#of what drove him to go so far to prove he was worthy of his family’s love and affection

[pollyanna-nana]

One of the most tragic and compelling aspects of Dunmeshi, to me, is that we’ll probably never know (unless Kui tells us lol) how Delgal actually felt about Thistle. I’ve seen people say that he genuinely cared for him as a brother and his journey to the surface was to save him from his madness as much as it was his people. I’ve seen people say that he saw Thistle as nothing more than a fancy accessory or tool that ended up going astray. Others I’ve seen (and personally agree with) say that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. But honestly, I think any one of these interpretations has the potential to be correct… and that’s just heartbreaking.

After all, Delgal is dead. Like, dead-dead. The very first chapter of the manga starts with his spirit leaving this mortal coil, taking that answer with him. And…

How he talks about Thistle here… it’s interesting. He does not ask for him to be talked down, or captured or imprisoned, but instead “defeated”. Which Mithrun interprets as asking for his death… which is reasonable, because that’s likely how the vast majority of adventurers interpreted his words, too. Obviously as he was crumbling to dust he probably didn’t have the capacity to be particularly verbose or explain the complex backstory to how the kingdom ended up this way, but the effect is the same no matter how he may have felt with it. He asked for Thistle to be killed.

But… even in situations where he wasn’t under any such time limit to explain what was going on, he still seemed not to. Most glaringly:

Yaad seemingly has no idea that it was Delgal’s fault that Thistle sought the demon’s power. Obviously he couldn’t talk to him about it because Thistle was, uh, a little out there by that point, but why didn’t Delgal explain? Was he embarrassed? Mournful? Couldn’t find the words?

Delgal was scared of dying. He wanted prosperity at any cost, and how could Thistle possibly refuse? Did he even realize that what he was the one who pushed his own brother— One who basically helped raise him despite being a child himself, and in many ways is still a child— down this path? Or was it like watching an overzealous employee misinterpret directions?

The way Yaad describes things here makes it sound like Thistle simply dug too deep in his studies and fell into madness, but we know that’s not true. Delgal didn’t “suggest” he learn magic, he wanted a mage who could help himself and his people defy death, which he admits to Thistle openly:

So, why? Why not tell his grandson, at least, the truth of the matter? Did he worry it might make the remaining residents more likely to upset Thistle, and therefore suffer the consequences? Did he just not care? For what it’s worth though, Yaad does suspect the truth from Delgal’s behavior.

He “always blamed himself” for his descent into the dark arts. This is just Yaad’s observation, and that’s without knowing that it was quite literally Delgal’s fault Thistle went down this path. So, why? Why was it all kept a secret?

Of course, this made things ripe for the winged lion to manipulate to its advantage. Clearly despite knowing he’d pushed him into using it, Delgal still thought the lion was a force of good that was misused by Thistle as a result of his madness. His face in that last panel is particularly haunting. He looks terrible, gaunt and pale with overgrown hair and missing teeth. Had he gone mad, with grief and sorrow, as well?

Could he no longer see Thistle the way he did when they were younger? No one can ask him, because he died long before the story even began.

To go back to the original question, well, how did Delgal see Thistle? None of the previous points make a definitive answer any clearer, and I think that’s just brilliant. And so, so tragic.

[vampirzina]

Could you do headcanons Shang Tsung with a siren reader who is as evil as he is?

♒︎ ┆SHANG TSUNG w. DARK SIREN!READER HCS

tw(s): gn pronouns (you only), sfw, villain!reader, manipulation, jealousy, possessiveness/controlling tropes, one (1) question of faithfulness, typical siren powers, mdni

notes: for the sake of the story, reader has legs and is humanoid. also trying out new formatting styles so i apologize if there’s inconsistencies between posts/req

masterlist

— Spoiler: he’s the one who’s lured. He knew it asap.

— Yet he must lie to say he’s immune to you (he’s not). It’ll humble you in a way and keep him out of trouble, for now. That’s really the only reason I could think of as to why he wouldn’t jump to be in a relationship with you

— But best believe you’re already his.

— He just needs you to be focused on doing what he needs you to do in order to get ahead of his enemies. He’s also wary of you turning on him, so he’s only keeping a ‘close eye on you’, or whatever that means

— You don’t believe it for a second, but you play his little game. It’s annoying for a while when all you’re used for is to lure Liu Kang and his champion, as well as keep henchmen under a sort of trance

— However, you’re determined to prove that he’s not immune to you, if not the most head-over-heels of all the people you’ve lured

— Charm is on 100, and when you practically throw yourself on Johnny Cage when he gets to his lab (for example, other than the way you speak to General Shao or some random pawn), that tether anchoring Shang Tsung almost snaps

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Shang Tsung is leaned against the cold wall with arms crossed, having been mean-mugging you from the corner ever since the Earthrealm champion left his laboratory.

He’d catch up with them later. For now, you.

It drove him further up the wall that you didn’t seem to care that his gaze pierced your very soul, as you kept picking away at your glass skin in a simple handheld mirror.

You shut it with carefully manicured hands, and you’d finally paid him attention where there he is across the room. Your painted lips flatten into a tauntingly tantalizing line.

“Excuse me?” you bat your eyelashes.

“You’re excused,” he replied, sulking further where he stood.

“You fished me out of my house to do a job, and that very job I did. Was there something I missed in that contract, Tsung?” you asked, but you got no answer except a brooding look. He knew if he spoke right now, he’d forfeit.

Your pursed lips curve into a smirk, you tilt your head at him and you squint. With a sway of your hips, you watch each other as you leave.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

..

— The straw to break the camels back was when you did it again, but this time got too touchy feely with one of those peers who are of status.

— He’s straightforward (and borderline aggressive that’s hiding behind a sly way with words) about what he wants now while you’re so nonchalant about it; he wants you all to himself. But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop luring people, no

— By time he realizes what he’s doing, it’s too late to go back. He figures that you’ve been worthy enough all this time because you made it this far, so why not? It couldn’t be that bad, having a beautiful thing like you on his arm

— While your fidelity might be questioned if you continue to lure people, it’s not a debate whether or not you have Shang Tsung wrapped around your finger now.

— …You’ll have to make up for/prove it in private quarters to keep him close, as he tends to act out when he thinks you’re phasing him out. And just between you and him: he’d ask you to sing him to sleep some nights while you were big spoon.

— He lavishes you, but he still has his mind enough to put himself first. No matter how much you try, you could never make Shang Tsung put you above himself enough to be able to make a puppet out of him.

— You’ll settle for second place.. For now.

..

@𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐀೨

[alicentsgf]

could you please elaborate more on the daemon loving/being interested in rhaenyra because she was the closest thing to viserys?

Yes I can 😌

Daemon suffers from the same debilitating disease as every other man in HOTD - an inability to see (high-born) women as anything other than extensions of their fathers or husbands. The way Viserys relates to Rhaenyra is all about his own selfish feelings, and he so easily accepts Alicent into an advisory role when shes only 15 probably because at least in part he's seeing Otto. Otto basically sees Alicent as an extra limb of his own body, and he likely sees Rhaenyra as an extension of Viserys - he probably ensured Alicent was made her companion for that reason. Daemon also sees Alicent as an extension of Otto and thats why he uses her to taunt Otto at the tourney - asking Alicent for her favour was Daemon all but mockingly asking for Otto's. And in every move Daemon made with Rhaenyra, not just the neck-grabbing scene, you could feel Viserys presence.

This man is obsessed with his brother. He spends pretty much Viserys' whole life desperately trying to get his brother's attention/force himself into a position of trust. He wants Viserys love and admiration so badly he will tear other people apart for it. His violent nature itself is his love for Viserys made manifest, as well as an outlet through which to vent his frustrations over Viserys dismissal. As a second son he stood to inherit nothing, but if he could be the finest warrior... perhaps he could convince Viserys he was worthy of a place at his side. He was the one rallying an army to fight for Viserys throne before the great council /for his brother/. If he kills and maims all the criminals in Kings Landing then (not only does it feel good) but to his mind he's doing a service /for his brother/. Then, when spurned, he fights a war to prove to himself he doesn't need Viserys... only to run right back when he wins in the hope of a pat on the head.

Where he respects Viserys, his relationship with Rhaenyra stinks of grooming and flippant disregard; She's a game. She's a distraction. She's a means to an end. He plays with her because, in her youth especially, she makes him feel powerful and desired, all the while reminding him of Viserys. But she's still not Viserys, and he happily leaves her vulnerable and alone in a dangerous situation on a whim. He gambles with her future for his own gain, and lets Viserys believe he took her virginity just for the chance of being Rhaenyra's consort… because if he's Rhaenyra's consort then Viserys can't send him away from court anymore, not without sending Rhaenyra away too. His place would be at Viserys' heir's side. Who cares if he ruins Rhaenyra's life, if it gets him one step closer to Viserys. And Viserys understood it wasn't (just) lust for Rhaenyra that drove Daemon to do such a thing, but it wasn't the throne he was after either - he only ever wanted to be Viserys' Hand. It's what he's always wanted. He tells Viserys this. He wants to be the person his brother relies on. But Viserys keeps removing him from the council and sending him away… so how is he supposed to prove himself worthy? 

I wonder… why did Daemon run from the brothel? I certainly believe he meant to go through with it, he'd let it go far enough, and there's no doubt he wanted Rhaenyra. It looked like guilt to me. Maybe a hint of confusion? (Maybe he'd just never experienced guilt before lmao). (Edit: Going off what someone just told me in the notes I had an ephiphany: In that moment hes only too aware of Rhaenyra's desire and the fact that she actually wants him. Here is this representation of Viserys in front of him Wanting him which he's never truly experienced and the lack of control over the situation and the guilt and desire and conflict is all just fucking with his mind to the point where he has to run away and drink himself into a stupor.)

Daemon is as Targaryen as they come. His parents and grandparents were siblings. He's grown up in this environment where friendships between siblings of the opposite gender are immediately sexualised. If Daemon had been born a girl, he would have no doubt been married off to Viserys. What does that knowledge do to a person? Especially when Daemon is (according to the cut scenes anway) canonically bisexual.

Whether he "desires" Viserys, or ever did, in any normal sense is kind of irrelevant, because this situation is not normal; we're literally talking about a man pursuing his niece because of a psychosexual fixation on his own brother. It's about the Targaryen sexualisation of sibling bonds. It's about the deeply rooted misogyny present in Daemon Targaryen. He can't fully invest in any partner he has; he's too misogynistic to see any woman as an entire person, and too Targaryen to emotionally invest in someone outside his own family. Not to mention the fact he finds power and having control too sexually alluring to consider what his own brother represents as King anything less than erotically enthralling.

Daemon has this sense that he was always meant for Viserys and he just can't shake it. On some level he knows that in another life he would have been Viserys' Queen, but in this life he can't have that. He tries to get as close to that reality as he can, but Viserys denies him. So he focuses on Rhaenyra; if his brother won't take him on as Hand or keep him as his heir then he can be Rhaenyra's consort, he can be Rhaenyra's Hand, he can give Rhaenyra heirs. He spends so much of his existence using Rhaenyra to desperately grasp at all the pieces of that other life with Viserys he might still be able to reach. Is it any wonder that when Rhaenyra reveals Viserys thought even less of Daemon than he believed, he lashes out at her - the person he's always seen as a substitute for the man he really wanted.

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Opera's ambition

Ambition - a strong desire to do or to achieve something. Determination - firmness of purpose; resolutness. Both words could be used to describe Opera.

A younger Opera was far more reckless and ruthless in their methods, however. Always picking fights with opponents bigger and stronger. Why?

It's simple, really. It's to prove they are the strongest. A show of power stating that they would not submit and roll over to others. No, Opera was a stubborn feline.

So naturally, when Opera was a first year student, they decided that they needed to show their strength. What better way than taking out the principle? Then nobody could question their power.

If Opera could beat Lord Sullivan, then they would have absolute authority. Or at least... that had been the plan. But so far, the young demon hadn't even come close to landing a hit.

It was frustrating. It was annoying. Attempt after attempt failing. But still, Opera was persistent in their pursuit.

Somehow, along the way, they had ended up agreeing to be the older demons lacky. At least until they could beat him. Which made them even more determined.

Sullivan was strange no matter how you looked at it. The constant hugs, the pictures, the weird obsession with cuddles. Opera had called him a pervert on more than one occasion.

Opera just couldn't understand how a demon like that could be so powerful. Could be so respected. Maybe nobody knew what a weirdo he was in person.

Why else would he be feared by so many? It annoyed Opera to no end that the one they called master was like this. It's like he had no self-respect at all!

Opera didn't really understand why Sullivan acted like this. Maybe it was because he had the power to back up his silly antics? Was power also having the ability not to care?

Opera was strong... but they weren't invincible. They weren't unstoppable. Opera was still a child despite what they believed. Still growing.

Sullivan seemed to realize that the most. So maybe that was why he acted in such a bizarre way. Not even attempting to strike back at Opera.

It was as if Opera was just a bug in comparison. Of course, this only made the younger demon want to hit him even more. Why? Why? Why? Why is he just dodging?!?

Did Sullivan not think Opera was a worthy opponent? This drove Opera to constantly train. Pushing themselves harder.

One day, Opera had pushed themselves to the limit. Pure exhaustion radiated off them as they lay on the ground. Unaware of a wild 8 star beast close by.

The beast lunged, and as Opera stared down the face of its open maw, they could only watch. Sullivan suddenly appeared out of nowhere kicking the beast away. He stood facing the monster and shielding Opera.

Why? Why was he protecting them? Hadn't they caused him enough trouble? Why bother protecting someone who was obviously weaker?

Opera couldn't understand. Wasn't it the strong that survived? That's just how hell worked. Every demon for themselves.

Opera watched as Sullivan took down the creature with no trouble. It was all over in a single move. If he was that powerful, then why didn't he...

"Opera, are you hurt?" Opera's eyes snapped up. Gazing at each other, the older demon knelt down and started petting Opera's head.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to be stronger. For wanting to be the best. In fact, your drive is inspiring. It reminds me of someone I used to know."

Opera tilted their head. Why did the principal look so sad when he sad this? Was it because that demon was gone? Their horns twitched.

"Shall we get going then? There's still a long way for you to go." He offers his hand to him. Normally, Opera would swat his hand away.

But... today was different. Today, for the first time, someone defended them. Protected them. Someone wanted them to get stronger, and they believed that Opera could.

Opera reached out and took that hand. And ever since then, they have been truly master and subordinate. Opera had grown stronger and followed their master still.

[morethanthedarkness]

So here's a random backstory headcanon while I'm at work;

I have already posted something explaining how Zerith became Kar'niss. Or, at least, vaguely so. But here's a little extra that I decided upon yesterday while talking to two of my friends.

Zerith is Nere's older brother.

I already mentioned that Zerith bailed from the Underdark and that he only returned once he became an Oath of Vengeance paladin. This was largely out of the guilt and anger of what he knew his siblings were still trapped in. Anger at himself and Lolth and that entire monstrous system drove him.

Not only did Zerith return, but he tried to get Nere and Xalyth—their younger sister—OUT but they were caught, and that's when Zerith openly denounced Lolth.

Xalyth was young, likely. Confused. Didn't understand what was going on. But Nere was just old enough. Old enough that he had no choice but to denounce and condemn his brother, or to suffer the same fate.

[ The last thing Zerith said to Nere before he was taken away to face his punishment was, "I'm sorry that I failed you." ]

So, Nere doesn't say "Nere doesn't fail!" because he's being pompous. It's because he's not far from having a total meltdown.

He's had all this pressure placed on him for so long, because he was a second son to start, when being a son at all is bad enough. And on top of that, his older brother was a Failure and a Heretic. So he has to prove he's not either of those things. He has to prove he's WORTHY of serving Lolth. [ And then the Absolute once he's been stolen away from Lolth by the tadpole. ] He can never ever fail because his parents made clear the further SHAME that would bring them. And the CONSEQUENCES of such failure couldn't be more apparent. So he can't fail. He can't, he can't, he CAN'T.

As for why Nere never realized Kar'niss was his older brother, how could he with how entirely changed and warped he was? And Kar'niss? His mind was so utterly shattered by the transformation process and subsequent years in isolation and then the Curse, he certainly couldn't pull anything more than maybe a vague feeling.

But consider that perhaps the drider was subtly more protective of Nere than others… How odd considering, in canon, driders are extremely wary of drow who view them as abominations and will betray them in a heartbeat…

[loonysama]

Fierce & Feisty Friday

Every Friday can be fierce and feisty! Just post a snippet or excerpt with a character who's being extra fierce or feisty so we can all get in the mood for the weekend. Tagging: @keeshya6, @firawren, @true--north, @justfrozenthings, @annaofthenorthernlights, and anyone else that has something fierce or feisty to say!

This week, my fierce and feisty comes from The Magenta Cravat, a bittersweet love story about Hans and Elsa Addams (Frozen in an Addams Family AU).

🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤

They first met at his Mamushka ceremony, and Hans couldn’t take his eyes off of her graceful yet commanding presence.  In fact, he was so stunned by her that he would have fumbled the whole thing if his brother Olaf hadn't been there to coach him.  He ended up giving her the performance of his life, though it wasn’t enough to impress her.  His “disingenuous” and “over-the-top” charm and the boxy frame he hadn’t quite grown into weren’t enough to make up for his “barely adequate” dancing.  He even told her about his plans to take over the nearby town, but she said it was a “lowly goal” and scoffed at the idea that he could make her his first lady.  She even left him pinned against a wall with hundreds of sharp ice crystals when he wouldn’t leave her alone.

