#aka “you will never truly know until you have gone through it and I was wrong”

[caroline-nighthunter]

It's past midnight and I gotta be up early tomorrow but my mind just cannot rest about this conversation prompt about Necromancer Wizard and a Cyrus and the whole Malistair fiasco (Context of the dynamic is basically the whole thing became a taboo subject and the Young Wiz and Cyrus take what happened in Dragonspyre to their grave which was prob their least prefferred way to be knitted together in such a personal way):

"I thought it was easy. Death didn't scare me. Killing didn't either. It had to be done. But... Cyrus, the catch is.... I think I was wrong. The thought of death didn't scare me. The thought of killing neither. Nobody could have ever prepared me for the actual thing. Not a hundred... thousand... rehearsals."

b y e

[spookyrea]

You Can Wrap Me 'Round Your Finger...

You’re having a crisis trying to pick the perfect moment to tell Loki you love him. Loki is having a crisis, too, except his is decidedly way more embarrassing. Also, your pillows keep disappearing.

(aka - frost giant biology is weird and Loki has to suffer the consequences.)

a companion to Love at First Sight (or should I walk by again?) - can be read on its own!

Chapter 1 / 2 -- read it on AO3 here

Word count: ~5k

Warnings: fem reader; Loki is CLINGY

You could just make out the rosy hue of a late-season snowfall from your vantage point behind the cockpit; it blanketed the city, turning the streets a pale orange where streetlamp light reflected off of a crisp, white coat. For a city that never slept it was strangely quiet; at just past three o’clock in the morning, not even the snow plows were out yet.

Your team was returning from a four day long deployment to San Francisco – a retrieval mission where you were tasked with tracking down and seizing off-world cargo. It had gone over surprisingly well - zero casualties, a handful of actual combat incidents, and a scant few million dollars worth of petty property damage. It did require a proper cargo plane, though, which meant that the team had to rely on a local airplane hangar to get back home. 

(Despite his truly unparalleled complaining, Tony’s choice to put the Avengers tower in the centre of a busy New York metropolitan block meant that there were certain restrictions - namely, the laws of physics - that limited the size of plane they could have on-site).

An unfortunate consequence of it all was that you were freezing. You made a face and folded your arms over your chest; you were dressed for a late February chill, in tac-pants and a knit sweater, not a snowstorm. As romantic as the snow looked, the cold was settling over you like an ache and, coupled with the early-hour and a tender bruise on your left side, your mood was only souring. You cast your eyes to the ceiling and prayed that a car was already waiting for you on the tarmac.

The quin-jet touched down a little roughly; you felt Wanda’s wince without looking at her, but Tony immediately came to her defense. “No, that was because of the snow. Poor visibility. Out of your control. Definitely. I’m passing you with flying colours - hey, get it?”

The loading ramp slid open with a pop and a hiss; your ears felt funny now that you were on solid ground, like they were full of cotton. Natasha tugged on her earlobes, then reached over and tugged on Steve’s too to be a pest. He swatted her away with a scowl. 

Moments later, attendants began to climb the loading ramp in groups of two. You scowled. They were at least dressed for the weather.

You pulled your hands from between your thighs, trying to focus on anything other than the way your core muscles were tensed against the chill, and thanked whatever powers-that-be that you could finally go home. You were half way through unbuckling your seatbelt when an automated voice warned you from overhead not to leave your seats.

“Sorry, everyone,” Tony called. “Safety or whatever. All cargo has to be removed before we can get up. Just a few minutes. You’ll be warm and in bed in no time.”

You sank low in your seat, arms crossed, and focused very hard on glaring a hole in the quid-jet floor. Who knows -- maybe you could spontaneously develop heat-vision. It would look good on your resume.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to go collect you myself.”

Crossing the jet in long strides, tall enough to peer over most attendants' heads, was Loki. Your boyfriend.  

Dressed in civilian clothing, Loki was something resplendent. His pale skin, warmed by the cool twilight haze outside, was a stark relief against his mop of riotous dark curls, and his green eyes caught the light in a mysterious way. A pair of neatly-polished shoes rattled the grated floor as he approached, weaving in between attendants, until he came to a stop at your side. With a wave of his hand, Loki manifested a fine wool cloak to drape over your shoulders. His long fingers drew the golden hook at the collar through its eye and smoothed it flat against your sternum.

“Can’t have you freezing to death,” he murmured.

You thumbed the stitching along the hem of the cloak; the thread was such a dark green that it almost blended in with the black fabric. “I would have been fine.”

“Well, if you’re too warm, I can certainly help cool you down.” Loki slid into the seat next to you and blew an icy breath across your neck, making you shriek. The grin he shot you was lecherous - truly vile , you mumbled - and sent a hot thrill from your nape to the pit of your belly.

“You are evil.”

“You should have me locked up.”

You pulled the collar of his cloak up to your face, pressing the velvety edge to your mouth. “I’m putting in a request immediately.”

Loki offered you his wrists, that sticky grin growing even wider. “Why wait?”

A flash of green seidr crackled suggestively, implying where a set of handcuffs might bind him. Your eyes snapped to the whirlwind of snow outside, cheeks hot. 

Tony gagged obnoxiously from the pilot’s seat. The comms system crackled to life overhead. “Get a room, you two.”

Loki scoffed, mock affront dripping from his lazy posture, and poured himself over your shoulders, even though the armrest was in the way and was without a doubt digging into his side. He plucked your hand from your lap, lacing his fingers through yours and drawing it up to his mouth. His lips idly traced the edge of his signet ring on your thumb while you watched the cargo roll by, box by painstaking box. 

You had only been dating for a few months, having finally confessed your mutual attraction after a tumultuous, alcohol-fueled evening together. It turned out that the entire time that you had been harbouring a monumental crush on Loki, he’d been just as gone on you - a fact you hadn’t known, since his idea of showing interest was to give you shiny rocks and hand feed you foods, and yours was whatever Tinder had going on.

Once the two of you had gotten over your - admittedly pretty embarrassing - communication barrier, you fell into a nice routine. You found that you were more confident without the weight of an unrequited crush looming over you, and Loki was eons more likely to finish his paperwork as long as you were there to play footsie with him under the table and let him ramble every fifteen minutes. He still flirted with everything that moved, but you recognized the nuances of his affection now. He never touched anyone, but he hung off of you like a limpet; he might smile and schmooze at parties, all lecherous grins and innuendo, but his eyes always sought your approval out after every punchline; and he only ever called you pet.

(And on one occasion, master. But that was a different story.)

Once the attendants had unloaded the last crate into a van, Tony gave everyone the OK to exit the plane without worrying about being trampled. Steve was the first out, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Natasha, Bruce and Tony were quick to follow, all stumbling into the first car they saw, while Wanda stayed and fiddled with a few switches from the co-pilot’s seat. Under Natasha’s suggestion, she was trying to get a proper license to fly - mostly for paperwork-related reasons, because the insurance company charged a fortune every time an Avenger ‘borrowed’ a vehicle without permission.

Before you could protest, Loki scooped up the duffle bag at your feet and started down the loading ramp into the storm, leaving you and Wanda as the last on the plane. You rapped your knuckles against the ceiling and sent her a questioning look. Decked out in her oversized headset and a fuzzy quarter-zip sweater Tony had commissioned for the team, she looked right at home behind the quinjet control panel. She shot you a thumbs up, gesturing for you to go on ahead. You blew her a quick kiss and then hurried after Loki, fighting to keep the cloak shut against the blustering wind. 

Wet snow crept under your pant legs, clinging unpleasantly to the strip of skin left exposed by your socks. Loki had already packed your belongings away in the farthest van and was waiting by the back door, held open for you. You jogged - as best you could given the weather - the last couple of feet and slid into the backseat.

Loki hauled himself through the other door a moment later. The driver - a bored looking man with a dark beard and greying temples - pushed the stick shift into gear and turned off the runway. 

You shivered, brushing clumps of snow off your ankles. Dark stains were climbing up your shins where the it bled through. Loki leaned across the seat to help you, running a shimmering hand over your shoulders to dry you off. 

Mostly satisfied, you sank back and watched the city roll by, the empty streets cast in shades of neon as the snow reflected billboards and store displays. It was a beautiful sight, the kind of morning you would normally want to commit to memory for the postcard-ness of it all – except you were exhausted and a little cranky, so you turned your eyes to stare at your boyfriend instead. 

(You made it a full three minutes without looking at him - a new personal record.)

You admired him the way an owner might creep up on a beloved pet in a sunbeam; you didn’t want him to know you were looking, in case he spooked and moved, so you kept your cheek turned and watched from the corner of your eye. He was deep in thought, luckily, which gave you some leeway to admire his profile. There was something decidedly boyish about him when he was relaxed, a softness you so rarely got to see; it made you want to kiss every inch of him just for the sake of kissing.

He drew an aimless pattern with his thumb across your upper thigh. His pinky finger was stretched comically far from the rest of his fingers, as if willing your hand to reach out and intertwine but too stubborn to ask. For a silly, love-sick moment you were overwhelmed by the need to tell him you loved him - and then your brain caught up with your heart and bludgeoned it into submission.

The knowledge that you were in love with him and the nebulous un-knowledge of how he felt about you was starting to wear on your nerves. You understood logically that he liked you - enough to court you, under different circumstances - but what you felt when you looked at him was a hurricane of emotions, a self-sustaining cycle of hot air up and cold air down, whipping the sea so hard that it formed storm clouds unbidden by the laws of nature. You knew that he felt things differently, had lived a dozen of your lifetimes no doubt filled with pretty things. Would this change your relationship? Would you breaking that last barrier make yourself less desirable somehow?

You wanted to tell him. To share the inherent joy of being in love.

It just scared you to death, was all. No big deal.

His mouth twitched; his eyes caught yours in the window’s reflection as the car entered the dark parking garage. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked. “Just tired. Sorry.”

The car dropped you off in the underground parking of the Avengers’ tower. Yours was the last of the convoy, so you and Loki slipped out of the car into an empty lot where only a few strangler attendants were unloading and taking inventory. You held one corner of the cloak in your hand, worried it would drag through the slush puddles tracked in by the cars. Loki’s hand came to rest on the small of your back while he hoisted your bag over his shoulder.

“After you, pet.”

You led him to the elevators, where you leaned against the railing and let your eyes slip shut. Loki selected a floor and then joined you, draping one arm around your shoulders to draw you into his chest.

You leaned your cheek against him. Now that you were home, the full weight of your exhaustion was bearing down on you. The pattern of knots Loki was drawing across the back of your neck wasn’t helping. You were suddenly grateful for the support of Loki’s body under you, solid and steady; you slid your hands under his jacket to hug him… then paused.

Something was… off.

You pulled back and gave him a once-over. Nothing outwardly betrayed him as different. He wore a pair of simple, straight-leg tac-pants and a white t-shirt under a brown vintage-style bomber he’d no doubt swiped from Bucky or Steve; the cut of each item flattered his narrow build exceedingly, a fact you knew he was aware of by the way he kept glancing at you during your drive home. His hair was wild and unstyled in a hopelessly endearing way - a look he’d taken to wearing often after you made a passing comment about liking it that way.

The jacket though… 

He filled it out well. Too well.

“You’re bigger,” you blurted out.

Loki raised one eyebrow in a perfect, mocking arch. “Excuse me?”

“You’re,” you waved your hand up and down his body, “bigger. Like, broader. Have you been working out more?”

Loki glanced down at his chest. “No?”

You pushed the jacket off his shoulders to get a better look at him. The white cotton of his t-shirt puckered across his chest, wrinkling under the strain of an extra inch or so of muscle, and the side seams were pulled so taut that you could see the thread. You poked him right over his heart, admiring a new, plush firmness.

The tips of Loki’s fingers wormed under your shirt. His smile took on a wicked edge as he soaked in the sight of you in front of him. When you shot him a look, he screwed his face up into something resembling innocence. “If you’re going to ogle me like a piece of meat, I think it’s only fair that I get to admire you, too.”

You hummed and slipped his jacket back into place, smoothing your palms down his chest to rest just above his waistband. Loki’s evilness washed away to something sticky sweet; he slid his hand up between your shoulder blades, his fingers splayed wide to admire the shift of your muscles under your skin. His other hand twined with yours to lift your knuckles to his mouth.

The doors slid open on his floor. With a flourish and a fleeting kiss, Loki stooped to collect your bag. His free hand trailed behind him, outstretched for you to take, but you lingered with a smile and a shake of your head.

He came to an abrupt stop under the threshold, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He wiggled his fingers, as if you were refusing because you’d missed his offer to hold your hand. “What are you doing?”

You pressed the button for your floor. “I’m going back to my room.”

“No,” Loki whined, his hand still outstretched. “Please, darling.”

You rolled your eyes and attempted to pull your bag from his hands. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Loki.”

“But you’ll miss out on my new, broader body. Your bed will seem extra empty now in comparison. You should just skip the trouble.”

“Loki, I’m tired. And all my stuff is in my apartment.”

“You can wear something of mine.” Loki, exasperated, threw your duffle down in front of the elevator door and cornered you against the railing.

“Just for the night, Loki.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, one he didn’t return… and then seemed to regret, because only a heartbeat after you pulled away he was on you, cupping your face between both his hands and swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You huffed out a sigh and pushed on his stomach; he managed to get two more kisses in before you finally won and put some distance between the two of you.

