#this is partially canon but they have a lot of hand signals too

[saturnniidae]

I like to think Hiccup has whole 'conversations' with Toothless that are essentially incomprehensible to anyone but them (they consist of little human language–mostly draconic noises and body language as well as signals/cues specific to Hiccup and Toothless) the other riders are used to it at this point, but a lot of people are very much not and find it incredibly confusing.

Its started a lot of rumors of Hiccup being some 'dragon whisperer' that can actually speak to and command them and the other riders tease him about it relentlessly because he despises the rumors and always tries to correct them. Like every time they're brought up he'll say something along the lines of "No. If u actually pay attention to and connect with them, adapting to their way of communication isn't hard. I don't actually speak with them ur just not observant enough" and is constantly ignored

(This is kind of a follow-up to another post but I didn't want to tack it onto a rb)

[wangxianficrecs]

❤️flame and rust by cl410

❤️flame and rust

by cl410

M, 35k, wangxian

Summary:  What was so special about Wei Ying that Jiang Cheng's parents expected him to become a guardian of Lotus Pier?

Or: Baoshan Sanren's lineage has a special talent, one that Wei Wuxian inherits. No one is quite sure what to do with a dragon, least of all Lan Wangji.

My comments:  Ah, this story just grabbed me by my heart and didn't let go. Wwx is kept by the jaings SOLELY for the use he can be to them as a defense-dragon, and he's never allowed to forget it, which is horribly abusive. Jyl and jc adore him, though, and don't like how he's treated.

He gets a taste of a different life during the cloud recesses stint, when people just like him... including lqr, who figures him out right away and becomes a mentor. And lan zhan... lan zhan makes him warm and fuzzy and dumb, and lights a nascent little bond within him.

But then shit utterly hits the fan as canon progresses, and some terrible things happen, and choices are made by various people that have horrific and unintended consequences, and wwx ends up coreless in the burial mounds, struggling to survive.

There's a lot of focus on the close bond between wwx and his siblings in spite of how the jiang parents treat him. Throughout the story, he struggles to understand that he can be accepted for other reasons than his ability to fight and die, and there can be family for him - and a home - just because he is wei wuxian, and for no other reason.

I am warning you now: you will HAVE FEELINGS.

Excerpt:  “We’re going to be late!” Jiang Cheng said impatiently. He put his hands on his hips and glowered threateningly up at the lanky dragon halfway up the tree. “Do you want to keep jiejie waiting? Maybe I’ll tell her you didn’t want to come!”

Wei Wuxian made a protesting noise, tipping sideways in his haste to slink to the ground. He caught himself in time, somehow, and briefly dangled upside down from the branch, frozen cautiously in place and not quite sure how he’d managed it.

There was an ominous crack. He peered at the branch, realizing too late what was about to happen, and then squawked when it broke and sent him hurtling to the ground.

He landed with a boom that shook the earth, the broken branch held safely between his front paws as he blinked dazedly at the sky. Jiang Cheng loomed over him with a deeply judgmental expression.

“That was embarrassing to watch,” he said.

shapeshifting, dragon wei wuxian, growing up, jiang siblings, child abuse (via madam yu), fluff and humor, students at cloud recesses, dragon instincts, crushes, awkward crush, lan qiren is good, lan qiren & wei wuxian, protective lan qiren, protective lan xichen, protective jiang siblings, madam yu is bad, jiang fengmian is bad, hurt wei wuxian, sick wei wuxian, angst, jiang sibling feels, protective jiang yanli, so much angst and trauma, burial mounds, BAMF wei wuxian, partial shift, loss of golden core, dragon eyes and ears, golden core reveal, baoshan sanren, burial mounds whumpage so sad, sunshot campaign with a dragon, found family, home, wei wuxian is loved, happy ending, favorite, @i-like-plan-m​​​

(You may wish to REBLOG as a signal boost for this author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)​

[comfortbucky]

requests? did someone say requests??😌

fluffy headcanon, mafia boss!bucky comes home after being away for a week or so and it’s just a cute ass reunion between the reader & him with lots of kisses & hugs n shit

or(take your pick) :)

one shot, where john walker is really rude to reader(insults her & shit), but she stands up for herself. they(her & john) get into a fight & bucky finds out by surprisingly swinging by her apartment. of course bucky is pissed, but he tends to her wounds. then for some stupid reason, john shows up at readers apartment & bucky loses it. but it ends in bucky admitting his feelings to reader n some fluff 😩

hope you find motivation for at least one of these:😚

hi yes hehe i did say requests🙈

i’m a sucker for tfatws!bucky so- (and john walker is a rat bastard🤣 so lemme go off)

𝗶 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: tfatws!bucky x fem!avenger!reader

warnings: john walker (grr), violence! and descriptions of bloody injuries

A/N: also! i sort of changed the prompt i hope u don’t mind too much🥺 // this oneshot will not be taking place during the canon timeline btw but inspired by the events/themes of tfatws

word count: 1.5 k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

Y/N sighed, as she plopped onto the couch after a long day. She, Bucky, and Sam had spent the whole day researching the Flagsmashers to try and track them down. It took all day, partially because Bucky needed a little extra help with learning how to use his laptop. She chuckled at the memory, grabbing the remote to turn her TV on. Suddenly, a loud, aggressive, knock interrupted her thoughts. She sighed and leaned her head on the back of her couch, taking a moment to debate leaving her very comfortable spot, before getting up to answer the door. Y/N knew that she probably should have peeked through her peephole before answering, but she wanted to return to the comfort of her couch as soon as possible. She opened it to see none other than John Walker, greeting her with a smirk. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“What are you doing here, John? How the hell did you even get my address?”

“All government property has GPS tracking in it," he said, pointing to her laptop on the kitchen table behind her. She turned and frowned as he continued. "Look, you need us, me and Battlestar, to take down Karli.” She looked back at John, laughing at Lemar’s alias.

“No way I’m letting someone who goes by Battlestar help me out.” He glared at her comment. “Or you, a Captain America wannabe.”

John took an aggressive step closer, way too close for Y/N’s comfort, as he replied. “I am Captain America, whether you like it or not.”

"You'll never be Captain America," she snapped back. "You don't have what it takes." He glared at her and put his face right in front of hers.

"How would you know? You're a pathetic excuse for a soldier," he spat and Y/N grimaced at John's spit landing on her cheeks. He looked at her, his eyes examining her body. She hated every second of it, his stare making her feel grimy all over, like she immediately needed a shower. “Who’d you fuck to get into the Avengers anyways? Bet it was Steve.”

John’s comment was immediately followed by Y/N’s fist connecting with his cheek, forcing him to stagger back into the hall. She’d heard concerns about her abilities as an Avenger before, calling her weak, fragile, a bitch, etc. But she knew they almost always came from misogynistic men, and was able to shrug their comments off because she knew that she could easily beat all of them to a pulp, no problem. But thinking that she would sleep her way into becoming an Avenger crossed a line. Especially someone she respected and had admired as much as Steve.

John held his hand to his cheek, where he’d been hit, and looked up to make eye contact with Y/N. He smiled and before stating in a condescending tone, “That was cute.” John kicked her in the stomach, launching her onto the floor of her apartment. As she groaned and started to get up, John chuckled and kicked her down before she got to her knees. He went to kick her again when she rolled away, dodging his kick and standing up quickly, panting as she responded.

“God, do you ever shut the fuck up?”

She kicked her leg up to deliver a roundhouse kick to John’s face, spinning around to punch his nose. He stumbled a couple steps back, regaining his balance before swinging a punch towards Y/N. She caught his fist before it hit her and John took the opportunity to use his free hand to grab his shoulder and knee her in the stomach. She gasped, getting the wind knocked out of her. He then threw her into a shelf, shattering several photo frames on the ground. She landed on her stomach, attempting to get up by pushing her self up on her forearms. Y/N felt a warm liquid on her cheek and touched it, pulling it away from her face to see her fingertips covered in blood.

“Asshole,” she mumbled, before standing up to continue fighting.

Several moments ago, Bucky had made the decision to show up at Y/N’s apartment. He pressed some random keys on his computer, and now there was an error message that wouldn’t go away on his screen. Stubbornly, he tried to fix it on his own but ended up making it worse. He sighed in defeat, closing his laptop shut and tucking it under his arm before heading over towards her apartment. Bucky was just down the hall when he heard the sound of glass shattering, his leisurely stroll turning into a sprint to Y/N’s door.

Bucky arrived to see you pinned up against a wall with John’s hand around ur throat. Your hands were desperately clawing at John’s, attempting to free yourself from his grasp. Fear and terror consumed him before a wave of fury took over. Immediately, Bucky launched into action, dropping his laptop in the process. He ripped John away from you, tossing him on the ground. Bucky moved to hover over John, punching him repeatedly in the face. Y/N finally caught her breath and crawled over to Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder, signaling him to stop. He kept his eyes on John’s bloody and bruised face, lowering his fist.

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” he snarled, releasing John from his grasp.

John rolled over, took a moment to catch his breath. Bucky was standing, fists still clenched by his sides, as he watched John get up and exit Y/N’s apartment without another word.

He closed the door behind him and immediately spun around to see Y/N struggling to get up, attempting to push up from one of her knees. Bucky instantly rushed to her side, helping her to her feet. He grabbed one of her hands in his own and placed his other hand on the small of her back, as he guided her to the couch. He examined her and felt a pain in his chest, looking at her black eye, cut cheek, and her bruised neck outlined with John’s handprint. Without saying a word, he stood up and returned with a first-aid kit from her bathroom. He sat back down and immediately started to tend to her wounds. As Bucky started to disinfect the cut on her cheek, he spoke.

“That was stupid of you,” he mumbled, gently dabbing antiseptic ointment on her cut. It was a drastic contrast from his behavior only minutes ago, nearly ready to murder John. He took a bandaid from the kit and delicately placed it on her cheek. Bucky then moved his hand to assess her black eye, his thumb softly grazing a soft patch of skin under her eye. She frowned and lightly pushed his hand away.

“I would’ve been fine on my own, you know.”

“Sit still so I can take a look at your bruise.” He responded gruffly, lifting his hand and attempting to look at her bruised eye again. She shoved his hand away, this time more aggressively, and tried to stand up.

“Just leave me alone,” Y/N said, wincing and clutching her abdomen in pain, causing Bucky to grab her waist and slowly lower her back down onto the couch. Fucking John Walker.

“Y/N.”

She pulled his hands off her and reluctantly sat down to face him.

“You don’t need to defend me, Bucky,” she spoke, Bucky sensing anger in her voice. “I’m not some weak, helpless civilian. I’m a god damn Avenger for christ sake!” As Y/N shouted, her voice wavered and her eyes started to well up with tears.

Her arms were crossed in front of her chest and Bucky sat with his hands resting on his lap. Although she was speaking to Bucky, she felt like she was more-so trying to convince herself of what she was saying.

“I know,” he said calmly, but with a stern tone, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“Okay, so leave me alone.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not!”

“Because I fuckin’ care about you!” Bucky shouted, causing Y/N’s face to immediately soften.

Her arms dropped to rest in her lap and she froze as Bucky softly raised his hand to cup her cheek, captivated by his touch. He cautiously moved, worried she would push his hand away again, but she didn’t. His thumb gently caressed her non-cut cheek and he pulled her face close to his. She felt his breaths fan her face as he spoke.

“I know you’re one of the strongest Avengers,” he started. “And I know you could kick John’s ass any day of the week. But I care so much about you and I need you to be okay.” Bucky’s lips hovered over Y/N’s, lightly brushing against hers.

“I need you, Y/N.”

She responded by crashing her lips onto his, moving her hands to hold his face closer to hers. The kiss was full of passion, love, and unspoken feelings. When they broke apart, gasping for air, Y/N smiled at him and ran a hand through his hair.

“I care about you too, Buck.”

Bucky had never seen such a bright light in his 106 years of living.

[randomprose]

Shang Qinghua is, for lack of a better word, a pushover—a pathetic, cowering, pushover.

He doesn’t talk back, mostly because everyone around him is so much more OP than him and he lives in constant fear that any one of them would be the cause of his demise (accidentally and/or otherwise).

So, Shang Qinghua just lets things slide, like, a lot of things. For self-preservation purposes. So he gets taken advantage of for it, so what? As long as he’s useful, he at least doesn’t have to fear being unceremoniously eliminated.

Shang Qinghua lives his life like this—except during the bi-annual Peak Lords’ Conference.

The bi-annual Peak Lords’ Conference is where they discuss the sect’s general administrative matters and most important of all, the sect’s financial records. It’s the time all the peak lords are scrambling to complete their administrative reports and the busiest season for An Ding Peak—especially Shang Qinghua.

It’s also the only time of the year Shang Qinghua doesn’t think about the importance of not crossing anyone in the name of self-preservation.

A couple of years since the end of the original novel officially transpired, and after also officially being saddled with the Northern Desert’s palace account and affairs, Shang Qinghua has decided he has had enough and will no longer be pushed around into doing the other peaks’ paperwork for them!

Shang Qinghua gets mean and snappy at these meetings. He’s so sleep-deprived he doesn’t even have the energy to be guilty about it. That’s how exhausted he is. If someone comes for his throat during this meeting he wouldn’t even flinch. He’d probably be angrier if they somehow don’t finish the job. Put him out of his misery or don’t waste his fucking time.

If this made the other peak lords lowkey scared of him singling them out during these bi-annual meetings, that’s just a bonus.

A hush falls among the peak lords already present in Cang Qiong’s main conference hall when Shang Qinghua enters. His Head Disciple and inner disciples carrying each peak’s individual reports in tow, placing it down on Shang Qinghua’s table while the peak lord himself goes straight to the podium to load today’s presentation in the crystal mirror projector screens.

It’s times like these that Shang Qinghua is so thankful he thought about writing in projection screens in Proud Immortal Demon Way. Imagine having to write and present a whole sect’s financial report in scrolls! He’d sooner throw himself off of the top of Jue Di Gorge.

He sticks a rectangular slab of crystal to a port and activates it with a short burst of his qi. The crystal mirror lights up with the first page of Shang Qinghua’s presentation and he eyes it for a second before walking to his table.

Yes, it functions like a USB, and no he doesn’t care that ‘it goes completely against xianxia logic!’ because contrary to what Cucumber-bro says, this is actually another thing that Shang Qinghua is grateful he wrote in because it’s a fucking stroke of genius.

An An Ding disciple comes in just before the start of the conference, saying a messenger bird of a merchant lord just sent a missive labeled ‘important’.

“This is not important at all,” Shang Qinghua says before sitting down, grabbing a paper, and writing a reply anyway. He hands it to his disciple, “Here send it back. If they reply unfavorably, tell them—"

Just then Shen Qingqiu enters, flanked by Ming Fan and Luo Binghe, which startled the An Ding disciple to drop the note. Luo Binghe picks up the paper to hand it over to the startled disciple, who bowed in thanks before Shen Qingqiu snatches it and opens the note.

“'To Lord Mao," Shen Qingqiu reads. "'Is that a challenge? If so, this peak lord will engage with Lord Mao. This peak lord knows the law of this land and will gladly see Lord Mao in court. Note, this peak lord knows what happened five days after last year’s harvest moon and supposes that, too, is up for discussion. Signed Peak Lord Shang.’” Shen Qingqiu turns to Shang Qinghua as he folds the note again and hands it back to the disciple, who bows to all of them before taking his leave. “Lord Mao? The merchant that supplies some of Wan Jian Peak’s blacksmithing tools? What did this Lord Mao do five days after last year’s harvest moon?”