Utterly besotted from her brutal rejection, Hans vowed to himself and every Addams in the family cemetery (dead and alive) that he would become worthy of Elsa’s love.  So over the next four years, he worked hard to become something she’d admire, and more importantly desire.  He practiced the Mamushka every day, strengthened his body into a well-cut machine, and honed his now signature charm with every man, woman, and monster he came into contact with.  And, most importantly, he abandoned his feeble plans to take over the town in favor of world domination.  Elsa was born to be queen by birthright, and Hans couldn't believe he presented her with "First Lady" as his offering.

He wrote her love letter after unanswered love letter begging her to be the queen by his side, until she finally asked him to visit her so she could reevaluate him.  She lived at the top of a beautiful castle made of translucent lines and sharp angles, and Hans and Olaf were struck by its sublime loneliness.  She was an outcast in her town for her taste of the macabre and proclivities to the "dark" arts.  She would have been content living at the top of her ice palace, all alone as the last surviving member of the once great Arendellian royal family forever, but his promise tempted her. The promise of a life lived freely, among like-minded people who would appreciate her unique talents.  In the end, it was his dedication to her, his growth as an earnest, ardent admirer, that lured her down from her hilltop.

He came ready to fight the townspeople for her honor, knowing they wouldn’t let her into the town so easily.  Her very presence, even if for a few moments, drove them to homicide.  Hans thrived on such conflict, and he was eager to prove himself to his beloved Elsa.  He drew his practiced, though battle-shy, sword, as did his brother Olaf and his right-hand hand, Weasel.  Sven, his reindeer butler-turned-body guard (when needed), and his menacing antlers, stood ready for a quick escape and a brutal bucking if need be.

It was exactly the kind of party Hans and Olaf were expecting.  “Olaf, old boy, this is the best bachelor party I could ever imagine!”

Then his beloved started down the long stairway to the center of town, and all fighting stopped for a moment to watch this most beautiful creature descend to the mortal realm. The peace didn’t last long, though, and the horde of pedants rushed to the stairs with their torches and pitchforks to keep Elsa from what Hans believed to be true happiness in his loving arms.

“Well, how far are you willing to go for her?” asked Olaf.

Without hesitation, but with a fierce and protective look in his eyes never leaving her body, Hans said resolutely, “I would die for her.”

Olaf giggled, and said, “Well, today just might be your lucky day!”  And the two brothers forged on.

Before they could reach the mob, though, Elsa had cleared a bubble around herself to reveal her extraordinary magical powers Hans had heard legends about as a young child even.  First, it was a sphere of fire, which burnt the whiskers of those closest to her.  Then, she put out the fire with a wave of water from the nearby well, soaking even more townspeople.

“Say, that’s some bride you got there, Hans,” Olaf whispered with a nudge of his elbow.

Hans smiled maniacally, “Is she not the most magnificent creature you’ve ever laid eyes on?”

Olaf chuckled, and said with a slap on the back that caused Hans to cough, “Well, she’s not my type, but good for you!”

But Elsa wasn’t finished.  Next, she dried the townsfolk off with a harsh breeze that knocked most of them down.  Then, she turned the stone stairs into a giant rock monster which followed behind her, ready for her orders.  

The townsfolk fled, and Olaf and Weasel bemoaned not being able to take any action, though Hans didn’t regret it for a second.

He changed his vows after witnessing Elsa’s display from “I want you to be my queen when I am king,” to “you are my queen and I want to be your king."

Read more @ AO3.

[keladryhawklight]

Three Years

Three Years Later, 632

A breeze blew over the plains of Westfall, lightly stirring up crystals of snow to dance over the rolling hills. The day had brought light snowfall and the peace that comes with the onset of true winter. It was chilly, but not harshly so; the wind was what really drove the cold in. Harsh puff of breath escaped Leira's muzzle as they rode. A friesian, he was pure black, standing out starkly against the white and beige backdrop of the plains. A devil to the bone, his attitude was on full display as they worked; every so often the huffing of cattle bellowing was punctuated by a snort of pure derision from the destrier.

It was winter, but the cattle also needed to be driven back towards Hawklight, to their winter pasture. They were similar to a Highland breed, with fluffy walnut fur and longhorns and served many a purpose in Hawklight; their fur and hides clothed the refugees that continued to stream into the west and were exported to the markets in Stormwind for income. Their meat was the same. Each cow was valued at around 1500-2000 gold per head, and their herd was about one hundred per year, with around 10-15 calves being auctioned at local markets, or sent to Redridge for sale. It had been something they had invested in shortly after their return to Stormwind in 629 from their final operation of that year. With the help of a fantastic banker, and a fantastic pair of ranchers from northern Westfall, they had grown the herd over the last three years to the herd they had today; Hawlight was more self-sustaining and prosperous than it had been in previous years.

Their family was more prosperous than it was three years ago, she thought quietly as a dull ache of grief crossed her heart. Kos would have been so proud, she knew, to see the region coming back to life.

"Steady up old man," Kel laughed quietly as she leant over and gave Leira a firm pat on the neck. "We're almost home."

The three years had taken a toll on their family; following the cessation of Operation Hearth, she and Sandor had returned to Westfall for a long period of leave after returning from Grafenwohr for Toby and Dymphna's long-awaited nuptials. Their return meant that the hard work needed to begin. The first order of business had been to lay Narakos to rest at their family plot and to prepare the transfer of estate to her and Sandor. Acknowledging deciding powers had been a battle she had never wanted to wage, but it had been conducted nonetheless. Her mother and Adarina had been inconsolable. Solomon had been there in body only, no doubt his mind on his own loss of family. That Winters Veil had been a solemn one, for no one had been of sound mind to celebrate. The veil of grief had simply been a heavy pall over their household. Nonetheless, they had to go on. And so they had.

Over a meeting of the minds, she and Sandor and a handful of the longtime tenants of Hawklight planned out the future of Hawklight; what plans Narakos had died with him and the estate needed to move on. Sandor had taken the reins of running an estate with ill liking; in his eyes, he wasn't worthy, and hadn't proved himself to the people. In that first year, she had caught him many a time running himself ragged to prove his worth to their people. Not that he had any need to, for in the five years of their marriage, he had never once given those at Hawklight a reason to doubt his dedication to their family.

Their planning huddle had affirmed a few things that were already quite apparent; one, that immediate action was needed in order to ensure continued sustainability of Hawklight, and two, that while the agricultural practices established by her father and brothers had been sustainable thus far, they needed solutions to ensure the continued survivability along with the ability to sustain the refugee hub that was over two decades old. And so, investments in cattle were explored. Towards the end of that year, Kel had taken the savings from her work in the 47th, from doing surgeries in Stormwind, and her share of Hawklight's revenue, and invested heavily in a stocky breed of highland cattle perfect for the region. She had started with fifty head, including a handful of handpicked bulls from excellent stock to ensure the success of their operations going forward. Driving them from Stormwind to Hawklight had been a three day operation; it had been a hilariously hellish endeavor but an ultimately successful one. The first time they had brought meat, wool and leather to the market had been a gamble; an unsure one to be certain, but they had come out with a small win that year, and the year following.

Their cattle now roamed the hills between Hawklight and Sentinel Hill during the summer, and were  driven back to the southern grazing pasture between Hawklight and its southern mountains for the winter.

The second order of business had been to reconfirm, and establish new operations within Hawklight's trade mandate through early 630. A gTek workshop  had been established within the boundaries of Hawklight's reach, bringing with it upgrades and routine maintenance to farm equipment, and other technologies to the region. Trade contracts had been renewed between Hawklight and Cindervale, and established between Hawklight and Grafenwohr. Thank the Light that all three had worked out well in their favour, because the connections had immediately worked to continue the prosperous growth of their region. People were happier. Less went hungry. The winter seemed like something that wouldn't sap them of their strength.

Towards the end of 630, they had been blessed even further with another surprise. Liera pranced sideways, as she thought of Londyn. Now almost two, he was as much a replica of her as Tali was of Sandor. Her lips curved upwards in a gentle smile, thinking of how fast time had flown with his pregnancy. It had seemed like mere moments before he had arrived, a small bundle with a shock of flame red hair. Londyn Uther Brightmaul, their son. Thank the Light the circumstances of his birth were far better than his sisters. She wasn’t sure she could undergo that again in a lifetime. His green eyes were as filled with innocence as Tali's violet ones were filled with fiery will.

The familiar spire of Hawklight rose up in the distance as they crested the final hill. With a sharp whistle, the other handful of ranch hands began to push the cattle in their final drive to the winter pasture. With a nod, she tugged at Liera's reins, turning him away from the cattle drive, and back towards the main house. It was high time she checked in on her little family. "Mama!" came the loudest tiny-bellow from the front door of Hawklight manor. Blonde curls danced in the winter air as Talithe, now almost six, waved furiously from the steps. "Mama!" She waved back just as furiously as Liera cantered in towards the stables, a quiet laugh escaping her. Tali was a copy of Sandor, right down to her mannerisms. The flame of stubborn will in her face sent her almost to tears laughing the first time she had displayed it against Sandor. Put to the test, he was sure to be no match for their daughter. They were blessed, she and Sandor, with their family.

"Lady Brightmaul!" yelled a voice, coming from the house. A feeling of ill ease stole over her as the shout reached her. Pulling up, she twisted in the saddle, turning to the voice. "News from the City!" She dismounted, tugging off her gloves as she handed Liera's reins off to a stable hand. The messenger was at her side in an instant, pressing an official notice into her hand.

The official seal of the Kingdom of Stormwind

It seemed that their idyllic respite had come to an end.

[danniburgh]

The way you make me feel (Javier x f!reader x Steve)

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader x Steve Murphy

Summary: It was on how you three had softened to each other. There was nothing wrong with it.

It was in the way you made each other feel. The only man Javier and Steve were willing to share you with was each other.

Word count: +2.7k

Chapter warnings: mentions of The War on Drugs of course, a hint of jealousy, lots of teasing and kisses, a sprinkle of angst here and there

A/N: so... yeah i made this lmao, this is fluff and i love it and MUSTACHE BOYFRIENDS NATION RISE, also, thank you so much to @bella-ciao​ for the help with some ideas and @queenofthefaceless​ for helping WITH THE TITLE ilysm guys

ao3 // Masterlist // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

gif: @pajamasecrets

“Whose turn for dinner?” Steve asked, standing up from behind his desk.

“Yours” you and Javi replied at the same time and you looked at each other. Steve huffed as you smiled at Javier and then at him.

“I want chicken,” you mumbled.

“You?” Steve turned at your partner and Javier only nodded, “fine, see you at home,” Steve put on his jacket and walked around his desk towards yours, you looked up at him and smirked when he turned to the office door window just to make sure no one was looking inside, leaned down and gave you a soft kiss on the lips, “drag him out of here on time,” he mumbled on your mouth and you rolled your eyes, nodding. 

Steve then walked towards Javier and did the same, a soft kiss and some words, then he walked out.

“He told you to not be late?” you asked Javier, who was lighting up another cigarette.

“You know him,” he mumbled, eyeing the closed door of the office Steve had just crossed through and lingering his gaze there for a second as you studied his face. It was as if he was remembering how you all got into the mess that was your relationship. He then turned to see you, winked and drowned himself back into the pile of paperwork in front of him.

You tried to do the same but failed, at the assumption of Javier thinking about the start of your relationship you couldn’t help but to think about it.

Colombia was a beautiful but hard place.

The War on Drugs wasn’t easy, and as a DEA agent you knew you had it easy. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard.

And certain situations, those that had brought the three of you together, made it even harder; for you it was both your courage and your gender, being a woman in the agency wasn’t easy at all, almost everyone doubted you and you had to get used to prove yourself worthy of attention before even proving that you were good at what you did, and when you met your two partners, they made it a lot easier, they already believed you could just by watching you pace around the embassy like you owned the place. So that was something that made you soften to them; for Javier it was between his reputation and the fact that he had been in the country years before you or Steve, he was known for making dubious things to get intel and you knew how much it weighed on him, he was a man who cared, who had a deep connection with not only the country and the culture but the war in itself, and he was a man willing to do what it took to keep on fighting, but you and Steve had shown him tenderness and had shown him you cared. So that was something that made him soften to you; for Steve it was both the fact that the country wasn’t what he expected, if he ever expected anything, and his divorce, he had showed up years before with wide eyes and so many ideas and a beautiful wife that just got tired and grew scared of everything that went on around her, so she took their daughter and left, and if Steve was a mess before hand he turned into an even deeper mess, but you and Javier pulled him out of the misery of what he thought his life had turned into and cared for him. So that was something that made Steve soften to you.

And the thing you three had, then? there wasn’t even a name for it.

You liked to call it a thruple, but Javier growled every time you mentioned it, called you both children even though he wasn’t that much older than you or Steve, and that made you and Steve laugh.

The only thing you three knew is the deep care, the deep understanding, the deep knowledge and the deep love you had about and for each other.

A soft tap on your desk brought you out of your reminiscence and you saw two light tanned fingers on the surface, the owner of them demanding your attention.

“Let’s go home,” Javier said, and waited for you to put files away while sitting on the edge of your desk and admiring the way you moved through the office.

For Javier, falling in love with you was something he didn’t even have to put effort on. You were beautiful, gorgeous in his eyes, smart as hell, strong and delicate at the same time. You were young and self assured and a badass and Javier couldn’t stop himself from falling in love with you even if he tried.

As you were making sure you had everything in your bag and went on to check Steve hadn’t forgotten anything, his mind traveled to the utter and complete mess he was when he realized he also loved Steve.

Javier always knew he wasn’t indifferent to men, and he knew he was attracted to Steve ever since they met. But Steve was married and that was the end of it. It wasn’t until Connie left and his friend sank into himself that he realized he cared deeply for him, as you did.

And once, while you made dinner at Steve’s place while the blond man tried to take a shower he blurted everything to you. Because the few moments Javier allowed himself to be truly vulnerable was only when he was in your arms, that was something he kept only for you. And it wasn’t out of distrust for Steve, he knew he could confide in him and he did. But you and your precious mind always knew how to soothe the restlessness of his brain even for an hour or two.

“Sounds to me like you’re in love,” you had told him, and Javier had huffed while his eyes went to the picture of Steve holding Olivia that was pinned on the fridge “you know there’s nothing wrong about it, right?” you had tried to reassure him and he had only nodded.

“It’s not that,” Javier had mumbled and he had let his deep brown gaze fall upon you.

“You love me too?” you had questioned and Javier only smiled at you and your incredible ability to read him like a book.

“I think I love you too,” you had confessed while fixing three plates with equal amounts of food.

“And Steve?” Javier had teased, reaching for three forks.

“And Steve,”

“Shall we?” you called him and he shook his head to make the memory fade. You walked next to each other out of the CNP headquarters towards the car, hopped in in silence and drove the fifteen minute way to the house you three shared while stationed in Medellín.

None of you said anything because the drive home, even if it was by yourselves or the three of you together, was a moment you used to shed away the DEA agent persona, it was something you all had agreed on taking as a way to let the work at work, at least as far as the circumstances allowed it and be just yourselves.

When Javier used his keys to open the door and let you in you saw Steve in the kitchen holding the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, struggling with a tray that Javier took from his hand. 

“Yes, I sent those as well,” you looked at Javier with a questioning gaze and he shook his head while taking off his jacket “I understand,” Steve looked at you and you saw his deep blue eyes conflicted, you tried to give him a reassuring smile but you weren’t sure it had reached the place you wanted it to “can you put her on the phone?” he said, Javier was emptying his pockets on the kitchen counter and then walked to take your bag from your hand and put it next to his and Steve's badges “hi baby,” Steve’s face lit up and Javi and you instantly knew he was speaking to Olivia.

As you had made sure Steve was okay you fell into your now old routine. You served dinner while Javier cleared out the table and Steve reluctantly hung up the phone and reached for three beers in the fridge.

“How is she?” you asked once the three of you were seated and dining.

“She’s good, stopped teething,” Steve muttered and you noticed Javier narrowing his eyes, as if he was trying to grasp the concept.

“And… Connie?” your tone was tentative and you searched for his ocean eyes, as you and Javier liked to call them.

“She’s good, sends her regards,” Steve drank from his beer and Javier snorted.

“Javi,” you half chastised half whined.

“Sends her regards?” Javier smirked as he lit a cigarette and gave it to Steve.

“Her words, man,” Steve took it and puffed from it.

“I mean, it’s weird, cut her some slack,” you said, taking the cigarette from Steve’s fingers.

“So you’re defending one of your boyfriend’s ex-wife, now?” Javier teased and Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’m just saying, it’s an odd thing,” you shrugged and puffed from the cigarette.

“I mean yeah, your ex-husband suddenly starts fucking both his partners, I bet is odd,” Javier muttered, Steve and you sighed at Javier’s words and before either of you could say anything to him the house phone rang.

“Not it,” you and Steve called at the same time and Javier rolled his eyes, standing up to answer it.

“Yeah,” he answered, Steve turned to look at you and leaned to give you a kiss that tasted like the store-bought roasted chicken, lager and smoke, “no she’s here, one sec,” Javier walked back to the table and looked at you “it’s for you,” you frowned and stood up “it’s Morales,” he muttered, serious faced, and you saw him and Steve both tightening their jaws, making you roll your eyes.

