#i could install an ac in the window but i only need it for part of the day and for the other parts of the day id like my full window lmao

[dirt-mann]

putting a fan in the window to bring in the Cold Njght Air is great except it only works if the weather outside isnt hot AND it makes the air so so dry

[oneeyedlove]

King of the ashes.

summary | Moons had passed since your last quarrel with your estranged husband, the events of Rook’s Rest bringing you together one more time.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x oc!reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x oc!reader (platonic).

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! Unprotected sex, PinV, arguing, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of death, Targ!cest, ANGST/little comfort, ooc Aemond (probably). SPOILERS

wordcount | 8.5K - i am so sorry

note | All the valyrian i use comes from a very shady translator so there probably are a lot of mistakes, if you have any input or helpful information pls tell me. I got really excited writing this but I feel the last part is a bit rushed, sorry about that! Any comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3

Find part 1 here

[ gif by @gameofthronesdaily ]

124 AC

The afternoon sun spilled its light upon the tearful eyes of prince Aemond Targaryen, almost if mocking his heartache through its refulgent heat. The young boy sheltered himself in a seemingly abandoned corridor of the Red Keep, seeking solace from the cruel hoax imposed on him during his lessons. He could still hear them, their words — “The Pink Dread”. Such title roared in his ears, humiliation engulfing the silver prince as he forced his cries back into his throat. His mother had failed in her feeble attempts to comfort him, her attention focused solely on punishing his nephews for their so called savagery — even if it was clear this had Aegon’s name written all over it.

The worst part was that she had witnessed it. She hadn’t laughed or joined them in their persecution, but he could not bear the thought of his weakness being exposed before her. Hers was the judgment he feared most after all, she was the only one he could truly call friend.

Aemond hadn’t taken notice of a blue covered figure that watched him until she sat at his side, her weight shifting the cushions of the settee beneath them. His eyes refused to meet hers, hoping to conceal his shame as he hugged his knees against his chest. The girl stared at him in silence, her back resting on the wall whilst her feet dangled over the edge of her seat.

“Aem…” Aelora finally spoke, the softness in her tone melodic as a ballad.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice lacking its usual warmth.

She had been made aware of Aemond’s displeasure concerning the dearth of a dragon to call his own through countless protests, his state being one of constant anger towards what he deemed his fault. It was also known by her that he would grow to be the most estimable dragonrider of them all, for none were devoted to learning and practicing as he was — it was only a matter of patience. Thus, when Aelora’s eyes caught sight of the swine inside the dragonpit, her brothers knew their mother’s chastening would be nothing compared to hers.

“My brothers are fools, I wish to apologize on their behalf.” She brought her hand to hold his, a gesture of innocent assurance.

“You did not deserve it.”

The boy slowly drifted his eyes from the window to lay his gaze upon her, his heartbeat quavering at her touch. Nevertheless, her kind words couldn’t erase his shortcomings — he couldn’t accept charity for his ridicule, he wouldn’t.

“I… I have no need for your pity.” As much as he tried, he failed to stop woe from consuming his voice, as well as his demeanor.

“I don’t pity you.” Grasping his hand tighter, she looked at him through furrowed brows.

“You shall have a dragon. One even bigger than Sunfyre, I know it! In the meantime you can help me with Lyrrax, even fly with me once she’s big enough!”

It was evident her enthusiasm was a childish one, an effort to install hope over the sorrow that buried his thoughts — but she had no care for it. She noticed as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, even as he tried to suppress it. She wasn’t the one who owed him an apology, and yet there she was, offering her own dragon for an olive branch. His gaze flickered down at their hands, her smaller one over his, and he intertwined their fingers. The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, for Aelora’s presence was reassuring and tender.

“You truly believe I'll claim one?” He asked, unable to hide the fleeting shadow of optimism that burned in his eyes.

“I am certain of it. We are Targaryens, the blood of the dragon. You just haven’t found the right one for you.” A smile crept its way onto her face, her cheeks rosy and plump with eagerness.

Aemond scanned the girl before him, his expression almost vulnerable. The feeling of indignity was one familiar to the young boy and he had enough of it. He contemplated her words for a moment, and for once allowed himself to consider she might be right.

“Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I lack patience.” He let out a deep breath, as if letting go of the bitterness that had taken hold of him.

“You would do well to remember I’m always right.” The smug grin on her face earned herself only a rolling of eyes in response.

“Come on. I know something that will lift your spirits.”

Her words had barely escaped her lips before she burst through the corridor, tugging the prince’s hand as they ran. Hurried footsteps clashed against cold stone as Aelora strided through the maze of indistinguishable aisles, her gaze occasionally flickering towards the boy behind her. The smile that stubbornly weld itself onto Aemond’s face had transformed into a beaming grin, the sound of her angelic giggles clipping away the sullenness from his features.

A deafening thump alerted the prince of their whereabouts, the wide entry of her bedchamber welcoming him inside. He stepped in and curiously observed as she struggled to close the wooden doors, trapping the pair of them in concealment. The calling gesture of the princess hand woke him from his trance as he marched towards the illustrated wall beside her bed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” His head tilted in confusion whilst he fixated his lilac eyes on her hands. Her palm grazed the intricate designs on the stone, finally encountering the familiar crease on the surface — she pushed it, a dimly lit passageway staring back at him.

“Its Maegor’s secret tunnels!”

Aemond's bewilderment had quickly given way to wonder and awe. The maesters had taught him legends of Maegor's construction schemes, rumored to be an intricate labyrinth hidden beneath the Red Keep, but he never dreamed he would get to see them for himself.

“What?! How in the Seven Hells did you find them?”He asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“A fortunate accident.” She shrugged.

“I was hoping to find the way to your apartments and surprise you but I reckon it cannot be done anymore.”

“You’re mad!” His gaze quickly flickered back to Aelora.

His eyes, violet in the soft daylight that cascaded through the nearby window, studied her almost warily, as if to gauge a reaction from her. He received no such thing. The princess brought her hand to his once again, carefully establishing themselves inside the narrow corridor as the heavy stone shut behind the two. Aemond allowed himself to be pulled along, not even protesting in favour of the tunnel. He observed the strange architecture through their route, the dim light that filtered through small gaps, and the strange cobwebs that had taken form. The limb that remained in hers seemed to squeeze it almost possessively — out of fear, or out of eagerness, Aelora could likely tell.

The hairs atop the young royals’ heads twirled at the light breeze that embraced them, the scent of saltwater filling their nostrils. A moss covered archway revealed a small, damp cavern. As they entered, rugged walls formed by weathered rock surrounded them and an opening that lead directly onto the beach offered a panoramic view of the shoreline and the rolling waves beyond. Beams of sunlight streamed in through gaps, illuminating the cave's interior with a soft, ambient glow. Their feet grazed the sandy floor underneath them, scattered with small shells and pebbles, remnants of the sea's presence. Inside the serene and veiled space, a true connection between land and ocean can be felt — a fitting discovery for a princess of House Velaryon.

Aelora’s brown orbs searched for the boy’s lilac ones, a wide grin spread on her face as she squeezed his hand tenderly.

“So… What do you make of it?”

Aemond was quietly impressed, his head tilting back to look up at the ceiling of the cave, eyes roaming across the stalactites that hanged over them, a small gasp escaping his pink lips. He slowly peeled his hand from the princess, walking over to the opening to look out at the sea.

“How — how did you find this place?” The young prince questioned softly, his head turning back to look at her with an almost admiring gaze.

“It is unimportant. We can confine ourselves here whenever we like! The others do not know about it — I’m halfway certain no one does.”

A small, pleased smile tugged on his features just at the thought of using the cave as a hideaway; a private place, just for himself and Aelora. He hums quietly under his breath, in slight agreement.

“Our secret?” He extend his pinky towards her, indicating for her to do the same.

“Ours.” She smiled as she locked their fingers together in a silent promise.

A silent minute exchanged itself between the pair, the linger of a childish oath tickling their skin. The future memory would cling to their hearts for years to come, a longing fondness drowning them each and every time — except they had no knowledge of it as of the moment, being too focused on the possible amusement that would certainly come from the cavern’s discovery.

“I can best you to the shore!” Aemond wasted no time as he sprinted to approach the broken waves at the end of the beach.

“Wait!” She shouted, avidly picking up her pace to match the boy’s, his long limbs giving him a considerable advantage over the girl behind him.

It had been an entire afternoon of nothing but running, chasing, and exploring together. The young prince had forgotten his troubles and worries completely, instead focusing on the thrill of catching a slippery, wiggling sand crab. The cold feeling of the seawater against his skin didn’t bother him either, nor did the wind whipping at his silver hair as they sat building sandcastles. By the time dusk began to settle, the two children had become completely filthy with sand, mud, and water. Their garments were most likely ruined from the seaweed’s smell, fact that would assuredly earn them serious reprimands from their mothers. Yet, he could not remember a time when he felt so alive.

As they returned to the cave, the sunset’s glow reflected in the wet stones inside, a sense of comfort enveloping the rock-strewn cavity. Aelora’s gaze fell upon the young prince before her, his valyrian grace never yielding to his disheveled appearance. She observed as he bent down, a sharp ore emerging in his hand.

“What are you doing?” She questioned through a mess of rumpled braids.

Aemond glanced up to look at her, smiling softly. With careful movements, the boy carved into the rock, his free hand resting against the stone wall for balance. After a moment, the four letters of their initials were carved into the stone. The scribbles “A.T.” and “A.V.” were jagged and a bit uneven, but still clearly visible.

”Leaving a marking… to remember.”

---

129 AC

Bleeding. Bruised. Brokenhearted. Those were the exact words to describe the state in which princess Aelora Velaryon arrived at Dragonstone. The crimson liquid that gushed out of her right side was courtesy of a Kingsguard during his desperate attempts to put a stop to her fleeing — the remnants of his white cloak hanging from Lyrrax’s teeth were evidence of the retribution he earned. The loyal she-dragon landed crudely, sharp claws sinking in the placid sand as her screeches blended with her rider’s whimpers. The princess could sense the pain inside the beast’s mind, their unbreakable connection making their emotions into one.

Pellets of rain grazed her face as she crawled up the endless stairs towards the peak of the islet, the translucent droplets mixing with tears of her own. The young woman’s sobs were filled with tales of disloyalty. She had betrayed her family, her duty, and worst of all, she had been betrayed by him. The one who stood before the gods of Old Vayria and pledged his unyielding love for her. The one who she had deemed worthy of the deserting of her kin. The one who promised her a future beyond the carnage of war. And yet he was the first to commence bloodshed. Her devotion had not been enough to subdue Aemond’s thirst for revenge — but how she wished that it had.

The mud on the soles of her shoes stuck to the stone floor, leaving behind a trail of shame as she entered the intimidating fortress. Her name and titles thundered inside her ears as the voice of a guard announced her arrival, though she hadn’t actually heard him. Her tormented psyche fevered with dread, fearful of the reactions she would receive due the forsaking of her own blood. All the eyes of her mother’s Small Counsel widened at the sight of the princess, distress and grief scattered across their faces. Her gaze flickered to the silvery locks on Raenyra’s head, the woman’s back turned to the room.

Aelora’s steps were slow and somber, as if her soul had faded and the lifeless carcass of who she was moved against her wishes. She skipped past Daemon at her mother’s side, lacking the nerve to meet his stare. Finally, she reached the bereaved woman before her, brown meeting lilac in a lachrymose gaze. Their pale hands intertwined in haste, and the once composed tears transformed into loud sobs as the young princess collapsed to her knees, begging for Rhaenyra’s forgiveness. Blood and teardrops met in the Black Queen’s dress, staining it as she knelt in front of her daughter. She brought up her palm to caress the side of the young woman’s face, the maternal touch conveying a juvenile yearning in Aelora’s heart.

“Oh my sweet girl.” Her mother whispered as anguish imbued her words.

---

The moons that followed Luke’s death were arduous for the princess, constantly having to prove herself before the family that once accepted her. Rhaena and Rhaenyra had silently recognized Aelora’s circumstances, acknowledging she grieved for a husband as well as a brother. Baela had hesitated in the endorsing of her cousin but surrendered to her pleads nonetheless. Daemon barely addressed his wife’s daughter, his hatred for his nephew fused inside the resentful stares he gave her. Despite her best efforts to cope with her standing, it was Jacaerys’ unyielding disregard for his sister that slayed the woman’s hope of mending their bond. The storm behind the prince’s eyes was well hidden inside his stoic expressions, seemingly unaffected by Aelora’s prayers for his recognition. It was only in the afternoon before their grandmother’s departure for Rook’s Rest that the siblings found each other.

