man would forget such things, but he--

He’s a fool. His laugh is a scrape of breath, rough and bitter. To think, tonight there will be no geisha tonight to help him try.

“I’m coming in,” he tells her, voice pitched high, friendly and unassuming. Just her trustworthy guard, and nothing else.

She’s on her mat as he enters, asleep. Or at least, that’s what she’d have him think; even if there had been no shadowplay to confirm it, he’d know by the way her chest rises far too fast, and then falls far too slow.

He lets out a weary sigh and pads across the floor. If that’s the game she’d like to play, she won’t get any objection from him. Today has been long enough as it is without him worrying about--

“What are you doing?” she shrills, breathless.

His hand stills, obi hanging loose beneath it. The neck of his kimono parts, slipping down over his shoulder as he turns to meet her gaze. Her voice might be nervous, uncertain, but her eyes--

Those are all fierce curiosity, never once wavering, not even when he smirks, not even when he says, “The women brought up water for me. I plan to use it.”

“O-oh.” The room is brighter than the hall, but it’s not enough to confirm that she is flushing. He hardly needs to see it when it’s so apparent in every line of her body. “I...I had wondered about that.”

He hums, stepping past the screen. “Even a raggedy yojimbo like yours likes to feel clean at the end of the day.” The water is steaming, his flesh turning shrimp-pink when he waves a hand through it. Perfect. “Unless you have a problem with that, ojou-san?”

“N-no!” He can’t see through the screen, not with the lamp behind him, but he can hear her shuffling, hear the wrinkle of her sheets around her. “D-do what you like.”

“I always have,” he mutters, hanging his kimono on the edge of the screen. He hears a stifled gasp and grins. “Why stop now?”

The water burns so pleasantly, but Obi knows better to linger. He only scrapes the worst of the road off of him before he levers himself out, wrapping himself in the clean yukata the women were so kind to provide. He’s not used to being in something other than his own clothes, but as he’d learned at Kino-san’s house-- a man took luxury where he could find it. This yukata would be gone tomorrow and so would he, but tonight’s comfort would be a fond memory once dawn breaks.

The fabric is fine, sticking to the dewy heat of his skin even after he’s toweled off. Still, he feels clean. He will have to put on his kimono tomorrow and all its troubles with it, but tonight--

Tonight he is not that man. Not yet, anyway.

Obi steps to the edge of the screen, and ojou-san’s gasp is nearly lost in the thump she makes, turning her back to him. He grins. Ojou-san plays at innocence, but she’s been watching a shadow play of her own.

It puts a swagger in his step and a grin on his lips. Her breath hitches as he approaches, the inn’s floor creaking softly beneath him, and it stills when he kneels beside her. The barest hint of green shines up at him, wary.

“Obi...?”

He tears the blanket off her.

“Obi!” There it is, firmer, somewhere between a gasp and a scold. Much better.

Her small hands dart out, snatching the cover from his, clutching it to her chest. “W-what are you doing?”

“Taking care of my mistress,” he tells her, so even, enjoying the way her skin pinks even in the dim lamp light. “Her feet, I mean. Unless you taught the girls how to bind them.”

“Oh!” She shifts the blanket, uncovering the puffy, reddened wreck of her feet. Ah, ojou-san would not be walking easy tomorrow, no matter what he did tonight. “I...yes. That...is probably best. Maybe I should--?”

By now he knows how the start of one of her bad ideas sounds. “Where is your bag?”

Her eyes widen, and she pushes to her knees, trying to stand. “Really, I can--”

His hands curl around her shoulders, and firmly, gently, he guides her back down to her futon. “It is my duty to look after you, ojou-san. Please let me.”

He has no innocence to feign, no girlish eyelashes to flutter, but his honesty goes much further with her than any of his attempts at charm. She meets his gaze, lip caught between her teeth, and nods.

“Over there.” Her chin ducks down, pointing toward the door. Heat radiates from her cheeks. “You’ll find everything you need.”

Ojou-san may have her books, but for Obi, his body has always been the master of him, the one that learned far better, far faster than his head. And leagues better than his heart.

He settles down on his heels, cradling ojou-san’s feet in his lap. Before she even begins to speak, he knows what to do. Ointment on the raw places, carefully replacing the blistered skin where it has not yet rubbed away, fresh bandages when he is done--

“Oh.”