You walked towards the phone feeling two pairs of eyes on your body and you smiled to yourself when you picked up the receiver and answered.

Javier and Steve looked at you and then at each other.

“I don’t trust him,” Steve muttered to Javi, who only shook his head “he clearly wants something with her,” Javier huffed.

“He wants everything with her,” Javier said between gritted teeth and both of them grunted when you let out a soft giggle and said gracias, Luis to the phone. “I wanna hurt that man,” 

“I’ll hold him,” Steve muttered, you caught the last part while you hung up the phone and smiled at them.

“No one is gonna hurt anybody,” you lifted a finger to emphasize. 

“He clearly wants you,” Javier frowned and Steve agreed with him.

“Well I already have to take care of two men, do you think I want another one?” you laughed out and sat back down, grabbing your bottle of beer “I like him, but as a friend.” you assured them. Steve visibly relaxed but Javier didn’t.

“That’s what you told me and look at us,” he said, Steve narrowed his eyes at you and you rubbed your forehead.

You loved them, you really did, and the fact that they loved each other as much as they loved you made your heart swell with happiness, but they could be pricks and jealous assholes. The only person they were willing to share you with was each other. No one else.

“Can you stop?” you pleaded, looking at both “I don’t want to be with anyone else but you two,” you reassured them, Steve smiled at you and took your hand in his, Javier took a little more convincing “I love you,” you smiled, looking at him and tightening the grip on Steve’s hand.

“Jav,” Steve called out to him “tell her you love her,” he demanded, making you laugh. At the sound of you laughing Javier’s feigned mean face broke into a smirk.

“I love you too,”

Steve let go of your hand and after that you fell into work chatter while you finished eating, because Morales had called you with new intel about the cartel and it was you. Of course you were gonna talk about work over dinner.

A couple of hours later you were resting on Javier’s naked chest, sitting between his legs while chilling on the bed and sharing a cigarette, your free hand roaming up and down his tight while the both of you were looking at Steve getting out of the shower.

“Are you seriously getting dressed right now?” you teased him when you saw him reach for some briefs inside the closet, feeling Javier’s chest move with his chuckle.

“You know we're gonna undress you anyway, right?” Javier teased as well behind you, making Steve huff and drop the underwear on the floor.

“Fine,” he grunted and crawled on the bed to lay his wet head on your lap.

Your hand found its place playing with Steve’s blond hair and while you did that and shared a cigarette with Javi, Steve let himself remember how he realized he had fallen in love with both.

His divorce wasn’t messy, Connie had talked to him about it and it was an agreement, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. As his life as he had known it for years was about to change permanently. The only thing that gave him a small sense of stability was you and Javi. Always there, always present, always willing to help.

You, with words, always reassuring him and caring about him and asking how he was doing and checking up on him; Javi, without them, bringing him food and making sure he ate it, knocking on his door and dragging him out of the apartment to take him to dinner with him and you, calling him at exactly six fifteen each morning to wake him up and make sure he got to work on time.

He didn’t know he could feel something like that for a man, he was scared at first, and he told you that. Because while Javier confided in you his vulnerabilities, Steve confided you his deepest fears.

“I just… I don’t know why I feel like this,” he had told you, halfway drunk, gripping your hand. And you had smiled at him.

“It’s the first time you feel like that for another man?” you had asked and he nodded like a child caught with his hands and clothes all muddy “but you know there’s nothing wrong with it, right?” the same question you were to ask Javier about a couple weeks later.

“It isn’t,” Steve had mumbled to himself, and to you it sounded like a question.

“It isn’t” you had told him in reassurance, and when he looked at you with those big blue puppy eyes you knew it. And Steve had thrown himself at you and kissed you for what it felt like hours.

And then, when he was about moving on, cleaning his house of the rest of Connie’s things to send them to her, Javier helping, he had cornered him and with pleading eyes asked him to kiss him. And Javier did it without hesitation.

Steve would never forget the way Javier’s lips felt in his that first time, and how a single kiss from the only man he had ever loved in his life made his body feel tons lighter.

The sound of you moaning woke him up from his reminiscence and he turned around to see Javier’s hand cupping your breasts and his lips devouring your neck. Your eyes opened and you bit your lip, raising a hand for him to take.

He took it and you pulled him to you to grab his lips on a kiss while Javier’s hands roamed around your body.

You broke the kiss and leaned up to lick and nip on the skin of his neck, as Javier’s hands kept exploring your skin and Steve grabbed Javi by the nape, trapping his lips on a kiss.

It was going to be a long night.

pedrito's perma list: @queenofthefaceless @northernpunk​ @pascalesque​ @sleep-tight1​ @cheekygeek05​ @bii-aan-ckaa​ @letaliabane​  @starlightmornings​ @mouthymandalorianalso​

Javi's babies: @pulplorrd​

[starsfic]

10 Different Happenings: Qi Xiaotian

In different worlds, there are different what-ifs. Here’s ten what-ifs for Qi Xiaotian.

(I might write another ten of these. 5 is the Mentorswap au by @winterpower98, 6 is the Amnesia au by @vegalocity, 8 is the AU of the Swap AU by @stylishbutdefinitelyillegal, and 9 is @smallpwbbles’s Deaged MK.)

-_-

1.

“Enjoy your order!” Xiaotian said, handing over the bag of noodles to the construction worker, right outside the construction site. He couldn’t helped his smile as he drove away, unaware of how badly fate had screwed up.

Until the Demon Bull King attacked.

2.

Wukong reached the mountaintop. But instead of seeing his former friend preparing to kill his student, there was nothing but Xiaotian’s body, still pinned down by the staff, eyes empty and unseeing.

His bandana was missing.

3.

It was quiet in the study as the demon royalty and her potential new advisor sat across from her.

Princess Iron Fan hummed as she skimmed over the documents in front of her- a type of resume, with everything needed to back up his claims of skill. She hated having to do this, but if she wanted her husband freed, she needed to. But if he was really the man these and he claimed to be... She finally looked up at the young man sitting across from her. 

“Qi Xiaotian,” she hummed. The young sorcerer smiled politely at her, amber eyes peeking out through his bangs. “I think you and I are going to do great things together.”

He bowed his head. “It will be my honor, your majesty.”

4.

“Oh, Xiaotian,” Mrs. Long said, pulling him into a hug. “I am so sorry that we made you feel like you weren’t enough!”

Mr. Long hugged his other side. “Adopted or not, you’re our son and we are so proud of you.”

Xiaotian snuggled into their holds, holding the Long ancestral jade blade tight. He was so glad they weren't upset. Now, all he had to do was prove himself worthy of the blade.

5.

Qi Xiaotian, the Monkey King, zoomed up the mountainside on his cloud, towards the golden glow of his successor. Whatever Wukong was doing, whoever he had turned to, he was putting a stop to it right now. His successor, for now, was still too mortal for the amount of power he was using. He was going to kill himself and once again it would be on Xiaotian's head. Not to mention, the style that he had started using was vaguely familiar- His thoughts cut off when he reached the top with a "Kid!" 

And there was Wukong, panting and weak in the ground, the golden orb of his powers swirling in the clawed hand of a bull demon. Then the demon turned and Xiaotian froze. "...Red?" 

His former beloved frowned, clenching his hand around Wukong's powers. Neither noticed Wukong's look of heartbreaking betrayal as he pried his face out of the dirt. "Hello, Sunshine." 

And before Xiaotian could react Red was tackling him. 

6. 

"I'm sorry, Dad," Qi Xiaotian, the son of the Monkey King, apologized. He was walking back to his uncle's noodleshop, currently on the phone with his father. "I tried again today and he didn't recognize anything I said." 

"It's fine, bud," His dad didn't sound fine. But, like always, Xiaotian didn't say a word. "Just keep an eye on him, okay?" 

"Okay. Love you." 

"Love you too." Xiaotian sighed as he hung up, tucking the phone back into his pocket. He wished he could help Pigsy remember who he was. Maybe then his dad and Tang would be honestly better. He shook away those thoughts as he turned the corner, a smile forming as the light of the noodleshop came into view.

Then a hand clamped over his mouth. "Hello there!" a male voice said as another hand grabbed his wrist, forcing it back. "Apologies for being rude, but Lady Bone Demon would like a word."

Before Xiaotian could do something, scream or bite or fight, something to get away and warn his dad about Lady Bone Demon, the world grew dark. 

The last thing he saw was a smiling man with blue eyes. 

7. 

Qi Xiaotian never washed up on the shores of Flower Fruit Mountain, alive and well. 

8. 

The door was right there. Waiting for him to knock on the frame and see Bai He- his sister. 

The sister he didn't know he had, made for the same monstrous purpose, who had build herself a life far from demon battles and insane monkey tyrants. 

Xiaotian bit his lip, pulling his fist away from the door. He shouldn't. But he had to. Bai He was most likely on Sun Wukong's radar now, liable at any moment to be grabbed and forced into a role in the twisted family Wukong wanted to create. But still… 

Two pairs of arms wrapped around him before he could turn and walk away. "Come on!" Xiaojiao said, his best friend's voice warm and confident. "Let's meet her!" 

"To protect her," Red said, who seemed to know exactly what to say. The kiss he pressed to his temples didn't hurt either. Xiaotian took a breath, bolstered by their support. He knocked. 

There was a moment of silence where he feared the worst, then the door slid open. 

And there she was. 

9.

Xiaotian woke up with a scream.

Next to him, Xiaojiao sat up. “HUH WHU- MK WHAT’S WRONG-?!” She gasped, looking wildly around.

At her question, the deaged boy sniffled, feeling tears spring to his eyes. Xiaojiao blinked, a little calmer. “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” she whispered, collecting Xiaotian in her arms. “You’re safe, it’s okay.” She curled tight around him. “You’re okay.”

Are you lost, little one?

Xiaotian shivered in Xiaojiao’s hold, not willing to call her out on the lie.

10.

Xiaotian sat up with a gasp, looking around.

In the bunk next to him, Xiaojiao rolled over with a sigh. He sighed, relaxing. She was safe. He slipped out of his bunk, padding through the hallway, past Pigsy and Tang’s door. He relaxed further when he heard their snores, unable to resist a smile as he passed the kitchen and heard Sandy cooing to Mo as he made a late-night cup of tea.

The night air was cool. Above him, stars twinkled. Wukong was perched on the bow, watching the stars.

There was no words exchanged as Xiaotian settled next to him.

There was no need, not when everyone was safe for now.

[quantumlocked310]

In the Bed of Love - Chapter 1

Banner by the AMAZING @flowers-in-your-hayr​​

Aaaaannnd it’s out! Here is chapter 1 of who knows how many in this series. I still haven’t finished it, but i’m at least 5 chapters deep. So buckle up it’s going to be a long one folks.

Summary: Our intrepid Hero Hvitserk, burdened with glorious purpose to prove his godhood, takes the epic journey to slaughter the Gorgons, but stumbles in love along the way.

Warnings (so far): greek mythology inaccuracies, slow burn

Ratings + Word Count: [General - 2,200w]

Series Masterlist (contains extra notes about Greek words and some of the Gods mentioned)

++++++++++++

He shouldn’t have been there. Yes, Philoctetes told him where to go. Yes, Philoctetes told him it was another of the seemingly endless tasks to prove his godhood. Yes, Philoctetes told him he wasn’t ready. And, as usual, Philoctetes was right.

He wasn’t ready for their beauty. He wasn’t ready for their melodic voices laughing along the wind. He wasn’t ready to see her voluptuous breasts dripping with river water as she and her sisters bathed in the shallows of the river Styx.

He knew as a mortal man he could not venture into the water to slay the fearsome Gorgons, but as he watched them freely, Hvitserk found he did not want to vanquish them. Instead, he wanted to join them. His heart of hearts desired to entertain them. Speak with them. Learn their every desire and fulfill it. He wanted to impress them, so that the most beautiful of them might smile and give him her favor.

Her snakes were tawny, each coil it seemed a different shade of red that glistened in the afternoon sun. The cheeks he gazed upon, as one of her snakes scented her skin, were round and dimpled just slightly as she smiled at her sisters. When she leaned back to float belly up in the dark water his heart stopped beating.

Hvitserk was gifted with a sight no mortal man had ever lived to see. This beautiful Gorgon in all her monstrosity had a body fit to worship. Her breasts were pendulous and dipped to either side of her plump chest as she drifted. His gaze followed the lapping water down to her fleshy stomach, larger than her sisters, but perfect in his mind for caressing and kissing. He imagines his hands would grasp her ample hips as he drove into her sweet mound over and over until she allowed his release.

Her sisters, while not as captivating to this particular mortal, are also beautiful. One has white snakes with marbled textures, each snake with its own pattern. She is tall and muscular, with a body that could rival Hercules himself. The third has dark black snakes that are svelte to match their mistress. She is lithe and graceful and to Hvitserk it seems as if she could float on the wind like a bird if she desired.

As the mortal observes the goddess monsters a twig snaps in the distance, and all three sisters jolt out of the water. Their snakes turn to the sound and a furious hissing rises through the glade. In the cover of the sound, Hvitserk sneaks quietly away, glad that some other idiot will be the sister’s prey.

He returns to the training ground in no hurry to resume the physical tasks demanded of him. His mind is in the clouds with dreams of wooing the Gorgon.

++++++++++++

For months Hvitserk trains harder than ever. He runs his body into the ground so he will be worthy of the love of a goddess. But he doesn’t just fight harder, he starts to write and plot. He knows he is not as tactically minded as his brother Ivar, who has already left Philoctetes’ training camp to be the warlord for a far away king. Hvitserk instead plots of love. Of ways to talk to his beautiful snake charmer. What he would say if she dared give him a moment of her time.

He’s not an idiot. He knows he could never look into her eyes, but he could whisper sweet words into her ears. Show her his devotion in the beasts he’d slay for her. The flowers he could gather in the wilds that would never rival her radiance. The wars he would wage to spend even a second in her presence. 

His writing is poetry. The Odyssey of her flesh. The Iliad of his pining. He tries to write every inch of his memories on paper. The way the fresh grass in the glade smelled as he beheld her curves. How his knees grew stained with dark dirt as he knelt behind the bush. The exact cadence of hissing as he unwillingly crept away.

One day he is furiously scribbling in his journal, more ideas of what to say to his gorgeous goddess, when he is found by Philoctetes.

“Kid. You’ve got to go.”

“But Phil! You said I wasn’t ready.”

“You’re not! Your head is in the clouds, and you’re trying to become the next Homer instead of running the course day in and day out like you’re supposed to.”

Hvitserk hangs his head. He knows he’s still strong and the fiercest of fighters, but his heart has been stolen by a mysterious woman in the river of the dead.

“Kid. You’ve got to get her out of your system. Even if you die trying.” Philoctetes stomps a hoof, upset at the thought of losing his toughest trainee to the Gorgons. Again.

“Their home is on the black hill that overhangs the mouth of the underworld. Go back to where you saw them. Head south until you see the mouth, then head west until you find their sculpture garden. You’ll be on your own from there. No one has ever gotten farther than the garden.”

Philoctetes shakes his head and clasps Hvitserk on the shoulder. Before he leaves he instructs Hvitserk, “Take anything you want from the storeroom, kid. You’re gonna need it.”

Hvitserk opens the double doors to the storeroom and stares at all the weapons lining the walls and displayed in the center. He immediately goes for the axe, his preferred weapon. He grabs new leather armor, and the shiniest shield he can see. He hopes it will mirror the Aegis in power, and keep him safe if he needs it.

The last armor he finds is a helmet. Just too big for Hvitserk, but it slips over his eyes with a quick jerk of his head, so it will be perfect. Before he leaves on his journey, Hvitserk sees a small shimmer out of the corner of his eye.

There tucked away in the corner of the room is a dusty jewelry box inlaid with golden details. He opens the top and inside is a perfectly preserved set of gold jewelry, laid out as if it is expecting his touch. They look perfect for his Gorgon. Even the earrings have a depiction of Eros, the god of love, whose arrow pierced Hvitserk’s heart that day in the glade. He slips the box into his pack and begins his journey.

Hvitserk retraces his steps to the glade, and is unsurprised to find it empty once again. The dark waters of the Styx seem to mock him in their nothingness. He huffs at the burbling brook and looks up to the sun, and heads south where the rivers flow unnaturally toward the underworld. Hvitserk makes sure to stay as far from the water as he can, lest he happen upon Charon, or other dangerous myths.

As he walks and walks the sun sets and darkness falls on the forest where Hvitserk is forced to stop and camp at the base of a tall almond tree. He wraps his cloak around himself, holding his pack in his hands, and closes his eyes. He wakes rested and hopeful when the sun crests over the horizon; he knows the gods are with him on his journey.

The closer he gets to the underworld the colder the wind seems to be. It is pushing him slowly closer and closer to the chthonian river. As Hvitserk breaks through the brush the wind gives a mighty howl, and he must dig his feet into the soft earth, thighs straining to keep from being pulled into the dank, dark hole into which the river flows. It smells of death and decay, and Hvitserk is almost overwhelmed with memories of battles from long ago, and the screams of enemies and friends alike. He digs his heels in even further and pivots back, struggling to thrust his body behind the closest tree. As soon as his muscled back is pressed tightly to the bark the wind stops and the screaming ceases, and it is as if the forest was never his nightmare.

