#she’s like fuck you in particular and aims right for the host

[dimitrscu]

i love helping people fight malenia. i especially love the moment phase two starts and the host dies immediately when she dive bombs them

literally just picture this in my head every time

[unseeliethot]

Can we get some moth^2 facts or hcs please uwu

1. I've talked about this before actually but master of secrets vs the Most straight faced, undecipherable woman in the world is just chef kiss everything to me.

Observing and keeping that close eye on each other, circling and trying to learn Everything while giving Nothing away (and ultimately failing on both sides eventually), learning each others small quirks and tells.

Learning those little expressions, a twitch at the corner of the lips might as well be a grin, etc etc. A whole language just from Watching each other.

Learning patterns digging up secrets

Loving that chase and challenge and mental stimulation

And you fall in love for it

2. Hypatia is Well aware Keagan loves a scavenger hunt, and frankly if they have a wedding ceremony it will already be expensive and intricate and designed to show each other off just a Little. So she has some wedding traditions she'd like to include, specifically mehndi. Usually just one instance of the name gets hidden in the mehndi, Hypatia makes sure there are Several instances of his name hidden in her designs and patterns and she's letting him go wild trying to find them all. Where better to host a scavenger hunt than on your own body for your lover to go crazy for?

3. Keagan makes Hypatia feel exactly as beautiful and girlish and wanted as she wishes she could be. From the very beginning, with what we get from the demo, getting a dress and it's new, and pretty, and her colour, and all hers? Not something she'll have to handdown eventually or tear up to make more practical? If she weren't demiromantic she'd of fallen in love then and there. He makes her feel happy with herself.

4. Keagan out of the lot has the easiest time convincing her that maybe food shouldn't be made into a nutritional slurry and that his staff is more than capable of crafting food for her that won't set off her texture issues.

5. Playing Fidchell together either goes very very right, or one of them becomes entirely too smug about winning. Hypatia will play the long con in getting her victory, the losses behind it (to learn his strategies and patterns) don't matter when she has One particular victory she's aiming for. She'll take a thousand losses just to completely ruin him Once.

6. They bitch together So Much. Keagan encourages her a little too much to call out the idiocies of courtiers and nobles, she has quite the mouth on her all of the time. But who's really going to be able to do much with him next to her? Just put up with having your carefully thought out proposition or plan fucking shredded

7. Hypatia loves just being in the same room as him. Even if he can't necessarily give her direct attention, she likes just sitting in the same room to read. Parallel play, like cats.

8. It takes a while before she shows any musical inclination in front of him, he does Not let it go once he gets a glimpse of it and it makes her outrageously shy and flattered about it

9. They're so fucking horny- You tell me Keagan doesn't have autism and I'll tell you, you are wrong. They have autistic to autistic communication and the world is better for it.

10. She absolutely begs him for just a Little place outside for just One sheep, just One little lamb, a Tiny small one. Just One won't even take up any room at all, a little baby lamb. She gets it because of course she does.

[becauseimbexx]

Who is Bexx?

Who is this girl?

.....where did she go.......

~ why did she come back~

Should she stay or go?🎶 🦋🍄🌻

I guess some might be wondering these kind of things.lol 🫠🙃😝 Where the fuck do I even start? lol it's like I know who I am, but when I'm put on the spot and asked about myself I clam up and don't know what to say. Kinda-sorta-like how I can think about the many materialistic things I could want, but the instant it becomes birthday/holiday season, and someone asks you for a wish list and instead my mind goes completely blank. Is anyone else like this?

Anywho... back to business besties!

Hello there, 👋🏻

My name is Bexx, I am a fierce force to be reckon with. A loving stay at home mommy & wifey. I am the 4th oldest in the lineup of my total of ten siblings. I was born October 31st, 1993. Yes I was born on Halloween, and Yes, I do indeed turn 30 this year. Go team scorpio ♏️. I grew up in the great PNW. specifically Vancouver WA, & Portland OR. I love the place I call home. 🌲☔️

Some fun facts about me are:

My favorite color(s) are, Orange, Purple, & Green

My favorite food is all food.

My all time most favorite Tv show is the OG Gossip Girl. I am 100% a Blair Waldorf.

I like to express myself through many forms of art. I love to cook, curate playlist, host parties & fun gatherings (I love planning every detail & being extra) Pinterest is one of my happy places.

I have a love for all aesthetics & enjoy playing dress up.

I am & will always be an adventuring kind of girly. I want to travel the globe & experience its magnificent beauty for myself. I've had quite the journey on social media & would like to meet the people that make up my world.

I've almost always got music playing & prefer music over movies. I listen to & have an appreciation for all eras & genres.

But when it does come to movies, it's either a cheesy rom-com or Horror.

I enjoy being goofy as fuck & making art out of my life on the internet for others to see. While simultaneously being vulnerable & talking about the not-so-beautiful parts of life.

I am not a religious person but, I am a very spiritual being. I don't publicly talk about politics for so many reason. The most important part being is just don't want my page to be about that. At least for right now.

I am 100% 420 friendly use weed on the daily for its many medicinal & recreational purposes.

I believe in celebrating life however one chooses to do so. Literally just do what makes you happy.

I have been married for 4.5 years & have a 5 year old son. Some of ya'll might see posts about them occasionally but aside from that, I will not be putting them on my page until they decide they want to. That goes for anyone in my personal life honestly.

Honestly I started this dream of a career in social media over a decade ago in my mother's basement where my siblings and I would plan out shenanigans to document and put on the internet. But we never actually did anything. Through my many attempts at starting something I was constantly trying to figure out where I fit in and what could I do that would make a worthy career. It took some time for me to realize that there are already many influencers like myself that already don't fit a particular niche. They're just genuinely being themselves & doing what makes them happy. I want to do that too.

Here & across other social media platforms I want to document life experiences, and share my life with y'all. & at the end of the day, I also aim to create a safe and fun environment for us all to share the things that make our world beautiful. Let's go forth & live our best lives together.

#BexxBesties for life.

XOXO- Bexx 🤍🖤

[spiltscribbles]

The One With The Princess Leia Bikini

~Notes: This gets sorta smutty.... :S

.-

Send Me A Friends Episode/Storyline?  |  Rebogs Ar Love, Reblog Are Life!

.-

Sirius tosses a glare at an indignant James sitting across the counter from him, affronted on everything he has ever stood for.

“Brooklyn Nine Nine is way better than some stupid, ruddy drama about doctors.”

“Take that back you prick!”

“’S true!”

”Gray’s Anatomy paints the manic  highs and lows of their jobs with dignity and realism.” James argues with an imperious tilt of his head. “The storylines don’t even compare!”

“There was a bomb at their wedding!”

“There was a bomb lodged in someone’s arsehole!”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort, but stutters on his words when one of their ducks steps out of his room, spitting up something green before he  begins to peck at the sofa cushion.

“Good morning Pronsie,” James crows, walking over to cradle him into his arms and kisses the top of his head.

“Mate, you have to stop feeding him the peanut butter, ’s making them crazed,” Sirius tells him sagely  before taking a spoonful out of the jar for himself.

“They’re just demanding,” James sniffs, perking up once Lily walks into their apartment. “You agree, love, don’t you?”

“What?” She asks, single brow kinked as she grabs a bottle of water  from the fridge, still dressed in her athletic wear from her run. “That your ducks are demonic.”

“See!” Sirius shouts.

“They’re just a wee bit ill, poor things,” James says with a cluck of his tongue, gingerly petting Prongs’s feathers and wandering over to Lily for a quick peck to her sweaty forehead.

“Ill in the heads,” Sirius retorts lowly, grabbing for his discarded Guinness.

James casts him a heated glower, never halting his gentle caresses to Prongs’s feathered back. “Maybe I should call Mum, she’d know how to help.”

“Oi, right, because your veterinarian mother has nothing better to do.”

“She likes the marauders wanker!”

“Okay, did not come here to interrupt one of your lover’s quarrels,” Lily sighs, forever suffering, as she loosens and regathers  her  hair anxiously, tying the red main   into a messy topknot.

“Rude,” Sirius and James chorus with the same peeved inflection.

“I’m exhausted you berks! Dorcas has been staying at our place ever since Marlene went on that tour around the continent to find new athletes for the firm to sign.”

“Oof, is it nasty?” James asks, gently placing Prongs the duck to the ground and straightening back up.

“She’s in a real strop over it, yeah. Re’s with her now.”

“Lils, you underestimate Cas,,” Sirius snorts, bending down and giving into Prongs’s silent plea for a snack, holding out a chunk of peanut butter for him to nibble at. “She’s not gonna let something so temporary fuck her up. They’ve been going out for over a year now.” Sirius studiously ignores the little nagging voice in his own head— one that frighteningly sounds like Mrs Potter of all people— Tooting at him that he’d certainly not be this nonchalant if Remus had to go on some research sabbatical in Rome or Athens for half as long as Marlene’s three month stint.

“You are so full of it Black,” Lily sneers, and he really wouldn’t be surprised if she’s somehow secretly found out how to read minds on her downtime from the restaurant.

“Dorcas is a diamond,” James says cheerfully. “I’m sure she’ll be right as rain soon enough.” As if right on queue they hear a booming crash coming from across the hall in Lily and Remus’s apartment. “Or erm— Maybe she won’t?”

"Prats,” Lily mutters lowly before pivoting on her heels leading the way for the three sum to frantically  scramble and follow suit.

Sirius is all levels of confused once they walk in  only to findDorcas starfished flat on the ground with her curls still soaked from what must’ve been a shower and grasping tight to a pink hairbrush. Remus’s standing over her with his hands on his hips, and lips pinched ever so slightly, the face he gets when he’s trying to figure out how to solve a particularly difficult dilemma. And it might be smarmy of him, but Sirius can’t help feeling a little parched when he sees the way Remus’s drenched T-shirt clings to his perfect form— near see-through.

“Is everything okay?” Lily asks as she steps closer, frowning bewilderedly.

“We just had a bit of an incident when Dorcas saw a clunk of blonde hair in the brush  that Marlene shares with her.”Remus explains, excepting the kiss Sirius offers him in hello. “And well, ahem then she found a garment that Marlene had left behind…  And well things escalated.”

“I’m going to be alone for forever,” Dorcas moans, making his point for him.

“I love it when you’re the dramatic one, Cas,” Sirius crows, narrowly dodging the aforementioned brush that Dorcas launches at his head. “Nice aim!”

“Leave me so I can whither away!”

“Nonsense, love, you two will be fine.” James interjects good naturedly.

“Let’s get some frozen yogurt, yeah?  Get your mind off of everything,” Lily suggests lightly, helping pull her up by the hands with Remus, Sirius’s own never leaving Remus’s back pocket.

“Can we go to the place with the jellybean  toppings,” Dorcas asks with a pout, head resting on Lily’s shoulder— dark tresses falling into strawberry blonde.

“Course, sweetheart,” she assures with a glowing smile.

Breathing in deep, Dorcas nods slowly, stretching her neck just slightly so to kiss Remus’s cheek in thanks  before she lets Lily cart her off into her room to get changed.

“I better put the marauders into their crate if we’re going to be out long,” James announces, effectively leaving Remus and Sirius finally, blissfully, alone.

“Is this the part where I tell you that I thought you only get wet when I’m around?” Sirius asks cheekily, rounding on his boyfriend with a smirk already painted over his face.

“You can,” Remus relents with a one armed shrug. “But only if you want to not speak with me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius lets out an endeared huff, head shaking slightly before he dips down to greet him properly. “Morning gorgeous,” he beams,  cupping his hands around Remus’s face before kissing him nice and thorough.

“I missed you last  night,” Remus says, foreheads pressed up against each other as his hands wander up and down Sirius’s back muscles appreciatively, landing on his forearms with a small squeeze.

“I had to concentrate on that proposal for the new  tube stop that Moody wanted by today.” Sirius tips back his head, toes curling ever so slightly at the way Remus is mouthing along the column of his neck, nipping at the hinge of Sirius’s jaw with particular focus.  “And believe it or not Messr Lupin, but you prove a formidable distraction."

“Is that right?” Remus smiles against his skin, pressing him even closer.  “And did you finish all that paperwork, architect Black?”

“Hmm, you’re getting off on this shit, aren’t you?” Sirius can’t help but laugh, especially when Remus pulls back,  blinking up  owlishly at him. “Oh don’t give me the innocent act, gorgeous. I’ve been able to see through that since the first night we met.”

Remus’s face turns a fetching pink, snickering slightly as he presses back up against him. “Can’t. Help. It.” Remus says between another round of peppered kisses on the lobe of Sirius’s ear, the hallow of his cheek and corner of his mouth too. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re touched in the head, just a ball of hornyness.” Sirius accuses, tugs him close once more and slants their lips together while one hand slings around Remus’s narrow waste and the other begins to knead into his ass muscle. “Shall we take this back to your room? Do this properly without any clothing?”

Remus flushes, fingers toying with the collar of Sirius’s shirt as he swallows down, hard.”Could you— Erm, could you maybe wear those glasses you use sometimes for when you’re reading those long contracts?”

Absolutely preening,, Sirius cards a hand through Remus’s caramel curls, scraping his nails gently against his scalp. “And the professorial kink makes another appearance in the bed ladies and gents.” He announces to the empty room, as if he’s  a twentieth century gameshow host.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a kink, per se.” Remus argues haughtily, cheeks infused red, and teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“‘S okay gorgeous, I think your swottyness is rather cute.” Sirius goads, pecks Remus’s mouth lightly before dragging him off to his room to finally get at some bare skin. 

“It’s not because I’m a swot that I like seeing you like that,” Remus harrumphs, watching as Sirius sheds off his top before sitting leisurely on the bed, feeling bloody incandescent when Remus mounts his lap, nuzzling his nose against Sirius’s neck with his arms resting against his broad shoulders.

“I’d wager you have dirty librarian fantasies too,” Sirius laughs through the kisses, thrusting upwards so that Remus’s bum bounces slightly against his hardness, fucking miraculous.

“Hah— Hmm,” Remus breathes a bit more laboredly as he settles back down. “And what if I do,” he asks primly, unwittingly making it so a thrill runs down Sirius’s spine with the thought of his boyfriend— the bloke who is most certainly  the love of his god forsaken life— picturing the different ways he wants Sirius— above him and under him, all around him and deep inside of him. And Christ, what a beautiful thought.

“’S not a problem with me goldilocks,” Sirius tells him with a slight catch to his voice, not having expected that the idea would effect him so thoroughly. “Tell me do you like me stern? Maybe you turned in some late books and I had to teach you a lesson.”

“If I’m being honest, love, you don’t talk much in the fantasy,” Remus laughs when Sirius bolts upwards, flipping him so that he’s beneath Sirius and his hair is fanned on the pillow like a gilded halo.

“Fucking lies,” Sirius slips a hand through the hem of Remus’s sweats, unsurprised to find that he’s not wearing any boxer briefs, knowing full and well how Remus prefers to sleep in the nude.” “You love it when I’m waxing poetic about you, and when I’m harsh at you. When I tell you about how your mouth is meant to suck my cock, how I want to put you over my lap and spank that perfect little arse of yours.” Sirius wraps his hand around Remus’s length, twisting it slightly before  starting to pump, absolutely beaming at how he’s already begun to get Remus to get that oh so beautiful glazed look over his eyes, turning him undone with a few strategic touches and perfectly crafted, perfectly illicit mutterings. “When I call you gorgeous and a filthy little slag and when I fuck into you even after you’re already spent.”

Remus’s hips rock up, eyes squint shut when Sirius uses his free hand to thumb at one of his delightfully pink nipples and pinches it for good measure while he quickens the pace of his hand sliding up and down Remus’s shaft. “Tell me how much you crave that, love. How much you love being good for me, how much you love it when I show you how.”

“Sirius— Hold on,” Remus begs, voice coming out in an almost whine— haggard and breathy and high pitched— while both his hands knot into  Sirius’s dark hair, quaking so hard that Sirius knows he’s got him on the edge. 

Tenderly, he dips down his head, lips pressed against Remus’s ear and hot tendrils of breath skirting against his skin. Shh, ‘s fine, baby,” he promises him, stroking him through the climax. “’S okay, just let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck— Sirius!” Remus chokes out, hips thrusting rapidly as he chases that relief and slumping back once his orgasm quite literally pulses out, coating Sirius’s hand and abs and some on Remus’s jumper too.

“You really are gorgeous,” Sirius tells him with a smile, gingerly kissing the lids of his still shut eyes before grappling for the little baggie of wet wipes they’ve begun keeping in Remus’s night stand drawer for moments like these.

“I hate how you could do that to me,” Remus tells him with heavy breaths as Sirius cleans up, taps his side lightly so Remus rises up his hips and Sirius tosses his pants to the corner, followed by Remus’s now spoiled jumper. He really couldn’t wait to get his hands off of him after a day apart.

“Oi! ‘S not my fault that the thought of me as some stodgy  librarian is what   gets you going, Moonbeam.” Sirius rebukes, pulls up the comforter so that it pools around their hips, while he lies back leisurely with Remus’s head propped up on his chest.

“We’re breaking up,” Remus tells him flatly, tracing small circles against Sirius’s tanned skin, interrupted by intermittent pecks.

“Cruel,” Sirius pouts, still carding a hair through Remus’s mussed curls, can’t imagine ever living without this, not after so many years of never ending yearning and countless almosts and taking one step forwards before being pushed two back so many times that it made them bloody barmy.

But they’re here now. Sirius has Remus in ways he never thought he’d ever want to claim a person— and lets himself be claimed in the same ways right back. Sirius knows Remus and all of Remus’s little quirks—  loves him all the more for it. He knows the way Remus likes his tea when he wakes up at three in the morning and can’t go back to bed, how it’s different from the tea he prefers to drink in the afternoons. Knows the way Remus licks the lip of the mug before every sip. Sirius knows Remus’s favorite book for each of his various moods, and knows that on those quiet days— the ones when Remus doesn’t like talking much at all— that Remus only needs time, needs to know that Sirius’ll be there when he wakes up the next morning with sunlit smiles and kisses that taste like violet skies and cinnamon scones and promises meant to be kept.

And of course Sirius will be there, of course he’d have Remus in any and all ways that he’d let him— He knows it in his bones that Remus feels that same crippling sort of devotion for him right back, knows that it’s a once in a life time sort of ordeal. He knows that he’s grateful for every breath they share with one another.

“”A man could take only so much smugness from his boyfriend,” Remus tells Sirius petulantly, the words belied by how he tenderly kisses his chest.

“No but Remus, darling, tel me. Who makes more of an appearance in the sexy thought time? Librarian me or the image of me in the rugby kit.” 

Remus moves to flip him the bird while he nips at the patch of skin he was just lapping at with quiet reverence.

“Ouch!”

“I hate that I told you that.” Remus fumes, actually embarrassed looking as he pulls away from him.

Sirius is frantic when he circles his arms around Remus’s torso and brings his body  back to lie over his own. “Nah, no, gorgeous,  I like it. Gets me going. The idea that you’re so lost on me that you picture me in those different outfits.” Sirius tells him, pressing a kiss of apology to the temple of his head.

“’S not weird Sirius!”

“Course it’s not baby,” Sirius soothes, hand caressing his side meaningfully.

“You’re bloody fit— you know that! ’s totally normal that I’d wanna wank off to my beautiful damn boyfriend.”

“Completely, no one’s arguing against you, baby.”

“Hmm,” Remus huffs before springing up suddenly, pinning Sirius with a suspicious glower. “So what, you don’t ever picture me like that? In your favorite sorts of fantasies.”

Sirius throws back his head, laughing at how distressed he looks. God he’s in love with such a bellend. “Cor! Remus, me calling you Prince Ponce all those years before we finally just shagged wasn’t simply  because you had a royal scepter  up your arse that I wanted to replace with my  prii—“ Remus shoves Sirius hard enough so he won’t finish that line, and honestly? Valid.

“So what? That’s all?” Remus fumes, settling away from him once more.  “You’ve only ever imagined me as some sorta golden boy you wanted to get your grubby hands on?”

“Course not, love, there’s like hundreds I think of.”

“Like what?” Remus needles, and Sirius feels his cheeks burn scarlet as he has to avert his gaze, knowing precisely what his top fantasy is and too nervous to actually say it out loud.

“Oh c’mon Sirius,” Remus sighs, obviously having read the doubt blotched all over his face. “I’ve seen you piss while eating an ice cream cone in a public beach, and that was before we began even dating.”

“’S not my fault that Marlene got stung by that bloody jellyfish!”

“We’ve crossed the possibility of being embarrassed in front of the other long ago,” Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted. 

“Ugh fine,” Sirius grouses, tossing himself back on the mattress. “But you swear not to poke fun?”

“You have my word,” Remus says evenly, and gestures at him to continue.

“Okay— Well you don’t know this because we met so much later. But when Jem and I were younger— back in secondary school, maybe.” He coughs only slightly, gaze razor focussed on where he’s tugging on a stray strand of string hanging off the comforter, feeling suddenly very hot under Remus’s appraising gaze. “We, erm. Ahem. We were really bloody bored this one weekend so we watched the Star Wards prequels, you know. Just because everyone’s seen them and all.”

