#eir replies

[idyllic-affections]

sometimes i forget enjou exists and then someone posts about him and i'm like. I miss you you silly little abyss man

[asphuxia]

@ganglotte sent:

She thinks she is dreaming at first.

         Surely the Eir she sees among the crowd is a mirage, an illusion created by whatever is wrong with the village. Ganglöt had not thought it would be so easy to find her; she did not want it to be so easy to find her.

         Did she ever want to find her at all? Why is it that she feels she would have rather not found Eir at all, that she would have been more content with the idea of revenge, of Eir?

         There is no time to think of such things now; Ganglöt pushes through the crowd (which is not a very difficult task, as they part for her), until she is right behind Eir, scythe in hand. Now, I can do it now, I must do it now. Eir will not even know who had struck her.

         Ganglöt tenses, ready to swing; she knows just where to strike the princess. How many times had she watched Hel strike down her own daughter? How many times had she watched Eir fall, studied the slow arc her body made as Death stole over her face?

         It is different, though, to do it with her own hands. It is easier to watch. It is slower when she watches.

         “...Eir.”

         It surprises her, her own decision to speak. A million taunts and threats teeter on the tip of her tongue, but she does not voice them. Instead, a demand spills forth:

         “You will come back from this moon’s fiasco alive. I will not permit you to die by anyone’s hand but my own. …am I clear?"

It had been a moment of sordid naivety for Eir to believe that the dead would not return to life.

The blade makes itself known to her before she needs to witness it, the bold flirt of death with her soul a well-memorised dance. It is a presence none are wont to forget, and the regent least of all; from the distance, she registers its knife-bright edge parting crowd and soul alike. The world itself seemed to quiet around her— the surrounding chatter but a buzz in the air, so remote and isolated, one could have imagined it. Within that brief void of all else, the thin space between nonexistence and reality, it was as though life had begun to kneel in death’s presence.

At the end of the scythe, Eir stills. Within the moments it takes for her to compose herself, flowers wilt and blossom beneath her feet; the sovereign’s affinities at odds with her. Softly, a sigh disguised as an exhale escapes her— drawn out and slow, lest her fear might crawl once more into the hollow of her soul. It takes all of her strength to resist the anger that rolls over her in waves, the threat of viscera so palpable in the air. It is unbecoming of her, she knows; so far removed of all of her true mother’s grace and sensibility, so deeply entrenched in the constant need to survive. At the sound of Ganglöt’s voice, it takes just a little more not to recoil.

Instead, Eir straightens her back, irons out her posture, and breathes.

“… You seem to get ahead of yourself,” she answers, countenance serene— yet her once gentle tone unsheathes naught but a blade’s edge. It is with a strange inflection that she speaks, a veil of apathy drawn over a voice otherwise warm with compassion. When enough of her had been ripped away, stolen from her very fingers; when her identity had been washed away like blood— that was when Eir had discovered true emotion. That was when she began to harden and grow sharp, not at a loss of love for the world, but an important part of her heart— at the loss of a soul. At Ganglöt’s mercy, she had lost all she had ever loved and never known. Now, the handmaiden is at hers, and Eir is all but Hel’s empathetic, merciful death. “You mistake me for someone who will bend to you. You believe I remain the sweet girl you bring to slaughter.”

When she turns to face the other woman, gaze falling first upon the scythe, her visage fixes an expression she has never felt nor worn. Eir wants to gasp for air, to cry out for someone, anyone. She wants to grab her mother’s handmaiden and weep into her arms, to beg for lives past— what they had once shared. Eir wants to plead for her adoration even when it had come in the form of a blade against her neck. But ultimately, she does not, and she discards every intent to surrender herself to her memories. Sapphire eyes are steely, restrained; and when they meet Ganglöt’s, one could almost claim them cold. Then Eir smiles, icily, in a manner that is hardly a smile at all.

“No, Ganglöt. Let me make this clear. I will not die by your hand. I will not lose what little I have left.” Is it for herself that she says these things, that she dares not flinch nor cower? The life of which her mother’s soul sustains tells her everything but. There is a deafening roar in her ears, her heart a rebellious creature within the confines of her chest. Each word is a struggle, barely withheld in its simmering anger; even so, Eir manages. She speaks carefully, deliberately— letting not a single syllable understate her emotion, her rare expense of fury. Well-buried within her voice lies a pain so carnal and thinly contained, it threatens to rip through her throat. It is the truth that spills unbidden from her mouth. “Not to you, not to Hel, not to anyone. Take care that it is not you who dies at mine.”

It registers, mere seconds late, what she has said after she says it— and Eir finds that she means each word in their entirety. At her side, the arcane reaper is an intrusive presence. It aids only to cement the sovereign’s every impression, to justify all measures of her caution. Ganglöt’s eyes betray her approach, speaks for her every intention gone unsaid; Life’s queen knows better than to hope for anything less. It is Hel’s handmaiden, after all— and she knew best those she once loved.

As her voice leaves her, so too does her anger; Eir draws back, quieting her heart. It aches in its wake, praying for reprieve— it is too much, too much. All but a pride born of deaths not rightfully hers begs her not to falter, to finish just as strongly as she had started. It is with that same pride that she rolls back her shoulders, and her eyes do not begin to water. It is with that pride that she ignores the hollow emptiness that pools in her heart. She has never felt so fragile, so vulnerable in dignity. The quiet tremble of her hands come to a decisive halt.

“… and before you manage kill me,“ Eir leans towards Ganglöt, voice low; the words leave her lips barely more than a whisper, a final warning, “you will continue to address me as ‘Lady Eir’.”

Then she leaves Ganglöt as the handmaid has always been left— behind.

[fideidefenswhore]

@theladyelizabeth

I read the first two and I'm ashamed to say I liked them before I did like ... even slightly deeper than surface level research on Henry's wives lol. 

oh, well, you’ll get no judgement from me, i read the lady elizabeth before i knew what was up re: w/eir, and as for these, i’ve at least skimmed most because they’re one of the few avail at my library...

it’s interesting to contrast how sex is portrayed, like this is one of the instances where you can absolutely judge books by their titles/covers. the c/oa and j/ane novels are always fade to black, sexual desire obliquely referenced but not made manifest (tbqh, catherine’s teenage crush on fray diego is as spicy as it gets, jane is...deeply offended and shocked by the quote about henry’s [lack of] virility in the trial of may 1536 because she’s like ‘that’s not true’,f ahitughfrdjsl;f...) the AB novel if you remember, is fairly sexually explicit but honestly more in the period before marriage than during (there’s no SA, at least not of anne in the novel, but one scene of extreme dubious consent that’s borderline prior to marriage, during betrothal, another than constitues sexual harassment in the form of a forced kiss, before betrothal) and w/eir seemed fairly obsessed with crafting scenes where anne is sexually humiliated in other aspects. the k/atheryn howard novel is extremely sexually explicit; i haven’t read all six but probably the most of all.

the author’s notes are another interesting point of contrast. w/eir spends pages  defending her choice to portray anne as fully conscious and in complete excruciating pain after her execution for an entire paragraph/s (?) by citing some study on deaths by guillotine in the 19th century (was anne killed by guillotine? no? apparently that’s irrelevant); she spends pages in the A/N of the katheryn howard defending henry, insisting he didn’t want katheryn die because he sent her to syon first, as if he could not have completely prevented her execution, and ultimately did not. 

maybe she has learned her lesson from the (limited...limited, for how egregious and voyeuristic and orgasmically schadenfreude it was) criticism that creative choice in novel 2 received, because the closing line of the KH novel is better than the tudors’ version, and at least, implies that she felt no pain, and died instantly, because the novel ends on the hyphen of her prayers:

‘God have mercy on my soul,’ she prayed aloud. ‘Good people, I beg you pray for me! God have mercy —’

not for them, the welcoming embrace of angels that c/oa receives, of course, but then, i would never expect that from w/eir. 

and the jane novel...omg, i have talked about it before, but i am just entirely flummoxed by the attempt, as she has called it, to create a sympathetic character of jane, because it failed so spectacularly. like, i am a hater, and i will fully admit that, but i did read the novel with an open mind and it is just like continually being slapped in the face with what planet does this woman live on, lol... 

as the title goes, she is ‘haunted’, and there’s this scene where she visits a place that henry norris and AB had a conversation that she remembers from when she was a lady-in-waiting. somehow she is convinced by the spirits of the place, or whatever, that they were both entirely innocent of all accusations, and she is...comforted by this? she’s comforted by the recognition/realization that (at the very least) two innocent people were falsely accused and wrongly put to death, rather than horrified by that. it’s...so much. 

[honestsycrets]

Neglection [Ivar x Healer!Reader, Past!Hvitserk x Reader]

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, past!hvitserk x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | touched with eir's healing powers, it's your custom to care for the great heathen army. ivar doesn't appreciate the order you care for others in.

❛ tags | NSFW, non-graphic mention of ivar's wound, healer!reader, blind!reader, religious references, past!hvitserk x reader, heavily jealous!ivar, jealousy.

❛ sy’s notes | forgive the looseness of this piece, i'm attempting to complete random freewrites to get into producing more works.

Stubborn, that was how you would define Ivar. Even if he was one of the commanders of the Great Heathen Army, he was also as stubborn as a mule. Pain, he claimed, was one of his deepest allies. He was surrounded by it from birth. 

“Ivar,” you trilled, coming into the great church where Ivar set up his base. “Ivar-- are you here?” 

You tiptoed past sleeping comrades holding the bottom of your skirts, prancing over a viking’s sleeping body, egged on by the nagging urge to chase your injured commander. His rich scent filled your nostrils: blood and breaks, smoke and honey. His slight huffs of pain, slight as they were, led you to this room.

“Commander?” 

“Hush,” came the snapping reply. “My brothers are sleeping.” 

Your foot bumped against cold stone steps. “Where are you?” 

“You’re close.” 

The night was always a trying time for finding the right man. Ivar’s thick candle, flickering in the moonlight, casted little light by which you could guide yourself through the large room. You climbed over the heavy steps by sliding your feet slowly over the stone floor. Then, bumped into another body. 

“Ivar?” 

There was no answer. You bend at the knees and casted your fingers over the crumpled body on the floor. It wasn’t right-- no, his sides were too narrow. His hair in long braids. And when he moaned, your ears were full with a gruff but inviting voice. “Prince Hvitserk,” you mumbled.

“Yes, Prince Hvitserk,” Ivar chided. “You always loved Hvitserk.” 

You left his side with the assumption that Ubbe would be sleeping close by. Wherever Hvitserk was, Ubbe was. You knew that. Bjorn wouldn’t be in this room-- he was keeping watch tonight. “I don’t choose who to heal first, Ivar. The goddesses do.” 

“You can lie better than that.” 

“Please don’t mock me, Ivar. I just want you to be safe--” 

“Safe?” He hummed. “I’m not interested in being ‘safe’, my sweet.” 

Sweet, you flushed. You hoped that the bright light wouldn’t illuminate your cheeks, flush with embarrassment. Then again, you would never know. “You’re blushing, hm, do you like that?” 

“That’s enough. Just come to me.” 

“Why should I? If memory is escaping you,” he bit out. His voice clear, filling your ears with dizzying certainty. He really was close. “I was shot in the thigh. Find me yourself.”

Seconds later, your knees collided with a great wooden chair. Then betrayed you. You fell forward and caught yourself by slamming your hand down on a firm, but fleshy surface “Gods!” he shouted. 

“By Eir!” you snapped back, hands flailing to find the proper wooden surface. “My Ivar, I’m--” 

“Sorry, yes, I know. Congratulations, you’ve found me. Now get on with it.” 

“On-- on with it?”

“Did you not come here to heal it?” he asked. In the hazy field of your vision, you knew he was scrutinizing you. You ran your hand over your long skirt, smoothing it down. Whatever he was staring at, be it your thick braid over your shoulder or the dry blood caked over your hands from a long day of work, you weren’t sure. “Or are those magical hands only for Hvitserk?” 

“Why do you insist on Hvitserk?” 

His head, angled toward his brother, snapped to you. “Given how much time you spend with him--” 

His body tensed. Your fingers ghosted the scratchy fabric of his pants, still splattered with blood, and you realized he too hadn’t washed down. You hovered over the wound, the place where his scent originated from. 

“I do not.” 

“You only serve him breakfast and dinner,” he spat to the side again, stiffening as you moved up to loosen his belt. His hand snapped to your wrist, grip crushing the bone. You lifted your head to him, coming close enough that you could make something out of the face you once knew.

“Don’t do that.” 

“I need a clear working area. It isn’t as if I can see your…” you snaked your hand away from his grip to try and loosen his pants again. He snapped his head one way, then another, watching as you kneeled between his legs. He remained silent as you slid his pants down his thin legs to his ankles. 

 “You’ve seen Hvitserk’s,” he huffed under his breath. 

“How many times do I need to tell you? I’ve not been with him. For years,” you searched through your bag for the right essentials. Yes, another healer had cleaned the area on your request-- but it wasn’t done to your liking. The cloth was loose, the area unpurified. “I don’t even remember what he felt like.” You mumbled.

Ivar’s lips parted with a slight smack. He was wordless for an instant, his head shifting to face his brother. “He was that… immemorable?” 

The air was thick. He, curious. You, exhausted. Ivar’s large arms turned one over another. He twitched his thick muscular thighs as if to urge a response from you. Your hand came over his firm muscles to keep him in place. 