He glances up at her, the last of the ointment still thick on his fingertips, hovering over her bare sole. “Is something wrong, ojou-san?”

Her jaw hangs slack, eyes intent on his chest. “Ojou-san?”

“Oh! N-no.” She coughs, gaze skittering away. “I just...you remembered. The, um, treatment, I mean.”

He laughs, stretching the fresh bandages in his hands. “Of course. I only just did it this afternoon. My memory isn’t that bad.”

She blinks, and now that intent gaze is on him again only sharper, her brow drawn. “No, it’s quite good. No, very good.”

“Come now, ojou-san, there’s no need for flattery.” He ducks his chin, hiding his pleased grin as he works. “You’ll give me the wrong idea.”

“I-- I’m not trying to flatter you,” she stammers, flush blooming at her throat. “There are few people who could learn this a single time, and do it with no direction the next.”

He shrugs, cinching the bandage tight before tucking in its end. “I’m sure you did, ojou-san.”

“No.” Her mouth tilts in a private smile, watching him wrap her other foot. “I most certainly did not. But you--” her gaze flits to his chest again, cheeks reddening before she finds his eyes-- “you must be able to do a great many things with a gift like that.”

He lets his mouth curve into a lurid leer, rumbling, “Would you like to find out, ojou-san?”

Her hands clap to her cheeks, hiding her face. “I didn’t-- that’s not--”

He settles back with a grin, tapping her ankles. “That’s done.” He sets her feet back to her futon before he gets to his own. “I’ll have the ladies come take the bath.”

“Oh...” Again, her gaze wanders to the neck of his yukata before she throws herself down onto her mattress. “You...you’ll be back, won’t you?”

“Of course, ojou-san.” He smiles, though she can’t see it. “I’ll be back soon enough.”

She hums, sleep already thick in her voice. “Don’t take too long. You need your sleep too, Obi.”

His breath burns, caught in his throat.

“I...” When he turns, her breath is already heavy, lost in dreams. He smiles softly, shaking his head. Too trusting, this woman.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, sliding the screen shut behind him. “Ojou-san.”

#obiyukiweek20 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #samurai au #Get Up Eight #ans #a little shorter than a lot of the previous chapters #but not only did I not want to split the idea of the next chapter yet #but those scenes would go better in Shirayuki POV #so enjoy this interlude of Obi dying a little #and also some plot set up >:3c

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true-blue-megamind · 3 years

Text

Daylight and Dark Ch. 1 - First Night

Photo by Joe Waranont

Read the full fan fiction HERE

This is an excerpt. Due to Tumblr’s regulations, the second half of this chapter is only available on AO3. The full fiction is not child-friendly!

Summary: Months after Titan's defeat, Roxanne faces concerns as she and Megamind's relationship grows more serious. Soon, however, she learns that may be the least of her problems. Metro City's new hero has a dangerous past, and loving him comes with as many perils as benefits. Mystery, drama, romance, and humor. RATING: Explicit. WARNINGS: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll!

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f I should labor through daylight and dark, Consecrate, valorous, serious, true, Then on the world I may blazon my mark; And what if I don't, and what if I do?

—Dorothy Parker

Roxanne Ritchi stared at her reflection without really seeing it.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight. She had waited, fretted, but no more. It had to be tonight.

Perhaps this moment had been too long in coming. It wasn't as if she didn't want it to—she adored him, she was undeniably attracted to him, and she was completely unbothered by their physical differences—but there was a part of Roxanne that had been affected more than she liked to admit by past disappointments. She described her approach to relationships as "circumspect" and "judicious," but, if she was honest, she was, in reality, a coward. Not that she was afraid of Megamind, of course; that would have been ridiculous. Her concerns were harder to define than that. What she feared was, she supposed, perfection, or rather the relentless feeling that anything this perfect had to be inevitably doomed. After all, past experiences with men had all ended in disaster—she was either too aloof or too intense, depending on which of her exes you asked— and it seemed that the better relationships were in the beginning, the more spectacularly they failed in the end. In fact, the reporter had already resigned herself to a single life, throwing herself completely into her work, when along came a certain blue alien. Now, deep down, she was afraid that something would go wrong—especially when their relationship was already complicated by its very nature. Perhaps that was the real heart of the issue: her love affair with Megamind was complex in so many ways, even more than the expected difficulties entailed in dating any Defender, and some of those issues revolved around things neither she nor her blue boyfriend could control.