“Mmm, right. I don’t know where you’re going with this though.”

“I’m getting there tosser,” Sirius harrumphs, still doesn’t meet his hazel eyes, even if he’s a bit brassed off.

“All right, well don’t let me stop you.”

“Right, well— Hah.  You know the Empire Strikes Back,” Sirius asks tentatively.

“Course I do,” Remus nods, faltering just slightly once he pieces it together. “Oh.”

“’S just a thing I’ve thought about since I was like thirteen—“ Sirius explains lamely. 

“And you’d— You’d like to see me in that get up?” Remus asks, voice betraying his inhibition.

Sirius has a mild heart attack thinking of Remus— his Remus— in that golden bikini and doing it just  for Sirius and Jesus fuck he can’t even breathe. “Yeah— Yes, ahem, I would really like that.”

“All right,” Remus says with a nod and Sirius’s not really sure what he means by that. Whether it’s a thank you for sharing or a you have my permission to think of it or what, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask when there’s the sound of something else crashing in the background followed by  the muffled curse of a voice that is so painfully Peter that it hurts.

“Right, well let’s see if he’s broken anything, shall we?”

.-

A week goes by.

Sirius never really thinks of the conversation they had, supposes it was merely a passing fancy for Remus to be validated that Sirius has those same heated thoughts about him. (Which of fucking course he does. Remus’s the epitome of what it means to be beautiful. A God damn angel— Of bloody course Sirius is completely lost on him. But hey, it might’ve been just one of those insecurities of his, a hurtle  that needed to be past over for them to proceed in their relationship. So yeah,  whatever.) Sirius doesn’t think of it again.

Though the refrain from that is thrown out the God forsaken window on a typical Wednesday morning in the office, when Sirius gets the Snapchat notification that quite literally turns his brain into a stew of slush.

There’s a meeting with Benedict Carro who’s asked the firm to build his newest golf club in Devon, and Sirius is just collecting some of the charts and preliminary sketches from his desk for the impending meeting with the old git.  So he really doesn’t think much of it when he sees his phone light up with a message from Remus, is expecting it to be a picture of his adorably  scrunched up face or of a new addition to his ridiculous collection of candles, or maybe even of the ducks wandering across the hall like they’re occasionally want to do.

What Sirius most certainly does not expect to see is a fucking photograph of two distinct costumes lying on his bed, and the line “Look what came today,” written on the black bar.

“Mother of God,” Sirius thinks that he might be in the midst of an actual fucking seizure, feels his heart palpitating irregularly and his breaths catching and his insides fucking imploding all at once.

He can’t believe that this is a thing that is happening. That Remus went out and bought them just to surprise Sirius with and now he’s teasing him mercilessly because Sirius’s in love with a wicked fucking mastermind. And just, holy fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Mr Black, Mr Carro and his associates are here,” Sirius’s newest assistant— Benjy Fenwick, says in a tone that makes it obvious that he’s been trying to get Sirius’s attention for quite a while now and is about fed up. Sirius is really tempted to flip his phone around and show him a photograph of how insanely sexy Remus is, then he’ll surely understand the reason why Sirius’s been dissolved into a puddle of pure longing for the day to be over. But he ultimately reasons that wouldn’t be exactly appropriate, technically being Benjy’s boss and all, even though they’re nearly the same age.

But yeah— not a good look.

So he hurriedly texts back that Remus is the absolute devil incarnate before shutting off his phone and following Benjy into one of the meeting rooms in the back— trying to muster an air of nonchalance even if the image of Remus in that God damn Princess Leia bikini, is permanently  scorched into his every thought.

.-

“Sirius spent the rest of that afternoon sending admittedly explicit texts to Remus about all the things he wants to do to him that night, and practically sores back to their building when he leaves work.

Thankfully Remus had taken care of getting the place to their selves that night, so all Sirius has to do now is jump around from foot to foot in his room, beyond jittery in anticipation of Remus finally coming out the closet dressed in Sirius’s greatest fantasy of all time.

“Is the music absolutely necessary?” Remus calls out through the closed door.

“Yes,” Sirius says in a tone that’s about two octaves higher than his usual speaking voice, so beyond flustered. “’S for the ambiance Lupin!”

“Oy, if I had known this was such a thing for you, I would’ve done it earlier,” Remus snorts, walking out in a white bathrobe that gives nothing away as he eyes Sirius in the Han Solo outfit he got— complete with a fake blaster pistol and its holster. “You look so cute.”

“You’re a God,” Sirius tells him in aw, reaching a gentle hand over to run through  his dark, tawny curls. 

Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius catches the smirk he’s wrestling down on his lips. “I love you.”

“I know,” Sirius breathes, padding up closer to him and kissing Remus slow and thorough, a tender hand caressing his cheek.

“God save the queen, that reference  actually did something for me,” Remus chuckles, but Sirius can’t respond, has permanently lost all ability to function or piece together words once he spots how Remus loosens the knot on his robe and slinks it off to reveal miles and miles of bare skin, only slightly concealed by the golden bikini of his fantasies, even complete with purple little frills that dangle off the hips.

Sirius realizes that he must’ve been gaping by the way Remus waves a hand in front of his face, “Earth to Sirius? Is this not how you pictured it? Did I get the wrong model or—“ Sirius shuts him up with a heated and desperate kiss that leaves them both breathless by the time they separate.

“Remus, please, for the love of God, get on that bed and wait for me to decide what I want to do with you."

With a  small grin turning up the corner of his lips, Remus nods eagerly, perching up on the edge of Sirius’s bed and blinking up at him— practically imploring  for Sirius to finally just have his wicked way with him already.

Sirius mildly thinks that he doesn’t deserve such a gift, but gets distracted when Remus separates his legs a little further and he can spot the way his dick is poking out the metallic colored panties, throbbing with anticipation.

“Budge up, I want your back against the headboard,” Sirius demands lowly, and Remus is quick to comply.

On his knees, Sirius shuffles up close enough to clamp his hands on Remus’s inner thighs, pulls them further apart as he smacks a hard kiss to Remus’s mouth, slowly moving to  nose at the edge of his cheek and ear as he tells him in a very quiet, very deliberate tone to keep his hands above his head. “You’re a good boy, baby, so I won’t tie them, but you’re gonna keep them up there and you’re not gonna move them, okay?”

Remus, already completely flushed, nods vigorously. He prefers staying quiet when they get like this— Sirius would ordinarily prod at him a little to get some words out, but he’s far too distracted right now.

He kisses across Remus’s protruding collarbone, thinks of how swan like and gentle his features are. How Remus’s a work of art and how he wants Sirius more than breathing, how that’s splayed all over his face, especially now.  And God, how heady of a thrill.

Sirius kisses down the line of his chest and stomach muscles with slow precision, nuzzles against the material of the bikini before he nearly breaks the left strap trying to get at Remus’s left nipple, teeth grinding and playing with the ball— biting a little harder when Remus whimpers, trying to cant his hips upwards.

Sirius pulls back, pinching his side lightly. “Stay still,” he reproves, excepts it wen Remus quietly apologizes, ducking his head down to the other nipple now, his hands tenderly petting against Remus’s sides as he sucks on it with the same ferocity.

“Sir—Sirius, please,” Remus begs from above him, head tossed back to show off the long trail of his beautiful neck.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby,” Sirius tells him in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, beginning to mouth against the light feathering of pale hair that runs down Remus’s torso, leading to his dick.

“I’m sorry,” Remus tells him, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Shh, it’s ok, I got you,” Sirius kisses the point right beneath his naval, and he ducks down to what he was trying to get at in the first place 

“Turn around,” he tells him, words clipped. “ON all fours.”

Remus looks relieved to finally be able and do something as he tells him “Yes,” and flips over,  already rigid with anticipation.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Sirius tells him, places a hand on the small of Remus’s back for leverage as he kisses the smattering of freckles that dance over  Remus’s thighs. God he has such amazing thighs, strong and elegant and Sirius’s favorite thing is when he gets to kiss them like this, to nip at them and hear the little, abrupt inhale that Remus sucks in at the touch. “Stay good for me, okay,” Sirius tells him as he takes his hands and he spreads open Remus’s asscheeks, revealing the little, dark hole Sirius has spent many a night moaning exaltations towards.

Softly, and with hot breaths Sirius pulls to the side the weak material of the thong, peppers kisses all around Remus’s ass before dipping down deeper and lapping a tongue against the tiny, fluttering ring of wrinkled skin.

“Sirius, please,” Remus moans pushing closer to the hot sensation.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Sirius tells him, lips pressed against him as Sirius kisses the entrance adoringly—tongue plunging  inside deeper, harder, slower. And he loves this, the sensation of it, of Remus coming undone in his very hands.

Sirius is about to wrap a hand around the length of him, to stroke in tandem with his worshiping with his mouth, but suddenly there little moment of bliss is cut by the sound of insistent and boisterous knocking.

“Ignore it,”

“It could be important,” Remus argues weakly, obviously all levels of regretful as he peers over his shoulder.

“Fuck it, who cares, ’s my flat and they can sod off!”

Remus presses his lips together, looking like he might agree, but then comes a new round of rapping, and Sirius sees the resolve in his face.

“Oh bloody hell! Fine!” Sirius fumes, scrambling up. “But if it’s someone trying to sell me shit, I’ve got the legal obligation to punch them in the face!”

“Of course darling,” Remus smiles at him, and it’s the only thing that gives Sirius enough strength to swagger towards the front and open the door without already being in mid shout. Though, what he doesn’t expect to happen is to find his adoptive mother of all fucking people on the other side.

“Mum?”

“Sirius? Love?” Dr Potter greets, eyeing him worriedly with a tsk, bringing a small, brown hand to his forehead as if to take his temperature and making it so Sirius flinches back. “Why do you look all red, and honey it’s not October yet, what’s with the outfit?”

“Mum!, why are you here!” Sirius asks instead, avoiding the question all together, voice completely strangled.

“Oh, well James called me to check up on the ducks this Friday, but I was in town with an old girlfriend, so I reckoned I’d just pop over, see if you guys needed anything for me to bring you.” She explains blithely, still looking up at him with concern. “Your taking care of yourself, aren’t you dearest? You’re not working too hard?”

Sirius panics, tries to think of a perfectly plausible excuse besides the obvious— So but of course that’s right when Remus decides to shout from the bed. “Sirius who’s at the door?” And no! Jesus no!

“Remus? Lovey?” his mum calls back.

“Oh— Erm. Dr Potter.” Remus has stepped out of his room now, mercifully already back in his robe. “I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he says  with a pale color tinting his pillar, like he’s about to be sick.

Okay, yup, Sirius’s erection has died forever now after hearing Remus speaking to Sirius’s bloody mother dressed like that.

Fuck his life.

“Are you boys okay? Did I— Did I interrupt something?”

“Mum! James is just out to dinner with Lily! We’re fine, honest! And erm, we can’t wait to see you Friday night!”

“Oh dearest, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you  guys— ah dressed up—“ Dr Potter flushes, but there is definite amusement glittering in her eyes, and that’s right when Sirius slams his hand against his face and retreats back to the bedroom, barely hearing it when she bids farewell to Remus and tells Sirius to call her tomorrow.

“I reckon we won’t be continuing?” Remus asks, a total giggle to his words. Holy fucking shite! Everyone in his life are such pricks!

“I’m jumping off the balcony!” Sirius screams back in response, plunging his head into the pillows and contemplating everything that’s brought him to this point.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

[ragingpancake]

Lieutenant Colonel Idiot and the Kastat Root

A/N: I randomly came across a comment the other day while looking for H/C John fics where someone mentioned they wanted to see John having to have some sort of surgery off-world and this monstrosity happened. Unbetaed so all errors are mine, sorry about it!

Part 2 will be posted soon!

It starts with a stomachache and a fever. Okay no, scratch that. It started three days ago with a stomachache and a fever that he so stupidly decided to keep quiet about. He’d known that there was an upcoming mission on the books, knew that his team was scheduled to go off-world and knew that anything so much as a hangnail would ground him. So he’d just… you know, not mentioned it to anyone. Boy, had that been a mistake. So, it started three days ago with a stomachache and a the slightest of fevers that had just not gone away, annoying and ever present, but not so bad enough that it gave him cause for concern. Even earlier that morning as they loaded up into the Jumper, he’d not given it much thought, figuring that they’d just get through this mission and then he’d go talk to Carson if it hadn’t eased up. That had been his second mistake. Which is how he’s ended up here, sandwiched in between Ronon and Teyla at the feasting table with the good people of M3-X982 while Rodney waxes poetic about the almost-meatloaf they’d been served, all while trying to ignore just how hot he’d gotten, along with the stabbing pain he was experiencing less intermittently and more frequently as the night went by. He thinks he’s doing a fine job of hiding it, really, when Teyla leans over, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. “Are you alright, Colonel?” Busted.

He means to give her a lazy, lopsided smile, to brush off her concern but what happens instead is that another stabbing pain shoots through his middle and all he can do is gasp at the force of it, loud enough that even Rodney actually shuts up for once. Three things happen in rapid succession: Ronon, assuming the worst, rises quick enough to knock the chair he’s been occupying backwards, while pulling out the blaster and aiming it at their hosts while Teyla speaks quickly, trying to diffuse the situation, ever the diplomat. And John… well, he tries to tell Ronon to knock it off, that the Plesians hadn’t poisoned him, but all he manages is a pained whimper before his entire world seemingly shifts on its axis and sends him tumbling off of his chair and to the ground, keening like a wounded animal. -- He doesn’t realize at first that he’s curled up on his side, drenched in his own sweat and covered in vomit and oh wow, when did he even throw up? “Colonel Sheppard,” Teyla says, her voice calm and soothing, and when he glances up at her, he can see Rodney over her shoulder, completely scandalized at the mess. It might be funny, except you know, John’s having a real hard time focusing on anything other than the pain. “John,” Teyla says again, more firm this time, and right, okay, focusing. He can do this. He totally can. “Doctor Frenlen would like to examine you but for this to happen, we need to get you back to the quarters the Plesians have so graciously provided. Can you stand?” “Are you crazy?” Rodney snaps and he might be even more pale than John is. “Of course he can’t stand, if he could stand, he wouldn’t be laying in a puddle of his own puke, now would he?” Teyla, the beautiful soul that she is, doesn’t even dignify Rodney’s snappish response with so much as a glance, instead looking up to Ronon with a nod. “Sorry Sheppard,” he mutters before he’s crouching down and lifting John into his arms. And John, stoic though he usually is… Well. He doesn’t really remember that part but later, Ronon will tell him about how he screamed and promptly passed out. Great. ----

See, this a prime example as to why Rodney McKay actually hatesthe Pegasus Galaxy. Atlantis, not so much, though there have been times that he’s found himself very cross with her too, but usually, she doesn’t try to kill them.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely accurate, what with the (almost) ascension thing. And the virus meant to eradicate anyone not possessing the ATA gene… And the-- Okay, you know what? May she has tried to kill them but that’s not the point right now. The point is, they’re stuck on another god forsaken planet with absolutely no access to the gate thanks to the literal acid rainthat’s pouring down outside, something that the Plesians assure them will pass come morning because it does this every damn night here and why on Earth hadn’t the ancient database warned them of this?

Maybe he needs to take Atlantis off the pedestal he’s placed her on and add her to the list of things he hates about Pegasus after all. Okay, he’ll take that back. Maybe. Probably once Sheppard’s done with his poorly timed medical emergency, which brings him back to the present, crowded in a tiny room with a man old enough to be his grandfather “examining” the aforementioned Colonel. Rodney has never wished Carson was part of their gate team as much as he does in this moment, because for all the ways that medical “science” was actual voodoo, at least Carson seemed to be the most intelligent shaman they’ve come across to date. Present company included. The “Doctor” is hovering over John, poking and prodding, each touch eliciting quiet moans and whimpers from the barely conscious Sheppard, which worries Rodney enough as is. John usually prefers to suffer in manly silence and the fact that’s unable to remain stupidly stoic in this particular instance means that something must be really, really wrong. And that’s when Frenlen’s hand barely ghosts over John’s right side and the scream that Sheppard releases is one that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. “Please,” John pants as Teyla takes his hand, offering him as much comfort as she possibly can while Ronon stands at John’s head, fingering his blaster with an almost murderous look directed at Frenlen. “Please don’t do that again,” and another pained moan escapes him. Rodney, for his part, is taken back to the week after his seventeenth birthday when he was hospitalized with acute appendicitis and oh no. Oh, no, no, no. “What is it, Doctor McKay?” Teyla asks and he doesn’t realize that he’s moved from the spot that he’s previously been rooted to. He ignores her, glaring down at Sheppard. “How long?” He asks through almost clenched teeth. “What are you—“ Ronon tries, but Rodney cuts him off. “How long, Sheppard?” And Rodney might smack him if not for the fact that his fri—the Colonel didn’t look quite so pathetic, black hair matted to his forehead with fever, face pale from the pain. He still thinks about it when John answers, “coupla’ days.” “He needs the kastat root,” Frenlen interjects and Rodney has never hated medicine as much as he does in this moment. “No,” he snaps. “He needs an appendectomy.” Frenlen blinks at him, face blank and oh great. Of course. Of course he has no idea what Rodney’s talking about because that’s absolutely their luck. “We need to get back to the gate,” Rodney says and Frenlen shakes his head. “You can’t. The rain will not cease until morning,” which was still several hours away by their estimation and what if Sheppard doesn’t have that long? If his stupid appendix has already ruptured, there’s a possibility that infection is already seeping into abdominal cavity, and with Lieutenant Colonel Idiot having sat on this for “a coupla’ days” (God, Rodney wants to punch him), there’s an extremely good chance that that’s exactly what’s taking place. If not, Rodney would bet that they don’t have much longer until it does. “Rodney,” Teyla says, pulling Rodney from his thoughts. “What do we need to do?” We? “He needs his appendix removed!” Rodney says and if he sounds a little distressed by that little fact, he thinks he’s probably a little entitled. “We need Carson, we have to—.” “Rodney, I need you to focus,” Teyla says again. “John needs you to focus.” He can tell she’s just as worried as he is, can see it in her eyes but damn if she doesn’t hide it well. “We cannot get to the Stargate until morning. Can this wait until then?” “No! No, this definitely cannot wait until morning! He needs surgery, and, and, and—” “Then tell us what you need us to do so that we might begin.” What? What? “What do you--.” “Doctor Frenlen is uncertain of this ailment, but it seems that you are. As you said, we need to move quickly and--.” “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m exactly okay with this,” Sheppard manages and as Teyla’s hand moves to his overly warm forehead, Rodney feels a little insulted by that.

“What do you mean, you’re not okay with this!” He says, despite the fact that he’snot okay with this. Now, it’s just a matter of pride, honestly. “I mean you’re a scientist, Rodney. Not a… fuck. Not a doctor.” “John,” Teyla says gently and when the Colonel glances up to meet her eyes, her face softens just a bit. “We may not have a choice. You are very sick, according to Doctor McKay, and we have no access to the Stargate for several more hours. This is our only option.” “Are we really doing this?” Ronon asks, and Rodney and Teyla respond at the same time. “No!” “Yes!” But Rodney can’t do this. He’s no longer offended because he knows John’s right. He’s not a medical doctor, he has no idea what he’s doing and, and, and. “I’ll do it then,” Ronon growls. “Oh, great idea!” Rodney snaps again because that’s exactly what Sheppard needs; Chewbacca poking around in his guts, more than likely causing more damage. “The kastat root,” Doctor Frenlen supplies unhelpfully and Rodney wonders if the entire galaxy has gone mad in this moment. “Shut up!” And the doctor steps back, mouth snapped closed, and Rodney’s just about to tell them all that they have no choice but to wait, when John pitches over the side of bed, vomiting violently, and when an actual sobescapes him, Rodney realizes that he is so, so screwed. “I need… I need something to knock him out,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound quite like his own. “The kas—” “If you say kastat root one more time--…” “Rodney!” Teyla admonishes and excuse him if he’s a little stressed right now. He’s allowed to be, considering he’s about to cut someone open. “The kastat root,” Doctor Frenlen says, “has several medicinal properties. We use it on Plesia to numb the pain from certain injuries.” Oh. Well. How was Rodney supposed to know that? “It’ll knock him out, right?” There’s a look of confusion on the doctor’s face, and when they get back to Atlantis, Rodney is so deleting this gate address from the database. NEVER AGAIN. “What Doctor McKay is asking,” Teyla interjects, “is if your kastat root will render the Colonel unconscious.” “Oh no,” Frenlen responds. “Not at all. But it should help with the pain.” Sheppard must sense just how entirely screwed he is but he seems resigned to his fate. “Do it,” he manages. “I don’t think you understand just what you’re asking me to do!” And if Rodney is shrieking just a little, they’ll just have to deal with it. “I can’t just—” “Rodney,” John says again, voice catching in his throat. “I trust you.” “The root, Doctor Frenlen,” Teyla says urgently and the doctor moves to dig through his bag, producing the smallest vial of anything Rodney has ever seen. Before he can protest any further, Teyla pops the cork and with one gentle hand cupping John’s chin, she urges him to open his mouth to drink. He does, and once she’s satisfied, she glances up at Ronon. “Hold him down,” she says quietly. “ I need--. I need a knife,” Rodney manages in a voice that does not sound like his own, and of course Frenlen is no further help but there’s Ronon, pulling a dagger from his boot and Rodney blanches. This is so not sanitary. He uses the procured dagger to slice away John’s shirt and Rodney can see the slight distension of his stomach. He can only pray that it hasn’t yet ruptured because he has nothing to clean the infection and between that and using a dagger from Ronon’s boot, Rodney is certain that John will not survive that. But as certain as he is of that, he’s also certain that if they do nothing, there’s still a good chance that John won’t survive and, and, and--. “You’re gonna… you’re gonna have to hold him extremely well,” Rodney says to Ronon, eyes wild, face coated in a sheen of sweat and when did it get so hot in here? “If he moves even the slightest—” “I’ve got him,” Ronon assures him and Teyla does too, having moved down to Colonel’s legs to hold them in place so that he would not kick. Rodney chances a glance down at John’s face and the other man gives him a barely there

nod before he swallows hard as Rodney brings the knife down, pressing it against him… --- The sound of John’s screams will haunt Rodney for the rest of his life. He’s under no delusions about that. He’d once thought that nothing would ever compare to watching John be fed on by Koyla’s wraith, but hearing those screams, knowing he’d been the one to cause it… The acid rain has stopped.