“Nothing and it’s none of your business,” Shang Qinghua mutters shortly as he re-arranges his scrolls while the rest of the peak lords start to file in.

It’s a testament to how exhausted Shang Qinghua is that he doesn’t even flinch when Luo Binghe levels him with a dark glare and a snarl of, “Don’t speak to Shizun like that.”

“Binghe, stand down. Shang-shidi is just under a lot of pressure. This is a busy time for An Ding Peak after all.”

“No, Luo Binghe is right,” Shang Qinghua sighs. “That was out of line, shixiong, even if what you said was true.” He bows slightly to Shen Qingqiu in apology before smiling tiredly. “Lord Mao did nothing I think. I just—”

“What is this I hear about Shang-shidi being at odds with a merchant?” Qi Qingqi pipes up clearly having heard their conversation. “Really, Shang-shixiong. What are you doing? It better not be something shady again.”

“Rest assured, Qi-shimei, this shixiong knows what he’s doing.”

“This one sure hopes you do,” Qi Qingqi says not without suspicion at the same time Shen Qingqiu asks, “Do you really?”

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Shang Qinghua says, moving his hand in a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about it.”

--

Later, while Shang Qinghua is in the middle of speedrunning through the peak’s expense reports, because his martial siblings have very short attention spans for such things and anything else that isn’t gossip or doesn’t directly involve them, the same An Ding disciple comes in. He slinks quietly to An Ding’s Head Disciple, who is taking notes dutifully, to inform her of the missive.

The Head Disciple gives him the go signal to report and raises her hand to get Shang Qinghua’s attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Shifu, but Lord Mao has responded.”

“Oh? And what did he say?”

An Ding’s Head Disciple nudges her martial sibling, who looks unsure and a little unnerved at all the eyes trained on him, to deliver the message.

“Lord Mao said—” he clears his throat. “Lord Mao said there is no need to make a big deal out of nothing and agreed to meet on the twelfth day of next month.”

Shang Qinghua looks to his Head Disciple, rapidly flipping through a small pocket notebook before looking up and shaking her head no to Shang Qinghua.

“This peak lord is not available on that date. Tell Lord Mao to move it on—Xiao Lian?”

“Shifu’s next available date is on the twenty-fifth of the month after next.”

“There. Tell Lord Mao to move the meeting to the twenty-fifth day of the month after next.”

“Hey, now,” Shen Qingqiu says because his husband has gone, Ming Fan is taking notes for him, so now he’s bored and this is the most interesting thing that’s happened since this whole meeting started. “Isn’t Shang-shidi pushing it?”

“It’s fine. This master knows what he’s doing,” Shang Qinghua says as he waves away his disciple and goes right back to drilling Liu Qingge about Bai Zhan Peak’s expense report.

--

Around the concluding hour of the meeting, Shang Qinghua’s messenger disciple returns yet again with a response.

“This disciple apologizes a thousand times for interrupting once again.”

“The meeting is about to end. Wait beside your shijie for a bit, yeah?”

“Yes, Shifu.”

But before the An Ding disciple could do as he’s told, Wei Qingwei speaks up.

“It’s fine. At this point, I think this peak lord speaks for all when he says we all want to know what Lord Mao has said.” Not in the least because they’re all bored out of their wits and this is a very welcome distraction. “He's one of Wan Jian Peak’s suppliers is he not? This peak lord has a vested interest in this exchange.”

“Alright then,” Shang Qinghua says, no longer caring and just wanting this whole meeting to end so he can go back home and catch up on some sleep for a day or three. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Lord Mao agreed to meet Shifu on the twenty-fifth of the month after next and offered to host Shifu on his manor.”

“Fat chance,” Shang Qinghua says. And what? Hand himself over for a potential assassination plot? Shang Qinghua did not last this long and survived everything that’s happened in the original storyline only for some canon fodder merchant lord to get the jump on him. He makes a mental note to look for a new supplier for Wan Jian Peak’s blacksmithing needs if Lord Mao doesn’t agree with the terms he’s laid out—ones that are very much in Cang Qiong’s favor 70-30 now that he’s pissed Shang Qinghua off. “Tell Lord Mao this peak lord will receive him in An Ding Peak at no later than Wu Shi.”

The disciple bows and leaves to send the message and Shang Qinghua turns back to conclude his presentation.

Then later, after the meeting is adjourned, Shen Qingqiu sidles up to him with an amused, “Well, that was something, Peak Lord Shang. The bi-annual Peak Lord’s Conference really brings out your backbone, huh?”

Shang Qinghua just regards his friend with an exhausted flat look at the obvious mocking use of his title before smirking, “I told you I know what I’m doing.”

“So what did Lord Mao do five days after last year’s harvest moon?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Shang Qinghua replies in earnest with a shrug and a confused frown. “I just thought of a random date and hoped for the best that it held some importance to him. Guess Lord Mao does shady things on the regular.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. Time to find Wei-shixiong a new supplier. I just hope he’s not partial to the ones that shady Lord Mao provides.”

ao3

[blush-and-books]

canon-verse, pining, established, a piece of clothing you find significant for either of them <3

i love this so much, and i hope you enjoy this fic. thank you so much for writing me that one-shot, because WOW is it my new favorite thing. just. wow. 

Julie never thought that painting clothes would be a cute couples activity -- but here she was, with a pair of her own jeans, and a pair of Luke’s jeans, in front of her on a plastic-covered table. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with me painting these jeans?” Luke looks up at her, paintbrush in hand, looking down at her already partially-painted pants like he could destroy them by touching them. “I’m- I’m worried I’m gonna mess it up.”

“So what if you do? You’re trusting me to paint your jeans. I could easily mess it up.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “No, you’re Julie Molina. You don’t mess things up.”

She’s always been used to his sweet, full-faith compliments towards her that he made effortlessly -- but now that they were together, Luke almost seemed to shower her in them, like he had gone so long trying to hold himself back from saying them most of the time and now he could finally verbalize every loving thought that came to him.

With a blush, Julie mirrors his head shake.

“Well, I trust you. Do your worst. It’ll look cool no matter what.”

Julie watches as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, and looks down at her jeans as if they are something special to him. 

(Anything she owns his special to him, but he hasn’t exactly said that out loud. He doesn’t have to.)

Taking his silence as a signal that she is good to start, Julie dips her brush into the orange paint off to her side and is drawing a line down the side of the pants before her focus is disrupted by Luke suddenly saying: “I don’t like being this far away.”

He was only on the opposite side of the dining room table, but he lifts up Julie’s jeans and walks over so that he is sitting right next to her. Once the denim is spread out in front of him, he sends Julie a content grin and leans over to kiss her on her shoulder. 

“Much better.”

Julie tries to prevent a dopey smile forming on her face -- but it’s Luke, and he’s being Luke, and she shouldn’t feel like needing to hide her happiness anymore. If anything, he wants to see it. 

For the next five to ten minutes, the two of them run their paint brushes along each other's pants in silence. Just each other’s company is comforting in itself, and eventually, Julie finds herself tilting to the side and resting her head on his shoulder. 

A kiss is pressed to the top of her head. She hums in response. 

Luke’s pants, after about twenty minutes, have cool multicolored diagonal lines criss-crossing along the sides. When she glances over at her own pants, where her boyfriend has been lazer-focused on whatever design he’s been painting, she sees an intricate purple design. 

“Does this look like a dahlia?” He asks her, out of the blue. He’s gesturing to the purple blob, and when she looks closer, she is surprised at how much it actually does look like her favorite flower -- like he’s put a lot of time in making it good. 

It’s a perfect little purple flower on her right back pocket. 

“It’s perfect,” she tells him, because it’s what she thinks. Rotating her head, she puckers her lips against the top of his bicep; lips curling into a smile against his bare skin. “I love it.”

His lips bloom into a smile, one that she doesn’t always get to see at it’s full potential: The smile that Luke gets when he is truly, genuinely proud of himself.

He’s got a good cocky smile, sure, and a confident one too, but sometimes he gets a heartbreakingly happy grin on his face like he has finally done something right and he can’t believe it. 

Julie wonders if he would smile like that more often if he knew, truly knew, how happy he made her every day. 

“Well, my pants look awesome, so thank you,” he compliments back with a low voice. “I would have loved anything you did, but that- That looks rad.”

She tries to muffle a giggle into his shoulder. “I love when you say stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“That looks rad,” she mocks, lowering her voice to try and sound like him. When he pouts, she does the opposite and stretches her mouth into a smile; quickly pushing herself up to kiss him and get rid of his pout no matter how cute it is. 

“It’s better than ‘that slaps,’” he fires back, making himself sound like her and Flynn when they listen to a new song that they both like. “You could learn a thing or two from my slang.”

“Just for that, I’m painting ‘that slaps’ right across the butt of these jeans. You’ll get some good action with that, too.”

In retaliation, Luke leans in and buries his face into her hair, pressing rapid kisses all along her neck and cheek. “Please don’t,” he growls with a smile. “I don’t want anyone touching my ass except for you.”

Laughing at the feeling of his lips ticking her neck, Julie shrugs him off so that she can turn herself to properly, fully, kiss him. 

Against his lips, which are eagerly responding to hers, she chuckles: “Me neither.”

[duhragonball]

Disinterpretation

I finally finished the Sarah Z video about “pro vs. anti”.   It’s pretty long, and I ended up watching it in chunks over several days, but I think it’s worth watching, especially if you’re sort of partially connected to online fandom, but not enough to be aware of all the lingo. 

As I expected, the whole thing was vague and confusing because the people involved in the conflict made it vague and confusing.   In theory, the full terms would be “pro-shipping” and “anti-shipping”, but it seems like it’s more about particular kinds of ships that could be considered controversial.  But that’s a slippery slope, and apparently the whole conflict mutated into both sides deciding that every hypothetical relationship between fictional characters is either equally valid or equally dangerous.  

Long story short, it’s just purity culture, which was what everyone on Tumblr was calling it around 2012.  But now, if you’re a sane person who genuinely asks: “Who gives a fuck about Voltron?”, these people will jump your ass and accuse you of being on the side of their enemies.  “Children have died over the importance of Lotor/Hagger!   Your callous indifference proves that you yourself must have murdered children!” 

I think what Sarah Z really hit upon in this video was that media consumption has become so ingrained in our culture that people feel like it has to go hand-in-hand with our morality.   That is, it’s not enough for me to watch Star Trek, I have to justify Star Trek as evidence that I’m a good person.  Maybe this is where the expression “guilty pleasure” comes from.   Conversely, it’s not enough for me to not watch Dr. Who, I have to somehow convince everyone that Dr. Who was invented by the devil.

I’m pretty sure the Reylo ship has a lot to do with this, since it’s kind of understood to be a dark, problematic concept, and fans either embrace its flaws or recoil in horror because of them.   Star Wars itself is a dumb story about space wizards, so people try to give the debate more weight by linking it to freedom of self expression and/or enabling real world harm.   Suddenly it’s not enough to just think two actors would look cute making out instead of fighting.   Now it’s this battlefield for the soul of civilization or something.

I grew up in the 80′s, when “concerned parents” and grifters would accuse the Smurfs and metal bands of promoting satanism and witchcraft.   I used to hear stories of teens going out into the woods in the middle of the night to do occult stuff, and all I could ever think about was: “Why would anyone bother wandering out in the woods in the middle of the night?”  Which is why “concerned parents” turned their attention to things that were closer to home, like Saturday morning cartoons.   It had nothing to do with the content; it was just about finding a safe, accessible target for their hysteria.   Some people want to go on a crusade without leaving the house, so they pick a fight with Papa Smurf instead of confronting the real evils in the world.  Even as a kid, I knew this was a con, because I’d watched the show for myself and knew it was too saccharine to be threat to anyone.

The pro/anti folks have tried to disguise this with a lot of terminology.   I wondered why they seemed to reluctant to use the full terms “pro-shipper” and “anti-shipper”, and it’s probably a couple of things.   First, the word “shipper” is basically an admission that this is pointless bullshit that doesn’t matter, and they’d like to avoid that connotation.   Second, they seem to have decided that this goes beyond shipping itself, into practically anything else they want it to involve.  It’s all part of the con, which is to make you believe that it’s “us vs. them”, and you can be part of “us” by curating specific attitudes about Steven Universe.

Seriously, “about Steven Universe” is such an incredible punchline.  You can make anything funnier by adding those three words to the end of a sentence.   “Do not interact if you blog about Steven Universe.”   “Hey, what’s up, YouTube, this is SSJ3RyokoLover69, and this is going to be kind of a serious video about Steven Universe.”   “Mrs. Johnson, the results of your biopsy are in, and I have some bad news about Steven Universe.”   It’s a fucking kids show.   “Oh no, all the characters look like the characters in all the other kids shows!”   Yeah, that’s because it’s a kids show.   Marvin looks like Garfield, this isn’t new.

The common denominator here seems to be that both sides try to wrap themselves in the flag of vulnerable groups: impressionable minors, trauma survivors, harassment victims, etc.   The “pros” want to protect those people so that they can feel free to explore weird subject matter on their own terms, and the “antis” want to protect the same people from being exposed to weird subject matter that they might not want to see.   It’s all about establishing a moral high ground.   Back in the day, it was called “sanctimony”. 

But people get roped into this, because at their core, people want approval, and this stupid conflict offers them a sense of community.  As long as you support the cause, whatever it may be, you’ll have this online friend network that appears to support anything you do.   But if you deviate from their norm, you’ll be cast out.    Does this sound familiar?

To use a more familiar example, I still sometimes find people clamoring about Gochi vs. Vegebul.   I’ve never understood this, because both ships were canon, and I never saw much direct evidence of a war between them, but people would still talk about how crazy the Vegebul shippers were, and how crazy the Gochi shippers were, and it was like some huge thing going on just over the hills.   It’s the same idea, since the idea that you could like both or neither never seems to occur to anyone involved.   I never gave a shit, because I used to see the same dumb agendas in the Harry Potter fandom.

Okay, so let me take you back.  It’s 2005 through 2011, and I’m hateblogging all seven Harry Potter novels, because fuck you, that’s why.  The funny thing I encountered was that occasionally fans seemed to want to pretend like my bashing of certain characters was proving them right somehow.    They were like “See?  He hates Ron Weasley too!  That proves that Seamus Finnegan is the coolest guy ever.”   The Slytherin stans would do this all the time, because I would constantly take the piss out of the Gryffindor characters for being self-important dopes.   I think they just liked hearing it from an outside perspective.   But I had to keep reminding them all that I hated all of them.   Every character from Harry Potter sucks ass. Voldemort was my favorite, but only because he was the one guy who wanted to kill all of the others.   But he sucks too because he failed. 

And the shippers were the same way.   I’d say something shitty about Ron, because Ron sucks, and some smartass Joss Whedon fan would be like “Yes!  Boost the signal!  That is why Harry/Hermione is the best ship!”  And I’d be like “No, Harry and Hermione suck at least as bad as Ron does.  They’re all terrible and I hate them.”   I really do think there was some sort of Stockholm Syndrome going on with Harry Potter books, where everyone secretly knows they suck, but the fans sort of latch on to one or two characters and go like “Well, he’s not as shitty as the rest.”   Like finding spaghetti in the trash and picking out the meatball with the least amount of lint on it.   Then you’d go and start a flamewar with some other starving person over whether your meatball is shittier than theirs.  This is what people mean when they say to read another book. 