Even so, she had made her decision, and she wasn't going to back down. It was going to be tonight.

A knock snapped Roxanne's eyes back into focus, and she frowned at her incomplete makeup. Hurriedly finishing her mascara and applying some russet red, long-wear lipstick, she swept all her cosmetics back into a drawer. An extra spray of perfume for good measure, and that would have to do. Fanning her mouth with her hands to dry the lip color, Roxanne walked briskly through the living room to her apartment's front door.

Megamind was standing in the hall, eyes fixed pensively off into the distance. It was a look she was growing to expect whenever she left him waiting too long; the double-edge sword of his massive intellect was that he was always thinking, always wondering, his thoughts never still. The sound of the door brought him back to attention, and he smiled. She threw her arms around him— their usual greeting— and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Nerves sang and sparked. She hated that she was as fidgety as a maiden bride. While she believed that, like alcohol and tobacco, sex should be "enjoyed responsibly," Roxanne had slept with a respectable number of men. It had been years since the idea of it had made her jittery. Until now. Maybe it was her long hiatus from the dating pool—very few men were willing to move on a woman supposedly dating someone with lasers in his eyes—or maybe it was Megamind's charm coupled with the intensity of her feelings for him, but, whatever the reason, something about the city's hero made her feel like she was in high school once more: heart fluttering and stomach slightly queasy. If only that were the sole reason for the butterflies beneath her skin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she smiled again, looking into eyes so green they glowed.

His expression was tender as he turned his gaze down to her's— something that, at only two inches taller than Roxanne, he only managed to do when they were this close. And when she was wearing flats. For a moment Roxanne silently praised the work-sore feet that had prompted her to opt for more comfortable shoes this evening.

Clearly, the blue alien had been on duty today as he was dressed in his familiar dark leathers. For a short time, Megamind had tried wearing white— had even gone as far as to build a new super suit that imitated Metro Man's powers— but thankfully Minion had convinced him that it was better to be his own brand of hero. And he'd been right. Not only did Roxanne prefer her boyfriend's bad boy look for reasons of her own, but even the most hardened criminals had grown to fear the black-clad Defender of Metro City while citizens had grown to accept Megamind for himself.

Will that continue after tonight, if people find out? Or will the same public that praises him today turn against him tomorrow?

"Don't worry, it's alright," the blue hero assured her. Roxanne startled for a moment— how did he know what she was thinking?— before she realized that he'd been referring to the wait. "I was just considering how I might turn one of your windows into a transparent glass monitor," he continued. "It would require some creative engineering, but I think it could be done. Then I could build you a smaller version of the supercomputer in my lair, and ta-da! It could function as a window until activated, and then you could use it to communicate with me in my workroom, or research, or to—" seeing her quizzically amused expression, he caught himself in mid-thought and cleared his throat. He and Roxanne had agreed to just have a normal, relaxing date, and it seemed to occur to him that this might not fit the description. "Erm, these are for you," he finished sheepishly, proffering a bouquet of yellow daisies, orange and gold cosmos, gardenias, and red and white roses.

He always brought her daisies, ever since she had mentioned once in passing how much she loved the ones in Hill Top Park. Bouquets turned up at her office every Thursday like clockwork. She didn't even mind that some of the interns got all girlish and giggly about it.

Roxanne accepted the flowers, inhaling the blossoms' sweet scents before saying: "They're beautiful. Come on inside." She pulled him in, leaning up to give him another kiss as she reached around him to shut the door. "I've always wondered: what are these?" she continued, touching tiny white clustered flowers with one hand. "It seems like they're in every single bouquet I've ever seen, but no one ever mentions what they're called."

"Ah, yes, that's Gypsophila, Baby's Breath. And you're right, it is a common addition to bouquets... I think for artistic reasons. What's wrong? Do you dislike it?"

"What? No, not at all..."

"What is it? You look like you just smelled something horrible. I can take the Gypsophila out."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary. It's nothing... just..."

Baby's breath. Oh God. Roxanne tried to ignore the skittering tightness in her heart.

What if she got pregnant? What would the world say to the first half-human child? She was a responsible adult, of course, and she wasn't rushing into this unprepared, but even so... Sex was designed to make babies, and no matter how careful a girl was, sometimes it did just that. Her cousin Theresa, who had conceived her third child while she and her husband were using both pills and condoms, was living proof.