In a perfectly Loki-fashion, Loki sulked. He stomped out of the elevator and then turned to you, his hands firmly on his hips. “You vex me. Understand that I will be taking you out for breakfast tomorrow, no exceptions.”

You hooked a finger through your bag strap, dragging it back into the elevator. “Make it a late lunch. If you wake me before noon there will be punishments.”

Loki’s eyes twitched with the briefest hint of a smirk. His voice dropped an octave. “Promise?”

The elevator doors slid shut on his leering expression. You spent the rest of the ride valiantly trying not to fall asleep. The low hum of its engine was terribly soothing.

When the elevator opened to your floor, you weren’t surprised to find PAL - Tony’s Paperwork Assistant Lite robot, who usually helped organize and retrieve files in the office downstairs - waiting by your door. Measuring just under two feet tall, PAL could navigate the halls and elevator just fine as long as FRIDAY was willing to unlock the doors for him, but your manual lock-and-key front door was an insurmountable obstacle for him.

“How long have you been here, buddy?”

As soon as he recognized you, PAL trilled with delight. His metal chassis vibrated with the effort of waiting by the door. He rounded your feet while you dug through your pants pockets for your keys, narrating the week to you in his language of whistles and beeps, and raised his tiny paper tray, straining to try and take over the weight of your duffle bag. You huffed out a laugh, leaning ever-so-slightly to the side to set it on him but not to smother; the LED display on his face narrowed, as if he was concentrating very hard on not dropping your belongings.

As soon as you were through the door, you threw your bag by your shoe rack and toed off your sneakers, leaving them in a pile on the floor. PAL set to straightening them, sweeping them to the wall with his tray ahead like a snowplow. He tried to do the same to your bag, but his treads could only pinwheel against the weight. 

You stood in the living room for a moment and folded Loki’s cloak over the back of your couch, contemplating skipping your whole routine and going straight to bed. You settled on missing a shower but washing your face - everything else could be dealt with in the morning. You made your way to your bedroom in search of clean pyjamas, then continued to the bathroom to brush your teeth, PAL close on your heels.

You had just exited the bathroom when someone knocked on your door. You tossed your washcloth into a bin on top of your washing machine and rounded the hallway to answer it.

Loki stood on the other side, dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and an oversized AVENGERS TACTICAL UNIT t-shirt. “Please, darling.”

“You have your own bed.”

“It’s too big without you.”

“You’re even bigger now. You’ll fill it out just fine.”

Loki stepped into your personal space; he hadn’t even bothered putting on shoes, wearing only a pair of grey wool socks. His hands curled around your hips as if to steady himself. “I’m afraid of the dark?”

“Try again.”

“My room was taken over by starving wolves while you were away and I only narrowly escaped.”

You sighed. You had to admit that it felt nice to have him in your arms like this, even if you knew giving in would only encourage him to lord over more of your time. “Absolutely no funny business, Loki.”

An incandescent grin split his face in two. He swooped in to kiss your cheek, then sauntered off toward your bedroom. You locked the door, made sure PAL was settled into his charging dock for the night, and then followed after your boyfriend.

You found him curled up on the side of your bed closest to the door, facing you, and holding one of your pillows hostage. He buried his nose in the fabric, a pleased sound rumbling through his chest, and watched you approach.

You swatted at him, not even bothering to round the bed, opting to crawl over his body to reach your side. Loki unfolded, abandoning the pillow to gather you up instead; his arms circled your waist and tugged you into his chest in an awkward collision of limbs, legs tangling in the comforter. You squirmed while he maneuvered you to his liking, tucking the length of his body around you tightly and nosing at the junction of your throat and jaw.

“Loki,” you chided. “I said no funny business.”

“This is a perfectly serious matter.” Loki untangled himself from you just long enough to pull the comforter over your body before sliding in beside you. One hand returned to your neck, tipping your chin back so he could press a loud kiss to your pulse point. “You don’t have enough blankets.

You stifled a yawn and pushed him to lie on his back, draping one leg over his. “Why’s that?”

Loki continued to rearrange the sheets with a scowl. “You’ll freeze to death under this thing.”

Already, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. You hummed. “I feel like I had more pillows than this. Maybe I’ve finally lost it.”

A small voice in the back of your mind whispered that you loved him, you loved him, you loved- 

You settled with tracing a heart over his collarbone, over and over until you fell asleep.

You woke to the sound of FRIDAY’s voice through the PA system. “Mr. Laufeyson, your presence is being requested on the thirty-first floor. Mission briefing in fifteen minutes.”

You peeled your eyes open. You could tell by the slant of the sun through the curtains that it was past noon - a small victory, really. Behind you, Loki burrowed deeper into the fabric of your t-shirt, nosing along the ladder of your spine while groaning his displeasure. He drew the comforter around you tightly, trapping you under one muscular arm with a vengeance.

His voice, still deep and rasping with the last threads of sleep, rumbled through his chest. “Good morning, dear heart.”

Lovesickness bloomed like a bruise in your chest. “Morning,” you said, instead of I love you. 

You half-turned and pecked the side of his mouth before sitting up. Loki made an affronted sound and reeled you back in by a fistful of your t-shirt, sending you sprawling halfway across his chest. He kissed you soundly, licking into your mouth with a low groan.

You blinked up at him once he pulled back. “Um. Good morning?”

“I was a perfect gentleman all night and you reward me with a peck. ” A scowl twisted his pretty face, petulance dripping off him in droves. His hands slid over your ass possessively, kneading the soft flesh with purpose. “I should have you flogged for that. Put over my knee.”

“Patience is a virtue,” you mumbled.

“Wrong faith, pet. Now- wait, where are you going?”

You paused, halfway through peeling yourself out of his arms (again), and pointed at the ceiling where FRIDAY’s voice reminded him that he was needed in thirteen minutes, Mr. Laufeyson . ”You have a debrief and I have a date with my coffee pot.”

“Not after you so callously rejected me. Come down here and make it up to me.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned in to kiss him again, slowly but deeply. Loki chased your mouth when you pulled away, frustration evident in the heavy way he sighed. Lifting you by the hips, Loki deposited you in his lap and held you there, digging his thumbs into the plush of your sides. Using the resulting sigh to his advantage, Loki cradled the back of your head and bullied your lips apart, pulling a sticky kind of want from your chest, leaving you dizzy and aching all at once.

When FRIDAY gave him a five minute warning, blinking the emergency strobe in the corner of your bedroom for good measure, Loki finally drew himself away and let you catch your breath. His head tipped back against the pillow, his throat on display in a long submissive line, and his shiny mouth parted in a groan. He mumbled something in his mother tongue, your name nestled right between lilting consonants.

“What was that?”

“Nothing important.” 

“One day you’ll teach me what you’re saying,” you grumbled. “And then I’ll know all your secrets.”

Loki lazily arched one brow, smothered behind a curtain of riotous curls. “Is that so? All of them?”

“Mhm. All of it. Every last one.”

You traced a finger down the line of his nose. If ever there was a moment to tell him you loved him, now was probably it. Here, on the laziest of saccharine mornings, while the city outside was muted by a thick wall of snow and you were both ignoring responsibility to enjoy the other. And yet– doubt wove its way through your ribs, tying knots in the hollow spaces in your chest; you rolled off of him and sat up, pulling the hem of your shirt down where it had ridden up. “FRIDAY is going to bring the appliances to life if you don’t leave soon.”

Loki poised himself on the edge of your bed and snagged your wrist when you rounded it. There was nothing to the gesture – no comment, no complaint to make. He held onto you for the simple joy of owning a second of your time.

As if one cue, PAL rolled through your bedroom door, his little paper tray aloft. He chirped in greeting, then ran head-long into one of the bed frame’s legs. 

You tamped down a lingering disappointment. Later. You would tell him later.

“Pest.” Loki swatted at PAL, who had taken to repeatedly bumping into Loki’s shins to convince him to get dressed. You gasped scoldingly when Loki shot a warning green spark in the robot’s direction; PAL, undeterred, narrowed the LED display on his face and wound up, knocking the god extra hard for good measure.

“PAL, go sit in the living room. You can pick something on Netflix for us to watch. And you,” you pointed a finger at Loki. “No threatening the robot.”

You left him to dig through your closet for something to wear; the far corner was steadily developing a growth of black, Loki-sized clothing. While you busied yourself with the coffee machine, PAL chirped at the TV and then parked himself in front of your window with his face pressed against the glass. Once your coffee was poured, you left out the gaudiest mug you owned – chipped, declaring you were Thor’s Number One Fan!, which Loki hated with a burning passion – and a spoon for when he joined you.

PAL beeped distractedly when you joined him by the window; there was a tender tilt to his little head as he gazed out, studying a pair of birds who had built their nest just below. His body shuddered, as if sighing, and his LED display blinked one long, slow blink.

It started as a tiny bundle of twigs a few weeks ago, trembling in the wind but shielded from the elements in the nook between a metal support beam and the windowsill. Then a few pieces of long grass were woven in, and a handful of fresh green branches, still flexible in their newness. They must have finished their home while you were away; two mates were deep under the spell of a snowy Sunday morning, bundled up under a layer of down and straw.

A solid pair of arms wound around your waist, drawing you backwards into an equally solid chest. Loki’s hair was damp where he’d run wet fingers through it, no doubt trying to contain the curling mess of bed head he woke up with every morning. It clung to your cheek a bit, the crown of his head pressed up to your face while he nosed at your shoulder. “Oh, hi– hello.” 

“I don’t want to go,” Loki whined. He rocked you gently from side to side, resting his cheek against yours. “We should feign illness. It’s dreadfully contagious. And then we can—” a kiss, just under your ear, “stay in bed all day. To recuperate, of course.”

“As lovely as that sounds, you really do have to go. You know how Steve gets when you’re late.”

“As soon as I can I’m coming right back up here to ravish you. That’s a promise.”

PAL cooed, excited by some small movement from the birds. One of them had woken to preen the other, sweetly running its beak through its feathers.

“Look at their little nest. How cozy,” you said quietly. “Maybe that’s where my pillows went.”

The longer Loki considered the birds, the deeper the furrow between his brows grew. He seemed to be having a revelation of some kind. “I… have to speak with my brother about something.”

“Something wrong?”

“No. Just a thought. Don’t worry.”

PAL rolled backwards into Loki’s shins with purpose. He chirped sternly, as if chiding Loki in his machine-speak, who, in return, toed PAL’s chassis very gently in warning. 

You laughed. “He’s coming, buddy.”

“Actually,” Loki muttered darkly. “On the contrary. My problem is that I’m not-”. You suspected the next words out of his mouth would have been incredibly inappropriate, had PAL not rolled pointedly over Loki’s foot.

You exited the elevator on the 31st floor a few hours later. A far cry from Tony’s party, the room was empty and mostly tucked away; chairs were stacked on tables and the bar was cleared of bottles; bright, unfiltered sunlight poured through the enormous lofted windows, allowing you an unobstructed view of the skyline and the meandering streets below. A couple of interns were having lunch on one of the couches in the corner. They must have been part of the newest wave of college recruits, because their eyes lingered in a starstruck kind of way that made you feel a little embarrassed. 

You shot them a playful salute. Both startled, turning away in a rush.

Oh well. You couldn’t look Steve in the eyes for your first week on the team– you got it.

You found Loki in the farthest conference room, sat at the end of a long, round table between Steve and Bucky. You watched their fingers walk across its surface, handing a piece of folded paper between the three of them. Steve wrote something while the speaker was turned, then slipped his hand surreptitiously under the desk. Bucky coughed; from your vantage point, you saw his and Loki’s fingers unravel the note so they could read it discreetly.

Some executive droned at the other end, gesturing to a dreadfully laid out powerpoint. Matching manilla folders were spread open in front of the agents; you had a sneaking suspicion that whatever the speaker was saying was also written down and could have been read in half the time this meeting took.

You tried to catch Loki’s eye through the window but his attention was aimless, lost in some faraway place. A thought came to you; you rearranged your belongings to clasp your hands in front of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed - albeit poorly - to the god sitting a few dozen feet from you.

You peeked through one eye to see if it had worked; through the glass, Loki shot you a private smile, so sweet that it was practically a kiss. You waved him over, jerking your head toward the conference room door.

You watched him interrupt the speaker, his lazy posture rolling forward until he was sitting straight. Steve and Bucky nodded sagely, immediately following whatever story Loki had spun. Bucky pointed exaggeratedly to his metal arm, rubbing it as if it was tense.

The door opened and Loki slipped out into the hallway to meet you. Your grin bordered on becoming painful. Both your hands were folded behind your back. “You didn’t have breakfast this morning.”

“Observant.” He plucked a loose thread from the collar of your shirt and flicked it aside before leaning in for a quick kiss. You decided, even if you couldn’t say you love him, to treat him no less lovingly; you chased him when he pulled away, pressing your lips to his jaw. His grin was dazed, like you’d turned him dumb with the simple act of wanting him. “You’re even lovelier than the last time I saw you.

“I brought you something. Pick a hand.”

Loki walked his fingers down your left arm and pulled; you let him have it, your palm open – and empty. “Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Hmm. Terrible luck.” His knuckles dragged down the length of your other arm. In that hand was a take-out container from your favourite coffee shop, defaced with a smiley-face and cute message from the barista, Yvonne. It was his usual order, nothing special, but when his eyes tipped up to meet yours, there was something uncharacteristically open about his expression, a shy edge to the tilt of his smile. He leaned in and kissed you, soft and sweet like honey. “Do you think they’ll notice if I’m gone much longer?”