The soft rustle of parchment echoed through the otherwise silent library, a salty breeze infiltrating itself through the window. The princess sat by the unlit fireplace as her gaze swept across the leather-bound books scattered inside the numerous shelves, each and all replete with the history of House Targaryen. The smell of dusty, old tomes was a bitter comfort in the midst of her morose silence. She had accustomed herself to this moments of solitude, seeking solace inside her soul. At heart, her deepest fantasies scampered free, picturing a simpler life as a commoner — untethered by the Targaryen name and relieved from the torment of the constant shadow of war.

Aelora was chased back into reality as Jacaerys’ presence made itself known. The young man invaded the room like a blizzard, his cold glare locking upon her figure as she rested over the armrest of the settee. Her eyes glistened with heartache once she felt how profoundly hostile her brother had become, turning on his heel to abandon her presence. The woman’s voice trembled as she spoke, her words pleading and vulnerable.

"Jacaerys, wait...please."

He halted, his shoulders tense as he looked back at her. The expression on his face was hard to read, a mixture of ire and pain etched into his features.

"What do you want, Aelora?" His voice was cold, the distance between them palpable.

"Have I stooped so low in your graces that my presence offends you? We are family, Jacaerys. Can we not even speak?" Her voice was laced with a hint of desperation as she asked.

"You ask for words as if they could undo what has already been done." His expression hardened, his jaw tightening at her words.

Aelora got to her feet, her legs trembling under her weight. He spoke as if it had been her to murder Luke, not Aemond. Her eyes met his as she stood, her voice wavering with a mix of sorrow and anger.

“Do you truly believe I have not been made aware of that?!”

“Every day of my miserable existence is plagued by guilt. I close my eyes at night yet sleep eludes me, for the ghost of Luke haunts my every thought!” She grew restless at every word, tears forming in her brown orbs as she gestured frantically through phrases.

“I know I failed him, as I failed you and our family… But don't forget I too lost a brother that day.”

Jacaerys stood frozen in place, his grief still bubbling within him and yet his heart ached at the sight of his sister's tears. Her words cut through him like a dagger, his own teardrops threatening to fall.

"Luke is gone, Aelora, and your presence here only serves as a reminder of that fact." He took a step backwards, his jaw clenching as he struggled to control his emotions.

“You cannot blame me for what was not my doing. I was Aemond’s wife, not his conscience — albeit my best efforts.”

"But you married our enemies, sister! Do you truly believe your actions have no consequences?"

"You stood by while they plotted against us and our family. How can I not blame you, when you chose to bind your fate to theirs?" A hint of anger flashed in Jacaerys' mournful eyes as he continued.

“i admit i have made my bed and I must lie in it, but you speak of matters you do not understand.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could shield herself from his hatred.

“He swore to me…“ Her voice cracked, heartbreak swallowing her words.

“He swore to avoid this — to stop this insane feud. He is an oathbreaker as well as a kinslayer and he made me a fool!”

The room was still tense but as Aelora's sobbing grew heavier, something shifted within Jacaerys. He stepped closer to his sister, and without a word, pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. His body was warm against her chilly frame as he held her close, almost protectively. Their grievances seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced only by a shared sorrow as her tears dampened his shoulder.

“Do you hold love for him, still?” He whispered.

“Only for the memory of who he used to be.”

The prince held Aelora a little tighter at her admission, his chin resting on the top of her head as they remained locked in their embrace. He could feel the weight of her broken heart and the ache it left her with. His wrath had dimmed, replaced by a sense of care and familial loyalty.

"Memories are not enough… Promise to break him should you get the chance"

“I will.”

Neither of them knew, but she lied.

Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was, met her fate by the hands of the newly appointed Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen.

Meleys, The Red Queen, had her head paraded through the streets of King’s Landing.

And Aelora, Aemond’s beloved nightmare, sent him a raven.

“We must speak. Find me at ghost’s hour where salt meets memory.

A.V.”

---

The stars twinkled outside the formidable walls of Dragonstone, nightfall enveloping the island in its deep shadows. The approach of ghost’s hour disrupted the princess’ heartbeat inside her chest, her previous conviction giving way to fright as she slithered into the network of caves where the dragons nested. Aelora called out to Lyrrax, her voice wavering with a mixture of stress and uncertainty. As the great beast appeared before her, its wings unfurling, she couldn't help but wonder why she had sent the meeting request at all.

The dragon’s own tension could be felt through her scales as the princess climbed onto its back, the weight of her decision settling on them like a heavy cloak. As they soared through the night sky, Aelora's thoughts were consumed by memories of Aemond and his treachery. The image of him flying over her grandmother’s corpse haunted her mind — the cold, merciless expression he conveyed twisting her guts. She questioned her own judgement in seeking him out, even as her heart yearned for the man who once pledged his undying love and protection. She looked back at Dragonstone, its familiar walls and towers illuminated by the silvery moonlight; she was abandoning her blood for him once again. The princess could only surmise she was either possessed by madness or a true lovelorn fool.

The frigid roar of wind traveled across her face as Lyrrax’s wings scraped over the tide’s surface, saltwater droplets cutting into her skin as well as her pride. She knew her grandmother would never forgive her for this, it was likely none would; she was an idiotic excuse for a Targaryen if she thought seeking the slayer of so many of her kin was justifiable. The burden of loss hung heavily on Aelora's soul as she took in the landscape before her. The faces of Rhaenys and Luke, forever etched in her mind, fueled a mix of anger and trepidation inside the young woman. Her thoughts swirled with a maelstrom of emotions as she soared towards him, recollections of the past playing out like a tragic play as her brown orbs focused upon the once affectionate site of King’s landing.

With practiced grace, Aelora guided the dragon into a smooth descent, its blue wings beating against the air as its claws set down on the shore of Blackwater Bay. The sound of their landing was muffled by the night, its velvety darkness swallowing the pair by the quiet that enveloped the world like a thick, black blanket. The crash of the waves greeted the princess’ ears as she dismounted, struggling to catch her breath and steady her emotions. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the young woman caught sight of the familiar cave that laid ahead, its entrance like a dark maw in the cliffside. The jagged edges were illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon, sending shadows dancing across the rocky surface.

Bittersweetness engulfed Aelora’s frame as the memories memories of her secret rendezvouses with Aemond brimmed in her mind. Every step she took towards the cave was like a blow to her legs, feeling shaky and unsteady. Doubt gnawed at her spirit as if a persistent rat, her stomach flipping with every crunch of the sand beneath her feet. Yet, she pushed forward, determination fueling the princess even as her disheveled heartbeat hammered against her ribcage.

The sight of Aemond standing amongst the shadows caught Aelora off guard, the dim light emanating through the cave's entrance barely illuminating his form — she had thought to be the first to arrive. Before she could stop it, a slight gasp escaped her lips and her eyes widened in disbelief. He looked different, somehow. He seemed further villainous and wearied, the once familiar spark in his eye now replaced by a bold robustness. His sharp and handsome features were now harder, almost rugged, as if her absence had left its mark on him. Swallowing hard, she acknowledged the stark contrast between the nostalgic sentiment that nearly overcame her a moment ago and the tense silence that now enveloped them. They stood opposite each other mutely, both frozen and locked in each other’s gaze.

“Wife.” He greeted, his voice grazing her earlobes like the finest of silks.

“That title does not fit me any longer.” She replied coldly.

His lilac eye examined Aelora’s frame from head to toe, her cloak hiding black leather garments — most likely dragonriding attire. She looked skinnier than he recalled, the shadows only enhancing the redness of her eyes. Aemond could not help but wonder whether she had been weeping during her journey there, grief tackling her psyche as well as her build. The princess demeanor turned stiff, arms crossing as she stood clearly on edge.

“You remain mine, before gods and men.” His gaze flickered with something akin to resentment.

“Kinslaying is a rather suitable ground for an annulment, i should think.” She said, removing the cloak from her head, allowing her braid to cascade over her shoulder.

He froze, the muscles on his neck and jaw tensed. His first reaction is one of anger, clenching his fist as he prepared hateful words inside his throat. But as he looked her in the eye, his wrath melted away into something much more dangerous and devastating — something fragile. All he could see was the girl he grew up with, the girl who stood by him at his boyhood. The woman who whispered sweet nothings amongst the vows of their wedding. The woman who played silly songs on the harp and sang with the loveliest voice he'd ever heard. The wife who's hands he dreamed of at night.

“So eager to rid yourself of the shame affixed to my reputation… And yet, you request my presence with equal vigor.” He stood with his hands behind his back, swallowing any desires that threatened to get the better of him.

“It is my understanding you have become Prince Regent.” She tried to ignore his jabs, the truthfulness they held hitting a sore point inside Aelora.

“The betrayal of your brother becomes you. Yet another broken oath in your conquest for the throne.” She returned his insults, the knowledge of his ambition stirring something within the prince.

“You speak of broken oaths. And what ought I call the oaths you have broken? The promises we made when we married in front of Heleana and the Gods?” His one eye darkened, taking a step forward as he kept his tone controlled.

“Your hypocrisy is staggering.” He shook his head, jaw clenched as he spoke.

“My hypocrisy?!” She could feel the anger boiling her blood, as if fire consuming wood.

“Your sanctimonious preaches fail to erase your true nature, Aemond. Naming yourself Targaryen whilst the sigil of our house is paraded through the streets as if some vainglorious prize of war!” Her voice turned to screeches as it echoed through the stone walls of the cave.

“You may call me a bastard if you wish to, but my blood honors Old Valyria far more than yours.”

Aemond’s hand shot to her wrist, gripping it tight enough to leave marks on the skin underneath. His single eye was wild and livid, the scar around it turning his gaze even more menacing. He moved a step closer, the scent of him overwhelming her — mint and leather mixed with a hint of smoke, the familiar essence blurred her senses in a wave of longing. The princess hid her weakening behind a wrath curtain, the disdain she held for the twisted version of him that now stood before her casting their love aside.

“Watch your tongue, Aelora.”

“Or else? Will your murder me as you did my brother? My grandmother? I can see the conqueror’s dagger in it’s seath, evidence of yet another attempt at fratricide!” She accused him further.

“Have you not done enough? Must you ravage our family and yourself in your thirst for power?”

The hand that gripped her wrist traveled up to the back of her head, grabbing the braided hair. Yanking it softly, he pulled Aelora even closer, his lilac orb flickering over her expression.

“I am Prince Regent as the Gods intended.” He hissed into her ear, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“My reign, unlike that of Aegon, will be glorious — my rule absolute. And you, wife, will be by my side when I sit on the Iron Throne.”

Aelora’s eyes betrayed her as water began to brim in their edges, a horrified gleam passing through her forming tears. A hand cupped his left cheek as she scanned him, a desperate search for the man he once was. The man she longed for each night. The man who was the source of greater heartache than she had ever felt in her life. The man who was also the root of her most joyous moments.

“Your ambition shall be your demise, husband. I was yours before all of this, before your perverseness overcame your affection for me.”

“The crown may sit upon your brow, but i have sufficiently torn my heart to shreads in my attempts to remove you — even if you are my weakness, I will never belong by your side once more.”

”No wrath or cruelty is capable of subduing my craving of you, issa vēzos (my sun).” He leaned into her touch, letting his eye flutter at the feeling of the soft skin of her palm against his cold cheek.

In that moment of contact, he seemed so vulnerable, and much younger than his years. He was weak. A pathetic, love-sick man, and he could not bring himself to care. Aemond leaned his head against hers, their foreheads connecting as his gaze softened.

“I am plagued by thoughts of you and I, each reminiscence a torment to my soul.”

“Come back to me, be my Queen and rule by my side. Our love will be known forever through the Seven Kingdoms, your belly swollen with our child ensuring our line shall never be forgotten.”

There was a moment of silence as Aelora absorbed his words. He was offering her a chance at a life she had dreamed of, one full of passion and legacy as their offspring lived on after them. But it would be an existence consumed by greed, she knew it. There could be no going back after what he had done; Lucerys would never be uncle to her progeny and Rhaenys wouldn’t be there to counsel her through hardships. Their family was torn from the beginning, the tapestry of their lives further lacerated by his actions. And she couldn’t betray her blood again.

“I would do anything for you.” He begged.

“Would your bend the knee to my mother?” Her voice was shaky as the lachrymose gaze she held shattered, its translucent shards falling through her cheeks.

"I will give you anything. Anything within my power to give." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"But not my crown."

“Then there shall be naught left to ask, issa hūra (my moon).” She sent him a smile, albeit a woeful one.

Aemond opened his mouth to protest, but knew it would be in vain. He was so close to her that he could feel her breath on his lips, the feeling slowly driving him mad. He had imagined Aelora’s face, her curves and her voice each night he had been forced to spend alone — and here she was, right before him, but he couldn’t have her. The thought of how this could be the last time he held her without being shoved away made him pull her to him, his arms wrapping around her like vines.