“We were so young. Ubbe was training him,” you said, cleaning the area with a soaked cloth. When you bumped into him, the wound oozed. Your lips pursed and you would blow soft air over his thigh which caused his muscles to tighten. “Besides, I don’t remember much from before Eir took my sight, Ivar. Only the small memories we shared.” 

“But not the dick,” he laughed. Your fingertips swatted the side of his thigh. 

In your mortar, you mixed a mixture of herbs that he only recognized from his mother’s witchery cabinet to soothe his aches. Your lips moved in the strangest of prayers, sanctifying the blend to aid in his healing and pain. Then you slathered it on his thigh, tingles ripping through his thigh to his spine. He wasn’t sure if the mixture or your lips healed the soreness, sweeping over his thigh with a soft kiss. He trembled. 

“You have nothing to be anxious about.” 

“Hm?” 

You lifted his thigh, drawing the bandage in sturdy loops around his thigh. Then, securing it in place, removed his musty pants and boots. It took a moment to locate his other pants. Ivar took them and drew them on, clicking his tongue against the roof of his tongue to urge you on. “I don’t want to be his.”

“Then whose?” 

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you were aware of what he was about to say. Though you couldn’t see, you could feel. Feel the intensity of Ivar’s presence, his eyes following you around camp, his endless neediness. His hand shot out and snatched the cords of your dress. You knew you shouldn’t have worn his dress to deal with Ivar. There was no way to unpeel his strong grip from your cords by will alone. 

“Be mine.” 

There were certain things that you knew the gods wanted. Healing of their finest warriors, the mitigation of pain, and hard workers. Your eyes, glazed as they were, served only to be a liability. To a man like Ivar-- your hands connected with his naked shoulders. His muscles enticed you-- far-- far too well. It had been years since you last had a man. Perhaps, in part, due to Ivar’s consistent scowls and glares.

“I can’t, I-- I swore to Eir,” you murmured. Though the words came of your lips, they did not convince you. You traveled his sturdy shoulders to his neck, then his jaw-- peppered with stubble. God, he knew what the sensation did to you with waves of excitement dancing over your skin. You weren’t convincing anyone.

“What does she care? Does she demand some silly Christian oath?” 

“No, but I--” He grasped your backside, pulling up the skirts over your knees. Then, jerked you onto the throne with legs on either side of his own. His voice softened into a soft honey-like hum, rivaling the soft slick that gathered between your legs. “Let me convince you otherwise, hm?” 

“Hvitserk is here.”  

“Forget him.” Ivar coursed his hand underneath your skirts. It was frustrating how often he could not listen. You could tell Ivar that the sky was blue and he’d debate you! With his calloused fingers guiding there way to the junction of your legs and pelvis, you knew there was nothing that you could tell him. No, nothing that you wanted to tell him, that would change this. Even with your complaining, you longed for the attention. It had been years.

Ivar inhaled air as he brushed your vulva, dancing his thumb across your neglected lips. He slid between the slit, parting your lips with ginger care. It was nearly embarrassing how easy it was for Ivar, running the pad of his thumb up and down. “See? You want me.” 

You wracked your mind for the last time this had happened. The last time a man had his eye on you-- oh, but you remembered, the night you lost your vision. Hvitserk-- whose kind heart soothed your grief-- warmed your body to comfort you. As you traced the memory, the ache of his absence panged strangely in your heart. Oh, how easy a man’s heart was to sway.

“Focus on me,” Ivar sank his fingers into your warm cunt. Your hips shifted in response, flush against his chest, breasts in his face. Your body tensed around his fingers to keep him in place. Ivar wasn’t the sort of man to be held back. Not by a pathetic cry, no. He was guided by the things he was passionate about. “Good--” 

“Please, Ivar, I’ve not--” he curled his fingers, massaging your walls as you hadn’t in years. It was warm, wonderful. His other hand came to your front, massaging a soft spot that only one other had. He rolled in the softest of rhythms, circling purposefully slow. Then quick. The pleasure bloomed-- the ugliest of flowers that you told yourself you wouldn’t have again. That you would devote yourself to Eir, swear off all thoughts of lust and love. All at once, Ivar stopped. He drew his fingers back from massaging your soaked walls and flicked your clit with a soft laugh. 

“So?” 

“No,” you lowered your hips, yipping as you settled against the bulge between Ivar’s legs. “I should-- I should go.” 

“Then go.” 

You didn’t move. No, your hands were knit to Ivar’s shoulders like thread and cloth.

"That is what I thought." You felt frozen in place even as he pulled himself free of his pants and fondled his shaft. The tip of his cock eased along your lips: forward, backward, and forward again. 

“If you stay,” Ivar breathed, slapping his cock against your mound. His breath was warm against your chest, urging you to slide your chest against his. Oh, you knew you were doomed. The memory of sex was all too enticing. Your body clenched, aching at the memory of how it felt. “I won’t let you go.” 

And though he said that, you reached between your legs and lined the warm head of his cock with your aching hole. He snapped your hips down an instant later, his wide grin widening with every bit of his cock that filled your core. Your fingers cringed on his shoulders as he seated himself comfortably in your cunt. Your lips parted, shaking loose noises that you knew would wake up his brothers. 

“Hush,” he leaned in, rocking his hips despite the pain wracking up his thigh. Your hips shifted, rolling down along his cock alone. He didn’t even have to move, no, you were too happy to do this on your own. His thumb found your nub again, spazzing along the little button as you rode him. You missed how it felt: how his warm words filled your soul with bliss, and his dick filled the places you didn’t know needed to be filled. It was what Ivar did-- with his voice, as desirable and silky as honey. 

It ruptured a hole straight through you. Blossoming low in your belly, the pleasure ripped through your cunt. Your body clamped on his, working his orgasm free. He seized your chin, aiming it toward him. And though your unseeing eyes could only see the shadows of his face, your mind was scarred by the memory of his haughty eyes and the bob and weave of his head. You didn't need to see to know what he was about to say next. “You’re mine.” 

You were wrong for this. But it was too late to take it back.

[satuguro]

✧*ೃ࿐ TONGUES & TEETH

[ ACT I: THE GLOW ]

xavier thorpe x valkyrie! reader

#SYNOPSIS— xavier’s attracted to intimidating women, you and wednesday bond over murder methods, and you really need to stop being attracted to trouble.

#CONTAINS— enemies to fwb to lovers, academic rivals, intimidating and flawed reader, gore, blood, death, aged up characters (everyone is 18 except for eugene), sexual content (later on)

#AUTHORSNOTE— spontaneously writing an xavier thorpe fanfic was honestly not on my mind but oh well here it is ! feel free to send me asks/requests about this series or for other wednesday characters

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, ACT VI

a valkyrie was not a mere label. it was a highly respected role, one that was not granted to simply because you were a child of odin. no, the position of a valkyrie was an important one, because every warrior who died in battle, every fighter’s soul, relied on you to bring them to valhalla — no matter what that was for them. heaven, hell, reincarnation — you and your sisters brought them there.

nevermore was seemingly the only available place in which you could reside. you were the youngest of the ten valkyrie sisters, the only one born into the 21st century (as the rest of them were much too old for you to count). odin tried to put his youngest daughter into every school imaginable; public school, private school, boarding school, juvenile detention.

all brought out the same results. you found the material easy and the lack of competition boring, or you were found beating some kid into the ground, your knuckles bloody as adults pried you off of them.

granted, every person you have ever thrown a punch at was deserving of it. but it’s not like the police care about the kid with a broken leg; they care about the person who carelessly broke it with their bare hands.

that was why you found yourself in nevermore, standing awkwardly next to your nine sisters as you loosened your tie around your neck.

the other students didn’t care to hide their stares, their whispers loud and very audible to you as you looked at every single one of them.

“don’t loosen your tie, y/n,” your eldest sister, brunhilde, said with a small look, her arms crossed as she stood towering above the rest of the passing students. “you must look presentable.”

“since when did you ever care about looking presentable?” you replied with a scoff, using one finger to loosen the black tie incompletely. you heard your second youngest sister, gunnr, snicker at that, her laughter quickly hindered by a glare from another one of your sisters.

“ever since father decided to send us to take you here rather than himself,” brunhilde snapped, bitterness evident in her tone as she clenched her jaw. her emerald green eyes flashed in anger; the fact that her father decided not to show up to something like this yet again wasn’t surprising, but it still annoyed her nonetheless.

“he was busy,” eir, the second eldest valkyrie, murmured, coming in yet again as the peacemaker. “besides— this isn’t exactly father’s scene. too many children.”

their conversation melted into the background as your eyes drifted around the courtyard. there seemed to be little cliques within the school — gorgons, vampires, werewolves, sirens, psychics — how cliche. your eyes however, landed on one boy that was painting a raven on the wall, his eyes already set on you far before you noticed him.

his long hair was tied back, his hazel eyes boring into yours as he stopped painting, his hand falling to his side. he was studying you, observing your purposely loosened tie, the sword necklace that hung around your neck, the dagger strapped to your side, and the nine buff women who stood around you. they looked nothing like you, but their energy was strong. powerful. unwavering.

you didn’t break eye contact with him, your eyes narrowing as you challenged him to look away first.

“y/n odinsdottir." a tall woman who practically screamed elegance interrupted your staring contest, forcing you to look away first. her hair was perfectly pinned up, and her cherry red lips curled into a smile as she looked at you. "welcome to nevermore. i assume these are your sisters?" she questioned, looking at your siblings with a warm smile.

"we won't be here long," brunhilde stated, stepping forward. she seemed to be about the same height as the woman, which seemed to please her greatly. she held out a calloused hand. "brunhilde. you're the principal, correct?"

"yes - larissa weems." principal weems' smile never broke as she shook your sister's hand. wordlessly, she began to lead the ten of you to her office. "i have made living arrangements for y/n - i hope she does well with roommates. one of her other roommates is a new student as well."

this new school was, frankly, a lot fancier than most of the schools you had gone to. it looked old, with too many ghosts and history hidden in its walls, but while the school stood out more than the rest, the people seemed to be all the same. prudes with enough money to have the world in their hands. teenagers who have never been told 'no' in their lives. cockiness and pride seemed to ooze from every crevice.

in a way, you found it amusing.

"it was honestly quite a surprise to find all of you here rather than your father," principal weems commented as she opened the door to her office, "i believe that he had told me that he would arrive." she situated herself into her chair behind her desk, placing her hands on the table and clasping them.

you stood in front of the desk, rolling your eyes at her comment. "he likes to lie," you stated bluntly, ignoring the glare eir sent to you as she offered principal an apologetic smile.

"what y/n means to say is," eir began, absentmindedly toying with one of her long golden braids, "our father is very busy. he has other business to attend to."

"he likes doing business." you continued, "especially on his bed."

one of your older sisters, skuld, hissed a small "y/n," as a warning for your words, making you huff in annoyance.

eir's smile was unwavering and her politeness was undeterred as she laughed lightly, "i apologize for y/n's words. she often.. lacks a filter."

"it's no problem, i assure you." principal weems' smile grew as she looked at you, "she's in very capable hands. later, she will receive a tour from one of her roommates, enid sinclair. she's very approachable; i'm sure they will get along."

that statement made your mask fall for just a second.

friends and lovers were topics that were often unspoken between you and your sisters. to put it frankly, it was hard for valkyries to truly find themselves friends with others or loving another because of something you called 'the glow.' valkyries, being a guide for souls in battle, had the ability to know when someone's death was near. it often appeared as a golden glow around the individual moments before a battle or before a specific moment. to help was to lose your position as a valkyrie. to lose your father's acceptance and appreciation of you. it was the foundation of your position, your one important duty to guide the souls of warriors, but there had been instances where the glow appeared for those you cared for. friends. lovers.

it had happened too many times to your sisters. they had all lost lovers and friends in battle, and had to be the one to guide their souls and leave them for eternity. but there came a moment in time where they all decided to stop caring so much for others. they focused on each other, protecting their own sisters out of fear of caring and losing another.

and when you were born, they warned you of that same fate. they warned you of how hard it was to sense death, to be a symbol of war and death. so to say that you would get along with another and care for them was hard to fathom, because your mind automatically thought of losing them in an instant.

and if you lost them and were not able to guide them, you wouldn't know what to do with yourself.

"i will say that your record is.. only mildly concerning, y/n," principal weems said as she pulled out your folder. she scanned through the pages, licking her finger as she turned and read every offense and crime that ended with you getting kicked out of a school. "you've sent tons of people to the hospital for horrible injuries," she murmured, and you swallowed, mentally preparing yourself to hear the list. "you've broken the limbs of many, gave concussions to many more, and in one instance dropped a teenage boy from a thousand feet above ground."

"all deserved. i hold no remorse for them," you stated, a proud smirk making its way onto your face.

principal weems' brows furrowed as she reached the last page in the folder, the words 'saving grace orphanage' in large letters at the top of the form. "kicked out of nearly 20 homes in the span of 13 years."

your smirk fell, your eyes turning cold as you glared at the principal. next to you, gunnr shifted uncomfortably, her hands clenching and unclenching in the instance she had to hold you back from landing a hand on your principal. "how did you get those?"