Teyla had left some time ago to run to the gate. Frenlen had finally proved more useful when he’d produced more of those little vials of kastat root. Rodney had taken them moment he’d dropped the dagger, John’s thankfully in tact appendix on the floor at his feet, and forced them down the Colonel’s throat. He figured if the asshole overdosed from some off-world root, then that was on him because they should’ve never asked Rodney--… He should have never… They shouldn’t… He doesn’t get a chance to complete another thought before the door to the room opens and in spills Carson with a skeleton med crew, ushering Rodney out of the way. And honestly, Rodney’s doing okay, he’s holding it together until someone steps on the appendix and all of a sudden all bets are off. He gags, but before he has a chance to upend all the contents of his stomach, Ronon is hauling him off, barely managing to get him outside before Rodney loses it. The noises that escape him as he pukes up everything he’s eaten for what feels like the last three weeks should be embarrassing. The entire situation shouldbe embarrassing but Rodney doesn’t care. There’s vomit and snot and tears (oh, where did they come from?) when he finally gags one last time, spitting out a mouth full of bile, and he didn’t even realize he was no longer alone until he feels a heavy hand drop onto his shoulder. “You did good,” Ronon says gruffly, like maybe Rodney’s not the only one affected by what they did. After all, Ronon was the one who’d been helping to hold him down once Rodney had started cutting, even as John screamed and begged for them to stop. Rodney says nothing until the medical team comes out, carrying John on a gurney will Teyla following close behind. She pauses, briefly, and reaches for Rodney’s hand, squeezing ever so gently, but Rodney waits until she’s far enough away before he glances up at Ronon. “We are never coming back to the this backwards fucking…” He doesn’t even have to finish before Ronon is nodding and squeezing his shoulder. “Come on,” the Satedan says. “Let’s go home.” -- By the time they make it back to Atlantis, it seems that the entire base is waiting for them. Rodney doesn’t even get an opportunity to say anything to Carson or the still unconscious Sheppard before he’s being pulled away by Elizabeth for a SITREP and she barely gets out the standard Weir what the hell happened before Rodney is puking again. Great.

Part 2

[cupcakecoterie]

@true0neutral - Hazel, half-elf cleric

@fauxfire76 - Darvin, human bard/sorcerer

@miaaoi - Froseth, dragonborn monk

@hyperewok1 - Remi, human paladin/warlock

@lindira - Clarity, tiefling rogue/warlock

Marion - Ava, human ranger

Brian - Barnabus, minotaur fighter

So, yeah, my dice are utterly terrifying, or else all the luck I lack elsewhere ends up going into random dice. Not that what happened is necessarily lucky...

See, @hyperewok1 had Remi go to the Shrine of Pelor in Egref to have a specific magical item created for Alisaie, to allow her aasimar-granted wings to last longer, at least for flight. They were aiming for about an hour. However, since this was a slightly unusual circumstance (and some phenomenal text RP), I made a couple of mechanics about how it might go a little bit above and beyond. So I rolled percentile dice: on a 25, 50, or 75, she’d be able to have an hour total, as in if she ended the effect after ten minutes, she could re-engage it and have 50 minutes left. But if I rolled a 100...

GUESS WHAT I ROLLED. (I swear, my fucking dice...)

So Remi told Alisaie what the circlet she’d had made was supposed to do; Alisaie went speechless and very smoochy, and was encouraged to try them out. She activated her wings, had a second of nothing but, “...ow...”, and then BAM. Physical wings, like unto a deva or an angel. Thankfully she was wearing a largely backless dress at the time.

For all it was not what anyone expected, it was some phenomenal RP all told as everyone went their own shades of “What the FUCK” and tried to determine the best way to proceed. Alisaie’s keeping the wings (she does love to fly, and it’s probably nice to have something that Antimagic Field or Dispel Magic won’t touch) and is currently figuring out ways around wardrobe issues, seating arrangements, sleeping arrangements and use of Disguise Self when she has to be more inconspicuous than literal wings allow. Remi’s going to have words with Ziriel, and probably the individual who crafted the thing in the first place.

...But later, because wedding reception. A pair of very unexpected wings wasn’t going to fuck with their wedding.

......Honestly, everything else kind of did that anyway.

Hazel’s Quickflight cousins were hosting the reception at their restaurant, The Farmer in the Dale, and wound up more or less pummelling Hazel, Clarity, Darvin and (because Darvin drew her in to deflect some of the questions) Ava. Clarity put it best: “It’s ... like ... a halfling gelatinous cube...”

Remi’s parents more or less cornered Kreia Bendis (the brass dragon who runs Alama-Ver, its capital Al-Zorhai, and the Brass Arrows) about her denying Alisaie her rightful place with the Brass Arrows as punishment for someone else’s misdeeds. Corri Crestwind is a force to be reckoned with, and after the rest of the Five Claws joined in, Kreia Bendis gave up and decided, since they were all part of the same group and were going to have to hunt together if they were hunting in Alama-Ver territory anyway, asked what Clarity and Barnabus had helped kill before inducting Alisaie, Barnabus and Clarity into the Brass Arrows. Clarity and Barnabus were a little confused, but there you have it.

Vieve Alled, the silver dragon who runs Eun-Bac (home of the People and the Silver Vault, capital city Damyl), told them that they’d be given a task by whatever hunting pack of the People they ran into on the outskirts, which if successfully undertaken would guarantee them entry into the section of the Silver Vault of their choice. She figured it’d be faster than making them go all the way up to Damyl and then back down to perform the necessary task. She also warned them that she would house them when they finally reached Damyl, and that no one leaves her table at their shared meal without telling three things about themselves. Ava worried about this until people effectively reminded her of how interesting her life has actually been to someone who isn’t living it.

Remi made a joking remark about how she wanted a cut of the profits from that play about her and Alisaie. Never make joking remarks around Cal Etielle; that particular copper dragon takes the weirdest things seriously and left mid-reception to shake said cut out of somebody. Succeeded, too, so now there’s a significant but as-yet uncounted amount of platinum in Remi’s possession.

Cal Etielle also made a toast to the couple. So did Darvin; it was very moving.

The Crestwinds, bakers by trade, made a glorious wedding cake, intricately iced to reflect the lives of the happy couple to date. Corri also baked Remi some chocolate chip cookies (Remi’s favourite).

Kreia Bendis propositioned Hazel, who’d been giving Kreia Bendis looks of, “You’re hot but TERRIFYING!!!” for basically ever. Hazel meeped a lot and went to ask Clarity what to do about this. See, their relationship is a little complicated because Clarity’s asexual and Hazel’s ... not ... and they’re striking a balance to allow Hazel’s physical desires to be met while still keeping ... romantically monogamous, if that makes sense. (I mean, it does to me, but Clarity has the same outlook as I do in that regard.)

Side note: off-screen, Clarity said that’d be complicated for her because they would probably have to work with Kreia Bendis on and off and knowing that would be stressful for Clarity, so not so much. Clarity also demanded an apology from Kreia Bendis, who said, more or less, “I’m not psychic - I just asked a question. Message received but I don’t owe you a damn thing”. Both sides have points so it’s honestly just interesting.

Reception went well in spite of (or maybe in some ways because of) the weird shit, and Remi and Alisaie went for their two-night stay at one of Egref’s luxury resort hotels.

The next in-game day, and thus the next session, is going to be all about shopping and bits and pieces because we’re missing a @miaaoi (belated Canada Day outing) and a @lindira (literally 4th of July) and anyway, dice bullshit means that Alisaie needs to sort out her wardrobe. Again.

Don’t we just have the most fun?

[gisachi]

Please make number 22 with ShinRan, and maybe the one who interrupts them can be Sonoko/Heiji...oh! And please make it canon and not AU. Sorry if this is too much request 😁😁

Hello, thanks for sending in a number! I gotchu with your request~ Wrote this on a whim so please excuse grammatical and/or spelling errors. Hope you like this one! 💖

22. A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party. (1,231 words)

.

.

.

“Ow!”

“I told you, stay still!”

“I am trying!”

“Stop flinching, Jesus!”

Carefully holding his elbow in place, Ran dabs Shinichi’s freshly acquired bruise with cotton and alcohol, and the injured detective does nothing but wince in pain as if Ran’s rubbing salt on it.

“Can you at least be more gentle?!” Shinichi half shouts, and Ran rolls her eyes and huffs, working this time on the scraped skin on the side of his right hand, which has him clenching his fist tight and sinking his teeth to his lower lip.

“I am gentle, you just have poor pain tolerance.”

Shinichi sags against the couch, trying to keep a straight face while he watches Ran tender some more scratches on his right arm and lower leg. “This sucks.”

The disgruntled woman eyes him from head to toe.

“Just as I pray we won’t stumble upon some random case in our weekend trip to Osaka, we suddenly have this,” she remarks, tone stern and steely as they sit on the living room couch of the Hattori residence, the Osakan couple locked up in Heiji’s room where Kazuha tenders the hot-blooded detective’s identical bruises.

Unlike the boys, the girls are smart enough to conclude that they must not cure these two in the same space, lest they prefer graver wounds. Not from each other, but from their girlfriends restraining them with martial arts if they keep up with such incredibly childish behavior.

“At least they’re just minor injuries?”

“Which you could’ve avoided if only you and Hattori-kun acted more like your age,” she sighs as she plasters a bandaid over his bruised elbow. “Seriously, you’d be in bigger trouble if not for me and Kazuha-chan acting immediately.”

“It’s unavoidable, I swear.”

“Shinichi, you and Hattori-kun slid along the riverbank and almost fell straight into the water, you could have missed that,” the bite in the last phrase makes Shinichi cringe in shame.

“But you didn’t because you weren’t looking at where you’re walking,” Ran presses the alcohol soaked cotton a little too hard on his leg that he whines, “Because why? You’re busy fighting over who’s the better detective, minutes after the fangirls left us. Give yourselves a break, will you?”

Still wincing, Shinichi speaks behind gritted teeth, “but I can’t just let Hattori—”

Ran throws him The Glare, and he grumbles in defeat.

“Fine, I lost my cool there. Right.”

“Apologize to Hattori-kun after this, please? He’s even hosting us this trip, we should be grateful!”

“Right.”

Shinichi exhales inwardly, secretly mocking himself because he realizes where the Hattori Influence brought him. Damn, a quarter of the West Detective’s competitive spirit seems to have jumped to him. He isn't the type to really care about being the best in Japan, but curse Hattori and his contagious, feisty, over-the-top attitude. He makes a mental note to hang out with him less. That is, if he can even reject this annoying dude who also happens to be his best bud.

Ran closes the first aid kit, places it on the end table. “You’re hopeless,” with scrunched eyebrows, she pulls a cannot-be-helped smile, tracing the small abrasion on his cheek, the last one to clean, “such a hopeless, stubborn detective.”

In that moment, he deadpans to her lips, then turns away just before she catches the blush sprouting from his cheek.

“You know, there’s one way you can cure me instantly.”

“How?”

He doesn’t reply, but a few seconds in and Ran utters a silent ‘oh,’ seeming to get the hint. From the corner of his eyes, he sees her fidgeting on her seat.

Feeling the awkwardness setting in, he coughs.

“I mean, not really a cure, heh, but, you see—”

Before he can finish, she grabs his collar and plants a quick kiss over the bruise on his cheek, and he almost dies on the spot.

Ran lets go, scoots a few inches back the couch, looks at him coyly.

“There,” she says, shy but resolute, tinge of pink shading her ears and cheeks, “Feeling better?”

Shinichi flushes hard, stares at her like a lovestruck idiot.

Then, he sighs deep, sinks into the couch.

“Why do you always aim for the cheek…” he mumbles, moping like a child as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry?” Ran sidles to hear him better, blush not disappearing from her face.

“I’m saying…” he turns his head, gulps at the realization that she’s closer than when she’s tending his wounds, lashes flapping enticingly as she blinks, cherry lips pouting cutely, the v-neck of her shirt revealing a modest amount of cleavage and it’s making all the blood in his veins gush to his head.

“Damn it! What I’m saying is!” He grabs both her shoulders, and there is this ridiculous thumping noise in his chest like he’s about to have a heart attack.

It grows even louder as Ran’s wide eyes lock his indulgently, before they flutter shut, nice and slow, and Shinichi can only do so much as tighten his grip on her shoulders and inch his lips closer, and closer.

“Aim for this next time, Ran,” he sighs his last words before his lips meet, not the air, not her cheeks, but her lips.

After how many attempts. Finally!

‘Yes yes yes yes yes’, Shinichi’s brain repeats, blood boiling at a thousand Celsius as her soft, silky lips caress him, replacing the stinging pain in his sanitized injuries with butterflies and flowers creeping and growing at exponential speed in random places in his body and everything feels sooo nice. Right, he’s feeling much better now. But only for the first few seconds. Because now a particular heat radiates down to his abdomen, to his pelvis, and it grows even stronger everytime Ran makes a delighted whimper as he moves his lips and changes his angle to fit hers better, and, and... why are their bodies slowly pressing flat into the couch?

“Oi, Kudo. The ahou’s right, I might’ve gotten a little over— HAAAAAAH?!”

Ran falls to the floor with a resounding thud, Shinichi scrambles to his feet trying to shield her from Heiji’s view but there isn’t any need because Heiji already saw their secret escapade though he prays he didn’t at all.

“Th-The hell are you doing not knocking, Hattori?!” Shinichi stammers as he sits clumsily on the floor, Ran behind him, both their ears, cheeks, neck as red as fresh molten lava.

“Why should I knock in my own house, Kudo??!” Heiji shouts back, tone furious despite the evident flush of red growing from his neck up.

In the background, the whistle of wind and cooing of birds intensify.

“...”

“...”

“Listen. I-We...it was in the spur of the moment, we didn’t plan to—”

“Ya bastard, even in MY house!”

An ominous, raging black aura spawning from Heiji’s back accompanies his roar and Shinichi stops explaining, wanting to apologize and laugh and run away instead at the absurdity of it all. Too late though, because Heiji’s already trapped him with his deadly I-get-it-but-you-fucking-owe-me-again-Kudo and I’m-going-to-upstage-you-just-wait-and-see glare before he drags an oblivious Kazuha - who appears from behind the archway completely missing everything Heiji saw - on the wrist and Kazuha stumbles on her feet.

“Kaz’ha, come with me! Kudo’s challenging me again!”

“Eh?? But did ya already apolo— wait what challenge? Whaddya mean Heiji?” 

They hear Kazuha last before the door to Heiji’s room slams shut.

.

.

.

[tenacityreturns]

"well, shit." from whoever you want

plot: aomine and kagami get caught in the rain and return to kagami’s place for refuge. naturally, a change of clothes is in order and who better for aomine to steal from than kagami?  word count:  1911, your honour. too many, your honour

the first few raindrops didn’t bother them. it would have to be torrential before it would stop kagami from playing against aomine, but after less than a minute, it was. aomine had the ball and had been racing towards his net when it started pouring. he came to a halt gracefully: a perfect stand-still from a sprint, with the ball in one hand like it had never been moving. if kagami had seen it, he would’ve been impressed.

“well, shit,” aomine muttered while he still had air in his lungs.

kagami wasn’t so graceful. despite the coarse tarmac below his feet. he ended up skidding right into his opponent. neither fell, but it was pretty embarrassing all the same to collide together like this! kagami held onto aomine’s arm to stop himself from falling, and was quickly shaken off.

“get the hell of me!” aomine protested, turning to face the redhead.

“like i wanna touch you!”

“you grabbed me, didn’t you? now the ball’s all the way over there and since it’s your fault, you can go get it.”

“what?! that’s some stupid shit you just said, you dropped it!”

“quit fighting with me, idiot,” aomine droned. he didn’t stick around for the reply and made his way to the exit. there was no shelter around here, and both were already half-soaked, so the one-on-one was definitely postponed.

“what about my ball?” kagami was too pissed off to care about the weather! he pointed at the darkening basketball as it came to a stop behind the net post, but it was no use as aomine wasn’t watching.

“like hell i want anything to do with your balls, bakagami.”

( that little half-joke went straight over kagami’s head. ) looking between retreating teenager, and dormant ball, it was becoming clear that it really would stay there until kagami went to go and get it. the cool rain started melting his anger. actually, he didn’t mind getting the ball. in principle, he was offended that aomine didn’t just... get the fucking ball? but this wasn’t any effort. plus, he realised with a growing grin on his face, it gave him a chance at some payback for the embarrassing outburst. ( somehow, he was more embarrassed about aomine being mad he’d been bumped into, than actually pressing flush against each other for half a second. if kagami’s eyes had been open, he would have seen something very different in aomine’s eyes than the anger he was currently so focused on. )

so kagami jogged over carefully, and scooped up the basketball. he walked wide of the entrance, where aomine was now arriving, to offer the best angle for a sneak attack.

“hey, dickhead!” the redhead yelled, giving just enough warning that he would no longer feel responsible for any damage caused if the basketball he’d just thrown was to meet its mark on aomine’s stupid fucking head!

sure enough, aomine turned and reacted in just enough time to deflect it. ha! kagami could see the grimace of irritation from here! good. but within moments, it neutralised and he turned, throwing the basketball over his shoulder. aomine had been aiming, he must have been, because it practically fell into kagami’s hands as he got closer. stupid bastard, that was too cool...

he didn’t know where they’d go after this. maybe they’d go their separate ways, or maybe--- aomine would turn down the street that lead away from maji’s, away from the train station, away from the shops, and towards kagami’s apartment. the redhead jogged to catch up and then kept pace. he was about to ask where the hell aomine thought he was rushing off to, but actually, he didn’t mind if they went back to his. who knew how long this storm would last and, annoying as aomine could be sometimes, it wasn’t torture hanging out with him.

on they walked in silence. kagami passed the ball between his hands in quiet reflection, aomine hunched his shoulders and hugged himself against the onslaught. the guy looked so cold! kagami didn’t even have a jacket on and he was chilly at worst. what a baby. occasionally, kagami would catch aomine looking at him out of the corner of his eye but neither said anything. the rain would probably have drowned them out anyway.

“well?” aomine said suddenly as they finally got to the front of kagami’s building.

“what?” the redhead pushed inside, slippery hands nearly losing grip of the glass door before aomine could get inside. he stared at his still silent opponent. “well what?”

“aren’t you gonna invite me to your’s?”

hopelessly confused, kagami gestured widely around them. “we’re here? what are you talking about?”

“oh,” this idiot... why was he looking around himself like he’d only just realised? “i guess i’ll come up, if you insist.”

“insist? what the hell, are you an idiot?” kagami grumbled, rather than yelled, because the old lady who lived nearby was in the lobby and she always scolded him if he and his friends were too loud. who the hell did she think she was?! oh well, it couldn’t be helped. just as it sounded like he couldn’t avoid aomine coming over.

they dripped their way into the elevator. the air conditioning made kagami’s skin raise in goosebumps, or was it the weight of the situation settling in his mind? no more basketball today, and he’d have to change clothes. how miserable! he’d just been warming up, too! at 4 - 2, he had every chance of catching up and actually beating him! when his frowning eyes lifted from the floor to see if his companion was as miserable as he was, aomine looked quickly away. his face betrayed no particular expression. damn it, he was so hard to read!

droplets of water trailed behind them as they left the elevator and made their way to kagami’s apartment. he unlocked the door and immediately slipped his shoes off, not that that would stop the spread of water. his first port of call was to grab two massive bath towels from the cupboard. one he draped over his head, and the other he took back into the hallway where-----------

AOMINE WAS SHIRTLESS? EXCUSE ME?!!!

kagami’s garbled words got stuck in his throat, resulting in a half-yell, half-gah! a GYAHHH??? if you will. aomine’s slender figure stretched upwards as he pulled his clothes over his head, giving kagami a moment to ogle. not ogle, ogle-- like, look respectfully. oh boy, you know? just-- boys. the next second, aomine was staring at him with a frown on his face.