The princess found herself unable to resist as she pressed her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting presence in the silent cavern. She clung to him tightly, her fingers gripping his clothing like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea. For a moment, they stood there, holding each other without a word. The moons of distance melted away, replaced by a shared sense of desperate longing to be close again. Despite the comfort and familiarity of his embrace, she knew deep down that he would never surrender — his path set on the course of war and the bloodshed it entailed. The pain and loss they had faced would forever stand between them, but it did not matter tonight. Concealed by shadows inside the stone walls surrounding them, their grievances and broken oaths would dim at the radiance of their burning passion. For a brief moment, the pair would be one once more.

Aelora’s head parted from the warmth of his frame as her gaze followed the line of Aemond's jaw, her brown orbs traveling upward until they reached his mouth. A sharp breath hitched within her throat as she remembered the soft touch of his lips against hers, butterflies rattling in her stomach. In that moment, she was transported back to the blissful months of their marriage, when their intimacies were full of love and promise. The need to feel the familiar touch of his skin against hers consuming every inch of her being.

The prince’s mind and body were on fire. He could feel her gaze raking over him, like a caress to his spirit. The mere sight of his estranged wife in his arms making his heart pound wildly in his chest. His good eye watched her mouth as she swallowed, his one trackmindedness fixated on everything about her. He could see the memories, the same ones he saw every night, flashing through her gaze. His fingers reached up to brush a strand of her brown hair aside, her once perfect braid now half done as the long locks threaten to escape. His hand trembled with how badly he wanted to feel her body, to trace his hands over her curves and kiss her neck, as he had done countless times before.

Aelora's restraint snapped with a sharp tug as she pulled him down towards her, their lips finally meeting in a desperate, ardent kiss. A muffled gasp left her lips at the familiar touch, her body responding instinctively as she pressed herself against him, hungrily devouring his taste. The prince’s sense of control collapsed like a house of cards, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he held her close. He was a man starved, his palms roaming over her frame, as if trying to commit every curve to memory.

Aemond's hands began to roam under her cloak, his fingers tracing over the round hips hidden underneath. He could feel the heat of her desire through the thick fabric, his own body aching to devour her whole. The fingers on his left hand fiddled over the clasp of her mantle, yearning overcoming his senses as he tossed the fabric onto the delicate sand.

Before he was able to protest, Aelora broke their kiss. Her eyes glistened with arousal as she watched his lips, reddened and bruised from the hastiness of their embrace. Her nimble hands found the buckle of her leather doublet, shivering as the absence of the rougher material revealed her chemise underneath. The sheer linen did little to protect the princess’ frame from the cold breeze that made its way through the cave’s entrance, her nipples stiffening at the feeling. The young woman felt no grief for her modesty as Aemond’s eye watched her carefully, a glimpse of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. She continued to undress, slender fingers slowly untying the laces on her breeches. Her boots met the rest of her dragonriding garments on the jagged rocks by the cavern’s wall, leaving the princess in only her smallclothes.

The silver prince was left breathless by her actions, completely entranced by the sight of her exposed chest, every contour of her body on display through the translucent fabric. His eye drank in the sight and he could feel his blood rushing to a southernmost point. He wanted to worship her, to kiss and nibble her skin — to make her cry out his name until the only thing she could remember was the feel of him against herself. At this moment, he was no longer Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm; he was a dog at her heel, eager for her calling. His gaze never left hers, staring at her vulnerable state as he mirrored her actions. First he removed his baldric, steel clinking as his dagger and sword fell to the ground. Then, he slowly undid the various buckles on his black jerkin, his breeches following suit. He did not waver as her brown eyes found his stiffened manhood; for he hadn’t cared to remain in concealment as she did.

Aelora’s gaze followed her husband as he approached her again, his hands reaching out and his fingers gently sliding up her bare thigh. She felt him press further into her, his cock pushing itself snugly against her core. He leaned in until his mouth was just beside her ear, his breath warm against her neck as he bit the skin softly. There was no denying she was his, her soul forever branded by his sinful devotion; the princess would never trust a kinslayer twice over, but she couldn’t help but love him.

“Vestragon ao’re ñuhon. (Say you’re mine.)” His voice was barely a whisper but it was as much a command as a plead.

“Vestragon ao’re nykeēdrosa ñuhon, gīda sepār syt kiza bantis. (Say you’re still mine, even just for tonight)”.

“Nyke aōhon. Ēva tubis ōños. (I am yours. Until daylight)”. She answered, lips trembling as the words escaped her.

A primal possessiveness engulfed the one eyed prince, the part that had always longed for her roaring in victory. At that very moment, he felt that there was nothing in this world that he would not do for her. He took her mouth in another kiss, their tongues clashing in a more feral and desperate manner. Aemond lifted her, his calloused hands digging into her plump arse as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fingers gripped at his silver locks, his sudden responde sending waves of languor across her limbs. He moved her onto the cloak that was on the ground, the velvety sand welcoming her weight over the fabric as he covered her body with his.

Aemond continued his path of kisses down her body, his hands wandering over her breasts and waist and his mouth leaving more marks in its path. He could feel Aelora shudder in anticipation, her hips arching against his as he moved closer to her core, the air heavy with the scent of her nectar. He halted, taking in the sight of her before him. It had been so long — too long — since he had laid eyes upon her like this, and he relished in the way she already looked completely wrecked by his touch alone. The prince finally reached his ultimate goal, his lips finding her mound as he licked a stripe across the sensitive flesh. He let out a low moan at the taste of her sweet ambrosia on his tongue, a loud whimper emanating from her lungs in response.

The young woman’s hair laid carelessly on the ground, grains of sand intertwining into the brown mess as she arched her back in pleasure. She cried out as he grabbed her thighs, spreading her further apart and burying his face between her legs, his tongue exploring her in ways she had missed for many moons. He could not get enough of her, his lips and tongue trailing silent prayers over her most sensitive spot as his name left her lips. She felt her walls clench as he barged inside her cunt with a long finger, adjusting to the once familiar feeling. Shivers ran down her spine in satisfaction as Aemond synchronized his movements, the overwhelming pleasure bringing stars to her eyes.

A lilac eye never left her face, watching every expression that played across her features. Her mouth parted in pleasure, each gasp and moan fueling the fire of the prince’s own arousal. He had longed to see her like this, writhing underneath him, his name on her lips and his touch on her skin. The memories of her had haunted him in his nights alone, but now, in this moment, he was finally able to worship her like the god given treasure that she was.

Aelora's cries grew more intense, her hips bucking against Aemond's skilled mouth as pleasure mounted within her. Her thighs trembled slightly, its muscles tensing in anticipation of the release that was quickly approaching. Each touch and movement only served to bring her closer to the precipice of pleasure.

A loud cry echoed through the cavern as she climaxed, her body shuddering and her fingers digging into the ground in a desperate attempt to anchor herself. As the waves of ecstasy washed over her, she felt as though she had been transported to another realm. The connection between them was somehow stronger than it had ever been before, their souls dancing to a passionate melody.

When Aelora finally gasped for air, the prince slowly moved up from her core, his body hovering over hers. He watched as she recovered from the rapture he had given her with a dark and vainglorious smirk. With his elbow holding himself over her, he pulled her leg to rest on his hip as his eye scanned her features. Her hand moved to cup his cheek, the tip of her finger caressing his reddened scar as she furrowed her brows.

“Nyke gaomagon regret ziry. Skoros nyke vestretan se mōrī jēda. (I do regret it. What I said the last time.)” She apologized, regret brimming in her brown orbs.

Aemond leaned into her touch, his good eye closing at the gentle touch of her hand against his skin, it felt nearly as soothing as a balm to his weary heart. The mention of the title she had bestowed upon him sent a chill through his spine, his monstrous behavior had earned the words even if they had maimed him. His face turned to press a soft kiss into her palm, before opening his eye to look at her again.

“It is of no importance.” His voice was rough and low as he spoke.

Aelora softly tugged at the straps of his eyepatch, earning a trembling exhale from him in response. The touch of her delicate fingers on his malady sent a wave of fear through his spirit. She removed piece of leather, revealing the puckered, scarred skin where his eye had once been. He found himself unable to look at her for a moment, the feeling of vulnerability consuming him in the dim light of the cave. The princess looked deeply into the sapphire gem in his socket, tenderness engulfing the kiss she placed upon it.

Aemond's touch was gentle as he took her lips in his, not waiting for her response as he gripped her hip and turned her on her stomach. His eye roamed over the expanse of her back, tracing his fingers over the smooth surface of her skin, leaving a trail of gentle caresses in its path. It was a stark contrast to the frenzied way he had touched her previously, this touch was far more tender, almost reverent in nature. His body pressed against hers as the length of his manhood rested on the small of her back, buring into her skin. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear as he moved closer.

“Azantys ñuha sindigho, issa vēzos. (I have missed you desperately, my sun)”. His breath was warm against her skin as he whispered.

Aelora arched her back as she felt the tip of his cock breeching her dampened slit, her knees propping her hip upwards in search of contact. His arm reached under her, squeezing one of her peaks as he fully entered her. The pair let out breathless moans as Aemond moved against her, leaving no time for her adjustment. The sting of pain she felt had been nothing compared to the ecstasy of his length inside her, finding herself unable to focus on anything but the feeling of being around him.

The prince’s thrusts grew harder, his body moving against hers in a rhythm that was both frenzied and yet somehow controlled. Her moans and sighs filled the air, his own breaths coming quick and sharply as he took her with a wild abandon. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the soft flesh as his hands buried into her hips.

“Avy jorrāelan. (I love you)” Aelora murmured between ragged moans, her hand reaching to grasp his hair.

His eye widened slightly at her words, a thrill rushing through him at having heard them coming from her lips once again. His lips found the base of her jawline, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin. His cock kept reaching further into her cunt as their flesh moved together with a rhythmic thrust, like the rise and fall of waves on the shore.

“Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond mumbled repeatedly in between thrusts, his words a fierce declaration of their love. He continued moving inside her, his heart racing in his ribcage as his pleasure overcame physical bounds.

Every thing about this moment was singled out from any other they had shared. The grief, pain and betrayal that coursed through their marriage dissipated amongst the dragon fire that burned within the pair. It all faded away, and all that was left was this, the feel of her skin against his, the sound of his muffled whimpers in her ear, the desperate way he repeated her name over and over. This moment felt like the calm in the middle of a storm, a rustle of the ashes of their love.

Aemond could feel his peak building, his movements becoming more urgent and frantic as he chased the pleasure he sought. His breaths came out in ragged pants, mingling with the sounds of her gasps in the air as his length clashed inside her. Aelora sensed the twitching of his manhood, threatening to spill his release inside her walls. The mere thought tightened the knot that had formed in her belly, reaching the edge of her desire.

Aemond sent a few more thrusts into the brown haired woman underneath him before both found their release simultaneously, their movements slowing as they both rode out of the ecstatic trance that washed over them. The prince’s face was buried in Aelora’s neck, a guttural moan escaping him at the force of his own pleasure. Her body shivered at the feeling of his seed drowning her cunt, pearly tears streaming down her leg as she whimpered.

The lovers stayed silent in an adoring embrace after he disconnected their bodies, a wave of comfort washing over them. For a while they simply laid there, basking in the afterglow of their passion, their frames entwined in a tangle of limbs. It was a strange sort of peace, one that they both knew wouldn't last once the sun rose — but for the moment, they were content. The night stretched on, each hour passing in a blur of whispered words and slow hands. Aemond and Aelora clang to one another, as if they could melt into one if they only held tightly enough. The threat of daylight and the inevitable parting loomed over them like a dark cloud on the horizon, anguish settling inside their hearts.

As the hour of the nightingale approached over their secret sanctuary, the prince and princess began to break away from the blissful haven that enveloped them. There were no words to be spoken as they both dressed silently, the sound of rustling fabric and soft breaths filling the air between them. The weight of war and the knowledge that this moment was fleeting hung heavily in the air. Aemond felt a pang in his chest as he looked towards her, a mute wish in his heart that they could stay like this. To be locked in this moment forever, away from the world that demanded so much from them. But he knew that was not possible. Soon, they would have to return to their duties and obligations — this feeling would become nothing more than a memory.

As they stood before each other fully clothed, their eyes met in a bereaved gaze — sorrow for the love they shared engulfing them. Aelora stepped closer to him, holding his hand softly, almost in a cowardly manner. She had no words for the man who was her everything, the man who had her in every way possible, and she was ashamed of it. His free hand moved hesitantly to hold her cheek, his eye flickering over her face, taking in every feature. He wanted to burn the image of her into his mind, to remember every detail about her, down to the smallest freckle on her nose. His thumb traced her soft skin as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, as if to say “I will be with you forever”. Tears began to form at the corners of her brown orbs as she abandoned his touch. The sound of the rustling sand underneath her feet echoed through the cave as she reached its entrance, her form never escaping his stare.