Anyway, the big thing I picked up from Sarah Z’s video is “disinterpretation”, a term coined by MSNBC columnis Zeeshan Aleem.   The Twitter thread is worth a read, but the short version is that he once remarked that a Julia Louis-Dreyfus routine wasn’t very good, and someone got mad at him for insinuating that women are incapable of being funny.    They just took his dissatisfaction with one performance by one comedian as being a universal condemnation of women comedians in general.  And this sort of thing is all over the internet.   Everyone sees what they want to see and then they take it as permission to overreact.  

I ran into this myself a while back, because someone saw who I interacted with on Twitter and decided that they’re all bad guys and if I have any interaction with them, then that makes me a bad guy too.   At the time I tried to play it cool, but the more I think about it, the more it ticks me off.   And over the course of that conversation, it was said that I don’t talk about myself much, and that’s kind of funny, because all I ever do on social media is write long-ass blog posts like this one.  I don’t expect anyone to memorize them, or even read them all the way through, but when I write all this stuff and someone goes out of their way to say they don’t know anything about me, the message is that they just didn’t pay attention to what I was saying, and they didn’t bother to try.

So I’m a little jaded from that, because I got called out for a bunch of stuff I didn’t even do or say, and apparently that’s just a thing that happens.   People will reject you for completely arbitrary reasons, not because of anything you actually said or did, and you’re left thinking you made some terrible mistake.   Except, no, I’ve seen it happen to other people, people a lore more conscientious than I am, and if they can’t satisfy the bullshit purity standards, then I never stood a chance.   If the game is rigged so I can’t win, then I’m not going to play.  

And it’s that same condition that probably draws people into these online holy wars, because if you declare yourself for the pro or anti side, at least then you’ll have a posse backing you up.   Only they don’t support you, they support your willingness to support them.    Once your commitment to their agenda wavers, even in the slightest, they will turn against you.   

Sarah Z suggests that both sides of the war drop the pro and anti terms, since they lost all meaning long ago.   But that just invites a new set of useless terms to perpetuate the same cycle.   Her more useful advice is for fandom people to broaden their horizons.   She got a lot of flak for tweeting “Go outside” once, but the ironic thing is that it’s sound advice.   I had lunch with my mom yesterday and it was just nice getting away from things for a while.   People need to do that more often, and unfortunately it feels like it’s harder to do than ever before.

But “go outside” isn’t just a literal thing.   It can mean going beyond your usual haunts, reading the same books, watching the same shows, rehashing the same conversations.   I think the reason this stuff always revolves around “shipping” is because there seems to be this deep-seated compulsion to pair fictional characters off like this, and for a lot of folks it’s the only way they can consume a story, so they do.   And they do it lot, and there’s a lot of them, and they do it the same way every time, and lo and behold the same old conflicts start up.   So maybe “go outside” should mean “go outside of that cycle once in a while.”   Just a thought. 

[mrs-mikko-rantanen]

Chasing Cars

Bad Things Happen Bingo Square Filled: Vehicular Accident. 1,716 words. Original Fiction: Renegade Archangels. Modern!au/what is mostly the Second Canon at this point. Inspired by an ask from @childrenoflight-darkness-nothing that had since been lost in the void, thank you for the inspiration 💚 a quick note/heads up: the pov shifts a lot in this one, but hopefully it works.

Caelum heard lightning. Not thunder, no. he heard the lightning. It was a horrible, terrible, loud sound. He felt it in his bones as it cracked around him, enveloped him in a bright white light, and then in an instant; it was over. His mind went dark and his body limp and he heard nothing, knew nothing.

    Dragon groaned and blinked as they woke up. Their head was pounding as they looked around. The car was making more sounds than they thought a car should make after an accident like that. The turn signal was ticking frantically, almost sounding like the car itself was panicking. There was a quiet hissing sound as well. Despite the pounding in their skull, some part of their mind was already taking the car apart in the shop, trying to fix it.

    Caelum heard nothing. Almost. He could hear a loud ringing noise that drowned out everything around him. His eyes were closed, and his face was pressed up against something. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t exactly warm either. No, warm was whatever was running down the side of his face. Warm and sticky, and he could feel it on his hands too.

    Dragon shifted, hissing as well as their left leg screamed in protest. It's broken, Ribs too. Their eyes slid shut again, despite their best efforts to keep them open. Some small sound to their left drew their attention, and they let out a soft groan as they turned their head, eyes still closed, in that direction. 

    Caelum forced his eyes open, but that didn’t seem much better than when they were closed. Everything was blurry and out of focus. He blinked a few times, trying with no success to clear his sight. There were a few dim lights flashing around him, but none of them were enough to see by. To his right, he senses rather than sees movement. Just a little shift, like someone moving in their sleep. All at once he remembers that he wasn't alone...someone was with him, someone else is here. Panic began to seep into every fiber of his being as he whimpered and struggled to move closer to them, to no avail. 

    Dragon's eyes flicked closed again, the darkness trying to take hold of them once more. But the sound next to them; a quiet moan, barely audible, sounded like an air horn right next to their ear. They gasped as the sound faded, adrenaline beginning to coarse through their veins at the familiarity of it. 

    "Caelum!" Their own voice was thin and reedy as they spoke, each syllable a struggle as they twisted around their broken ribs. "Caelum, wake up!"

    Caelum could feel his heartbeat in every part of his body. His ears were filled with the thundering roar of each beat, and his fingers seemed to twitch in time with it. I have to help them, I have to save them! He thought frantically, trying to remember who had been with him. It took every ounce of strength in his body to sit up, to pull his face away from whatever it had been pressed against. Once he'd made it, his head lolled to the side as he blacked out again, the effort of moving too much for his body to handle. 

    Dragon heaved a sigh of relief as his boyfriend sat up, pulling himself away from where he had been slumped against the steering wheel. He was alive. At least there was that. 

    "Caelum, babe, please talk to me."

    But Caelum remained silent. Dragon twisted in their seat again, a small scream escaping them as their ribs flared angrily again. Their eyes screwed shut and tears slipped out as they braced themself to move even more. 

    Caelum heard screaming. His eyes opened but he still couldn't see. But the scream tore through him like a knife, dragging him back to a partial consciousness. His head rolled again as he gasped, trying to move anything. His legs were trapped. At least he assumed they were. If he was being totally honest, all he was aware of was pain. Every inch of his body was ablaze with it, and every miniscule motion made it worse. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, he remembered his phone. Groaning and blinking, he forced himself to focus on finding it. The screen was lit up. He could see it. His hand reached for it, slowly. 

    "Come on!" He screamed, trying to force his body to move faster, "Call 911, get help! They need you to get help!"

    His fingers brushed the case, finally, and a small glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. It faded however, as he shifted his hand to lift the phone and it slid away from him, beyond his reach. 

    Dragon panted as they watched Caelum struggle to reach his phone. Their heart broke as he whispered "Come on…" breath heaving as he poured all of his strength into trying to grab it. And when the phone slid out of his grip, they allowed themself a moment to close their eyes and let the tears flow before grinding their teeth and reaching for it themself. They scrabbled for it, fingers seeming to only push it farther away. Finally, they sat up, phone gripped in their hand so hard they thought the screen may crack. They gasped and coughed in some approximation of a relieved laugh as they dialed 911. They cried a little when the operator answered. 

    "Help us...please, help us…"

    "Help is on the way. Don't hang up, I'm going to keep talking you through some things, stay on the line…"

    All Caelum could do was breathe. Even that was taking all of the effort he could muster. In….out….in again, over and over. He could hear the ragged sound of the air as it passed between his lips. He could taste the blood in his mouth now. His eye was fused shut, not that he was too concerned with opening his eyes right now anyway. In...out….in….out. The rise and fall of his chest. Someone may have touched his wrist, he wasn't sure. He wanted so badly to scream. To yell and shout and cry and sob until someone came. Not for him. He was fine. For whoever else was with him. Someone else was here, he knew it. They needed help. 

    Lights flashed in the rearview mirror, sirens heralding the approach of an ambulance. 

    "They're here...thank God, they're here…" the phone fell away from Dragon's face as they tried to reach for Caelum. 

    "Feathers. Feathers, help's here. Wake up, please."

    A light shone in Caelum's eyes, and he winced. His head started to turn, but someone stopped him. 

    The door opened next to Dragon and they sobbed happily. The EMT introduced themself, and Dragon immediately pointed to Caelum. 

    "Help him, please, he needs more help than I do…"

    "It's ok. He has help. Right now we need to take care of you, ok Dragon? Don't worry, your friend is going to be alright…"

    Hands fell on Caelum, and he flinched, crying out and trying to push them away. His hands wouldn't lift. 

    "Caelum, can you hear me?"

    Caelum moaned again, grabbing the hand that rested on the side of his face as he forced his eyes to open. "Help….help…." Them. Help them, not me. I'm fine, help them.

    "We're here to help you, don't worry. I just need you--"

    "N-not......me…." He finally managed, "Th-them."

             "They're being helped, Caelum I need--"

            "No, go….I don't….need….."

            "Caelum. They are being helped. They are being taken care of. My job right now is to…."

           But Caelum didn't hear. All he could hear were his tears. 

    "Dragon, I need you to keep looking straight ahead, alright? Don't try to nod or shake your head, just keep looking forward. I'm going to put a neck brace on for you ok?"

    Dragon could hear Caelum next to them. They turned to look at him, tears running down their face. "Feath-" 

    "Keep looking forward." 

    A hand gently turned them away, and Caelum faded into a mere echo as Stephan worked quickly, trying to calm him down and stop the bleeding all at once. Dragon reached blindly for Caelum's hand as the EMT secured the brace. 

    "Now we're going to get you into an ambulance as fast as we can, but first we need to stabilize your leg…"

    Caelum couldn't even cry. Not the way he wanted to, anyway. He wanted to scream and wail and shout. To demand that the EMT leave him alone, that whoever was with him needed help more than he did. But he couldn't even muster that strength to sob. The EMT worked quickly, narrating their every move until Caelum passed out, this time fading completely into the darkness. His body sagged as he lost the ability to keep fighting, his strength dissolving. 

    He just hoped they really were helping whoever was with him. 

    Dragon felt Caelum's fingers unfurl from their's and they heard Stephan began talking more forcefully, shouting orders and fighting to pull him out of the car. 

    "No, no! Please! Caelum, please!"

    "Dragon, I need you to stay calm. Caelum is going to be alright." The EMT had finally cut their seatbelt away, shifting so that the others could help move Dragon onto the stretcher. They sobbed and flailed as they were removed, panic welling up even more as they could finally see themself in the broken mirrors and flashing lights of the ambulance. 

    “Am I bleeding? Is that my blood?” No one answered as they were strapped down. No one answered as they were wheeled away from the twisted heap of metal that had once been Caelum's car. 

    "Caelum! Caelum, please!"

    No one answered them as they were pulled past Caelum, who was lying in the grass next to the wreckage, Stephan bent over him like a reaper waiting to pull his soul away. No one answered as they screamed his name over and over, begging him to move. No one answered as they were pulled into the ambulance, the neck brace holding them so they couldn't see anything other than the lights overhead. No one answered as their vision fogged and they slipped away. 

[ssson-of-sparda]

WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - CHAPTER 1 (VERGIL X NERO’S MOTHER)

Summary: Vergil arrives in Fortuna and crosses path with a rebellious lady dressed in red. But even if he doesn't want pay attention, Fortuna seemed determined to intertwine their lives.

(PROLOGUE)

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda’s past

Author’s note: So, let me introduce you to Elissa aka Nero's mother. I've decided to make her rebellious and quite feisty to mirror Nero's impetuosity. After all, that kid had to take after someone, right? So why not mummy dearest? I know the story might seem slow to start but I need to set up the scenery for the events to come. Hope you like it anyway.

It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue. The cobbled streets were empty, the shops and cafes all closed, for all the inhabitants were gathered inside the Cathedral whose majestic dome overlooked the nearby Renaissance-style buildings, a sacred beacon calling the devotees to pray. But the religious establishment was nothing in comparison to the partially-veiled giant-like idol standing tall and massive within the ramparts of the city, a figure made of stone and marble with the face of Vergil’s father. It didn’t look very resembling to him. Sparda never had such delicate features, not in his son’s memories at least. But it did not matter. The young man wasn’t here to judge some clearly distasteful architecture. He was here for the answers and the promises of power that island kept in between its walls.             “The Order of the Sword, huh? They worship a demon as a god?” This reality sounded foolish, incomprehensible even. His father was no god. He knew that better than anyone. But what was religion if not idealisation, divinisation of a flawed man? Humans …

***

“Elissa!” A fearful whisper pronounced the girl’s name but it would take more than a whisper for her to stop her mischief. “Elissa! Come dddd-down!” The girl named Elissa smiled, enjoying the risk she was definitely taking. Degrading the Savior? Not her first time. But she had never climbed that high before. “What if sss-omeone sees you … sss-ees us?” She rolled her green eyes, weary of the perpetual anxiety shaking the already very trembling voice of her friend. “Agnus! Stop being such a pussy!” She shouted-murmured, not really knowing why she was murmuring at all. “Everyone’s at church!” Agnus fidgeted even more as he saw the young woman taking her time spraying blue paint on the statue, the tip of her rosy tongue out, an adorable display of her concentration and perfectionism. “Does it look like the Guard’s symbol to you?” She demanded, observing her rebellious art from all possible angles.     Agnus sighed and looked up, regretting to have left his lab for this childish yet dangerous adventure. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He even had a woman and a baby daughter waiting for him at home. So why wasting time playing vandals with Elissa? He knew why. “You’re not looking under my skirt, are you?”          The man blushed, terribly uncomfortable. “What? Of cccc-ourse not!” But he was a scientist and scientists were curious beings. That’s what he was telling himself each time he was thinking about what was hidden underneath Elissa’s crimson clothes.The Cathedral bells rang loud, signalling the end of today’s mass. Soon, the people of Fortuna would invade the streets again to come back to their boring daily occupations. “We’re definitely gonna get ccc-caught.” Agnus told himself. “What am I gonna tell Marcus?” A suspect noise stopped Agnus in his alarming thoughts. It was coming from a few streets away. Squeals and growls of fury and pain. Demons? “Ddd-did you hear that?” Elissa listened carefully and recognized the screams. She had heard similar ones in Mitis Forest recently. She had shut a lot of them up too. They were demons alright but not the worst kind. “Just a few …scarecrows.” She tried to reassure Agnus but realised he was already gone. “Such a pussy.” She shook her head, slightly exasperated but not surprised. Agnus was not famous for his bravery, quite the opposite. He was a coward but Elissa was okay with it. After all, he had been providing the Guardians with very useful information concerning demons for a few years now, all that thanks to his natural talents as an alchemist. The girl jumped off the statue and, in order to remove the beige dust from the fabric, shook her old red dress typical of Fortuna fashion, one of the few clothes she had kept from her past life in the Order and that she now used to blend in among the Fortunans each time she would venture in town. She then cautiously pulled up her skirt to reveal a thigh belt hidden under the white petticoat and strapped the spray can, right next to a sharp curved dagger she kept in a thin leather sheath just in case.        “Hey! You!” Did we say cautiously? “Shit!” Time to run.