“Absolutely.”

Loki groaned, tipping your hips until they were flush to his. He kissed you hard enough to bend you backwards.

“I’ll come by your apartment tonight and we can get dinner?”

His fingers stilled where they were kneading your sides. “Yes, about that. Let’s… Let’s stay at yours tonight. The wolves that chased me out last night haven’t been evicted yet.”

Loki's answer confused you – he’d spent the entire night complaining that you wouldn’t go back to his room, then insulting your blanket choices, and now he wanted to stay at yours? “Ok. That works. Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he said quickly. “Perfectly fine. You’re so tired though. Easier to stay where your belongings are. I won’t– won’t make you commute.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Behave today.”

Another groan, this one pitched low; Loki traced your cheek with his nose. “I love it when you order me around.”

“Loki! Be-have.”

“Just one more, nymph. To tide me over.”

You sent him off with three more kisses. You were starting to wonder if you were too lenient with him; he delighted in taking advantage of your weakness to weasel more affection out of you. He returned to the conference room with his little box, opened in his lap under the table. When Bucky made to swipe a grape, Loki flicked his hand away with a glare.

When you returned to your room that evening, with Loki hot on your heels and his hands already halfway up your shirt, you were baffled to find your bed down one more pillow.

“PAL, did you do this?”

He shook his little head, LED screen blinking wide doe eyes up at you. It was the strangest thing, but when he thought you weren’t looking, you could have sworn that he shot Loki a pointed look.

[senseandaccountability]

“Is this truly our prodigal son?” - meta ramblings about Astarion and Cazador and breaking vicious cycles

“I didn’t have a choice… but it seems now I do.” Astarion is indeed the prodigal son in the sense that he has to return to his home in order to find himself and his purpose. 

For at least half the game, he is - at least outwardly - what he has been made to be. A pretty facade to be consumed. In the mirror he doesn’t see himself, he remembers nothing of his past, he can’t even read the words etched into his own back - he is, in all aspects, unwritten, unmade until he starts walking back into his own life. Reclaiming it. Or rather - remaking it. Because there is nothing sustainable there to reclaim, his heritage from Cazador contains nothing but death and violence. And power built on those two ingredients. Even when he claims that’s what he wants - power, walking in the sun, to never be afraid of anyone again, you can hear how hollow the desire is. Isn’t this what you want for me? he asks Tav, equal parts manipulation and the fact that he probably has no idea whatsoever how to figure out if he wants something like that for himself. He’s never had the luxury of choice. Shouldn’t I want this? When Tav later says that considering slaughter of seven thousand spawns isn’t who Astarion truly is he doesn’t even say she’s wrong, he replies: IT SHOULD BE.

“If I can’t have my freedom, then neither can they.”

Astarion is also, to use the same religious myth, the son who remained behind and keeps count. He counts the injustices done to him, he compares, he gathers bitterness and lust for revenge over two hundred years. Nobody ever did anything to help him. Nobody came to his rescue - he even says so himself early in the game that no hero saved him, it was the mindflayers who did. He admits to Gale that he’s prayed to all deities - but no one answered. When Tav prods about the countless of spawn he’ll sacrifice for his own ritual he brings up the same argument - what about what he’s owed? Everything was taken from him, too!

“You’d almost feel sorry for the poor, deluded souls. But they’re idiots who brought this on themselves, so… don’t.” 

Astarion doesn’t want to identify with the victims because then he has to identify as a victim. (Or even worse, someone who willingly accepted the offer of a vampire, aka idiot who brought this on himself.) And no matter how much he talks about what Cazador put him through, he’s not ready to do that, not fully. Instead he pushes them further away from himself, especially as his guilt and pain and self-loathing gets poured into preparing for the Ascension. That one thing that will finally separate him from everyone else, make him safe and untouchable. The others, the victims, they’re weak, pathetic, nothing like him at all, they’re too far gone, they’re different, they couldn’t survive out there so it’s better he kills them so they serve a purpose. It’s not exactly subtext, either, Tav can outright ask him if he really intends to kill them just because they remind him of himself and his voice breaks when he answers that. “They do not. That weakness inside me is dead. It’s dead. I have a higher purpose.” He comes a little bit closer to breaking out of his cycle with the Gur children, they happened not that long ago, he’s visibly moved by the fact that he had forgotten them and felt nothing when he delivered them and when Tav asks about his feelings on the subject, he admits: “I just… I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.”

But it takes the encounter with Cazador to truly break out of the pattern.

“Did I not make you who you are?” “Do not slouch before me, boy! Have you no respect for yourself?” he snaps at Astarion when you first enter his ritual. And when the camera pans to Astarion, so full of rage and fully intent on killing Cazador with his bare hands if he has to, we see that he actually does slouch. He’s that boy again.

He’s returned, the boy who caused so much trouble, who screamed the sweetest when he was tortured, who was thrown into a tomb for a year for refusing his order and who eventually stopped fighting back. Godey says: “You always were sharp, little one. Sharp enough to cut yourself.” The boy who Cazador tried to make something of, but to no avail. He was incorrigible. “I fondly remember your empty boasting, your tired jokes, your endless prattle…” All abuse aside, Cazador hurts Astarion in that precise way only a parental figure can hurt a child - through constant disappointment, the cruelty of not caring. The parent that only punishes, that sees nothing but faults. He even tells Astarion that he ought to be begging their forgiveness for coming crawling back after abandoning them. “Forgiveness? You’ve never forgiven anything.” / “No! No, fuck you and fuck everything you’ve ever done to me.”

“I’m so much more than what you made me,” Astarion tells Cazador when he finally has him on his knees, one last attack away from getting the revenge he’s dreamed of for two hundred years. When he asks Tav for help he - again - brings up the “isn’t this what you want?” Because even if he knows he’s more than what Cazador created him to be, he doesn’t know what that “much more” consists of yet. If you detect his thoughts at that moment you learn that he’s afraid, hungry, intoxicated. That all he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom to do anything - to be anything.

“I want you to live a life you’re proud of,” Tav pleads. “You can’t be proud of this.” Tav who sees someone else in him, a way forward that isn't steeped in Cazador's tyranny. Tav, who treats him like a person, with autonomy.

“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. The power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.” And it was this Astarion required to truly remake his life. Returning as the prodigal son to the place that was his home, where he was taught he amounted to nothing, that he was a means to an end, that the only way to ever feel safe in life is to hold power over someone else. 

That’s why I found his “No! No, fuck you and fuck everything you’ve done to me” so powerful, because it’s it’s much more than an insult or a protest. It’s an acknowledgement that you were hurt and that you didn’t deserve it. 

And by extension here - that you’ve hurt others in turn and they didn’t deserve it, either. That perhaps you are just the same as the weak, pathetic spawn in the dungeons. That perhaps we all are. That perhaps the true power lies in daring to hope. For forgiveness, for understanding, for more people out there to have a heart like Tav’s. That you, if you’re given a chance to make choices for yourself, can make a life you can feel proud of. Even if it means you have to let others see your shame. To care again is to live again, like Tav says while they're exploring casa Cazador. And Astarion wants to feel alive.

When you can make Astarion realise he can be better than Cazador, he immediately shows  protectiveness towards the spawn, telling his siblings to lead them to the Underdark and then telling the truth to the Gur but making sure to point out that if they come hunting - they’re hunting their own children. Cazador’s been dead for a couple of minutes and Astarion is already doing a better job as some sort of wretched father figure for these poor souls. Because he's given them freedom to make their own choices, treated them as equals. Shown them the care nobody ever showed him before. That's how you break cycles and pack one hell of an emotional punch. Fuck you and fuck everything you’ve done to me, indeed.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Dawning Oasis ILLUSTRATION BY ROBYN!!! *falling over in happiness*

I do not know if there is a greater joy for a writer than for a beloved artist to have drawn something from their words. I was able to commission @haykebyr aka @dredgensimp and of course I begged for Drifteris.

To my great delight she chose to draw a scene from my story A Dawning Oasis.

The Drifter’s eyes shifted as he talked to a visiting guardian in the Annex, tracking movement behind them. For just a moment his entire face lit up in uncharacteristic glee and then he resumed his usual detached-but-friendly expression. His smile never faltered as he accepted the dark chocolate motes being gifted to him.

He nodded appreciatively at the guardian transmatting away and then his eyes flicked back, snake-like, to focus on the silhouette of an additional shadow in the Annex doorway, his smile becoming a delighted grin. Eris Morn stepped out of the darkness, her green glowing orb in her hands.

“And here I thought my Dawning couldn’t get any better!” The Drifter flipped the coin in his hand into the upturned helmet on his work table, landing it perfectly without even looking at it, as he stepped forward, arms wide offering a hug he knew she would decline. “How’s everyone’s favourite former Hive god doin’ today?”

“Germaine,” Eris glanced over her shoulder before walking up to him swiftly until she was close enough to reach out and lay her hand lightly on his wrist. “I have come seeking refuge.”

“Any time, anywhere, Three-Eyes,” he said, his voice flirtatious while his eyes flicked over her face, carefully analyzing. His gloved hand shifted to brush his armoured knuckles up against the inside of her wrist through her own gloves. She did not flinch away.

“I find myself wearing thin, my composure fraying. It is worse than usual this year. I seek solace… a respite from the near-constant persecution.”

A look of concern came over his face. The flirtatious grin was gone. “Of course Moondust,” he said quietly. “Is it… nightmares?”

“No. I can handle those. I can handle the screaming of the Hive through the ascendant plane. I can handle the whispers. What I cannot handle is…” She looked up at him and sighed deeply, her hand on his arm tensing. “...the cookies.”

The Drifter threw his head back and laughed. “Sick of ascendant oatmeal raisin already? Wanna trade? He spread his free hand out and indicated the set of small boxes piled up on his work table. I have enough dark chocolate motes to last me for the next century. Don’t tell our heroes, but I’ve been sneaking down to the Eliksni quarter every night and redistributing the Dawning cheer.”

“I have nowhere to redistribute mine. They are in piles everywhere. On my work tables, on my ritual surfaces, on the bed, the counter, the floor. I trip on them when I wake. I stumble over them when I try to go to sleep. Even now I fear well-meaning guardians will find me here with you and inflict more upon me.” She stepped closer to him, her voice a low whisper. “If I were to never see an ascendent raisin again, or any raisin for that matter, I would not sorrow.”

His eyes glittered in delight at her willing invasion of his personal space.

“Got a gambit match starting in seven minutes,” he said quietly, not wanting her to move away. “Come up to the Derelict with me and watch the show? Best seat in the house, and… not a single cookie on the entire rig.”

He raised an eyebrow enticingly, tilting his head.

“None at all?” Eris asked hopefully.

“Derelict’s a cookie-free zone, Moondust. Not only that but anyone transmitting on board, that ain’t with yours truly, goes straight to the gambit ready room. They won’t be able to find ya if you’re with me. No festivities. No decorations. No well-wishers. And…” He waved his hand with a dramatic flourish. “...not a single baked treat to be found. A veritable oasis in the overwhelming oppression of holiday cheer.”

He grinned and leaned forward playfully as he spoke, expecting her to draw back or bristle in her usual frustration with his constant flirting. She did not move away.

“I would very much appreciate coming with you.” Her three green eyes stared at him earnestly from behind the cloth wrapped around them, her hand still on his wrist, a look of relief on her face apparent even through her perpetual black paracausal tears.

Time seemed to slow as they lingered in each other’s space longer than was necessary or normal for either of them. He caught his breath and leaned in even closer. She still didn’t pull away.

The obnoxious clang of the Drifter’s pre-game alarm rang out and Eris jumped back with a start, her now-free hand frosting over instinctively to defend herself.

He swallowed, blinking, a frustrated smile on his lips over the ruined moment.

“Five minutes till go time,” he explained, wistfully.

Eris relaxed, the frost dissipated from her fingers.

“You comin’ with?”

She nodded.

“All aboard the escape-from-Dawning express!” He held out his hand once more.

She took it eagerly and firmly in a way that made him briefly hold his breath without realizing he was doing it.

The world shimmered around them as the Drifter’s transmat kicked in and transported them. They appeared in a small room with consoles on three sides and sixteen monitors all showing different views of the same area.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” he said, squeezing her hand and releasing it with reluctance before walking through the door, out onto the catwalk.

Eris watched him through the doorway, out of view from the people below. The rogue lightbearer stepped up the metal stairs to his usual platform, tumbling his coins across his knuckles.

“All right, all right, all right. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He looked back at her with a grin and a glint in his eyes briefly before turning back to the guardians assembled for the game. “Hive!” He held up the coin. “Bring a sword.”

Eris heard the murmurs from the participants and listened as several of them swapped out their weapons and gear while the Drifter continued with his pregame patter.

“I’ve always wanted a pet Hive.” He said as he tossed a coin from one hand to the other, flipped it in the air and bounced it off of his ankle. “The ascendent plane must have all kinds of…” He spun around with a grin to wink at her before turning back to the group on either side of him. “...I’m oversharing.” He whirled his arms at the elbows and pointed forward. “Transmat is go!”

He sauntered back into the room with a grin.

“A pet Hive?” she asked him. “Really?”

“I mean, outside of the mass-murderin’ psychopathy and universe-spanning genocide, they’re really just overgrown shrimps, right?”

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm, from whom the Hive had taken everything, glared at him reproachfully.