She halted at the stone archway, her silhouette framed by the soft silver light of the moon. The night air was cool on her skin as she turned to look back at Aemond, the feel of their passion still lingering in the air. For a moment, they simply stood there, eyes meeting in the darkness. She ached to say something, to find the words to convey the maelstrom of emotions that raged within her. In the end, she simply smiled, bittersweet and knowing.

“Should we meet on the battlefield, I can’t hesitate.” Her voice came out a whisper.

“I won’t hesitate to kill you.” She repeated, to herself or to him — Aemond didn’t know.

The prince’s breath had grown a little shallow at her words, a frown forming on his face. The idea of their next encounter being on the battlefield, facing off against each other like enemies was a thought that pained him, even though he knew it was a possibility. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t hesitate either, that he would fight her with everything he had if they ever met in battle, but the words stuck in his throat. He simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Once again, she left him. Aemond would be a King without a Queen, half of his soul forsaken in his search for power. It had to be worth it.

Bur they wouldn’t meet again, not in the context of war or any other.

She would meet her demise alongside her brother in the Battle of The Gullet. Fighting hard like a Strong, dying besides her dragon like a Targaryen and laying to rest at sea like a Velaryon.

He would grow mad at her perishing, ire overcoming his every sense. And he would eventually be slayed by her stepfather at The Battle Above God’s Eye.

Their love was epic, a fierce tale of forbidden passion that would never be written about inside history books. The only legacy they would leave behind had been scribbled onto a stone wall years before.

A.T. & A.V.

---

Taglist: @onlyrealjoy @siriusblackssun @adombtch

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

The Iceman Cometh - Dean x Reader

“The Iceman Cometh” - Dean x Reader

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader

Tags: Sweaty Dean, Turning Up The Heat, Ice Play, Mild Smut, Nipple Play, I Will Again Be Accused of Blue-Balling

Word Count: 1700

You normally love a sticky, slippery, and sweaty Dean. But, this. This is pushing it.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Ice-play" square.

A/N: I just wanted to mix things up and write something short and fun.

Image created in Canva (photo used/found online: Facebook - Una Vida SPN)

You normally love a sticky, slippery, and sweaty Dean. But, this. This is pushing it.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dean fists his hands leaning on the motel office counter.

“AC’s out in the only room I got left!” The old lady with coke bottle glasses and Wilma Flinstone pearls repeats herself. Her cigarette-laced voice is scratchy and a couple squeaks higher this time.

You groan. Dean side-eyes you but doesn’t turn his head to acknowledge the irritation.

“It’s 100 degrees out. We get some kinda discount for pain and suffering?” he asks.

“I’ll knock ten bucks off the bill.”

“Ten bucks?” You huff out an incredulous chuckle.

“We’ll take it.”

Before you can yell at him, Dean’s already slapped a credit card on the counter.

~~~~~

Of course, this had to be the first motel with a vacancy during the two-hour trek through the Nevada desert region.

The hotbox of a room smells of mildew, cigarettes, and vinegar. You plod through the humidity and stale stench. Every bit of odor clings to your perspiring skin so there’s no escaping it. Dean curses as he taps buttons and thumbs dials on the window air conditioner, just to verify it's inoperable. You drop your bag on the bed and beeline to the bathroom. 

Dean needs a shower more than you. He was the one who wrestled and skewered a ghoul in a sacred burial ground. But you’re gonna be salty about his decision to stop. You’d wanted to keep going, offering to share driving duties. Who cares if neither one of you had slept in over 24 hours? 

Your pants are around your ankles in a second. The loose porcelain bowl seesaws under your weight. Regardless, you sigh in relief, weeing out all the water you’ve been guzzling to stay hydrated. 

The rap of Dean’s knuckles on the bathroom door interrupts your steady stream of piss. “I’m gonna grab somethin’ at the diner we passed.” Dean’s second preferred method of appeasing you is feeding you. “Be back as soon as I can. Save me some COLD water, baby.” 

A hard tug of the motel door seconds later rattles the paint-by-numbers sagebrush framed on the wall behind the toilet. 

Dean left without taking your food order. You grind your teeth.

~~~~~

Forty minutes pass before the familiar engine rumbles into the lot and headlights flash through the sheer curtains.

The diner was a good fifteen minutes away, one-way, if Dean had been going the speed limit. The Impala’s warp speed must have been activated for him to have actually ordered and brought back dinner. Your stomach somersaults with distress and hunger pangs.

Dean opens the door only to hover within the threshold, a human doorstop.

You’re in a tank top and boy shorts. The best thing you could use to fan yourself is a file folder Sam stuffed with case material before you and Dean left Kansas.

Dean stretches and drops the bag of takeout on the nearby kitchenette table. He eyes you with a frown. “I’m sorry it’s shit in here. I’d say we could sleep in Baby, but it’s worse outside. Seriously.”

You’re laid atop the bed stripped of its scratchy and threadbare comforter, which is now a heap on the floor. “You know, all the times you’ve had to put that car back together again piece by piece; maybe one of those times you could have installed some air conditioning.”

He raises a finger to signal you should wait for something impressive. He dips half his body back outside, foot holding the door open. There’s bumping and huffing. Then the green cooler appears, held triumphantly in his hands. “I brought ice! Waitress at the diner sold me pounds of the stuff.” He’s sensibly in only a t-shirt, having left his duffle and jacket in the room when he’d left earlier. 

“The iceman cometh.” The eyeroll is excessive, but you can’t seem to not.

“Eat, grumpy. My turn for a shower.”

~~~~~

He crunches ice chips. You suck on one cube, swirling it from one cheek pocket to the other until it melts, and then repeat with another. Forearm to forearm, you both sprawl out on the queen-sized mattress. You snapped at him earlier about the heat the boob tube would create. He stews alongside your percolating tension. You’ve allowed the bathroom light to stay on. A yellow fluorescent haze slices from the open door and spills over Dean.

There’s no escape from the heat.

“Pulse points,” he mutters.

“Right,” you snip. Your hand scoops ice out of your red solo cup. You circle a cube along your inner wrist.

There’s a shake from his side of the bed. You glance over. He’s shirtless, clad only in his boxers, rubbing ice up and down the back of his neck. Which only pisses you off more.

This hunt was supposed to end days ago. You were supposed to be celebrating your anniversary at the bunker today. You had some fun times planned. A surprise dinner of all Dean’s favorites and a movie marathon in the Dean Cave.

“I’m sorry,” you and Dean mumble simultaneously.

“We’ll get back on the road soon, sweetheart. I was spent and seeing double. Even if I can’t sleep, it’ll help just not being in motion.”

“I’ve been a major bitch.” You laugh at Dean’s deer-in-headlights reaction to your admission. “You don’t have to agree or disagree on that count, babe. You know how I get when shit doesn’t go according to plan. And, this fucking heat is not helping.”

“We both pop our tops an equal amount. That’s what makes us perfect for each other.” The backs of two of his fingers skim your elbow.

“Except when we both blow up at the same time.”

“Nah, that’s even better. Then we get to have angry make-up sex.”

You whoop out a laugh. “That’s never happened.”

“It could now?”

You grin. “But I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at everything else.”

He shrugs. “Take it out on me, then.” He reconsiders. “Or, let me cool you down?”

It’s your turn to raise a brow.

Dean grins. He tips his head way back with the cup to his lips. He shakes his hand and the ice crackles. Cup back in his lap, you spot one cheek puffed out like a chipmunk. His face crinkles up.

“You’re gonna give yourself brain freeze, idiot.”

“Worth it,” he mumbles.

His lips lean in to press a kiss. You giggle at Dean’s clumsy attempt with a mouthful of ice. A surprised squeal follows when he slips an ice cube between pursed lips to run across yours. He pulls back and smiles, crooked and unhinged. He plops the cubes into his cup sounding like a penny slot machine and sits it on his side table. 

He pulls you in close for a kiss, expertly grabbing your cup from your hands. You can’t be bothered to care where he hides it.

His tongue is so cool. A popsicle with a mind of its own that you want to suck on for days. He’s very agreeable to the way your lips wrap around it. He moans. You love the particular sound of that one. It strains out of his throat. Thankful. Relaxed.

He’s fiddling with more ice, having wedged your cup between two pillows. “You’re always so hot,” he quips after you relinquish his tongue.

You skim one leg between his thighs. The skin contact is tacky and sticky. “You’re always so cheesy.”

“Not always,” Dean says with a smirk. “In this instance, I’m just stating a fact.”

You hiccup a gasp at the ice cube he presses to your wrist without warning.

Dean glides it slow, a serpentine slither, to the crook of your elbow. He swirls the spot and lets it melt and drip from your body to the sheets. His green eyes concentrate on the task. 

You can’t help but lose yourself watching him. His body shimmers in a sheen of sweat. Every minute shift highlights the beautiful angles of his face. Perspiration beads up under the hairline of his forehead. You can’t resist kissing and sipping at his upper lip. He grins and returns the gesture.

He uses another piece of ice to continue upward to your shoulder. He traces the shoulder strap of your tank. A hop over it and he’s sliding down the outline of your collar. It’s a quick ride into your cleavage where he lets the remnants melt and add to the already damp material.

His tongue laps at the wetness that’s collected there. You sigh and lean back. He hums and kisses the curve of your breast, slides the strap down, and then nuzzles into the notch of your armpit.

After a few seconds, he rises up in order to gaze into your eyes with the most innocent of expressions; even though he’s freed one of your tits from the confines of your clothing.

More ice rattles by your ear like maracas.

You’re in trouble.

You purse your lips at the biting cold against your neck. It’s electrifying and refreshing. He outlines your collarbone back and forth for emphasis. A shift and he’s leaning beside you, up on one elbow to drink in the sight. One leg drapes over yours, locking you into place. You feel the growing bulge in his boxers. There’s no escaping what he has in store.

He juggles two cubes between his fingers and journeys along the crest of your breast. He’s grinning with mischief and lust now. Then his mouth parts when the ice meets your nipple. Your flesh hardens and tightens on contact. You groan. Your core clenches.

He gnaws on his bottom lip as he circles the dark pebbling bud. Air squeaks out of your mouth. You squirm. It’s a beautiful freeze burn of contrast.

Once the ice melts, his fingers, also chilled, take over kneading and pinching. His patience gone, he bends down and latches onto your cool tit. He nurses with that sinful mouth and grazes your nipple with tongue and teeth until your skin tingles back to life.

You are so out of your head with the noises he’s making and the show he’s putting on, that you're ill-prepared for his cold fingers slipping under the hem of your shorts.

You shriek giggle, “Dean!”

He ends his sucking with a loud pop. He whispers against your lips, “Happy Anniversary, sweetheart.”

~~~~~

Update: Got inspired and filled another bingo square with these two. You can read "Just A Little Spice" here.

[victimeyez]

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Part of Professional//Victim - Now updating every Sunday!

This is a brief chapter update! I will be adding an additional update by Tuesday to make up for it - this weekend has been unexpectedly busy. Stay tuned for a little something more - maybe even....some Tommy comfort???

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Well, moron, you already fucked up the plan. 

It can still be salvaged.

You need a miracle.

That’s nothing new. 

Tommy was shaken awake from a drug-induced sleep, startling him. The sound filled into his consciousness a moment later, trying to make sense of it.

-MMY YOU GODDA GET IN THE BACK WAKE UP WAKE UP GEDDIN THE FUCKENBACK-”

Sam was suddenly in the back seat with him, climbing over him.There was pressure on his wrists as Sam shoved the cuffs out of his way, nimbly unlocking his handcuffs and freeing him from his shackle to the car door. 

Lights. Through the back window, he caught it –

A cop car. 

Honestly, props to Caius for never getting pulled over before.

Sam scootched back and punched the lumpy back of the “middle seat”, popping open the secret compartment underneath. He didn’t hesitate for a second, jamming his fingers into the clothed seam around it, pulling the cushioned foam plug out of the way. It bore straight through the seat, into the hidden trunk. Sam was grabbing him, wrenching him out of his seat. 

“Tommy, baby, you gotta do this for me – go right now, okay?” Caius’s voice was eerily calm, especially next to Sam’s frantic shouting. Tommy met his eyes in the rearview mirror for just a flash, and there was a startling look of adoration there. A friend asking a favor from a friend they know will always help. 

Damn him and his moods. Constantly giving Tommy emotional whiplash trying to keep up. 

Well. physical whiplash, too–

He unbuckled himself and crawled shakily over the seat, putting his arms in–

Wait. Should I do this?

Stick to the plan. Here’s the only type of miracle I can get. 