"nevermore requires all documents from students," principal weems read down the paper, her look of discontent and worry seemingly growing with every line, "even those that have been terminated." one line specifically caught her eye.

has been found at one location consistently. the owner of the property has claimed that there is no reason for y/n to be there, but she seems to be connected to it. if not found at her foster home, she is most likely found here.

how was it you were only here for a few hours and you now wanted to strangle your principal?

"they have been terminated for a reason," you seethed, "my sisters had them forgotten."

"for very good reasons," brunhilde added, her voice eerily calm as she rolled her shoulders back, fixing her posture. "that's private information only our family knows."

"of course." principal weems shut the folder abruptly, the warm smile (though it was nothing more than plastic to you) returning to her red lips. "shall we bring you to your room?"

"i didn't know that valkyries could be as young as you."

you raised a brow at one of your roommates, wednesday, her deadpan tone doing little to influence you as you shrugged. "i'm the youngest of the ten," you stated, walking alongside her as you followed your other roommate, enid sinclair, around.

"that sounds like torture. of the worst degree," wednesday said, making enid clear her throat to catch your attention.

truthfully, enid was much more extraverted than you would ever be, but you didn't mind. she talked, you and wednesday listened - it was a good system. and she talked a lot. the fact that she was bringing around nevermore's first valkyrie was something she seemed incredibly happy about.

good for her.

"i already gave wednesday the whole rundown!" enid said with a contagiously bright smile. "this is the courtyard. everyone kind of hang out around here between classes or just.. whenever!" she explained, practically bouncing with every step as she brought you around. "there's a lot of cliques here; vampires, werewolves - like me, gorgons," her eyes landed on a few people around the fountain, her smile faltering for just a moment, "sirens, psychics, the usual."

"did you kill someone in your last school?" wednesday asked, making enid gasp.

"wednesday! i thought we would bring it up later!" enid scolded, frowning as she nudged the dreary girl.

"i was impatient." wednesday's face contorted into one of slight discontent at the nudge, though she (surprisingly) didn't complain.

you however, merely shrugged in response, folding your arms over your chest. "not the one at my last one. i just broke his legs - why?"

"because rumors spread like wildfire at nevermore," enid explained, coming to a stop in the middle of the corridor, much to some students' chagrin "practically everyone's talking about it! i told you that they'd forget about what you did, wednesday," she said pointedly, making wednesday blink, which was frankly a rather large reaction.

you looked at wednesday, eyebrows raising in curiosity. "did you kill someone?"

"two people. not one."

"what was your method?"

"piranhas from my aquarium at home. and you?"

you hummed in appreciation at her method before responding with a curt, "flew up and dropped him from a thousand feet." it made wednesday nod once.

"impressive."

"okay, steering the subject away from death and murder," enid interrupted, awkwardly chuckling as she continued to walk. she came to a stop in front of the boy who had been painting the raven, her smile of relief much too obvious to go unnoticed by you. "xavier! you've made such good progress!"

"thanks, enid." the boy - xavier - turned around, his mouth seemingly going dry when he saw you staring at him. your arms were crossed over your chest, your head tilted up to observe his painting. "you're the one who dropped the guy."

your look of curiosity turned into one of annoyance, your eyebrow raising as your eyes snapped towards him. "what about it?" you challenged, and you heard enid laugh awkwardly yet again.

"nothing. just asking, that's all," a hint of a smirk made its way onto his face, his hand - the one with paint on it - coming out towards you. "xavier thorpe."

"if you think that i'm going to shake your messy hand, you must believe i'm an idiot," you said bluntly, eyes narrowing.

"both an idiot and impolite," xavier responded, and end immediately grabbed you as you tried to take a step towards him, turning you around and briskly walking you the other way.

you didn't want to see him again after your first encounter with him. you didn't like smug people who had nothing to be smug about - the competitiveness in you wasn't cut out for any of that.

it did come in handy however, for academics.

while it wasn’t as fun as war or training was, it gave you enough competition to feel satisfied in victory. public schools were far too easy in your opinion, private schools equally as easy with more prudish people, but nevermore was more interesting. everyone was smarter, weirder, and more witty than any normie— it kept you entertained.

for the past week, you had been dead set on being the best at every class you had. macabre literature, arithmetic, botany, anatomy - you kept yourself busy trying to make a lasting impact on the professors.

you walked into the art class, eyes widening at its size. huge windows allowed for tons of sunlight to shine in, but since it was a gloomy day (or “a wonderful day” by wednesday’s standards), you could only see the condensation and fog on the windows. on one side of the room was sculpture and pottery supplies, while the other had painting and drawing easels set up in a circle with space in the middle for posing.

principal weems wanted you to do something that didn’t include fighting, weapons, or punching, you were going to join wednesday in fencing, but you found yourself here instead.

the class was small and the teacher was as careless as ever, muttering something about how artists must choose their own paths when creating art. but as you walked in and looked at the few faces, your face soured when you realized who you had to sit next to.

“thorpe.” you stated coldly, sitting stiffly in the easel next to him. it was almost funny how out of place you looked, sitting with straight posture on the stool and staring up at the large canvas in front of you.

xavier however, looked as relaxed as ever. he smiled at you lazily as he looked up from his sketchbook. “y/n. how nice of you to grace me with your presence.”

“it wasn’t my choice — weems wanted me to do something.. nonviolent.” you picked up the piece of charcoal in front of you, lips turning down to a slight frown. you hadn’t drawn in forever.

“i heard you tried for fencing,” xavier hummed, watching you pick up art supplies and weigh them in your hand. “you know that fencing doesn't include actual stabbing, right?”

“i do know that, thorpe,” you grumbled, avoiding eye contact as you removed your blazer, leaving only your white button up and messy tie. you rolled up your sleeves, oblivious to the way xavier’s eyes slowly went to your arms.

you were strong.

he had always guessed it — he had gotten stoned with ajax the night prior and they spent the next hour searching up how strong every outcast really was. valkyries, xavier learned, had superhuman strength, agility, stamina, and fighting abilities, so he wasn’t sure why he was so shocked to see your toned arms.

there was a tattoo of a sword on your inner forearm. it was so intricately drawn that he found himself staring at it for a little too long, simply admiring the style. admiring the way it decorated your skin.

"it's stupid how there's no actual stabbing in it," you continued, absentmindedly rolling up your sleeves. you side-eyed xavier, eyes uninterested as you watched the way he stared at your tattoo. "weirdo," you muttered, standing up abruptly and breaking his trance. “i’m going to do sculpting.”

xavier snorted, covering his gawking with his usual confidence as he fixed himself on his stool, spreading his legs just a bit. "since when did you sculpt?" he asked, half disinterested and half curious as he watched you shrug.

"one of my foster parents had a pottery studio." you stared at him blankly, a pause of awkward silence encompassing you before you said a curt, "bye," and left xavier at his easel.

xavier pulled his attention back to his sketchbook, eyes burning holes into his page of a certain pigtailed girl. for an hour he sat there, drawing in his visions on his sketchbook; many of which were of wednesday.

but one page in particular made him stop and stare. in his trance, much too focused on the feeling of his charcoal pencil on paper to care for what he was truly drawing, he had drawn what seemed to be an angel. it flew in the darkness of the page, her arms outstretched and its wingspan wide as she looked up at the top of the page. her hand was holding an invisible hand, but he saw the detail he put into the bandages that adorned her arms and knuckles.

hesitantly, xavier put his hand over the page, watching as the drawing began to move. the angel's arm moved ever so slightly, and his heart thumped loud in his chest when he saw your tattoo on your forearm.

subtly, he looked up through his eyelashes towards where you had been working, his mouth running dry as he watched you start to center your clay on the pottery wheel. you were surrounded by bowls, mugs, and plates of all kinds, being a rather quick worker with a delicate hand for someone who loved to fight. xavier watched you shape the clay in your hands, the substance molding easily as you moved it.

the sight of your eyes snapping up to meet his made him hide his enamor with a lazy smile and an awkward wave, which made you scoff and return to your pottery. but his eyes lingered on you, focused on the way your elbows were on your legs, how you were hunched over and how your arms were messy with clay. how your hair was much messier than when the class started. how your jaw was clenched in concentration, your eyes like a hawk's as you stared at the mug you were creating.

quickly, xavier looked back at his sketched, eyes set on the drawing he had done of you. it was such a specific image; how odd.

on your first friday in nevermore, enid had dragged you along with her to the harvest festival fair, saying something along the lines of "we have to ride every ride there!" that made you reluctantly agree to go. in any other circumstance, you would have opted to stay home and do anything but go out, but enid was enid, and she had no idea when to quit.

thing - wednesday's little hand friend - also contributed to getting you up and ready for the carnival. he was pretty persuasive.

which was how you found yourself awkwardly standing next to a carnival game after enid ran off with ajax, a boy she very obviously liked. it was confusing how people could be so blind to things like that.

the tight black long sleeve you wore was, in your opinion, enough to keep yourself warm as your body generated more body heat than many others. frankly, you looked pretty grumpy standing next to a carnival game you had already won, one of your hands holding a medium sized teddy bear that you (reluctantly) accepted. if it weren't for the fact that all the games were rigged, then you would have gotten the largest one.

"what happened to enid?"

you groaned as you turned towards the voice, finding xavier standing behind you, his hands in his pockets and his hair down. he was dressed in casual clothing, same as you, but you could recognize that subtle smug attitude anywhere. it was as if the smirk he wore could never get run down.

"went off with ajax. probably on a rollercoaster." you looked him up and down with a discontented look. "why are you alone?"

"i came here with ajax and rowan." xavier shrugged, leaning against the carnival table. a toothy grin crept onto his face, his tone teasing as he continued, "are you willing to keep me company?"

"no."

xavier rolled his eyes at your constant grumpiness, shrugging his shoulders as he quickly changed the subject. "i lost them both a while ago. i've just been walking and looking for.." his eyes left you, landing on some people behind you.

you looked back, immediately connecting the dots as you watched wednesday stand next to a guy near a ride, wednesday (surprisingly) contributing to conversation as they paid you and xavier no mind. an amused smile came on your face, and you held back the laugh you were about to let out. "oh my gods, you like wednesday."

xavier frowned, looking at you incredulously. "i don't," he denied. you watched his body movements with a smirk, observing how he fixed his posture and puffed his chest up ever so slightly out of defense.

"i'm not stupid, thorpe. you just gawked at her like a lovesick fool," you snorted, crossing your arms over your chest again.

xavier found himself staring at your arms, the muscles you had worked hard for easily shown off in your black long sleeve.

"if only you weren't so annoying," he muttered under his breath, sighing. "i don't like her," xavier repeated, following your actions and crossing his arms. he looked at you annoyedly, the amusement that danced in your eyes only pissing him off further. "i think she's interesting, that's all."

"denial is always the first step," you sing songed, your smirk turning into a cheshire like grin. "honestly, you should've seen the look on your face."

xavier scoffed. "what look?"

"the look you always have when wednesday walks by." you were laughing now, your careless teasing and prodding making his presence all the more tolerable in your opinion. "like a lovesick puppy. it's kind of pathetic, honestly - like, haven't you barely talked to her.." your words died out as your eyes caught sight of something you didn't expect to see within your first week in nevermore.

the glow.

you saw the shining gold before you saw who it surrounded. it was blindingly bright particles that floated and emitted a bright light that only you could see. all your senses were honed in on him, far too focused on the soul you had to guide to notice that he was following wednesday, who had trailed off moments prior.

your eyes widened when you saw rowan walk by, the golden glow surrounding him making your eyes cloud over in white. your irises and pupils disappeared into nothing, leaving your eyes a milky white. you felt that familiar tug in your chest, the one that brought nothing but dread and danger, and the immediate pain of loss. the glow that surrounded him was shining horribly bright; his death was really close.

"y/n? hello?" xavier followed your view, a snicker leaving his lips. "oh, i see." he watched as rowan's walk turned into a run into the nearby woods; right after wednesday. "i didn't know your eyes did that when you saw someone you like, y/n -"

"can you shut up, thorpe?" you snapped, shoving the bear towards him before turning around and walking away. your walk turned into a run as you followed rowan, knowing fully well that your agility would make you easily catch up with him. but as with the glow, your mind was only focused on him. nothing else mattered in that moment except for the fact that rowan laslow was going to die.

the sound of a roar made your hold your hand out, your tattoo of a sword glowing and making your sword materialize. on your back, hidden under the confines of your shirt, your tattoo of wings began to glow. that too, began to materialize, your wings writhing and stretching as it ripped through your shirt and spread out around you. pure white feathers flapped a few times, accustoming itself to the space, before you began to lift off the ground.

you flew towards the sound of the roaring, dodging trees and bushes before you saw a large monster over rowan, its claws digging into his chest. wednesday hunched over, catching her breath not too far away, and with no hesitation you flew faster and kicked the monster away from rowan. it let out another screech, one of pain this time, but you couldn't have cared less for its ugly form, for you were too focused on the dying boy on the ground.

the glow never lied. you saw his soul appear next to his body, merely a blue transparent silhouette in your eyes. you swallowed thickly, the pain of such a young soul being lost weighing heavy in your heart as you held your free hand out.

wordlessly, he accepted it. his hand was ice cold against your live one, and with that, you flew. you flew up thousands of feet, moving fast as your wings forced you up higher, higher, higher.

you broke through the clouds, breath heaving as you looked at the silhouette of rowan. the one that used to be alive, with a beating heart and living thoughts.