***

Yamato shone in the sun, casting a shadow on Vergil’s young face that even this small fight hadn’t manage to fluster, and once again the blade made one with the saya with a perfect clink that echoed like a lethal musical note in the demon-cleared street. “Just what are your true intentions?” He wondered out loud as he wrapped his blue frame under a linen cloak that looked foreign to anyone who would take a look.Elissa took a look, green eyes staring with curiosity from under her white hood she had carelessly thrown above her head in precipitation to cover her soft locks of fiery ginger when she had left the place of her previous mischief as fast as she could, successfully escaping the angry guards shouting at her.           She took a look, knowing exactly what this stranger had just done as she watched him crossing the crowd with purpose, alone, going up the street towards the Cathedral while everyone was walking down, their minds still lost in religious psalms.             She stopped in her track for a second to admire him, wondering who he was and where he came from. She imagined a distant city at first, somewhere far away from here, crowded with people who hadn’t been indoctrinated by the Order’s promises. But then, as she noticed his bearing, so stately and yet so lonely, she thought he wasn’t from a particular place but from many places. A wanderer, traveling the world, someone who held knowledge, who had seen what was beyond the horizon of Fortuna.            He probably noticed her stare as he concealed his face even more under his hood and slightly hunched his shoulders. So, out of respect and despite her devouring curiosity, Elissa walked away, certain that if Sparda wanted her to meet this mysterious strange again, then their paths would cross one more time.Vergil quietly made his way in the main avenue where the marble giant was standing and slowed down when he noticed a small crowd gathered by the statue’s feet. Everyone was gasping in shock, hands over mouths as if they were the witnesses of the worst sacrilege, the most terrible infamy.       Wondering what the fuss was all about, the Son of Sparda peered over everyone’s shoulders from a distance but close enough to spot a graffiti plastered on the leg of the thing the Fortunans seemed to call The Savior. It was a symbol of some sort, a pair of winged arms with sharp claws protecting Sparda’s horned head. It had been drawn with turquoise paint that was still running down the immaculate white stone and that was leaving a heavy odour of solvents in the ambient air, identical to the one Vergil had smelt when that girl who had stared at him with insistence had walked past him, an odour indicating Vergil when the degradation had been made and who had done it.He scoffed briefly, amused by the political provocation and the over-dramatic reaction of the bigoted crowd, and after glancing one last time at the spray-painted symbol, resumed his exploration of the city.       “Looks like appearances can be deceiving in this city after all.” Vergil said as he thought about the rebellious girl in saint clothes who didn’t seem to be new in the graffiti drawing business according to the devotees’ wrath. “Those rebels again! Soiling the image of Sparda with their belligerent propaganda. Hope the Order will find them soon.” They agreed with each other with angry nods. “They are worse than demons! They probably hide in shadows like the rats they are.”     Had Vergil just stepped in the middle of a civil war?

***

When her holy hood fell back on her shoulders, Elissa sighed in relief, glad to finally feel her soft ginger hair finally liberated from that awful religious cage of white cotton she couldn’t stand wearing anymore. Few more minutes and she would also get rid of that ridiculous dress that constricted her like a straitjacket. But right now, she had a meeting to attend.      Summoned by her leader, probably to claim responsibility for her new roguishness that had caused such a big turmoil in the city this morning, she pushed the door of Guardian Marcus’s office without an ounce of fear or apprehension. She knew full well she would not be reprimanded. She never was.  “Elissa! My child, come.” The white-haired old man welcomed her with wide opened arms and showed her a seat before him where she sat in silence and waited for him to say what he had to say.At first, he just stared at her, without a word but with half a smile and a look of amusement he couldn’t keep to himself. And finally he spoke with a cheerful tone. “You should have painted it red.” His loud laugh echoed in the room and he took a huge sip of the red wine waiting to be drunk in a fancy chalice next to his velvet armchair.            Elissa had a timid respectful smile; unable to act casual with this man who, even though was distant family, had been leading the cause she was fighting for for so many years, since even before she was born. “How did you find out?”           “Agnus told me.” He admitted and gauged the girl’s reaction who seemed more disappointed in herself than surprised. “Should have thought so.”    “Be careful who you surround yourself with, Elissa. Offering someone your trust can be as dangerous as any blade. Believe me, I know.” He traced the large scar along his wrinkled face, a reminder of an old betrayal that had made him lose, in addition to his left eye, a man he used to call brother and who was now leading Fortuna thanks to his lies and his dark secrets. Sanctus. “I shall remember your advice, sir.” “But you know what surprises me the most? It’s that Adel didn’t try to talk you out of this. After all, he follows you like a shadow … an enamoured shadow even.” Marcus smiled, trying to build complicity with this young lady, the granddaughter of the brother he had lost long ago, a child he loved like his own. Elissa smiled in return and shook her head, having trouble to believe she was having this conversation with her leader. “And yet you seemed keen on refusing his advances. May I know why?”        “I didn’t know this was a matchmaking appointment.” Elissa humoured, definitely amused by the situation. “I’m old and I’ve been at war for most of my life. So let’s say, the frivolity of youth and the burgeoning loves are like peaceful songs to my heart.”        Elissa sighed and her heart, in spite of this new attempt at making it yield to a man she didn’t love, once again refused to see Adel as nothing else than a friend. “I’m just not interested. Enamoured shadows are not my type.”         “ And what, pray tell, is your type?”

***

Vergil had visited many places in his short lifetime. Perpetually on the move – he refused to say ‘on the run anymore’ for running was for the weak – he had seen so many cities, so many different landscapes, some in shades of blue, some in shades of green and other in shades of gold, so many colours most men would have forgotten but that he had somehow always cared to remember. But there was something about Fortuna that made her unique, different from all the things he had had the chance to see.         Perhaps was it the anachronistic almost medieval atmosphere that had shaped the city architecture and the inhabitants’ lifestyle or perhaps was it because every edifice seemed to hold secret knowledge about his family.  Whatever it was, Vergil was sure of one thing; what made Fortuna special were clearly not the city’s filthy underground bars from Port Caerula, well hidden under the docks, away from prying eyes that would be easily outraged by the debauchery they held between their walls. That kind of place he was familiar with, despite his revulsion for them and the people frequenting them.           “Hello, sugar. You’re a new face.” An eccentric woman declared as she tried to take a peek under Vergil’s cowl, her voluptuous body leant against the bar. “And a handsome one. I would lower my price for a face like yours.” The young man glanced at the woman, shortly but long enough to see how she looked, the embodiment of repulsive tragedy that once looked beautiful.             Her makeup was smeared and barely hiding the bruises and the cuts on her young face and she was wearing a church outfit ripped at the thighs and purposely unbuttoned to reveal her generous cleavage. And in her velvet purse, she kept a wig made of dry artificial ginger hair some despicable men had certainly asked her to wear more than once.       “Not interested. Now leave.” Vergil’s tone was curt and cold but she insisted anyway.        “You’re sure? I make the best blowjobs in all Fortuna. Isn’t that right, Captain?” She nodded towards a young charismatic brown-skinned man carrying a crossbow on his back and drinking sitting the stool right next to Vergil. When he heard his name, he spared a glare at the prostitute and at the Son of Sparda as well for no particular reason but because he hated his occasional obscene deviations to be exposed. “He just looooves some naughty church girls. Do you like them too?” Vergil ignored her and focused again on his drink, lying untouched on the bar. He didn’t like drinking. “Or do you prefer them innocent and prudish? I can be either.”  “Quit with your lies and just leave, Pomona².” The dark-haired man ordered with a strong voice that made her smile.       “ Ha! Looks like I finally have my name back. See you around, sugar… Adel.” She winked and left to sell her body to someone else that would accept it in exchange of a bit of money.“You should not visit that sort of bar if women like Pomona bother you, stranger.” The so-called Adel warned before drinking from his tankard. He, just like everybody else here, could tell Vergil was not from around. All they had to do was looking at him. After all, everyone knew everyone else in a small reclusive island like Fortuna. “It’s sometimes the loudest, worst people that give all the information a man looks for.”     “So you’re looking for information then. About what?” Vergil was a curious man but he despised curiosity in other people, especially when he was the subject of their curiosity.            “Nothing a man like you knows about.”        The answer surprised the Moor who hadn’t expected such arrogance coming from a stranger. “Well, piece of advice. If you want information in Fortuna, there are two ways to get them. Either you don’t behave like an arrogant asshole or you pay for them.”     Vergil smirked slightly under his hood as he already knew how to react to such pathetic insult. Adel was not a difficult man to read. “Just like when you want a woman’s love, am I right?”             The provocation burnt and stang like the most vicious hot poker piercing through

Adel’s dignity and ego. It pushed him to stand up and grab his crossbow in retaliation.         But his weapon, as precise and strong as it was, was useless in close combat and it instantly met the sharp blade of a magnificent katana that would make any swordsman worth the name grow pale. And with a dexterous swift move, the crossbow flew across the room as if it was a paper plane.But the clients in the bar didn’t gasp at the legendary Yamato. They gasped at the silvery-white hair adorning Vergil’s head that had been revealed when he inadvertently had lost his hood in this express fight. “It’s the hair of Sparda.” People whispered, amazed.     With an expert graceful move, Yamato found his saya again and Vergil walked through the crowd, high-handed and resolved to escape this place and all those bothering eyes he felt upon him.But as he pushed the door of the establishment, he came face to face with the feminine figure he had noticed in the streets this morning. It stopped him in his track and for the first time in his lifetime, but certainly not the last, he looked into her deep green eyes.  They reminded him of an old poem he loved greatly, one he had read so many times and would never grow tired of, about a dark forest and a tyger burning bright³. And as he gazed in that girl’s look and witnessed that emerald wood, wild and dense, trying to conceal in vain the fiery fur of a predator, Vergil knew he would never read that poem the same way or imagine Blake’s colours in the shades he would normally imagine them.               And so he stared, longer than he wanted, almost the same way she gazed at the pale blue topazes and at the god-like silver hair crowning his head. But while fire is wild, the ice is timid. And thus, admiration only shows through the eyes of the red lady.    And when she finally opened her mouth to speak her mind, Vergil escaped into the night leaving lost shadows behind him. But that was fine. Shadows were not the lady’s type after all.It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue.      But among them there was this vibrant red and two sparkling amber-tinted emeralds reflecting brighter than anything else in a pair of icy eyes, a mirror who strangely wouldn’t mind seeing that reflection again.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ¹ Marcus: derived from the name of the Roman god of war, Mars to highlight Marcus' status and personality. ² Pomona: From Latin pomus "fruit tree". The word "Pomme" is also the French for "apple", the fruit of temptation. Pomona will come back in other chapters. ³ a tyger burning bright : From William Blake's poem The Tyger

[chaos-monkeyy]

Fic writer tag game! sort of tagged by @frankthesnek 😁

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

190! Climbing a lot faster towards the 200 mark than I did at the 100 mark, thanks to embracing the joy of drabbles, short fics, and deciding sometimes a quick fic without endless editing is in fact plenty good enough 😂

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

673,204 words total including various collaborative or group efforts that I didn't write alone (incidentally, I missed hitting exactly 666,666 recently by TWELVE FUCKING WORDS. Just close enough to make me go nnnnooooo..!! when I noticed... but not quite enough to be worth trying to edit my fics down by 12 words exactly 🙈 (and tbh it wouldn't quite feel the same as posting something actually tailored to hit that mark on purpose in the first place)

3) How many fandoms have your written for and what are they?

Twelve! (essentially, anyway - if you could all of Star Wars as a single large fandom)

Star Wars, Stargate, The Witcher, Midsomer Murders, Assassin's Creed, The Expanse, The Dresden Files, RPF, Stormlight Archive, The Mentalist, Aquaman, and Good Omens.

it's one heckuva skewed distribution though, the vast majority of my fics are SW, followed by stargate, and the rest trail off from there.

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All Geraskier Witcher fics, that being the biggest and most current fandom and ship I've ever been actively writing for 😂 - A Tight Fit, Stolen Moments, Undignified, Keep it up, and Intoxicating.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yup, always! Because I love getting them and I also love when I get replies on comments I leave on other writers' fics. And I like connecting with people 😊

6) What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Hands-down it's my "Zombie / what's in your head" MCD thranto fic. I have a small handful of others with ambiguous or bittersweet endings, but that one is the only thing I've ever written that merits the Sad Ending and Hurt No Comfort tags (and oof does it ever merit them)

7) What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

hmmm... most of my fics have a happy ending in the "happy ending" wink-wink nudge-nudge 😉😏 sense at the very least 😂

But I'm probably gonna go with Curious Creatures (thranto filthy fairytale AU) because it really culminates with that "lived happily ever after" vibe. As opposed to the sort of.. "happy in the present and immediate future" happy ending of my typical in-'verse fics.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've written?

Nope, I've thought of a few but never quite gotten around to writing one (maybe someday!). I have some weird fucking AUs that I really like though 😂

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes, but somehow very little? i.e. a whole lot less than I would expect to receive given what I write sometimes 😅 Worst hate I've gotten was actually on twitter rather than on AO3, once directed at me for an incest kink fic someone took offense to (it was mostly just funny), and once indirectly in a different fandom (seeing people making fun of a piss kink fic because they took offense to it.. existing in the character tag?).

I've had people be actively rude to or just ignore a co-author on fics I've done with friends more than once though, weirdly enough, which I actually find a lot more anger-inducing than hate directed at me is.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

....all of the smut 😂 mostly slash, lots of kink, some porn with feelings and some porn with plot and some where the porn IS the plot. And a whole lot of self indulgent PWP 😏

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep I've been really obviously ripped off before and it's a real shitty feeling

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah! Just once I think, but it was pretty neat to be asked 😄

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yup! Several times with a few different people, it was a lot of fun.

14) What's your all time favorite ship?

Don't really have one? I ship too many ships across too many fandoms to pick One Favourite For All Time 🙈 Plus, I mean... interests shift and I don't want to wind up making myself feel guilty for that if it does happen to even my favourite ships. I've seen people stubbornly holding onto a ship they don't seem to be all that interested in anymore, just because their whole fandom identity is wrapped up in it. It... really doesn't look like it'd be a fun time 😬

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

There's quite a few, some partially published and some still in my fic writing folders, but I hesitate to actually say "I don't think I'll ever finish This One" because sometimes I do randomly come back to shit out of the blue, or because a re-watch/-play/-read rekindles the interest in it again. Probably not likely in a lot of cases, but... squirrel-brain does what squirrel-brain wants to do 😂

16) What are your writing strengths?

Sex scenes 😎 and short fic of all flavours

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes my overly long sentences are good, but sometimes they do just unnecessarily make the paragraph harder to read. I also have a tendency to stray to far into Over-Description territory of characters' physical states and actions.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

It can be effective and immersive, but only if it doesn't leave people confused and having to jump up or down to translation notes at the start or end. My favourite use of other languages in dialogue is to use it only for single words that are evident or explained in context, or for terms of endearment where it's not necessary to know the exact meaning of it (especially when that stuff is part of canon anyway, like the smattering of Italian used in Assassin's Creed, or Radek cursing in Czech)

If it's like full sentences, I just write the line in english in italics, along with something like "X replied in [language]" to signal it's happening.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Midsomer Murders 😊

20) What's your favorite fic you've written?

It changes, really... I guess currently it's probably Inflection Point just cause I'm still really proud of myself for actually doing it 😄

~

I also feel like I've been tagging people a lot lately, so I'll do like frank did and say Consider yourself tagged if you wish you were ;D

[jaimehwatson]

I made another Snowpiercer playlist!