Realizing she'd been quiet too long, Roxanne thought quickly. "It's just that that's an odd name for a flower, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't really look like breath."

"No stranger than Forget-Me-Nots or Grandmother's Lace." He shrugged. "Flower names are just weird."

"At least Grandmother's Lace sort of looks like lace," she laughed, more at herself than anything else. "But you're probably right. Either way, these really are gorgeous," Roxanne smiled again. "I love them."

"I'm glad," he grinned. "I've been studying Floriography."

"Flori-what?"

"The language of flowers."

"I didn't know flowers talked," she joked.

"Very funny. You've read enough classic literature to know what I mean."

"I do, and you're very sweet," she answered, retrieving a vase from the small china hutch in her living room, and leading him into the kitchen. "Let's see… Roses are for love, right?"

"Love and affection, depending on the color."

"And these colors are?" She asked, setting the vase on the counter and turning to face him.

His cheeks flushed a little, the expression of shy pleasure at odds with his tough-guy persona. It was unreasonably adorable. "The red ones mean: 'my love for you is passionate,'" he explained. "And the white ones mean: 'my love for you is pure.'"

She felt her heart do a happy, ridiculous little flip, and turned her head to give him a smile that felt embarrassingly shy and girlish. "Oh."

This was always his way: thoughtful, charming, romantic, foolishly sentimental… Yet he never begrudged her her independence; never complained when she had to break a date for a hot news story or an overdue deadline. He just told her to stop by the Lair on the way home if she had the time, and sent over a packed dinner via brainbot with a note saying something like: "You won't forget to eat, will you? Love, MM." And then there was the way he fully embraced her for who she was, skipping typical dates in favor of afternoons in bookshops, long days in the park, weekends exploring quirky little-known museums, and dinners at hidden gems serving unexpectedly excellent cuisine or wonderfully authentic international dishes.

"Are you sure you're not telepathic?" she asked, only half in jest. It was something she'd questioned him about before.

"I think I would notice if I were." His expression turned teasing. "Perhaps, Miss Ritchi, you are simply too... Predictable."

"Jerk," she laughed, trimming the edges of the flowers under the running tap.

"Villain," he corrected, gesturing to himself. "One of the good guys, now, but still a villain," he moved close. "And a devilishly handsome one at that."

"Hmm. I can't argue with the last part."

"That's because you have excellent taste." God, why did his smirk have to look like dark secrets and wanton promises? "Really, though, Sweetheart," he added, his smile gentling. "I know you because I love you."

"I love you, too."

She truly did, and the fact that someone as brilliant and charming as Megamind loved her back sometimes still filled her with soft surprise. More than that, however, he respected her. He trusted her. Following their defeat of Titan, Megamind had not only granted her nearly unfettered access to his secret Lair— something unheard of in the past— but, keenly aware that the sudden cessation of her regular kidnappings could affect her career, he had also allowed her to join him in some of his more noteworthy heroic battles. While her blue beau insisted that she steer clear of the dangerous Doom Syndicate, together they had taken down two minor would-be villains: the first an ex-model with a scarred face and a terrible idea of revenge, the second a balding science teacher with an insane plan to make the pigeons in the park emulate Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. That last had been a monumental failure even by Megamind's standards. The chemical compound the man had fed the birds had only succeeded in giving them explosive diarrhea. It had been an incredible mess.

Thank God for brainbot cleanup crews!

"And just what are you snickering about?" Megamind asked her, cocking one eyebrow, green eyes shining with curious mirth. "It's mean not to share," he added, adopting his best Hero-Giving-a-Life-Lesson voice. Roxanne laughed harder. That particular part of his new persona was definitely a work in progress.

"I was just thinking about the bird guy," she answered, turning to fill the vase from the faucet.

"The bird—Oh! Ravenous!" he gave the word an odd inflection, putting an emphasis on "raven," just as the aspiring villain had.

"That was it!" she chortled. "God, even his name sucked! He got so mad at you for pronouncing it wrong, too."

"Excuse me," he grinned, leaning back against the counter to catch her eye. "I was pronouncing the word ravenous correctly. It's not my fault he had an unnatural obsession with avians. And, as I recall, it was you, my Dear Miss Ritchi, who insisted on pronouncing his name wrong—or rather right— on air, until you had the whole city doing it.

"Me?" she couldn't hide her smile. "Look at this innocent face. Would I do something like that?"