"there's a light," rowan murmured, his eyes set on the blinding light only he could see. but you saw nothing but the stars and the moon.

you only smiled sadly. "that will take you to where you need to go."

your job was a hard one. you brought them to the entrance of their death and allowed them to go there themselves and be there for eternity. there was no satisfaction from it, other than the fact that they weren't lost. they knew where they had to be.

you felt his silhouette disappear, the hand you were once holding now disappearing into nothing. your eyes reverted back to normal, and you looked around you at the emptiness around you. you were left with only the pain of losing another human.

you let out a sharp exhale, forcing yourself to think of anything but the soul you had just guided to the heavens, before flying back down to the woods. that was one of the hardest parts of your job; you felt the pain of them leaving. you understood that they would be missed, that they had an entire family and friends that would continue to miss them. you felt that pain from the moment you held his hand to fly him to the heavens, to the second he left.

the sound of flapping wings made wednesday look up from where she stood. she had been staring at the drawing rowan had kept in his pocket before your arrival, in which she quickly pocketed it and turned to you. your chest was heaving slightly, your arm bleeding from a twig that had seemingly gotten in your way during your flight between the trees. your wings folded behind you, and you opted to keep them out for as long as possible; it was hard to have them confined for long periods of time.

"did you guide him to valhalla?" wednesday asked, her tone as dead pan as ever, as if the fact that you had huge angel wings was the least of her troubles (which, in that moment, probably was). she was out of breath as well, her once perfect pigtails now a frizzy mess upon her head.

"i guided him to the entrance of whatever he believes in," you replied, looking down at his body and swallowing thickly. to change your focus, you glanced at wednesday, "your lack of response to a near death experience is admirable," you stated, making her nod curtly.

"truthfully, it was the most fun i have had all week," wednesday replied.

ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, ACT VI

#AUTHORSNOTE— that was the first part of my new series! feel free to send me asks about it and ask to be on the taglist! thank you sm for reading :)

[lemonnsss]

Moral of the Story: Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry I took so long posting this, a family friend got diagnosed with terminal cancer and my grandpa died soooo… coping with humor right now.

Feedback is always appreciated!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Taglist: @vicmc624 , @mostlymarvelgirl,@yvonneeeee, @beetlejuicesupremacy , @moonlightreader649 , @whattheduckisupkyle , @chrisevans-realwife , @nekoannie-chan , @mrsbarnes32557038 , @imyourbratzdoll , @weallhaveadestiny, @oldsoulmagic

Word count: 2.3k

Steve and I walked onto the bridge. Three people stood out, with no sign of Tony.

"I see you found the runaway," the red-haired woman spoke.

"They weren't too far off. Only the other side of the plane." Steve replied, an air of laughter in his voice

"Well, it wasn't intentional," I said, perhaps a bit too defensively.

"At least I'm not the only one getting lost." A brunette man commented.

"Guess not. Oh- I'm Mr. Stark's secretary, Mx. Eirsson, Kyrie Eirsson."

"Eir? So you are a healer, no?" The tall blonde said expectantly.

"No, not really." I'm starting this off with a lie, lovely.

"Ledan Eirsson, I am Thor, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard." He extended his hand, a warm smile on his face.

"Prince...?" I worriedly glanced at Steve.

I looked back when Prince Sunshine over there started laughing, "Yes, although I would prefer if you called me Thor, just Thor."

"Pleasure to meet you, Thor."

Steve placed a hand on my shoulder, "That's Natasha," he gestured to the redhead which she promptly responded to with a curt smile, "she doesn't talk much."

And then there was one. He didn't notice until Natasha nudged him in the side.

"Oh, um. I'm Dr. Banner."

"Pleasure to meet'cha, Doc." A sound came from under the table, Steve quickly found a tablet with what seemed to be live footage from Loki's cage.

By the time I heard the first comprehendible piece of what Fury was saying my attention was grabbed by the hatch underneath Loki's cage being opened.

"Thirty-thousand feet down in a steel trap. You get how that works?" Fury closes the hatch with a press of a button on the control panel.

Fury outstretched his arm, gesturing to Loki, "Ant," then pointing to the control panel, "boot."

Loki smirked, "It's an impressive cage." he looked into the camera, "Not built, I think, for me."

"Built for something a lot stronger than you."

"Oh, I've heard."

The doctor seemed very tense, for what reason- I didn't know.

"The mindless beast, makes play he's still a man." Loki sauntered towards the camera, "How desperate are you that you call upon such lost creatures to defend you?"

“How desperate am I?” Fury set a hand on his hip, agitation growing in his voice, “You threaten my world with war. You steal a force you can’t hope to control. You talk about peace and you kill ‘cause it’s fun. You have made me very desperate. You might not be glad that you did.”

“Ooh. It burns you to come so close.” Loki began taunting Fury, “To have the Tesseract, to have power, unlimited power.” Loki smirked into the camera, “And for what? A warm light for all mankind to share, and then to be reminded what real power is.”

Fury forced a smile, “Well, let me know if ‘Real Power’ wants a magazine or something.”

Our room falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Fury walked away saying, “Well, let me know if ‘Real Power’ wants a magazine or something.”

“He really grows on you, doesn’t he?”

"Loki's gonna drag this out. So, Thor, what’s his play?”

Thor seemed distant as he responded, “He has an army called the Chitauri. They are not of Asgard or of any world known.” The Prince walked back to the table, “He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the earth. In return, I suspect for the Tesseract.”

“An army? From outer space?” Steve seemed to question what the fuck he’d been dragged into.

“He’s building another portal. That’s what he needs Erik Selvig for.”

Erik who?

“Selvig?” Why does Thor recognize this guy's name?

“He’s an astrophysicist.” The doctor explained.

“He’s a friend.” Thor asserted.

“Loki has him under some kind of spell, ”Natasha looked away, “along with one of ours.”

She really does speak. More importantly, she’s familiar with the agent Loki brainwashed.

“I wanna know why Loki let us take him.”

“I don't think we should be focusing on Loki. That guy's brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him.” Banner was pushing it.

“Have care how you speak.” Thor said, anger rising in his voice, “Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he's my brother.”

So the Prince is a himbo with a temper, good to know.

“He killed eighty people in two days.” Oh.

“...He's adopted.” Ah, yes. That changes everything.

“Does he pose any threat? Just because he’s in a cage doesn’t mean he’s harmless.” I didn’t know if I’d just asked a dumbass question but it’s better to ask than have that as an unknown variable.

“No. There’s no way out from the inside, besides that, it’s built to withstand more than he can throw at it.” Natasha answered, seemingly knowing more than the rest.

“Iridium, what did they need Iridium for?”

Tony walked in, “It’s a stabilizing agent. Oh, Kyrie, been lookin’ for ‘ya.”

“Hey, Tony. Coulson?!” I got up and walked over to them, a beaming smile plastered on my face, “I had no idea you’d be here!”

Phil placed a hand on my shoulder, “I would have let you know if I had a way to contact you.”

“Guess I’m chopped liver.” Tony feigned hurt, before whispering the next bit, “Anyways, I’ll fly you there. Keep the love alive.” He spoke at full volume again, “Means the portal won't collapse on itself, like it did at SHIELD. No hard feelings, Point Break. You've got a mean swing. Also, it means the portal can open as wide, and stay open as long, as Loki wants.”

Tony walked over to what I can assume is Fury’s position on the Bridge, “Uh, raise the mid-mast, ship the topsails.” The crew looked at Tony like he’d grown a second head, “That man is playing GALAGA! Thought we wouldn't notice. But we did.” Tony covered one eye and looked around, “How does Fury do this?”

“He turns.” A female agent responded.

I looked at Phil, a light whisper escaping my lips, “Who is she?”

He leaned in, “That’s Agent Hill, sh’s Fury’s right hand.”

“Mhm… thank you.” I gave him a small smile.

Coulson grinned in response, “Never a problem.”

“Well, that sounds exhausting,” Tony said in the most annoying voice he could get away with. “Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty much easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source. A high energy density, something to kick start the cube.”

Agent Hill spoke again, “When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?”

“Last night.” That I could attest to, “The packet, Selvig's notes, the Extraction Theory papers.” It’s always funny when Tony speaks seriously, most of the time I forget he’s a genius, “Am I the only one who did the reading?”

“No, you made me read them too.” I said with a pointed tone.

“Anyone else?” Tony said practically ignoring my comment.

“Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?”

“He's got to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier.“

Ah, yes, words.

“Unless, Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect.”

“Well, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet.”

Wow, those two were made for each other.

“Finally, someone who speaks English.”

Steve looked around, “Is that what happened?”

Tony and the doctor shook hands, “It's good to meet you, Dr. Banner. Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

Banner looked down, “Thanks.”

“Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join him.” Fury says as he walks in.

“Let's start with that stick of his. It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon.” Steve had an obvious bias and curiosity.

“I don't know about that, but it is powered by the cube. And I'd like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

“Monkeys? I do not understand-”

“-I do. I understood that reference.” Thor was cut off by Steve, obviously excited by the fact he understood some of our jargon.

“Shall we play, Doctor?” Tony asked.

“Let’s play some.” Banner responded.

After I waved to Phil I followed Tony and the doctor out of the bridge, hoping to not get lost again.

I had been sitting in a spare chair in the “Science Bro’s” lab for what felt like an eternity. Man, I regret not taking advanced science courses in uni.

“The gamma readings are definitely consistent with Selvig's reports on the Tesseract. But it's gonna take weeks to process.” Bruce, as I had learned, said.

“If we bypass their mainframe and direct a reroute to the Homer cluster, we can clock this around six hundred teraflops.” Tony replied.

The two of them had gotten into a groove. The sounds of the machines whirring in the background made great background noise, so I couldn’t really complain.

“All I packed was a toothbrush.”

“You know, you should come by Stark Towers sometime. Top ten floors, all R&D. You'd love it, it's candy land.”

“Thanks, but the last time I was in New York I kind of broke...Harlem.”

“Well, I promise a stress-free environment. No tension. No surprises.” Tony said as he poked Bruce with a mini-taser.

“OW!!”

Tony studied Bruce for a reaction, “Nothing?”

Steve walked in, “Hey! Are you nuts?”

Tony ignored Steve,” You really have got a lid on it, haven't you? What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?”

“Is everything a joke to you?”

“Funny things are.”

“Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn't funny.” OH, HE DID NOT, “No offense, doctor.”

“No, it's alright. I wouldn't have come aboard if I couldn't handle pointy things.” God bless Dr. Bruce Banner.

“You're tiptoeing, big man. You need to strut.”

“As someone who used to work with far more dangerous people, and teach them too. I concur.”

“Kyrie?” Steve sounded surprised, “And you need to focus on the problem, Mr. Stark.”

“You think I'm not?” Tony pulled out a bag of blueberries from god knows where. “Why did Fury call us and why now? Why not before? What isn't he telling us? I can't do the equation unless I have all the variables.”

“You think Fury's hiding something?”

“He's a spy. Captain, he's the spy. His secrets have secrets. It's bugging him too, isn't it?”

“Can’t argue with Tony this time.”

“Uh...I just wanna finish my work here and…” Bruce fell silent.

“Doctor?”

“‘A warm light for all mankind’ Loki’s jab at Fury about the cube.”

“I heard it.”

“Well, I think that was meant for you. Even if Barton didn't post that all over the news.”

“The Stark Tower? That big ugly,” Tony shoots Steve a glare, “...building in New York?”

“It's powered by Stark Reactors, a self-sustaining energy source. That building will run itself for what, a year?” Bruce turned to Tony.

“That's just the prototype. I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now.”

Bruce looked back at Steve while pointing to Tony, “So, why didn't SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract project? I mean, what are they doing in the energy business in the first place?”

“I should probably look into that once my decryption programmer finishes breaking into all of SHIELD's secure files,” Tony mentions offhandedly.

Steve looked shocked, “I'm sorry, did you say...?”

I let out a breathy laugh, “Yup, it’s at least a weekly occurrence.”

“Jarvis has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours we'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide. Blueberry?”

“Yet you're confused about why they didn't want you around?”

“Oh, no. He’s fully aware, he just finds it funny.”

“An intelligence organization that fears intelligence? Historically, not awesome.”

“I think Loki's trying to wind us up. This is a man who means to start a war, and if don't stay focused, he'll succeed. We have orders, we should follow them.”

“Following is not really my style.” Tony ate a mouthful of blueberries.

“And you're all about style, aren't you?” Steve said, smiling.

“Of the people in this room, which one is; A. wearing a spangly outfit, and B. not of use?” Tony retorted.

“Steve, tell me none of this smells a little funky to you?” Banner tried to push Steve to think.

“Just find the cube.” Steve said before he walked out.

“Well, that went splendidly.” I laughed from my seat. The benefits of being a third party.

“That's the guy my dad never shut up about? Wondering if they shouldn't have kept him on ice.” Tony looked over at me only to be met with a glare.

“The guy's not wrong about Loki. He does have the jump on us.”

“What he’s got is an ACME dynamite kit. It's gonna blow up in his face, and I'm gonna be there when it does.”

“And I’ll read all about it.”

“Uh-uh. You’ll be suiting up like the rest of us.”

“Ah, see. I don't get a suit of armor. I'm exposed, like a nerve. It's a nightmare.”

“You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart.”