Our brave hero stays close to the tree, but peers his head around gently. Through the leaves he sees the nebulous maw of the Kingdom of Hades. The jagged stalactites mimic teeth as they fall from the rocky ceiling, and Styx is the lengthy tongue carrying souls led by Charon’s hand to be devoured at the foot of the King.

It takes every effort to look away from the gruesome gullet, but Hvitserk wrenches away his gaze to look beyond. To the top of the hill, where it seems almost pleasant. While dark and black on the inside, the hill itself is covered in mossy grasses and wildflowers that surround the home of the Gorgons.

The Oikos is a substantial size, and looks down the side of the hill, not facing the river as you might expect. Hvitserk sees dark spots spreading out from the inner garden to spill over the side of the hill and down into the valley. As Hvitserk creeps around the forest, avoiding the abyss, he realizes the dark spots are statues. There are some hundred men, animals, some women, and a few seem to be dotted among the trees that frame the Gorgons’ property. It is the garden Philoctetes warned him about.

Over the gentle breeze Hvitserk hears voices, and crouches low in the forest underbrush, testing the air to make sure he is downwind. He can hear the sisters laughing together, but can only pick up a word or a gods’ name here and there. As they get a little closer he can see the sisters are carrying shields, swords, and the one with black snakes has a bow and quiver. She’s the one who swats his love on the butt with one of the arrows, and she and her copper snakes roar, “Sten,” in faux anger and make to chase after the Gorgon with black snakes, but she is halfway across the garden before Hvitserk’s chosen can take another step.

Hvitserk is then witness to a sparring match between the three beautiful Gorgons. Sten uses her bow to loose arrows between her sisters, making sure they can never get complacent. Occasionally she will yell a word before releasing an arrow directly over their head, and Hvitserk comes to learn it is their names, Y/N and Marmor.

Marmor is the most violent fighter of the three. Her attacks carry the heavy weight of all her musculature, and she is confident that her strokes will cleave her enemy in twain.

Y/N is a true shield maiden. Hvitserk watches her use the shield as her main weapon and main defence. She blocks and perries with it, and in one glorious instance is able to thrust the whole shield against Marmor and pushes her back, almost to the ground. 

The fight finishes just as the sun touches the horizon, and the three Gorgons go back inside to the tune of Marmor’s seemingly endless opinions on fighting techniques. In his mind Hvitserk thinks he could help them. He saw the weak points, and where sharp foes may take advantage. He thinks he could even show Marmor a few of the tricks Philoctetes taught him.

In the last light of the sun Hvitserk gets as far away as he can from the statue garden and starts a small fire to roast a rabbit. In the dying embers, and on a full belly, he writes what he can of the fight. The details of how strong his love is. How she is able to take a hit and give one back.

The muses grab hold of Hvitserk’s ink loaded reed and he takes the next piece of papyrus from his stack and begins to draw. What emerges is a crude sketch of Y/N holding her shield in offense, with her feet firmly planted to the ground. Her face is fierce and glaring at her target, and it is clear that the artist finds this Gorgon beautiful in her monstrosity and bloodlust.

On the last stroke a powerful wind whips through the forest and takes the paper. Hvitserk curses the Anemoi and tries to run after the drawing, but he is not faster than the wind gods and falls behind. He is not willing to stray too far from his camp, for fear that he will lose it in the dark black of the forest at night. Our hero trudges back, and slumps to the ground, disappointed that he will not be able to keep the evidence of his devotion. He falls asleep huddled under his cloak hoping tomorrow will give him better luck.

What Hvitserk doesn’t see is his paper’s journey. It floats gently in the hand of Zephyrus who carries it to where it sticks in the jaws of a goose that is opening its beak wide to squawk at one of the mistresses of the house. Its fearsome feathers are stuck, made of stone, forever in the poise of rage.

++++++++++++

If you want to read other stuff I write here’s my masterlist

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ @punkrocknpearls​ @solinarimoon​ @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​ @southernbe​ @vikingstrash​ @pomegranates-and-blood​

[dameronology]

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 2

part two: a comprehensive study of how far you can push a cowboy before he breaks

summary: you continue to try and break jack’s ego, but nothing seems to be working - especially when you have to play a married couple, and his observant tendencies begin to break your confident facade instead 

song for this chapter: my friend by hayley williams

ok so this wasn’t gonna be out until december 1st but someone who donated to my ko-fi asked for part 2 and...i couldn’t resist. this also touches a little more on the reader + eggsy’s relationship and it’s background. enjoy!

- jamie

series masterlist

You had to give to the the Statesmen - the apartment they had leased you was fucking nice. 

It struck the balance between modern and homely, complete with a bath tub big enough for the whole damn agency and a bed to match. You knew that they had money, but not this much. The Kingsmen were wealthy but the Statesman put them to shame. It was a lifestyle you were happy to get used to, especially on the first morning. You’d woken up not long after 6AM - your body was still working on British time, after all - when it was still dark outside. The navy blue of the sky was pouring through the large windows, and paired with the remaining city lights, it lit up the bedroom in a cerulean glow. 

Blinking under the distant blue smoulder, you rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed. The bedroom itself was about the same size as your apartment back home and man, it was something you could have easily gotten used to. A bathtub the size of a swimming pool? Don’t mind if I do. A bed big enough to roll to your heart's content and not fall out? Fuck yeah. It made you wonder how rich some of your new colleagues were. You had noticed that Tequila drove an unusually expensive sports car. 

You frowned when you noticed that there was something heavy sprawled across your feet. It wasn’t necessarily in the bed, but rather strewn across the duvet. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sigh. 

‘Fuck’s sake, Eggsy!’ you raised your leg, kicking him front under the covers. ‘Why the bloody hell are you in here?’

Your friend suddenly jumped awake, almost falling off the mattress as you kicked him again. ‘Ow! Ribs!’

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘You haven’t tried to share a bed with me since we were ten!’ You tossed a pillow at him. ‘So I’ll ask again - why the bloody hell are you in here?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ He grumbled. 

Your frown softened, and you let out a sigh. ‘Have you been having nightmares about Galahad again? Because Merlin said he was making strides towards getting better-’

‘- That day from the church is still ingrained in my head.’ Eggsy cut you off, tucking his knees into his chest and under his chin. ‘It keeps playing over and over.’

It was something you sympathised with. Working as a Kingsman brought good days and bad days, but the latter would stick in your mind a thousand times more. You’d learnt to live with it by that point but then again, you were easier at separating your emotions from your professional life. You had a good rapport with your colleagues - minus the doofus at the foot of your bed, who might as well have been an annoying brother - but you tried not to become attached. It only made it harder when you lost them, 

‘Time, Eggsy.’ You leant over the bed to give his arm a squeeze. ‘You need time.’

‘It’s been almost a year-’

‘- recovery isn’t a race.’ You firmly interrupted. ‘And healing isn’t linear, for you or for Gala - for Harry.’ 

You’d become so accustomed to codenames that they felt personal. Harry was Galahad, and Amish was Merlin. You’d never called Roxy anything other than Lancelot. It just didn’t feel right. 

‘I hate when you make sense-’

Eggy’s rumbling was cut off by the sound of the front door and the fall of footsteps. You immediately leapt out of bed, tearing your gun from the bedside table. Pointing it out in front of you, you slowly kicked open the door and crept out in the hallway, weapon leading the way. 

‘Morning sunshine-’ Whiskey stopped in his tracks when he saw the pistol aimed in his direction. ‘Well that ain’t a very warm welcome is it, Percy?’

‘Percy?’ The words rolled off of your tongue with a tone of disbelief. Admittedly, the new nickname shouldn’t have been your first concern when you were a) wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas and b) pointing a gun at your new colleague, but priorities didn’t apply in this situation.

‘Short for Percival!’ Eggsy called from the bedroom.

‘Oh, I do apologise.’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Was I interrupting something-’

‘- Gross!’ You exclaimed. ‘No!’

‘Hey!’ Another call from the bedroom. ‘You would be lucky-’

You cut your friend off by slamming the bedroom door. ‘What do you want, Whiskey? It’s six in the fucking morning.’

‘And yet you’re up and pointing a gun at my head.’ The cowboy reasoned, complete with a small shrug. ‘Want to put the weapon down, pretty lady?’

Growling at the use of another nickname, you threw the gun onto one of the side-tables. That was when you realised you’d sprinted out the bedroom in cartoon pajamas, only to come face-to-face with Whiskey, who was in his usual leather jacket and hat. Frankly, you should have slapped it right off his head. That would have taught him to come bursting into your apartment at the crack of dawn. 

‘Maybe knock next time?’ You suggested, stalking through to the kitchen. ‘Especially considering that it’s not even light outside. A little bit predatorial, don’t you think?’

‘If you’d checked the schedule I emailed you, you would know that we have to be in the field in forty-five minutes.’ Jack shot back, leaning against the counter. ‘You should check your phone more often. I thought that most of your generation had their cell-phones glued to their hands.’

‘Okay, grandad.’ You snorted. His dark eyes followed you as you darted around the kitchen, piling together a cup of coffee on autopilot. ‘What’re we doing in the field?’

‘Recon.’ He said. ‘One of Calahan’s contacts has been spotted working a jewellery stand down at 30 Rock.’

‘Okay, give me thirty minutes.’ You tossed a piece of bread into the toaster.

‘Dress...touristy.’ 

--

‘That is not touristy.’

Usually, Jack Daniels would have been the last person to object to a woman wearing a dress and heels, but you were supposed to be blending in with crowds, not standing out. He clearly hadn’t got the memo that you didn’t do casual - not in a professional sense, at least. In some way, you were matching, because you too were wearing a leather jacket. It was a staple in your wardrobe. 

‘Would you rather I have stayed in the turtle pajamas?’ You glanced across the table at him, thinning your eyes. 

‘Tourists don’t wear Christian Louboutins.’ The cowboy muttered. 

‘I wear Christian Louboutins.’ You shot back. ‘But points for recognizing the brand.’ 

‘Here.’ Jack swiped a t-shirt off of a cart as they passed by, thrusting a fifty in the vendor’s hand. ‘Wear this.’ 

He shoved a t-shirt into your hand; it was about ten sizes too big for you with ‘I ❤️  NY’ blazoned across the front. For a minute, you thought he was kidding, but Jack’s serious expression barely faltered. You tried to counter the look, quirking your brow as if to say yeah, good one. 

‘I’m serious, Agent. We can’t blow our cover.’ 

‘What cover?’ You frowned. ‘You never said anything about a cover.’ 

‘Our guy works for a jewelry vendor.’ Jack flashed a grin at you, before pulling a pair of glasses out of his pocket. ‘We need to get inside and get footage of the shop for the agents coming in tonight. These babies will live stream it right back to Ginger HQ.’

‘So I have to go jewelry shopping?’ 

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘We are going ring shopping, Mrs Daniels.’ 

‘You’re not serious.’ Your eyebrows shot up. 

‘I think we would make a very attractive couple.’ He retorted. ‘A bright-eyed Brit falling in love with a cowboy, their feelings for each other spanning the Pacific-’

‘- Atlantic-’

‘- ocean.’ 

‘Whatever.’ You pulled off your jacket, yanking the t-shirt from his hands and tugging it over your head. The shirt ended up being longer than your dress, and with your tights and heels it worked in a way that it definitely shouldn’t have. ‘Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.’

‘Incidentally, that’s something you would also say if you were my wife.’

You responded again with a groan, elongating it slightly when Jack wound an arm around your waist, as though somebody had just yelled action! 

How hard could it be? You’d been undercover as part of a couple before - admittedly, that had been with people you’d already had a rapport with, and ones who didn’t drive you up the wall as much as Whiskey. Eggsy was a close call, but having been your best friend for the better part of twenty years, it was easy to convince people you were a real couple. It had been a little awkward with Merlin and you had almost flat out refused to do it with Galahad, but there hadn’t been so much at risk then. If this recon went well, it could lead to leaps and strides in your bigger mission. Finding Calahan, proving yourself worthy of a promotion and eventual world domination (in a hero kinda way). 

‘Let’s go over the fine details.’ You murmured to him, glancing around as you entered the shopping strip inside 30 Rock. ‘Where did we meet?’

‘London. I was on a business trip.’ Whiskey quickly replied. ‘How did I propose?’

‘In front of the Eiffel Tower.’ You said. ‘And where do we live now?’

‘Kentucky, but we’re in New York because we plan on getting married here.’ He said. ‘You ready?’

‘Let’s go.’ You linked your arms with his, plastering on a fake grin as you entered the jewelry store.  ‘My glasses are recording this straight back to HQ.’

‘Hey there, cowboy!’ Calahan’s contact greeted you immediately. He wasn’t what you’d expected - the man was decked out in a suit and tie, complete with a dodgy looking spray tan and teeth so white they could probably reflect the fucking sun. ‘And pretty lady.’

It had been bad enough when Whiskey called you that. But this guy? Gross - and Jack couldn’t help but notice how you tensed up at the nickname. 

‘Watch it, pal.’ Jack joked. ‘That’s my fiancee you’re talking to.’

‘And I assume that’s what brings you in today?’ He flashed a grin at you. ‘I couldn’t help but notice she doesn’t have a ring.’

‘See if you can move closer to the case by the fire exit.’ Ginger’s voice came over your earpiece. 

‘These ones here look pretty!’ You suddenly exclaimed, grabbing Jack by the arm and yanking him in the direction that Ginger had requested. The cowboy let out a surprised yelp as you did, stumbling slightly as you dragged him across the store. 

‘Perfect. Thank you.’ She quietly said over the line. 

‘Any in particular catch your eye, Miss…’

‘It will be Mrs Jones when we get married.’ You plastered on the biggest shit-eating grin that you could muster. ‘And that one in the top corner is very pretty.’

‘That’s one of our most expensive rings.’ The jeweler’s grin was bigger than yours. ‘Is your event going to be as big? You know...price wise?’

‘Oh yeah!’ You chimed in, barely giving Jack a chance to think. ‘We’re renting out the Plaza Hotel. I’m wearing a vintage Emanuel dress inspired by the Princess of Wales and our honeymoon is three weeks in the Bahamas.’

You just had to ramble for a little bit longer whilst Jack looked around to get the footage. Luckily, it was something you were good at. You could talk somebody’s ear off if you had to and bullshit to the next degree; it had saved your ass on missions more times than you’d care to admit. If you ever retired from the Kingsman, you probably had a promising career as an actress. 

‘All this before you’ve chosen a ring?’ He raised his eyebrows at you. You’d been quick on your feet - so much so that you’d tripped and fallen. 

‘My baby’s been planning this thing since was a little girl.’ Whiskey quickly stepped in. ‘And it’s my job to make sure she gets it.’

‘He’s a lawyer.’ You went up on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek. ‘I’m marrying good.’

‘Oh!’ The jeweler glanced between the two of you. ‘This makes more sense now.’

‘Right, we’ve got enough footage.’ Merlin said. ‘You two can get the bloody hell out of there before I puke.’

After making an appointment to return the following day - which neither of you planned on going to, obviously - Jack took your hand and led you out the store. To keep up appearances, you kept your fingers intertwined as you walked back through the shopping mall. The fact you had managed to play a believable couple on such short notice was almost astounding. 

‘Oh my god.’ You murmured, glancing over your shoulder as you exited the mall and turned the corner. You pulled your hand back from Jack’s, stifling a laugh. ‘I can’t believe we actually managed to do it.’

‘Why are you so shocked?’ Whiskey peered down at you, a grin playing on his lips. ‘Like I said - we would make a very attractive couple, sugar.’

‘In your dreams, Daniels.’ You shot back. ‘But if I ever do end up in a relationship like that? Shoot me. I beg you.’

You kept strolling together, slowly heading for the Statesman headquarters - but neither of you were in a rush. Whatever the hell that was had just broken the initial tension between you, and you were actually enjoying one another’s company for the moment. 

‘What’s wrong with it?’ He asked. ‘Ain’t nothing bad about a man looking after his woman.’

‘That’s so outdated.’ You groaned. 

‘It’s not!’ Jack protested. ‘A man looks after his girl and his girl looks after him. Or a husband and husband, or wife and wife-’

‘- how progressive of you.’ You cut him off, rolling your eyes. ‘I don’t rely on anyone. Ever. I look after myself.’

It was probably a cultural difference. Jack had grown up in the south, in a household where his dad worked and his mum looked after the house. It had been the same with his late wife; had things not gone the way they had, he’d probably be the breadwinner whilst she stayed home with the kids. You, meanwhile, had grown up in a working class area of London where a majority of the households were headed by women - and most of the time, single women. If there was some unheard of future where you got married and had kids, like hell would you give up your career. Your job was your baby. 

‘We all need people to look after us sometimes.’ Jack nudged you with his elbow.

You shook your head. ‘Not me.’

‘Well you sound like a real heart-breaker, Miss Independent.’ 

‘It’s my speciality.’ 

--

Once you’d handed over the footage from your glasses to Ginger, you and Whiskey headed to the office. There was a comfortable silence between you - pretending to be a married couple had been one hell of an ice breaker. At least it was proof that you and Jack could work well together. You’d stayed on the same page for the entirety of your little improv love story, and it meant your first mission, however minor, had been a success. If working with him was going to like that for the rest of your time in New York, you might have been able to tolerate him and his ridiculous Southern drawl. 

(Not to mention the nicknames. It left you wondering if Jack had forgotten your actual name and was too afraid to ask.) 