“Besides,” he continued as he walked past her, turning to look into her surgically and magically implanted eyes as he moved toward the console, “on the right person, Hive eyes can be weirdly cute.”

Eris tensed and the soulfire-glow in her eyes flared.

“Not to mention,” he continued, “...cook ‘em right and they’re delicious, make ya see colours for days.”

“Watch yourself, Rat,” she growled through clenched teeth.

He picked up a headset and pushed a button by his ear. “Lock and load, hotshot,” he spoke into the microphone. “Bring those motes to the bank.” He pushed the button again.

“Awww don’t be mad-mad, Moondust. You know I only tease you so much cuz I like you.”

She tilted her head in surprise at the forthrightness of his statement. He stepped close to her, gently touching her elbow. She looked down at his hand and back up at him but did not pull away.

“I’ve got maybe two minutes before I have to say somethin’ again.” His voice was warm now, gentle. “Let me make it up to you. Can I start ya some tea?”

She sighed deeply, her irritation leaving her. “An acceptable peace offering. I would like tea, yes.”

“Sit down in the chair. I’ll be right back.” His eyes sparkled as he walked backwards into the hall before slipping through a doorway.

Eris stood still for a moment, considering his offer. Then she walked to the chair at his console and sat down stiffly, resting her soulfire wreathed Ahamkara bone in her lap.

Not much later, the Drifter reappeared beside her to push two buttons which lit up blue when he touched them. He tapped the mute button on his headset. “Hostiles, incoming at the beach!” he barked excitedly into the microphone. Then he hit the button on his headset again.

“Water’s set to boil.” His voice was soft again. “When’s the last time you ate, Crota’s Bane?”

“I… do not remember. Probably this morning? It was this morning, yes.”

He crouched down next to her, folded his arms on the arm rest for the chair she was sitting in, looking up at her. “I got soup in the crock pot. Been cookin’ all day. Hot and ready. I was gonna have some for dinner now. There’s lots. Will you eat it if I bring you some?”

“Is it made of Hive eyeballs?”

“No. It’s made of chicken, lentils, vegetables and a creamy coconut curry. It’s good. You’ll like it. Trust.”

“That… does sound nice.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

He half-stood and reached across the console, leaning across her and bringing his face close to hers. Eris tilted her head quizzically at him but did not move away. He pushed two more buttons which turned blue like the first two. He then pressed the button on his headset, his nose still inches from hers. “Incoming hostiles, at the trees,” he called out before clicking the mute button again.

He stayed there, close, his eyes lingering first on her lips, then looking back into her eyes, and then back to her lips. The corner of her mouth quirked into a half smile. The Drifter’s eyes half-closed and opened his mouth to say something when a shrill continuous whistle pierced their ears from the hallway behind them. They both flinched away from each other in alarm.

He blinked several times, the frustrated smile once more on his face.

“Hmmm…” There was a hint of gentle amusement in her tone.

He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something to her and then shook his head, standing up.

“Incoming tea, from my kettle,” he said it the exact same way he’d have announced it in gambit, as he walked briskly out of the room.

A few moments later he was placing a steaming mug into her gloved hands and pushing more buttons on the console.

“High value target’s on the field. Hunt it down and put some rounds in it,” he said into the headset before re-muting himself.

“Is that team down one person?” Eris asked him, pointing at a screen.

“Yup. The one that jammed out’s getting a warning for that. That’s rude.”

“Do they always lose when they’re only three?”

“Depends on how good the ones are that’s left behind. Mostly yes,” he told her. He pushed the mute button. “Portal’s up. Go say hello!” He waited and then pointed at one of the screens with a grin as Eris watched one of the three-person team run to the other side.

“Embrace the Darkness,” he told the invader.

Eris leaned forward to watch.

“Well done,” she murmured appreciatively as the hunter took out two guardians with headshots from a sniper rifle. Then she gave a small gasp in delight as they danced around the remaining two, dodging and swapping weapons before bringing them both down with a submachine gun.

“Wooo!” The Drifter leaned back and whooped into his un-muted headset.

Eris’ face split into one of her rare open-mouthed smiles at his infectious glee.

“Your invader's back and they just took out the entire opposing team! Glad they're on your side.” He hit the mute button. “With an invader like that, those poor bastards might just pull this off. I’m excited to see how this turns out.”

“As am I,” Eris said quietly, her smile subdued but still present as she watched intently with him, sipping her tea.

He pointed to a progress bar on one of the screens. “When this gets to 100, press this button here,” he reached out, took her hand gently, and placed it on top of the button.

“Won’t you need to know when to talk?” she leaned in as she asked him while he was standing.

Her nose brushed against his ear.

He froze and sucked in a shuddering breath. She smirked and leaned back.

“I um…” He swallowed and gave her a small, almost shy, smile. “I’ll be able to hear it on the feed.”

“Hmmm…” She let her chin rest on her other hand, smiling back at him like she had just won something. “And this is so you can go get the soup?”

He stared back at her, the smooth charismatic mask temporarily gone, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “Yeah,” he said, as though he had forgotten what he was doing entirely and she’d just reminded him.

Shortly after he disappeared into the hallway behind her the number of motes hit 100 and Eris pushed the button, as directed. From down the hall she heard his voice with his usual practiced gambit tone, “Opposing team’s got a primeval. They kill it, they win.”

Eris continued to watch as the other team's mote bank also approached 100 and found a very similar button on that side of the console. As they hit their target she pressed it.

“Ok, you can still win this. Focus on that primeval,” she heard him talking into his microphone behind her. Eris turned to watch him enter the room walking slowly, a bowl of hot soup in each hand. As he placed a bowl on a flat spot in front of her, he silently mouthed the words ‘thank you.’ He placed his own bowl next to hers, flipped a different switch, said “Portal's up. Grab your gun,” to one team and then, with another switch, “Invader's on the field. Get ‘em!” to the other.

Eris smiled at how he always sounded like he was supporting the side he was talking to as she removed her gloves. She ate a spoonful of soup. It was warm and delicious, the taste of it shifting on her tongue, giving her too many flavors at once to process.

“It's very good, but also very complex,“ she said quietly.

“All good curry is,” he whispered before pressing the button on his headset again and continuing to call the match from a stool he’d pulled up next to the chair she was sitting in.

The three-person team had only just begun to damage their primeval when the Drifter pointed out to Eris how their opponents were on the last leg of the primeval damage phase.

“Alas,” she said softly into her soup. “They tried.”

“Oh, it ain’t over yet.” He leaned in closer to her again. “I mean, it might be, but let’s see what our hotshot from earlier can do.” He reached across her and flicked a switch. “Portal’s up,” he said through his headset, “Go make a mess.” He clicked the mute back on.

“There’s no way they can possibly win at this point.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” His eyes sparkled in glee.

“I have nothing to wager.”

“If the underdogs win, you come over here for dinner tomorrow night. And before you ask, no screeb guts or Hive eyeballs. Actual dinner with actual food.”

She frowned. “A… date?”

“Yeah,” he tilted his head to look her in the eyes. “A date.”

“I do not date.”

“I know. That’s why it’s a bet.” He shook his head side to side slightly to accentuate each word.

She pursed her lips. “And what do I get if the other team wins?”

“Whatever you want,” he said quietly with more intensity than he’d intended.

“Hmmm… if they win…” she began.

“Yeah?”

“You ‘redistribute’ my cookies for me.”

“Deal.”

The four-person team converged on their taken primeval, guns blazing. Eris and the Drifter watched as the primeval’s health indicator decreased rapidly. The hunter from the three-person team ran in, jumped up, and flung two kami into the middle of the fray, summoning a stasis whirlwind.

“Ugh. Too slow,” Eris critiqued. “That will not kill them quickly enough.”

The Drifter reached behind her to flick a switch swapping one of the screens to an over-the-shoulder view of the invader. He left his arm draped over the back of the chair. Eris noted the positioning of his arm while swallowing another spoonful of soup, but said nothing.

The invading hunter switched to their heavy weapon slot, pulling out Xenophage. Eris sat up straighter and smiled grimly as the first opponent fell with one shot, feeding the primeval and raising its health up from a sliver to a still-manageable, but significant chunk.

The Drifter chuckled in her ear as another guardian fell to Xenophage, feeding the Primeval further. “That’s your gun, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice proud. “It is Omar… from my fireteam. His spirit is within it.”

“Still a badass.”

“Yes.” her voice was warm. Then she sighed in disappointment as the invading hunter was taken down by a well-placed punch from a solar titan.

Still holding his soup bowl, the Drifter held up one finger away from it and pointed, drawing Eris’ attention back to the screen focused on the primeval. The stasis whirlwind was still going.

The hunter who had invaded was resurrected on their own side. They immediately began emptying Xenophage into their own primeval from across the map as they ran in. As Eris watched, alerts of the four-person team’s deaths popped up on the screen and their primeval’s health bar skyrocketed back up to full.

“It continues after they are dead!” she said excitedly.

“Yup. There’s a reason people hate stasis hunters more than most in this game.”

The four-person team’s portal came up and their invader ran in, but the three-person team made short work of their primeval, dancing together as the Drifter praised them for their hard-fought win.

Eris leaned back in the chair against his arm. He stumbled over his closing commentary when she touched him. She smiled and finished her soup as the Drifter continued to tell the exiting gambit players how well they would be paid.

With the game over and all participants transmatted away, the Drifter leaned forward and tapped several buttons, killing the feeds and opening up a single screen with a list of people waiting in the queue. He took his headset off and set it beside his empty bowl on the console, his arm still draped over the back of the chair.

“Want more soup?” he asked her gently, leaning in more than was necessary.

“Perhaps later,” she handed him her empty bowl.

He turned back to her after nesting her empty bowl within his just as she leaned forward and their faces once more became far too close together.

They smiled at each other, neither one moving.

“How long until your next match,” she asked, touching his face with her fingertips.

“Ten minutes,” he whispered, staring into her eyes through the cloth that was covering them.

She curled her fingertips slightly and he leaned forward, his eyes fluttering closed as their lips met in a gentle kiss.

After a few moments he pulled back slightly, sucking in a shaking breath. She leaned in further and her hand slid around his neck to press their mouths together again.

Kiss after kiss followed. Reverent. Hungry. Teasing. Soothing. Hard. Gentle. He clung to her as though she might disappear at any moment. She pressed her lips against his tightly, drinking in his affection like he was water in the desert.

Eventually they had to breathe for a bit, but, loath to separate, they instead panted softly against each other’s necks, still holding tight. At some point he had slid off the stool and was partly in her lap, one knee on the floor. Her fingers were laced into his hair. Their breathing was in sync. The Drifter’s hands were soft and trembling, brushing against her face, her neck, pulling her close. Eris’ hands were cool and almost claw-like in how tight she held on to him.

“Hey-o! Drifter! Time for gambit!” someone shouted from one of the platforms in the ready room.

She felt his eyelashes blinking against her skin. He felt her lips smile just behind his ear.

She leaned back, cupping his cheek in her hand, her fingers buried in his beard.

“Driiiiifter!” someone else called.

“You should go start the next match,” she whispered.

“Screw the match,” he whispered back. “Is… is this real?”

She kissed him again. “Yes. Go start the match. I will wait.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

He got up to go and then sank back down to his knees, kissing her one more time before backing away, shaking his head, adjusting his headband, willing the mask of the meretricious rogue back in place.

Cheers echoed through the doorway as he appeared, his coins tumbling on his knuckles once more.

Eris had followed him and stood to watch, just out of sight.

“Took you long enough!” someone called out.

“Ya know what, just for you…” the Drifter pointed and snapped his fingertips, holding out the coin that had appeared with his trademark sleight-of-hand. “Scorn approaching.”

Everyone groaned.

Eris laughed silently and the Drifter’s eyes twinkled as he glanced back at her through the doorway before returning his gaze to the people assembled below.

"Never trust a Scorn!” he told the group as they were preparing for the match. “They're little balls of instinct. Shoot first, talk to it later.”

“You had to piss him off. Scorn are the worst,” someone said on the left.

“You ain’t seen me pissed off, brother.” the Drifter pointed at him. “For both our sakes, let’s hope you never do. Prepare for transmat!" He whirled one arm around his head and sent them off.

Eris handed him the headset as he stepped through the doorway. He put it on and then immediately pulled her into a kiss, pressing his whole body against hers.

He broke away from her lips reluctantly, tapped the side of his headset, spouted off some words of encouragement, and re-muted it so he could sink back into her lips again.

Three matches later, Eris was comfortably snuggled against the Drifter in his lap, pressing buttons for him with calm precision as he called the matches between tender feverish kisses, soft clinging touches.

Here they were, two of the most hardened, vicious, efficient killers, survivors of more horrors than any reasonable person could withstand and, for the first time in longer than either of them could remember, they were both content, smiling, quietly drunk on being gentle with each other.

. . .

The next evening, after a long shift at her post in Sanctuary on the Moon, Eris returned to her living quarters for a few moments of solitude before she would need to leave for the dinner she’d promised to attend for losing her gambit bet: her ‘date’ with the Drifter.

As she entered through her doorway she froze. Something had changed. It took a moment for her to realize what it was. She stood in the middle of her rooms looking around, first in surprise, and then genuinely impressed. There was not the slightest trace of an ascendent oatmeal raisin cookie anywhere.

At some point while she was working, the known thief, conman and criminal she had spent the last evening passionately kissing had snuck in through her perimeter defenses, skulked undetected past the many guardians who had been visiting her all day, bypassed the locks on her doors, and stolen every single one.