“And I knew a kid who could turn himself into a nuke.” Both of the men in the room looked at me, confusion written all over their faces.

“O-kay? Moving on. But you can control it.”

“Because I learned how.”

“It's different.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Not forever at least.” I tried to add, though they seemed to be stuck in their own world again.

“Hey, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should have killed you.”

“So you're saying that the Hulk... the other guy... saved my life? That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?”

A moment passed, “I guess we’ll find out.”

“You might not like that.” Banner sounded scared, scared of himself and scared of whoever the ‘other guy’ was.

“You just might.” I trained Tony well.

[amnyatas]

Wasn't sure where to reply to the post about there not being enough content about the Guild Wars 2 ladies but I will say for me personally, I definitely do tend to prefer playing with, fantasizing about, my male characters more. My experience irl as a woman has been in some areas traumatizing, or there's been a lot of shame associated with concepts I wanted to explore as a character, for example: fighting, sex, being ugly, getting hurt. It feels safer or more comfortable with a male character because it provides a kind of distance that allows me to explore and experiment with feelings and ideas that may not feel safe or open to me as a woman with certain experiences.

Further more, it's hard to identify with Guild Wars 2 female characters, as non of them are allowed to be ugly. Middle age does not exist visually in Guild Wars 2 for (human looking) women, nor do torn ears and split lips. They can't be fat, or even particularly muscular - even if they are a war marshal. You can't look monstrous without it coming across as some kind of joke either. There is a kind of unreality, or an over idealization of female characters in mmorpgs whether it's a lack of customization options, or a lack of down to earth female characters. It always leaves me feeling like they're still forgetting their female player base sometimes. Still, I do have female characters. I keep them pretty private because they feel more personal I guess. I'll try to make more effort to share them.

i really don't even know where to start here but i'll do my best.

i think in general i wasn't clear enough, i don't mean the game is misogynist at its core(or that it isn't), i don't even mean individuals are for the most part, i mean little things like that add up and then we have discourse like people shitting on Eir for being a bad mom (on a poll with Cadeucus like. hello?), but being wholly lenient on Rytlock for being in a similar situation where he was far less responsible. Or Caithe being hated eternally for her egg-tastrophe vs Canach's vigilante streak being widely ignored or joked about.

really, its got nothing to do with personal trauma, i can't tell you how to deal with that and if your way is good or bad for you or anyone else. i had someone approach me because they saw their bad relationship with their mother in Eir and admitted they were taking out personal frustration on a fictional character. we all have issues and hangups and ways of dealing with it, that's not the issue, the issue is if it starts affecting how we treat others because of it.

you don't have to sit and try to appease the criticism i make either, just...think about it?

like honestly bringing up womens' appearance ingame is a valid point if it were actually related to what i was saying, but also none of the men in gw2 are really fat either. its a problem persistent in the wider video game industry, not just gw2--i'm talking specifically about the gw2 fandom on tumblr, and my experiences here. which i'm finding i'm not alone in feeling this way, and its kind of frustrating to have an ask like this show up, missing the point and making it personal. its really not about anyone specific!

maybe i wasn't clear enough but its not a gw2-only problem. its the same thing that happens in every fandom. which doesn't make it right, it just...goes unspoken about and it makes people feel like no one cares.

just asking folks to think about where their biases lie, and hell, not even to stop at how they think about fictional women, keep asking yourself if your hatred or dislike or boredom with a character is because you genuinely feel that way or if you have some internalized things that you maybe need to work through.

[gender-jargon]

[Image ID: the Trinteri pride flag by Gent of Gender-Jargon. The Trinteri flags consists of three down-pointing chevrons of the same size, with negative space above, between and to the left and right bottom corner of the flag. The top negative space is very light green. The left-botton negative space is very light pink. The right-bottom negative space is very light blue. The chevrons from top to bottom are indigo, grey and teal with very very light grey space in between. ./. End ID]

Trinteri: a gender amidst the Gender Trinary; a gender that is centered in the middle of the Male-Female-Neutrois trinary.

[PT: Trinteri: a gender admist the Gender Trinary; a gender that is centered in the middle of the Male-Female-Neutrois trinary. ./. End PT]

Etymology

[PT: Etymology ./. End ID]

From Latin, "Tri-", a prefix meaning "Three" + "Inter" meaning "Between" + "-i", an English neologistic suffix indicating genderness. Literally "between the three". Coined by Gent (Gender-Jargon) (link) in March 2024.

Elaboration

[PT: Elaboration ./. End ID]

Trinteri was created as a result of this post (link) by @your-bigender-big-brother (link). The post posed the question, "what gender quality is right in the center of the trinary?". Most replied, including myself, neutrangity, while others cited epicenity or neutrœmmity, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to feel like these suggested designations were only approximate and didn't quite get to the root of the question.

As Stormy said emself in eir essay (link) ey wrote, the Gender Trinary contains qualities aside from masculinity, femininity and androgyny. Aside from these three, some others are effeminacy, femmulinity, epicenity, neutrommity, neutremmity, neutrœmmity, gynxemity, androxulinity, gyndroxity, neutrangity, tomboyishness and janegirlishness, to name a couple. This got me thinking, which lead me to coin Trinteri as a centrigender that includes the entire Gender Trinary.

Here is the graphic that Stormy included with eir question, which I edited to add Trinteri in the center for reference:

[Image Id: a graphical representation of the Gender Trinary. It is a down-pointing triangle with the left corner labeled "masculine", the right corner labeled "feminine" and the downward-facing point labeled "neutral". Between masculine and feminine, feminine and neutral and masculine and neutral are double-pointing arrows. In the left corner, there is a point labeled "Man". In the right corner, there is a point labeled "Woman". In the downward-facing point, there is a point labeled "Neutrois". Between "Man" and "Woman" is a point labeled "Androgyne". Between "Neutrois" and "Man" is a point labeled "Neutromme". Between "Neutrois" and "Woman" is a point labeled "Neutremme". In the very center, circled and pointed to by a large arrow is a point labeled "Trinteri", which is located at the very center of the diagram. ./. End ID]

I propose the term trinterinity to refer to the quality of gender that is located in the very center of the Gender Trinary. I would be very interested to hear about Stormy's thoughts on this post to see if ey agree, if I missed the mark or if ey have any other kind of feedback for me.

Trinteri is can be considered a midtrinary aporagender. Trinteri is:

a single, specific non-binary identity.

located in the very center of the Gender Trinary of Male-Female-Neutrois.

a centrigender of all trinary gender qualities.

[PT: a single, specific non-binary identity. located in the very center of the Gender Trinary of Male-Female-Neutrois. a centrigender of all trinary gender qualities. ./. End PT]

Trinteri is quite similar to, but distinct from Neutrangi, Neutrœmme and Epicene:

[PT: Trinteri is quite similar to, but distinct from Neutrangi, Neutroemme and Epicene: ./. End PT]

Neutrangi

[PT: Neutrangi ./. End PT]

Neutrangi and Trinteri are both in between Male, Female (rationalized as Androgyne) and Gender-Neutral, but Trinteri is also centered/in between all other trinary genders.

Neutrœmme

[PT: Neutroemme ./. End PT]

Neutrœmme and Trinteri are both in between Male, Female (rationalized as Femache) and Gender-Neutral, but is also centered/in between all other trinary genders.

Epicene

[PT: Epicene ./. End ID]

Epicene is a gender related to Male-Female indeterminance, having characteristics of both Maleness and Femaleness and/or having no characteristics indicative of Maleness or Femaleness. Epicene is a relatively complicated identity, as it can be considered masculine, feminine, androgynous, neutral and a sort of genderless all-in-one.

Both Trinteri and Epicene encompass experiences of masculinity, femininity, androgyny and neutrality, but Trinteri involves all other trinary identities as well. Trinteri is explicitly a centrigender, where as Epicene is generally considered not to be. Epicene is definitively indeterminate with regards to the Male-Female binary, but Trinteri may or may not be indeterminate in it's nature.

Pride Flag

[PT: Pride Flag ./. End PT]

The Trinteri pride flag was created by the coiner at the same time of the term (Gent, GJ, 3/24). The flag consists of three down-pointing chevrons of the same size, with negative space above, between chevrons and to the left and right bottom corner of the flag. The top negative space is very light green. The left-botton negative space is very light pink. The right-bottom negative space is very light blue. The chevrons from top to bottom are indigo, grey and teal with very light grey in between. The colors have the following meanings:

The very light-green negative space represents neutrinity.

The very light-pink negative space represents femininity.

The very light-blue negative space represents masculinity.

The purple chevron represents androgyny.

The grey chevron represents neutremmity.

The teal chevron represents neutrommity.

The very light grey negative space between the chevrons represents the center of the Gender Trinary.

[PT: The very light-green negative space represents neutrinity. The very light-pink negative space represents femininity. The very light-blue negative space represents masculinity. The purple chevron represents androgyny. The grey chevron represents neutremmity. The teal chevron represents neutrommity. The very light grey negative space between the chevrons represents the center of the Gender Trinary. ./. End PT]

[umbralsound-xiv]

Prompt #16 - Third Rate

Character: Eir Age: 86 Location: Nagxia Outskirts, 1547 Sixth Astral Era Warnings: None

The uniform was ill fitting, hanging uncomfortably from his shoulders in an awkward between size that left it a little longer than he'd have liked it to. He mutely wonders if he's the first to wear it, or if some unfortunate soul before him donned it before something... Happened.

He tries not to think about it too much. Nor to look upon the many, many others gathered in some mute procession, instead staring at the floor. He'd not even been given a helmet, not even after they'd cut his hair to a length they'd deemed acceptable enough.

At least, longer than most. He wagers the barber had deemed him a woman, and at least allowed him to retain some semblance of femininity. He wasn't in any hurry to correct her. Or to speak to anyone. He stares at the shape of the shadow beside him; large enough to blot out the sun. He'd hoped he could hide in it, become invisible, somehow.

The shadow belonged to that of Blind Ox; The man who he'd already had so much to thank for, he thought, for at least not letting him be shot in the face not all too long ago. He steals a glance up, terror in his eyes, only to be returned with a small, comforting smile from the larger man. If he could remain with Ox, things would be at least easier to manage, he hoped.

But any semblance of calm Eir had managed to find in the moment is dismissed by the sound of a cry of absolute fury, as a woman in the crowd makes a beeline for him, fists raised.

"[TRAITOR!]" She screams. Eir is too stunned, too surprised to dodge fully, her hand clipping him in the cheek as he's almost pummeled to the ground, managing to backstep in the nick of time. The word she screams at him is spoken in a tongue so old it takes him a moment to realise what she'd said. The air leaves his lungs as he stares to her, terrified; he'd already put his hands up to indicate he hadn't wanted to fight.

She was a Viera, just like him. They were a rare breed anywhere in the world, much less conscripted. But men like himself were rarer still. He doesn't dare reply.

"[YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE TO PROTECT US! WHERE WERE YOU? WHERE WERE YOU!?]" Several people are now holding her back; Ox's looming shadow not far from his side, still. Eir was certain he'd never met this woman before in his life, but there was still a pang of... Something. Guilt?

He was supposed to be a Wood Warder. To protect the forest. To protect his people. Tears had formed in the corners of his eyes, though any sound or words he'd speak sticks neatly in the pit of his throat, too shaken to respond. The woman is dragged away, but the mute sting of the bruise she'd left him is enough of a reminder of the encounter.

He'd have been a poor wood warder even had he remained. He knew that well enough.

And likely, he wasn't about to be much better of a soldier, too.

[e-wills-afterhours]

Heeey. I have a request, Hiccup having phantom pains and Astrid taking care of him? Thanks!

A/N: Sure thing, Nonny. I think I wrote this very oneshot years ago, but I cannot find it, for the life of me. Might as well do an updated version!

And who doesn't love a little Hiccstrid tenderness, amirite?

Our beloved OTP is 17 here. I also seem to be writing a lot of Hiccstrid from the 5-year gap between HTTYD 1 and 2 lately minus RTTE...

Aaaaaand, I'm kind of okay with that right now. I hope you are too.

Rating: T (all of my work pretty much is unless I rate it otherwise)

Just One of Many Things

-------

If Astrid was asked to list all of the things she appreciated about Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, it would be long. Perhaps, equal in length to all of the things that aggravated her about him. Some qualities even held spots in both categories. His stubbornness, for example, could be quite the asset when he was in the right; but just as much a headache when he got stuck on some new harebrained idea.

She loved him, regardless.

Growing up amid dragon raids, she did not understand the old adage "opposites attract." It seemed counterintuitive. What held two people together who could not see eye-to-eye on anything? In those days, there was no one more unsuited for each other's company than she and Hiccup.

But then the fog of war lifted, and she finally saw him for who he was. She came to realize that they had more in common than she dared to imagine. They wanted the same things, from the world and each other; albeit their approaches were drastically different. Therein lied their beautiful counterbalance. Everything she needed was within his capacity to give.

He was patient and kind, slow to anger, and remarkably intelligent--almost frighteningly so. Generous with his resources and abilities, she seldom had to ask him for anything he hadn't already thought to provide. He was the calm to her storm.

But true to form, some of his other admirable qualities irked her as much as they endeared him to her--and in that moment, his fierce independence was the bane of her existence. He had a pesky habit of refusing to ask for help, even if he needed it.

The more she pressed him for the truth, the more he denied the extent of the problem.