His laugh rang through the kitchen. "Oh, yes, you would. I always said you would have made an excellent Evil Queen!"

It was absurd how much her heart sped up when he said that. "When did you decide to learn floriography? I mean, it can't have been just for this," she asked, arranging the bouquet with more care and concentration than was really necessary. "I can't imagine you taking an interest in it before."

"Yes and no. I did learn for you, Roxanne, but," he seemed to swallow his sheepishness, "I've studied the language of flowers for years. I... I used to imagine what I would say to you if I only had the courage to leave a tower of blossoms on your table after a kidnapping. I never did. I didn't want you to feel... uncomfortable, frightened, but... Roxanne, I revolve around you. Your smiles have been my drug for a long time."

She swallowed turned her head back quickly. Her face felt like fire and she knew she was losing the battle for suave composure. Damn it, I'm supposed to be the one seducing him!

How could she not love him when he said things like that—said them and actually meant them? Surely that was too much for any reasonable world to expect? And if others might not like it, well, so what? She'd endured criticism of everything from her political stances to her hair, and God knew Megamind was no stranger to animosity. Whatever storms this might brew, they would weather them together.

"The Gypsophila represent purity, too," Megamind informed her. She could hear him grinning at her blush. "The cosmos are joy and harmony," he added, moving closer again. "Yellow daisies are for both true love, because each flower is actually two joined as one, and for new beginnings. Gardenias, now those are interesting. They represent feminine beauty, and can refer to a secret love, but," Roxanne nearly dropped the vase as he leaned against her back to breathe the last words against her ear. "Gardenias also mean: 'I will always protect you.'"

"Megamind," she breathed, gently setting the vase on the counter and turning to bury herself in him. He smelled like hot metal— he'd probably been welding something earlier— and expensive cologne, but beneath that was his familiar musk of leather, spices, and something warm and woody.

He began kissing along her ear and down toward her shoulder— something he had become extremely good at in the last few months. His goatee, warm breath, and gentle teeth were sweet torture against her sensitive skin. Clever fingers tickled up the nape of her neck and slid around to gently tangle in her short hair, making her shiver. She sighed his name again, tasting the syllables like a prayer.

Megamind. This was Megamind: fiercely loyal and endlessly affectionate. Of course, he would always protect her. Let the whole entire city, or even the entire planet, turn against them, and he would remain steadfastly at her side, determined and immovable as stone. Certainly, they had had their share of arguments—what couple didn't?—but, in the end, he always had her back. He'd probably even do his best to shield her from the worst of people's biases. Because that was the sort of man he was.

To hell with what people might think. I want this, now and always.

Roxanne leaned back just enough to kiss him with thorough passion, giving his mouth the full and undivided attention it deserved. He matched her passion, tongue gliding past her lips to tempt and tumble against her own. Almost of their own accord, her arms wrapped about his slender neck, pulling him closer, urging him on...

And her stupid phone timer went off, shattering the moment with an annoyingly jaunty little tune.

"I… um… I have dinner in the oven," she stumbled over her own words. "It should be... ready… almost... almost ready."

Mercifully, he took his cue. "Oh-ho!" he laughed, giving her one last peck on the lips. "Home cooking twice in one week! Just what are you up to, Miss Ritchi?"

Although Roxanne had learned to cook at her grandmother's elbow, she'd rarely felt it worth her time when she was single, preferring quick frozen meals she could leave in the crockpot or even pop into the microwave. Since she had started dating Megamind, however, she'd dusted off the old cookbooks she'd inherited and started making meals from scratch once a week. True, the hero had Minion to cook for him— and her skills were nowhere near the henchman's gourmet standards— but this was one of the ways she could show her affection, and it always seemed to please the blue alien. Things like that had become important to the reporter as Megamind took up residence in her heart, which is why she found herself constantly making little gestures like buying him a blue teddy bear in a black leather jacket, or texting him funny pictures and thoughts she knew would make him smile. So she had gotten into the habit of planning one special dinner each week. But, up until now, it had always been only one.

I'd hoped he wouldn't notice. I should have known better.

She gave him her best calm reporter stare. It was ruined by the fact that her face still felt like it was glowing red. "Why should I be up to anything?" she asked coyly.

He lifted an eyebrow, his grin playful. "Your wiles won't work on me."

That earned him a sultry look. "I was under the impression they were working pretty well just now."