After posting my Wilford/Audrey playlist a while ago, I added some songs that didn’t quite make the cut to a different playlist, intending to put together another similar one. But rather than focusing on just one ship this time, I also ended up getting really interested in theorizing about what Wilford’s relationship with Melanie might have been like before the Freeze, and exploring the idea that maybe there was something going on there and some kind of love triangle with Audrey.

So here’s my new playlist, full of absolute jams that could apply to any combination of relationships involving Wilford, Audrey, and Melanie, and/or just general Snowpiercer vibes! Read on for more detail about the songs I selected, and as before, content warning for references to canon abuse & self-harm/suicide.

1. “The Tradition” by Halsey

Oh, the loneliеst girl in town Was bought for plenty a price Well, they dress her up in golden crowns His smile hides a lie

She smiles back, but it's a fact That her fear will eat her alive Well, she got the life that she wanted But now all she does is cry

Thanks @onetrainsnowpiercer​ for getting me into this excellent album! I thought it would be fitting to kick off the playlist with one that could suit the earlier days of Wilford’s relationship with Audrey, like my previous playlist was more focused on.

2. “cardigan” by Taylor Swift

'Cause I knew you Steppin' on the last train Marked me like a bloodstain, I

I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy, I

I knew you Leavin' like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Did you think I would make a Snowpiercer playlist without Taylor Swift on it? Not a chance. I picture this one being more from Melanie’s perspective, reflecting on possibly having had some kind of ill-fated romance with Wilford when she was young and naive.

3. “No Children” by The Mountain Goats

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow I hope it bleeds all day long Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises We're pretty sure they're all wrong

I hope it stays dark forever I hope the worst isn't over And I hope you blink before I do And I hope I never get sober

The only reason this perennial favourite of mine wasn’t on the first playlist was that I had too many Mountain Goats songs already and wanted to keep things balanced. But this one got all the ones that didn’t make it to the first playlist plus some more I thought about later, so I’m kind of giving up on that balance by now. They just have a lot of great songs about terrible relationships, and I love them all so much.

4. “Gold Guns Girls” by Metric

I remember when we were gambling to win Everybody else said, "Better luck next time." I don't wanna bend like the bad girls bend I just wanna be your friend Is it ever gonna be enough?

This is another one that I can picture being about young Melanie, gradually growing more aware of everything that’s terribly wrong with Wilford and his approach to life, and of how little he cares to try to fix it.

5. “You’ve Haunted Me All My Life” by Death Cab for Cutie

And there's a flaw in my heart's design For I keep trying to make you mine

You've haunted me all my life You've haunted me all my life You are the mistress I can't make a wife And you've haunted me all my life

And this one I can see being Wilford thinking about either one of the women, and his unhealthy attachment to them and inability to keep them around for very long—maybe once he’s finally reunited with them both on some level in season 2, but still can’t fully persuade them both over to his side.

6. “Old College Try” by The Mountain Goats

From the cities to the swamplands From the highways to the hills Our love has never had a leg to stand on From the aspirins to the cross-tops to the Elavils

But I will walk down to the end with you If you will come all the way down with me

Another Mountain Goats classic. If you divorce it from its context of being from a concept album about a horrible marriage, I actually think this song is kind of sweet in the way it describes a couple still committing to try to make things work despite a whole host of problems. But never mind that now, because I’m putting it back in the new context of a whole collection of horrible romantic relationships!

7. “Risk” by Metric

So you're beaten up but you bounce back It’s all part of the pull And the story runs like a soundtrack We repeat 'til we're full Started slow, started late Started strong, then we lost faith Started slow, started to lose control The more we accelerate, the more we accelerate

Half of arranging any playlist I make is just trying to split up the Mountain Goats and Metric songs so that they aren’t always clumped together. Anyway, this one seems especially fitting to me in its imagery of a speeding vehicle of some kind (it’s a train, I’m always picturing a train) alongside its description of a relationship going badly.

8. “Big God” by Florence + The Machine

You know I still like you the most The best of the best and the worst of the worst Well, you can never know The places that I go I still like you the most You'll always be my favourite ghost

I think this one could be any one of the three of them contemplating their complex feelings about the past at some point around season 2.

9. “I Still Do” by The Cranberries

I don't want to leave you Even though I have to I don't want to love you Oh, I still do

There aren’t as many specifics that match the characters going on in the lyrics here, since it’s more of just a general break-up song, but I also really like the creepy way it sounds.

10. “Fault Lines” by The Mountain Goats

But none of the money we spend Seems to do us much good in the end I got a cracked engine block, both of us do

Yeah, the house and the jewels, the Italian racecar They don't make us feel better about who we are I got termites in the framework, so do you

This one feels really fitting for pre-Freeze Wilford, especially the engine imagery!

11. “I Don’t Care” by Fall Out Boy

Say my name and his in the same breath I dare you to say they taste the same Let the leaves fall off in the summer And let December glow in flames

Erase myself and let go Start it over again in Mexico These friends, they don't love you They just love the hotel suites

Another song that is simply a) an absolute jam, and b) generally fitting for my favourite obscenely rich asshole and his terrible relationships

12. “You asked for this” by Halsey

I want my cake on a silver platter I want a fistful in my hands I want a beautiful boy's despondent laughter I wanna ruin all my plans I want a fist around my throat I wanna cry so hard, I choke I want everything I asked for

This one I can picture as Audrey—or maybe Melanie too, but especially Audrey—beginning to regret getting involved with Wilford, but only once she’s in way too deep for leaving to be a safe or easy decision.

13. “my tears ricochet” by Taylor Swift

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

Much like several other Taylor Swift songs, I just know in my heart that it’s the type of music Wilford listens to in secret, while possibly drunk and definitely singing along very dramatically. This one he dedicates to Melanie once they’ve met up again in season 2.

14. “Speed the Collapse” by Metric

All the way from where we came Built a mansion in a day Distant lightning, thunder claps Watched our neighbor's house collapse Looked the other way

This one has a lot of good apocalyptic imagery that I can imagine scoring Wilford’s life in the last few years before the Freeze, as he makes his plans to save himself and let so many others die.

15. “Ox Baker Triumphant” by The Mountain Goats

I will thank my ride and crawl my way back inside To the guts of the building where my enemies Hide in the dark like roaches And I will signal the camera crew and everyone will do What he's been trained how to do Sweat dripping from my face as my moment approaches

Click your heels, count to three I bet you never expected me A little worse for wear Practically walking on air

I love this song a lot, and listening to it lately makes me imagine Wilford plotting his revenge while on his way to catch up with Snowpiercer before the end of season 1.

16. “Firewood” by Regina Spektor

The piano is not firewood yet But the cold does get cold So it soon might be that I'll take it apart, call up my friends And we'll warm up our hands by the fire

Don't look so shocked Don't judge so harsh You don't know You’re only spying Everyone knows it's going to hurt But at least we'll get hurt trying

This has to be one of my favourite songs of all time. It’s very beautiful, and I love the piano in it. I’ve always personally interpreted it to be at least partially about someone surviving a suicide attempt, and the overall imagery about burning a piano for warmth—and this bit about not judging someone for doing that—reads to me as more of a general statement about the difficult choices people struggling with mental illness and other similar issues have to make to survive. I listened to it recently and I could picture Audrey singing it in the nightcar. I think it suits her well.

17. “Cry for Judas” by The Mountain Goats

But I am just a broken machine And I do things that I don't really mean Long, black night Morning frost I'm still here But all is lost

I think the imagery of this song suits the show a lot in general, but I can also particularly imagine it being Wilford in a rare moment of self-awareness about how much damage he’s caused to the world and the people around him.

18. “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” by David Bowie

Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth You pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette The wall-to-wall is calling, it lingers, then you forget Oh oh, oh, oh, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide

I love Wilford a lot. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him ever. I hope he kills more people, and I hope he gets his train back, and I hope he wins. But if he does eventually die in the show, I hope he’s found in the bathtub with there being some ambiguity about whether he really killed himself or whether one of his victims turned the tables on him, and I hope the climax of this song swells as the camera pans over his dead body. That’s the only Wilford death I will accept, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

19. “Source Decay” by The Mountain Goats

I park in an alley And I read through the postcards you continue to send Where as indirectly as you can, you ask what I remember I like these torture devices from my old best friend Well, I'll tell you what I know, like I swore I always would I don't think it's gonna do you any good I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok Down toward the water

Okay, I promise this is the last Mountain Goats song on the playlist. It’s just—it’s perfect. It has a train in it. And on the podcast “I Only Listen To The Mountain Goats,” John Darnielle commented that there’s barely anywhere you can go south of Bangkok before you hit the water, it’s a train going nowhere, it’s so good. It’s also one of the songs I’ve previously ripped a line off for my fanfiction titles!

20. “Sellers of Flowers” by Regina Spektor

The sellers of flowers Buy up old roses They pull off dead petals Like old heads of lettuce And sell ’em as new ones For cheaper and fairer But they die by the morning So who is the winner? Not the roses Not the buyers Not the sellers Maybe winter

And Regina Spektor closes out the playlist again! This song is another one I picked more on imagery and vibes than anything else. But since it’s about a young child in a world that seems to be moving inexorably toward an all-consuming winter, if it suits any of the characters, maybe it’s an appearance of Alex here at the end!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the playlist!

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (10/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: Okay, so this is mostly fluff, thank goodness. And, finally, some answers about who took her. Nothing canon, but definitely fun to mess with. Anyway, please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of experimentation, brief description of injury

Part 9

“Not that I’m not grateful or anything, but when can I go home?” I ask.

"We want to make sure you're healed enough to be on your own," Steve says. Bucky gives him a very pointed look and he clears his throat. "But I think you should be cleared before the end of the week."

I nod. "Okay."

"You're not going to argue on that?"

I shrug and shake my head. "No. I don't really see any point in doing so. I’m hurt, you’re telling me that I need time to heal. Seems pretty straight forward.”

"I see."

"Was there anything else?" I ask.

“It can wait till you’re feeling better.”

“No, Steve, I’m fine now.” He frowns and I tilt my head to the side. “What is it?”

“What connection do you have to Dr. Danielle Hoffman?”

“I don’t… is she the woman from the barn?” He nods. “Right. I only knew her as the Doctor. No one used real names and I didn’t bother asking for any, but that doesn’t matter. Dr. Hoffman is the reason that I have wings.”

Clint appears beside the bed. “Wait, you fell into her vat of toxic waste?”

“From what she said, yeah, I think so.” I reach over my shoulder and scratch at my left wing. “There were others like me at one point, but I think they’re dead. She probably found them long before me, partially because I wasn’t supposed to exist.”

“How so?”

“I fell into a vat of whatever was leftover from her initial experiments, I think. That’s how I got my wings. She didn’t have an answer when her lackey asked when I was made.” He opened his mouth, but closed it immediately. “What?”

“What’d she do to you? And why?”

“Steve,” Bucky warns. “That’s enough,”

“It’s fine, Buck, I’d rather talk about it than keep it bottled up. Besides,” I reach out and he grabs my hand. “Considering I’m not dead, I probably got off easy. The rest weren’t so lucky.”

“Okay.” He sits beside me on the bed and envelopes my hand in both of his. “You can stop any time.”

“I know,” I murmur. He kisses the side of my head and I smile. Steve clears his throat and I cough awkwardly. “Anyway… the Doctor was incredibly clinical about everything right up until the last few days, but I think she freaked out after a couple guards saw Clint and Bucky lurking around. That was about when they belted down my wings and started actually leaving marks when they hit me. Partially my fault, if I’m being honest.”

“None of that was your fault, (Y/N).”

I nod. “Mm, yeah, except when I punched a guard in the eye and then intentionally egged them on.”

“Why would you do that?!”

“I don’t know! I was tired of being manhandled and jabbed with needles and dragged hither and yon at every hour of the day. When they were told to hit me, something took over and I told them to not puss out.” I laugh before realizing how morbid it sounds. “Stupid as it is, this really isn’t the worst I’ve been hurt. They didn’t really try all that hard when they came at me.”

“That’s still not okay,” Steve says.

“No, I know that. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but they hadn’t gotten a single reaction out of me that they wanted since the first day. Their bark was entirely bigger than their bite.” I lean against Bucky and he sighs. “But in that moment, I realized that you’d found me. It was just a matter of time until you got me out of there.”

“Didn’t figure you’d be in Michigan,” Bucky mutters.

I rub my hand up and down his arm. “Still.”

“Was there anything else you learned about Hoffman?” Steve asks.

“No. I was unconscious during most of the tests. She didn’t want me moving around while she worked. Why?”

Steve shakes his head. “Everything we’ve been able to dig up on her leads back to A.I.M., but after that it’s a dead end.”

“Well that would make sense. A.I.M. focussed on genetics for a long time, right? Aldrich Killian weaponized it, but I doubt he was the first one in the agency to do so.”

“You’re right, but Hoffman hasn’t been associated with A.I.M. for almost twenty years.”

“Even better for her, right? If she’s not under their roof, no one can hover while she experiments on, and inevitably mutilate and kill, live, human specimens. Being out on her own was probably the best thing that happened to her.”

“That… that makes a lot of sense.”

“She probably dragged a bunch of disgraced A.I.M. grunts along with her when she left.”

“She did, actually. There were a handful of private contractors in her crew, but just about everyone has ties to A.I.M..”

“What about that wiry, ratty-looking guy?”

“We’re still looking into him. We don’t have an ID yet, but we do know he was weirdly strong.”

“What if he’s one of her experiments?” I ask. “He seemed to be really close to her, not in the way that an evil boss and henchman are close.”

Steve nods. “You’re probably right, I’ll make a note of that.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly very tired, I lean heavily against Bucky. I shiver and he wraps his arm around my middle.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod and mumble, “Just really, really tired.”

Steve takes this as his cue to leave and promises to get back to me with any new information he has before I’m released. I thank him and he quickly disappears out into the hall. Only when the doors close does Bucky help me lay down. He lays beside me and Clint drags a chair up to the side of the bed. He pouts and complains about the hospital bed being too small.

I laugh. “It’s stupid uncomfortable, Clint, You don’t wanna be up here anyway.”

“No, I really think I do,” he counters. “Bucky’s been hogging you since we got you back. I’m just waiting my turn.”

“Aw,” I poke Bucky’s stomach and he grabs my hand. “You couldn’t let him cuddle with me for a little bit?”

Bucky shrugs. “The bed’s uncomfortable. He’d hate it.”

“We could probably move to one of our rooms, if we wanted,” Clint suggests. “The beds would be more than big enough for the three of us.”

“Wouldn’t we get in trouble?” I ask, looking between Clint and Bucky.

Bucky glances over his shoulder at Clint, who gives him a pleading look. “I’m sure it’d be fine. We just have to be careful with you and keep an eye on your injuries.”

I nod. "Okay, let's do it, then."

I look up in time to see a grin flash across Clint's face before he can tamp down his excitement. He takes his time moving his chair back to the edge of the room and fiddling with something on the couch. Bucky helps me sit up, but refuses to let me walk to the room. Instead, he loops my arms around his neck and picks me up. He wraps my arms around his waist and signals to Clint that we’re ready to go.

"You got her bag?" Bucky asks.

"Of course I do."

"My bag?"

"I drove back into the city after we got you back and packed up some things I thought you might need," Clint explains. "Just some clothes and your tooth brush, but you can't wear a hospital gown the rest of your life."

"Thanks, Clint." I reach out and he takes my hand. "I really appreciate that."

He smiles and kisses the back of my hand. “Thought you might.”