He dove in, feeling the felted inner walls to try to understand the space. It was a hell of a tight compartment, but they’d made him try it before, he knew he could technically fit. Trying to curl in quickly was painful, moreso with Sam doing his damndest to shove him in. He pulled his legs in, and his feet were pushed through with a shove as Sam pushed the cover in. 

He was squeezed flat. Not painfully so, but it would get uncomfortable quickly. He was starting to remember this - it had been ages, he had honestly forgotten about it. He’d been obsessed with it at the beginning, too, sure this could be the key to escape. A narrow space underneath a false bottom in Caius’s trunk, a miniscule compartment they’d built in for such an occasion. It was stifling in the felted womb, the inky darkness blinding.

He heard a soft whir, and the silence suddenly became oppressive, weighing heavily on his ears. He felt the panel at his back start to vibrate slightly as the fans kicked on. Right. The compartment was made out of felt-wrapped panels. One side induced active noise cancellation into the trunk, and the other was linked to a rerouted AC line. The fan would keep air circling and prevent him from overheating in the trunk on a hot day. 

Fuck you extra, Michelle.

The car was starting to slow, but drawing it out. He could hear the soft click click click of the turn signal next to the ear pressed to the floor. 

“Put the damn concealer on, you’re all red and sweaty.” Caius’s voice now, faintly. It tickled behind his head. He mashed his ear to the embedded speaker–he’d completely forgotten about that. 

“Why did you install a speaker in the trunk?” Tommy had asked Caius when they tested it. The audio came through a microphone buried inside the steering wheel.

“Because you’re part of the team, too,” Caus had told him, one hand on his shoulder gently. 

Tommy didn’t know how to feel about that. It itched at him a little, but he feared if he scratched at it he would find some big significance hidden in that. Instead, he did not think about it, and felt nothing. 

“Just tell him you were giving me road head.” Sam was sounding more calm, pulling it together before they’d face the cop. Caius was coasting to a stop, pulling over. Tommy’s sense of direction in the trunk felt very strange as the car moved. He felt a little jolt in his stomach. 

“While I drive? How many points do you get on your license if you’re caught snogging the hog while driving?”

“I’m breaking up with you. And he’ll know something’s up if I’m all powdery.”

“Even if he notices, he’ll have already clocked that you’re gay.”

Whether Sam powdered his nose or not, the car came to a halt. 

“Are you going to be good?” Hearing Caius’s voice quiet in his ear sent a rush of panic through Tommy, but it wasn’t directed at him.

“Yeah, I’m good. Not my first rodeo and all. Just - had a moment. But I’m good.” 

They waited in silence. Minutes passed by. Tommy started to wonder if the speaker had shut off when he heard something, jamming his ear close again to hear Sam. 

“Oh shit, girlcop.”

“Police woman.”

“Shut up, you assumed it would be a guy, too.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Caius drawled.

“License, registration, and proof of insurance please.” A new voice spoke, a little more distant than Tommy’s escorts.  A woman.

A police woman. 

“Here.”

“You, too.” A brief pause, and some shuffling. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

Silence while she walked away. Sam broke first. 

“What do you think she’s pulling us over for?”

Tommy tried speaking. He could hear it in his own ears, but it sounded swallowed. He worked his voice up gradually, stopping each time to listen for Caius or Sam to say something. When they didn’t, he tried saying it louder. When he tried calling out, the fan suddenly stopped. 

It spooked him silent, waiting for a minute to see if anything else happened. It didn’t, but he was surprised how warm it started to feel within just a few minutes. Whether it was punitive or just on a timer, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t pushing it.

“Okay, here you go. Where are you two headed?”

“Road trip, actually.”

“Where you heading to?”

“Boston. Have you ever been?”

“Yup. Like the beans, right?”

“...yes?”

“Okay, well, your tags are expired, but it looks like you paid a couple weeks ago. You haven’t put it on your license plate yet?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye out for it, but I haven’t seen it yet. I’ll have to double check. Do you need the receipt?”

“No, I found it in the system. These windows are pretty dark though, huh? With my little chart here, it looks like - maybe a little too dark. Is there a reason why that might be?”

“Yeah, it’s for my glaucoma. I have my paperwork–” There was a bit of rustling.

“-Here.”

Tommy’s neck was really starting to cramp with his head forced to the side like that. He was sweating, and it made the claustrophobia much worse. The cop logged something with whatever paperwork Michelle had rustled up for Caius, and they were sent on their merry way. 

They pulled back out,  and Tommy could hear the engine thrum as they accelerated back onto the highway. The movement was making him feel a little nauseous, and the heat wasn’t helping. Tommy sucked in some slow breaths. Was there even an air hole in this thing? He groped around the compartment with his hands until he felt a slight breeze. He tunneled a finger in – it felt like PVC piping, and was no thicker than a quarter. 

Michelle, like most geniuses, was also stupid as hell. 

The AC kicked back on and it was a relief. Until it quickly turned too cold, since he had started to sweat, and quickly became clammy and uncomfortable.

They drove for a ways, and it was impossible to tell how much time passed, but long enough for the AC to turn back off, on, and off again one more time. By the time they rolled to a halt, he was dying to get out. Sam finally pulled out the foam cork that blocked his exit.

“You still alive down there?”

Tommy managed to wiggle a hand up, finding the hole and trying to wave a fist inside. Sam helped pull him through, and he was birthed back into the backseat. The doctor looked at him, sweaty and thoroughly disheveled.

“You stink.”

Tommy did not look at anything, his eyes pinched shut against the muted sunlight in the car after emerging from cave darkness.

“Yeah," he huffed.