"Just because you can suffer in silence, doesn't mean you have to," she huffed, arms folded. "You're not winning any prizes."

"I'm fine," he insisted, through gritted teeth as he limped toward the hearth, all but dragging his prosthetic along.

His gait was always the slightest bit uneven, ever since the Red Death took his left leg. One needed a keen eye to notice it; he had adapted so quickly. It made his exaggerated lurches all the more pronounced and worrisome as he braced himself against the mantle.

"You're in pain," she said, frowning deeply.

"It's just a little burning," he replied with a feeble smile, the faintest edge in his voice.

Astrid could make out the beads of sweat glistening on his brow and upper lip from across the room. The crackling fire illuminated them clearly.

"Hiccup, there's nothing there to burn," she retorted, pointing to his metal appendage.

He let out a dry laugh. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

Astrid clicked her tongue. Unlike him, she was prone to impatience. She strode across the room and grabbed him by the shoulders. With a sweep of a well-placed boot to the ankle, she kicked his good and steady leg out from underneath him. Looping one arm beneath his, she guided his fall and avoided further injury as he crumpled to the floor.

"Frigg og Eir!" Astrid, he hissed when he landed. "You don't have to kick my leg out from underneath me! I only have just the one!"

She crouched down in front of him, her expression flat. "At least your sense of humor's still intact."

"Are you going to be kicking that out from me next?" he asked, indignant.

She sighed and sat back on her knees. Her face softened when she considered his labored breathing and clenched fists. His mouth was a tight, thin line as he tried to force the pain down where she wouldn't see. But the suffering was plain in his eyes.

"Please, let me help you," she murmured, placing a hand on his knee. "I want to do this. Just...tell me how."

He paused for a beat, then said, "You really don't have to--"

"Hiccup...," and his name was a soft plea on her lips; one he never could resist.

A drop of sweat trickled down from his temple. He stared at her. There was obvious tension in his neck and shoulders. His left leg jutted out stiffly in front of him while he leaned back. It was as if he thought distance from his metal leg my improve things.

He finally relented with a shuddering exhale.

"Okay." He sat up a little straighter and repeated with more conviction, "Okay."

Astrid gently unfastened his prosthetic and set it aside. Not too long ago, he would have never allowed such a thing--to spare her from his indignity, or some such nonsense. But she never cared, and he had come to accept that. A quarter or more of the adults on Berk had some sort of fake extremity: battle scares of a bygone era. Nothing about Hiccup could ever repulse her. After all, she had grown up alongside Snotlout and the twins; and nothing was sacred anymore.

"When was the last time this happened?" she asked as she rolled his pantleg up over his knee.

"Months ago," he replied, teeth clenched. He breathed through the pain, nostrils flaring. "I don't remember. It's been that long."

"What now?" she asked, holding what remained of his lower leg in her hands.

He betrayed himself with a small whimper, then gestured vaguely at the kitchen. "There's a cloth or a rag. Boiled water on the pot on the table. Should just be warm now."

Astrid filled in the blanks, which wasn't difficult. She got up at once to fetch the rag and took it over to the pot of water that had more than likely been boiled for tea, or some other herbal concoction. With caution, she tested the temperature of the water with the knuckle of her pinky finger. Deciding it was no longer scalding, as Hiccup had said, she dunked the rag in. The excess water, she wrung back into the pot.

"Do I lay it on, or do I wrap it?" she asked, returning to where her boyfriend sat on the floor.

"Wrap it," he replied. Then, with a weak grin, he added, "Please."

Astrid nodded and wrapped the warm rag around the stump of his leg with great care, covering as much of the residual calf muscle as possible. She gave his leg the tenderest squeeze.

He let out a groan, head falling back as he supported his weight on his hands.

"No good?" Astrid asked in alarm. "Is it too hot?"

"It hurts, but it's perfect."

She wrinkled her nose. "What?"

"Do...that again," he said, making a kneading motion in the air with his hands.

"Massage?"

"Yes. But it sounds better when you say it."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "You're such a dork. I mean, truly-- the smartest dumbass I've ever known."

He flashed her a genuine smile then laid all the way back on the floor. She settled in a crossed-legged position and massaged the length of his lower leg, up to the knee, over the warm rag.

They stayed in comfortable silence apart from the occasional pop and hiss from the fire. Hiccup, lying down with his eyes closed, and Astrid, tending to the stump in her lap. It was peaceful and uniquely intimate. She'd keep at it all night to take his pain away, if he only asked, but she knew he never would. So, she did what she could for him in that late hour, running her thumbs to the bend of his knee with steady pressure. Followed by long, kneading strokes back down to the end of his limb, where thick ribbons of scar tissue and mangled remnants of flesh all came together, long stitched off. She wondered how much of her touch he could still feel. He had never told her.

She wondered vaguely if her parents were expecting her home. Time was of little consequence whenever they were alone together. The minutes either crawled or flew by; it didn't really matter either way. All Astrid cared about was easing some of the burden he carried. To help, to do something for him, was all she ever wanted.

Hiccup's breathing eventually evened out. His skin was no longer adorned with sweat, and all the tension had left his body. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was asleep.

"Hiccup?" she asked, cutting through silence, and it was almost jarring.

"Hm?" he replied, opening his eyes to meet her gaze.

"Does the pain always feel the same? Like your leg's on fire, I mean."

He thought for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then answered, "Yes. It happens far less often now than it did in the beginning. But the feeling is always the same. Maybe slightly less intense, but I can't recall."

Astrid shook her head. To imagine a sudden and unexpected sensation of one's own flesh burning was horrific.

"Well, that's awful," she muttered.

He shrugged. "Gobber told me this 'phantom pain' happens more often in the first few years. I might get to a point where it doesn't happen anymore. Or it could happen randomly and infrequently for the rest of my life. Who knows."

"I just...hate that it has to be you."

A silence fell over them again, much heavier than the last. He studied her all the while, his eyes appearing impossibly warmer in the firelight.

He sat up slowly. "I'm alright now. You can stop." When she shot him a skeptical look, he insisted, "Honestly, it's passed. These episodes don't last forever."

She sighed and handed him his metal leg, which he took after rolling his pantleg back down. The speed and finesse with which he reattached was always interesting--but what was more remarkable was that he never complained. Not once, that she had ever heard. Yet, he had brought peace to their island, and he saved the people that had chided him for years--but no one else lost limbs in that fight. Just one boy and his dragon, against an ancient monster, risking everything to stop the cycle of fire and death that plagued their people for centuries. The exchange seemed one-sided; that he should still experience echos of pain from that day, was a terrible injustice in her eyes.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asked.

He glanced up, brow furrowed, as if the question itself was confusing.

"The Red Death is gone. The dragons are free. Berk is safer for our people and our dragons. You're safer." He took her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. With the utmost assuredness, he answered, "No. I don't regret it. Not for a moment."

She closed her eyes and leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

"You're unbelievable, Hiccup Haddock," she said. "Completely unbelievable."

"I thought that's what you love about me."

"Just one of many things," she murmured against his lips, and he smiled.

[fideidefenswhore]

@katherynparr

Seeing the top 3 right now I wholly agree.

our minds...

[jaz-it-up]

oh yeah i meant to send this! can you write something about scar and joe? platonic, romantic, or somewhere in-between are all fine

"So... which one do I look at?"

"The puppet!" The cheerfulness in Joe's tone was clear as glass, despite the inability to change expression due to being made of felt. "Don't mind the body. That's technically also me, but I'm not too sure whether I'm getting back into that anymore."

"Back into... your body," Scar clarified.

"Yep!" Joe nodded, strings of yarn-hair falling into eir face. "Keralis was right, y'know. Being a puppet is way easier than keeping up with the countless needs of the flesh."

Joe said that like Scar didn't know that, in a much worse sense. Ey said that like Scar didn't live for years with a mask on his face, sinking its little claws deeper and deeper into his soul until they were inseparable; like Scar was unaware of how dragging a corpse felt, especially your own.

"I can imagine," Scar replied, because he knew if he said anything else he would maybe start breaking down and make this whole thing much more awkward than it needed to be.

"You ought to give it a try sometime," Joe offered. "Becoming a felt puppet. Or a sock puppet. Or any kind of fabric puppet, really. Only if you want to, though. You seem to be thinking awfully loud in a language I don't think you want me to understand."

If Scar hadn't already been sitting in his wheelchair, he'd have sat right down on the grass by his train and just... stared into the distance. Did Joe really know what he was thinking? Did ey happen to guess based on prior experience?

What a strange puppet, that Joe Hills. A strange, strange puppet.

[villainousshakespeare]

Therapy Fit for a God Chapter 27

“Loki/OFC Rated E: Trigger Warnings: Smut, Sex, Oral Sex, Angst, talk of suicide, therapy, unhealthy family dynamics, mention of torture and mind control, touch starved, drinking, memory loss.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26

Loki’s plans to conquer and rule Midgard have come to a disastrous end. After being captured by the Avengers, he is being held on Earth. Odin has refused to interfere, and the outlook for the God of Mischief appear bleak. His only hope may lie in one mortal woman, a Psychiatric expert brought in to interrogate him.

Dr. Caroline Thorpe is intrigued by Loki and thinks that more lies beneath his actions than is commonly known. Can she find out the truth before he is shipped off to die for crimes against the Earth? And can Loki bring himself to care?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @yespolkadotkitty@maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @ghostypau @ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @mareebird @colorfulfreakstudentpizza  @szycha22 @chokemedaddyloki @queenofallhobos @just-the-hiddles-reads  @alwida10  @justjoanne242 @chantsdemarins @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokiprompts @evieplease @unlucky-number-13 @bitchassbecky691 @georges-left-ear

Eir was an imposing looking woman. Easily over six feet tall and crowned with a cap of snow white hair over steel grey eyebrows, she looked more like a general than a healer and tended to run her medical team accordingly. Loki had always had a great deal of respect for her, but he also found himself unaccountably ill at ease in her presence.

They were seated in his mother's study having gathered to discuss, much to his irritation, Loki's condition. Eir was the last to arrive, entering with the air of one barely humoring her inferiors. This look was lessened slightly as she nodded deferentially to Frigga but returned in double intensity as her eyes swung to Loki and Caroline.

"Thank you, gracious Eir, for agreeing to meet with us at this late hour," Frigga said, indicating a high-backed chair similar to the one in which she sat.

"When the AllMother calls, it is our duty to answer," she replied, sitting bolt straight in the chair, back not touching the carved wood. "The young Prince looks to be healing nicely from his wounds. I sense no lasting cellular deterioration beyond the elasticity which he always has possessed."

Her words were clipped, spoken in a deep, resonant voice. It was all Loki could do to keep himself from slipping back into the posture of the boy saw him as, slouching down to draw less attention to himself. To say the healing goddess had intimidated Loki, Thor, and their friends would hardly be stretching the truth.

"Indeed, his injury seems to be well on the mend," Frigga smiled.

"Pardon me, dear ladies. Do you think you might consider talking to me? I am in the room after all,” Loki asked with a look of false courtesy plastered on his face. His self respect, after all, would not allow them to completely send him scurrying back to the school room.

"Loki, behave yourself," Frigga chastised him gently, causing his eyes to roll.

"You see, they treat me as a child," he complained to Caroline who gave him a small smile of commiseration.

"That is what you are, comparatively," Eir said, though no intended offense was detectible in her voice. "I had lived two lives before you were even born."

"I must be an infant then," Caroline said weakly.

It was a valiant attempt, and he admired her for finding her voice among such imposing women, but Eir was ancient even by Asgardian standards.

"Less than that," the healer turned her ice grey eyes on Caroline. "You are the blink of an eye, a wave on the shore. Here now, but soon gone with barely a trace to show you existed at all."

Sitting close to her on the sofa, Loki could not help but feel the wince that Caroline tried to hide from the room. Knowing what a slap that sentence would be, squeezed her hand in support. To Hel with Eir and her superior manner. Caroline deserved better.

"Dr. Thorpe has made more of an impact on me in the past month than all the population of the Citadel of Asgard did in my entire life," Loki defended Caroline, glaring at the woman who had saved his life.

"Has she? May I ask in what way? I am curious about the lasting effects of Midgardian exposure."

To left, Caroline smothered a laugh. Alarmed at first that something was wrong with her - a reaction to all of stress he had put her through would not be out of place - he belated realized with surprise that her humor was genuine. Something clicked inside Loki's brain. Caroline had looked at Eir, a Goddess who terrified most of Asgard, and realized the truth of her. The woman was not trying to be rude or offensive, not a bit. She simply looked at the world in through a scientific lens rather than an emotional one. Eir was legitimately intrigued by their connection. She would probably like to take Loki and Caroline's clasped hands and study them under a microscope.

"Well, young prince?" Eir prodded again. "What changes did the Midgardian girl make on you?"

"Well, that is just the problem," Loki sighed with a rueful smile. "I don't seem to remember."

"The spell we wove, clouding the disruptive memories," Frigga jumped in to explain. "It seems we obscured more than we intended."

"Ah. I see. The brain is a complicated piece of machinery, and we were pressed for time, if you recall. Had he woken up again and continued to fight his recovery, he may not have had enough energy left to heal."

"I do recall," Frigga's voice trembled a bit at the memory. "I am not reprimanding you, or myself, Eir."

"I should hope not. How much time has he lost?"