Eggsy was waiting for you in the lobby outside the lift. He was leant against the wall, feet crossed in front of him as he tapped away on his phone. A frown came over your face when you realised that he had a bag beside him. He was scheduled to stay in the city with you until at least the following weekend. You had plans for a few days time to try and use your contacts to sneak into a filming of Saturday Night Live. 

‘Hey!’ Your best friend brightly greeted you. ‘Guess what? Tilde called!’

‘That’s great!’ You forced a smile. ‘So you’re heading back to London tonight?’

‘Yeah.’ His grin didn’t falter. ‘I figured since you two played a married couple successfully, you didn’t need me to stick around to babysit you and make sure you didn’t eat him alive.’

‘It’s still early days.’ You reasoned. ‘Are you sure you don’t wanna stay a couple more days? Adam Driver’s the guest on SNL this weekend.’

‘I gotta get back and fix things, man.’ Eggsy said. ‘I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.’

‘Right, of course.’ You held your arms out to him. 

He stepped forward and wrapped his own around you, lifting you off the ground and giving you a tight squeeze. If you had to choose one of your favourite things about Eggsy, it would have to be his hugs. The only reason you’d stopped calling him Hugsy was because he’d threatened to take them away entirely. They were far and few, usually when you were going to spend time apart, but you always appreciated them. 

‘I’ll see you in a few weeks, tops.’ He said, placing you back on the ground. ‘And I promise we’ll get into SNL then.’

‘You better.’ You poked his chest. ‘I’ll miss you, Egghead.’

‘I’ll miss you more.’

You let out a tiny sigh as Eggsy picked up his bags and headed for the lift. You weren’t mad at him for going home early - just disappointed. And not at him, just at the situation, It had been a long time since you’d got to properly spend time together outside of work. Above all, however, you knew you had to respect his relationship. What kind of friend would you be to stand in the way of him and love? 

Once he was out of sight, you regathered yourself and headed to the office. Jack was already inside, his feet propped up on the desk and a glass of his namesake whiskey in hand. It was the first time he’d taken off his hat in front of you, and his hair was a little ruffled from it. 

‘Don’t need anyone my ass’ was the greeting he offered you. 

‘What?’ You furrowed your brow. 

Jack pushed his feet back to the floor, handing you your own glass of...well, Jack.  ‘I saw the way you looked at your boy, Percy.’

‘I told you before!’ You snatched the glass from his hand, dropping into your chair. ‘Eggsy is not my boyfriend.’

‘Doesn��t have to be’.’ He shrugged. ‘You looked like you were losing your brother. Tweedle Dum ain’t nothing without Tweedle Dee.’ 

Eggsy was your brother, by all intents and purposes. Heck, he might as well have been your twin. Your fathers had been best friends when they were in Kingsman, and you and him were reflections of that. You’d gone through every high and low of your teenage years together, and eventually adulthood. As previously established, he often came to you and he often needed you, but you hated to consider how it might have gone the other way. He was the only exception to your needing no one rule. And, considering that not even your own mother had made the cut, it was actually quite complimentary. 

‘I don’t need Eggsy.’ You insisted. 

‘How long have you known each other?’ Jack ignored your statement, instead posing a question. ‘Since school?’

‘No. He’s six months older than me, so...my whole life.’

‘I rest my case.’

‘You know nothing, Whiskey!’ You exclaimed. ‘You can’t make massive assumptions about me when you’ve known me for two days.’

‘I’ve met a woman like you before.’ He replied. He pondered for a moment, and his eyes were almost...vacant. ‘She pretended she didn’t need a damn person either, but she did.’

‘And who was that?’ You thinned your eyes at me. ‘Because I can’t think of a single person who I need.’ 

‘She needed me.’ He casually shrugged. ‘And I needed her.’

‘Right. Naturally.’ You murmured. ‘It’s too early for this, Whiskey.’

‘Got too deep for you, Tea?’

‘The hell did you just call me?’

‘Tea.’ He offered you a shit eat grin. ‘Get it? Because you’re British-’

‘- this face isn’t because I didn’t get it.’ You cut him off. ‘And on that note, I am done here. I shall be working from home this evening and possibly for the rest of eternity.’ 

Swiping your glass up, you poured the entirety of its contents down your throat in one swig, before slamming it back on the table. The whiskey burnt for a split second, but it felt good - and you didn’t need to be skidding down that slippery slope at two in the afternoon. Gathering up your bag, you swung it over your shoulder and stood up. 

‘Oh, c’mon!’ Jack protested. ‘We were just starting to get along, sugar!’

‘We were!’ You shot back, pausing when you were half-way out the door. ‘Then you started therapising me.’

He grinned at you. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re contractually obliged!’

‘Fuuuck off!’ 

[hockeyboysiguess]

five golden rings -> five silver rings | m. rantanen

a/n: an hour later in all the rest so far, but here’s fic number five in my 12 days of christmas series! rest of the series linked here.

word count: 2,470

warnings: mentions of alcohol

You took a deep breath and smoothed out your dress before adjusting your hair one last time, deciding after all this time it was best to settle for that one pesky curl being out of place so you could get going. You grabbed your earrings off the dresser, a gift from Mikko, and headed to the living room where he was waiting for you. His suit jacket was tossed onto the couch next to him, his eyes trained on his phone. In the faint light of just the Christmas tree, illuminating his jawline his free hand came up to scratch, his blonde curls outlined by the light, he looked every bit as angelic as you thought he looked the day you met him, and every bit as angelic as he proved to be since that moment, worthy of the top of your grandmother’s Christmas tree. He had to settle for her mantle next to it though.

“Ready!” was how you announced your presence to him. 

Mikko lifted his head from his phone as a lazy smile pulled slowly at his lips. His light eyes danced up and down your body appreciatively in a way that told you the dress was worth its uncomfortableness. You smiled and your cheeks heated under his gaze, but he just heightened it by letting out a low whistle. 

“Merry Christmas to me,” he spoke through his smile. 

“Christmas isn’t for two more days,” you reminded him as you grabbed your coat from the closet, attention away from him for a moment. 

“Well then.” Mikko’s voice was suddenly in your ear and you gasped as you felt his large hands slide around your waist from behind. You hadn’t even heard him get up. “I guess Christmas came early for me then.”

You slid a hand down his forearm until your hand covered his. You slid your fingers into the gaps between his, lacing your hands together. He squeezed your fingers between his and pressed his hand against your stomach to push you firmly against him. A kiss to your neck followed by another and you knew you had to be the one to put your foot down and stop this so you could actually make it to the party sort of close to on time. 

“Mik, you can do this later,” you mumbled out as he kissed your neck. 

“Is it a crime that I want my fiancée?” he muttered out against your skin. “Especially when you’re wearing this dress…”

He trailed off and you were slowly getting pulled into the warmth that was Mikko Rantanen, but you had to stop this for now. Mikko needed to make it to this party seeing as it was for him. Well, him and the rest of his teammates, but your vested interest was in your fiancé. You pulled his hand away from you and stepped forward toward the closet, wrapping your hand around your coat again. Mikko groaned, but reached for his coat hung up next to yours instead of trying to pull you back in. He knew you were right, even though he didn’t want you to be. 

You flicked off the Christmas tree before following Mikko out the door, hand in one of his large ones. He held your hand as he drove, a habit he picked up early in your relationship neither of you wanted him to shake. Especially after the ring Mikko agonized over made its way into your hand, he never let it go in the car. He frequently pressed soft kisses on the back of your hand periodically at stop lights. Under the streetlights decorated with wreaths lining the street of Denver, like under the lights on the Christmas tree earlier, you were looking at him and were reminded just how much you loved every part of him, every single thing he brought to your life. The holidays made a lot of people sentimental, you included, and there wasn’t anyone who deserved your sentiment more than Mikko.

With his hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the party, it didn’t feel as overwhelming as it was. The Avalanche Christmas party, not the ugly sweater drunken Christmas-fest that occurred at the Landeskogs, but the formal one that required a dress this nice that you could barely breathe in and heels as high as you could manage. It was all heightened this year by the silver cup on the table at the center of the room, visible from every angle. With the season shifted back this year, you had watched Mikko hoist the cup in October, shifting everything back and causing events and timelines to converge. The decision to give the team their championship rings at the Christmas party this year gave the whole event a little more fanfare and a little more weight. 

Mikko grabbed two champagne flutes off a passing waiter’s tray and handed one to you with a wry smile, his dimples showing alongside that beautiful smile you loved so much. You tapped your glass to his before raising it up to him, the first of many silent toasts for the evening to celebrate his greatest accomplishment to date. The cup in the center of the room took you back through the times it starred in your memories. You looked at the Cup, shining under the lights, and remembered the way Mikko looked at you on the ice as the realization that his childhood dream was a reality hit him. You remembered the moment you watched him hoist it over his head like it weighed nothing, when from your own experience trying to lift it in his parent’s backyard in Finland, you knew it wasn’t all that light. The look of joy on his face, the brightness in his eyes, every single time he saw the Cup and knew he had won it, that his name was engraved on it, the feelings that expression on his face gave you reminded you of a lot of things. The warmth of a steady burning fireplace, the innocent untampered with joy of a child on Christmas morning, but most of all, it brought back the memory of Christmas two years ago, when he had the same look on his face, the look of a dream coming true, when you told him that you loved him too.  

“Ready to mingle?” Mikko asked you, stealing your now empty champagne flute from you to place it on a tray passing by. “You know they all just want to talk to you instead.” 

Coaches, executives, owners, and what felt like endless people with endlessly similar yet different job titles later, your feet were killing you and you’d had a few more flutes of passing champagne that you were definitely feeling. Mikko dropped down into his seat next to yours and you sighed with relief when you realized he’d grabbed two drinks on his way to the table. 

“My savior,” you smiled at him as he leaned in closer to you. You stole a quick kiss before adding, “Did it hurt when you crash landed in Santa’s sleigh? Because you’re the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” 

“Did you just make a terrible Christmas themed, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven,’ joke?” Mikko was laughing as you nodded in response. “God, I can’t wait to marry you.” 

You both turned your attention to the stage. One of the people you’d shaken hands with and turned on your most charming smile for was up there giving another congratulations speech. You were sure it was supposed to reflect the hard fought sixteen wins the team put in for the Cup and all the hours before and in between those, but you’d heard so many of these speeches since the team won that glaringly shiny cup in the center of the stage now that they all blended together, even as they were happening. The garland in the background and Mikko’s fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder were the only two things that made the speech stand out from all the others. You still gave it a standing ovation, like everyone else around you did. 

Two more speeches later, and a veritable army of people suddenly emerged from doors you hadn’t realized were there with stacks of black boxes in their hands. Mikko rubbed his hands together excitedly. You knew he’d never wear it, but it would be an understatement to say he was excited to see his championship ring after months of waiting. As soon as the box was placed in front of him, Mikko’s hands were dancing on it, dying to open it and see its contents, but he was waiting for his teammates spread around the room to receive theirs as well. Everyone had been waiting for this moment and he wasn’t about to be the one to spoil it. Still, he looked like a child who had just had a present placed in front of them that was so uniquely shaped it could only be the one thing they most desperately wanted who was then told to wait for everyone else to get their presents too. 

Mikko flipped open the top of the box as fast as humanly possible when he finally could. You could practically see the glint of the ring in his eyes as he reached forward with shaking hands to pick it up. He whistled long and low as he appraised it in his hand, turning it over and over slowly to see it from every possible angle. He shook his head softly, a youthful smile pulling at his lips. The championship ring was always a small part of the dream, the most material part, but also one of the more physical representations of it he would get to keep with him forever. It was a moment, winning the cup, that might not come again, no matter how hard he worked and your fiancé worked harder than anyone you knew. Because of that, you filmed him opening the box and sliding his hard earned championship ring on for the first time, wanting to give him every single opportunity to savor this moment over and over again. 

“Baby, look!”

Mikko’s mouth was pulled into a wide open smile, absolute elation on his face, the monstrously large ring on his finger. You laughed as you filmed his reaction, his wide-eyed, wide-mouth joy burned into your phone memory forever. You couldn’t help but ruin the moment for just a second to lean forward and kiss him. Mikko didn’t hesitate for a second before kissing you back. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered softly to him, making him smile impossibly wider than he had been all night. 

“Thank you,” he replied just as softly. “That reminds me. I have something for you actually.” 

You groaned as Mikko leaned back into his chair and fished around in his suit jacket pocket for a moment. He pulled out a small black box, thin and long like it contained a bracelet, but slightly wider than that. Mikko had a penchant for getting you far too expensive jewelry, a habit he picked up early on your relationship that culminated in the ring on your left hand you hadn’t even wanted to venture the cost of when he slid it onto your finger. You didn’t think this Christmas would be any exception, even though your ring had come this year already. You knew Mikko better than to think this Christmas would be any different, except he was two days early.

“You’re early, Mik,” you sighed, tossing your napkin onto the table. 

“Fits better with today,” he told you as he extended the box out to you. 

You placed it on the table and gave him a small glare out of the side of your eyes, which only made him laugh. You opened it slowly, as painstakingly slowly as you could, just to make him suffer a little before getting your reaction since he cracked and was giving you a gift two days early. When you finally had it fully open, you gasped softly at the contents. Five silver rings sat nestled in the velvet, of various sizes and thickness, all beautifully polished and shining. 

“I know you like those sets, with smaller rings that go like, on the top of your fingers and the bigger ones that go where your rings normally sit?” Mikko was pointing to his own hand to try and show you. “I thought um, five silver rings on the Stanley Cup, five silver rings for you? It didn’t feel right to get a ring myself and not get you one, since you’re my biggest supporter.” 

It was a little cliché and you knew it, but your eyes teared up a little anyway. You let your fingers dance over the rings slowly, tapping over the one with the smallest diameter first and working your way up. You knew they were completely custom, and platinum not silver like Mikko was trying to make you believe for the sake of his homage to the Cup, which wasn’t even entirely silver itself to begin with. When your fingers reached over the biggest and widest ring, Mikko cleared his throat.

“There’s, um, you should take a good look at that one.” 

Which was your cue to slide it from the box and look for an engraving on the idea. You ran the tip of your finger over the letters before your eyes became too cloudy to see them clearly anymore. It was just one word. Kiitos, in his native tongue. Thank you. That’s all he’d engraved inside, but it meant the absolute world to you. You saw Mikko as a part of all of your successes, your highest highs made possible and sweeter because of him and his steadfast love and support. You were holding evidence he saw you as part of his greatest success too. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he told you softly, “and thank you. Thank you for everything.” 

Everything was vague, yet all encompassing as a word. All encompassing because Mikko meant it so. He was thankful for you, saying yes when he got down on one knee earlier that year. He was thankful for your support. He was thankful for your love. But most of all, he was just thankful by some miracle that felt a lot like Christmas itself, you picked him back and were working on vows just like he was to say that you would pick him for forever. By this time next year, he would have heard those vows and you would have heard his. But Mikko didn’t want to skip ahead. He chose to live in the now, in that night with you, cherishing the Christmas that was to come in two days, while looking forward to his lifetime of them with you.

[pretchatta]

swoon june day 9: fairy tales

loosely based on the greek myth of orpheus and eurydice

rating: general (warning for character death); kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.5k words

---

There once lived a man who was blessed by the gods, and his name was Kanan.

Kanan was one of the Kasminauts, the fabled heroes who travelled with Janus to retrieve the Golden Flight. His skill with a blade was considerable and helped the group out of many a tight corner over the course of their quest, but it was his silver tongue that proved to be his most valuable asset.

Kanan’s divine gift had been bestowed upon him by Depa, goddess of the spoken word, and his was the gift of storytelling. When Kanan began a tale, all would stop in their tracks to listen. Men would pause in their work; beasts of the forest both great and timid would emerge from their dens; even the trees would inch closer to hear him. It was his way with words that allowed the Kasminauts to pass the Golden Flight’s devaronian guard, Jondo, as well as surmount countless other obstacles on their journey.

When their quest came to an end and the heroes returned home, Kanan decided to settle down. He found a cottage at the edge of a forest and he made it his home. Now this forest was not an ordinary forest, for it was inhabited by a clan of twi’lek nymphs, and it was during a walk along the forest’s border that Kanan’s ears caught the sound of the loveliest voice he’d ever heard. Enraptured, he sought out its source, and that was how he met Hera.

Hera was the daughter of Cham, the leader of the forest twi’lek. Her beauty and grace were indescribable, and Kanan fell in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. From that day he would come to the forest every morning to tell Hera one of his many magical tales, hoping to win her affections. What he didn’t know was that Hera already returned his feelings; she had heard of Kanan and his silver tongue, but wanted to see how far he would go for her.

The first tale he told was of an ancient order of noble warriors. His words painted pictures of elegant figures in flowing robes protecting the weak and caring for the needy. In his attempt to impress Hera he made it his best performance to date. So inspiring were his words that the forest itself felt inclined to grow. The trees pushed their roots further than they’d expanded in years and new saplings shot up in every direction, increasing the area the forest protected.

Kanan’s second tale was a tragedy, one of betrayal and loss and hardship. He made this one even better than his last, delving into his deepest reserves of emotion as he told it. So moving were his words that the ground itself wept. A new stream sprang from the forest floor, feeding the forest’s new growth, and the trees grew lusher than ever.