"-Sorry.”

```

Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

Thank you all so much for reading!!!

[particularj]

Hi, I saw your addition on a post about purchasing a laptop. I’m actually planning on purchasing one soon for the first time (current laptop is seven years old and a college gift). While I overall know about specs and what not because I just want a solid but not insanely expensive gaming laptop (tho ig I’ve mostly just been googling ‘best gaming laptop’), I’ve never heard of this S Mode you’ve mentioned. What is that and what other things should I be aware of, is there like a good link I can educate myself at? I’m planning on this being a very long term purchase, as long as I can make it, so I really want to get it right. Thank you!

A couple things:

I’d start with this lengthy but good post by @ms-demeanor , along with much of her computer talk on her blog. Lots of good stuff about what to look for, what to avoid, how/if you can upgrade, etc. It’s gonna depend a bit on what you use your laptop for, too.

S-mode…where to begin. Here is a decent run-down of what S-mode is. Essentially, it’s a locked in ‘safe mode’ that only allows you to use the Windows store for purchases and downloads. They say it’s for security. It’s really for monopolization. It also uploads all your stuff to their cloud. Where eventually they can lock it behind a paywall if they decide.

S-mode requires fewer computer resources to run…but in doing so it means that many computers that come pre-installed with S-mode may not even be able to run full Windows. To compete with Google’s Chromebooks, which are specifically made not to last so they cheapen out on parts and can offer a lower price point, Microsoft responded with S-mode so PC manufacturers could make comparably priced ‘Windows’ laptops.

That’s not to say a laptop offered with Windows S Mode can’t run the full Windows…but there’s no guarantee. And it will take a number of steps to switch to standard Windows and you can’t switch back if it doesn’t work well.

In general:

Look for laptops by brands with historically good performance and reliability.

Make sure whichever laptop you choose can actually run the full Windows — check Windows’ recommended specs with your prospective laptop.

Find a laptop that matches your lifestyle needs. This seems simple or self-explanatory, but it’s surprising how often people buy a product that doesn’t actually fit their needs. As a metaphor, if you have 4 kids and need a new car, you probably don’t want a sports car but a mini van. It’s not that either is bad, but they have specific purposes. The same goes with computers. If you’re a gamer, look at one of the latest games released, the specs recommended, and find something that well exceeds those specs so you aren’t looking to upgrade in 1-2 years. Similarly, if you are just going to use it for internet browsing, light applications, email, work stuff, etc., you don’t need a gaming laptop or high end graphics card. If you plan to travel with it, do you need a laptop with special security features or durability in case it is stolen, dropped, banged, etc. while commuting?

Don’t ignore the battery life, battery size, and cord length / type. Is it a two piece AC adapter with a standard 3-prong plug? Is it 4, 6, or 9 cell or some other measurement? Some companies keep costs lower by cheaping out on the battery, which to replace or upgrade could easily be another $100+.

Don’t buy Black Friday specials. Just don’t. They are often ‘special batch’ models that often have lower quality or discontinued parts, fewer features, or other oddities.

Don’t buy into add-ons, extended warranties, or other mark-ups. Chances are the warranty won’t cover the damage, failure, or other problem; the repairer will still charge for labor if it covers the parts; they may require you work with specific repairers; and/or they may require you to ship your laptop at your expense to a center, wait for repairs to be completed after a diagnostic review which may again try to deny repairs or blame you for the problem, only for it to arrive back with more or different problems. Warranties nowadays are a way for companies to increase their profit margin, period.

I hope all that helps. Windows is a very different and yet familiar beast compared to 7 years ago. You’ll likely be able to do everything you’re doing now, but may need some time to figure out how to do the same thing with an interface with different organization and visuals.

I’m not going to go into Apple or Linux or Chromebooks or other things here - it’s already a lengthy post and those are full dives into equally lengthy posts. Each have their pros and cons.

And others - feel free to contribute. I’m no expert. I’ve just happened to grow up with and around computers and am just geeky enough to have some deeper than surface knowledge.

[blackwoolncrown]

For the past few days, a heatwave has glowered over the Pacific Northwest, forcing temperatures in the region to a record-breaking 118ºF. Few people in the region—neither Americans nor Canadians—have air-conditioning. Stores sold out of new AC units in hours as a panicked public sought a reasonable solution to the emergency. Unfortunately, air-conditioning is part of what’s causing the unusual heatwave in the first place.

We came close to destroying all life on Earth during the Cold War, with the threat of nuclear annihilation. But we may have come even closer during the cooling war, when the rising number of Americans with air conditioners—and a refrigerant industry that fought regulation—nearly obliterated the ozone layer. We avoided that environmental catastrophe, but the fundamental problem of air conditioning has never really been resolved.

Mechanical cooling appeared in the early 1900s not for comfort but for business. In manufacturing, the regulation of temperature—“process cooling”—controlled the quality of commodities like cotton, tobacco, and chewing gum. In 1903, Alfred Wolff installed the first cooling system for people at the New York Stock Exchange because comfortable traders yielded considerably higher stock returns. Only in the ’20s did “commercial cooling” appear. On Memorial Day weekend 1925, Willis Carrier debuted the first centrifugal air-conditioning system at the Rivoli Theater in Midtown Manhattan. Previously, theaters had shut down in the summer. With air-conditioning, the Rivoli became “the talk of Broadway” and inaugurated the summer blockbuster.

-another direct tie to capitalism. Everything born out of colonio-capitalism carries its toxic mark. Article totally not under the cut for those who can’t pay for Time. It honestly paints a really clear picture of the situation. Bolding mine.-

“It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.“

Before World War II, almost no one had air-conditioning at home. Besides being financially impractical and culturally odd, it was also dangerous. Chemical refrigerants like sulfur dioxide and methyl chloride filled most fridges and coolers, and leaks could kill a child, poison a hospital floor, even blow up a basement. Everything changed with the invention of Freon in 1928. Non-toxic and non-explosive, Freon was hailed as a “miracle.” It made the modernist skyscraper—with its sealed windows and heat-absorbing materials—possible. It made living in the desert possible. The small, winter resort of Phoenix, Arizona, became a year-round attraction. Architecture could now ignore the local climate. Anywhere could be 65ºF with 55% humidity. Cheap materials made boxy, suburban tract housing affordable to most Americans, but the sealed-up, stifling design of these homes required air-conditioning to keep the heat at bay. Quickly, air-conditioning transitioned from a luxury to a necessity. By 1980, more than half of all U.S. homes were air-conditioned. And despite millions of Black Americans fleeing the violence of Jim Crow, the South saw greater in-migration than out-migration for the first time—a direct result of AC. The American car was similarly transformed. In 1955, only 10 percent of American cars had air-conditioning. Thirty years later, it came standard.

The cooling boom also altered the way we work. Now, Americans could work anywhere at any hour of the day. Early ads for air-conditioning promised not health or comfort but productivity. The workday could proceed no matter the season or the climate. Even in the home, A/C brought comfort as a means to rest up before the next work day.

The use of air-conditioning was as symbolic as it was material. It conveyed class status. Who did and didn’t have air-conditioning often fell starkly along the color line, too, especially in the South. It conquered the weather and, with it, the need to sweat or squirm or lie down in the summer swelter. In that sense, air-conditioning allowed Americans to transcend their physical bodies, that long-sought fantasy of the Puritan settlers: to be in the world but not of it. Miracle, indeed.

But it came with a price. As it turned out, Freon isn’t exactly non-toxic. Freon is a chlorofluorocarbon (CFC), which depletes the ozone layer and also acts as a global warming gas. By 1974, the industrialized world was churning out CFCs, chemicals that had never appeared on the planet in any significant quantities, at a rate of one million metric tons a year—the equivalent mass of more than 500,000 cars. That was the year atmospheric chemists Sherry Rowland and Mario Molina first hypothesized that the chlorine molecules in CFCs might be destroying ozone in the stratosphere by bonding to free oxygen atoms and disrupting the atmosphere’s delicate chemistry. By then, CFCs were used not only as refrigerants but also as spray can propellants, manufacturing degreasers, and foam-blowing agents.

The ozone layer absorbs the worst of the sun’s ultraviolet radiation. Without stratospheric ozone, life as we know it is impossible. A 1 percent decline in the ozone layer’s thickness results in thousands of new cases of skin cancer. Greater depletion would lead to crop failures, the collapse of oceanic food systems, and, eventually, the destruction of all life on Earth.

In the 1980s, geophysicist Joseph Farman confirmed the Rowland-Molina hypothesis when he detected a near-absence of ozone over Antarctica—the “Ozone Hole.” A fierce battle ensued among industry, scientists, environmentalists, and politicians, but in 1987 the U.S signed the Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer, which ended Freon production.

The Montreal Protocol remains the world’s only successful international environmental treaty with legally binding emissions targets. Annual conferences to re-assess the goals of the treaty make it a living document, which is revised in light of up-to-date scientific data. For instance, the Montreal Protocol set out only to slow production of CFCs, but, by 1997, industrialized countries had stopped production entirely, far sooner than was thought possible. The world was saved through global cooperation.

The trouble is that the refrigerants replacing CFCs, hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs), turned out to be terrible for the planet, too. While they have an ozone-depleting potential of zero, they are potent greenhouse gases. They absorb infrared radiation from the sun and Earth and block heat that normally escapes into outer space. Carbon dioxide and methane do this too, but HFCs trap heat at rates thousands of times higher. Although the number of refrigerant molecules in the atmosphere is far fewer than those of other greenhouse gases, their destructive force, molecule for molecule, is far greater.

In three decades, the production of HFCs grew exponentially. Today, HFCs provide the cooling power to almost any air conditioner in the home, in the office, in the supermarket, or in the car. They cool vaccines, blood for transfusions, and temperature-sensitive medications, as well as the data processors and computer servers that make up the internet—everything from the cloud to blockchains. In 2019, annual global warming emissions from HFCs were the equivalent of 175 million metric tons of carbon dioxide.

In May, the EPA signaled it will begin phasing down HFCs and replacing them with more climate-friendly alternatives. Experts agree that a swift end to HFCs could prevent as much as 0.5ºC of warming over the next century—a third of the way to the goals of the Paris Climate Agreement.

Yet regardless of the refrigerant used, cooling still requires energy. According to the U.S. Energy Information Administration, air-conditioning accounts for nearly a fifth of annual U.S. residential electricity use. This is more energy for cooling overall and per capita than in any other nation. Most Americans consider the cost of energy only in terms of their electricity bills. But it’s also costing us the planet. Joe Biden’s announcement to shift toward a renewable energy infrastructure obscures the uncertainty of whether that infrastructure could meet Americans’ outrageously high energy demand—much of it for cooling that doesn’t save lives. Renewable energy infrastructure can take us only so far. The rest of the work is cultural. From Freon to HFCs, we keep replacing chemical refrigerants without taking a hard look at why we’re cooling in the first place.

Comfort cooling began not as a survival strategy but as a business venture. It still carries all those symbolic meanings, though its currency now works globally, cleaving the world into civilized cooling and barbaric heat. Despite what we assume, as a means of weathering a heat wave, individual air-conditioning is terribly ineffective. It works only for those who can afford it. But even then, their use in urban areas only makes the surrounding micro-climate hotter, sometimes by a factor of 10ºF, actively threatening the lives of those who don’t have access to cooling. (The sociologist Eric Klinenberg has brilliantly studied how, in a 1995 Chicago heat wave, about twice as many people died than in a comparable heat wave forty years earlier due to the city’s neglect of certain neighborhoods and social infrastructure.) Ironically, research suggests that exposure to constant air-conditioning can prevent our bodies from acclimatizing to hot weather, so those who subject themselves to “thermal monotony” are, in the end, making themselves more vulnerable to heat-related illness.

And, of course, air-conditioning only works when you have the electricity to power it. During heatwaves, when air-conditioning is needed most, blackouts are frequent. On Sunday, with afternoon temperatures reaching 112ºF around Portland, the power grid failed for more than 6,300 residences under control by Portland General Electrics.

The troubled history of air-conditioning suggests not that we chuck it entirely but that we focus on public cooling, on public comfort, rather than individual cooling, on individual comfort. Ensuring that the most vulnerable among the planet’s human inhabitants can keep cool through better access to public cooling centers, shade-giving trees, safe green spaces, water infrastructure to cool, and smart design will not only enrich our cities overall, it will lower the temperature for everyone. It’s far more efficient this way.

To do so, we’ll have to re-orient ourselves to the meaning of air-conditioning. And to comfort. Privatized air-conditioning survived the ozone crisis, but its power to separate—by class, by race, by nation, by ability—has survived, too. Comfort for some comes at the expense of the life on this planet.

It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.

[mandowh0re]

The One Where Everybody Finds Out

Summary: The team finds out about you and Loki.

A/N: So I literally took the entire episode of The One Where Everybody Finds Out from Friends and rewrote it for the Avengers. This may have been done before with either Loki or another character, and I've definitely seen it done with other Friends episodes. This is super long because I literally used every line of dialogue in every scene (except for Ross attempting to win the apartment) and then added or changed them enough to fit the characters. Some of this may be OOC but it was the best I could do with the situation they're all in. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Implied smut

Word Count: 6274

Tony as Ross, Natasha as Rachel and Phoebe, Wanda as Rachel and Phoebe, Peter as Phoebe, Loki as Chandler, reader as Monica, and Thor as Joey.

Happy Reading!

“Oh, hey you guys, look! They’re installing the new training grounds outside!”

There’s collective sounds of acknowledgement from the team as they all get up from their spots, walking over to where Wanda stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows. You can feel Loki standing a bit too close to your back, but luckily everyone is too distracted to notice.

“I’d say from the looks of it, Tony went all out.” Natasha states, looking at all the new fancy equipment that was being unloaded and installed.

“Ironically, it was actually Steve who went all out. I just paid for it.”

“Awh, I’ll miss sweating my tits off in that tiny gym.” Natasha says. You snicker.

“That’s repulsive.” Loki rolls his eyes and returns to his place on the couch.

Tony glares at Nat, “Hey, it’s not my fault that the AC is always broken.”