“oi,” he shifted his weight onto one hip, “are you just gonna stand there and let me freeze to death?”

red-faced and no longer cold, kagami threw the towel over and briskly stalked over to turn the thermostat up. his eyes betrayed him by stealing a glance as aomine pulled the towel around his shoulders. it’s just! ugh! looking dangerously close to saying something unfunny, aomine was interrupted by kagami opening his mouth without a plan. ANYTHING, please, god, just say anything so aomine wouldn’t!

“i’ll--- hang your clothes up. give them here. you’re just gonna make my whole floor soaked like that!”

“you can lend me something to wear while i wait for them to dry.”

“can?” that was just enough to get annoyed over as a distraction, thank god. “are you gonna ask like a normal person?”

“ah... probably not.”

“seriously annoying,” kagami gritted his teeth, but aomine was easier to forgive with his eyes closed. as he rubbed the towel into his hair, eyelids shut, his bored expression looked a lot closer to serene.

kagami took the balled up clothes, dripping as they were, and tried not to think about it too much. with his own towel pulled tight around his shoulders, he brought the bundle into the bathroom. separated from one another, the t-shirt and hoodie were unceremoniously hung over the shower rail to dry. ha! they were very graciously allowed to dry in kagami’s bathroom, actually! the nerve of that guy to------

“forgot these,” aomine said suddenly from behind, and even more surprising was the pair of shorts flying through the air! shorts! kagami didn’t dare turn around! they found their spot on the rail beside his other clothes, but what the fuck was aomine doing just walking around his house naked now?!

“hey,” kagami was still frozen there in the bathroom, and spoke far too dramatically for the moment. “if all your clothes are here, what are you wearing now?”

aomine made a sound very close to a laugh, then plodded away. he didn’t even say anything! so now what? he’d gone in the direction of the living room, so was he not even going to get any clothes?! what was it about people just taking their clothes off at his house!?!?!?! huffing and completely embarrassed, he launched into the hallway again.

“oi!” kagami started, but stopped his demands when he saw that his stupid guest was wearing clothes. of course he was wearing clothes. why wouldn’t he be? aomine walked away in kagami’s clothes, like they were his own. the poor host let out a relieved sigh before tending to his own wardrobe change.

once inside his bedroom, with the door shut, he started pulling off his wet clothes. his wardrobe was open, he noticed. the shelf where he kept his sweatpants had been rummaged through, and he was missing his grey hoodie from the top of the pile. ah, it was kind of cool that aomine was wearing his clothes, come to think of it. even if it was a little annoying that the guy just invited himself to do so. actually, it was really annoying.

aomine continued to be extra annoying and weird that night. when kagami returned wearing new clothes, cosy if slightly grumpy, aomine was already lounging on the sofa with basketball monthly in his hands. make yourself at home, kagami said sarcastically, to which aomine replied that he had already, no need to say it. then when kagami had been gracious enough to make them some ramen soup for dinner, aomine admitted that it wasn’t torture to eat it! what the fuck? just compliment food normally, you weirdo!

when aomine left after the rain had stopped, still wearing kagami’s clothes and with his own in a bag, he said something else. though in the same vein of a backhanded compliment, aomine said:

“wasn’t so bad hanging out and not playing basketball.”

“yeah, obviously,” kagami replied, “it’s better if rivals get along, or else they wouldn’t meet up for one-on-ones as much. right?”

“we get along...” aomine repeated thoughtfully, tucking his chin into kagami’s hoodie. that was... really cute... shut up!

“get outta here, aomine.”

“tch,” he snorted, leaving the doorway without turning back. “see ya later, idiot.”

aomine’s irritating flair was a good distraction for how bubbly he made kagami feel, at least. it was so much easier to shut the door and roll his eyes, than shut it and think about how, in hindsight, aomine hadn’t been that annoying. he’d just been awkward, right? he hadn’t known how to ask to come over, he’d wanted to wear kagami’s clothes, he’d stayed for dinner, stayed until well after dinner, and said that he’d had a nice time! but no, these realisations were lost on kagami because aomine daiki was an annoying shithead whom kagami had a massive crush on.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

He’s Nothing Like His Brother

Characters: Loki Laufeyson x bodyguard!Reader, minor characters

Word Count: 2,906

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, blow job, kind of fluff?

Summary: You’re Loki’s bodyguard, tasked to protect the youngest Prince of Asgard. You go wheverver he goes, and you make sure he’s safe at all costs, ven if you have to open fire in the middle of a crowd to do it. Loki is arrogant, manipulative, smug-face, and expects women to fall to their knees in front of him. One day, you’re alone with him inside a limo, and the tension is thick. There’s only one way to fix that, and that means one of you are going to be on your knees...

Squares Filled: royaly for my second card for @avengersbingo​ // enemies to lovers for my first card for avengersbingo // it takes one to know one for @as-the-saying-goes-bingo // testicle fondling for @mcukinkbingo

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

The limo ride is silent since there is nothing to speak about. As soon as the royal princes were old enough to go to public events, the King of Asgard required each of them to have at least one bodyguard with them at all times whenever they left the castle. Your family comes from a long line of assassins and bodyguards, so they picked you to be with one of the princes. You are close together in age, so the King thought you would better connect with him.

Oh how he was so wrong.

Loki is one of the most selfish and arrogant people you have ever met—and you’ve met all of Asgard. He throws a tantrum whenever he doesn’t get his way, he plays all kinds of sick jokes on you, he always manages to be late for every single event you drag him to, and he can’t ever seem to keep it in his pants. At least once a night, you have to pull him away from some Asgardian woman that he deems will be his toy for the night.

He doesn’t want to stay in bed at night, you see him wandering the castle at random times, and you’re always the one to take down his pranks against all the staff and his family. He’s just so mischievous and greedy that you can’t fathom why anyone would like him as much as he says they do.

Sometimes you think you’d be better off if you’d gotten stuck with Thor. He’s not much better, but at least he’s polite about it. There are a ton of people in your family, yet, they picked you for the job. It’s not all bad, as much as it pains you to admit. There are times where Loki is thoughtful and careful around you, but that’s only when you find him sitting in the library alone. He’s most himself when he’s reading, and you’re thankful for those rare times.

This is not one of those times.

Out of all the times you’ve escorted Loki around Asgard, this is one of the most docile times. There have been times where you put your life in front of his even though the bastard doesn’t deserve it. Though, if anything were to happen to him while on your watch, the King and Queen would have your head. There have been a few times where you needed to use lethal weapons, and you remember them quite clearly.

The first time is when you and Loki were first seen out in public together. You’re not sure who was firing at you or why they were doing it, but if you had to guess, it’ll be because of an angry ex-lover. Loki seems to have a lot more of those than actually fucking enemies.

“I’ll have you back in the castle in no time. You don’t trust me?” you ask with a scoff.

“No.”

“As your fucking bodyguard, that hurts. The Queen requested that we get you some new suits, and I can’t do that if you’re not with me. We need to have you fitted. Now shut the fuck up and pretend like you don’t want to kill yourself.”

“You know, as my bodyguard, you shouldn’t talk to me that way. I can have you arrested for it.”

“Go right ahead. We’ll see who wants to put up with your arrogant ass when I leave,” you scoff.

You know Loki won’t do shit about you for two reasons: One, he likes the challenge of someone talking back to him and calling him out on his shit. It’s a change from everyone else fawning over him or walking on eggshells around him. Two, he realizes no one else will want to be with him. You’ve been with him for so long that it’ll just be a pain in his ass to get to know someone else. He doesn’t realize it, but you know him better than anyone else on fucking Asgard.

You two walk in comfortable silence. He’s almost likable when he’s not running his mouth. Every single person that you two pass just stares at you as they bow for the prince. You don’t pay any attention to them as they don’t mean anything to you. You see the place where you’re meant to do the dress fitting when you hear it.

You hear it before you see it.

The whoosh of the arrow as it races toward Loki. He’s not paying any attention to his immediate surroundings for he is absorbing all the attention from every female that he passes. Unfortunately for them, you’re on high alert. All those training sessions you’ve had with your family taught you to be stealth, have threat reflexes, and to never trust anyone. The arrow whizzes through the air, and you wait for the exact moment before reaching for it.

Loki doesn’t even see the arrow since he’s so busy talking to some female Asgardians, but you’re ready for it. You grab the arrow right before it hits Loki, and the woman screams when she sees this. Loki turns his head to you just as you take out the gun holstered to your side. Knowing the general direction where the arrow came from, and calculating the speed and angle it came at him, you’re able to determine exactly where the assassin is. With precise aim, you pull the trigger twice, alerting everyone what is going on. The second bullet hits the man, and he falls from wherever he’s hiding.

“Come on, Prince,” you sneer. “We got a fitting to go to.”

The second time when you had to kill someone in order to protect the arrogant prince is when the King and Queen were hosting their annual ball at the castle. It’s where one night of the year, people from all backgrounds are able to attend a ball and celebrate a successful year in the kingdom. Well, one particular year, that wasn't a good thing.

Instead of joining the party down below, you’re high above in one of the secret rooms closed off to the public. You’re watching everyone below having fun, especially Loki. The way he sweeps every woman off their feet is something that makes you want to barf. He thinks that just because he winks at them, tells them how pretty and special they are, and gives them even a lick of attention, they will fall to their knees in front of him. It bugs you how much he manipulates to get what he wants. Sometimes, you think he would do so much better if he were like his brother.

Loki dances with his fourth woman of the night, and you canvas the area for potential threats. There are a few suspicious people lingering around, but they aren’t suspicious enough to warrant immediate action. You’re about to give yourself a water break when you see it. An older man walks in wearing a black suit and tie. He opens his jacket to reveal a gun. His eyes are set on Loki, and you take immediate action.

You’re ready to aim and fire, and you don’t hesitate to take the shot. The man goes down, and panic breaks out. Screams are heard and people run, but you have one clear goal in mind.

“Saunders! Marcus! Head to the east wall! We’ve got a break in,” you say into your ear piece.

You rush down to the party in search of Loki. Thor has his own security as well as the King and Queen, so you have only the youngest prince to worry about.

“Loki! Let’s go!” you yell and grab his hand.

Being Loki’s personal bodyguard, and you’re not going to lie here, is eventful. While it is always chaotic, there is never a dull moment. Sometimes you want to strangle him in his sleep, but that’s a personal issue. One of your girlfriends thinks that you have a crush on him, that you're jealous of the girls he talks to. You’ve called her out on her bullshit before because you absolutely do not have a crush on him.

Would you have a crush on him if you dreaded going anywhere with him? Do you have a crush on the way his clothes fit to form his body? Do you have a crush on how blue his eyes are? Yes! No! Shut the fuck up and do your job. If Loki knew the kind of things that went on inside your mind whenever you looked at him, he would be on another level.

“What are you thinking?” Loki asks with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Excuse me?” you ask.

“You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes. Now I could just look inside your mind, but I feel that would be a violation of privacy.”

“Thanks for your thoughtfulness,” you say sarcastically.

Loki remains silent which is kind of out of character for him. He just sits there and closes his eyes as if he’s thinking or resting. Loki never does this because he loves bugging you too much. You frown and watch him for a few seconds before speaking.

“Loki what the hell are you doing?”

“My oh my, Y/N. Such naughty thoughts for someone you claim to hate,” he smirks devilishly.

“Stay out of my fucking mind, Loki,” you glare.

“How can I when I now know you’ve been wanting to s—”

“Okay, Loki, stop it.”

“Stop what? You’re the one that’s been denying what you truly want. All I’m saying is… I’m right here.”

“Excuse me?” you ask with your eyebrows raised.

“Why deny what’s right in front of you? We’re an hour away from where we need to be. That’s all I’m saying,” he shrugs.

You’re not sure how it happened, just that you know you were seated in your own seat for a minute and now you’re on his lap. Your fingers thread through his silky hair, and your lips mash against his. His hands grip your waist so tightly that you know there will be bruises even underneath your clothes. Loki is the kind of man to take charge even if you are on top.

His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, but he doesn’t wait for you to open up. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, and you moan in appreciation. He’s from an icy planet, but his kisses are hot. Being the God of Lies, he has a silver tongue, and you can taste the lies right off it.

There is no time to waste, and it’s not like you’re here for anything else. You move your hips against his own, and you can feel his erection poke into your clothes center. He may not be as big as Thor (you accidentally saw his cock, and that’s a story for another day), but he is definitely big.

“Let me please you,” you whisper against his lips.

“I’m all yours darling,” he drawls.

You smirk and pull your lips from his only to attach them to his jaw. He’s got ice cold skin, but the heat coming from your mouth is enough to warm his body. You leave a trail of small kisses down his neck until you try to find the one spot that will melt his insides.

“Good luck trying to find it. Many have tried, all have failed,” he chuckles.

That only encourages you to keep searching. Your tongue licks wet stripes across his skin, marking your path for later. You get to the bottom of his neck where it meets his shoulder, and you unintentionally bite down on his skin. He tenses, surprised and shocked you actually found it, but he hopes that if he doesn’t say anything, then you won’t know you found it. However, you know exactly what his body is telling you, so there is no point beating around the bush. You suck the skin into your mouth and nibble on it, sure to break the blood vessels beneath it.

He doesn’t make a sound, but his cock grows beneath you, so you know he enjoys it. Once you’re sure you left a mark, you pull away and kiss up to his ear. You give one lick on the shell before whispering to him.

“I found it,” you smirk.

All you get in response is a grunt, and that’s your cue to start heading south.

“You think you’re so slick, huh? Let’s see how you do wrapped around my cock,” he suggests.

“I can’t think of anything better,” you retort.

You slide off his lap and onto the floor of the limo. Your hands are already at his belt buckle, but he’s already using his magic on himself. In a soft gold shimmer, he is stark naked for you. Damn, people don’t realize just how lean and toned he actually is. Whenever he’s standing next to his mountain of a brother, it’s hard to tell just how strong Loki is. He’s pale as fuck, but that makes him more attractive.

His cock stands at attention for you, and despite his milky skin, the tip is raging red as a dollop of his come is dripping down the side. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you don’t waste any more time. You wrap your fingers around the base and lean down to press a kiss on his tip. His hand immediately goes to your hair and fists it. He gently but firmly lowers your head down, but you don’t deny his need. Your mouth envelopes his cock, and you press your tongue to the underside as you take him fully. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag lightly.

He shifts down just a little so his feet are firmly planted on either side of you. He takes this opportunity to thrust into your mouth, and you slack your jaw wider so he can move freely.

“Fuck, you look absolutely stunning,” he moans.

All you can do is moan in response, and it sends vibrations through his whole body. His thrusts get deeper but less often, which can only mean he’s either looking for more stimulation, or he just needs a tighter fit.

To stimulate him further, and to help him reach his end, you reach down and cup his balls. He jerks as soon as your hand makes contact, but you don’t back away. Instead, you grip him more firmly and begin to fondle them. His thrusts become sloppy, and you know he’s nearing his end. You give one hard squeeze, and he comes undone.

He throws his head back and lets out a loud grunt as his load shoots into you. It hits the back of your throat, and you try your best to swallow it down. His grip on your hair loosens until he is no longer touching you. You swallow every last drop before popping off him.

“Mmm, I didn’t know you’d taste that good,” you grin.

“I bet you taste better,” he smirks and pulls you up.

“I’d rather feel you stretch me out,” you whisper seductively. “Think you can handle another round?”

“Darling, you have no idea what I can handle,” he smirks, and uses his magic to shimmer away your clothes.

You’re already wet and ready for him, so you when he slides inside you, it’s very smooth. You’ve never been with a man like him before. He fits perfectly, and you have a hard time believing that you’ve never done this before.

He holds you close to his body, and with his feet planted firmly on the ground, he starts thrusting up into you at a high speed. You toss your head back and let out a loud moan, but he doesn’t seem to care. His pace is brutal, but you’re more focused on the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Fuck! Loki!” you cry.

He doesn’t want all of Asgard knowing what he’s doing to you, so he grips the sides of your face to bring you into a kiss. His lips are bruising, but you like the thought of him marking you up however he wants to.

“Are you going to come for me… pet?” he asks.

The use of the pet name is what brings you over the edge. You don’t even give him any warning before you release all over him, and he holds you to his body tightly. There isn’t any time to do another round, so he forces himself to calm down since he’s got a lot more stamina than you even realize.

With one deep thrust, he moans as he shoots his load into you. He’s never been with a woman that makes him feel the way he does. He really needs to keep you. Maybe you being his bodyguard isn’t such a bad thing.

Once you two are spent, you get off him with shaky legs. Loki uses his magic to replace your clothes as well as fix both of your hairs.

“Why haven’t we don’t that before?” you chuckle breathlessly.

“Because you’re stupid,” he smirks.

“Takes one to know one,” you retort. “From now on, I’m the only woman you use. Got it?”

“You don’t know what you’re signing up for, my dear.”

“I think I do. I get you, don’t I?”

“You do.”

“Then that’s enough for me,” you chuckle. “Just don’t let anyone compare you to your brother because you are not your brother.”

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[valkyrieofthehighfae]

Horseshoes, Hand grenades, and Gargoyles

Summery: Hally Lavellan has been hired to take on a clan of gargoyles on her own. Explosives and chaos ensue and the elven woman finds herself in a world of excitement.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Violence, language

Tagging: @thearohandmaiden, @capricornrabies, @notreallybeccab, @meshlamando​​

It was late when I got the call from Keres’ guard, Sylvain I think his name was, requesting my assistance in an important matter. I was a little confused as to why the Blood Fae was requesting for my help exactly since, y’know, elves and Fae don’t like each other much, but I was getting paid, so I wasn’t about to turn him down.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, did you say you’d pay me to make weapons and go kill a clan of gargoyles? Fuck yes! I get to make things explode, this is the happiest day of my life!” I was grinning widely at the big guy’s words, absolutely excited to get paid to blow shit up. This was the dream! “When do you need me? Uh huh. Okay, I can be there in a week. No, no, it’ll only take me twenty minutes tops to make everything I need, it’s the ride there that’s gonna take that long. And, uh, convincing Rune that this is a good idea. My fee is six thousand gold to cover expenses on materials, travel, and on the offhand that I lose a limb doing this. Well, another limb anyway.” I rubbed my right arm, wincing at the thought of going through another loss of a limb. One prosthetic was more than enough, thank you.

“Brilliant! I’ll get to work and see ya in a week.” I ended the call and jumped to it, grabbing my sketchpad and began designing a grenade launcher and rocket launcher of my own design, turning on my music and cranking it loudly as I got to work, welding and hammering, singing along with the tunes excitedly. I was so into my work, I didn’t notice Rune at first until she was turning my music off, startling me.

“Lahalaan Lavellan, I have been yelling at you for the past twenty minutes. What are you doing?” Rune had her hands on her hips, glaring daggers at me and I winced a little bit, grinning awkwardly.

“I’m making a grenade launcher and rocket launcher. I just got a call from Keres’ guard about hiring me to make them and go kill a clan of gargoyles!” I didn’t falter under her glare, my baby sister not as intimidating as she thought she was.

“I-I’m sorry, you what?” She was staring at me like I’d grown a second head and I assumed she hadn’t heard what I told her.

“I was hired to make a grenade launcher and go kill gargoyles.” I was ecstatic over the idea, I had been dying for a little action, it had been so boring lately, so this was going to be a blast. So to speak.

“I… do you have a plan at least?” Rune wasn’t even shocked at this point, she just rolled with it. Guess she was too used to my shenanigans for anything to surprise her anymore, which was mildly disappointing. I needed to do better about keeping her on her toes clearly.

“Yes!” I grinned then stopped for a moment and frowned a bit. “No… Yes!” I had to cycle through a couple of thoughts for a moment before coming to a full decision, but I was almost certain that I had at least half a plan put together.

“This is either madness, or brilliance.” Rune was pinching the bridge of her nose at my response, her voice sounding tired and resigned.

“It’s remarkable how often those two traits coincide with each other.” I pointed out, much to her irritation clearly with that groan she let out before walking out of my workshop, grumbling in elven. I chuckled softly before turning my music back on and getting back to work on my project, wanting to get it all completed and ready to go.

~*~*~

One week later, Rune and I were riding up to the palace on our harts, the two of us looking up at the famed Scarlet Keep with wide eyes.

“Whoa. It’s so much bigger than I was expecting it to be,” I muttered in elvish to Rune, who nodded slowly, eyes the size of dinner plates as we got closer to the keep. Waiting outside for us was Keres, the Blood Fae queen grinning as we hopped off the harts and approached her, the Fae hugging us tightly.