His third tale was of new beginnings, describing friendships forged and purpose found. His voice soared with his most powerful story yet and carried through the whole forest, uplifting every beast and being who heard it. That night there was much celebrating, with everyone who lived in those woods rejoicing in the life they had and the ones they shared it with, and by the following morning the forest’s population was inexplicably larger.

Hera, seeing her home revitalised and strengthened by Kanan’s tales, held no doubts in her mind of his devotion. She revealed her heart to him and they were married in a beautiful ceremony by the stream. The wedding was well-attended, with music and dancing from her people, drinking and laughter from the Kasminauts, and a special performance from Chopper, a bird that Hera had once nursed to health and who had stayed with her ever since. Kanan and Hera moved into the cottage at the edge of the forest, and they were blissfully happy together.

But it was not to last.

They were not the only ones who lived by the forest, and a man by the name of Azmorigan also desired Hera. His covetous feelings drove him to pursue her relentlessly, but never within sight of Kanan. One day, he waited for Hera to take her daily walk outside of the cottage and snuck up behind her. Hera, having been raised in the forest and knowing its sounds like her own heartbeat, heard Azmorigan approaching. She fled before he could touch her, but in her haste to escape, she did not watch her step. Her foot fell on the back of a ysalamiri lizard and it bit her ankle. The lizard’s lifeforce-suppressing venom seeped into her blood, and Hera fell to the ground.

Azmorigan fled, and it was evening before Kanan came to look for his wife. The man of such beautiful words was silent when he found her lifeless body. He was silent as he carried her back to the home they had shared, and the silence stretched for three days and three nights. Trees wilted, birdsong was half-hearted, and instruments would not hold their tune without Kanan’s words to lift spirits.

Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, Kanan re-emerged. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn on his voyage with the Kasminauts, with his sword strapped to his hip and a small travelling bag slung over his back. He said not a word as he departed for the hills.

Kanan’s journey was a long one. He travelled out of the forest and over the hills, through fields and between mountains until he reached the sea. He took a boat and sailed over the horizon and beyond, until he found land again. He crossed arid deserts, frozen tundra and lush jungle. He saw fishing villages, market towns and cities in the clouds, but he never stopped, and he never spoke.

Eventually, he reached the cliffs at the edge of the world. There he found a cave, an opening that descended into darkness, which he entered without hesitation. The tunnel took him deep underground and far away from the land of the living. He walked, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, until he reached a gate. Standing before the gate was a fearsome sentinel, the honourable guardian Garazeb, his eyes wide and alert.

It was now that Kanan finally broke his silence.

“I wish to pass into the Land of the Dead,” he said softly.

“That is forbidden,” Garazeb growled, his deep voice like grinding rocks. “Only the dead may pass this gate. As long as I stand guard here, no living thing shall pass me, in or out.”

Kanan thought for a moment. “Very well. Then perhaps I could make your endless watch a little less dull. For I am Kanan, a storyteller of great renown.”

Garazeb did not respond, merely fixing Kanan with a stony stare, but he was not deterred.

Kanan began his tale. For the gate guardian who saw people from all walks of life pass him on their way to the Underworld, he recounted long marches to battle, legions of feet falling in step, their thunder echoing around them. He drew his sword to emphasize his words as he described endless repetitive days of marching, camping, marching, camping, always surrounded by the same faces. Garazeb’s eyes followed the blade as he swept it from side to side in an almost hypnotic fashion, drawing the same shapes over and over. Soon, the mighty guard’s eyelids began to droop. Kanan did not end his story until Garazeb finally slumped back against the wall, slid down to the ground and let out a deep, rumbling snore.

Silent once more, Kanan stepped over the sleeping sentinel and passed through the gate. He shivered as he felt the change in the air that signified he had done what no other living mortal had done: he had walked into the Land of the Dead, the World Between Worlds, the Underworld. Only his blessing from Depa protected him from Death’s icy embrace here.

The tunnel continued onwards, filled with chill, damp air, and Kanan with it. As he walked he became aware of a distant noise, a rushing, roaring sound that grew steadily louder as he proceeded. The tunnel turned a corner and Kanan emerged into an enormous cavern through the center of which thundered a wide river.

On the near shore, where the rocks were wet with spray, a man waited with a boat. Kanan approached him and spoke once more.

“I wish to cross the River of Souls.”

The man looked at Kanan. His face was young, but his eyes were old, and his expression was as cold as the waters of the river.

“I only ferry the dead over this river, and only in one direction.”

“Has anyone living ever asked you for passage?” Kanan challenged.

The man narrowed his eyes. “No. Garazeb does not allow them to pass the gate.”

“So why would you not take me across? I have made it this far, after all.”

“This river washes away all souls who are not worthy of eternal life in the fields beyond,” said the boatman. “If you attempt to cross and are not worthy, you too will be washed away into nothingness.”

“That is a risk I am willing to take.”

“Hm.” The boatman considered Kanan. “Then you will pay me for your passage. I ferry the dead for free because they have nothing, not even their lives, but this is not the case with you. What can you offer?”

After his long journey Kanan had only the barest of essentials, but he knew that what he needed he always carried with him.

“I have no money with me, but I am known for my skill with words,” he told the boatman. “I doubt you have much cause for joy down here; if I can make you smile, will that cover my trip?”

“I suppose it will. But I cannot remember the last time I smiled, and you will not be able to change that.”

“We shall see. Before I begin my story, might I have your name?” Kanan asked.

“I am Ezra, bridger of the River of Souls,” the boatman replied.

Kanan began yet another tale. For the man who had companions every day but not a single one who would stay with him, Kanan told a tale of families, of belonging, of love. His words brought warmth into the air that was chilled by the river’s spray, and light into the cavern that was out of reach of the sun. When he reached the part of the story where the father went back for his son, the corners of the boatman’s mouth twitched upwards.

When Kanan pointed it out, the boatman grumbled. “It was barely a smile. More of a spasm. Doesn’t count. But I’ll suppose I’ll allow you over. Keep telling the story though, it’s a long crossing.”

So Kanan did; he told of the father rescuing the son, and taking him home, and wrapping the boy in blankets and reassuring him that he was safe now, that nothing bad would ever happen to him, and that he was loved. By the time they reached the other shore, the boatman was smiling widely, and a few tears had run down his smooth cheeks.

“That is your second smile,” Kanan told him, “and I will want to make the return trip.”

“Fine,” Ezra agreed, still smiling. “You have earned it.”

There was no tunnel on the other side of the river, but great, rolling fields under a black sky. A road wound between them which Kanan started down. Dimly, he could see pale figures wandering aimlessly over the land. None of them drifted close enough for him to see their forms clearly and he did not deviate from his path forward to investigate. He was close to his goal now; he could feel it.

The road crested a small hill and there before him was his destination: a towering construction of smooth black stone that glinted with a mysterious light. The Palace of Malachor.

The road to the palace entrance was not empty, however. His way forward was blocked by a young woman in full armour. In the dim half-light of the Underworld the armour’s markings were greyscale swirls of shapes and patterns. A matching helmet was tucked under one of her arms.

She caught sight of him immediately.

“You are not dead,” she accused. “You do not belong here.”

“I seek an audience in the palace,” he told her.

“And I seek justice, as I did in life. I will not let you proceed until you are dead.”

Having come so far, Kanan would not let this stop him. Not when he was so close.

“So we will duel,” he said, “and if you win, I will die. But if I beat you, you will let me pass.”

She considered him for a moment before nodding. “Very well. I accept your terms.”

She fitted the helmet over her head and unsheathed the blade at her hip. It was even blacker than the land around them, so dark it seemed to absorb light. Kanan drew his own blade, and their duel began.

The warrior was strong, and quick with her blade, and Kanan soon realised he was outmatched in skill alone. So he began to talk as their blades clashed, and for someone so young who needed so much armour, he told a story of acceptance. He described a young girl forsaken by her family, forced to strike her own path before she was ready. He saw his words have an effect as the warrior’s blows faltered.

He continued, describing the comfort and safety the girl found in the arms of people who accepted her for who she was, and who loved her unconditionally. Her parry went wide and Kanan’s blade slipped past the warrior’s guard to press against her neck. The tear that had blurred her vision fell from under her helmet to splash on his blade. She yielded, and true to her word, allowed him to pass her.

It was not far, then, to his final destination. The doors of Malachor opened to his touch and he stepped into the throne room. Before him sat Maul, Lord of the Underworld, and it was he Kanan addressed.

“O Great Lord of the Dead, I have travelled vast distances to come here before you. My wife, Hera, the light of my life, was taken from me too soon and now she walks in the fields outside this very palace. I have come before you to humbly beg for her return.”

Maul regarded Kanan with utter indifference.

“And why should I do that?”

Kanan took a deep breath and opened his mouth. He told Maul a story, the tale of his long journey to the Underworld, the lands he had crossed and the sights he had seen. He told of how he had surmounted the obstacles from the gate guard to the boatman to the warrior of the fields. He told all of this with his most magical of gifts, but Maul was a god, and unmoved.

He did, however, recognise Kanan’s voice.

“I care not for the trials of mortals before their demise, but you have done me a service in the short life you have led so far. In your love for your wife, you told stories which grew a forest and the numbers of those who live in it. Many of them have, in turn, died, and their souls have come to me. In return for this act I will grant you the chance to see your wife again.”

For the first time since finding Hera in the woods, Kanan allowed himself to feel a spark of hope.

“She is indeed in the fields outside,” Maul continued. “Go to the doors and tell one of your famous stories; she will hear your voice and will come to you. If you then walk back to the land of the living she will follow, and I will make sure none will stop you. But be warned: if you are to see her complete her journey, you cannot look at her while she is still in the Underworld. Do not turn around until you are both standing under the sun once again, or you will never see her again.”

Kanan bowed deeply in gratitude and thanked the Lord of the Underworld before departing his presence to do as he suggested.

Kanan went to stand just outside of the palace doors, and he knew exactly which story to tell: the story of his life. It was one Hera would know well, because she knew him better than he knew himself. He began his telling, and the slightest brush of wind encouraged him to start walking.

As he crossed the fields, he passed the warrior again. It was as he was telling of his childhood and of the importance of family and standing together. Her helmet was tucked back under her arm and she nodded at him respectfully, the faintest of wistful smiles at her lips. She gave no acknowledgement of anyone following him.

He reached the river and the boatman, whose face was back to its stony mask. The man did not hesitate as Kanan approached, remembering their agreement and giving Kanan passage back to the other shore. During the crossing Kanan told of the heartbreak of having everything he knew ripped away from him, and the boatman nodded along mournfully as he steered the boat. Neither when he boarded nor disembarked did Kanan feel the boat respond to anyone else’s movements.

He was telling the legends of the Kasminauts when he came up to the gate. The guardian was awake again and watched him impassively as Kanan approached, recounting his adventures with his brothers. The honour guard gave no indication that anyone was following Kanan but made no move to stop him from leaving the Underworld.

It was as Kanan started the uphill climb through the final tunnel that he reached the best part of his story. This was the part where his travels ended and he met Hera. The most beautiful, perfect woman, who healed him and loved him and gave him everything he needed. His words echoed off the tunnel walls along with the sound of a single set of footsteps.

Kanan had no idea if Hera was following him. He knew, he trusted, that if she had heard him and been able, she would have come to him in the field and would have stayed with him since. But what if she hadn’t? What if Maul had tricked him? What if the warrior had blocked her way, or the boatman had denied her passage, or the guard had closed the gate on her?

He could see the brightness of daylight just ahead of him. If he returned to the overworld now, he would never be able to return. If she wasn’t behind him, he would lose her forever.

He had to know. He could not leave without her.

And so Kanan turned, and was overjoyed to see Hera’s wraith-like spirit only a short distance behind him. But her expression turned to dismay as he looked, and even as he opened his mouth in reassurance, a shadow fell over her.

Maul.

“I warned you not to look,” he spat, face twisted in anger, “and what have you done? Now, you will look no more!”

There was a flash of red, a blinding pain, and Kanan felt himself flung backwards and out of the tunnel. He landed on soft grass and felt the warmth of the sun on his face, though no light came through his eyes. He knew he was back in the mortal realm. He knew he could not return to the Underworld. He knew he had shattered his chance to retrieve Hera.

He cried out in pain and frustration and grief.

But then warm arms gripped him and pulled him into a solid embrace, and a voice spoke in his ear.

“Kanan?”

The most beautiful voice.

“Hera?”

He reached up to where the voice had come from, and his fingers traced an achingly familiar face. Tears tracked down her cheeks, but she was here, with him, alive again.

“Oh, Kanan, your eyes!” she cried. “He has ruined your eyes! How will you see?”

But Kanan smiled.

“I do not need my eyes to see you,” he told her.

And so they returned to their cottage at the edge of the forest, and to their happy life together. Though he was blind, Kanan could still tell his stories, and Hera still loved him deeply. The tale of how Kanan’s love for his wife had driven him to retrieve her from the depths of the Underworld was one he told to many generations of twi’lek in the forest, and it was even more popular than the legends of the Kasminauts.

He was still telling it when, well into old age, he recognised that his time had come. This time, Kanan and Hera travelled together into Death. They greeted the gate guard, the boatman and the warrior like old friends, and hand in hand they stepped into the fields, ready to spend eternity together.

[iamyoursinblog]

Habit

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: SMUT

Word Count: 3,1 k

LIST

_________________________

Perhaps this was not the smartest idea, you thought as you sat between your new boyfriend and best friends. Especially when your best friends are idols. Not surprisingly, as soon as you got to the table, Yugyeom immediately recognized your boyfriend as he was a dancer. So after you sat down together, Yugyeom and your boyfriend plunged into the discussion of the dance world. Jaebeom and Jinyoung who were sitting next to you keep joking about Yugyeom taking my boyfriend away. Even though it was true, he seemed to have forgotten that he had come with the girl and not with Yugyeom here. You turned your gaze to the edge of the table where Mark was sitting, and smiled maliciously all evening. You have never date with Mark, there was only friendship sex between you, and you hoped that no one knew about it. Although this is hardly possible, but you were satisfied with the fact that everyone pretended that they did not know anything.

You got up from the table and went to the bar. You need to drink something stronger than wine. Going to the bar, you ordered whiskey with ice. You thought that if you stay here a while, maybe your boyfriend will pay attention to the empty space next to him. You took a sip and the scalding liquid filled your body with warmth. You sat at the bar, watching the action in the club. You felt a hot breath on your neck, and a strong hand passed over your thigh. Do he really remember about me, you thought, and with a smile turned to your boyfriend. You didn't expect to see Mark standing too close. You pushed him, returning to your drink.

“Your new boyfriend seems to be more interested in dancing than his girlfriend sitting at the bar in this incredibly short and sexy dress,” Mark said sarcastically, standing next to you.

"Mark, what do you want?" you said taking a sip

"I'm just wondering why are you date with a guy who didn't even notice your absence?"

“I'm glad that he will make friends with at least someone, before that you made hell for all my ex. I love that he interacts with Yugyeom." You said meeting his eyes.

"I almost believed you, that's why you were so happy and excited hoping that the boyfriend came to you?"

"My excitement and joy do not concern you!"

“It seems a few weeks ago, you had a different opinion riding my dick in your car,” he winked at you.

“Shut up” you put the glass on the counter with a thump. "We only have sex when we are not in a relationship, do not think that this gives you the right to show your jealousy"

“I think I fucked you more than all your boyfriends put together. Just admit that you are addicted to me. "He ran his fingers over your thigh.

“Don't flatter yourself, Mark. You are nothing more than a bad habit. " you answered, but he just laughed.

"Good. Whatever you say, baby."

You felt a hand on your back and turned around, this time it was exactly who you wanted to see. He kissed you on the cheek, turning in his direction. “Friends called me, they decided to dance nearby in the club. Yugyeom and I want to go there. You can stay and hang out with your friends. "

To say that at that moment you were in shock is to say nothing. All you had to do was smile back and wish you a good time. You turned to watch your boyfriend leave with Yugyeom who waved to you. You waved back. You heard laughter behind your back and turned to Mark.

"Now it looks like Yugyeom really took your boyfriend away." He came closer. "Are you sure you don't want me to take care of your excitation today?" he sent you a seductive smile.

You didn't say anything, after taking the last sip of whiskey, you pushed him away and walked towards your table.

You went over and grabbed your purse, listening to the guys taunting.

“See you,” you said, turning from the table.

Jinyoung caught your hand, stopping you. “Sorry, we were just joking. Don't go away. Fuck this asshole, let's hang out " he said trying to persuade you to stay

You ran your hand through Jinyoung's hair "I'm not offended, you don't know me well" you winked at him. "I have a lot to do in the morning, I need to get some sleep" you smiled

"Okay. Next time we'll have a party all night and just try not to come, "Jaebeom said. He stood up and hugged you tightly." Jinyoung is right. This guy is clearly not worthy of you, fuck him. "

“Don't worry oppa, you know me. I'm not chasing guys that don't need me. ”You winked at Jaebeom and Jinyoung before leaving.

  ♥ ♥ ♥   ♥ ♥ ♥    ♥ ♥ ♥   ♥ ♥ ♥   ♥ ♥ ♥ 

A month later

You sat alone in the bar looking at the wine in your glass. Quiet music and pleasant atmosphere are what you needed.

"Did something happen?" asked the bartender pouring wine into your glass.

“Nothing that a glass of good wine can't fixed,” you said smiling.

"Are you waiting for Mark?"