Bucky’s room is closest and he uses me to lead Clint down the hallway, gently pulling him along by our linked hands. The three of us bundle through the doorway and Clint drops my bag in the chair next to the dresser. Bucky allows me to stand on my own and I move to sift through the bag on the chair.

I find a pair of soft leggings and immediately put them on in place of the thin boxers I was provided. I pull one of my shirts from the bag and stare at it, knowing full well that I won’t be able to wear it. It’s too tight and would rub against my still too sensitive skin. I sigh and let it fall back into the bag.

Clint places a gentle hand on my waist and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t wear my shirts. They’re too tight to get on with my injuries.”

“That’s not a problem,” Bucky says.

He pulls one of his shirts from his dresser and cuts two slits down the back from neck to hem. Clint helps me out of the hospital gown and I readjust the straps of my sports-bra before taking the altered shirt from Bucky. I yank the neck over my head and slowly slip my hands through the arms.

“Where’d you get this?” I ask. “It’s huge.”

Bucky shrugs. “Big shirts are more comfortable to sleep in.” He lifts the middle flap from my right wing, positions it between my shoulder blades, and ties the slits off at the hem. “Is that comfortable?”

I shake out my wings and nod. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

I crawl into the unmade bed and lay on my left side. With one eye closed and the other slightly cracked, I watch Bucky change into a pair of sweats. Clint simply strips off his jeans and climbs onto the bed with me. He pulls me to his chest and pulls the covers up to my chin. Bucky slides in beside me and places his hand on my back. Clint rolls us slightly so that Bucky can press closer without crushing my wings. Clint’s hand presses between my wings while Bucky’s arm snakes around my middle. His hand splays out over my stomach and his warmth practically seeps into my skin.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Bucky asks.

I nod. “I’m just sore now, for the most part.”

“Tell us where it hurts?”

“Pretty much everything from the waist up,” I say. “I think my arms got overextended when they chained me up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Clint murmurs.

“Sometimes it still feels like my wings are strapped down.” I sigh and scrub one hand over my face. “It’s hard to sleep when you guys aren’t there.”

Their arms tighten around me, but neither of them speak. With Clint and Bucky tangled around me, I feel so safe and secure that I can finally just relax. The silence that blankets the room is soothing instead of stifling. There’s no urge to explain away the pain or make excuses.

Bucky kisses the back of my neck and I cover his hand with mine. My body grows heavy and I slowly drift off to sleep.

The door slams open startling the three of us awake. I grip Bucky’s hand and both Clint and Bucky’s arms tighten around me.

“Bucky, she’s gone.”

It’s Steve.

“The hell are you talking about, Rogers?” I manage to say.

“But you-”

“Medbay is cold and silent. It’s easier to sleep here, with them.”

“We’ve got new intel, he says, breezing past what I just said.

“Okay?” I try to bury my head in the pillows. “It can wait till tomorrow.”

“But-”

“Go away, Steve,” Bucky says. “She needs her rest.”

“Yeah, Steve,” Clint muffles his snicker against the pillow. “Go away. She’ll find you tomorrow.”

Steve sighs. “Fine.”

He retreats and the door closes.

Bucky sighs and grumbles something about “getting out of here asap.”

“Steve said I’d be cleared before the end of the week,” I mumble. “I’ll bother him about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is twelve hours away,” Clint says.

“No,” I poke his stomach and he laughs. “Tomorrow is whenever I can haul myself out of bed, and there’s no telling when that’ll be.”

“Mm, you’re hilarious,” he says dryly.

“It’s why you keep me around, right?”

Bucky snorts. “Go to sleep.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You know that’s not why we keep you around.”

“But it’s one reason?”

“It’s a bonus.”

“Hmm,” I trace my thumb over Bucky’s knuckles. “An acceptable answer.”

“Sleep, (Y/N),” Clint mumbles. “We’re not gonna go anywhere.”

“Okay.” I nod, yawn, and press my nose to his chest. “Okay.”

-----------

Part 11

Finally, finally we can get away from the Hardcore Sad Times and back to interacting with Clint and Bucky (which I think is pretty great, just for my own peace of mind lmao.)

Anyhow, I’d love to see your reactions! I always like knowing what you guys thought, so please comment, reblog, and/or shoot me an ask!

If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know!

Tag List:

@ghostlyhamlet, @claws-of-vibranium, @creaturefeatures101, @buckysendoftheline, @imagine-assembling-the-avengers, @ptprocrastination, @1950schick, @amayasymone23, @arfrona-and-marvel, @ek823, @fanaticfangirl001, @furrywerewolfcollector, @kissofvenom922, @dawn-phantomhive, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @mairhof1, @starryeyesbadguys, @trap-house-homiecide, @buckywhitewolfbarnes, @kaepm981, @howdoesoneadult, @pcdmesamidala, @thefandomplace, @sian22redux, @skeletoresinthebasement, @lady-thor-foster, @jazzcutie, @gaytonystark, @geeksareunique, @nyxveracity, @breezy1415, @darling-loki, @lemonadeorange73, @tofeartheunknown, @queenoftheunderdark

This fic:

@avengerscompound​, @nerdy-bookworm-1998​, @shirukitsune​, @keenmarvellover​, @katebarton15, @feelmyroarrrr​

[paradife-loft]

Close reading all the Jin Guangyao scenes: episode 22

Episode 10 | Episode 11 | Episode 23

Alright, now we’re getting somewhere! Still a pretty small amount of content in this episode, comparatively, but it’s fun and features a truly wonderful outfit so I am certainly not going to complain!

This episode, of course, features Round 1 of Meng Yao’s confrontation with Nie Mingjue in Wen Ruohan’s throne room while working as a spy. I think I need to mention at this point just how much I love these early partial versions of the scenes between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao, that we see later explored more fully during the Empathy session with NMJ’s head? Just this idea and execution of partial context being given before the story does its definite “reveal” about JGY as the one who killed him - I think it does an interesting job of making the viewer complicit in the theme of forming opinions based on incomplete information, giving the viewer only a partial look at who Meng Yao is in the same way that the characters themselves only ever get a partial glimpse.

...Which may make it a little ironic that what I’m going to say here is definitely informed by hindsight out of necessity, but ah well!

The first thing I want to say is that I do see Meng Yao as playing a role in these scenes too (just as much as he does when he’s being the polite host), as opposed to dropping all personality masks and acting as his unfiltered self. The clearest example here for why I think that can be seen in the rebuke he delivers (yelling!) to Mingjue: “How dare you be so rude in front of Wen-zongzhu!” - like, this is not the sort of concern that he displays anywhere else in his scenes; he’s not Wen Chao, to take a lack of subservience to the Wen clan as an infuriating personal slight worthy of immediate violence. While he no doubt appreciates the ability (and indeed, expectation) to shed his subservient manners for a much more commanding, threatening air, this reaction is one deployed in service of the persona of someone who’s come to serve the Wen sect out of a desire for vengeance, angry at being cast out from one of their enemies’ sects - as is the smirky, “been a while~” line he greets Mingjue with.

(I wonder, also - given the speculation I settled on regarding episode 10 - if part of Meng Yao’s story to Wen Ruohan for what happened with the Nie sect was indeed something along the lines of, “I already wanted to serve your interests; I was going to hand you Xue Yang when your son came calling, but Nie-zongzhu discovered me and cast me out as unloyal.”)

So, after that, we move on to Mingjue breaking out of Meng Yao’s control of the scene, taking back Baxia, wrecking the room full of Wen disciple guards, and taking a full flying leap straight toward Wen Ruohan, because if a stealthy assassination mission doesn’t work, might as well go back to what you’re best at!

And this is Meng Yao’s reaction to said flying leap! His face looks so worried here! (Also in pain. Honey.) Given the kind of power he’s already seen Wen Ruohan throw around, I highly doubt that’s worry on behalf of WRH’s ability to handle an already-roughed-up NMJ flying at him. More like, he still absolutely cares about Mingjue and doesn’t want to see him turned into a crispy puppet sect leader by the power of the Yin Iron. Especially since he continues looking over, worried, when NMJ is knocked out from the bolt of energy that’s hurled him back onto the floor.

Oh man, and then the next little bit where he’s struggling to get back up? Hand trembling, almost falling again as he tries to support his weight with the one arm to push himself up? I love these little embodied indicators we get of how he’s not remotely as sturdy as most of the other characters, due to his low cultivation.

Which! Speaking of!

It’s the “still” in this line that interests me a lot, actually! We know that in CQL canon, the Wen sect will clearly teach cultivation to people that most other sects probably wouldn’t bother with, if they see some reason to, i.e. Xue Yang most obviously (but also possibly Wang Lingjiao? It’s unclear whether she has no spiritual power at all, or simply very very little). So given that Meng Yao is saying “must still trouble” as opposed to something else that wouldn’t imply an expected change in ability over time - my bet is that Wen Ruohan has arranged for someone to instruct Meng Yao in cultivation, despite his very late start. It might even be the first place where he’s been given actual cultivation instruction? The evidence on whether or not he’s been taught while living at the Unclean Realm is pretty scant, unfortunately, and I can think of arguments in favor of either side.

And that’s.... pretty much it for this episode! He closes out the scene fade-to-black watching and waiting to see what Wen Ruohan is going to do now that his Yin Iron modem & router setup seems to be on the fritz, with us none the wiser about what his ultimate intentions are here; whether Wen Ruohan or Lan Xichen or both have been deceived as to his true purpose in this role.

I do actually think there’s a decent reading to be made that Meng Yao could well have infiltrated Heavenly Nightless City with the intention of playing double agent so that he could come out on top regardless of who eventually won the day; he certainly undertakes a good many courses of action that he feels personal regret about for the unfortunate outcomes of others caught in the crossfire, while still believing them necessary sacrifices to the goal of his own safety and advancement.

And while I was originally going to say here that my ultimate read was that he was working truthfully for the Sunshot army’s victory only, taking the costuming choice of leaving his hair done up in the Nie sect style as a clue intending to indicate his actual allegiances... Honestly? I think the costume cues of Nie hair combined with Wen robes do just as good a job of signalling uncertainty, dubious loyalty and conflicting feelings, both to us as viewers and as an outward sign of what his own internal reality is at this point.

While I do think he’d choose the Sunshot army if forced to pick a side he’d prefer to win... I also don’t think his pragmatism allows him at this point to throw his emotional lot (much less his actual plans) entirely in with either outcome. He has reasons to be emotionally attached to aspects of his life lived on both sides of the war.

[wangxianficrecs]

A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart

A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps

by hansbekhart

E, 22k, wangxian

Summary:  The funny part is - and it is a little funny, even if Wei Wuxian has no one left to share the joke with - they never have. Not anything. He has never kissed any part of Lan Zhan besides his slim hands; never been even partially undressed with him anywhere besides a miserable, xuanwu-infested cave. It’s always been like this between them, this simmering need, this desperate understanding: a knowledge so deep that it lives somewhere in his bones, that if he wanted to have Lan Zhan he could have him, and if Lan Zhan wanted Wei Wuxian he could have that too. But they never have.

My comments:  Dreamy style, and elegantly descriptive of emotions, motivations, bodies and environment. You can feel the deep, humid heat, and the racket of cicadas and the slow way everyone moves to cope. (Of course, I read this in the bath, and it's VERY hot, and I'm sweating like it's a hot springs, so that might be influencing me.)

Excerpt:  “How is he now?” he asks Jingyi.

Jingyi shrugs - not carelessly, but uncertainly. “He woke up this morning,” he says to Wei Wuxian. “But other than that, I don’t know. I flew out to find you as soon as he ordered it. He hadn’t told anyone he’d planned to meet you, so none of us knew! Sizhui was going to go, but he didn’t want to leave Hanguang Jun’s side, so I offered to do it. And now here I am! This is great. Hanguang Jun would turn me into dust if I came back home by myself. I thought I’d have to look all over Gusu for you, but now everything’s fine!”

Wei Wuxian, hands on his hips, huffs out a laugh. He leans back and wipes the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. “Everything’s fine,” he echoes, and shakes his head. “Well, let’s go.” He shakes Little Apple’s reins and starts moving towards Cloud Recesses once more.

Jingyi trails along. “Don’t you want to fly?” he asks, dismayed.

“Can’t fly with the donkey,” Wei Wuxian answers.

“No, but,” Jingyi says, “but aren’t you worried? Don’t you want to rush to Hanguang Jun’s side to nurse him back to health?”

Wei Wuxian looks over his shoulder to give the boy a hard, incredulous eye. Jingyi has the grace to look abashed. “Sorry, Senior Wei,” Jingyi says, and for a little while Wei Wuxian knows peace.

... [Once they reach Cloud Recesses] “This isn’t at all how I’d imagined our reunion, you know,” he tells Lan Zhan softly. “I thought I’d be flinging myself into your arms on a mountainside. But I suppose nursing you tenderly back to health might be an acceptably romantic compromise.”

post canon, post cql, hurt lan wangji, injury, injury recovery, caretaking, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, smut, teasing, ethical edging, boners for justice, slow burn, adorable juniors, feels, light angst, adulting, commitment, first kiss, first time, toppy wei wuxian, even though he bottoms, top lan wangji, bottom wei wuxian, happy ending, @hansbekhart​

(You may wish to REBLOG as a signal boost for this author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[creative-frequency]

Cal Kestis x Reader: DEAR STAR SYSTEM Ch. 03

Word count: 2945 Pairing: Cal Kestis x Female Reader Summary/Contains: First visit to Zeffo. Who am I kidding it’s just straight to lovers at this point. Let’s forget the friends first part. Mild angst, (partial) canon-rewrite. Notes: I struggled with the last scene, writing it over and over and editing it so many times but I think it finally (hopefully) conveys what I want now. Tagged some people either cause you asked for it or cause I thought you’d enjoy this. Lmk if you want to be tagged or not!

Previous Chapter

My Writing Masterlist

DEAR STAR SYSTEM // 03

“Ah, Zeffo. My favorite place,” Greez says dreamily and relaxes in his pilot’s chair.

The Mantis takes off from Bogano soil and you sit down, pretending to be focused on the map hovering on the holotable. Cal sits on the other side, equally preoccupied. You try not to look at him while knowing, feeling, that he’s definitely taking glances at you. BD-1 hops over to the holotable to have a better look at the planet you’re heading to.

Before you can think of anything to say to Cal, Greez has a story to tell.

“When this is all over, I think it’ll be a time to settle down, you know?” he continues, “Fall in love, start a family.” He sounds like Zeffo is exactly the planet he wants to spend his retirement days on.

You bite your lip and see how confused Cal is trying to make sense of the Latero. Greez is in one of those moods again.

“Love? You?” Cere voices out in bafflement.

“Yeah? You think a guy like me doesn’t know love?” Greez retorts slightly dejected.

“I bet you’re going to tell me,” Cere says, smiling.

You have to hide your grin behind your hand. Cere hasn’t had the pleasure of hearing about Greez’s adventures because she didn’t join you on that cantina trip on Tatooine. Cal gets up to lean to the cockpit doorway to hear better and even BD-1 turns around to listen and tilts his head.

Greez told you the story before after one too many and some bad situational judgment. There was someone he called the Baroness. You know it’s a fake name since she is still in politics. Wouldn’t have been much work in your previous occupation to dig out who the lady was, but you respect Greez’s privacy – despite your burning curiosity.

As Greez described it, they were deeply in love but eventually her career came between them, driving the lovers apart. Greez played it out as his wanderlust getting in the way but it wasn’t difficult to guess what the reason was really. You also suspect she played an important role in his decision to, if not quit, then at least gamble less. But those were thoughts you would take with you to the grave.