“What are you two doing here? I wasn’t expecting to host you! Not that I’m unhappy to see you, of course, I’m glad you two are here.” Keres stepped back, puzzled now that our greetings were over and done with.

“We’re here to kill gargoyles!” I was beaming. “Well, okay, I’m here to kill gargoyles. She’s here to make sure I don’t blow myself up.” I pointed at Rune and Keres just stood there, head slightly tilted, and brow furrowed.

“I’m… sorry? I don’t recall asking you to come do that?” Keres was puzzled, trying to determine when she asked us to be gargoyle exterminators.

“You didn’t. I did,” Sylvain came walking out, dressed in that imposing ass armor of his that had Rune shifting closer to me, hiding a little bit from the intimidating Fae. “Got here just in time too. Do you have what you need?”

“Oh yeah,” I grinned motioning to the grenade launcher and rocket launcher plus the bag of ammo. “So, where’s our quarry? Oooh I sound like a bounty hunter when I say it like that.”

Rune rolled her eyes and shook her head, smacking me upside the head lightly, earning a scowl from me as I rubbed my noggin where she smacked me.

“You know, how’s Opal gonna feel about you being this stoked to kill gargoyles?” Rune inquired with a cocked eyebrow, bringing up our gargoyle friend in the Court of Stars. I opened my mouth to reply, then shut it again, thinking that over. What if this was her clan we were about to murderize?

“We don’t tell her about this…?” I ventured after a moment of awkward silence and Rune sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. The frustration was palpable and Keres snorted a little bit, muttering that this reminded her of her and Ajax a bit. “Anyway, let’s get moving! I wanna get going while there’s still daylight.” I pulled a map out of the bag I had with me and unfolded it so Sylvain could mark where we needed to go.

“We managed to take out quite a few of them, but I don’t know how many are left. There’s this old ruin they took over as their home, your best bet would be to start there.” Sylvain took my pen, marking the map and trail we needed to use.

“Brilliant. I’m expecting half of my payment upfront and the other half upon completion. You good with that?” I folded the map back up, handing it over to Rune, and accepted the small leather pouch he handed over, tossing it up in the air a few times, before palming it and sliding it into my bra. “Onword, Buttercup! There’s fuckery to spread!” I was cackling, scrambling up onto my hart’s back while Rune groaned.

“Only Varric gets to call me ‘Buttercup’, Hally.” She muttered darkly as we took off, waving at Sylvain and Keres. This was going to be intense and I was a little nervous; these were old elven ruins, who knows just how many gargoyles were there calling it home. I was almost a little nervous that I hadn’t made enough ammunition for this job, what if there were more gargoyles than originally planned on? I was getting too into my own head over this, I needed to pull myself together and focus on the job at hand. Just had to get through this and we’d be six thousand gold richer. Could use it to buy Rune a new bed since she and Spooks broke hers on accident, maybe stock up on some more supplies for the clan. This was going to be just fine.

~*~*~

“Was this part of the plan?!” Rune bellowed, hurling a fireball at a group of gargoyles hot on our heels as we raced through the elven ruins.

“No! No it was not!” I shouted back, turning long enough to hurl an explosive behind us, yelping as we got tossed forward from the blow back. We scrambled to our feet and took cover long enough for me to load up the grenade launcher and fire it off, wincing slightly from the kickback.

“You don’t even have a plan!” Rune realized quickly, hitting my arm angrily. I smacked her back, glaring at the pissed off mage and shook my head a little bit, trying to do some calculations in my head.

“I do too! Sort of!” I didn’t have shit but she didn’t need to know that. I was at least trying to come up with something, but thinking was a little hard when I was currently having to keep an eye out on my surroundings for fucking gargoyles. Now I got why Sylvain wanted this place cleared out, this clan was huge.

“Oh, brilliant, so you have half a plan?!” She conjured up a blizzard to slow them down and I crammed another grenade into the launcher, getting it set up for round two.

“Even better! I have a quarter of a plan!” No I fucking didn’t, I didn’t have shit. I was flying by the seat of my pants here and was winging this job.

“Brilliant! We’re gonna die!”

“There’s that Rune optimism I love! We’re not gonna die, it’s gonna be fine!” I lied through my teeth with a devilish grin. Had to keep my little sister reassured that we would be fine, that I was going to keep us safe. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. I’ve got an idea! Rune, start running!” I grabbed the rocket launcher, getting it set up and fished out some smoke bombs I’d made, yanking the pins and hurling them over our cover while Rune sprinted towards the exit. I took aim at the roof of the ruins, took a deep breath and fired the rocket, tossing the weapon aside and hauling ass as fast as I could after Rune as the ruins came down around me, Rune thankfully outside.

“Hally?! HALLY!”

I burst out of a cloud of smoke, dirt, and debris, coughing hard and collapsed to my knees, trying to catch my breath, and looked over my shoulder. There was no way any of them would have survived that, it took out the entire building, making it collapse in on itself.

“Sorry you can’t study that particular ruin, sis. Told you I had a plan.” I panted, taking her outstretched hand and getting to my feet. “Was it a good plan? No, no it wasn’t. But it worked!”

“You pulled that out of your ass right then and there, didn’t you? There was never any plan, you just went in without thinking. Well, okay, I say you weren’t thinking, but you definitely were thinking. Thinking about one thing: explosions. As per usual with your damaged brain.” She took her staff and hit me in the head with it, making me yelp.

“Why do you have to hit me?! That’s not gonna make me any smarter!”

“It might if I hit you hard enough!”

“Let’s just go collect the rest of my money please. I need a shower. And we have a week-long ride home. Hey, think Keres will let us stay at the palace tonight?” I asked and Rune just threw her hands into the air, stalking off without answering. “Rune? C’mon, what do you think?” I called after her retreating back, breaking into a jog to catch up with her, hoping that Keres would be cool and let us crash there for a night. Fighting gargoyles was a lot tougher than I’d originally thought and I wanted a shower and a nap.

[duker42]

Ooo how about a gangster/boss au. Levi is the head of a huge crime syndicate and his s/o is his second hand woman, very badass assassin for him type. One particular meet up goes awry and she does her job and protects him, gets slightly hurt but no big deal as it's her job that shes preformed even before they became lovers. This however was the first time it's ever happened since feelings changed. When they get back he gets angry because he was scared and they brawl a bit and end up having ....

*****WARNING*****NSFW

💜Bad Boy💜

Not too many people fucked with Levi Ackerman. His reputation as a ruthless gangster had started to spread beyond his territory, especially with his best enforcer by his side. Y/N was beautiful and deadly, just the way he liked his women.

She was his right hand in his operation. Not only his second in command, but also his lover. He enjoyed watching her work, the fear she inspired in those that had crossed him gave him a thrill. But today, he was fearing for her.

They were currently pinned down in a dusty warehouse, two miles from civilization. The abandoned facility filled with broken out windows and scrub weeds was currently hosting gunfire from all directions at the pair trapped behind a their vehicle.