"What?" you looked at him questioningly

“Sorry, I just heard he was going to come tonight. I thought you had a meeting "the bartender bowed and left.

Only this was not enough for you, to meet Mark now. You took a long gulp while sipping all the wine. You got up from your chair and was already heading for the exit when Mark entered the bar.

"Ooohh, _______!" Mark smiled at you and came closer, hugged you. “I didn't expect to meet you here. Let's have a drink "he turned you around and directed you back to where you was just sitting.

“I was going home already,” you muttered

“Stop it when you were walking home at this time,” he winked at you. After ordering drinks, he began to talk about what they were doing all this time that you had not seen each other.

“You see, I told you that he should come. Now you will have more fun " said the bartender putting drinks in front of you. You were ready to kill him at that moment. You sent him a sizzling look after which he immediately disappeared.

“Hmm, how interesting,” Mark said, looking at the drink in his glass. “So you didn't leave because you had to go, but because you didn't want to meet me.” He took a sip. “And long ago you started avoiding me” he looked at you

“Why would I avoid you. It's just that today I'm not in the mood to listen to your jokes about breaking up with your boyfriend, "you said trying to sound funny.

"And it seems to me the reason is different?" he said taking your hand "Someone is afraid to be in my bed again," he whispered, leaving a kiss on your hand.

You snatched your hand away and took a sip. "Do not think about something that is not exist."

“Then why didn't you come when Jaebeom called you to have a drink with him and me? As far as I know you had a day off "

"I just made another appointment."

“How convenient. And I really thought that you were afraid to stay alone with me at home "

“Why are me suddenly can afraid to be alone with you?” You laughed

"Well, I do not know. Perhaps you could prove that you are addicted on me and cannot resist "

“Are you that confident in yourself? Maybe everything is just the opposite and you are addicted on me? "

“I have never denied it. You are my drug. But you are always running away from me, trying to build relationships with boring guys, but you still go back to my bed or car, or office, or dressing room, or ... oh, there are so many places, that I can’t list all of them.” he squeezed your thigh and the heat between your legs increased.

“You are not as irreplaceable as you think you are. I can find someone to sleep with in a second, without even getting up from my chair " you took his hand off your thigh.

"I don't even doubt it." He leaned forward to your ear, "But will they give you the same pleasure as I do," he whispered to you and your skin got goose bumps.

"You're too confident." you said when he returned to the place.

“Your reaction only proves that I'm right,” he laughed.

He changed the subject again by talking about what the guys were up to while you weren't seeing.

 ♥ ♥ ♥   ♥ ♥ ♥    ♥ ♥ ♥   ♥ ♥ ♥   ♥ ♥ ♥ 

From this meeting, he seemed decided to have made you crazy. Sending lustful messages or sending overly ambiguous looks when you hang out all together. You urgently needed to have sex with someone. Every time you went home, after partying together, you were too excited. For several weeks he tortured you with his behavior. You were sitting in a bar when some guy got hooked and met you. You thought this was not the worst option. Tall, handsome with a sexy body. Exactly what you  needed! You took his hand and before he realized what was happening, led him towards the VIP rooms. He kissed you, his hands stroked your body. But it was too gentle. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Mark. Mark's one lustful look turned you on more than this guy who kissed you while squeezing your ass. Damn you, Mark !!! You mentally swore. You pushed the guy away and left the room, leaving him completely at a loss. You came out the back door. You quickly reached the car and a minute later drove towards his house.

You will probably get a lot of speeding tickets, but now you didn't care. Excitement defeated common sense. You parked and entered his house. You knew that today the guys wanted to get together, and judging by the time, everyone should already be drunk. But now you didn't care who was at Mark's house. You quickly got up and entered the code on the door. You heard the music when you went inside. It was pretty dark. You walked into the living room and saw Jaebeom and Jinyoung chewing on the couch watching some movie.

"What are you doing here? Didn't you say that you are out with the girls today? " Jaebeom stares at you in surprise

"Yeah, it seems like the plan was" you walked past them on your way to Mark's bedroom. You entered the room closing the door behind you. Mark and Yugyeom were sitting with their backs to you playing some kind of game. You nodded your purse on the table next to Yugyeom, attracting them attention.

They jumped in surprise and turned sharply.

"Oooh nuna ... I thought you weren't coming," Yugyeom said, smiling broadly.

"Exit. Now "you said to Yugyeom, sending him a stern look. Yugyeom jumped up from his seat, running out of the room. You heard a noise in the living room and a minute later the front door slammed. All this time Mark was sitting and watching you with a smile.

"Wow, I’m surprised!" he clapped "Although I thought you couldn't stand it even for a week"

"Shut up" you said and in one motion, getting rid of the dress

Mark's gaze changed and darkened. He looked at your body with desire. "I don't think that now we can hide from the guys that we are sleeping"

"As if they don't know, it" you snorted.

"It's true" he grinned

He got up from his chair, taking off his shirt. You took a step forward until your bodies merged into passionate kisses. He grabbed your waist forcing your legs to embrace him. He swept everything off the dresser with his hand and put you on it. It looked like madness. Excitement covered you, you did not understand at all what you did. Your body was burning from his caresses. He moved around leaving kisses on your neck and shoulders while he got rid of your underwear. He took a step back, exploring you "Admit that you need me!"

"Are you kidding me? I came to your house and kicked out the guys! "

"Say it!" he growled, your skin was covered with goose bumps from the murderous look he sent you.

"I need only you!"

"It took you a long time to understand that you can belong only to me"

He quickly got rid of his pants and pounced on you again. His caresses were almost painful. It felt more like a way to survive than sex. He held you tightly by the waist as his cock rubbed against your crotch.

"Please" you moaned into his lips

“Beg me,” he said, biting your lower lip.

“Please, Mark. Fuck me. I want to feel your dick inside "

"That's my girl"

He again took you in his arms and walked over to the table. Placing you on the table, he spread your legs wide, pushing inward. You lifted your hips to meet his push, wanting to get as much pleasure as possible. You heard a noise, but before you could turn your head, it began to give hard thrusts that made you lose your pleasure. You didn't even expect to cum so quickly. The long absence of sex and the fact that he was teasing you all this time, made your body extremely sensitive.

He dug his fingers into your neck "I don't think I let you cum", he lifted you off the table and pushed you onto the bed. Turning you over on your stomach, he pushed into you again. His hands pressed you into the mattress, preventing you from moving. Your whole body was trembling, it seemed like he had lost control by moving so mercilessly. Your loud moans mingled with his. Feelings overwhelmed you overflowing. He turned you on side, lifting your leg on his shoulder. Because of this pose, the sensations increased significantly. It seemed that a charge was growing inside you that would soon turn into a bomb. He cum hard leaving you on the edge of an orgasm, so not pushing you into it. You whimpered, for which you received a burning slap on the ass.

You reached out with your fingers, covering your clit, wanting to cum. But a second later you were pressed against the mattress, he lifting his belt from the floor, he quickly tied your hands to the bed. “What a naughty girl. I didn't want to torture you, but you asked for it yourself. " he growled

"No. Please. I'm sorry .. I will do whatever you want, just please let me cum” you whimpered

He ran his cock down your crotch, sending a wave of pleasure. He slapped his cock on your clit and the current passed through your body. He continued to tease you with only light pressure on your pussy, but not pushing inward. You lost how long it took while he played with you, making you cry and beg for release. Finally, the prayers were answered. He pushed into you full length forcing you to wriggle on the bed He kept fucking you while his fingers circled over your clit. Orgasm approached quickly making your body tremble. Everything inside you exploded while you tried to accept the wave of pleasure that covered you. But he continued to fuck you, his fingers hurt, rubbing too sensitive clitoris, making you die from pleasure with every movement. You tried to distance yourself from him, but his movements only intensified, preventing you from getting out of the hurricane of orgasm. Your head is too dizzy to say anything. You wanted to end this torture, but he would not let you go, moving harder. Whole your body was twisted into a knot. You felt like you continued to inhale without being able to exhale. It seemed like hours passed before he stopped leaving your body, torn apart by pleasure. You fell into darkness as soon as you heard soft laughter and hot lips on your skin. "Sleep my baby, I will continue in the morning"

Pain is all you could feel right now. You opened your eyes and sunlight filled the room. Mark was lying next to you playing with your hair. He smiled tenderly at you, and you felt the urge to punch his beautiful face to erase that victorious smile. You turned and gathered all your strength and hit him in the shoulder. "You moron!" you groaned.

"I'm sorry I got carried away" he shrugged his shoulders and laughed softly. "This is your fault!"

"My? Did you go nuts at all? " you raised an eyebrow.

“I haven't taken my drug for too long, so yesterday I lost my composure from an overdose. If you hadn't been running from me, nothing like this would have happened. And now I have to practically make repairs to the room. ” He laughed loudly as he scanned his room.

You turned towards the room and gasped. Your eyes were widened. It feels like someone broke into the room, destroying everything in its path. The display was lying on the floor, next to an overturned chair. A pile of books, CDs, and photo frames were scattered across the floor. “I am the victim in all of this situation! I feel myself like that broken blinking display” you turned to him looking with puppy eyes. “I thought you decided to fuck me to death,” you grumbled.

He laughed pulling you into his arms "I do not deny that perhaps at one of the moments such a thought came to me, in the hope that you will never run away from me to anyone else."

You met his gaze and took his face with your hands "I said I  need only you" you kissed him before getting out of bed. Your feet felt like cotton. You looked at yourself from head to toe in the mirror in front of the bed. Your whole body was covered in hicks, bites and red finger marks.

"You look so sinful." He sat up on the bed, meeting your gaze in reflection. "Now you can see that your body belongs to me" a wide, happy smile stretched across his face, and it seems that because of this your heart skipped a beat.

"You are so possessive!" you shook your head. A dark spot on your iliac crest caught your attention. You put your head down and groaned when you saw the inscription in a thin permanent marker Property of Mark Tuan. "What is it?"

"One of the sexiest places in your gorgeous body that I love so much?"

"Mark!"

"What? Mom always told me to sign my favorite things so that no stranger would take them ” he shrugged his shoulders with the look of an abandoned kitten.

You moaned, his appearance was too innocent, you could not be angry with him. You went up to him and kissed him. It seems the shower can wait.

______________

LIST

[sserpente]

A/N: Requested by three anons. Enjoy reading, my lovelies! ;-)

Words: 2360 Warnings: pure smut

Additional NSFW warnings: spanking

-

Loki had been distant from you lately. There was nothing wrong with your relationship of course but ever since he had officially joined the Avengers after them fixing what they had messed up after defeating Thanos, he was working nonstop. They were draining him with risky missions, using every ounce of his seidr to their advantage, and while you were happy he was finally included in a way, you knew they did so with the intention of letting him pay for his actions prior to fighting on their side—to “make up” for the troubles he had caused, the pain he had inflicted on humanity and the lives he had taken.

New York, the Chitauri, the sceptre, the mind games… they still failed to realise none of it had truly been Loki’s fault—a circumstance which made your already cool attitude towards the Avengers bitter.

Loki had not been ignoring you, exactly. It seemed, however, now that his relationship with his own brother was finally changing for the better, he had simply forgotten that there was more to him than a mindless soldier saving the planet numerous times; and while Thor was one reason he kept complying with their orders, albeit using his own, if not questionable methods sometimes, the other was of a selfish nature. He would prove to them he was worthy of being called a hero. He would make women squeal for him just to spite them—but most importantly, he would impress you.

Loki would never admit that, of course, he was far too proud. Yet it was no secret how much he enjoyed your generous pampering when he returned from a long mission and bathed him, washing his hair, soaping his body and paying special attention to his manhood, hardening for you as soon as you brought your palms to his naked skin. But that was only when he returned. He still made tender love to you at night, ensuring you could fall asleep sated and satisfied before taking his own release but no longer, so it seemed, would you randomly pounce on each other throughout the day and spend hours eliciting orgasms from one another. You could barely remember the last time he had initiated some sexy roleplay or simply surprised you and tied you up in the living room to have his way with you, forcing climax after climax from your body until you almost fainted into his arms.

Whatever distracted him so much from taking time for himself, for you, it ought to change tonight. Loki was going to slog his guts out if he kept going like this and you were certainly not going to let him do that. An orgasm or two, or a dozen, would pose the perfect distraction.

You had just taken a shower. A long one, not a short one—all a short shower contained was soap, warm water and sometimes washing your hair. A long shower involved shaving, a hair mask, maybe a peeling and in your case, painting your nails in Loki’s colours.

Naked, you tiptoed towards the living room. It was chilly. You had recently turned off the heating now that it was getting warmer, the cool air instantly raising goose bumps on your limbs. Loki was sitting at your desk which you usually used for writing, leaning over a bunch of documents, photographs and briefing packs Fury had provided him with.

Quietly, you stepped in.

“I am missing something… those signatures are of magical origin…” He muttered, chewing on his pen. In another universe, he could have been a sexy professor teaching the Norse Myths. You bit your lower lip. You should definitely bring this fantasy up to him at some point… perhaps he could give you detention if you didn’t know the correct answer to a question…

He didn’t even look up when you entered the room. You pouted at his back, letting out a loud sigh so he would hear you—he was aware of your presence, of course. There was no tricking him.

“Loki?”

“In a moment, my dear.”

Your second sigh was even louder. Briefly, you even considered sitting down on the sofa and spreading your legs to masturbate in front of him. But then, before you could move, he finally looked up, his eyes widening a little as they roamed over your nude body. Loki swallowed thickly, you could see his Adam’s apple bopping. Stirring a little on his chair, he tilted his head, lips parting slightly. He was practically fucking you with his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I was still hot after taking a shower, so I decided not to put my clothes on just yet. No big deal.” You replied nonchalantly, shrugging in the process.

Loki quirked an eyebrow. “Liar. You are shivering.” Whether it was from the cold or your growing arousal, you could not tell. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

You shrugged once more. He was smirking by the time you gazed down at him expectantly, hoping he would finally abandon those briefing packs and pounce on you like a hungry wolf. But Loki was not stupid. He knew exactly what you were trying to do—and he decided to play along and make you wait until your own impatience drove you crazy. Besides, he needed to get through all of these documents before noon tomorrow. He would travel to Muspelheim with Thor… and he would not be rested enough if he spent the night fucking the living daylights out of you, even if he desired to do just that and abandon this nerve-wrecking mission altogether.

“Well… whatever makes you comfortable, my dear.”

Damn it. You resisted stomping your foot on the ground like a child. Maybe you should masturbate before his eyes. The idea, so you figured, was unbelievably sexy. But then… an even better one struck you.

Not so long ago, Loki had showed you how speak to him telepathically so you could share your thoughts, fears and words with him whenever you were separated. It worked a little like forcing your mind onto him—all you had to do was focus hard. His seidr took care of the rest. He would be able to tell and form an invisible link between you.

You did not do this often, for most of the time you were together and could verbally communicate anyway. Loki had taught you in case of an emergency—or if you two wanted to tattle about the Avengers in their presence. It connected you on such a deep and subconscious level you had even, unintentionally, begun to share dreams.

You wondered… if that also applied to daydreams. Loki had already turned back to the briefing packs, though you did not miss how he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Well then… sneakily, you sat down on the sofa in a lascivious pose and let your thoughts wander off.

You imagined… falling to your knees for him, looking up at him with innocent eyes as you bite your lower lip and bring your hands to the buttons of his leather trousers. He hisses—a considerable bulge already forming behind the dark fabric.

Immediately, Loki sat up straight. There was a connection then. You held back a mischievous chuckle.

Slowly—painfully so—you pull them all the way down to his ankles, revealing his semi-hard cock to you. It springs to life with joyful anticipation, twitching a little under your greedy gaze. You lick your lips, eager to taste him. You wrap your hand around him then, jerking him for a lazy moment before you lower your lip onto his tip, suckling gently. You couldn’t resist. Your hands are never enough with him. A moan escapes his lips.

Oh, no… a real moan escaped him, still sitting at your desk.

He was already clenching his fists. Oh yes, Trickster, you thought. Two can play this game.

You closed your eyes, letting your daydream unfold freely and wherever it would take you.

You lick over the underside of his entire length, now rock-hard between your fingers. Precum is leaking from his tip. You lap it up with your tongue greedily before pushing him into your mouth, inch by antagonising inch.

A giggle escaped your lips when he broke the pen in his hands. It snapped in two like a piece of wood, spilling blue ink all over the desk. He waved his hand to clean it, breathing heavily as he did and still—he insisted on keeping his gaze on those stupid briefing packs.

Bopping your head up and down his length, you take him as deep as you possibly can and moan, sending vibrations through his cock. He groans in your daydream, throwing his head back. He buries his fingers in your hair, holding it tightly to keep you in place and guide you. Faster and faster, until his hips start bucking forward. Saliva is dripping from your chin, your mouth so full you could barely try and swallow.  He tastes so good…

The real Loki in your shared living room growled. He was facing you now, glaring at you in a downright threatening manner, but this was too good to stop it now. You kept your eyes closed.

Loki comes. He pulls out of your mouth, forcing your head back possessively while his other hand jerked himself fast, spilling his seed all over your face. It lands on your cheeks, your lips and your chin, marking you as his. You moan, tongue darting out to clean yourself up.

Your hand, in real life, sneaked between your legs to bring some relief to your throbbing clit.