"A year or more," Loki answered for himself, the barest trace of annoyance in his tone, even though Eir looked at his mother. "I have no firm recollection of anything between Thor's would-be coronation and waking up in the infirmary."

"Well, a year is hardly so great a matter. It may come back eventually. Or not. It is difficult to say."

"It was a rather significant year," Frigga put a slight emphasis on her words that added to Loki's misgivings.

"Meeting a Midgardian woman hardly seems significant to me."

"And your opinion of it seems even less so to me," Loki snarled. Quirk of nature or not, he would not allow anyone to disrespect Caroline.

"Loki," Frigga admonished with a glance. "As much as I am sure Dr. Thorpe was important to my son, there were other things that transpired that may hold more wide scale significance."

Ah yes, the mysterious other things. Loki stole looks at his mother and the healer under lowered lids. What was it that had them all so on edge? He knew from what Thor and his idiot friends had let slip that he had committed some errors in judgement in regard to Midgard, but instinct told him that this was not the extent of his actions. Torture had been alluded to, as well as some sort of break down. The more he heard of his lost year, the more anxious it made him.

"Frigga, have you seen Thor? Ah, Eir, what brings you here this time of night?"

The door to the study slammed open and a man strode in. Considering he had entered without so much as a knock or a by your leave, there was only one person this could be. Not that Loki needed to know that to recognize his father.

Odin was huge, not just in stature, but in presence. Burly in a similar manner to Thor, if perhaps not in such dramatically fit shape, his presence made the room feel as though it had shrunk to half the size. His hair was mixture of white and grey, with a few dark strands showing the color it once had been. One eye hid behind a golden eyepatch, permanently affixed to his face, but the other shrewd orb seemed to hold a stormy sky tossing in its depths. A similar storm surrounded him, it always seemed to Loki. He radiated an energy that pulsed through the room, commanding all attention rest immediately on him.

"AllFather," Eir greeted Odin, nodding from where she sat. Even she sounded deferential when she spoke to Odin.

"My queen is not unwell, I trust?" Odin's eyes flicked from Eir to Frigga, concern clouding them.

"I am fine," Frigga brushed off his worry. "We are discussing Loki."

"Good evening, Father," Loki stood to acknowledge his sire, bringing Caroline to her feet with him as he was not about to drop her hand now.

"What has he done now?" Odin demanded. "You are awake, I see."

"I am. Your well wishes are much appreciated," Loki couldn't resist from adding in the last words.

"Loki has not done anything," Frigga told her irritable spouse.

"Well, there is a first time for everything," Odin said with a hard look at Loki.

"You are not being fair, father," he said with the merest hint of a smirk. "At least half of the time it was Thor's fault."

"SILENCE!" Odin shouted, causing Caroline to let out a squeak she would be relieved to know only he could hear. "Now, would someone tell me what I walked in on?"

"Loki has lost some of his memories," Frigga said, shooting Loki a look when he opened his own mouth. "It is a side effect from the spell Eir and I wove on him."

"The Princeling is missing approximately a year of time," Eir added.

"Considering how he spent that year, I would think that would be all to the better," Odin opined, making him even more uneasy about his deeds. "If he is truly innocent, or at least not culpable for his actions as you claim, then it is better to let the unpleasantness lie in the past and hope we all forget it."

"That is the worst thing you could possibly do!"

Loki heard the words ring out in Caroline's clear voice. If he could have jumped in front of her and stuffed them back in he would have. Odin's eye, dark with anger at being gainsaid, swung to pin her to the carpet like a bug in one of Eir's experiments.

"And who is this person who dares contradict me in my own palace?"

"A Midgardian woman the Prince has befriended," Eir was the first to answer in a voice that said she was impervious to the tension crackling in the room. "He claims she is important for some reason, though I have yet to discover how."

"Caroline is my consort," Loki said boldly, puffing out his chest and hoping he sounded confident.

"A Midgardian woman? Consort to a Prince of Asgard? Don't be absurd. Call one of the guards and have her escorted to a room in the servants' quarters at once. We can send her home on the morrow."

"If Caroline goes, I go," Loki was angry now, and used it find the confidence he had never had to stand up to his father head on. "I am in love with her."

"He is obviously more disturbed in the head than you led me to believe," Odin said to Frigga.

"Dr. Caroline is a brave woman who saved Loki's life. Thor told me all about it today when we went to retrieve her. Perhaps we should hear her out." Frigga defended her, surprising Loki himself with the revelation. How had Caroline managed to do that? What other secrets did this wonderful woman hold?

"Regardless, she knows nothing of these matters. Her opinion is irrelevant."

"On the contrary," Caroline countered, taking a step forward. "I know a great deal. Loki and I have spoken at length, before he lost his memories, about what he was put through. I would go as far as to say that at this moment I know more about the situation than anyone alive. What's more, I have made the study and aid of trauma victims my life's work."

Loki stared at Caroline with love and admiration as she locked eyes, or eye, with his domineering father. Few even among the other Gods would dare to stand up to the AllFather when he was in a temper, and here was a diminutive mortal doing just that. He was immensely proud of her.

"Your life's work," Odin mocked. "A child on Asgard would have studied longer."

"Yes, we have already been through the disparaging of my age," she said. "I admit that my life is short by comparison, but I believe in this one matter if nothing else my expertise should be respected."

"You talk of respect - "

"Father - "

"My love," Frigga cut through Odin's next growl and Loki's protestation. "I believe we should listen to her. Just hear her out. After all, what harm could it do? If she fails to convince us, we have lost nothing. On the other hand, if it could harm Loki or anyone else to keep his memories buried, better to find out how and deal with the problem."

Loki held his breath, waiting to see if Frigga's calm and common sense would carry the day over her husband's pride. Sometimes it did, but not always by a long shot.

"Very well," Odin agreed at last. "We will here this person out. But I warn you, my decision will be final."

"Of course," Frigga assuaged him.

Loki didn't say that regardless of what Odin decided he would stop at nothing to recover his memories, but he was fairly certain everyone in the room knew it to be true. He bit his tongue instead as his parents seated themselves in the highbacked chairs that were not quite thrones.

"Loki, you should wait outside."

Caroline spoke so softly to him that at first he thought he must have misheard her. Surely, she did not expect him to leave her to face his father's wrath without him? Did she thing him such a coward?

"I most certainly will not," he insisted.

"We need to discuss what you have been through," she said practically. "Part of my concern is about the way in which you find out what you are missing. For you to hear it baldly discussed would be particularly cruel."

"I can deal with whatever it is."

"You could, but you shouldn't have to. Please, Loki. You have been torn apart once already by this. There is no need to have it go that way again."

"Dr. Caroline is right, Loki," Frigga echoed.

"Why don't you come into the next room with me, Princeling. I will look into your brain and see if I can determine just where the edges of our spell lie, in case we want to attempt to alter it."

"I do not like this," Loki looked from one of them to the next, eyes landing last on Carolines.

"I promise she will be fine, Loki," his mother assured him. "I will look after her."

"I am not a damsel in need of rescuing, Loki. This is my job. Please, let me do it."

"I will be just next door," he said reluctantly.

"I am hardly going to harm the girl," Odin grumbled.

Ignoring his father, Loki searched Caroline's eyes one last time before sighing in defeat. She was right. If he had really shared his story with her, she was the best equipped to decide what to do. He just wished he could spare her the unpleasantness of a confrontation with his father. Leaning down, he gave her a long, lingering kiss. He had meant it as a show of loyalty for the others in the room, but the moment his lips met hers he forgot them.

"Come along boy, you have made your point," Eir interrupted.

"Call out if you need."

As Caroline nodded, eyes slightly glassy, Loki reluctantly allowed Eir to lead him from the room.

***

Caroline's father had warned her that someday her need to ease the emotional pain of others despite the circumstances would land her in hot water over her head. Well, it didn't get much hotter than where she was now.

The departure of Loki and Eir had left her alone in a room on an alien planet (that she wasn't even sure actually was a planet) with her lover's parents, beings of immense powers who had inspired the gods of ancient Earth societies. It was all a little daunting to say the least.

"Very well," Odin grumbled, pinning her to the spot with his one eye. "Let's get this over with. You will tell us everything that Loki said to you, leaving not out a word out."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I cannot do that," she replied automatically, taken aback by the brusque request.

"I do not understand," the God glared at her. "I thought that was the reason we were allowing you to remain."

"Perhaps you can explain what you mean, Dr. Caroline," Frigga suggested with an encouraging smile.

"Loki is - was my patient," she tried to keep her voice professional. "As such, some of the details of what we spoke about are confidential. Ethics will not permit me to share them with anyone."

"Your ethics are of no concern to me. We are dealing with the safety of whole realms."

"They may not concern you, your Majesty, but they are of great concern to me," Caroline shot back, before taking a deep breath. "I cannot tell you word for word what Loki said, but I can discuss matters in general."

"Go on," Frigga said, as her husband just glowered. "Though some of it I have pieced together. He was tortured?"

"He was. For months on end. I do not know, and I do not wish to know, all of the ways in which he was tormented, but I do know that included mental and emotional torture as well as the physical. Loki was broken down bit by bit by someone who knew exactly how turn someone's mind, a creature he referred to as The Other, in service of Thanos."

"The Mad Titan!" Odin seemed interested now. "He was involved in all of this?"

"He was," she nodded. "His children abducted Loki and he used The Other, with the help of one of the Infinity Stones, to bend Loki to his will."

"The Mind Stone," Frigga said. "Thor told us it was in the scepter Loki used in his invasion."

"The invasion was guided by Thanos through the Mind Stone," Caroline went on. "I believe Loki was fighting against it as much as he could."

"I did wonder how one I trained could be so clumsy," Odin said grudgingly. "The Mind Stone is a powerful tool."

"I have had some small experience with it. Nothing compared to what Loki endured, I was only possessed for a matter of minutes, but it was the worst thing I have ever experienced."

"You were possessed by the stone and survived with your mind intact?" Odin sounded marginally impressed.

"Only thanks to Loki. He had prepared me for what might happen, and when I could not prevent it he sacrificed himself for me. That is how he came to be injured."

She couldn't quite bring herself to confess to Loki's disapproving father that he had sacrificed himself by jumping in front of a gun and allowing her to shoot him. He already had reasons enough to dislike her.

"If what you say is true, then perhaps Loki is not to be blamed for the battle on Midgard. While I am disappointed that he would be careless enough as to fall prey to the Mad Titan, once subjected to the Mind Stone even Thor might have difficulty resisting its urges."

Caroline almost bit a hole in her tongue at that. Thor was physically strong, but compared to Loki his mind was that of a child. He would have been easy pickings for the jewel.

"I did not think the details we heard of the invasion sounded like our son," Frigga agreed with Odin, tactfully ignoring the second part of his statement.

"I still do not see the current difficulty," Odin said. "You claim to care about Loki; why would you wish him to have to remember the pain and torment you say he endured?"

"If it was only the torture and invasion he had forgotten, I might agree with you," Caroline struggled not to take offence. "But we all know there was more. The memory loss goes back further, to the day of Thor's coronation."

"What of it?" Odin crossed his arms across his chest, in a gesture Caroline had seen Loki mirror many times before.

"Loki has forgotten he is Jotun," Caroline said baldly, deciding the best way was to rip off the band aid.

"He told you, did he?" Odin's words were laced with contempt.

"He did. But even had he not, it was in his SHIELD folder that I was given at the start of our sessions. Thor apparently informed his fellow Avengers when they were attempting to form a defense plan against him."

"Damnation!" Odin growled, banging his fist on the arm of the chair.

"The secret is out, your Majesty. Earth knows. From what I have gathered, many people on Asgard know. The lie of him being your son is no more."

"He is my son!" Odin shouted, face turning red.

"Then perhaps you should have treated him as such!" Caroline snapped back.

He was an innocent, and brilliant, and longing for love and you treated him like a possession. You never thought to look at the potential locked within and find a way to help it to bloom. You took him into your home and your family, you should not have done that if you were not willing to open your heart to him as well. The words screamed in her head unspoken, but she was sure her face said them all.

"How dare you!"

"Odin, please!" Frigga placed her hand on his arm. "Caroline, despite what you may believe, we raised Loki as our child."

"But he was not born your child," she replied, getting a handle on her emotions, "and he found this out in the worst way possible. There was no one for him to talk to about it. Thor was gone, his father was incapacitated, and you were tending to him. Loki's entire world was broken, and he had to deal with it all alone."

"I admit, the timing was not ideal," his mother said in an extreme understatement.

"That knowledge is still there, somewhere in his psyche. He may not be consciously aware of it, but on some level Loki knows. On some level, he probably has always known. It was difficult, but I was finally beginning to convince him that this truth did not make him a monster, condemned to be alone and hated."

"Thank you," Frigga said simply.

"It was my pleasure. I would have done as much for anyone, but Loki is special."

"He is."

"If we keep this knowledge from him, particularly when everyone else is beginning to know, I worry what will happen this time when he finds out. All of the work we have done to get him over the worst of his self-hatred will have been for nothing. The last time he learned of his true origins, he descended into an identity crisis that led to an attempt on his own life followed by the lives of millions. Don't put him and those around him in that danger again."

[dinnerbug]

An introduction

(Because I just noticed I haven't done one)

If you can't be bothered to read see highlighted sections for shortened but still understandable information

My name(s): Dinnerbug!