Y/N cursed as she fell back against the bumper, the crimson bloom started to spread across her shirt from the bullet she had taken. Levi narrowed his eyes at the wound as he reloaded his pistol, grey eyes looking over their cover to take aim at the one that hurt his woman.

~~~~~

She grimaced as she tightened the cloth around her arm. Levi looked over as he drove recklessly back to his estate. She braced herself against the sharp turn, listening to the squealing tires.

They weren’t being tailed, they had killed everyone in the warehouse. Levi making sure they were down permanently. The gates to the estate opened as the guards hustled at the sight of Levi’s car.

Y/N refused to show weakness, getting out of the car on her own and making her way into the mansion where she lived with Levi. She ignored the looks from the men that were lounging around, snickering slightly as Levi barked at them to get their damn feet off the coffee tables.

Making her way up the stairs and to the large master suit that they shared, her shoulders slumped once the doors behind them closed. She didn’t stop there, making her way to the bathroom to prevent the mess that her lover and boss hated.

She peeled away the cloth from the wound, breathing a small sigh of relieve. The wound wasn’t bad, just unfortunately a bleeder. With a few stitches, she would be good as new.

She was aware of his eyes watching her, the clicking of his tongue and his footsteps as he approached. His long and limber fingers snatched the needle and thread from her as his other hand pushed the open skin together to begin stitching together.

His lover didn’t make a sound, the only way he knew she was feeling the sting of the needle was from the way that her hand would flex as he closed the wound. As he sat there, he was getting angrier by the minute. As soon as he put the bandage over the sutures, he let loose.

“How could you be so stupid?” He hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously as he threw down the bloody cloth.

Y/N snorted. “Like I could help gettin shot. It’s not that bad.”

She had forgotten how fast he was, his body pinning her up against the wall quickly. His normal bored expression filled with rage.

“Not that bad?” He growled.

She didn’t react when he pulled the gun from the holster at his side. The cold steel of his weapon pressed against her head. Her eyes narrowed in challenge as they met his.

“Should I just pull the trigger now?” He taunts. “I’m sure that won’t be ‘that bad’.”

Y/N knew that it was wrong, but she didn’t feel fear. It was adrenaline and arousal pooling in her core. He could pull the trigger and end her, her life was his to toy with to end in that moment. It was a thrilling thought.

He caught the look in her eyes, the way that her chest was heaving. The fear that he had, the subsequent anger at he fact that he could have lost her was still coursing through his veins. Except he wanted her to feel that fear. He instead found lust written on her face. It made his cock twitch in his trousers.

He slide the barrel down her temple and caressed her throat with it. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from her. It made him harder.

The gun slide down her chest to rest right above her heart. His finger solidly on the trigger. “Strip.” He commanded.

Y/N felt the wetness soak through her panties as she stripped at gunpoint. The impatience in his eyes made her throb with anticipation. Once she had pulled the last piece off, she reached out and trailed her fingers up the barrel of the gun.

“Shouldn’t you undress as well?” She asked.

Levi gave her a dark look. “No, you’re going to do it.”

She didn’t get the opportunity. Apparently being too slow, he pushed her down to the marble floor of the bathroom. She hissed as the cold floor hit her skin, Levi pining her down immediately, his mouth fused with hers.

It was hungry and hot, his tongue pushing into her mouth as his free hand pushed up into her hair. The gun clattered against the tile before he shoved his hand in between them. She felt him tug on his zipper, fumbling around to pull himself out of his trousers and with a sharp thrust sheathed himself into her fully.

Y/N shouted out, in pain and pleasure as he filled her. His girth stretching her walls as he moved his mouth onto her shoulder and bit down. He didn’t give her a moment, immediately starting to move against her.

Levi bit his way down her shoulder and up her neck as he drove into her again and again. His hips slamming against her as he tried to fuck his anger and fear away. Her walls squeezing around him making him remember that he still had her, she was still with him. It was so different now that he cared, that he loved her.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about her being hurt before. It was a part of their world. They lived with violence everyday, it was part and parcel of being a gangster and running a large crime syndicate.

But since he and Y/N had started their relationship, she had never been hurt. And now that he had seen it, he loathed it. The man that had shot his woman he had made sure that he had several bullets pumping into his wretched body.

Levi quickened his pace, pushing against her hard as he turned his mouth back to hers. Her moans were swallowed by his mouth. Her hips moving against his as she eagerly took everything he had to give.

He pounded into her, his breath catching and his hips stuttering as he felt her tighten around him. He looked down to see her eyes fluttering closed. Her hands were grasping at his collar, her nails digging into his skin through his shirt.

She bit his lip as she came, drawling blood and making him growl as she pulsed around him. Her walls became like smooth silk as her release coated him. He groaned into her mouth as he felt his own orgasm start to rush through his body. Levi pushed deep and stilled, pumping his release deep inside her.

He rolled off to the side, mindful to keep clear of her injury. He crushed her against him and brushed his hand through her hair. Y/N smiled as she snuggled against him. In a few minutes he would want to get up off the cold tiles and shower. But for now she was content to lay in the silence with him. He might be a bad boy, dangerous and a criminal, but he was hers.

Mobile MasterList

[bigskydreaming]

@elfysparkles88​

#listen it's a universal problem#I love my mans Scott#everyone is always bagging on him WHY#Scott Summers#X-Men

Its because Scott Summers is inevitably compared and contrasted with those around him, and he has the great misfortune of running in the same circles as an all-star line up of like....just the absolutely most Ridiculous People to Ever Ridick.

We’re talking about a guy whose dad was abducted by aliens and from there went on to decide, welp, guess I gotta become a space pirate now, jaunty earring and all, no, shhh, shh, no, there are no alternatives, I gotta, no, I said no - SHUT IT, I SAID I GOTTA BE A SPACE PIRATE NOW ITS THE ONLY WAY. Oh btw, meet my fianceé. She’s an alien mercenary who is a little like a skunk but don’t call her that to her face or she’ll shoot you in yours. How’s that for swoonworthy, am I right, son?

We’re talking about a guy whose own son was a literal sixty year old Grumpy Old Man overburdened with world-weariness, wildly unnecessary shoulderpads and arthritic joints when Scott was barely hitting his third decade. With said son now randomly being a moody sixteen year old again, with a pet sentient sword he talks lovingly to, because apparently Nathan Summer’s take on teenage rebellion was to act out by being all LOL Fuck Time Travel Paradoxes and then rebelliously zooming around the space/time continuum while blasting a soundtrack of MCR probably, until he finally got a bead on his older self and shot himself in the face while being like “its not that I’m angry with you, I’m just disappointed” and look this is the part where your eyes are gonna wanna just glaze over so your brain can have a break, shhh, shh, don’t ask questions, just let it be, it happened, its a thing.

We’re talking about a guy whose brother rode a merry-go-round of “Am I a good guy this week or am I a bad guy because Reasons or sometimes Brainwashing or sometimes I Don’t Even Fucking Know, Look Don’t @ Me Bro, I Just Fucking Work Here, I’m Not In The Loop” for most of his twenties until dying in a fiery explosion only to inexplicably return years later as a coma patient who finally woke up one day and said “Whoa, just got back from tripping around the multiverse and boy do I have stories cuz apparently I’m the Nexus of All Realities, so hah, SUCK IT, big brother, and yes that is TOO a thing, shut up, LET ME HAVE THIS. Oh and also btw don’t spend a lot on your wedding gift for me and Lorna because I’m gonna leave her at the altar once I realize that I’m actually more in love with the random nurse lady who changed my bed pans while I was in a coma having a romantic rendezvouz with her in Paris in my brain courtesy of her psychic eight-year old kid trying to play matchmaker for her cuz like, she doesn’t date much apparently but its whatever, this is FINE, I have no objections. Ugh why are you looking at me like that Scott, no, I don’t need to “talk” with someone about everything I’ve ‘been through,’ ugh I’m HAPPY you asshole, god, why don’t you ever want me to just be HAPPY ugh you just have to control EVERYTHING with your over-bearing BS like “I am concerned your decision-making processes might be affected by all the people tampering with your decision-making processes over the years” like umm DID I ASK? No? I didn’t think so? YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD, SCOTT, UGH THAT DOES IT, IM RUNNING AWAY TO BE A SUPERVILLAIN AGAIN AND THIS TIME ITS TOTALLY YOUR FAULT, YOU’LL BE SORRY WHEN I CRY HAVOK AND LET LOOSE THE DOGS OF WAR THIS TIME FOR SURE, AND OMG FOR THE LAST TIME I KNOOOOOOW THAT’S NOT HOW ITS SPELLED, ITS ABOUT THE AESTHETIC SCOTT, ITS CALLED HAVING A SENSE OF STYLE, UGH, LET ME LIIIIIIIIIIIVE.”

We’re talking about a guy whose other little brother randomly showed up and started killing people one day being like “hahaha surprise, bet you all forgot about me, PS, I’m REALLY FUCKING MAD AT YOU ALL FOR FORGETTING ABOUT ME” because the world’s most powerful telepath made everyone forget about him and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day they all had once and this is fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, this is normal. As is the way his newly discovered slash remembered slash resurrected slash recently returned from spending the last decade fucking around as a disembodied energy ghost on a rock up in Earth’s orbit little brother then decided the Earth just wasn’t big enough for the both of them, the both of them in this case meaning both him, singular, and his Angst, as a wholly separate and towering entity in its own right. So instead he fucked off to space and decided to conquer a vast alien empire and spend the next several years being their god-emperor or whatever until he got bored with that. And also he kinda sorta killed their dad for a bit but whatever, its fine, he got better, and then he also kinda sorta died for a bit himself but whatever, its fine, he got better, and there was that whole interstellar war between himself and the Inhumans but whatever that wasn’t even his FAULT, Scott, THEY STARTED IT, god, do you ever stop JUDGING ME AND MY LIFE CHOICES and PS I’m still mad at you for killing Xavier, you fucking asshole, not because you did it but because like, you KNOW I wanted to do it, I had a whole fucking villain monologue moment about it and everything, you were literally there, UGH WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HAVE NICE THINGS?!?! YOU ARE THE ENEMY OF FUN AND JOY AND HEY MAYBE YOU WERE THE REAL VILLAIN ALL ALONG, DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT? HUH? MR. I’M THE BOSS, WAIT WHO’S THE BOSS? OH YEAH STILL ME, SCOTT, I’M THE BOSS, YOU GOTTA STOP BEING A SPACE EMPEROR GABE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE THE BOSS, ONLY I AM ALLOWED TO BE THE BOSS BECAUSE I’M THE BOSS AND I SAID SO AND YOU GOTTA DO WHAT I SAY OR I’LL TELL DAD.” 

And that’s not even getting into how we’re also talking about a guy who basically ended up divorcing his first wife and suing for sole custody on the grounds of “Well, your Honor, she tried to sacrifice our son on a literal demonic altar in order to summon Hell to Earth to destroy everything just to get back at me after I left her. Yes, your Honor, I understand that is in fact Asshole Behavior, but there were extenuating circumtances, you see, the woman I left her for was my first love before her who I thought was dead. And also, she was literally my wife before my wife was. No, I don’t mean I was married before Maddie, I mean Jean was kinda pretty much already Maddie before Maddie was Maddie. Its this whole clone thing. Look, I’m just saying it was a complicated situation and I know I have my part to play in it, but I still stand by my conviction that trying to sell out our entire planet and species to the legions of Hell while using the innocent blood of our ten month old as the Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory was still a little over the top and not really the right way to handle it either. Also, I contend that I can provide a better home environment at the moment than someone who is insisting on being addressed as The Goblin Queen because what even is that, honestly, Your Honor, and also, she also brainwashed my brother into trying to kill me on her behalf, which to be fair does happen about every other month anyway, but still, like. Dick move, you know?”

And we’re also talking about a guy whose second wife who was kinda sorta his first wife but only in that It Ain’t Bigamy If Its A Clone Thing way....like, I mean. Its kinda hard NOT to come across as the bland one in the relationship when your second wife occasionally moonlights as the AirBnb of choice for a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction who is pretty infamous for the ragers she hosts every time she pops into town for a visit, all smiles and (literal) sunbeams (of scorching lethality) and “Lol hey hot stuff, remember me?” As if someone who ate an alien civilization’s sun the last time she hit a Mood is like....really in danger of ever being “New phone, who dis?”ed. But that is neither here nor there, much like the sentients of Alpha Centauri Bumfuckville after she went all Goodnight Sun, Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Solar System on their corner of the galactic neighborhood, because.....tbh I don’t think she ever actually said “why” there. Its one of those things where if you don’t already KNOW why a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction has decided its nighty-night time for this particular zipcode.....like.....that’s not really something you just ASK, y’know? Its....tacky, probably. Also, low on the self-preservation instincts, probably.

Plus we’re talking about a guy whose second marriage to Yet Another Woman It Probably Should Have Registered As A Bad Idea To PIss Off Like This ended in like....so, okay, this was a bit more His Bad than even Round One was, courtesy of a “Groundbreaking. Revolutionary. Show-stopping” reinterpretation of what was up until this point te much more ambiguous and metaphorically named “Mental Affair” concept. Though it must be said, Scotty always has skewed a bit more towards the literal minded in his personal approach to things, so, y’know. That tracks. But regardless, the pattern remains consistent here, as once again, its not always easy to register on peoples’ radar as anything other than the Plus One when your newest paramour prides herself on being both the entire planning committee AND star attraction of Victoria’s Secret (assuming that said Secret is Secret Aims at World Domination) Presents: A Renaissance Faire. But in an evil and also kinky way. Except now with sixty percent less evil on account of how Emma’s reformed these days, but not a hundred percent less evil because she’s not like, REFORMED reformed, cuz that would be boring, eww, could you imagine, no, you couldn’t, because she won’t let you and she can do that, she’s that good at telepathy and that bad at boundaries. Still the same amount of kinky as before though, but like. That’s just about Strong Branding. After all, at the end of the day Emma Frost is above all else, a good businesswoman.

But yes, she is also a big fan of the Aesthetic, with that aesthetic being Her Whims On Steroids because like they say, go big or go home, and Emma Frost does not believe in going home when she can simply acquire your home instead. Hate the game, not the player. She didn’t make the rules, she just came to win. Point being, its hard to follow up an act like Jean-Who-Is-Sometimes-Phoenix-And-Sometimes-Dark-Phoenix-And-Oh-Hell-She-Cant-Even-Keep-Track-So-How-Could-Anyone-Else-Really, but say what you will about Emma’s wardrobe, she’s more concerned with clothing herself in unapologetic take no prisoners ambition, and as such, her being the follow-up to Scott’s epic romance with his childhood sweetheart turned literal cosmic embodiment of fire and passion, like.....this was never a big checkmark in the con side of a pro and con list for Emma. It was more like oh, yes, hello there, Challenge Absolutely Fucking Accepted.

Which, y’know, all the points to House Frost for showing spine and boy howdy, that’s a spine alright.....but at the same time, going head to head with someone who is classified as a galactic threat when people are deliberately low-balling her, like, for no other reason than you’re bored and your manicure appointment isn’t for another couple hours.....like that’s the kind of thing where it has to be pointed out that there were possibly alternative options worth considering somewhere in between ‘having no spine’ and ‘spiting cosmic entity who can kill you with her brain by stealing her man and saying come at me bro because like....my spine, let me show you it.”

But again, just to reiterate the premise here.....our thesis here today is that Scott Summers Gets a Bad Rap For Being Bland or Boring or Not Standing Out, But In Reality The Issue Is Just That All The People He Knows Are Truly Ridiculous People.

In other words, Scott Summers is no more the Everyman of the X-Men than any of his Truly Ridiculous Friends and Family.

Because an actual everyman would have bounced out of that madhouse way the fuck back in Chapter One: In Which Things Just Got Ridiculous.

Cut to Scott Summers, in contrast: *looks around, purses lips, weighs options* Nah. This is fine.

See also:

His daughter, who didn’t so much arrive after the traditional nine months of waiting and preparing for a bundle of bouncing baby joy but instead just like...plopped back into the past as a full grown woman hailing from a dystopian future she was hellbent on preventing by any means necessary, even if that means had Scott frantically shouting RACHEL NO as she screamed RACHEL YES and sprinted straight at someone like Selene (a villain who has survived 17,000 years of pissing people off and making enemies of actual, literal gods) while thinking “oh yeah, I got this.”

(To be fair, she probably DID have it, or would have, if Logan hadn’t chosen that moment of all moments to have his once-centennial contemplation of “Wait, what if....murder is...NOT good?” Never underestimate the daughter of a cosmic goddess.)

Or see also also:

Scott’s original classmates, including Doctor Hank “I’m not an over-archiever, I’m just stress-eating because its lunchtime and I’ve only revolutionized two whole fields of scientific study so far today,” McCoy, Warren “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because I’m a billionaire, wait no, I’m just kidding don’t hate me at all hahaha I’m too sexy” Worthington III, and Bobby “I may look cute and unassuming and like my only priority in life is video games but sike, I too am a potentially cosmic level immortal being of nigh-unlimited power or at least I will be whenever I get around to tapping that potential like I’m currently tapping xy up down A + BBA like a boss, now shhh, don’t interrupt me while I’m kicking ass at Mario Kart I said I’ll GET TO THAT LATER, ugh, JEEZ, my priorities are FINE, Scott, like get off my back already, you’re not even my real dad” Drake.

In conclusion:

Scott Summers is valid, and there may be legions drinking his Hatorade, but make no mistake, its not that he’s Less Than, its that every single person in his social circle is just that damn Extra.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight Prologue (part 2)

Questions of morality and how to handle traps, with your hosts Graendal and Galad.

Well hello there, Graendal, fancy seeing you alive.

The goblet had been crafted with drops of blood caught in a ring pattern within the crystal.

I have a need.

I mean, I’d be drinking tea or maybe even hot chocolate out of that goblet rather than wine but that does nothing to change the fact that I need it. Villains, man. You can always rely on them for the aesthetics.

“We should be doing something” Aran’gar said

I’m not sure precisely why this is so absurdly funny to me, but it’s some combination of a) the real world being in quarantine right now, b) villains lounging in a villainous lair like ‘should we be… fucking shit up or something? Or can we really just take a moment to be All About the Aesthetic?’ and c) an oddly self-aware statement from a fictional character who realises that something is amiss if they’re not contributing to the plot.

Oh we’re still in Natrin’s Barrow, so this is before the er. Utter collapse of Rand’s moral scruples and near-destruction of the Pattern and associated fireworks.

Also, Aran’gar, when you fled the rebels, what the fuck gave you the idea that coming to Graendal as a refugee – alliance or no alliance – was a good plan? She will eat you for breakfast, and whether that’s literal or euphemistic probably makes no difference to the fact that ultimately, you will suffer for it.

Life was about feeling. Touches on your skin, both passionate and icy. Anything other than the normal, the average, the lukewarm.

I like this for the way it is both opposite to and yet weirdly the same as Semirhage’s perspective. The difference is mostly whether it is directed outwards or inwards.

And I also like it for the way it plays on how Graendal deals with subtlety versus ostentation. The way she so completely performs that ostentation and lack of subtlety and plays to the extremes, and it’s not entirely performative but it also serves the purpose of masking her capacity for great subtlety and control.

Listen. There’s a lot to dislike about Graendal, yes, but at the end of the day she fascinates me. She’s just such an intricate villain, for all that on the surface she could be played as scenery-chewing and flat. Because there’s something beneath that, and it all serves a purpose. She makes ‘all about the aesthetic’ into a legitimate strategy, without actually detracting from the aesthetic, and it’s just very… disturbingly cool.

Aran’gar is still trying to have a conversation as if she thinks she and Graendal are on the same level. How adorable.

“Excitement is best viewed from a distance,” Graendal said.

And yet life is about feeling, but somehow those are not mutually exclusive, and have I mentioned Graendal is fascinating to me?

I think… I know, I’m just rambling my way into this, but I think one of the things I enjoy most about her is that, for all that she has these different layers and apparent opposites and allows herself to be viewed one way when in reality there’s far more to it, none of it feels like pretence. It’s not like she’s putting on a false front, pretending to be totally absorbed in aesthetics and pleasure, because I think that part of her is genuine. But so is the scheming, and the love of order, and the subtlety. None of it is her pretending, but together it’s a more complex picture than most manage to grasp, and so they just see the surface level of it, and she’s happy to let them. But it’s different to crafting a mask – she’s not really hiding her true motives or her true self; people just may not be able to piece together exactly what that is. Because she’s a rather complicated person, for all that she seems simplistic in her over-the-top presentation.

Is it terrible that I would quite like her to survive this scene?

Wait what she can use the True Power? She’s using the True Power? Just beware the lifestyle inflation that goes with a promotion, Graendal.

And there were some weaves that could only be crafted by the True Power.

So speaking of the True Power… here’s the thing. Rand’s use of it was spectacular, and played such a perfectly exquisite role in his descent last book, but it doesn’t feel like that’s the end of it. That’s not the sort of bomb you drop just once for effect; those are the sorts of plot elements that come back. So… I’m curious. I have theories. Which I’ve gone into elsewhere so I’ll leave that for now.

My other immediate thought here is that Compulsion woven from the True Power and wielded by Graendal is a terrifying concept and I sort of want to see it because I’m a terrible human.

But seriously, it’s like the Domination Band in the hands of Semirhage. Sometimes you just want to give a villain their perfect tool and set them loose to wreak beautiful havoc.

(What can I say? I appreciate competence in all its forms).

Whatever the Creator could build, the Dark One could destroy.

Except the whole idea is balance, so that goes…both ways somehow. Not quite sure where I’m going with this but it’s certainly somewhere.

Meanwhile Graendal’s just using the True Power to taunt Aran’gar by almost literally poking her and saying ‘neener neener neener’ and honestly, fair.

Aran’gar and Delana began to exchange affections on the chaise.

Why is this so fucking hilarious to me?

Like okay, sit on the sofa, and one… two… three… go!

I don’t even know, but every time I look at that sentence I start laughing. Maybe it’s just that it’s such an obvious… ‘this is painfully awkward and I can’t write anything more detailed but also it’s happening on-screen so I can’t just pan to the fireplace please send help immediately, yours sincerely, Brandon Sanderson’.

Like. ‘And then sex happened but let’s just avert our eyes, shall we?’

Aran’gar continued her pleasures

I’m DYING. The awkward of writing this just bleeds through the page and it’s. Just. Kind of perfect. And honestly I sympathise. Like this genuinely captures the mood I feel whenever sex scenes turn up in movies or TV or whatever. Not awkwardness, precisely, but just a sense of like ‘okay… we’re doing this now… and we’re still doing this… um… *starts looking around the room for anything interesting*… still exchanging affections I see… ah okay good and now the scene resumes’.

Is that TMI? I feel like it’s almost the opposite of TMI but whatever, moving on.

More importantly, an alarm is going off, and Graendal sees no reason to let that interrupt Aran’gar getting off, so she just leaves.

Ah. Ramshalan. So we are indeed doing this scene from the other side. This ought to be… fun. I did wonder what it would look like from Graendal’s side, especially with Rand desperately trying to do his how-do-you-defeat-someone-smarter-than-you thing. And I’m very curious as to the outcome. Because there would be a certain beautiful awfulness in all that power and destruction, that force of light, not even achieving its aim, in the futility of catastrophe.

Wow, Ramshalan really is… a complete idiot.

But Graendal is not.

Best to be careful. Best to flee. And yet…

She hesitated. He must know pain… he must know frustration… he must know anguish. Bring these to him. You will be rewarded.

Oh, he has known those. He has known precious little else in the last two years, honestly. Though Semirhage played a more recent and telling role in that.

And Graendal’s hesitation, because for all her capacity, she is controlled, as are the rest of the Chosen and Friends of the Dark, by a selfishness none of them can quite overcome.

“Does that Aes Sedai of yours know Compulsion?”

Aran’gar shrugged. “She’s been trained in it. She’s passably skilled.” “Fetch her.”

Wow, for half a second there I thought they were talking about Egwene and was like ‘okay wow there’s one I definitely did not see coming’ but obviously it’s Delana.

Which means that the Compulsion Rand had Nynaeve detect… the Compulsion he used like a canary in a coal mine, the Compulsion whose vanishing he took as evidence of Graendal’s death, was never Graendal’s to begin with.

What an elegant move. Simple and yet perfect.

Also she can apparently see through the eyes of a dove. That’s… a new one. And don’t think I missed you using a dove, symbol of peace, for this.

The world as she saw it and a shadowed version of what the bird saw.

And I see what you did there, too.

But she’s using a dove to serve as her eyes. Not a raven or a rat but a dove, the symbol of light and peace, being used as a servant of the Shadow. Just as Rand, standing on that ridge and wielding a great force of Light, Rand, the champion of the Light, serving the Shadow’s aims even as he never turns from the side of the Light. I love it.

And yeah, she’s using Delana to craft the Compulsion. Graendal may not know exactly what Rand is planning, but she knows he’s planning something, and so she takes precautions. Which Rand knew she would, but for all his care to not underestimate her…

Would he attack? No, he wouldn’t harm women. That particular failing was an important one.

Yet at the same time she’s underestimating him.

Or rather, neither is precisely underestimating the other; they’re both just… thinking along the lines of what they perceive the other to be, and those lines are close but not quite accurate. I love watching these kinds of games play out, where it’s about thinking several moves ahead, move and countermove, trying to know what the opponent will do and ultimately it comes down to a… layering, almost, and the victor is the one who just happens to have laid the last layer. Or annihilated the gameboard; whichever comes first.

Bring him agony. Graendal could do that.

I… yeah.

Because at this point, Rand believes (believed, but relative to the timeline of this scene it’s present tense and argh this is why messy timelines frustrate me; do you know how annoying the grammar gets?) he is beyond agony, beyond feeling of any kind. He has made himself into ice and steel and cuendillar (heartstone, heart of the stone, pray that the heart of stone remembers tears…) and so he believes himself unfettered, capable of any atrocity because he has walled away the agony that would hold him back.

But for all that, what he does at Natrin’s Barrow… for all that he doesn’t let himself feel any of it, on some level it does cause him agony, and drives him further on that path that leads eventually to Tam and Ebou Dar and Dragonmount.

So really, you could say that Moridin’s statement, that ‘he must know anguish, he must know pain of heart’ is true from the perspective of the Light as much as it is from the perspective of the Shadow.

Because it is that anguish that drives him to serve the Shadow even while acting in the name of the Light… but it is also that anguish that leads him, ultimately, to the epiphany that brings him back truly to the Light he serves.

And it is letting himself feel that anguish, along with everything else he tried to push away, that allows him to do that. He must know anguish, yes, because he must learn no longer to push it aside, to allow himself to feel again, and in doing so he can be the champion of the Light as he is meant to be.

It's just a fun double meaning. Or manifold meaning, even. And I sort of wonder if Moridin knew that. It’s the kind of irony he might appreciate, to the extent that he appreciates anything.

“Something convoluted. I want al’Thor and his Aes Sedai to find the touch of a man on the mind.” That would confuse them further.

In this case she’s actually overestimating Rand (&co), but in its own way that’s just as dangerous as underestimating, in this game of each trying to outthink and outmanoeuvre one another before making their moves.

This whole seeing through a dove’s eyes is lovely on a symbolic level but does sort of strain my understanding of how magic works in this world. Ah well, we can handwave it as ‘True Power shenanigans’.

I suppose it’s not really any weirder than balefire or wolf-telepathy or Compulsion or being able to wander through someone else’s dream. Weird, where we draw our suspension of disbelief lines, and how it varies from series to series or system to system. Like, seeing through an animal’s eyes isn’t exactly uncommon in the genre; I just didn’t quite expect it in WoT specifically. No idea why.

The dove flapped out of the window. The sun was lowering behind the mountains

A symbol of peace flying into a darkening sky, a fading of the Light! (Oh, you thought I would let up on the atmospheric imagery when Sanderson took over? How naïve).

There was light up ahead. It was faint, but the dove’s eyes could easily pick out light and shadow

I MEAN. I see what you did there and I appreciate it.

I still sort of can’t believe Graendal was actually watching that whole time. It feels almost like cheating. Then again Rand obliterating half the Pattern also could be considered cheating, depending on which game we’re playing so there’s that.