“A happy Dawning indeed,” she whispered to herself as she prepared a Hive portal to the Derelict, a small smile on her face.

[echo-of-damnation]

Collide Like Two Stars p.2

Talos finds himself alone in a room with a very dominating Drukhari woman. aka I just want to hurt the poor boy.

Tags: hella smut, bondage, blood, pain play, electro play, noncon, sadism, emotional manipulation.

Do not even attempt if really freaky and kinky shit is not your jam. Its the Drukhari and a Night Lord so use your imagination and proceed with caution. MDNI.

Word Count: 1489

Part 1 - Part 2

She began tapping all over his chest with the tip of the rod, coming to a stop on his left nipple and pushed that dreadful button again. This time it felt like his whole left pec was on fire, sending tendrils of pain to his fingertips and toes. He bit down on the rubber mouth guard but this time unable to keep the scream from ripping out of his throat. His twin hearts fluttered from the electrical stimulation, any longer and he was sure they would stop all together.

After what felt like ages, the drukhari finally stopped her assault on his nipple. Talos let out an involuntary groan, drool dripping from his mouth. He could barely see through the tears that welled in his eyes. He could feel her hand come up and grope the abused muscle. Her eyes shone with a wild hunger he had never seen before, nostrils flaring as she breathed. Her gaze sent blood rushing back down to his cock, causing a small twitch.

“Why, you are just so beautiful aren’t you. You took that so well,” she purred, moving the rod away and down to his right hip bone. 

His eyes widened as he anticipated the next assault but all she did was laugh at his obvious panic.

“Silly little mon’keigh. Don’t look so scared,” the woman said “I wont hurt you each time.”

Talos visibly relaxed a fraction, no longer bracing his body when another wave of electricity slammed into his body. The drukhari woman shrieked in laughter, letting the attack last longer than the last two times. Talos felt as though his eyes would pop out of his sockets and his jaw break against the guard until the wave stopped. Once again left limply hanging by his wrists, shoulders beginning to burn from the pull of his massive body.

“Truly wonderful! I could have never asked for a better gift!” she said as she brought the rob to poke at his half hard cock.

True fear filled Talos at the thought of this horrible xenos woman frying his cock off. Watching her rub the stick against it, the cold metal of it sending a pleasant shiver through him.

“I know I’m sorry I lied that last time, but you can have my word here. I wont be damaging your manhood. I have better plans for that later,” she said as she replaced the wicked tool with her other slender hand. Feeling girth of if underneath the thin cloth piece. Closing her fist around it, she could barely touch her fingers, slowly squeezing while moving her hand painfully slow. Talos letting out a desperate moan around the guard still in his mouth, drool dripping freely now.

“Never in all my years have I seen a cock so big before. The ladies you steal away must feel so lucky to be ripped apart by this,” continuing her teasing, pulling her eyes away to stare into Talos’.

He tried so hard to steady his breathing, bring his heart beats back down but it was no use. Adrenaline, fear, and arousal were freely flowing through his bloodstream now. His cool and calm demeanor long gone, he was no longer in control of his own body.

The drukhari woman twisted her wrist one more time before pulling away, pulling out a desperate whine from Talos at the same time. 

“Now that I know you can handle the kind of fun we will have, lets really get started,” she mused as she went to put the rob back onto the table. 

Bending forward to pick something up from the lower shelf, Talos could always see all of her. She was very clearly wet, slick dripping down her inner thighs. The thong she wore left very little to the imagination, her asshole clearly on display. Her pussy lips pushing out of either side of the thin material made to “cover” her. She rocked from foot to foot while she searched for something, a low moan from the gentle stimulation to her clit floating from her and straight to Talos’ already hard cock. The smell of her arousal filling his lungs. Finally finding what she was looking for, she smoothly rose back up and walked back to and around to the rear of Talos. Running a hand up the back of his neck, dragging her nails across his short hair and into his scalp. A rumbling moan escaping his chest. Dragging her hand back down and continuing down his back till she came to his ass. She groped the tight muscle, slowly pulling one of the cheeks away from its partner, enjoying the sight of the small bit of fat that still sat there squish between her fingers. 

Satisfied with her fill of watching she stepped closer, running her hand to the front of him, slipping it under the cloth. Talos groaned at the sensations, feeling her breasts pressed against his back while she softly gilded her hand up and down his length. Reaching the tip to gather the pre cum that had begun to pathectically dribble out. Talos could feel her hot breath against his neck as she licked a stipe up to his ear.

“You taste so good, my little toy. Do you enjoy having your power stripped from you?” she all but moaned out. “Can you keep being a good boy for me, please?”

Talos moaned, being called a ‘good boy’ going straight to his dick. The woman let out a soft laugh as she felt him twitch in her hand. Much to Talos’ dismay she pulled her hand away, rubbing the excess pre cum across his lower belly. She went back to gently spreading his ass cheeks apart with one hand while her other covered his hole in something cold and slimy. Talos tried to get away from it all but was unable. The drukhari digging her nails into the soft flesh of his ass to keep him in place.

“Now don’t be ungrateful. I'm doing this to make this enjoyable for you too,” she chastised.

Once she felt that he was liberally coated she pressed a sharp finger against his awaiting hole.

“Now be a good boy and breathe in for me, and now out,” and as he did as he was told she pushed the finger inside him.

Talos began to panic again, he had never had anything that close to his as let alone inside before. The pain of the stretch went deep into his core.Trying more desperately to get away, he started shaking his head around, flexing his legs to try and get them to move even an inch.

“Shhh my sweet boy, you are doing so well. I just need to open you up so the next part will be easier,” she cooed into his ear.

Once her finger was all the way in she slowly started to work it in and out, feeling the delicious pull of his muscles as she worked him open. Cooing praises into his ear as she pumped him, adding in a second finger and then a third. Talos groaned at the feeling of being stuffed full of her fingers. He could hear the obscene wet sounds of her fingers fucking into him. With the third one inside of him, the tight ache in his lower core started to unwind. She fucked him faster now, taking her free hand from his ass to back to play with his cock, pumping him intime with her thrusts. She pulled moans from him that he never knew he could produce. Desperate for his release he began to buck his hips as much as he could but as he was about to topple over the edge, all sensations stopped. The xenos woman took her hands off his aching cock and ripped her fingers out of his ass. 

Walking back to face him she brought the hand that she was jerking him off with up to his face and began to smear the cum he was leaking across his face. Making sure to shove her fingers in his mouth between his cheeks and teeth. Once she felt she had cleaned them off sufficiently, she ripped the mouth guard out of his mouth. Talos let out a small moan at the loss of tension his jaw was in, letting his mouth hang open as he panted. Finally getting a proper amount of air into his lungs.

“You did so well for me, pet. But I can’t let you release yourself just yet. Don't you mon’keighs know the female must always climax first?” she said in an admonishing tone. “Now be a good boy and get this wet. Its for your own good so if you don't want to feel any pain, make sure you do a good job,” and with that she held up a large glass plug up to his mouth. He eyed her suspiciously, not understanding her meaning.

[hoboblaidd]

Along the lines of my last ask; how does Solas' early experiences with emotions/aspects other than Wisdom affect his opinion of 'changing' or not 'changing' Cole? Does any, very small part of him relish the idea that Cole will have access to a wider variety of positive emotions/experiences? Or is this possibility entirely overshadowed by the fear of Cole's corruption?

NOT EVEN A TINY LITTLE BIT. THE EXACT OPPOSITE.

Yes, Solas got to experience more emotions when he took a body, but he also lost his self in the process. He didn't truly understand what it would mean to become part of the world that spirits exist to reflect. It’s not even just his fear of Cole getting corrupted, although that's part of it. The bigger issue is that he sees this as Cole losing the very essence of himself. And he's not just guessing - he knows this is what will happen, because it happened to him and reasonably every other spirit that became an elf.

I’m gonna paraphrase a reply to Casadh because again, I'm awful at writing in the abstract.

A spirit is a single emotion made manifest, and it embodies that singular emotion. That is its essence. Basically, that single emotion is its soul, its identity, and the very fabric of what it is, as much as blood and sinew is the fabric of ours.

Becoming "real" dilutes that. Cole’s compassion remained, but Solas saw that he was basically fractured. Yes, Cole can then grow as a human, but he'll never be "Compassion" again. He will never be who he was. That was stolen from him - even though Cole sort of made the choice, like Solas did, Cole can't possibly, fully understand what he's giving up until he gives it up. It's irrevocably gone.

Spirits aren’t meant to embody all emotions. They embody Their emotion, and together with other spirits, enrich the emotional lives of mortals. As Cole says, he gives the right words and “what I am, a little of me making the happiness stronger so the pain fades.” 

Spirits generally don’t want to change when they’re spirits. They want to fulfill their purpose. That’s why Solas is always reminding Cole of that when he gets confused - "Never forget your purpose. It is a noble one, even if this world does not understand."

Manfred and Emmrich are such a perfect example of how spirits are supposed to interact with the world. Curiosity always wants to come through to learn more, and Manfred was lucky or had enough "foresight" to be drawn to Emmrich, who understands spirits better than most people. In the decades they’ve known each other, Curiosity has been able to be himself while learning more of the world - aka, fulfilling his purpose. Even after he gets magic, Manfred is still Curiosity, wanting to learn more and still be protected from corruption or fracturing by someone who loves and understands what he needs to succeed. Emmrich is the reason Manfred's able to survive as himself while still learning and satisfying his purpose.

To wrap it up with Cole, because this makes me emo:

“You found out, but you didn’t change, didn’t make me change. You let me be this, be more. Thank you for helping me find this again. For believing in me. You don’t know what it means.”

But Solas does. In world states where Cole isn't changed, Solas is grateful Cole never has to learn what changing will cost him. Solas has to live with what he is now. He can't change that. But if he can, he'd rather no spirit ever have to go through that.

[bonesandthebees]

PHIL POV! PHIL POV! PHIL POV!

I was wondering what the pov was going to be like. Were we gonna stay in Phil’s for a while or go back to solely Willum. This is a nice mix of both and I like (read love) it.

Anyway, time to tear this pov to shreds. Poor Sneeg. Always the bringer of bad news. He’s not getting bribed enough for this. It gotta love how all pretence that any of them care about Tomys is dropped when under four eyes. Sneeg doesn’t even mention him while talking about the rescue mission. It’s very clearly all about Wilbur.

And that makes sense. They don’t know the kid and his very existence throws a wrench in their plans as much as it provides them with opportunity, but the way they talk about him still feels harsh. I’ll get to that.

Let’s talk about Phil’ father instinct instead. He knew something was wrong. [He’d felt it in his gut.] And Phil very clearly already put the pieces of possible assassination together, and is probably cursing himself for being blind enough to the opportunity that he unknowingly put his own son at risk. [Phil hadn’t seen his son in three days.] he’s going through it, not knowing if his son is alive or not. Mainly because the snow very much deadly. (He’s going to be so glad when he sees him, then proceed to freak over the broken leg, which is probably getting more and more fucked the longer they spend in that cave).

TECHNO! I’m going to be honest. I’d forgotten that he existed for a bit. More like, forgot his relevance as Phil’s bestie and the secret meetings and such. Now I do wonder what Techno’s relationship to Wilbur is. Like he’s probably taught the kid all his life, so they do have some bond. But is it a I care because it’s Phil’s kid and he’s clearly upset or an I care because I care about the kid who now might be dead. Aka. Is this an uncle Techno situation or not?

Anyway, [“Yup. You should probably talk to him.”] Sneeg and Techno both know how upset Phil truly is, even if he’s pretty good at seeming calm. Sneeg either expects Techno to fix it, or knows Techno will bring the information that can redirect Phil’s frustrations elsewhere.

(1/?)

-🌲

FINALLY GETTING AROUND TO MORE ROSE ASKS WOO

I really love writing rose!phil's pov. like, way more than I expected. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying it too :)

oh yeah I mean it's obvious that the guy whose son is missing is going to pretty much only care about his son and not the other random kid he met like a month ago who's also gone. phil is a practical man and he cares about his kid first and foremost. all tomys really is to phil is a problem right now, so he doesn't give much of a shit if he lives or dies. he just wants to make sure wilbur is okay.

phil is just trapped in his worried father instincts right now. which is unusual for him because he's not exactly a warm father, but he loves his son deeply and that's never been more obvious than right now.

yeah I realized I hadn't had much opportunity to show techno until I was writing this scene and I was like wait I need techno in here. that's another benefit of phil's pov. I can throw techno in a lot more because he's an equal conspirator with phil's plans and is the only person phil openly speaks to about everything.

I'd say this definitely is an uncle techno situation in regards to his relationship with wilbur. he's worried because he cares about wilbur, but it's also because he cares deeply about phil who is worried about his son. he's tutored wilbur, but he's also basically helped phil raise him. still, phil is the one who techno is loyal to first and foremost. the two of them have been working together for a long time and they're always on the same page.

but to an outsider, while most in the palace know phil and techno are old friends, few realize how deep that friendship goes. sneeg and wilbur both get it, but few others do.

[tomybubba]

Feb. 19th, 2024

Dear C,

hi. I hope you're taking care of yourself and doing well. I can't believe I feel like I've forgotten what you sound like. It's so stupid, I know, but I can't remember it as well and I miss it so much. I miss hearing your accent and the way you'd laugh whenever I'd say something out of pocket. Like it said in Stick Season by Noah Kahan, I'm no longer funny because I miss the way you laugh.