“Let me tell ya. It’s the best, but a lot of work. It needs admiration, devotion, attraction, and respect,” Greez explains with a straight face.

Cal turns to silently ask you is he being serious, but you shake your head fervently.

Cere is surprised by the pilot’s words. “Greez, that’s actually very insightful.”

“Yeah, well. It comes with experience. You can’t look this good and not steal a few hearts.” He must look impossibly complacent. Probably the same as when Cere complements his cooking.

“I bet,” Cere chuckles.

Cal turns to shoot another confused look at you, unsure whether to laugh or offer his sympathies to Greez. He points at the pilot with his thumb and mouths “what’s with him?” to you.

Deeming it best to just bite your lip harder, you tap the seat next to you. Hopefully the pilot will stop talking and focus on flying. It’s best if Greez doesn’t realize you’re pulling faces behind his back, or hear the Jedi questioning his mental well-being.

Cal smiles at your invitational gesture and an unexpected delight splashes inside you.

Before he sits down – closer than you anticipated – you scan him with an inconspicuous measuring look. He seems to be holding up alright considering all things. If stories about Greez’s love life are what get him to relax, so be it.

“Is he always so…” Cal starts quietly but can’t find the word he’s looking for. BD-1 tilts his head. Luckily Greez can’t see the droid on the sofa, again.

“Yes,” you still reply deftly.

You both chuckle as silently as humanely possible, shoulders shaking. You end up realizing you’re staring at Cal’s face, tracing the freckles with your eyes and how they move with his inaudible laughter. It’s the umpteenth time you catch yourself doing that and your quickened pulse gets harder to ignore.

Greez informs you to sit down because you’re about to make the jump to hyperspace. It throws you off enough to calm down. He seems to be done with talking about his love life, for now.

“Have you ever been to Zeffo before?” Cal asks.

You clear your throat to get rid of the last ripples of the tender sensation in your stomach. In the back of your mind you pin the feelings on the jump into hyperspace.

“I haven’t actually. Have you?”

“Nope.” Cal leans back and you follow his line of sight to the holomap of Zeffo.

The hologram of the planet is mostly covered in deep blue and dark green. The white-covered heaps signal snow-tipped mountains and while you’re definitely not a fan of snow, you haven’t seen it in a long time. Zeffo is apparently known for its strong winds and as testimony to that, several huge cloud vortexes cover the map. For once, you’re glad that you don’t have to fly.

“You must be always visiting new places,” Cal says and there’s a hint of jealousy in his voice. BD-1 makes a comforting boop. Cal has been stuck on Bracca for years – partly because of his own decision, but in terms of Imperial presence and living conditions, it wouldn’t have been his first choice.

“Sadly, not so much,” you sigh, “Turns out, that in order to listen to Imperial transmissions, one must stay relative close to the Imps…”

“That’s… understandable. I’m glad you found me. Solid timing,” Cal mumbles and casts his gaze down. The small droid nudges his side.

“I’m actually from Coruscant,” you blurt out to prevent the awkward mood. “Probably wasn’t born there but it was my home for a long time.”

“Oh?” Cal blinks surprised. “Do you have any family?”

“No, well, besides the one I left behind.” You shrug to signal it wasn’t a big deal. It isn’t anymore. Just the factual outcome of your choice to go with Cere.

Cal doesn’t ask anything more and you mentally reprimand yourself for opening your mouth in the first place.

//

After Greez’s majestic landing on Zeffo despite the strong winds, there is a short dialogue between the Mantis crew on how to proceed. Cere is concerned but knows that time is of the essence. Greez vows he won’t set a foot outside the ship. You sigh and hope that everything will go alright. The storms are interfering with the ship comms and while it’s worrying, there is no time to waste. The Empire might be at your heels without you knowing it.

Cal runs a hand impatiently through his hair. The faster he goes out there, the sooner you can leave. He cannot afford to wait for the comms to start working again.

“I’ll search for signs of Cordova in the meantime,” he says, already turned to leave.

Cere nods. “Good, I’ll be in touch once I crack this.”

Cal heads out into the wind. You pace after him to see the snowy scenery. It’s been a while since you were anywhere with so much winter. And there isn’t even much by the galaxy’s standards. It’s common knowledge that there are planets covered in ice and snow but so far you’ve managed to avoid them. You’re not so eager to get out there with Cal anymore.

“Cal?” you call out as he stays to look around too. You landed on a seemingly abandoned settlement in the eye of the storm.

“Yeah?” He turns to you with a curious look and BD-1 peeps from over his shoulder.

To shield yourself from the weather, you hug your cardigan and hide your hands between your arms and sides. The air is brisk and cold. Cal is wearing a woolen poncho over his clothes and you didn’t think anyone could look good in a poncho. Must be a Jedi thing.

“Be careful out there. You’ll be alone until Cere fixes the communications.” You glance at the lightsaber resting by his thigh and the brave small droid on his back.

“I will. You should head back inside.” He sees you shivering. BD-1 boops in agreement.

“Oh. I was just about to offer to go with you,” you jest and smirk.

Cal’s brows rise. “Really?”

“Mmmaybe some other time or planet. Somewhere warm,” you chuckle and stop your teeth from clattering. The wind bites all the way through to your skin. “I’ll go help Cere. Take care… Cal.”

“Fwoo woo!” BD-1 wishes you good luck.

Cal watches you until the ship doors close. The corners of his lips persistently stay turned upward.

“Beep-boo boooop.”

“W-what?” Cal yelps at the droid’s cheeky suggestion, “No, I don’t.”

“Beep-bo.”

“Okay, just a little. It’s nice to have a friendly face around.”

BD-1 titters and shakes. Cal scoffs. The wind feels colder with you gone inside so he would best get moving.

//

After the eye of the storm, you manage to find a moment of peace. Cal and Cere have agreed on the next step of the quest to rebuild the Jedi Order. Everyone is somewhat relaxed, bellies full and eyelids drooping. Greez sits on the pilot’s seat in the cockpit, talking with Cere in low voice about whether to land on a large meteor so you all can rest. You’re trying to repair an electrosword on the workstation in the back and Cal leans on the railing next to you, watching as you work with a constant confused frown on your features.

He doesn’t know how to bring up his proficiency in tinkering and fixing things. BD-1 boops and chirps on the table, dancing around the spare parts you’ve gathered. You wish you could understand his commentary better but you’re not exactly fluent in Binary.

“So where did you get that?” Cal asks and tries to not look too much or eagerly over your shoulder.

“Hm? I bought it in the Corellian Sector.” You pause. “On Nar Shaddaa.”

Cal cocks an eyebrow. He didn’t take you for the type to hang out in places like that. BD tilts his head.

You place the obstinately broken electrosword on the table and turn to look at Cal with a serious expression. “There’s a black market for lightsabers. Among other things. I… Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about that.” Your voice fades. How do you always end up saying the wrong thing with him?

Cal frowns lightly but his eyes stay on yours now that you’re facing him. “It’s okay,” he replies.

Cere sold the kyber crystal from her lightsaber on Nar Shaddaa. She asked you to act as the intermediary to avoid suspicion. The buyer, a delegate to some Hutt crime lord, apparently thought it hilarious to give you a broken electrosword into the bargain.

“Sorry,” you say again. That aching tender feeling is gaining foothold again and it’s getting annoying.

“Do you mind if I give that a try?” Cal nods towards the electrosword and straightens up from the railing.

“Be my guest.”

BD agrees heartily and from what you can understand, he thinks Cal is good at repairing things. You smile at the small droid and give room for Cal by the worktable.

The moment he touches the object, Cal visibly flinches. He squeezes his eyes closed as if under a migraine attack and his fingers spasm. Before you can properly realize something is wrong, the seizure stops and he lets the air out of his lungs in one heavy breath. Your heart is running rampant inside your ribcage.

You grab his arm to turn him towards you. He has gone pale.

“Cal? Cal? Are you okay?” you ask fervently, looking for signs of distress on his body.

Cal’s gaze swims before he can focus and bring a thin smile to his lips.

“Uh, yeah. I’m good. My bad,” he says and grimaces. You let go, slowly. He holds the electrosword up to inspect it better, acting perfectly normal again.

“Be-boop?” BD sounds concerned.

“I’m okay, BD. Really,” Cal assures the droid.

“What just happened?” you press, still a bit shaken.

Cal sees no point in hiding it. “I’m, well, psychometric. When I touch something, I may sense what’s happened to it.”

Your hands fly into the air and you stutter to find the words in a flush of anger, unable to believe that he would be so careless and reckless. “And you just touched an electrosword that’s been Force knows where,” you retort, not amused. You really want to give him an earful.

“Uh, yeah. Someone broke it on Nar Shaddaa.” Cal turns the electrosword around and finds a dent near the tip. “They didn’t last for long without it.” He talks in an even tone but the embarrassment shines through. His ears feel hot and he thinks you must consider him an idiot now.

You bite back the feral talking-to Cal is about to get and sigh. “That’s just horrible.”

Cal stays silent for a moment.

“At least I know you weren’t the one who broke it.” He smiles and you just stare the upward curve, baffled and blinking.

“Your boundless optimism is terrifying,” you assert and step closer to see better what he is doing to the electrosword. “Is there any hope to fixing it?”

Cal chuckles. “What did you just say about my boundless optimism? Yeah. I think so.”

You poke your elbow to his ribs and try to hold back a wavering grin. BD chirps at you.

Cal works with the electrosword as you watch from next to him, arms almost brushing together when he moves. Cal seems genuinely happy to be tinkering and you’ve completely forgotten your original intention of following the repairs to see how he does it. The new objective is to determine how often is too often to glance at his smiling face.

Cal finds it harder and harder to focus. You’re emitting warmth next to him and he is constantly overly conscious of every accident of your arms touching. The more he thinks about it, the more frequent the accidents get until you can stand it no longer and take half a step away. You’re trying to be discreet about it but you both notice the light step as well as if you had just jumped from the ship to avoid touching him.

In any case, it doesn’t help. The heavy mood only amplifies as it bounces back and forth between you and there has to be something you can say or do. Now.

“How does it work then? Can you touch any object and see its past?” you ask finally when your pulse has calmed down from the scare of Cal’s psychometry surprise seizure.

Cal has to collect his thoughts before answering. “Well, all things give off an emanation but that… concentration of the Force has to be strong enough for me to read.” He pauses and straightens up to look at you. “It’s… uhh, it’s hard to explain really.” It’s challenging to finish the thought since you’re still standing way too close and making him stutter in the process.

He looks unbelievably adorable and you throw all caution to the wind. He deserves to feel so abashed after the heart attack he gave you.

“So this…” You lightly take Cal’s free hand and press it against your chest between your collar bones. “Gives you nothing?”

His fingertips touch your neck, slightly calloused and unsure. Maybe even shaking. A rush of red rises to his cheeks and chills run down your spine.

“It doesn’t work on living beings,” Cal mumbles and looks away, utterly flustered.

A slightly snide, teasing smile rises to your lips. He seems so flummoxed. “I meant the necklace.”

His fingers curl around the small pearl and his brow furrows slightly. The touch is cool, careful in staying appropriate and almost makes you regret your impetuous flirting attempt. Your lousy shot at doing something to the heavy atmosphere, while getting back at him is backfiring. The fond and tender feeling just grows from the spot he brushed on your neck.

Cal closes his eyes and deftly ignores the warmth you radiate. He makes sure his fingers don’t touch your skin anymore. They’re tingling enough already. He focuses only on the Force.

Your necklace doesn’t spark any specific emotions. In truth, it feels somewhat indifferent to Cal in relation you. He sees it through a mirror, through your eyes and small wave of complacency, your emotion of complacency, fills him for a moment. It’s soothingly simple. He is relieved to notice how the borrowed feeling sways the flush on his cheeks and clears his head.

“It’s quite new. You bought it ‘cause you thought it was pretty,” Cal says softly. He lets go of the necklace and his hand drops. He backs away, taking purchase from the workstation.

You give him a crooked half-smile. “Makes me sound so vain,” you murmur.

He smiles back at you. “It is pretty–”

BD-1 decides to shower you with the blue scanning beam and you both swing around to look at the abrupt interruption, sternly reminded by the droid’s presence.

“Beeop! Beeop!” He chirps and jumps around the electrosword that still lies broken on the table – a kind notion to continue what you were supposed to do before the whole flirting charade began.

And not a moment later Cere appears on the doorway to ask are you two hungry. You can’t help but wonder did BD interrupt you on purpose while something strongly related to shame burns in your throat and makes it hard to face Cal’s gaze.

//

Next Chapter

Tagging: @sherniwrites @lucianhuntress @singlebecauseofthechocobros @sevansheart @owldearest @stellar-trinity @bd1babey @winchestergirl907 @thuutthuutbilly @rilakkyungsoo @lizbid33 @twistnet @fangirl-inthe-us @campmccarran @grandadmiral

[chaniters]

Masquerade

The next part of @kruk-art‘s Awan Cormac fic.  Writing the final parts of this finally!

Infiltrating GeniTech’s party, the rangers attempt to change the board’s mind about the riot, but things on the inside aren’t as calm as they initially seem. 

Spoilers ahead for Rebirth, as usual. 

__________________________________

You glance nervously to your left, as a whole platoon of soldiers clad in articulated carapace armors scrambles through the corridors ahead of you.

In your mind, GeniTech’s Arcology is now the Trojan fortification, the rioters are the greek, and the lot of you are a an improvised rebellious third party refusing to let history repeat itself, hidden inside the wooden horse Ortega asked you to build. All you can do is hope it won’t get burnt before crossing the gate.  

“You’re clear.” the guard announces. “Excuse me for the delay, we didn’t think anyone would be joining this late… especially with what’s happening…”

Ortega watches him without a word, before putting his mask back on. 

“...Enjoy the party” the guard states drily, opening the gate. 

All of you walk past, putting your masks back on, not stopping until the elevator’s doors close. It quickly fires upwards, taking you to the upper floor, where GeniTech’s Halloween celebration takes place. 

“Well done everyone,” Ortega says when it seems no guards are listening. 

Elyise disabled the dampeners, Steel used your scrambler to deactivate their retinal scan and you made them think you were legitimate party guests and that everything was in order. Anathema added fake zippers and other details to your suits so they have a Halloween-costume flair to them.   

This would have been pretty standard infiltration were you still at the farm, but it’s blowing your mind for completely different reasons.  Most humans wouldn’t know what to say to their creator if that even existed. That’s no dilemma for you, though.  The farm might have assembled you, but GeniTech came up with the very idea of you. What would you say to them, the people who invented you? What would you even…-

“Be on alert everyone,” you say coming back to earth. “Steel, will use his scanners to find board members. Elyise will deactivate the scramblers in the area one at a time. The rest, distract them with conversation until Ortega can get into position, and then…” you go on explaining. 

You suggested using your powers to change the Boards mind and let the people take refuge in the Arcology, but, it was Ortega who came up with this infernal plan. You have to admit it was a really good one. You still suggested a ton of changes needed for it to actually work, and the Marshall ended up putting you in charge in return. Steel’s glare made It’s painfully obvious everyone now knows you’ve got more experience with covert operations than any of them suspected, a point you had been trying to conceal, but that can’t be helped. 

“We’re here. Remember, mingle and wait for Steel’s word. Ready, Marshall?” you ask looking to Ortega, who gives a quick nod, giving this operation the go signal.