Both just bug or dinner work too if you want to shorten it down, and I'm also very open to Nicknames :D

My pronouns: It's (very) complicated

But to put it short for convenience, pretty much anything but xenopronouns work for me. Though I am quite fond of the sets she/him, he/they, they/it, and e/em/eir specifically

Things I think people should know about me:

I don't care who, what or where you are, I don't care what you believe. As long as what you like, believe, identify as or do doesn't harm anyone (harm anyone innocent that is) then you do you. I'm sick of people bullying eachother over nothing and I've worked on myself to break that mindset of 'I don't like that so it's bad'. To put it short, I'm a very accepting person and I'm only judgemental towards assholes (edited to add this because I feel it's important and I forgot it when I first made this post)

Interacting with people online like this is very much me going outside of my comfort zone, I am very anxious and I have very little self-confidence. If you interact with me in any way, be it a message, comment or ask and I don't reply, I'm probably just drowning in anxiety trying to figure out what to reply with. So if something like that happens I'm so sorry if I respond late, it just takes me time and it is not your fault. Also sometimes I start writing weirdly formally and I have no idea how I developed that habit

Miscellaneous facts: This is gonna be long

I tend to ramble a lot in posts like this I am so so sorry lmao (moved up for convenience)

I am autistic

I am british

I am asexual

I am non-binary

I have aphantasia (it sucks)

I love LORE

My favourite kind of fanfics are the kind where all my relatable favourite characters go through severe emotional turmoil and/or get hit into a wall with great force.

I can ride a bike

My favourite games are Minecraft and Portal 2

I love puzzles

I have an amazingly terrible sleep schedule. I will often be awake until 4am and asleep until 3pm, or often I won't sleep at all

I hope to learn to draw so I can interact with my favourite fandoms better and perhaps even make some friends

My hair is (was* will re-dye it soon) dyed

My favourite colour is black (boring I know)

My favourite word is No

My favourite foods are pizza, pasta, cheese and coconut

I'm very detail oriented

I don't tend to ship characters much

I'm so terrible at introductions that I have to mimic other people's ones and they still end up bad

I am very paranoid

One of my most common nightmare themes are zombie apocalypses, usually triggered by seeing zombie related content online within the past 2 days

Characters with fully black eyes (as in the whole eyeball) make me very uncomfortable and I always avoid eye contact with them

I am also very scared of the dark

Fandoms I'm in and actively interact with: If any fandoms I list here are stereotyped negatively I promise I'm a nice, chill person and I just want to enjoy things peacefully (list may change over time)

Hermitcraft

(my favourite hermits: Grian and Mumbo)

Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

(my favourite characters: Leo and Donnie)

Takin' over the asylum (I AM SO NOT NORMAL ABOUT THIS SHOW)

(my favourite character: CAMPBELL BAIN <3 )

Sonic the hedgehog

(my favourite characters: Shadow, Sonic and Rouge)

Doctor who

(my favourite character (so far): The Doctor)

Ninjago

(my favourite characters: Lloyd, Garmadon and Zane)

[dalmascan-requiem]

Dalmascan Requiem: Dress

(Vierapril Day 25 - Desire)

-------

Dreams can be mirrors of the mind's desires... sometimes literally.

-------

Read on AO3 or keep reading after the jump

content warnings: NSFW 🔞

(vierapril main post)

------

First attempt trying to write something a bit spicier. Still not completely explicit... but not safe for work, lol

"Stop pulling at the fabric! It's expensive!"

"I know! It's just… It's just not covering my–"

"That is the point, Gale! Stop moving, I'm trying to put this eyeliner on–"

Laurent sighs as he listens to the two bickering. After the two were reunited, Gemna had taken Gale under her wing–to "teach him more about espionage" as she said. He never realized the Bangaa had been so adept at gathering information… but in hindsight, it made sense. She did always seem to have a job for him or some lead to track, after all.

And despite being good at the job already, Gale still had much to learn about gathering and selling information. He was receptive to Gemna's help and advice, and though it's only been a few months, Gale's been putting the lessons to good use.

But they had rather… assertive personalities, so every lesson came with a healthy dose of bickering and in-fighting. It gives me such a headache…

"So, Laurent, how do I look?"

"Hm?" He looks over to the other Viera, and his frustration quickly turns to shock.

Gale's black dress was simple, but it clung to his figure in all the right places, and the long skirt had a slit that cut all the way to his waist. It easily drew the eyes to his legs and hips, made all the more distracting thanks to the high heels he confidently was wearing. 

I've never seen someone so beautiful before…

"...Laurent?" Gale frowns slightly at him, the faintest hint of nervousness crossing his face. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh! No, you…" Hells, how long had I been staring? What is wrong with me? "...you look good, Gale."

Gale smiles a little but doesn't say anything in reply, nor does the unease leave his expression. I think I upset him, but…

"Gods, Laurent, you'd think complimenting the man is torture the way you're acting." Gemna comes out of the other room and rolls her eyes at Laurent.

"It's not that, Gemna, I just wasn't… used to…"

"Don't mind him, Gale, you look great. I'm sure Laurent agrees. Don't you?" Gemna gives him a look that says you'd best shut up and nod, and he gives a quick nod in response.

"Good. Now, Laurent, you need to keep an eye on him while he's out tonight. The outfit doesn't leave room to conceal a weapon, so he'll be hard-pressed to defend himself should something happen."

"Right, of course."

"Well, I imagine it won't be too hard to watch Gale tonight anyway, looking as nice as he does. Just don't forget your job." Gemna laughs as she heads back into the other room, and Gale's expression turns to vague confusion as he looks back toward Laurent.

Seven hells, this woman… Laurent pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Let's head out, Gale. I'll be right behind you."

~~~

Laurent sinks onto the couch, too tired to head to his bedroom. We're finally done… The job went well and without incident, but it took longer than anticipated–and spending that much time on high alert had been exhausting.

He covers his eyes with an arm and sighs. He thought he heard Gale said something, but he didn't hear what and mumbled a non-commital response before closing his eyes.

"Reyna…?"

"Hm?" Laurent moves his arm and turns to Gale, who was hovering nearly–and he was suddenly reminded of how sexy he looks in that godsdamn dress. "O-oh… What is it, Eir?"

"Are you alright?" Gale sits next to Laurent on the couch, and he's all too aware of the other Viera's thigh pressing against him.

Eir's probably upset with how I've been acting… But I can't just tell him he's so beautiful it's distracting. "I'm fine, Eir, simply tired."

"Oh, is that all?" Laurent might have missed the playful tone in Gale's voice, but he did not miss Gale's hand finding its way onto his inner thigh. "I believe I know the solution to that…"

"Eir, what are you doing–"

Gale gently places a finger on Laurent's lips. "I know what you want. It's writ clear on your face." Gale chuckles as he moves closer, and emerald eyes glint as he drops his voice to a whisper. "What if I told you I want the same?"

He can't mean… no, I'm misunderstanding something. He's just teasing me, or… Gods can he move his hand!? "Eir, I-I…"

"You don't need to talk." Gale traces his fingers down Laurent's chest before gently pushing him into the cushions. "Just enjoy it."

Gale gives him a deep, passionate kiss, then quickly gets to work on removing Laurent's jacket. While this was more than he ever dreamed of, it all seemed rather sudden. W-why is this happening n–

Laurent's thoughts are interrupted when Gale tilts his chin up, and he loses himself in those deep green eyes. "You needn't think so hard. At least, not with that head." Gale chuckles at his joke, then begins kissing him again, leaving faint marks of lip color from Gale's makeup along his neck and shoulders. Gods, his fingers, his lips, his… everything…

After a moment, Gale places a hand on Laurent's lower abdomen, causing his breath to hitch. "May I?" He stops, searching Laurent's face for any sign of discomfort or objection. When he receives a nod in response, however, Gale smiles and wastes no time on working to unlace Laurent's pants.

"Reyna, you know, all these years…" Gale leans into him and lifts his gaze again, a look of lust crossing his features. "...all I ever wanted…" He finishes unlacing, then moves his hand under the fabric, stopping tantalizingly close his shaft.

"...was you."

~~~

Laurent wakes with a small start. Huh? He pulls himself up from the cushions of the couch. Hells… He takes stock of his surroundings. Alone. All clothes in place. Sunlight just beginning to peek through the windows. It was a dream… Gods…

It was then he spotted something on the table nearby–a bowl of fruit, and a note.

You fell asleep as soon as we got back, and I didn't want to wake you. Be sure to eat while you can, you looked flushed. - Gale

I looked flushed… Can't imagine why. Laurent scoffs sarcastically as he grabs a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl. This man… he will be the death of me.

[i-mybrunettelady]

Life moves on

Summary: Life’s a lot like climbing. You have to just keep going. But as Braham can attest, not always alone. Sometimes your mate comes with you. Content warnings: None Rating: General Spoilers: Vague spoilers for LWS4 Author’s note: As is by this point an annual tradition, I write a lil something for one of my fave seasonal events in the game. This time around, it’s Sanne and Braham.

When Sanne suggested they go to the Labyrinthine Cliffs, Braham knew what he was getting into. They weren’t going for the sights, nor the beach, nor the wide expanse of clear sea water. No, they’re going so his mate could throw herself off high cliff edges on griffons so she can fly with her birds. 

He’s since learned to accept it for what it is. He knows the Spirits will keep her safe; they owe him as much at the very least. And her, too. A part of him stops whenever he sees her head disappear, but comes back to itself when he hears her laughter from somewhere down below, loud and boisterous. And it makes him smile. Because it always does. 

Because it means his sacrifice was worth it.

Thus, they’re the highest cliff they could find in Labyrinthine Cliffs, the birds flying over their heads. The fresh sea air tickles at their hair, there’s sounds of life and joy everywhere and the roar of people as they look for little satchels of loot. Braham studies them as much as he’s able to from his position. 

“You’re gonna lose the race,” Sanne reminds him and he snaps his head forward. A ray of sunlight obscurs the most of her freckles, but sheds light on the wide, grinning corner of lips and the long, golden braids on the side of her head. The rest of her hair falls on her back and reaches past her hips, and it sways in the breeze. She looks so at ease there, radiant, the exposed skin of her body strong and taut and ready for action. 

“Oh no,” Braham laughs and climbs up. Gemma gives a screech of disapproval from somewhere above. “You’re not winning this one, Bjornsdottir. You won last time. It’s time you tasted some dust.” 

“In your dreams, Eirson!” she shouts back, trying to maintain her advance. And then, just for the hell of it, she starts humming a song she knows he absolutely abhors. Braham frowns. Not even Aisanne, the famed skaald from Hoelbrak, can make that particular tune good. 

It’s apparently the three seconds she needs to get a few steps ahead of him and the song abruptly stops. Smart, Braham thinks with not a lot of annoyance. Boy, her raven, flies over Braham’s face and gives him a quick look. In the last few months, he’s starting to have a communication of sorts with her birds. 

Yes, yes, I know Raven’s happy and proud. You’re a good bird, though. 

Boy makes a noise and flaps his wings. Their loyalty - his, Soar’s and Gemma’s - reminds him a lot of Garm. These days, it doesn’t hurt to think of Eir as much. Garm’s there to try and chase the lingering, unanswered questions away. There are other, painful thoughts, but Eir feels more like a healing scar than an open wound.

Life moves on, after all. Doesn’t wait for anyone. It didn’t wait for Nyra after Maguuma. It didn’t wait for Taimi after Joko almost killed her. It didn’t wait for Rox when her warband died. It didn’t wait for Sanne when her uncle died. Instead, they all just climb on - a flash of yellow up ahead, pale hairs of Sanne’s leg - and like his friends, like his mate, he climbs on too. 

Sanne wins by a small margin, though. She wipes the sweat of her forehead and places her hands on her hips as Gemma elegantly flies down on her shoulder. “Who’s eating dust now, Eirson?” she asks proudly. Boy and Soar settle by her feet, keeping close. 

“Two to one for you,” Braham declares. “Oh, I’m gonna get you for this. I was having very deep thoughts and that stopped me from winning. Next time, no deep thoughts, only victory.”

“The festival’s just begun,” she replies. There’s a joyful gleam in her eye. “And there are skimmer races. Don’t give a fuck about other contenders if you’re competing. We’re keeping a score, Braham. Do you really want to tell Garm I beat you here?” 

“Garm has seen me in much worse states, admittedly,” he says slowly, “but I do want to lay the wreath of victory at his feet.” His voice turns quieter, softer, then. “I don’t think he’ll mind whoever wins, Sanne. We’re all together in this.” 

Gemma hoots. Sanne takes a deep breath and strokes her beak. “Possessive little bird,” she says, but there’s nothing but fondness in her voice. “We’re a family, yeah. All six of us. And my parents. And aunts and uncles. And my cousins. Family.”

She then raises a hand and whispers something to the wind. Within minutes, a large griffon with dark feathers and a saddle flies to their rock, announcing its arrival in a loud yell. She gently places Gemma down with Boy and Soar and climbs on the griffon, petting its neck. 

She then turns to Braham, smiles softly, and says, “See you down, Eirson. I gotta take the children out for a flight.” Then she’s down and for a moment, his heart skips a beat. He then sees the flag of her golden hair out against the sunlight, in rapid descent and a whirlwind of air and laughter, and three bird-like forms trailing after her in formation. 

Life moves on, no matter what.