Are you happy now? Have you found someone who makes you happier than I made you happy? I hope you did, but part of me wishes we'd worked things out so that I could be the one who kept making you happy. I know it's weird, but I truly wish you all the best this world could give.

I think what I've learned is that every crush I've had was just a crush and that you're right, your first love will always stick with you. You were my first love, you were my firsts for a lot of things, but you'd already had your firsts with someone else. I guess that's also why maybe we couldn't last because your heart was still with her or whoever your first love was. I don't blame you for it or hate you for that matter, but I just wish my dad had chosen to move to Australia so at least in that timeline, I'd have been closer to you, and maybe, just maybe, I could've seen you in person. I didn't realize my love for you was unconditional until you mentioned it and then my friends kept saying it. Was your love conditional for me? I don't regret loving you at all, and I still love you with every bone in my body and every atom that I have in me. I'm grateful that you are my first love because I get to live with the fact that I loved someone and was loved by someone without even seeing them physically.

I was remembering how you'd told me that you would've gotten my name tattooed above your eyebrow, and I don't know why but I'm so glad that you were joking about it because I can't imagine how much regret you would've had towards it or me if you'd actually gone through with it. I still put your name in henna when I get my henna done, I can't bring myself to stop it because I do it all the time, but I promise I'll stop soon.

The lace lingerie sets I bought for my trip to see you sit right at the top of my stash of clothes I hide from my mom because they're too "provocative" (aka slutty) to wear, and I guess they're a painful reminder that you'll never get to rip them off of me. I bought a red one especially for you since it's your favourite colour. I was so excited to show them to you because while I know that guys don't really require/emphasize girls wearing them, I still would've liked for you to at least see it as wrapping paper on a gift. I'm sorry you never got to see them, I can only hope that you would've liked them as much as I thought you would.

Not a second goes by where I'm not thinking about you. You'll always be my Roman empire, my Mongol empire, and my British empire, always. I love you so so much, bubba. More than all of the stars in the sky combined, more than all the sand grains in the universe, and more than I'll ever love anyone else. I love you so much, meri jaan. Oute alofa ia oe

yours and yours only, forever and always,

F

[phantomyre]

Yes, he is immortal. Though to a degree. I don't know how much you know of Vincent, so I'll just say be aware of spoilers. While OG doesn't specifically state Vincent is immortal, other compilations and supporting material have made it pretty clear that he is. However, there seems to be a small limitation. Fans have mixed ideas on if Vincent is fully immortal or if he is only partially immortal, which I'll explain later. Spoilers for OG/Dirge of Cerberus/On the Way to a Smile below: (Semi Long post)

In the novel On the Way to a Smile, in Chapter Nanaki, Nanaki expresses how he is terrified of someday being alone when everyone has died off, since he has a very long life-span. When he says to Vincent that even he would be gone, Vincent gives a solid "Nope. I can't die," which he never openly expresses to anyone up until this novel. Vincent then goes on to say that "it's a mixed blessing". That's when Red realizes that at least Red would die one day, but Vincent would be the only living being in the whole world, which then causes him to shift his sadness towards Vincent and how lonely Vincent would become. This has been the only place where Vincent blatantly states he is immortal. Through the years, the Ultimania have only claimed he is mostly immortal. We get a bit of an extended look into just how immortal Vincent is in Dirge of Cerberus, however. Due to a particular monster in him--Chaos-- Vincent is granted eternal youth. Chaos is linked to the end of the world, where he is fated to live on a dead planet for eternity, which only adds to how poignant and terrible Vincent's fate is... the inability to finally rest, and to be eternally alone, according to the Omega reports. However, at the end of DoC, Vincent sacrifices himself to protect the planet, which causes his body and spirit to dissipate into Lifestream particles, separating Chaos' spirit from his own. However, this doesn't kill Vincent, as he is later rediscovered by Cloud and the gang, 7 days later; his body fully recreated. And this is where the speculations begin... Some fans assume that because Chaos' spirit has returned to the planet, Vincent is no longer immortal and is now capable of dying as a regular mortal. However, what many fail to take note of is that if Vincent being separated from Chaos caused him to be mortal again, technically he should have also returned to the planet, thus finally granting him rest. However, instead, Vincent survives... which he also literally tells Lucrecia (who planted Chaos inside him) that she was the reason he survived. Even Hojo at one point gives himself credit for giving Vincent an indestructible body. Nevertheless, the question still remains if Vincent is truly immortal without Chaos, or if removing Chaos grants him liberty to finally rest in peace. I will give my personal take on this... Personally, I think Vincent is immortal in the same way as the Gi Tribe, in that his body/soul is so heavily corrupted that the planet will not accept him. Even without Chaos. Thus, Vincent is fated to live an 'endless torment' and never be granted repose. But that's for another discussion. So to answer your question--- technically, yes. If Sephiroth destroyed the planet, especially with the concentration of darkness (which is also what Vincent is chained to genetically), in general, Vincent would still survive. What's more, by empowering the darkness, Sephiroth also empowers Vincent aka Chaos. This is because (SPOILERS) both Vincent and Nero are made of the same elements (corrupt Lifestream). Again, we are missing a few tidbits, but in general, if Sephiroth were to eliminate all life and empower darkness, only Vincent would survive.

Wait, so Vincent is immortal, right?

Like "even if he's killed he'll be resurrected" type immortal?

So that means that even if Sephiroth was successful in destroying the planet, wouldn't Vincent survive? Or at least be resurrected shortly later? I see a fanfic opportunity!!

[nsharks]

can we see more of dad ghost ♥︎ im obsessedLMAO

“soft around the edges”

aka when ghost’s son runs up to him in front of the team (a little part 2 to this fic. part 3 here.)

Soap doesn't share the Lieutenant's secret with the rest of the force.

Things go back to normal after that brief, bizarre encounter with you. When their break is over, Ghost carries on the typical dry humor and sharp orders, pretending that Soap never had dinner at his cozy home and met his pregnant wife.

Though, MacTavish does notice little differences in his stoic superior turned new dad. Ghost is shockingly, and ever-so-slightly, nicer. His language is still foul. But he's a little less rough around the edges: compliments Soap a bit more, tells him to shut the fuck up a little bit less.

It's not something that any of the others notice, of course, which is why they are all so baffled when they finally do figure out about Ghost's secret family.

It's two years later when they are disbanding at a base in the UK that you accidentally reveal yourself.

It's truly an accident.

Whenever you pick him up from the military base, Simon instructs you to wait outside. Says he doesn't want to put you at any risk. But you have a knack for not listening to him. You missed him so much during the past four months, and the two-year-old in your arms was old enough to start asking where his dad was, so you figured you could wait for him inside this time, hidden away in a corner.

Your plan might have worked if it weren't for the swell of your belly making it difficult for you to hold the squirming toddler.

He recognizes his dad even with the skull mask on.

Immediately starts to yelp for him, kicking his little feet around, and giving you no choice but to set the toddler down for a second. But your son is growing so much, and he's got his father's determination.

It's definitely riveting for Soap and the team to witness the whole thing unfold.

At first sight, the waddling two-year-old boy doesn't faze them. There were usually family members and little ones waiting at the gate. Gaz and Price are saying their goodbyes when they both notice that the toddler running around is coming in their direction. Or more specifically, in Ghost's direction.

Soap knows right away what's happening.

Watches with raised brows.

For the rest of the team, this is the first time they witness Ghost's demeanor shift to something so soft and peculiar. His mannerisms give everything away before the kid even reaches him: a typically-unfazed Ghost looks around frantically, probably wondering how the hell his son even got here, until he spots you waddling sheepishly after him.

Oh, fuckin' hell.

You give your husband an apologetic look that says I'm sorry and help me at the same time.

“Can’t believe what I’m seeing," Gaz mutters, watching as Ghost bends down to pick up the small child.

Tell me 'bout it, Soap wants to say. But he's already gone through the initial disbelief two years ago, so now, he simply watches with knowing eyes.

He can't say he didn't spend some time the past two years wondering what kind of parents you and Ghost had become. He knew bits and pieces of his past and hesitantly wondered if Ghost had carried on that behavior.

But now he witnesses the Lieutenant scoop the toddler in his arms, making him look so small against his broad chest. “I’ve got ya, kid.” And he is tucking the boy's head underneath his chin and pressing his masked nose to the top of his hair.

Then, the toddler reaches a small hand to his mask and pats it, perhaps harder than he realizes, but Ghost simply shakes his head and patiently wraps his much larger hand around the curious little one’s.

Ghost is soft and gentle and anything but angry, even though you worried that he might have been.

Everything seems to sink in for the team when they see you finally reach your husband. Your mouth moving to rush out apologies:

"I'm sorry, Simon, I know you said to wait outside. We just really wanted to see you and I tried to hold him and-"

And Ghost might have been frustrated on another day. But on this day, he’s just relieved to see you again. It's apparent to all of the eyes watching that this brooding man, with his deadpan eyes and a trademark mask, is utterly and unabashedly in love with you and the little family you have gifted him. Finally able to fully relax as he wraps an arm around your waist and nuzzles your neck, something you could never imagine him doing in public like this a few years ago.

“S’okay, love,” he tells you. “Can’t be mad, can I? Not when I get to see you two.”

You’re carrying his second child and he hasn't seen you in months and he simply doesn't give a fuck at the moment.

To his team watching, the Lieutenant seems like another person.

They're watching Simon, not Ghost.

"That's his girl, then?" Alejandro finally asks, as they have been frozen in place. Watching in curiosity and bewilderment.

“Wife seems like,” Gaz says. Shooting Soap a curious look, he adds, “Did you know anything about this?”

“Hell,” Soap shrugs to feign innocence. “Didn’t know a thing-“

But, of course, you’re soon waving over at him and smiling before your husband can stop you. “Hi, Johnny!”

Guilty and caught, Soap offers a small wave in return before shaking his head. “Christ, alright. May have ran into them awhile back.”

“And you didn’t tell us, MacTavish?” Gaz scoffs.

“Not my secret to tell,” Soap shrugs again and watches as Ghost caresses your pregnant stomach. He leans down to whisper something in your ear and you smile coyly at him, planting a little kiss to the cheek of his hard mask. Ghost is somehow able to hold you and your son firmly against his chest and still have more room. Must be what had the two of you realizing that a fourth family member was needed.

Soap hears the snide remarks as your family leaves and is out of earshot.

Looks like Ghost keeps himself busy on leave.

You think he helps with the diapers?

The kid’s even got his eyes.

Reckon he takes the mask off during sex?

Finally, Soap groans out, “Haud yer wheesht. That’s enough.”

“Sergeant’s right,” Price, whose own surprise has faded into something more stern, quiets the members of the team who are still lingering. “That’s your superior you’re gosspin’ about. Show some respect and bugger off.”

But once the Captain is gone, Soap allows himself this one quip (because, he’d been so good at not sharing what he’d seen for two years).

It’s a quiet one that he mentions only to Kyle.

“He takes her shopping an’ carries all the bags. Saw it myself.”

[capypub]

Patience, Little One - Morpheus (Dream of the Endless)

Rating: 18+ (you are responsible for the content you read, minors be gone)

Synopsis: Morpheus returns to his witch lover... (aka shameless, soft smut)

This emo pipe cleaner has become my latest obsession, I've been considering a Morpheus/Corinthian/Reader scenario, what do you think?

She sighed heavily against the familiar fabric of his coat, his body warm through his shirt, warm and solid and real. He stroked a hand down the back of her head, carding his fingers through her hair as he breathed in her scent, lips soft against her temple. 

“You’re really here,” she mumbled against the fabric, refusing to loosen her grip.

“I’m here, my love, and I shall never leave you again,” he promised, leaning back just enough to look at her fully, noticing the glossiness in her eyes and the slight tremble of her lower lip.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Morpheus,” she said shakily, a single tear escaping when she blinked. 

“My darling, my stars,” he said gently, stroking the tear away with his thumb, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, “I intend to stay by your side as long as you’ll have me,” he murmured, a low rumble in his throat as she looked up at him. 

“What of the Dreaming?” she asked, always so worried for others, rarely stopping to be concerned for herself.

“Better, I have found my tools and have begun the process of rebuilding. My Nightmare has been handled and the castle is ready for your return, if you wish to return,” he explained, despising how he had to wait so long after his release to find her, but knowing he could not return to her without his full power and the Dreaming restored. 

“And you? How are you, truly?” she asked, head tilting sideways slightly as she assessed his face, noticing the shadows and sharp edges more prominent.

“Well,” he nodded, his tone clipped. 

“Morpheus, this is not the time for formalities, I’ve been so worried about you,” she huffed, losing her patience with him at that moment, “tell me the truth…please,” she demanded, gripping his hands in her own, squeezing tightly. 

He stared down at her, his little witch, so concerned for his well being. He searched her eyes for any hints of ulterior intent, but only found raw concern and adoration. Another tear slipped down her cheek, collected by the pad of his thumb before she could wipe it away. His heart ached for her, he wanted nothing more than to stop her tears and see her smile again, to hear her laugh and proclaim her love like she had before his capture. 

“T-touch me,” she whispered, “if you won’t speak of it, then touch me...please.” 

He hesitated. “My love, you’re crying,” he began softly, gently.

“Touch me, Morpheus, I don’t have the capacity to have this conversation right now,” she said, her voice trembling, “I need to feel you, to feel something,” she added softly, closing her eyes. 