___________________________________

“...We appreciate power

I'll evade the human race, putting makeup on my face…”

You being you, the lyrics are frankly disturbing. At least that’s all you can think as you turn your back on the live band, broadcast via a hologram on the stage.

You take a drink from a passing waiter and walk up to the glass wall. The sight is magnificent from atop the central spire of the arcology, even obscured as it is now, possibly to diminish the sight of the fires and the approaching riot.  As Ortega Explained, Halloween has a different meaning for the genecorps. They created superheroes and their worship. These parties are an occasion to dress up as their creations, bask in their glory, and the profits they bring. There are posters of all of GeniTechs’ sponsored heroes on the walls. Even with the dampeners online, you can almost feel the gigantic egos of everyone inside.

It’s easy to understand why won’t they just call off the party from up here. This whole building is a pharaonic monument to their vanity and pride, and they won’t let Psychopathor, the public or anyone else get in their way. They own the west coast and will prove their power to anyone who dares interfere. If there has to be a war, they have the guns, soldiers and the technology to win it. They will put the rabble back in their place, or at least that’s what they think will happen. 

These people are loaded to a degree you hadn’t even considered could exist.  Their impossibly expensive costumes are sometimes better than those worn by some actual heroes you’ve met. There is an Owl walking by that has a reactive armor piece that the original could never afford. You saw someone wearing your own hero persona in a skintight armored nanomesh that could have taken bullets as if they were candy. She scoffed at your own, by comparison, shoddy suit, leaving you with all manner of questions. 

Are you the knockoff here?!

“Big party, huh?” someone says, holding a drink next to you. “First time to an event like this”

You turn to see The Void, drinking a colored shot next to you, only his lips visible with the mask partially pulled up.

“You too?” you say trying to strike a conversation, as you were taught to do. “I must confess, I’ve never seen a party like this before.”  

“Well, I plan to see many more like this my friend,” he says with a mischievous soft smile. “Many, many more”

As he says that, you notice many things happening at once.

First, you hear Steel on your left ear, confirming a board member is in your vicinity, which means you should pull over. Before you manage a full step back from the glass wall and this man talking to you, you can feel your thoughts relaxing and the dampeners going down. 

You expand your mind, ready to home in the GeniTech executive like a hornet… but instead realizing the man beside you is the real-

“Nath?!” you exclaim before bitting your tongue. 

“Awan?” he says spilling his drink, glowing eyes on his mask fixated onto you in shock. 

Neither of you even think, farm training actings on its own. Your hand reaches forward, trying to bend his arm backward, but knowing you’re better at judo he spins faster to avoid your grab. You took your chance and failed, and there’s no way to avoid the incoming kick that pushes you deeper into the crowd of fancy rich assholes playing armored heroes and villains. 

A false Green Blast and Ophidian both curse ruining their looks, and by the time you get free of them, The Void has banished among the other costumes. 

“Sidestep! Sidestep, come in?!” Steel’s voice in your ear becomes audible again. “We’ve got the executive! Hurry up”

“I… I just saw The Void,” you say 

“What?!” Ortega’s voice floods the channel. “Mierda, who invited that asshole?”

“ I don’t know… He was just standing there and…”

The music goes on.

“Sidestep, are you ok? You’re looking drowsy” Ortega’s question lingers in your ears.  

The room seems to be spinning with all these insane people’s minds clashing against your weak shields. You hold on to a tall table for a moment, trying to get the world back into focus. 

“I’m ok. Void distracted me, and you know I have to prepare around crowds. These people’s egos are immense, taking it all in after the dampeners went off is too much… and the music’s not helping either.”

“Awan, can you still do this?” he asks

“Yes.” you say straightening up. “I’m ok. Just needed a moment, I’m fine now.” 

“Ok… well then I say we go as planned... Everyone keep watch for The Void. We don’t know what’s he’s doing here and…” 

The music, lights, and everything seems to go off at once, along with his communication. 

Shit.

You’re not caught unaware this time and immediately switch to night vision. All the partygoers seem to be expecting something to happen. Maybe some sort of surprise?

“Use the secondary channel!” you hear Ortega’s voice again, and you quickly adjust, as everyone on the team asks what’s going on.

“Maybe it’s a surprise?” Sunstream asks “I hear these parties can go wild…”

“I don’t think so, this is all too much of a coincidence…” Sentinel says “Something is wrong, I can feel it and...”

The lights go back on, the crowd cheering as Reaper himself is now on stage, wearing his dark cloak, hood and trademark glowing spectral scythe in his left hand. Everybody loves a real legend like him, standing taller than life. 

Still, the cheers die off rather quickly, as they follow his right arm, noticing that he is strangling GeniTech’s CEO with his skeletal fingers while his white skull cackles in a decidedly macabre and less than jovial tone. The scream of pain, the skin wrinkling, the hair going white, turning into a husk, a skeleton, and then finally breaking to pieces and disintegrating… It all seems far too realistic. A few people on the front row cough as they are bathed in handfuls of the floating dust, and everyone’s deathly silent by then.

“Sentinel dear, do you ever get tired of being so fucking right?” Elyise asks tiredly.  

___________________________________________________

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

The song is We Appreciate Power by Grimes, which of course I do not own.

[sick-raven]

To Fulfil the Mission - Jill/Nikolai fanfic

To celebrate REmake3 coming soon and destroying the canon we all know and love, I decided we all deserve Jill and Nikolai banging in the train.

That’s all.

You can also read it on AO3.

To Fulfil the Mission

The things weren’t going smoothly at all. The train was still stuck, Carlos was running around the city trying to get the damn thing moving, Mikhail was unconscious most of the time, and as if that wasn’t enough, the target joined their group. Killing Jill Valentine would get him a lot of money, but so will his observation of the Tyrant if it tears the woman apart. That is, if it doesn’t kill Nikolai with her, those things were unpredictable.

Nikolai wanted to get as far away as possible, but to get to the hospital and extraction point, he needs this train to move. He can only pray that the team won’t get killed sooner than he needs or that the bitch won’t go away alerting the hordes of their position.

Jill was in the other carriage trying to fix a radio. She was handy but even her skill cannot get through Umbrella’s jamming. There was no way to get the signal out of city – they were stuck here. Of course, unless you know the place from where to call and a correct frequency, but that was only for his use. Everyone else will be dead at that point.

Not him though. He couldn’t look Grim Reaper in the eyes if he didn’t manage to get out of this hellhole. Nikolai was pretty sure that if HUNK entered this city, he would die behind the first corner.

Nikolai was watching Jill through door window. She was leaning over radio with unhappy look on her face, working with tiny screwdriver. She looked horrible – they all did. Dirty, tired, sweaty and bruised. Her every movement showed that she is professional – there was nothing delicate about Jill Valentine. He’s seen his share of women soldiers; she would be one of the finest. It was almost a shame she was on the other side of the barricade and destined to die. He would love to cooperate with someone so effective.

As if she felt his gaze, she looked up. Their eyes have met – they didn’t like each other at all. The instinct – he felt she is dangerous, and she probably knew there was something shady about him. It was only fair to despise each other, but for now, cooperation was vital. Nikolai nodded and entered the carriage.

“Will you fix it?” he asked.

“I’m trying, but it’s busted,” she answered without snarky tone. They were too tired for any charade. “Have you heard from Carlos?”

“No.”

Radio silence didn’t make him nervous. Carlos can take care of himself and he’s proven it more than once. And if by any chance he was in danger, he would let them know. They all knew waiting for someone who will never come is the worst.

Jill stood up and stretched her back. She had nice body, strong. Painful expression showed the bruises are bothering her. She won’t be able to stand against the Tyrant. Ten seconds of life, and that only if she is fast enough. Nikolai wouldn’t bet on more time.

“I’m going to go get him,” she said.

“Carlos can take care of himself, scattering is not a good idea,” he disagreed.

“He can be hurt or dead, we need those parts.” Jill ensured her gun is loaded and put it back to holster.

“I won’t let you.”

She gave him nasty look. “I am not one of your soldiers.”

Only if she was. But she wasn’t, and she was marked for death. Walking out there was calling the Tyrant to come and wreck this place up and kill everyone. Including him.

“You will leave, Carlos will come back and we will run in the circles. You will stay here.”

Jill wasn’t listening at all. She aimed for the door. Nikolai stood in her way.

“Out of my way,” she demanded.

“No.”

They were measuring each other. Will she pull out her gun? Run for the other door? Attack him? He was waiting for any sign of movement.

Her blue eyes were so cold.

She went after her gun.

Nikolai grabbed her wrist just as she was taking it out. He tried to wrestle the gun away from her, but she was strong. Jill was fast, punched him in the face. The world was full of stars for a moment, but the instinct kicked in and Nikolai grabbed her by the neck before she could follow up on her attack. Much heavier than her, it was easy to force her against the train door. She grumbled, tried to kick him, but it took him almost no effort at all to pacify her.

His whole body was holding her, pressing against her, forcing her to not move. The hatred in her eyes rose. Nikolai took the gun apart and threw it behind himself.

“You stay put or you will get us all killed,” he hissed at her.

“Fuck you,” Jill said back. This close her eyes were pretty, and her body was so soft. It will be a waste, really, when the Tyrant comes. It will squeeze the life out of her, left her broken, pretty skin torn and bleeding. All the warmth gone, just cold carcass.

Jill’s expression changed from angry to shocked. Nikolai let go of her quickly and took step back. Damn it. Women were his weakness. His intimidation was ruined by fucking hard-on.

“I’m not an animal,” he scoffed as Jill was collecting herself. “Just stay here, Valentine. It’s better for all of us, if you don’t go wander around.”

She better dies soon; this was like keeping an eye on fucking kindergarten.

Jill massaged her neck and begun to pick up parts of her weapon. Unarmed in this city meant certain death. As she was putting her gun back together, Nikolai’s radio crackled.

“This is Carlos. I’m heading back. I will be there at forty.”

“Copy. Move your ass,” Nikolai answered with a smile. See, Valentine? I told you, the goody-two-shoes will be back in no time and they can get this scrap moving. And after that, he can kill them all, he won’t need them anymore. He has a mission to fulfil.

Now, this was interesting. Jill watched him with an expression he hasn’t seen yet. After what happened he would think she will be angry, embarrassed or sorry for acting rushed. Umbrella soldiers probably weren’t company she would expect while in here, but that didn’t excuse stupid behaviour.

However, she looked at him differently. Curiously, spark of expectation. Or maybe he was making it up. It happened to him before.

“Forty minutes,” she repeated and put one hand on her hip. “So?”

He had to be making this up. “So what?”

With a sigh she walked to him and grabbed his crotch. He leaned on the door partially in shock. “Getting it hard in the situation like this, that’s admirable,” Jill smirked. “You have forty minutes, are you gonna fuck me or not?”

He just about saw through the door, Mikhail was in the land of unconscious, still breathing.

“Come on, you hate me, I hate you, but this might be our last chance before we die horribly,” Jill squeezed his balls and he gasped. Her breast pressed against him, making her cleavage prominent, wet with sweat.

She dares to talk to him like that. Nikolai smiled, showing teeth. He found her neck again. One movement and she would be dead. He felt her larynx vibrate as she laughed shortly. The last thought ran through his head – but he stopped it. They were secure, they had eyes on every corner, they missed nothing.

He forced her to change places. Now he was holding her against the door. She massaged his crotch; his dick was hard and pushing against his pants almost painfully. He breathed out, looking into her needy and hungry eyes. Elite operative, strong soldier, fucking whore.

He slid his hand under her shirt and squeezed her boob. She bit her lip.

“I want to hear you, Jill,” he hissed between the tension striking from his crotch.

“You have to try harder for that.”

Making fun of him, huh? He pinched her nipple, twisted it between his fingers, getting a moan out of her, her throat vibrating again under his hand. He smiled victoriously. She wanted to play him; she is the one who will have to play harder.

“That’s what I like.” He stopped teasing her and let go. She breathed in, fighting urge to push unto him. Instead she started to unzip his pants. He grabbed her hand, twisted it and forced her to turn around. He pushed her face against the window, her breath left mist on the glass.

“You jerk,” she hissed, but she didn’t fight him back. He held her strongly, rubbing his crotch against her butt.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered into her ear, found her breast and squeezed it. Her breasts were soft, nipples hard, he would love to play with them all day. He took the time to enjoy how malleable they are. With every squeeze she moaned silently.

“Ah – I feel nothing,” she tried to gather herself, but her face was red, and her body trembled. “Are you even, hnngh, doing something?”

Her teasing got to him. Every mocking word bit him hard. Not enough for her? He will show her what has he got. Fucking S.T.A.R.S. thinking they are better than everyone else. She will get the fuck she won’t ever forget.

He undid her pants and took them off. Before she could react, there he was, pushing against her again. His hand slipped between her legs. She was already dripping, her inner thighs wet, puss running down her legs.

“You feel nothing, hm?” he whispered again and ran fingers around her clit. Jill’s body pushed against him, he held her tight on place. She won’t be able to get away. He will give her everything. He will enjoy every tremble, every moan, he will make her melt in his arms.

“Y-yes,” she managed to get out between the gasps.

Slipping between her lips, in and out, enjoying the warmth, pushing against her inner wall. She started to move with him, hungry for more, to pick up the pace. Nikolai grinned unzipping his pants. He sighed in relief taking his hard dick out. He rubbed it against the perfect skin on her butt.

“Do you feel this?” he asked aiming his member into her hole. His tip touching the gulping, wet lips.

“Yes.”

“Say my name.”

She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. Her pussy pulsated under his fingers. He slipped them out, teased her clit.

“Come on, Valentine, say my name.”

She whimpered like a puppy when they take away its toy. The trembles got more intense, he felt her body tense, trying to get his fingers to move again.

“My name,” he demanded right into her ear.

“Nikolai!” she almost shouted. He thrusted; her pussy took him all in at once. She screamed again. Warmth surrounded him, sweet cunt took him whole, pulsating with expectation. He didn’t even have to move; Jill was already pulling out and thrusting him back again. She was riding him as if she was in charge here. He squeezed her breast again, pushed strong and immobilized her.

“N-no, don’t stop,” she begged, squirming.

“You still don’t understand,” he chuckled.

She gasped. “Nikolai!”

That was better. That’s how you learn the bitch to listen. He thrusted again, once.

“Come on,” she demanded.

“Hmmm?”

“Nikolai.”

Again. This time she didn’t wait. She said his name, over and over. Her voice was raising, as he fucked her hard, slipping into her pussy, deep, again and again.

“Aaaah, Nikolai, don’t stop, fuck me,” she begged, her body melting under him, matching his pace. Faster and faster. The tension growing higher, the build up getting up and up.

He reached the peak at the same time as Jill screamed his name. She went tense, his balls emptied themselves right into her cunt, spraying the walls. Then she crumbled under him, the limbs couldn’t hold her. She was shaking, and he was the only thing that kept her from falling on the ground. Her pussy still pulsated around his member, pushing his semen out. It dripped out, coursed on her legs down.

Nikolai sighed in relief. This woman will never forget him. Not that she will have much time. It was too bad. He would love to see her after he gets out of the city. He would show her how he is when he is not tired, dirty and stressed.

This wasn’t even his peak form.

Although, looking at her catching her breath and trying to get herself modest again, he would bet she wasn’t either. Maybe he will be the one to remember this forever. You do not meet someone so perfect every day.

Or that was only his wishful thinking.