“Aren’t you a mechanic?” Bucky asks.

“Not an HVAC mechanic. There’s a big difference, tough guy.”

“I am excited for this new space! I will be able to call upon the lightning in training!” Thor booms.

“Yes, and kill everyone on the field.” Loki replies nonchalantly, never looking up from his book.

Thor rolls his eyes and everyone returns to their former spots. You sit back in your spot next to Loki, sitting criss cross on the couch and discreetly touching your knee to high thigh.

It’s the small touches you sneak when you think nobody is looking, that make your heart skip just a beat faster.

***

“Oh my gods, I love this setup! It's got something for everyone!” Tony is absolutely giddy with excitement, walking around the newly installed equipment that had been set up outside, “Isn’t it perfect? I never realized how little we were working with before!”

“Well that is because we really only ever trained by fighting hand to hand.” Natasha replies, inspecting part of the obstacle course.

Tony nods, putting his hands in his pockets. He watches as Peter easily climbs a wall that’s part of the course Nat is looking at.

“It’s amazing!” Wanda chirps, “Steve really outdid himself this time.”

“Speaking of Steve, he was supposed to meet us out here like ten minutes ago. I’m gonna go find him.” Tony says, pulling his phone out to try and get a hold of his boyfriend.

As the billionaire disappears into the compound, Nat walks up to Wanda.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to sweat my tits off out here.” She says, the comment matching the one she made a few days ago.

Wanda lets out a quiet cackle, watching as Nat walks towards some machinery across the yard that caught her eye.

Wanda walks towards the teenager and looks around, excited to have so much more to practice and train her magic with. While Loki was more than glad to train with her using his own magic, she always had to hold back with almost everyone else.

She watches as Peter jumps and climbs his way through the course, looking like he’s having the time of his life, when she sees a separate movement out of the corner of her eye. She looks up to see you and Loki standing in a window, facing each other and talking.

“Oh look! There’s Y/N and Loki. Hey!” She waves up at them, but they don’t see her.

Peter’s attention is now caught and he stops in his tracks, looking up at the same window.

“Hey!” Peter calls, waving his own hands.

Suddenly, you and Loki are stripping each other of clothes, and Peter makes a squaking sound, covering his eyes.

“Ah! Oh!” Wanda shouts, her eyes blowing wide as she sees the events unfold. She uses her magic to pull Peter back to her so she can shield his innocent eyes, “Ahh!”

“What?” Nat asks, jogging back up to the pair.

Wanda points to the window that harbored the offending scene, with the hand that isn’t currently shielding Peter’s eyes.

“Y/N and Loki! Y/N and Loki!”

Nat looks up to see what the other two are flipping out about, only to see Loki shove you up against the window, completely bare.

“Oh my god!” Nat’s voice goes up an octave.

“Oh!”

“Oh my god!”

“Y/N and Loki!” Wanda screams.

“Oh my god!”

“My eyes! My eyes!” Peter screams. Wanda turns them both away from the building.

“Peter! Wanda!” Nat steps in front of them, hands out to try and calm them.

“Oh!” Wanda yells again, screwing here eyes shut.

“Okay! It’s okay! It’s okay!” Nat tries to placate them.

Peter removes Wanda’s hand from his face, “No! They’re doing it!” He yells, turning to point at you and Loki before Nat quickly grabs his arm and turns him back to her.

“I know! I know! I know!”

“You know?” Peter yells back.

“You know?” Wanda echoes him.

“Yes! I know, and Thor knows, but Tony doesn’t know so you have to stop screaming!”

Out of nowhere, Tony walks up to the small group, “Hey, what’s going on?”

The three of them scream in surprise, Peter throwing his hands in the air and jumping, screaming the loudest.

“Hi! Hi!”

Concern etches itself on Tony’s face, “What? What?” He steps towards his kid, arms reaching out and eyes scanning for any injuries.

“Hi! Nothing!” Peter yells, jumping around Tony to make him look away from the compound. He really didn’t need to see his daughter being fucked against a window by the one person on the team he trusts least, “Oh, gods, we’re just so excited about all the new equipment!” Peter claps his hands.

Tony smiles, now realizing it’s all just Peter having a hyperactive episode, “Yeah, actually it looks really good-” He says as he turns back to look at everything, but is cut off when Wanda yells and copies Peter’s movements to pull Tony’s gaze back away from the building.

“It looks amazing!” She screams, clapping and jumping up and down next to Peter.

Nat steps around Tony too so he doesn’t have a reason to turn back around.

“Get in here! Come on!” Peter yells, motioning for his father figure to join their happy dance.

Tony smiles before letting out a happy squeal and jumping into the little group dance, all of them jumping and screaming, aside from Natasha who was smirking and biting her lip to keep from laughing.

***

“You mean whenever Y/N and Loki were like, you know, doing laundry. Or going grocery shopping, or- Oh!” Wanda gasps, “All that time Y/N spent on the phone with Margo back in her hometown?”

They sit on Wanda’s bed, coffee in hand. Peter was leaned against her headboard playing Among Us on his phone, sound blocking headphones in. He was traumatized from what he saw earlier in the day, and he didn’t feel like seeing or talking to anyone, so the girls let him hang with them while they gossiped.

Nat nods, “Uh huh. Doing it, doing it, phone doing it.”

Wanda gasps again, “Oh, I can’t believe it! I mean I think it’s great!” There’s a pause, “For him. She might be able to do better.”

There’s a knock at the door before it opens slightly to reveal Thor. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms.

“Hello, what are you all up to?”

“Thor! Come here!” Nat says, jumping up and pulling him into the room, closing the door behind him.

Thor moves to sit on the desk chair, which looks like a doll chair compared to him, “What?”

“Wanda and Peter just found out about Loki and Y/N.”

Thor’s brows furrow and his eyes get wide, “You mean how they’re friends and nothing more?” His eyes narrow at the ex-assassin.

Nat rolls her eyes, “No, no Thor. They know. We were outside checking out the new training grounds and we saw them doing it through the window. Actually we saw them doing it up against the window.”

Wanda joins in, “Okay, so now they know you know,” She points to Thor, “And they don’t know that Nat knows?”

The god looks like he’s thinking hard for a moment before he speaks, “... Yes. But, you know what? It doesn’t matter who knows what. Now, enough of us know, that we could just tell them we know!” He says excitedly, “Then all the lying and secrets will finally be over!”

Nat nods, and Wanda gets a smirk on her face.

“Or, we could not tell them we know, and have a little fun of our own!” The witch giggles.

“Wait, well what do you mean?” Nat asks, turning back to face Wanda.

“Well every time that they say they’re like, doing laundry, we’ll just give them a bunch of laundry to do!”

Nat’s mouth forms an ‘O’ in understanding, “Ohh,” She claps silently, “I would enjoy that.”

Thor looks horrified, “Oh no no no. No wait wait. You know what would be even more fun? Telling them.”

Nat looks at him, but she’s already hyped up, “Nah, I wanna do Wanda’s thing.”

“I can’t take anymore-”

“Oh you don’t have to do anything. Just don’t tell them that we know!” Wanda snaps.

“No! I can’t take any more secrets!” Thor whines, running a hand down his face, “I’ve got your secrets, I’ve got their secrets, I’ve got secrets of my own, you know.”

“You don’t have any secrets.” Nat narrows her eyes.

“Oh yeah? You don’t know about Squish, my stuffed octopus.” Thor throes back before his eyes go wide.

It’s silent between all of them for a few seconds before Wanda clears her throat, “So, um,” She veers the conversation back to the situation at hand, turning back to Nat, “How are we gonna mess with them?”

Thor groans and leans back in the chair.

“Well, you could use your position, you know, as the best friend. And then I would use, you know, the strongest tool at my disposal. My sexuality.”

There’s another knock at the door.

“Come in!” Wanda calls.

The door opens to reveal Loki. Peter blushes furiously when he looks up to see the other god, and looks back to down, gluing his eyes on his phone.

“Hello, children.”

Everyone in the room replies with hellos.

“Y/N cannot find her journal. Have any of you heathens seen it?”

There’s a string of denials, nobody having seen the black leather journal you tend to carry around.

Nat turns to Wanda and winks, noticing Peter is now looking at her, and stands up to head towards Loki.

“Uh, hello?” Loki says, watching Nat approach him.

“Hey,” She says, finally stepping in front of him, “Oh wow, that jacket looks great on you.”

Loki quirks a brow and glances down at his clothing, then back to Nat, “Um, thanks?”

“Yeah, the material looks so soft,” She says as she strokes his arm, “Oh hello muscles,” She purrs, squeezing his bicep, “Have you been working out?”

Loki looks incredibly puzzled, “Yes, but need I remind you I am also a god.”

Suddenly Nat is giggling. Since when-

“Are you ill?”

She finishes giggling and looks in his eyes, “Well, if you really want to know,” She looks down at her hands, “Um- Oh I can’t tell you this.”

Loki shifts his weight onto the other foot, glancing at the other three behind her, then focusing back on her.

“While I do not enjoy discussing emotions, I can tolerate you more than most humans. If you would like to discuss something on your mind, I would not object.”

“Well actually, you’re the one person I can’t tell this to, and the one person I want to the most.”

“What the Norns is going on?” He asks, growing increasingly disturbed by this interaction.

“I think it’s just, you know, that I haven’t been with someone in so long and, you know how sometimes you’re looking for something and you just don’t even see that it’s right there in front of you dressed in a black suit…”

Loki glances down at himself again and his brows fly up for a split second as he looks back up to Nat.

“Oh no, have I said too much?” She coos, placing a hand on her chest, “Well, it’s just something to think about. I know I will.” She giggles again and walks over to where she set her mug down, bending at the waist and making an ‘oop’ sound, picking it up and then walks out of the room and past Loki, shooting him a wink.

Loki raises a brow at Thor, who has his face in his hands. Wanda is biting her lip to stop from bursting into a fit of laughter, and Peter’s cheeks are dusted pink with his eyes wide in shock.

***

“You are so cute. How did you get to be so cute?” You ask, looking down at Loki. He’s sprawled on his bed with his arm around you, tracing his fingers along your spine.

“I am not cute. I am a god. Handsome or pretty will do.”

You giggle in response, “Okay now you’re even cuter.” You tease, leaning down to kiss him.

“You know, that seems to be a popular opinion today, I must say.”

“What?”

“Well, the weirdest thing happened earlier today. I think… I believe Natasha was coming onto me.”

You chuckle, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m telling you, I think Natasha thinks I’m alluring.”

You look up at the wall and quirk a brow, then look back at him, “It’s not possible.”

“Ow?” Loki says, lifting his hands in a motion akin to ‘what the hel’.

You chuckle, “I’m sorry, it’s just… I mean Nat just thinks of you in a charming, sexless kind of way.”

“Oh well you know I… I can’t hear that enough.”

“I’m sorry, I just think you misunderstood her.”

Loki sits up, “No, I did not misunderstand. Humans are simple creatures-”

You narrow your eyes.

“Except for you, my darling,” He tries to placate, “But she was all over me. She touched my bicep for crying out loud.”

You grab his arm, and smirk, “This bicep?”

“Well it’s not flexed right now.”

You snort and fall back onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

***

You walk out of the elevator into the common room, headed to the kitchenette for some water.

“Hey, Y/N. What are you doing right now? You wanna come see a movie with us?” Nat asks, flipping through her magazine.

You stutter in your movements, hoping nobody noticed, and continue getting your water, “Uh, you know what, I was actually gonna do some laundry.”

You were out on a jog when Loki had texted you a long paragraph about what he wanted to do to you when you got back. Needless to say, you cut your jog short, turned around, and came straight back. When you turned back around to face your friends, you glanced at Loki, who was sitting on the loveseat with a book in hand. The fucker had the audacity to smirk.

Nat and Wanda look at each other, sharing a knowing look.

“Loki, you wanna do it with me?”

He closes his book and sets it down next to him, standing off of the couch, “Sure, I’ll do it with you.”

Nat smirks and stands, “Okay great! Hold on a sec.” She says before running out of the room. She returns a few minutes later with a large hamper full of laundry, “Ugh, here you go,” She sets it down behind the couch, “You don’t mind do you? That would really help me out a lot. Thanks!”

“Uh…” You look at her, not really sure how to respond.

“Oh! I have some too!” Wanda says.

You finally come out of your stupor, “Wait! Why am I doing everyone’s laundry? Do your own!”

Wanda makes a pouty face, “Because you love us and we asked nicely?”

You look at her incredulously before rolling your eyes, “Fine.”

Nat looks at her watch, “Oh! Alright, honey, we’d better go if we wanna catch that movie.”

They grab their jackets and bags, saying goodbye as they leave.

“Bye, Loki! I miss you already.” Nat says as she passes him, pinching his butt before entering the elevator with Wanda.

Once the doors slide shut, Loki looks at you, “Okay, did you see that?” He says hysterically, “With the inappropriate and the pinching?”

You nod, “Actually I did.”

“Okay so now do you believe that she’s attracted to me?”

You blink a few times, pieces of the situation coming together. Suddenly, your heart drops to your stomach.

“Oh my gods!” You look at the elevator and step around the counter towards the common room where Loki stood, “Oh my gods, she knows about us!”

“You are serious??”

“Natasha knows and she’s just trying to freak us out!” You throw your hands in the air, water bottle still clutched, “That’s the only explanation for it!”

Loki leans his head forward and raises his brows, “Okay but what about my pinchable butt and my bulging biceps?” He throws out an arm and runs his opposite hand over the lean limb before recognition settles over his face, “She knows!”

***

The door to Thor’s room flies open, startling the god, and both you and Loki enter.

“Thor.” Loki snaps, walking up to him, you hot on his tail. It looks like he had been in the middle of a nap.

“Yeah?” He says, throwing Squish behind a pillow.

You roll your eyes and Loki runs a hand down his face.

“Natasha knows about us.” Loki says, motioning between you and him.

Thor looks at you before furrowing his brows, “Well I didn’t tell them!”

“Them?” You hiss, “Who’s them?”

Thor looks guilty as he looks between the two of you, “Uhh, Natasha… And Thor.”

“Thor…” You warn.

“... And Wanda and Peter.”

You and Loki look at each other in annoyment.

Thor stands from his bed, “I would have told you, but they made me promise not to tell!”

“Odin’s beard!” Loki bites.

“I’m sorry!” Thor apologizes, and he does look sorry, “But hey! It’s over now, right? Cause you can tell them you know they know, and I can go back to knowing absolutely nothing!”

An idea pops into your mind, “Unless-”

“No, not ‘unless’! Look, this must end now!”

You ignore Thor’s small outburst, “Oh man, they think they are so slick messing with us! But see they don’t know that we know that they know. So…”

Thor looks confused as all hell by now, but realization dawns on Loki, “Ah, yes. The pranksters become the victims!”

Thor rolls his eyes, making an irritated noise, and flops back onto his bed.

***

Natasha, Wanda, and Peter are all hanging out in the common room playing Mario Kart when Natasha’s phone rings.

She pauses the game, putting the controller down and grabbing her phone, noticing the caller ID.

“It’s Loki!” She yelps, and suddenly she has both Peter’s and Wanda’s undivided attention.

They had filled Peter in on their plan, and he was more than happy to help prank you and Loki after what he had been inadvertently forced to see.

“Answer it!” Peter says, scooting closer.

“On speaker!” Wanda adds.

Natasha slides the green button and answers the call, putting it on speaker, “Hello, you.” She says in a sultry tone.

“Hello, Natasha. I have been thinking about you all day.” Loki’s voice fills the room.

Natasha almost chokes, and the other two snap their gaze to the phone, “Huh?”

“Well you know, that thing you said before. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.”

“Really?” She asks, completely caught off guard.