In a way, he understood. He too felt the carnal need for physical intimacy low in his stomach, the desire to claim her again after so long, to taste her, to bring her to climax until she could no longer remember the pain she was currently feeling. He understood completely, but a part of him wanted to be gentle with her, hold her, talk things through, understand. 

“My lovely little witch,” he began, his voice soothing and warm, “I have much to make up for, allow me to start now,” he said, leaning down to kiss her shoulder and then her neck, “allow me to atone for your pain which I have caused.”

He lowered them both to her bed, the streetlights and full moon the only light in her small apartment. She wiped the last of her tears with the back of her hand as Morpheus removed his coat and shirt, kneeling over her as he pushed her onto her back. Holding her still with one hand, the other palmed over her chest, feeling her whimper at his touch. Raising that same hand to the back of her head, he lifted her slightly, kissing her with a fervent hunger, teeth clashing, tongues colliding, nothing gentle about the act.

“More…” she whined against his mouth, her hands roaming his back as she began to grind her hips down onto his thigh. 

“Patience, little one,” he muttered against her chest, pulling her shirt off her body with ease. 

She did not resist when he fully undressed her, the next few moments filled with gentle touches as he reacquainted himself with the curves of her body. She shifted underneath him, grinding her hips into his thigh more determined. Morpheus stilled her hips with his hand, lowering his mouth to her core, inhaling her scent. 

“Let me hear you, little one,” he said before diving into her, securing his arms around each thigh to keep her still.

She cried out, her hand gripping his hair tightly as he traced patterns along her clit, prodding her entrance occasionally. He did not stop, working her through one climax, only slowing when he sensed she was nearing her second. Hearing her cry out for him as she came, body shaking against his own. 

“I’m yours, only yours, please,” she whined, mind fuzzy as she rushed towards her second orgasm.

“Only mine?” he questioned with a dangerously sly smirk, moving up her body while simultaneously removing the last of his clothes with a wave of his hand. 

“Only yours, Morpheus, please, j-just…ngh,” she gasped when he slipped into her, his hard length stretching her so deliciously she couldn’t even think. 

“Come for me, little one,” he grunted in her ear, angling his hips to go even deeper and harder as she squeezed him perfectly, “come for your King, your Master,” he growled, grazing his teeth along her neck.

“Yes, yes!” she cried, her nails digging into his back as she tensed under him, her body locking up and then trembling with the quakes of her release.

Her release only brought him closer to his own. He groaned into the crook of her neck, chasing his end with wild abandon. She spoke softly, breathlessly in his ear, affirmations of belonging to him, encouraging him to come. 

Sitting up, he pulled her with him, until they were both on their knees. Slipping back inside her dripping heat with ease, he continued to fuck her senseless. One hand locked around her neck, tight enough to cut off some of her air, which had her grinning and gasping euphorically as he rutted into her with unbelievable resolve. His other hand alternated between squeezing and holding her hips steady to squeezing and plucking at her pert nipples, both actions eliciting blissful moans and gasps from his beloved. 

“You can give me one more,” he grunted in her ear, releasing her so that she fell onto her hands and knees, breathing hard as he continued to hammer into her.

“Ah, please,” she cried out, begging for anything he would give her. 

Reaching under her, he rubbed at her clit in time with his thrusts, keeping her steady when she began to shake and grind back onto him, her orgasm quickly approaching. He felt it, the pulsing of her walls around her, the explosive warmth and velvety caress as she squeezed him tighter and tighter.

He came with a low groan, his hips stilling as he released ropes and ropes of his seed. She was practically purring under him by the time he settled beside her, eyes closed with a content smile. Yes, he preferred this over her tears any day. Her smile always brought a warmth to him, an undeniable sense of love and adoration filling him. 

“Stay…please?” she asked, feeling him shift slightly behind her.

“Always,” he agreed, pulling her closer to him, kissing her temple and making sure she was properly covered by the blankets they had crumpled in their activities.

[pynkgothicka]

Ｇｅｎｅｒａｌ Ｙａｎｄｅｒｅ ＧＯＷ Ｈｅａｄｃａｎｏｎｓ

Synopsis - Just some general Headcanons for one of my favorite game series and characters!!

Tags and Warnings - Harm Towards the Reader, that's all I got.

Authors Note - THIS IS SO CRINGE (please don't unfollow me I'm going through a phase (I'm working on BTS reqs rn I swear))

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

Kratos

Literally is known for killing, and will gladly do it again

Your like family to him and he's seen too many of those he considered family betray him and die

Pre Norse Kratos would be at his absolute worst peak. Any little thing would result in someone else dying.

Looked at you wrong? Cut in Half.

Someone told you something? Eyes Gouged out.

And the worst someone did to you the more serious Kratos would punish them, or really kill them.

His rage is met with something that calms him, makes him feel grounded, aka you.

But my god is he gentle with you, no matter what. He touches you almost like you'd break if he used anymore force.

Even with the little words he uses when talking to you, he truly loves and cares for you. All he wants is for that love to be recognized and given back to him.

But one thing for sure, Kratos kidnaps you. Just to keep you in his sights and a place he knows and can see you whenever

Post Norse Kratos is much more pleasant to be around. He's more stern, more calm, much more approachable, even if needing a much more deeper urge too.

Plus if your good with Atreus, that only makes things better. He sees that maternal aspect in you instantly

However no matter what he keeps is past closer off to you because he doesn't want you to think any different of him.

(HE LOVES BIG WOMEN GUYS I SAID IT. HE GOT TOO. (all his dead wives are skinny (let me be delusional)))

You yelled out running into the middle of of snow. It was freezing cold but you couldn't stop anytime soon. Or else you'd be trapped back in that house, never to see the light of day.

You heard him.

Heavy, labored breaths behind you.

You ducked down behind a rock, trying to slow your breathing. This was hopeless, but you had to Atleast try. Maybe Freya would help you or something, she does a have a thing against your captor.

“Do you wish to die out here.”

A hand went to your mouth, refusing to give in to the fear that overtook you.

“You cannot survive the cold. Come back. Do you not want to be home? With us?”

His footsteps grew louder, he knew what he was. He was intimidating, scary, deep down a killer.

And did he know how to use those aspects to his advantage.

A hand grabbed at your ankle and you were pulled up by your foot. You made direct eye contact with the wall of muscle that you'd grown to fear. His breathing was labored but he took a deep breath in, and sling you over onto his shoulder.

“We are to talk about this later. Understand?”

All you could do was sob silently and nod your head.

Freya

Man when I tell you shes reminded of what love feels like, she is reminded hard.

She's already broken, having almost everything taken away from her by Odin. But you mend those tears in her soul, binding them shut with your mere existence.

Freya would've instantly been drawn to you, seeing as all you wish to do is care for the people around you, being free from Odin's eye, as your inconsequential to him

She would grow to envy your freedom, as you traveled the realms as freely as you wished. Your absence would plague her, growing to be that without you she feels empty.

And it gets worse after Bauldur dies.

Once he's gone you flee quickly seeing what she's turned into. Fueled by rage and regret, she would have these outbursts of just heavy emotion. And so you left, avoiding Midgard at all costs.

It wouldn't be long until she finds you, being free from her curse. Freya would tackle you to the ground and capture you, vowing go nrver let you out of her sights again.

And she doesn't, she wants you to either be locked up and with her. And majoirty of the time it's with her. She wants a new spouse, someone to actually call her love and mean it.

“There you are!”

You were tackled to the ground, bound by vines that were never apart of the vegetation of the realm you called home.

The sight of a angered Freya came into view as your eyes opened. Her breathing was labored as she moved her hands, the vines still keeping you stuck. Her hands came to your cheek and you winced at her cold touch. A paled man stood over in the distance watching silently.

“Your just as beautiful as the day you left…” She mumbled to herself bringing your attention back to her. Freya's hands pressed against your cheeks as she leaned in, kissing your forehead passionately. The action almost mimicked a mother, trying to clam her new born baby.

But this wasn't the situation for that.

“Freya please we can tal-”

“So you know how much you hurt me?! You left me alone. Alone with my thoughts, I spiraled without you.” She yelled at you. This is one of the reasons you left in the first place, her mood can switch so easily. “But that's in the past, and all I care for is the future. One where you and me spend eternity together.”

Atreus (But in a platonic crushing way cause ya know he a minor)

He's crazy, literally whipped for you. He's considers you to be his best friend, and does a bunch of harmless flirting.

Of course he thinks your pretty, one of the prettiest people he's ever encountered and has he seen some things. But he knows that staying friends keeps him happier, and less stressed

Being a mortal really didn't help your case, if anything it made Atreus more protective of you and your safety.

Any situation he deemed to dangerous and unsafe for you, he'd make you stay behind (he takes after his father a lot.)

You often are the subject to which he vents too, it's rather unintentional, everything that's happened and is currently happening to him is just so stressful. And god knows he couldn't vent to his father or Sindri.

He has this thing for showing you the world through his eyes. Like he'll tell you what animals are saying and how they're just like him and you. The beauty of nature is something he just has to show you

One thing that's worrisome is how impulsive he is. He's so quick to stand his guard and protect you when it comes to you and your safety. Key example is Heimdall, in which he never liked. Atreus hates how the blonde talks to you, in fact he would immediately pull out the wolf when Heimdall even mentions you.

Off note, Atreus will bring you to Asgard with him. No matter what you say he'll want you to be there with him. His excuse is that you'd make a great duo, but in reality he doesn't want to be alone.

“What is wrong with you!? Your trying or at least considering to go to Asgard?!” You yelled once inside of Freya's abandoned house.

“Its the next best lead I have. But I need you to go with me, I can't do it alone.” Atreus said as if it was the most simple thing ever. You furrowed your brows at the half god.

“Let me break it down for you. I'm a mortal. A mortal in a realm built for gods? Yeah your fucking crazy. Oh let me add this. I'm a child, your a child, WE'RE CHILDREN!"

“I'd say young adults, shit maybe teenagers. But the thing is we have to, we have to save my dad.” Atreus tried to reason with you.

“Since when is it a WE thing? Atreus this is your prophecy not mine. Hell not even Atreus, this is Loki's prophecy."

“Wait don't go I need you!”

“Goodbye Loki.”

“No!” He yelled before shooting a arrow at your arm, cut forming at your forearm. You hissed out and grabbed at the wound, the cold hitting your blood. “Your not going anywhere hurt like that. Step out there and the cold will infect the wound. If you come with me, Odin can heal you.”

“I'm-”

“Make a choice.”

“Fine. I'll go….”

[yankpop]

Yandere Haechan (NCT) - He breaks in

Summary: Haechan gets tired of waiting for you, so he breaks into your apartment.

DISCLAIMER: This is a FICTION work only made for entertainment purposes so please don’t take any of this seriously. I do not support or encourage any type of abusive behaviour. Please, be 18+ to read this. Make sure to read the trigger warnings before you get started, but almost everything is yandere and includes toxic behaviours.

All copyrights belong to @yankpop (aka me) so do not post/translate my works on any other platforms without my consent/knowledge.

Check more: Masterlist.

Female reader

WARNINGS: Mentions of stalking; house invasion.

AN: When he yells try to imagine his hysterical voice when he yells 😂 Let me know how this was. Hope you guys enjoy this 💖

--

The loud pangs resonate through the entire room, making a shiver run through your body. You curl yourself into a ball, hiding behind the couch and burying your head into your arms.

Your whole body is frozen with dread and filled with cold sweat while your mind is completely unable to think. You knew he was crazy but you never - never - thought it would reach this point.

“C’mon, baby, just fucking open this door!” Haechan hysterically shouts, the force of his punches causing the door to violently shake.

You desperately hope the door is strong enough to hold him outside, until someone comes to help you since you had conveniently lost your phone today and your apartment suddenly lost electricity, incapacitating the landline phone - coincidences you are starting to suspect.

His delusional laughs seem to only increase volume as he relentlessly keeps banging on the door.

“Why are you even hiding, baby? Let me in and I promise I’ll show you how much I love you, okay?”

You press your hands against your ears, attempting to ignore the crazy guy and his psychotic behaviors. Maybe if he gets tired, then he’ll leave you alone. You just pray that it happens fast yet it’s hard to think positive when Haechan keeps yelling at you while trying to break into your apartment.

“How about you answer me, bitch? I know you’re in there!” he angrily shouts “You’re mine, you hear me? You’re mine and you can’t hide from me! I own you.”

His mood seems as bipolar as him - reason why you rejected all advances and tried to keep your distance from him. He is bad news, something he was just proving you. You seriously regret not going to the police when you had the chance, always thinking he’d move on from his obsession with you.

Suddenly, all the banging stops and the whole room merges into silence. You stop breathing for a moment, wondering if he actually left. You hesitantly crawl from behind the couch, your eyes focusing on the unharmed door. You know better than to just open the door to check, but you also have no idea of how to know if he’s truly gone.

Maybe you should– the door crashes down open earning a high-pitched scream from you. Standing on the doorway, there is Haechan with a crazed grin plastered on his face. He starts walking closer to you, yet your legs don’t move, forcefully keeping you on the spot.

You close your eyes in fear as Haechan comes to stand in front of you, his fingers grasping a few strands of your hair and sniffling them.

“I told you that you can’t hide from me, didn’t I? Now I guess you’ll have to be punished for that.”