That did it. Loki jumped up from your chair so ferociously he knocked it to the ground with a loud bang and strutted over to you fast and determined. The look on his face was all but dark and promising. You opened your mouth to protest, albeit half-heartedly, when he had already lifted you up without any effort whatsoever.

He held you tightly against his side, your body hanging from his arm like a fish on a hook. You only realised your bare backside was quite within his reach and presented to him vulnerably when he landed the first slap, sending a stinging sensation through your skin.

“Ow!” Fuck… so much for spanking. You gulped, biting your lower lip to suppress a moan. “Fuck, Loki!”

“Is this what you wanted, my little pet? To be punished for teasing me like that?” Another slap, landing on the other cheek. This time you couldn’t hold back your moan. Loki was holding back his strength and yet, your arse already felt like your bottom had caught fire. It was burning, tingling and tickling all at the same time. You could practically imagine your skin turning all red from the harsh impact.

“So naughty…” Loki kept spanking you thoroughly but your bottom wasn’t the only thing heating up. You were dripping wet, leaking down your thighs by the time he pulled you up even higher to examine your wet pussy. The sweet pain mixed with the promise of relief almost made you scream.

“Loki, fuck… please!”

“Please what, my dear? My… you are positively soaking. You enjoy it, do you not? You enjoy taking a good thrashing for me?” An animalistic growl escaped his lips.

“P-please… I need you inside me.”

You were unable to see it from your current position but Loki was as hard as a rock. His erection, painfully confined in his leather trousers, was throbbing with need for your tight quim. He was not going to be gentle with you tonight.

Fiercely, he put you on your feet again so fast you felt dizzy, pressed you against the cold wall and held your legs up so you had to wrap it around his hips to not fall straight to the floor. You dug your fingernails into his shoulders when his seidr took care of freeing his member so he could bury himself inside you to the hilt, taking no time for a tender intrusion. You deserved a hard fucking now, if anything for torturing him like that.

Loki’s mouth came crashing down on yours, not leaving you any opportunity to complain—not that you wanted to. Quite on the contrary… arching your back, you took his rough and fast thrusts knocking all air from your lungs, your legs desperately wrapping around him. He would not let you fall and get hurt, you knew that despite his frenzy and yet, this primal and downright animalistic side of him had your entire body melt. You were trembling—arousal and lust rushing through you like a drug. Breaking the kiss and throwing your head back, you came for him, fast and hard.

Clenching around his cock repeatedly, Loki fucked you through your orgasm until your eyes rolled to the back of your head as wave after wave of pure pleasure cursed through your veins, making your blood boil underneath your skin. You screamed his name when he sank his teeth into your neck and bit you as gently as he could muster the moment he could no longer hold back, your climax triggering his own. With but a few more powerful and eager thrusts, he began to twitch and jerk against your still contracting walls and emptied himself inside you, filling you up with his warm seed until it dribbled down your inner thighs. Panting, your head dropped against his shoulder. You were putty in his arms, helpless like a fawn.

“Loki…”

He smiled weakly, still bedazzled by his high. Deeply sated, he took a deep breath and cradled you in his arms, carrying you off to the bedroom. His mission was now forgotten—what was it he had been pondering over again? For the moment, all he could think about was the beautiful woman in his arms, his slowly softening length still resting deep inside of your warm quim.

Are you okay? He was too exhausted for words—and so were you.

I am, you replied in your mind, sighing contently. I’ve missed you.

Loki hummed. I’ve missed you too.

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my  first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would  appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[summerofpinecestcontest]

The Dream of a Normal Life

by @cornytyrannosaurus

The fresh breeze of the Norwest lands scurred between the mountains, between the hills, beneath the trees, until it reached the nostrils of a young man inside a van which was stationed atop a hillside.

He breathed deep, filling his tired lungs with the soft breeze and all the scents it brought from every corner of the undying forest. His always hurried mind took this moment of serenity to fuel itself back to be awake, he already processing within his blurred thoughts all the duties of the day.

Mile 82, 54. Mile 21, 12 up to date. We go downhill until…

Then he opened his eyes, and the list stopped. He saw her, gently snoring in her sleep, her hands improvising a pillow. He smiled, recalling how annoying she could get when her hands felt sore; but what to do about it? She looked just too adorable right now to be awoken just for the sake of a mere slumbering formality. Her neon-stained, raggedy hair fitted with her purple sleeveless shirt, the only piece of cloth she was wearing in her sleep. He rolled his eyes down to her nude legs, remembering with heated fondness how much he made her to feel loved last night. Maybe he should put the blanket over such gorgeous sight, he thought. Unfortunate, but necessary.

Heavily, he put the brown blanket over her underside, to stop at her slightly inflated belly. His eyebrows dropped, reminding the main why of her needing to feel loved last night. She was having one of those delicate hormonal moments, a thing he took years to get accustomed and now was proving itself really useful during these uncertain times.

Uncertain, never better though.

He gave a quick kiss on her forehead, rolled his body around in search of his clothes, and hurriedly put his pants on.

He opened the backdoors, sat at the edge of the white van they lived in now, and took a long look at the immediate surroundings.

The gigantic mountains came across his sight like an unfathomable Leviathan welcoming his life with its majestic shape. Around him and all across the hillside, countless trees of all shapes and sizes covered the outline of horizon like a fortress for their tiny kingdom of intimacy and solitude. What he could give for them to have a tiny home where to start a family at a place like this, he could not tell but was certain in it.

Then he heard the growls coming from the trees, and he recalled they were just passing by.

A couple of man-sized hoofed monstrosities ran wild from between the depths of the forest, galloping over the concrete and disappearing behind another line of old pine trees. Their countless mouths filled with human-like crooked teeth, placed all across their headless, dark furry bodies, screeched continuously as they waved their long rat-like black tails at the fresh airs of the of morning.

Aaaaaaw f*ck.

Tagging eldritch creatures in a national park wasn’t precisely his dream job, but was quite within the spectrum of skills of the Mystery Twins, and as these non-euclidean beasts began to reproduce, they found themselves at a chance of getting a good source of income at the aftermath of events he didn’t want to remember right now.

If only his mind could listen to him to stop rerunning the horrible memory of that day.

Before sorrow had the chance to overtake his heart, he felt the warm of a pair of arms circling his tummy, a pair of legs caressing his, and a slightly inflated belly gently pressing his back. He smiled in relief; he hadn’t figured yet how she was able to slip across surfaces.

“Good morning, Dipdop” she murmured in his ear with seductive tone.

“’Morning, Mabes” he said back, turning his head to kiss her cheek, and then her lips, to go back to look at the hill.

“Why are yah awake so early? I wanted to spoon yah” She asked, squishing his belly with her arms”

“Dunno, just… wanted to start earlier today” He said with slow content.

“Before breakfast? You gotta be kiddin’ me” she said with pretended anger.

“You’ll never let me to skip it, will you?” He mustered with a grin.

“Nope, I won’t” She asserted. “Besides…” she said, as she squished her legs around his.

“Besides?”

“I’m still just in my shirt” she whispered at his ear. His grin grew bigger, as his sister slipped back from where she came and he rolled around to follow her.

“But what about the breakfast?” He asked with fake indignation.

“First this breakfast, then food breakfast”

“Mhmm, I like the plan…” He said as he closed the van’s door behind him.

It wasn’t the most conventional form of Love, nor the beginning of a normal life. But it was theirs to live , and they loved it anyway.

At least there, away from the unsuspecting and prejudiced eyes of the world, they were free.

If only the world could know the pain it could cause.

- Six months ago…

Mabel Pines had endured many terrifying moments in her life. When Dipper broke his leg at their kickboxing practice, when she was at the hands of a gigantic childish mechanoid, when her brother was about to be devoured by a living corpse, when she was about to be erased from existence by a extradimensional pyramid god, when she got lost in that trip to the unknown… but these immediate moments were heaving in her stomach more than any of that. Maybe it was because those moments were a little far in her memory, or because her resistance to cringe was absolutely superior to her brother’s. Or maybe it was because this time, the impending threat came from within her very own family.

And now she was frozen in place inside the van, watching how Dipper stood over the grass of the family home, his forehead bleeding and his face turning to their parents, his shape contrasted between the darkness of the night and the porch’s lamp.

Maybe they weren’t as angry and freaked out as they were an hour ago, but their resolution wasn’t something they were willing to accept. Right now, Mason “Dipper” Pines was standing against the destruction of his incoming family.

“Dipper, please… be reasonable. There is no way out of this” His father reassured, trying to appeal to his intellect, trying to undo the damage of the wound he had done to his own son. But Dipper had already cried, so the wound would stay a long time.

“No” Dipper pronounced in crackly voice.

His mother approached to him a couple of steps more, heartbroken for the glance of their own children at them. “Dipper, you’re not in your right mind, you don’t-”

“No, Mom!” Dipper yelled high. “We-we tried, we really really tried. But it didn’t matter how much we tried, how much we were honest with you. You didn’t listen, and you are still not listening. You look at us like if we were just a couple of f*cking monsters!”

“Dipper… You won’t be able to live a normal life with Mabel” His father told with serious tune. Again, they weren’t listening; again, they were mistaking their love for another crooked urge they needed to repress to have fulfilling lives. If only they knew.

“Well.. maybe we don’t want one!” Dipper finally shouted, turning around to walk aimlessly to his van.

Their parents only watched impotent how their beloved children drove away from home, and away from their lives…

“Mhm… so… I’ll want a French-Fry-Fantasy and a Slurpy Surprise” the young woman finally chose her meal options from between the short menu in the grease-stained paper sheet. It was kind of her personal politics about road restaurants to “choose the weirdest dishes in the menu or don’t say yourself worthy of a road trip”. The waitress with curly black hair and more freckles than space in the face to have them, could read for her bun hairstyle, her capri pants and her lots of laces and bracelets on her arms, that she was the extroverted and adventurous of them.

“I’ll want a pancake plate and a coffee, thanks” the man said instead. Judging by the old flannel coat and his black pants, he was the quiet one. The young waitress tried not to smile too much at the enormous contrast between their breakfast options, pondering in her mind how so alike persons could have such starkly different personalities. Anyhow, they made such a lovely couple, one of those who brighten the day of a service worker doomed to attend uncourteous people the rest of the day just like she was.

“Oh right, so a coffee cup, a Slurpy Surprise, a pancake plate and a French-Fry-Fantasy” The waitress repeated as the couple at the table nodded in agreement. “Ok, your order will be done in 10; anything else?”

“Nope, that’s all; thanks” he answered with kind tone.

“Okie dokie” The waitress said. “Oh! And congrats for your baby!” The waitress said before to leave.

“Owww thank you so much!” she said in joyful tune, making the waitress to enlarge her smile as she left to attend the order.

The young woman turned her attention back to her brother, moving over her seat with impatient joy. It was one of those days where the world seemed that friendly at them; after an inconceivable quantity of bad days in between, both had learned to appreciate them.

“Gosh I’m so hungry!” she exclaimed, enthusiastic at the edge of childishness.

“Yeaaah I kinda doubt ten minutes will be enough for your order” he asserted, resting his elbows on the table, looking out the window for a moment.

“Ooh, hush you there, bro-man! Have a little of faith in these peoples; they’re experts!” she dismissed.

“Experts in road restaurant dishes?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yep, I’m sure they attend to a special college for restaurant workers and stuff” she said with erudite-like pride.

“I did!” the old cook behind the bar yelled at their table with a stoic smile, raising his spatula. Maybe they were talking too high for a public place, but as they were currently the only customers it did not seem like it mattered at first. He usually would beg for her to slow down a little, due to the obvious need for them to conceal their true identities, but given the events of last night, he was simply happy to see her so free and being herself.

“You see? Road restaurant experts” She finally asserted as she raised her arms in a gesture of obviousness.

“Ok, I’ll eat my words along my pancakes” Dipper commented with an ironical smile.

“Yes you will, you will” She asserted, bopping his nose with the tip of her finger. Suddenly, she got aware the sorrow behind her brother’s eyes, and she worried. “What’s up, Dip?”

He paused for a couple of seconds in which his always hurried mind deliberated. She didn’t like unnecessary dramas, but she also liked him to be honest, as they had committed themselves to be. So after that instant that felt eternal, he spoke.

“Dunno, kinda… I know you’ll just tell me it was some kind of hormone rush or whatever but… I really…”

“Hey, it’s ok, Dip” she interrupted him, taking his hands with hers over the table. “I guess I was just… scared about the call Mom and Dad made and…”. For a moment, she thought she could express better by enacting, so she leaned across the space between them to rob him a deep kiss, to just after returning to her seat. “I want this, Dipper. I want all of this” She said, her eyes getting moisty.

“We’re just that crazy, aren’t we?” he asked with a moved smile. She was that fantastic and brave he couldn’t contain his love for her.

“And I couldn’t be happier for it” She asserted. He raised his hand to caress her cheek. Maybe it was the magical pregnacy hormones he had heard about in documentaries, or the strange and unnamed dimensions of their mutual love reacting again for a full catharsis potential, but she looked especially beautiful this morning, and (as energetically as he showed how much he loved her earlier at the van) she deserved to feel it. “To heck with a normal life” she cited from him as both just stared each other until the dishes were ready.

- Six months ago…

Dipper was quiet, as he had been all the way the long long time of driving lasted until the gas ran out near San Francisco Bay. He hadn’t said a word, nor even tried to clean his face of the blood; anyone with no idea of what really happened could have thought he was just coming out from a horror scene.

The unnerving silence was the exact kind Mabel recognized perfectly; she knew exactly what he was thinking and why he was thinking it. The waves of fear and regret and self-hatred and so many other things too deep to have a name. She let him have his inner battle, because Dipper Pines was the man of resolutions; but at some point she got aware he was just self-loathing again. Self-loathing for loving his sister in unexpected and strange ways she also felt. Self-loathing for stripping her dreams away just because he said he wanted to be with her and promising they would fight together whatever it would take. Self-loathing about the fact he actually accomplished his promise and now faced the true, palpable consequences of not having a plan this time. If he only had a plan, if he only…

“Dipper!” Mabel yelled at him, and he raised the head to look at her. His wound had closed enough for his blood over his face to dry a little, but the scar was still cutting his birthmark at half.

“I…”

“No. Don’t you ever dare to say you’re sorry about this. And you know what? It’s because this is not your fault, Dipper!”

“Bu-“

“But nothing, Dipper! It was Dad the one who punched you, it was Mom the one who pushed me, it was them the ones who wanted to… to wanted to…”; Mabel couldn’t even pronounce the fact that her own parents wanted to kill their unborn grandchild. “This is the part where I get all serious and say to you: We did everything we could. It didn’t work, eh? Well, we just move on and keep going forward! Because we have each other, just like we always had!” Mabel said, half crying, half smiling. Dipper smiled as well, because he knew it was true. He had saved the universe (now more than once), living in it was the least of the problems if they were that powerful together. At least, as powerful as their love was.

“To heck with a normal life” He said with trembling lips as they approached each other and kissed fiercely. Young? For sure. Inexperienced? As every young adult. Willing to face the full grasp of all the risks, the current perils, and unexpected tangents of becoming a wandering couple of roadside adventurers? As few souls in the whole Creation were.

-

It had been a tiring day. Some unseen thing had tried to eat his leg; some random stone had pierced a tire and they had to wait until a car stopped to help them and the muscled father of the family aided them to change the tire; they had tagged 328 adults and 58 younglings within the 36 nests across 28 hectares. Should they worry about the spreading of the hairy Lovecraftian monstrosities any further? Maybe, but first they should get some profit out of it. Now they were on their way to the next town, way far along the road.

For moments, they held hands together, staying in silence. For moments, Dipper changed the gear lever. For moments, they stopped so she could pee, as unceremonious as it was; pregnancy issues, she could recall very well. But they were in their way, announced by the gorgeousness of the sunset, sealed between unsaid promises coming from silent smiles. For moments, they talked as well.

“What are we gonna call our baby, Dips?” She interrupted the sound of the radio ballad songs.

“Hadn’t we agreed we were going to wait to know what our baby is to suggest names?”

“I knoooooow but I really wanna start having this solitary baby tummy-mommy chatter and I can’t just keep calling our baby ‘unnamed baby in fabrication’”.

He laughed wholeheartedly, as only she could make him laugh.

“Ok then, what if it’s a boy”.

“Weeeeeell I was thinking about Bob, or Steve, or Ronan!” She said in joy.

“Ronan? Heck no, that sounds too much. What about Connor?”

“Mhmm, I like Connor” she nodded. “Ok, so what if it’s a girl”

“Well, I kind of thought about Madeline, or Samantha, or Cassiopeia!”

“Do you really want to call our baby girl like a Greek tragedy?” she dismissed with a defiant smile.

“Ok ok, maybe it’s kinda preposterous. That’s a hard choice, Mabes”

“What about Mabel 2.0? Like Grenda!”

“I still want to figure out how names with numbers are allowed, by the way” he asserted.

“Eh, we’ll know when we reach New Jersey”

He smiled with hope. It was a still-in-process plan, but it was something they could have for sure. That, if the thing with the eldritch furry monsters didn’t grow for them to having to change it. They were going to land at New Jersey, where the grunkles would reach in some months to help them to acquire the old pawn shop they once lived in. It was a plan, and that’s the only thing they needed to know as they approached their destiny.

“We’ll make it, Dips” She reassured with a gentle glance.

“I know” He said back, as they drove deep within the endless road. Life was theirs to live, and that was everything that mattered.