"Wicked girl," he teased. Following Roxanne across the small kitchen, Megamind opened the oven and sniffed eagerly. "Mmmm... Lasag-na. My favorite. Now I'm definitely suspicious."

"It's lasagna, silly," Roxanne corrected fondly, moving past him to set her bouquet on the dinette table. "And can't a girl make her favorite hero a nice dinner without him getting into conspiracy theories?"

He only grinned at her again. "La. Sag. Na." That was one of the things Roxanne loved most about Megamind. He never let himself be embarrassed. Most people would have been mortified by constant mispronunciations, but he brushed them off with a smile.

Giggling, Roxanne swatted him playfully out of her way and found two oven mitts in a drawer before retrieving the dish from the oven. "Maybe I'll make you learn to say it correctly before I let you have any."

"Oh, you could never be so cruel!" he answered over his shoulder as he selected plates from the cabinet. "I should have brought a bottle of wine."

"I still have two from the last time you came over," laughed Roxanne. "I think we'll be okay."

"You make me sound like an alcoholic," Megamind complained, but he couldn't quite tame his playful expression as he began setting the table. "I simply couldn't decide what would compliment the dish best. Besides, I wanted to make sure I had something to eat my breakfast cereal with in the morning."

"Ewww!"

Roxanne loved Megamind's laugh. He was the city's hero now, but his rolling chortle still had a dark ring in it, and something about it sent delicious shivers down her spine.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding" he assured her.

"I know, but... Ewww!"

He laughed again and motioned her to her chair. "Alright, okay," he said, helping her into her seat. "Whenever I stay here overnight, I solemnly promise that I will not eat cereal and wine for breakfast."

Roxanne tried to giggle but found her throat suddenly tight. Funny how that comment brought the conversation to the matter at hand.

Come on, Roxanne. For God's sake. Just ask.

She looked up at him, his face still glowing with humor, and gently placed her hand on his.

"Megamind, I was thinking, what about tonight?"

He looked confused. "What about tonight?"

"For that. For you to stay over. I mean..." she sighed. Ugh... Why is this so hard? "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

"Of course!" his easy tone implied he still didn't get her meaning. It wasn't as if he had never stayed over, after all... It was simply that they had never done any more than cuddle.

"No, I mean, will you—" Oh, God, I'm going to have to be specific, aren't I?— "Will you sleep with me? Will you spend the night here as my lover?"

That finally did it. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he glanced quickly down, trying unsuccessfully to hide his little up-to-no-good grin.

When he lifted his gaze again, however, his expression turned serious. "Are you... sure? I want you to be sure, Roxanne. Absolutely certain." He lifted his free hand to push a strand of her short hair tenderly back from her face. "No regrets between us. Ever."

She smiled. Doesn't he understand that that's what makes me so certain? He's always ready to put me first.

Yes, he was an alien. Yes, she was going to be the first known human to sleep with someone from a different planet. Yes, in a society where too many still objected to relationships between different races and same genders, sharing her bed with an extraterrestrial was sure to stir up trouble. But it didn't matter. She had given him her whole heart, and after five months of dating— more if you counted the dates with "Bernard"— she wanted to give him her body, too. The time had come. Their relationship couldn't continue in this state of limbo. Either she stopped holding back or she broke things off, and she couldn't bear the thought of the latter. No matter what happened, no matter who judged them, no matter how many snide comments she had to hear about Stockholm Syndrome and tentacle porn, she would not—could not—let him go.

Fully meeting his look, Roxanne let her emotions— love, desire, trust, longing— fill her blue eyes. Her hands caressed the sides of his face as she pulled him down for another slow-burn kiss.

"I'm sure," she breathed when they parted for air. "I'm very, very sure."

He smiled and leaned back in, kissing her again, letting years of contained passion spill over her. The chair skittered back as she rose, tangling her arms around him. Clutching her, Megamind ran eager hands over her back, cupped her hips, and pressed her close to feel the proof of his desire. His kisses were hot, desperate, as if he were drowning and her lips held his only salvation.

Panting and flushed, the hero was the first to pull back. "I'm sorry," he said, motioning to the cooling meal on the table. "I don't mean to let all your hard work go to waste, but—"

"I have a microwave. We can heat it up."

He grinned. "Well, in that case..." he purred. Scooping her up in his deceptively thin arms, Metro City's blue hero carried Roxanne to the bedroom.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight.

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