--

(Part 2)

-

Tags:

@mwitsmejk

[stuckybarton]

Happier

SUMMARY: It's been years now since you had drifted apart from your boyfriend, never found yourself moving on. But as part of the Avengers, one way or another, you would cross paths, never would you believe for it to happen that he lives a life far different from what you once shared with him. With an additional two individual along for the ride. PROMPT(S): "You look happier." CHARACTERS: Marc Spector x Avenger!Reader; Jake Lockley WARNINGS: Open Endings. Post-Moon Knight S1. Mention of Endgame and Character Deaths. Breakup without true closure. Jake Lockley...being unhinged and unpredictable(?) WORDS: 1,317 REQUESTED BY: N/A

MASTERLIST || JOIN THE LIBRARY ||

Post-Blip the world was in chaos. No longer did the world have heroes like Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, or Natasha Romanoff. With what was left of the team, you had to recruit as much as you possibly could as people with bad intentions have yet to stop even with the heroes long gone. That was how you found yourself in right now, the Recruiter, as Maria Hill and Nick Fury had aptly called you since you had started working for SHIELD for well over years now, after your time working as part of Mercenary group.

You blinked at the very reason for your arrival in London now. Your past and your present was now coming back and you were to do nothing but allow it to happen.

What had happened in Cairo had been well documented, everything that was to know about your former lover was put up in the air. The things that you didn't even know about were also place in a single folder for anyone who might need to know about his life. It took you years to know about his family, of the death of his brother, of the abuse he had to endure at the hands of his mother and the lack of a father to protect him for all of it. All of it was compressed for everyone to scrutinize.

Marc Spector. AKA Steven Grant. AKA Jake Lockley.

As you read through the reports as you walked through the busy streets of London, you learned more and more about your former lover. The sudden change in his personality had become more clear now, the hot, cold, and distant man had another two alters that you never truly understood until you've read his file. It was such a change in perspective, how things could have been different for the two have you had you known the extent of his condition.

As your journey had you stop at a shady looking apartment, it was now or never. Taking a deep breath you regain some semblance to the training you had done for the past few years. Both in diplomacy and combat. You were uncertain what you would be needing to use for the man in this moment and it was best for you to be prepared to use either if the need were to ever arise.

"Y/N?"

You turned, brows furrowed as the man himself stumbles upon you in front of his apartment. Your intel had told you he was in his apartment, you will have a talk with Maria about this when you get back. But for now, you would deal with what was in front of you--the ghost of your past.

"Marc…" You spoke, trying to repress all of the pent up emotion that washed over you as you looked right at him.

Years had past but he still had this effect on you. In his signature cap and dark shirt, it just made his olive skin more prominent in the colder climate of the city. The same curly bangs still fanned against his forehead and you were itching to just brush your fingers against. Your eyes lingered at him, his whole entirety that stood in front of you. How so much has changed about him since you had left, but still some things still remained.

"You look happier." You found yourself telling him. The reminder of the last conversation you had with the man before you left all those years ago.

He was miserable and you could not console him, whatever you say or whatever you may do, it was left in deaf ears and you simply found yourself giving up on him when he couldn't help himself.

"How did you know I was here?" He questioned next, his brown eyes darkening, stature changing and it was as if he was ready to fight.

"Can we talk somewhere private instead?" You inquired, seeing a few eyes were now wandering between the both of you. Being a key member of what remained of the Avenger, it was bound that someone would recognize you. It spell trouble, more than you wanted to deal with in the moment.

You allowed Marc to hold onto your wrist, dragging you right inside his apartment complex. On the seventh floor, you had watched the run down building and wondered why he would place himself in such a state after all this years. In the silence of your way upstairs--using the stairs to avoid any form of close proximity, you finally arrived into his apartment and was greeted with a much more chaotic state of living space.

"Sorry about the mess, my room mate hasn't gotten the time to clean up." He muttered more to himself than you.

"Who? Steven or Jake?" You inquired seeing through his lies and you found yourself being slammed right to the nearest wall.

"How the hell do you know about them?" He barked.

"SHIELD. We have eyes everywhere. You weren't so discreet in Cairo all those weeks ago." You grunted wincing at the warmth of the man in front of you.

Finally pulling away from you, you handed him the folder that was still in your grasp. A little crumbled from his earlier action but neither of you pointed it out in the moment. You had allowed him to read his own file, for the small snippets of the array of individuals you had recruited throughout the past few years.

"You told them about me?" He questioned.

"I never knew what had happened to you after I left, I never had and I never will have a reason to tell any of them about you or about our past." You assured the man. Even after all this years, you kept the little trust he still had on you alive. "When Maria Hill had notified me about one Moon Knight being a good addition to the team, I wanted to be the one to recruit him."

"Recruit?" He snort finally handing you back the file. "I don't work well with others. I don't think they would either."

"And it's fine if they don't." You assured him. "We just need a system that we could depend on when the time comes that another threat to this world would come barreling in." You continued knowing it wouldn't be easy to talk sense to him. After what your former leader had done to him, leaving him to his own death, working with others would be the last thing on his mind.

"Why me? There are a hundred and one superheroes all over the world. I'm not one of them."

"We don't need superheroes, Marc. We need people that will help even when the odds are against us. That's you, that's always been you."

Those missions you had once shared together where bloodshed would often definite, he still had a heart to make sure all the women and children were in a safe location before the chaos begins. You watched him tense, eyes roll back and a part of you, the more sensical part of you held onto the gun resting on the holster around your waist. It was almost instantaneous, how his posture change, the frown grew deeper on his lips and the eyes you could drown yourself in over and over again in was like a different sea. Darkness that you knew far too well did not belong to the man you love.

"Long time to no see, Mi Corazón." He spoke, the heavy accent should have caught you off-guard but you remembered him back then. This was the angry side of him, the destructive man that had been the straw that finally broke the camel's back all those years ago.

"Who am I talking to? Steven or Jake?" You inquired, hand still resting on your gun.

"You tell me." He challenged with a smirk before coming right at you in one fatal tackle.

[transexualpirate]

this is hilarious what show did you even watch cuz it couldn't have been the same i did

Steve gave the shield to Sam, Sam gave the shield to the government, and the government gave the shield to him. You think a soldier should disobey his superiors? He became Captain America just doing his duty as a competent soldier following orders.

yeah, i absolutely do. not all the times obviously but when the government is wrong a soldier should not blindly follow orders and obey everything. i truly believe that, and so did steve, and so did sam (not a good soldier, but a good man? remember that? no?) as we see in civil war - which, by the way, in the comics, walker is very much on the side of the super human regulation laws aka on the side of the "law" against steve and sam. just a fun reminder

You think that John is abusing Bucky by making it so that "he doesn't have to report to Christina every day, and even if he doesn't, he won't be wanted by the police again"

no, i think john TRIED to control bucky by cutting him off from the therapy that, as far as john knew, was helping him

I've been treated many times by psychologists or psychiatrists, and I've had bad ones. I'm sure Bucky was totally tortured during his daily therapy sessions with Christina.

on this i agree wholeheartedly. actually fun fact!! i wrote a paper on this last semester!! im a psychology student and the assignment was to find malpractice in mainstream media and explain in detail what was done wrong and what the psychologist should have done instead. i wrote about tfatws and got a 9. christina is a fucking monster, a terrible therapist and a deeply prejudiced human being, and she did not have bucky's well being in mind. but john didn't know that. he had no way of knowing that. so saying he cut bucky from therapy because christina sucks is disingenuous at best. as far as he knew, christina was helping bucky get better.

It's extremely bad forced therapy and not what Bucky wanted from the start. Walker knows this because he must have gone through it too.

this is a headcanon. a theory, at best. this isn't canon at all. there are many many ways walker could have known christina before without having been her patient. it's never stated anywhere (that i know of) that walker was her patient at any moment. now, you can have that theory, and you can have that headcanon, and you can even use it to better explain walker's actions, but there's nothing on canon explicitly stating that. it's not canon. and i don't personally believe it to be true. you can believe all you want, i have my own miraculous theories about my favorite characters as well, but they're just that: theories.

Before Walker goes to the police station and rescues him, before Walker retaliates by calling him an "asset." He told Sam that: "Let's take the shield, Sam. Let's take the shield and do this ourselves." What do you think he was thinking? Do you think he went over to Walker and told him he was taking the shield, or did he just beat him up and take the shield?

no, i think he suggested to sam that they take the shield back by force. he never said that to john's face. until the last episodes, as far as john knows, bucky didn't want him with the shield but he had no intention of actually taking it away from him. bucky said this to sam privately and never went through with it. he didn't touch walker. he didn't even say that to his face. so, again, walker had no way of knowing. assuming that walker acted like that with bucky because he was scared that bucky would take the shield back by force is, again, just a theory, because bucky never told john those plans.

He'd long thought about hurting Walker and then grabbing the shield - after he'd finished taunting John, despising and humiliating him. (I definitely don't accept the notion that Bucky didn't humiliate Walker.)

how did he humiliate him, then? he did despise him, sure, and taunted, i guess, but what did he say that was humiliating? "the shield doesn't make you cap"? is that humiliation?

is it more humiliating than having a good portion of your whole life shaped around captain america and his shield and not getting to decide or even know beforehand who was going to have the shield and "be" captain america?

You say you don't see anywhere in the MCU that shows Walker being really nice.

then when was he "really nice"? he had his not-a-jerk moments, sure, because he's a complex character. but "really nice"?

Then all I can say is that your bias is hopelessly large because you see everything that shows him being nice as Marvel "intentionally making him look good to cover up his previous faults"

are you not biased? every flaw i pointed out was brushed off as either "well he was hurt first" or "he's traumatized".

but anywaysss....... my whole post was about how bucky and walker SHOULDN'T be friends. they hate each other, and i believe with good reason, but even if there was no reason at all and it happened as you said and bucky just fucking despises and humiliates him for no reason at all.........

so you agree right? they shouldn't be friends? and marvel shouldn't just pretend that they are for the thunderbolts movie just because they happened to be on the same team? you agree with me on this?

i see no reason to continue this debate then

it's almost 2024 and i want everyone to know that if they make bucky and walker friends in thunderbolts i will not be responsible for my actions you have all been warned

[strgazers-blog]

hi friends ! i’m actually so excited to be here with himari aka the nations sweetheart. my name is taylor, i’m in the est and my pronouns are she / her. under the cut you’ll find a little bit more out about himari, and her life. i’ll also have some wanted connections under there ! if any of those interest you, please let me know and if not.. like this post and i’ll dm you and we can brainstorm something else together !

himari had moved to seoul when she was five from japan. she became a child actress at the age of seven, to try to support her family after her father had been laid off from his job. her parents have never been rich, or held impressive jobs, so her income after starting to act was really all her family had.

her acting hadn't really taken off until she was in her teens, that's when she grew into a household name, and "the nations sweetheart". due to her job, she had hardly had time during the rest of her life to have any normal teenage experiences. so when the nations first love approached her, she was awestruck. the fact that, out of all the other stars around the same age, that definitely had more romantic experience then she did, she was the one chosen was like an absolute fairytale for her.

the relationship that somehow followed her wonderful dream, was anything but that. so many times, the couple had gotten in silly fights which resulted in them breaking it off, only to fall right back together again. all this drama, did nothing to phase himari however because she truly thought that if they came back together time, and time again after all those hardships. they had to have been meant to be.

as time went on, both hers, and her partners stardom only grew with each passing year (and break up). it wasn't until about three months ago, did she finally realize that this relationship wasn't what she thought it was. in fact, it never had been.

she awoke to the news on gossip girl that her boyfriend had been cheating on her, and had been for a long while. how had she been so clueless? her world came crashing down that day, but as her parents and team reminded her, she had an image that she had to keep up. she's been kind of absent from social media/working since the break. having not spoken a word about the revelation, or the sudden marriage between her ex and his new wife that he had been cheating on her with.

she's just now recently trying to slowly make her way out of the dark hole she's been living in for the past three months. and while she never plans on acknowledging the situation that had gone down, the love and support that she's received since then has grown her stardom to new levels, and helped her get through the difficult time.

she'd be lying if she told anyone that she wasn't heartbroken. it was her very first real relationship, and it ended in such a mess. himari now finds it hard for her to put herself out there. the usually optimistic girl feels that she may never love again, and like maybe the fairytale that she's been living in this whole time, isn't really a fairytale at all.

another fun tidbit !

i never really went into what her parents jobs are not, but i imagine that at least one, if not both of her parents are very involved in her acting affairs now. most likely as her manager(s) !

wanted connections !

if someone wants to give me a plot based off [ this ] post, i’d absolutely love you forever <3 what i imagine is a friend of hers ( any gender identity ) that possibly saw through her relationship kind of the whole time, and is now trying to comfort her about the whole situation. this friend would be someone that knows the real her behind the scenes, and behind the super happy facade she puts on for the world. bonus points if that friend had a crush on her almost the whole friendship & is kind of relieved she’s out of that relationship now ... not for selfish reasons of course  👀

maybe someone or a few someones who were mutual friends with both minjun and himari & chose one side or the other ! whichever side is ur choice, or maybe they didn’t chose one at all and continue to toe the line.

people that she’s just recently became close to since the drama & can open up to about everything that happened.

orrr people who merely became close to her to get dirt on what happened since she hasn’t talked about it publicly, so they can run & give tips on it  👀

someone who doesn’t believe that himari could be the way she is. maybe they think that her happiness is a persona and that they see through it ?

enemies... bad/good influences.... people she’s met possibly in her painting class.... the options are endless !