I think for me it doesn’t quite cross the line into unbelievability, but some foreshadowing would have been nice for the whole seeing-through-the-eyes-of-a-dove thing. And I suppose there is some, in that we know that ravens and rats are ‘spies for the Dark One’, so maybe it’s on me for not realising that was an actual tool that the Dark One’s other servants may be able to use. But it just didn’t really seem set up that way, so I’m a bit on the fence.

The part that does work about this is that it’s Graendal being very, very good at the games she plays, just as Rand was afraid of. He knew she was clever, knew she would very likely see through any plan or strategy he created, and in a way she kind of… has. Or rather, she’s made use of something he didn’t account for, for all that his plan was also clever.

Al’Thor’s tame Aiel

There’s an excellent sort of irony in that phrasing, from one who lived in a time when the Aiel truly were nonviolent servants of the Aes Sedai.

[Nynaeve] would have to die; al’Thor relied upon her; her death would bring him pain.

Don’t you dare. It’s fine, her defeat of Moghedien was a perfect warm-up.

And after her, al’Thor’s dark-haired lover.

You’re forgetting his red-haired lover… and his sun-haired lover… but sure, let’s take Rand’s love life one at a time. That’s…fair.

He acted the same now as he had during her Age; he liked to plan, to spend time building to a crescendo of an assault.

Well, I mean, in this case, you are not wrong.

He’d brought that with him? It was nearly as bad as balefire.

About that.

Ah. And now she sees what his plan was. Hey, when Graendal thinks you’re clever, you should definitely take it as a compliment.

But it also means Graendal’s off for an impromptu holiday – but not before leaving Aran’gar and Delana shielded so that Rand’s plan will appear to succeed. Clever and ruthless and listen, I love her. I know, I know. I don’t know why I’m like this either.

She struggled to dismiss the gateway, and caught one glimpse of the horrified Aran’gar before everything behind was consumed in beautiful, pure whiteness.

The gateway vanished, leaving Graendal in darkness.

I just love the way light and dark (and gateways, actually) are played with in both iterations of this scene. Rand leaving the warm light of the gateway behind, crossing that threshold into a darkening sky. The way he is shadowed, his face in shadow, his eyes in shadow, just before he becomes a blinding, searing, awful-in-its-beauty form of pure Light with the potential to destroy the world. An enemy of the Shadow, yet surrounded by it even as he becomes light.

And now we almost bookend that, with Graendal leaving behind that white light of destruction, crossing back over a threshold and away from that scene, but she is of the Shadow and so while Rand’s gateway led him away from a warm light, this one takes her into the protection of darkness.

Balescream? That’s… a word.

A moment when creation itself howled in pain.

At the actions of the Light’s champion. The Creator’s champion. He must know anguish, and he has. And the Dragon is one with the Land, and the Land is one with the Dragon, and so it is only fitting that the Land knows that anguish as well. The entirety of creation sharing in the pain of near-undoing, brought on by but also embodied by Rand, the Dragon, its Champion, even as he embodies that Light by becoming it in that scene where he appeared more light than man.

This was a disaster.

No, she thought. I live.

And so we come to the question: do the ends justify the means, if they fail to achieve them?

It’s something WoT has played with before: Perrin torturing the Shaido and ultimately not getting any information from them comes to mind. This is just… on an even larger scale. Is the annihilation of a fortress and everyone in it, and almost the world around it, justified if it allows him to kill one of the Forsaken? If so, is it justified even if that is merely the intent, regardless of whether it succeeds or fails? What determines that justification, or lack thereof? Or is it unwarranted no matter the outcome, because the cost is too high?

(I am reminded, suddenly, of Rand in TFoH thinking that Moiraine’s apparent death and Lan’s departure was ‘a high price to pay for Lanfear’).

I just love these questions of morality and of where lines are drawn or should be drawn, precisely because they are so open-ended. And Rand’s… well, in a way it’s not even complete failure; he does kill Aran’gar if not Graendal, but that almost plays into it as well because it’s an unintended consequence. It’s not what he set out to do.

So then we add ‘if he did this to kill a specific one of the Forsaken, and she escapes but he happens by accident to kill another, does that end justify those means?’ But his failure to kill Graendal leaves that question so much more ambiguous: as if the narrative itself hesitates to fully justify or fully condemn his actions. Instead, it lets you ask yourself that question. Whereas if he had succeeded in killing her… the question can certainly still be asked, and that would still be very much part of the point, but it helps weight the scales a bit if you can say ‘well, it worked’. Whereas this… it’s entirely up to you. Was it worth it?

*

From Graendal to Galad? That’s a pivot.

Oh, but I love this image of Galad, the purest of the white knights, untarnished and untouchable, literally mired in a swamp.

Bitemes buzzed in the muggy air. The stench of mud and stagnant water threatened to gag him with each breath

Sometimes, you use atmosphere to highlight aspects of a character. Rand stepping out of a gateway into shadow and darkness. Every word that’s ever been written about Dragonmount. And then sometimes you place a character in an environment that is their precise opposite, and in that juxtaposition highlight those defining traits but also…push against them, I suppose. It’s a great way of showing a conflict of some kind. Galad is now the Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light, who are themselves corrupted. And he is fighting that corruption because it is his antithesis, but it’s so present and oppressive around him, and it makes for such an excellent contrast.

Miserable though this as, this route was the best way.

Yeah, see, I know you mean that literally, Galad, but it sort of illustrates my point. His task – redeeming the Whitecloaks, unless I massively miss my guess – is not going to be an easy one. Leading them right now can’t be pleasant. But it’s the best way to see them through this, to do the right thing. And we all know that’s what Galad is all about.

Oh, he’s going to take on Asunawa? First Valda and then Asunawa and damn it I never wanted to like Galadedrid Damodred.

Here and there the sickly greys and greens were relieved by a bright burst of tiny pink or violet flowers clustering around trickling streams. Their sudden colour was unexpected, as if someone had sprinkled drops of paint on the ground.

It was strange to find beauty in this place.

Beauty, yes, but subtlety? Hell no. But – I know I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again – I don’t care that this isn’t subtle. I love the way atmosphere and imagery can be used to this effect. Mired in a swamp with an unpleasant task to do and leading a corrupted force, but there are surprising moments of beauty and colour and promise.

His horse is called Stout and for some reason that amuses me.

This place, with its stench and biting insects, would try the best of men.

You don’t say.

And where Valda – the Lord Captain Commander before Galad – had turned out to be a murderer and a rapist.

So I mean, at least the bar is set pretty low for you there, Galad.

‘Damodred,’ Dain said softly, their boots squishing in mud, ‘perhaps we should turn back.’

NO BACK ONLY FORWARD.

CAN’T REMAKE THE PAST MUST CREATE A FUTURE.

Which Galad pretty much echoes only, you know, more eloquently.

‘But this swamp,’ Bornhald said, glancing to the side as a large serpent slid through the underbrush. ‘Our maps say we should have been out of it by now.’

‘Then surely we are near the edge.’

‘Perhaps,’ Dain said […] ‘Unless the map is in error.’

SYMBOLISM THICKER THAN THE SWAMP. I love this, I really do. I’m just laughing through this entire set of descriptions but this is just so perfectly ‘I Don’t Think You’re Only Talking About The Swamp There, Boys’ and neither of them quite realise it and it’s excellent.

Galad stepped off to the side, climbing a small hill.

While his half-brother is climbing an enormous mountain. Step it up, Galad.

Oh he’s giving an Inspiring Speech.

‘But it is on the deepest nights when light is most glorious.’

Unless it’s Choedan Kal balefire in which case… well okay, in fairness, that was also glorious, for a certain definition of the word.

‘We are hunted by those who should love us, and other pathways lead to our graves.’

Then maybe you should be worthy of their love. As for pathways leading to your graves, you know what they say about the paths of glory, right?

‘We will face this test with heads held high.’

That’s the core of it, really. It’s about choosing to fight, and knowing why you fight. It’s Rand’s epiphany in miniature. That this is going to fucking suck, but they’ll face it not because they have to but because they’re fighting for something, and because they choose to face this.

Byar wants to take a detour via the White Tower for a bit of petty destruction on their way to the Last Battle and Galad’s like nah we kind of need magic on our side. Credit where it’s due, I suppose.

‘but the Children of the Light will be leaders at the Last Battle.’

I mean, you might have to queue for that particular role, but I suppose it’s good to have ambitions.

Oh, he’s not planning to take on Asunawa, because sometimes retreat really is the better part of valour, especially when ‘retreat’ in this case is ‘turn towards a much larger battlefront for the future of the entire world’. Again, fair. And hey, look at that, Galad’s learning to prioritise.

A dead forest with sickly moss and a river full of corpses? Which battle was this? It sounds almost like the Blight, but they’re in approximately the entirely wrong place for that. Perrin’s attack on Malden, maybe? Or Tylee’s force being ambushed by Trollocs?

Galad set his jaw. ‘Can this be forded?’

‘It’s shallow, my Lord Captain Commander,’ Child Barlett said. ‘But we’ll have to watch for hidden depths.’

Not to mention hidden MEANINGS. *Finger guns*

I’m so sorry.

He hiked up his trousers as far as he could

How scandalous.

Likely a village upstream had been attacked for its food.

I think perhaps a village upstream was attacked for its Faile, but I could be wrong.

The ground is uneven! Footing is uncertain! A misstep could mean death! No additional meanings to be found here, none at all…

‘Burn those clouds. I can never tell what time it is.’

‘Four hours past midday,’ Galad said.

In which Galad has taken the Keen Mind feat. (And in which yes, I am a total fucking nerd).

Trom’s like are you sure Andor’s a good idea and Galad’s like it’s fine I have a summer home there.

Light send that Elayne held the Lion Throne. Light send that she had escaped the tangles of the Aes Sedai, though he feared the worst. There were many who would use her as a pawn, al’Thor not the least of them. She was headstrong, and that could make her easy to manipulate.

Galad, when this is all over, you and your sister need to have a talk. And you and Gawyn both need to stop underestimating her.

‘To abandon the Children now, after killing their leader, would be wrong.’

Trom smiled. ‘It’s as simple as that to you, isn’t it?’

‘It should be as simple as that to anyone.’

Galadedrid ‘what do you mean, morality is complicated’ Damodred, everyone. And this is why he continues to by turns bore and infuriate me, despite all his damn then he did dance and his fucking all his grace, turned in an instant to fluid death and fighting Valda in efforts to make me like him. I will NOT.

‘Even if we have to make alliances with the Dragon Reborn himself, we will fight.’

Yeah about that. Also I desperately want to see what happens when he learns about their, uh, relationship. Then again, having grown up in the mess that is the Damodred-Trakand family, maybe it wouldn’t even be a surprise. ‘Oh, another somewhat dysfunctional familial relationship? Yeah, sure, add it to the pile.’

Okay seriously what is with the trees here? We are way too far south for the Blight but the fact that they’re dead and fuzzed with something malignant has been brought up three times now and we all know the rule of threes in foreshadowing.

No, even his memorisation of maps will not endear me to Galad. Nor his ‘pain can be dealt with’. I refuse.

Oh look at that, it’s an ambush.

So about that whole not wanting to face Asunawa…

This march through the swamp had been suggested by his scouts. Galad could see it now; it had been a delaying tactic

And also, you know, symbolic. The traitorous scouts, loyal to the Whitecloaks under Asunawa – the corrupted Whitecloaks, those who ostensibly stand for the Light but whose deeds represent anything but – trying to drag Galad, the white knight and redeemer, through the swamp even as he tries to bring them to somewhere better, to what they should be.

Oh he’s going to try to talk to Asunawa. That’ll end well.

Asunawa was not smiling. He rarely did.

Sorry Asunawa, but Demandred’s pretty much got the market cornered on that one, and he carries it far better than you.

Oh hey, two leaders of rebel factions facing each other down? A parallel drawn between two entities – Whitecloaks and Aes Sedai – who believe themselves enemies.

‘Surely you would not ignore the rules of formal engagement?’ Galad said.

Because surely everyone is as lawful-good as you, Galad. There’s a belief that will cause you nothing but pain. But please, proceed.

And now Asunawa’s calling him Darkfriend, and this really is playing out as a parallel, of sorts, to Elaida against Egwene.

Asunawa hesitated. Naming seven thousand of the Children as Darkfriends would be ridiculous

First (semantic) blow to Galad.

‘I am no Darkfriend.’ Galad met Asunawa’s eyes.

‘Submit to my questioning and prove it.’

Oh.

That uh… is a… not entirely unappealing option, from my own perspective as a reader who enjoys far too much seeing characters put through hell, especially if they do so defiantly or as a sacrifice and anyway my point is I would not be opposed to this.

It's just that Galad, for all that he is Not My Type, is the type of character who could carry torture well. I’m just saying.

‘Tell me, do the Children of the Light surrender?’

Golever shook his head. ‘We do not. The Light will prove us victorious.’

I have to appreciate Galad’s approach here: taking the very principles of the Whitecloaks – as they are meant to be – and using them as weapons against Asunawa. Because it is, in a way, the very epitome of fighting fair. He doesn’t strike, doesn’t threaten, doesn’t even really argue. He lets Asunawa’s men, and the Whitecloaks’ own doctrine, make his arguments for him.

‘You see that I am in a predicament. To fight is to let you name us Darkfriends, but to surrender is to deny our oaths. By my honour as the Lord Captain Commander, I can accept neither option.’

In which Galad fucking Damodred catches everyone else in his moral dilemma of two things that are right, yet opposite. It is, for his character, almost annoyingly perfect.

‘Do you deny that you yourself watched me face Valda in fair combat, as prescribed by law?’

Okay okay okay you know what I love? I love that he’s fighting Asunawa, the leader of the Questioners, with questions.

Because Asunawa isn’t asking any. He’s making accusations and threats, and Galad is parrying them with questions. To Asunawa, to those who stand by him. He arms himself with questions and lets the answers make his point and that? Is brilliant.

‘But I would not call that fight fair. You drew on powers of the Shadow; I saw you standing in darkness despite the daylight, and I saw the Dragon’s Fang sprout on your forehead.’

I feel like there’s a missed opportunity in Galad’s entire character: what if he could channel? That would be so full of interesting potential. Both as an internal conflict, because how would he reconcile being a man who could channel with his utter certainty about doing what is right, but also for his entire role. The leader of the Children of the Light, who hate the ‘witches’ perhaps more than the Shadow itself…

Ah well.

‘Tell me. Is the Shadow stronger than the Light?’

Powers of the Shadow? No. Galad fights with powers of rhetoric.

But again, he’s just asking questions. Perfectly crafted questions to illustrate his point, but he’s still just asking questions of a Questioner and letting the Whitecloaks’ beliefs show him to be the one who truly holds to them. What a play.

‘You have no rights as a Darkfriend! I will parley no more with you, murderer.’ Asunawa waved a hand, and several of his Questioners drew swords.

Because they cannot face Galad’s questions. Galad asks, and they reply with swords. Because Asunawa cannot continue to hear them. He represents everything they should be, and they cannot face it, cannot let themselves recognise it, and so the draw swords and everything about this is excellent.

Asunawa would win a battle, but if Galad’s men stood their ground, it would be a costly victory. Both sides would lose thousands.

‘I will submit to you,’ Galad said. ‘On certain terms.’

You know who he reminds me of here? Loath as I am to admit it? Egwene. Facing an enemy who should be an ally, and fighting not for victory against them but for the entity they both should represent. Fighting for the cause, rather than fighting against the person. Willing even to submit, if it will bring unity and spare bloodshed. ‘I wish the Tower had a great Amyrlin in you’, Egwene said to Elaida. Neither fought for pride or for ego or for leadership – or at least, none of those things were the sole aim. Instead, they are fighting to make an organisation that should stand for the Light but has fallen into corruption and division into what it should be, what it always should have been.

And I do sort of wonder – I can’t even believe I’m saying this but HERE WE ARE – why Egwene ends up with Gawyn and not Galad after all.

‘You swear – before the Light and the Lords Captain here with you – that you will not harm, question, or otherwise condemn the men who followed me.’

There is one very glaring exception in that protection, Galad. I… assume this is intentional and I’m way more here for it than I should be. Carry on.

‘You cannot hinder the Hand of the Light in such a way! This would give them free rein to seek the Shadow!’

‘And is it only fear of Questioning that keeps us in the Light, Asunawa?’

QUESTIONING THE QUESTIONER. I’m still just not entirely over this as a rhetorical strategy – asking questions as a form of attack, sure, but it has that extra layer of being a tactic against the Questioners that just. Really hits me right in my appreciation for narrative symmetry.

‘The Dragon Reborn walks the land.’

‘Heresy!’ Asunawa said.

‘Yes,’ Galad said. ‘And truth as well.’

Oh man, that is a line. He will deny the accusations that he is a Darkfriend, but he does not deny this. Does not deny that it is heresy. But that does not make it a lie.

And Galad can accept that: can accept that even heresy must be faced, if it is the right thing to do. Heresy must be faced and accepted, if it is true. What cannot be changed must be endured, and Galad is… oddly, perhaps, not one for denial. He doesn’t try to turn from that truth, no matter what he may feel about it.

‘If we fight, we will kill good men, Child Bornhald,’ Galad said, without turning. ‘Each stroke of our swords will be a blow for the Dark One. The Children are the only true foundation that this world has left. We are needed. If my life is what is demanded to bring unity, then so be it.’

It is so very like Egwene. So very like what she said to the Aes Sedai who supported her and opposed her alike. They are not fighting for power; they are fighting because they see what is needed – and if their death rather than their ascendance can bring that, they will face that just as willingly as the responsibility of leadership.

I also had to smile a bit at the statement that the Children are the only true foundation – because that, too, echoes the Aes Sedai. If the White Tower dies, hope dies. Neither is strictly true because neither is the only force for the Light out there… but in a way that kind of conviction is needed. They just also need to maybe accept that they have some allies. Or should, at least.

WAIT WHAT ASUNAWA IS ACCEPTING THIS OFFER? OH. OKAY.

‘Take him,’ Asunawa snapped.

Yeah I’m here for it.

‘Inform them that I have taken the false Lord Captain Commander into custody, and will Question him to determine the extent of his crimes.’

Look, Galad’s far from a favourite character but there is something about him that suggests he would suffer rather beautifully and I am so sorry.

‘Return to our men; tell them what happened here, and do not let them fight or try to rescue me. That is an order.’

So very, very like Egwene here. Which almost irritates me because Egwene is one of my favourites and Galad is Not, but I have to give Galad some credit: he has made a truly valiant effort in the last few books.

Oh and just…straight to the torture. Cool. This is fine.

One forced Galad to the ground, a boot on his back, and Galad heard the metallic rasp of a knife being unsheathed.

Turns out there are two situations in which I like Galad Damodred. The first: then he did dance, all his grace turned in an instant to fluid death. The second: …this.

Also now he and Rand can have some quality fraternal bonding over their shared experiences with torture. It’ll be fun!

‘I am not a Darkfriend,’ Galad said, face pressed to the grassy earth. ‘I will never speak that lie. I walk in the Light.’

That earned him a kick to the side, then another, and another. He curled up, grunting. But the blows continued to fall.

Finally, the darkness took him.

How fitting, and awful, to follow his utter defiance here – the one thing he does deny, the one thing he does not turn into a question and the one thing he will not surrender: he is not a Darkfriend – with darkness taking him.

It’s also – again, my deepest but not entirely sincere apologies here – very much a good look on him.

Alright, I’ll see myself out.

Next (ToM prologue pt. 3) Previous (ToM prologue pt.1)

[mtvswatches]

Underrated rom-coms that I absolutely adore *chef’s kiss*

In no particular order. Click the titles to see the trailers.

The Truth About Cats and Dog - Uma Thurman and Janeane Garofalo star in this 90s gem. Janeane’s a radio host and vet who falls for one of her callers after helping him deal with his dog. Uma is her neighbor and ends up impersonating Janeane by her request because she is very insecure about her appearance. Meanwhile, she maintains amazing phone conversations with the object of her affection. First female masturbation scene I ever saw in movies. Female friendship is strong in this one.

Sleeping with Other People - A kind of homage to When Harry Met Sally if it was set in the 2010s and was much raunchier. After a chance encounter at university, Alison Brie has sex for the first time with Jason Sudeikis. They only meet again many years later and strike up a friendship in which they both dispense relationship and sex advice to the other. Each of them has their own hangups, and time and again rely on each other to get through stuff. The story does develop in the way you’d expect, but both leads deliver great performances and you can’t help but fall for them as they fall for each other. There’s a scene in particular that gives me a lot of feels and made me swoon over Jason Sudeikis, which had never happened before. (Spoiler alert: this scene.)

While You Were Sleeping - Sandra Bullock in one of her earliest, breakout roles. This is one of those movies with a #problematic lead whose behavior is probably criminal, definitely creepy and if you really start dissecting it, you realize that the heroine is actually the villain (My Best Friend’s Wedding, I’m also looking at you.) Anywho, Sandra is a lonely, single woman who works in the booth at a train station or something and daydreams about one of the daily commuters, Peter Gallagher. She ends up rescuing him after he falls to the rails. He ends up in a coma, and because of a misunderstanding, his family believes her to be his fiance, and she enjoys so much living out this fantasy that she fails to correct them. But his brother, a very swoony Bill Pullman, is suspicious of her and in an attempt to figure out whether she’s lying or not, they end up spending a lot of time together and well, you can figure out what happens later.

A Lot Like Love - I guess this one was a more deliberate attempt to recreate and modernize When Harry Met Sally. Starring Ashton Kutcher and Amanda Peet, it tells the story of a boy and girl who meet at the airport and end up spending a day together and forming a unique bond. Throughout the years, they keep crossing each other’s paths, and each time they grow closer and more intimate, although the timing is never right. You can guess the rest. It’s a very sweet movie with an absolutely amazing soundtrack. 

Definitely Maybe - Raise your hand if you’ve loved Ryan Reynolds and watched pretty much everything he was in since you saw him in 1996′s Sabrina The Teenage Witch with Melissa Joan Hart. Anyway, if you’re a fan of love stories that span years and How I Met Your Mother but hated the ending, you’ll love this one. Ryan’s character, now divorced, retells his three most important past relationships to his curious daughter after she asks him how he met her mom. While that relationship obviously didn’t have a happy ending, reminiscing about his past love life helps him figure out that there may still be a chance to hold on to the one who got away. 

The Wedding Date - With a plot seemingly straight out of fan-fiction - single woman hires date to go to sister’s wedding in England where she’ll run into former fiance - this movie is extremely tropey and predictable. Yet, it kind of works for me. Dermot Mulroney is extremely dreamy, and the UST between his character and Debra Messing is palpable. 

Before Sunrise (and Before Sunset and Before Midnight) If smart dialogue and beautiful backdrops are a huge turn-on for you, this is your movie and your saga. While the plot is virtually non-existent - two young adults meet on a train in Europe and end up spending a day together in Vienna - this is one of those movies that are brilliantly written and in which the dialogue is the plot. Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy play wonderfully off each other and you almost feel you’re watching the events transpire in real-time. There is something wonderful about watching two people slowly fall in love with each other as they talk and get to know each other in a way that people rarely do. There’s also the charm of knowing there’s an expiration date to their encounter and the desperation of not wanting it to the end. I adore this movie, this couple, this saga, this director.

Reality Bites - Yes, I do have a thing for Ethan Hawke. Sue me. This is 90s Wynonna Ryder at her best and Hawke at his broodiest, bad-boy-est. This is the quintessential Generation X movie (that’s actually the title the movie was given in my country...) in which you see twenty-somethings struggling to become adults in a world that keeps changing the rules. It touches on many issues that are relatable to young adults while at the same time giving you an insight into this group of friends who try to navigate adulthood while remaining true to who they are. Wynonna and Ethan have insane chemistry, and their scenes together still give me butterflies. 

High Fidelity - A heartbroken John Cusack, who owns a record store and is obsessed with making lists, decides to make the list of his top five breakups, hunt down his exes and have heart-to-hearts about why they think their relationship didn’t work. He views these relationships and breakups as formative experiences that led him to where he is today and ultimately affected his most recent relationship, which he thought was the one. Great soundtrack, great cameos in minor roles, and John Cusack, for fuck’s sake, what more could you ask for?

Chasing Amy - Granted, this one probably doesn’t hold up so well in this day and age. I mean, comic book writer Ben Affleck falls for lesbian Joey Lauren Adams and actively tries to have her switch teams? Hmmm. Even when I watched this back then that part definitely felt ... wrong. Yet... I’ve always felt the message of the movie about sexuality - and ultimately about love - was that it is complex and it fluctuates and that we are kind of doomed if we keep slapping labels on ourselves and holding ourselves to the standards of said labels. There are definitely homophobic lines, but it’s a very interesting movie to watch mostly because of Alyssa’s character and her journey in the movie. Give it a try and tell me what you think. 

Just Friends - Another Ryan Reynolds flick, arguably more of a comedy than a rom-com but feels underrated either way. Former fatty Ryan has made a name for himself as a music producer or something after he escaped his hometown and the friend zone (I KNOW) he inhabited during his highschool years. Having to take care of pop star Anna Faris (who is absolutely hilarious in this movie), he ends up accidentally returning to his town and running into his high school crush and best friend again. Now exuding self-confidence because of his looks, he decides he will get her to sleep with him to fulfill his teenage fantasies. As he attempts to woo her, he slowly reverses to his high school appearance, which undermines his confidence and brings his issues to the surface. It’s a silly, fun movie that doesn’t pretend or aim to be anything else, and both Ryan’s and Anna’s comedic skills are brilliantly displayed in it. You’ll laugh a lot, is what I’m saying. 

[missfay49]

Session 1b - I’d Rather Not

This is a retelling, not a transcription.

Word count: ~2,100

Relationships: platonic Moceit

Warnings (may contain spoilers): space, aliens, alien planet, fighting, cursing, disease, venom, exhaustion, mind-control, blood, hostile wildlife (request more tags if needed)

AO3

Last Chapter Next Chapter

******************

“Thanks, Janus.”

Janus’ face twists into a cold focus.  He grabs his pistol and starts firing careful, timed bursts and the other fighters still in control of themselves do the same.  The vracinea makes no sounds when their shots hit, but its latex sap starts pouring from the wounds and its vines become frantic.  They all desperately hope that means it’s dying.

A particularly large electrical blast from the android seems to knock the large Lashunta loose, because they gasp and start running.  The creature gives chase but five of them are shooting it now and before it can attack again its smoking corpse falls with a strange flutter and a crunch.

The human walks up and spits on it before sitting hard on the ground.  

“I am so done with nature,” says the android.  Someone grunts in agreement.

Only a few seconds pass before the smaller Lashunta is shaking their head and backing away from the foliage in disgust.  No one says anything to them.  Janus gives them a questioning look, still catching his breath, but they just blink a few times and join the rough circle of people that has formed to rest.  

“Thank you for not letting me die,” Janus says to no one in particular.  He touches the scratches on his neck lightly, wincing.  

“You’re welcome,” says the small Lashunta.  

“I would not wish that fate on anyone,” adds the android.  “To be eaten by a plant… pitiful.”

Janus looks at each of them in turn, these new companions of his.  The human catches his eye and stares back for a moment, squinting hard at him.  Janus’ lips twitch in an aborted smile and he lets his gaze slide away to the next person.

The large Lashunta and the android are studying the plant together.  The android narrates their findings.  

“The plant was not originally part of the structure’s design.”

“Oh, was it not?  I would never have guessed.”  The human scoffed, leaning theirself back against a fallen tree.  The android continues as if nothing was said.

“This obelisk was a watchtower.  Non-magical.  Sargorssk, would you?”  The android looks at the Vesk and gestures.  They- Sargorssk- seems to know just what to do and draws their sword again to start hacking the remaining vines from the structure.  Once the surface is revealed, the android starts up again.

“There is ancient elven script here. “Warning.  You are approaching Loskialua, monastery of starsong, embassy of the spheres, and Temple of the Twelve.  Messengers and other visitors pay respect to the beyond.”  It says something about purity of the mind.”

“So, we should think pure thoughts?”  asks the large Lashunta.

“Indeed,” the android confirms.  “I suggest you think about soap.”

A few feet away, Janus is struggling with his med kit.  He knows it’s in here, he just can’t think right now through all the pains shouting at him.  He startles when the small Lashunta appears beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.  Janus makes to remove it, but a warmth blossoms from the touch and travels up and around his neck.  The cuts around his throat and head tingle and disappear.  It lasts only a few seconds, and then the Lashunta gives him a smile and pulls away.  Their hands part and Janus realizes he had been holding onto them throughout.  He stares as they walk back to their travel pack and sit.

“Oh, we’re keeping that one,” he decides.  

~~~

The group keeps moving.  The kaukarikis glower at the survivors walking through their territory.  They drop rocks on the group when they aren’t looking, but always retreat when confronted.  They’re just trying to be irritating.  

They make camp when the sun sets and the android strikes up conversation.

“How did you survive before…?”

“Things were a lot quieter before you came around.  Y’all are bad luck.”  Janus smirks.  “This is the worst mission I’ve ever had here!”

“That may be true,” Sargorssk chuckles.  “Are you sure you want to travel with us?”

“Well…” he draws it out just long enough to make everyone laugh.  When it dies down, his back is to them and he’s setting up his sleeping bag without a word.

The next morning sees another day of travel.  The infernal kaukarikis keep trailing the group, a hostile presence ever at their back.  Janus sidles up to the android.

“What’s your mission, anyway?”  He asks.

“We’re rescuing a kidnapped scientist,” they reply.  The large Lashunta nods.

“How very heroic!”

“What’s yours?”  The android’s eyes look through him.

“Cataloging species and their populations, but I’m more than happy to help rescue a fellow scientist!  It’s hard out here, we’ve got to look out for each other,” says Janus. 

“You’re welcome to stick with us as long as you like,” says the Vesk.

“Yes,” says the android.  “We could use the firepower.”

The day after that they encounter a creature called a ksarik.  A grey-ish-green four-legged creature with a tail and tentacles that twitch back and forth like a cat.  Everyone’s guns are raised when that thing tops the hill.  It disappears into the foliage, leaving only tension behind.

It appears again and again throughout the day, sometimes behind, sometimes to one side or the other.  Sometimes it moves impossible fast.

“Are there now two?” asks the android.

“Maybe so,” says the small Lashunta.  “They hunt in packs.”

On the fourth sighting, it doesn't run away again.  Instead it walks up to them, examining them, quivering with interest.  Probing.  It gurgles.  Janus is taking notes with great interest.

“Domash,” asks the android.  “Can you speak to this thing?”

The small Lashunta, Domash, squints for a moment.

“Yes, actually, it’s a type of fungus.  Don’t know how I forgot that!”  They laugh at theirself, stepping forward just a bit.

“Why here?  What want?  Me friend.”

“Want... Host...”

It launches a projectile a hundred feet across the field straight at the android.

A scream, a metallic screeching, and the android staggers.  A thorn is protruding from their shoulder, the panel cracked.  

The human takes aim and fires, the rest of the group following suit.  All but the large Lashunta.  They look around the field.  There!  Another creature, coming up on their flank.  Thorns fly from it as well, sinking into the Lashunta’s leg.  Then they flee.

“What the fuck?  Where are they going?” asks the human.  Domash looks at them, alarmed. 

“Their shots hit.  They think that all they have to do now is wait us out.  The spores…”  They look at their companion ripping the thorns out of their leg.

“We have to keep moving.”

Several times throughout the day, the creatures return to check on them, to fire more thorns.  No matter how many times they get shot, they flee only to return without a trace of damage.  The android tries to give chase, but they evolved within this jungle.  It’s impossible.

Janus tends to the large Lashunta’s wounds that night at camp.  It’s unclear if he’s helped, but they seem in higher spirits the next morning.

Another day, another several hours of being followed by kaukarikis, hunted by ksariks, and by the end of it Sargorssk and Janus have both been infected as well.  The other human lowers their gun after the fleeing creature and eyes Janus’ wounded arm.

“Oh, no, not our long-time field medic pal…”  they deadpan.  Janus glares in return.

  ~~~

“Y’all know where you’re going, right?”  Janus asks on the fifth day of travel.

The android stops in their tracks.

“What gives?”

A body is laying on the ground ahead.  Janus looks for signs of movement.

“It’s one of the cultists,” the android explains.  “One of the kidnappers.”  The human already has a gun raised.  

The android steps closer, and the cultist sees them and screams.

“Devourer, stop this pain!  I am ready for you!"  They pull out a gun but their arm cannot lift it to shoot.  Zin moves closer to the bulky Lashunta cultist, examining their wounds.  The human joins them, restraining the person.  It hardly seems necessary.

“They will not last much longer.”

“When did this happen?”  Domash approaches to question them.  They can only mumble, barely coherent.

“Time is… what?  I…”

“Should we, I don’t know, help them?”  Janus gestures vaguely.  The human is patting them down for any more weapons.  

“Or,” they pull out an incendiary grenade out of the person’s bag.  “We could kill ‘em.”

The android gently lifts the cultist’s head to place on their lap.  They speak calmly.

“You heard the man, tell us what you know or we’ll kill you.”

“I’m as good as dead already.”  The hostage’s eyes dart around, landing on Domash.  

“Wait, are you a healer?  Can you help me?!  Please!  I’ll tell you anything!”  They gasp.

Domash kneels, beginning to cast a spell of healing over them as the android begins a line of questioning.  The human backs up and mutters to Janus.

“We should just feed ‘em the grenade before those spores bust out.  This is a waste of time, bet.”

Janus briefly appreciates that Pat isn’t listening to this.

An hour later, the android leaves the cultist’s side.

“Here’s what we know.  She is from the Cult of the Devourer.  There’s no reliable information about the cult on the database.  Her leader is a man named Tommen.  The scientist was with them, but the group left her behind when she was infected by the ksariks.  There are a dozen more members guarding the scientist.”

“Are we gonna heal her just to have to lug around a prisoner?”  The human asks.

“We don’t have to take her with us,” says Sargorssk.

“Then why is Domash wasting its magic- hey!”  The human grunts as the android grabs them.

“They’re back.  There are more now.”

~~~

Pistols and laser fire explode over the clearing.  Janus ducks behind the large Lashunta, patting them on the back.  

“Go get ‘em, champ!”

“Hey, yeah,” they don’t dare take their eyes off the targets.  “That’s inspiring and all, but maybe you could actually do something?”

“Ah, yes.”  Janus pulls out his pistol and fires two shots, each one missing wide.  The Lashunta blinks.

“Never mind.”

The fight ends when Sargorssk throws a grenade at a ksarik, causing the last hostile fungus to erupt and douse everyone nearby with spongy viscera.  The large Lashunta scrubs their face and throws a piece on the ground, stomping it into the dirt.  Domash helps the android knock a panel back into place and the rest of them stand there panting, covered in goo.

“It’s in my hair.”  Janus mutters.  Somewhere behind them, the cultist groans.

~~~

Cleaning themselves up a few minutes later, Domash slaps Janus on the back and smiles.

“Well, you lived this long, maybe it’s time we made formal introductions?”

“Oh, thank goodness.”  Janus leans toward it.  “I waited so long I thought I’d missed my chance.  I’m Patton Nufunder.  You can call me Pat-iyo.” 

“Like the furniture?”

“Never heard that one before.”  Janus quips.

“I’m just teasing.  Domash-eyin.  Pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Sargorssk-iye Vint.”  The Vesk walks up to him showing far too many teeth.  

“I am called Zin-eya,” says the android.  Right behind her the large Lashunta waves.

“I’m Veritae-ya Vyon!”

There’s a silence, followed by everyone looking over to their human companion.  The one that’s been with them all along.  They sense the eyes on them and stop polishing their weapon to look up.

“Don’t refer to me.”

“Okay, then.”

“Just do me a favor, eh?”  The human asks him.  “Don’t die.  Fair?”

“Fair.”  Janus nods.  Sargorssk pulls him aside.

“The point is, Pat, we’re gonna be in danger for a while.  Not sure you want to stay with us.”

Janus mentally pokes the sleeping Patton in their mind.  He doesn’t stir.  To be honest, I’m not sure either, but right now this body is sick, probably got a couple infections, and traveling alone like this is somehow still more deadly than sticking with you lot.

“Don’t worry about me, Sarg.  I‘ll be fine.”  Janus shrugs him off.

“Well, then, welcome aboard!  Maybe you’ll actually get to see our ship at some point.”

A scratchy signal coming out of Zin’s head interrupts them.  She’s playing a live message from someone.

“I’ve made it across t-- ravine.  What --- ---- -- with these monkeys?  There’s dead monkeys all ova’ the place.  Why are they tryna kill me?”

“They started it,” she replies in a neutral tone.

Last Chapter Next Chapter

[stonyiscanon]

Love At Fifth Sight (Tony Stark x Avenger! Reader)

Requested: haha no I’m so sorry for ignoring all the asks in my inbox I’ll reply to them right after this!

Notes: ALL THAT GOOD FLUFF AND ENEMIES TO KINDA LOVERS STUFF. IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR AN OVERDOSE OF CLICHES YOU’RE IN THE RIGHT PLACE

Words: 2.3k

Warnings:  Swearing

Summary: Tony Stark is an asshole. Well, he’s an asshole until he isn’t.

           When Steve had introduced you to the whole team, they all seemed nice enough. Wanda waved with a small smile, most people gave you a nod, and a ‘Welcome to the team!’ You were also invited to dinner with them that night, which was nice, considering you had just met them.

Even Clint had poked his head down from the ceiling to say Hi, which scared the shit out of you, but you appreciated it nonetheless, and smiled back up to him. Sam had stopped chasing and screaming at Bucky enough to give a greeting and a smile, then continued running after Bucky, shouting something about how ‘You need to watch where you put down your fucking dumbbells!’

The first time you had met Tony Stark was, pretty memorable, to say the least.

You saw the suit-clad man with his signature glasses and smirk on his face, and immediately identified the man as the infamous Tony Stark.

“Hey, Cap.” He quipped, slapping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder. He also shot you a nod and a charming smile with one of the mundane greetings you already heard thousands of today.

“Tony. You didn’t show up at the briefing yesterday. What’s that about?” Said Steve, clearly annoyed, brushing off Tony’s hand with a roll of his shoulder.

“Oh yeah!” Tony, said calling out, already walking away, not even looking back to address him.

“It was an emergency!” You barely even heard what he said as he skipped up ahead, already escaping from your view as he turned into a corner, waving a goodbye. Steve shook his head, and slightly rolled his eyes, turning back to you, shooting a smile.

“Don’t mind him. That’s just Tony, you’ll learn to live with him. Should we continue?” He carried on with the tour, showing you the gyms, where Thor was training, advising you that when Thor and Wanda were both in the training rooms, it was probably best to stay away. There had been a few ‘incidents’ that he didn’t talk any more about.

Your first impression of Tony Stark was ‘What a lazy, narcissistic dick!’

Okay, so maybe the second time you met Tony Stark, your judgement was just a little clouded. But, in your own defense, the circumstances that you saw him under weren’t the best.  

Needless to say, you were not a morning person. But apparently, pretty much all the other avengers were, and this pissed you off more than words could describe. After a few weeks, everyone pretty much learned not to talk, do, or- dare god- smile at you from 5AM-7AM.

The only thing that saved you from insanity was the insanely expensive coffee machine stationed in the kitchen that you rushed to every morning. Tony was never in the kitchen when you were there, and when you asked Bucky about it, he replied with a laugh.

“Tony might hate mornings even more than you. He keeps himself locked up in his room until he’s needed, or when Pepper drags him out of his bed.” He paused, thinking, and continued.

“I don’t think he really ever, um, sleeps.” He left after that, leaving you more confused you were in the first place.  One particular morning when you were stabbing the espresso button on the coffee machine with a fork, Tony entered, yawning and rubbing his eyes, grumpily fixing his hair and glaring at everyone.

“Oh, would you stop gaping and looking surprised?” He snapped at everyone. “I can kind of function before 8AM.” Tony looked up, still seeing everyone’s skeptical faces, he muttered, “Okay, fine, my coffee machine broke down.”

He rubbed his hands together, murmuring, “Daddy needs his caffeine.”

Hearing this, the entire team simultaneously rolled their eyes. Wanda stepped inside, smiling at everyone, and almost immediately left when she saw Tony and you.

“Nope. I can’t deal with both of them at 6:30, I’m having breakfast in my room.” Almost five people followed her, grabbing some sort of food and heading back to their rooms.

“Good.” Tony, said, running his hands on his face. “The less the fucking merrier.”  He noticed you, still stabbing your fork at the machine, angrily muttering, “Espresso, goddamnit.”

“Sweetheart,” Tony gave you a lazy smirk and nudged your hand. “That’s the latte button.” He took your finger and moved it to the right. “That’s the espresso. Someone’s a little sleep deprived, huh?” He then snatched your mug, and took a sip out of it.

“Well, this works out anyway. I drink lattes in the morning.” You were too stunned to say anything back, so instead opted to glare at him, silent screams coming from your mouth.

“Jerk!” You called after him, as he walked away with your own mug in his hand, calling back,

“I’ve heard that one before, princess!”

You stomped back to your room, espresso be damned, all while muttering, “Coffee thief.” You went back to sleep, forgetting all about your responsibilities, only getting up an hour later when Nat spilled water on your pyjama shirt, screaming at you to get ready for training.  

The third time, you have to admit, Tony Stark is kind of tolerable. It was a Friday, and the entire team camped out on the couches in the rec room, all refusing to get up, considering how much the mission before had tired them.

What a sight it was, too. Pepper had already came in three times to try and get them all off their asses, and for the first time, none of the avengers listened, and instead stayed, despite how much everyone was deathly afraid of Pepper, some on the couches, some just sprawled out on the floor, all except Steve, who was trying to give a mission debrief and congratulate everyone, while the others all just threw pillows at him, telling him to ‘Shut the fuck up, Steve’.

Well, everyone except Sam, who was holding an ice pack to his chin, and only managed to shout, ‘Shut the fuck up, Stoob!’

Everyone just spoke quietly to each other, most of them holding ice packs to some part of their body, bandaging up, and for the first time in God knows how long, resting. Eventually Steve gave up too, bandaging up his hands, speaking softly to Bucky.

Tony and you sat in the corner of the rec room, ignoring each other for a while, before Tony spoke up.

“Hey. I bet you can’t throw a piece of carpet lint in Clint’s glass of water.” You narrowed your eyes, before replying. You weren’t going to let Tony Stark, Coffee Thief win a bet against you.

“Watch me.” You glared at him, mirroring his smirk. You scratched off a piece of lint from the carpet next to you, and after only two tries, a little splash, and it popped right into Clint’s mug.

“Fuck you.” Clint said, very well aware of what you had done, but way too tired and lazy to actually do something about it, and just deciding to stay dehydrated. Nat let out a snort and closed her eyes, trying to nap.

“I bet,” You mused, “You can’t throw a piece of cracker in Natasha’s mouth while she’s sleeping.”

“Are you kidding me?” Tony hissed. “She’d end me!” But meeting your competitive smirk, he grumbled and snatched the saltine out of your hand. He spent almost a minute trying to aim for Nat’s mouth, finding the best moment to shoot. You were almost going to tell him to admit defeat, but after just three tries, he hit a piece of cracker straight into her mouth.

Tony scrambled behind you right after, hiding from Nat. But she apparently, was also too tired to do anything just yet, but she chewed and swallowed the saltine that landed in her mouth, giving Tony the best death glare she had produced in years, as he sheepishly smiled back.

“I thought you might be hungry.” Tony said in a small voice.

Then she took a pillow and threw it at Tony’s head.

“Ow!” He said, grumbling and rubbing his head. “How the fuck did you throw a pillow so hard?” She shrugged and went back to sleep as you laughed your ass off, watching Tony eventually smile too.

You also watched him hiding from Nat when she woke up from her nap and regained her strength. He managed to evade her for just about 3 minutes before she pelted him with hard candies to the best of her ability, playfully slapping you every time you brought up the fact that he just had his ass kicked by milk duds.

Okay, so maybe Tony Stark is a little more than kind of tolerable.

The fourth time you interacted with Tony, he was drunk. So, maybe this didn’t count as an actual interaction, but you had talked, so this counted in your book.

He was hosting one of those charity galas again, sometime in the weekend, where everyone got all dolled up and made small talk with other rich people. How stupid, you had thought. So, naturally, because you refused to go to this one, Wanda had dragged you to your wardrobe, thrusted you a dress, and told you to meet her outside.

Sometimes, you hate your teammates.

You moped your way downstairs, where Wanda and Nat both looped an arm on either side of your body, pulling you inside the massive ballroom. After you greeted some people, danced with Thor, and absolutely slaughtered Steve in three games of poker, you were absolutely done for that night.

You grumbled, snatching those incredibly tight, scratchy heels off and dumping them God knows where, and threw yourself face down on the covers, until you heard rustling and giggling from outside.

You only knew one person who giggled like that.

“Go away, Tony!”

“Ooh,” You heard from outside. “First name basis.” He said in a sing-song voice, his words slightly slurred. You furrowed your brows as you peeked up from your pillow and dragged yourself to the door.

Sure enough, a very giggly Tony stood, the smell of vodka fresh on his breath, and he was holding some sort of alcohol in his cup.

“You’re drunk.”

“And you aren’t? Pshhhht.”

“Tony,” You said, rather annoyed. “I just want to go to bed, Tony. Want me to call Rhodey?”

“Nuuuuu.” He said, hiccupping.

And as you started to close your bedroom door, he stopped it with his arm, smiling sheepishly at you.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait. I’m sorry.”

“For what? Other than knocking at your door at midnight for no apparent reason?”

“Oh, yes, that too, I suppose.” He said, thinking hard. “And I just wanted to see you, princess. But, I’m sorry. You know, for stealing your coffee mug that morning. I’m not really that much of a dick, I promise.”

You softened a little bit. How sweet. You knew almost no men who would actually apologize for something that was their fault. Although, maybe it was just the vodka speaking, but you swooned nevertheless.

“A gentleman never leaves a door without properly saying goodbye to his lady.” He announced with a dazed look on his face, finger in the air. You were just about to ask what he meant by that, but you were too scared to say anything without stuttering when he pressed a small, chaste kiss on your cheek.

Clearly he couldn’t see how your cheeks flushed in the darkness, thank Christ. Oh god, no. It’s just a friendly kiss. Brotherly. Besides, he’s drunk. Then you began wondering when the hell you started caring about how Tony Stark saw you.

Almost tripping over himself, he waved his hand and left without saying a word. Checking to see if anybody saw that, you looked back and forth in the hallway to find nothing, shut the door, and squealed.

How cute.

Wait, no.

Rolling your eyes, you went to bed.

The fifth time was quite special indeed. Tony approached you after lunch, holding up some Star Wars movie as a peace offering. Something about his protégé begging him to watch it.

“Sorry about last night, by the way.” He said, in between mouthfuls of popcorn. You froze. Did he regret anything? He probably saw me blush. He probably thinks I’m a fool, oh my gosh. He’s probably going to tell me how he didn’t mean what he did. Oh my gosh, do I like Tony Stark?

Everything was moving way too fast. You had pretty much only met the man, and he hated him, and now suddenly you were ready to start a family? That made no sense at all. You’re just not thinking straight. You told yourself. You’re confused. You reassured yourself.

“Showing up at your door, drunk, unannounced, in the middle of the night, that was really rude.”

“Oh,” You said, a bit relieved, and just a bit disappointed. “It’s alright, Tony. You were drunk anyway.”

“Yeah,” He said, also sounding relieved. “Hey, um, I didn’t do anything weird in front of you that night? Like, anything I’d be embarrassed about?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No,” You said, chuckling, “Since when have you cared about what people think of you, Tony?”

“Since I met you.” He replied popping popcorn into his mouth.

You frowned. “Why?”

“Because- you’re smart, beautiful, clever, and funny, and you get my humor.” He said that like it was nothing, shrugging it off nonchalantly, eyes glued to the TV screen, occasionally throwing kernels at this one green dude on the screen, acting as if nothing had happened just now.

And you stared at him for just a little bit before looking back at the screen, pretending to pay attention.

Did he just say that? That I’m beautiful? Oh my Jesus Christ. How is he acting like nothing’s happened? Am I dreaming?

Oh, God, you realized. You like Tony Stark.

A few inches away, Tony panicked the same way you had.