“Yes, listen, why don’t you come to my room tonight and I’ll let you feel my muscles. Or maybe more.”

Natasha’s mouth falls open, as do the others’, and she grasps for some sort of answer.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that. Okay bye.” She hits end and her hands fly to her hair.

“Oh my god!” Wanda squeaks.

“He wants you to go over and feel his muscles and more!” Peter adds.

“Are you kidding?” Natasha says, trying to wrap the situation around her head, “I cannot believe he would to that to-” She cuts off mid sentence as a thought forms in her head. She turns slowly to face Thor, who had been munching on a slice of pizza while watching the Mario Kart tournament, “Thor…” Natasha says, “Do they know that we know?”

He looks at her with a guilty expression, and it’s quiet for a second too long before he answers, “No…”

“Thor…” This time his name is spoken in a warning tone.

He nods slowly, “They know you know.”

Natasha makes a noise of frustration, “I knew it! Oh, I cannot believe those two!”

“They thought that they could mess with us? They’re trying to mess with us?” Wanda guffaws, “They don’t know that we know they know we know.”

Thor groans behind them.

“And Thor you can’t say anything!” Peter turns and tells him.

He throws his hands in the air, “Couldn’t if I wanted to!”

***

Wanda, Nat, and Peter had ended their video game and moved to the couch to talk amongst themselves. You and Loki are standing in the doorway.

“Look at them, they’re panicked!” You whisper.

“Oh, yes. They’re definitely going to crack.” Loki whispers back.

You nod, “Oh yeah.”

Nat turns to look over her shoulder at the two of you and then looks back at her partners in crime.

“Alright, alright, if he wants a date, he’s gonna get a date.” She says, tucking back a strand of hair, “Alright, I’m gonna go.” She adjusts her jacket.

“Good luck!” Peter whispers.

Wanda is giving a subtle thumbs up, “Be sexy.”

Nat rolls her eyes, “Please.” She stands and walks towards Loki with a sexy smirk, swaying her hips back and forth.

He sees her coming and he pushes you away, standing to his full height and pocketing his hands.

You and Nat exchange a fleeting look before her focus is back on Loki.

“So, Loki, I’d love to come by tonight.”

The god’s smug smirk falls for a moment, before he forces it back, “Really?”

“Oh absolutely, should we say around seven?”

Loki tilts his head up slightly, trying to keep his composure, “Yes.”

Nat nods, “Good. I’m really looking forward to you and me having sexual intercourse.” She winks and walks back to her spot on the couch.

Loki gives you a desperate look and you hold your hands up, trying to calm him down.

***

The three troublemakers plus Thor are in Nat’s room. She’s wearing a black, form fitting dress that reaches her mid thigh, with knee high leather boots. Her red hair is straightened and the top layer of her hair is pulled back into a braid in the back of her head. Her makeup is mostly natural, with a subtle green tint on her lids. A modest amount of glitter dusted her cheekbones.

Wanda claps several times, “Showtime!”

“Okay, Peter, pick out a perfume. Over on my dresser. And Thor, can you go grab me a bottle of wine and some glasses?”

Thor huffs but does as he’s asked, leaving the room to fetch the items.

Peter walks up to her with a small bottle filled with purple liquid, “I like this one!”

Nat smiles at him, “One of my favorites,” She stretches her arms out and closes her eyes, “Hit me.”

Peter sprays a cloud of the scent in front of her, and she spins through it.

Thor returns a few minutes later with a bottle of sweet red and two crystal glasses.

~Meanwhile~

You straighten out Loki’s collar and smooth out his jacket.

“Alright, you’ll be great. You just make her think that you want to have sex with her, it’ll totally freak her out.” You spray breath freshener into his mouth and he recoils, not expecting the intrusive taste.

“Okay listen, how far am I going to have to go with her?”

“Relax! She’s gonna give in way before you do!”

“How do you know??” He asks, and he briefly asks himself how he even got caught up in this mess.

“Because you’re on my team, and my team always wins.”

He scrunches his face at you, “At this?” He makes a general motion with his hands.

You roll your eyes, “Just go get some!” You grab his face and give him a quick kiss before smacking his butt, “Go!”

You run to his bathroom and hide inside, listening to the events in the room unfold.

~

Peter, Wanda, and Natasha are all outside of Loki’s room.

Wanda hands the wine and glasses to Natasha, “Okay, Nat. Now we’re gonna try to listen from right here. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Oh wait!” Wanda reaches out and unzips the zipper on Nat’s chest, letting her breasts spill out a little more.

“Oh, good idea!” Peter says.

“Oh, hang on,” Wanda goes to try and pull it down a little more but Nat steps back.

“Don’t give away the farm!”

Wanda’s hands snap back to herself, and her and Peter hide against the wall as Nat knocks on the door.

It immediately opens, and Loki is there waiting.

“Natasha.”

“Loki.”

“Come on in.” He purrs.

“I was going to.” Nat giggles, and slides past him through the door. He follows her in and closes the door behind him. As soon as it shuts, Wanda and Peter shuffle to the door and press their ears to it.

Nat holds up the bottle in her hand, “I brought some wine. Would you like some?”

“Of course.”

Silence settles over the two as Nat sets the items on Loki’s heavy wooden dresser.

“So, here we are,” She says, pouring a glass of wine, “Nervous?”

“Me? Never. You?”

Her answer is immediate, “No. I want this to happen.” She hands him a glass.

“So do I.” He takes it.

They clink glasses and both down the alcohol like it’s water and they’d been stranded without any for days.

When they finish, they set the glasses down and Loki takes a step back, “I’m going to put on some music.”

He cuts on a song that Nat doesn’t believe she’s heard before. It’s definitely a classical song.

“Maybe I’ll dance for you.” Nat licks her lips, and starts to sway and move her body. She hopes the alcohol kicks in soon.

Loki raises a brow as she gets closer to him. He swallows harshly when she bumps her hips against him.

“You look ravishing.” He chokes out.

“Thanks,” She’s still moving herself to the music, “You know, when you say things like that, it makes me want to rip that… Suit right off.”

“Well, why don’t we move this to the bed.”

“Really?” Nat stops her dancing, the statement coming out of left field.

“Oh! Do you not want to?” Loki asks.

“No, no. I just, you know, first I want to take off all of my clothes and have you rub lotion on me.”

Loki can feel his heart sinking because he can tell that the woman isn’t going down without a fight. And for once, he doesn’t want a fight.

“Well, that would be nice.” He says instead, “I’ll go get the lotion.” He makes a bee line for his bathroom.

He opens the door and slams it behind him.

“This is getting completely out of hand. Alright? She wants me to put lotion on her!” He hisses quietly.

“She’s bluffing!” You hiss back.

Loki throws his hands up, exasperated, “Look, she’s not backing down. She did this!” He copies the hip bump that Nat had done to him earlier.

~

“He is not backing down. He went to get lotion.” Nat says.

She had gone and opened the door to talk to Wanda and Peter when Loki disappeared into the bathroom.

Wanda and Peter look at each other and Wanda wrings her hands.

Thor walks down the hallway and sees them gathered at the door.

“Oh man, aren’t you guys finished yet?” He whines, crossing his arms.

Wanda rolls her eyes, “Thor, look, just look at it this way: The sooner Natasha breaks Loki, the sooner this is all over and out in the open.”

Thor’s eyes light up, “Oh, I like that,” He looks at Nat and an idea comes to him, “Oh! Show your breasts. He’s afraid of looking at anyone else’s but Y/N’s.” He reaches out and pulls on the zipper in a quick motion, causing Natasha’s boobs to nearly fall out of the dress.

The girls gasp and Peter covers his eyes.

“Wow, you didn’t break it.” Nat says, inspecting the zipper and adjusting her breasts.

“Not my first time.” Thor says, cheekily.

~

“You go back out there,” You say, grabbing a bottle of lotion off the shelf, “And you seduce her ‘til she cracks!”

“Okay, give me a moment.” He takes the bottle from you and looks around the small space, “Did you reorganize in here?”

You shrug and push him out of the bathroom.

He stumbles slightly from the force and sees Nat closing the bedroom door.

“Oh, you’re leaving?”

She turns and looks at him, pushing her chest out, “Uh, not without you, lover.” She walks towards him, making sure to show her chest off as she sways her body, “So… These are my boobs.”

Loki glances down at them before locking his eyes on Nat’s.

“They’re very nice.”

They look at each other, exchanging forced sexual glances.

“Well, come here.” He tells her, “I’m very happy we will be having sex.”

Natasha chuckles nervously, “You should be. I’m very bendy.” She steps closer, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Not if I kiss you first.”

She takes a last step forward and grabs one of his hips. He touches one of hers, then switches hands to touch the other. His heart is beating in his throat.

Natasha reaches out and grabs his other hip, jerking him forward. He tries to place a hand on her breast but can’t make himself go through with it, so he settles for her shoulder, and Nat makes a choked sound.

“Well I suppose there’s nothing left for us to do but kiss.”

Nat nods, “Here it comes. Our first kiss.”

Loki quickly glances at the door that you’re hiding behind before looking back to Nat. They’re faces get closer and closer, both desperately hoping that the other will break before their lips connect.

But neither does.

It’s awkward and barely a kiss, but after about two seconds, Loki rips himself away and pushes Nat away from him.

“Alright alright alright. Okay, you win! You win!” He yells, hands up in surrender.

“Hah!”

“I cannot have sex with you.”

“And why not?” Nat pushes.

“Because I’m in love with Y/N.” He admits, running a hand through his hair.

Nat’s heart stops and she can barely string words together, “You’re- You’re what?”

The bathroom door opens and you step out, at the same time the bedroom door swings open to reveal Wanda, Peter, and Thor.

“I love her. That’s right! I love her. I love her!” He repeats himself, pointing to you.

You feel butterflies grow in your belly and warmth blooms in your chest. You don’t care that you just lost this little game. Loki just proclaimed his love for you to a whole group of people. That’s not something he likes; letting others know his feelings.

You walk over to him, sporting a smile so wide that your cheeks hurt. He takes a step towards you and places his hands on your waist, looking into your eyes.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You let out a wet chuckle, “I love you too, Loki.”

He dips down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, pulling your body flush to his.

“I just… I thought you guys were doing it. I didn’t know you were in love!” Nat exclaims.

You turn and smile at your friend, hugging your boyfriend close. Loki chuckles and hugs you back.

“Awh, guys.” Peter says, a large smile on his face as well.

Loki smiles at the boy then looks to Nat, “And hats off to Natasha. Quite the competitor.” He reaches a hand out and the two shake hands, “And may I say your breasts are still out.”

“God.” She mumbles and quickly zips the dress back up.

“All right!” Thor booms, his face filled with joy, “So that’s it! It’s over! Everybody knows!”

“Yeah, well actually, not everybody,” You reply, “And we’d appreciate it if nobody told dad.”

Thor’s face falls and Peter grabs his arm to try and placate him.

***

Tony is watching Peter mess around on the obstacle course.

Peter lands at the end with a backflip and turns to make sure Tony is watching.

The older man holds a thumbs up, “You’re doing great, buddy!”

Movement catches his eye and he looks up to the window of your room. It takes his brain one too many seconds to realize what he’s seeing because he doesn’t want to believe it.

“No… No!” He yells, standing and taking a few steps forward.

Peter turns to look at what Tony is flipping out over and his blood runs cold, “Shit.” He whispers.

“Get off of my daughter!” Tony screams before he takes off towards the entrance to the compound and Peter takes off after him.

Tony runs down the hallway screaming.

“Loki! Loki!” He reaches your room and tries to open it, but it’s locked. He bangs on it several times, “Loki! I saw what you were doing through the window! I saw what you were doing to my daughter, now get out here!”

You and Loki jump up and quickly fix yourselves.

“Well, listen, we had a good run. What was it? Four? Five months? I mean, that’s more than most humans have in a lifetime, so goodbye, take care, goodbye then.” Loki finishes his ramblings with a chaste kiss to your lips before walking to your balcony.

You quickly catch his wrist, “What are you doing?”

“Oh I’m going on the lam.”

You roll your eyes and pull him back towards you, “Come on, Loki, come on. I can handle my dad.”

You drag him with you and open the door to reveal Tony, who is as red as Thor’s cape.

“Hey dad, what’s up?”

He looks at you and then Loki, and storms into the room towards him.

Loki takes several steps back and you run to place yourself between them.

“Dad!” You place your hands on his chest.

“What the hell are you doing!” He yells.

Suddenly almost the entire team is running up to your bedroom door where Peter was already waiting.

“Hey, what’s-what’s going on?” Natasha interjects.

“Well I think… I think… Stark knows about Y/N and I.”

“Brother,” Thor makes a throat cut motion, “He is right there.”

Loki rolls his eyes.

“You are an semi-immortal god that wiped out half of Manhattan and causes trouble everywhere he goes, and this is my daughter. Loki and my daughter, I-I cannot believe this!”

“Look Stark, we are not just fooling around. I love her. Alright? I’m in love with her.”

Tony takes a few breaths and moves his gaze to you.

You step forward and grab his hand, “I’m sorry that you had to find out this way… I’m sorry but it’s true, I love him too.” You reach your other arm back to pull Loki into your side.

He looks at you with unsure eyes, then looks up at Loki and back to you. Then out of nowhere, his demeanor completely changes.

“Loki and my daughter! I cannot believe this!” He says with a more happy tone, bringing them both into a hug, surprise etching Loki’s face. He pulls away and looks at everyone in the doorway, “You guys probably wanna get some hugs in too, huh? Big news!” He says the last part with jazz hands.

Everyone on the team who wasn’t aware files in for hugs and congrats, but the other four stay in the doorway.

Peter smiles, “Awh, no we’re okay, we’ve actually known for a while.”

The smile on Tony’s face vanishes.

“What? What? You guys knew?” He stalks closer and Peter jumps behind Natasha, “You all knew and you didn’t tell me?” His voice became raised again.

“W-Well, Tony, we were worried about you, okay? We didn’t know how you were gonna react.” Wanda explains.

Tony looks between the four of them before the weary smile appears again.

“You were worried about me?” He chuckles, “You didn’t know how I was gonna react?” He pulls all of them into a tight hug.

When he lets them go Thor speaks up, “Okay. What do you say we all, uh, clear out of here and let these two lovebirds get back down to business.”

Tony’s smile vanishes yet again and he turns to glare at the god.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m just talking here. He is the one sleeping with your daughter.” He points to Loki.

Peter facepalms and Nat drags Thor away, Peter following suit. Peter collects Tony and nods to you and Loki. Everyone files back out of the room and the door closes once more.

After everyone left, there were a few seconds of silence before the two of you burst into hysterical fits of laughter.

***

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[twistedtummies2]

Birthday Belly (LeonaXReader)

I wrote this yesterday for my own birthday. I didn’t really go into this with much of a plan, this story is 99% just me freestyling and whipping out some self-indulgent nonsense involving Leona Kingscholar and his appetite. It came out to about 4000 words, which is relatively short for MY stories on here. XD Hopefully you all will enjoy it.

----------------------------------------------------

Living at the Ramshackle Dorm had, you thought, left you almost impervious to surprises. The 999 Happy Haunts who inhabited the old manor house had tried nearly every trick up their capes to spook you and shock you, and after dealing with so many dark mages for so long – facing demigods and fairy princes along the way – you didn’t think much could startle you. Today, you were going to be proven wrong. You sighed with some relief, removing your obligatory birthday sash and letting it drape over the arm-rest of the sofa as he leaned back and closed your eyes. Back in your homeworld, you had never really been much of a party person. You had never much cared for crowds, even among people you knew well; part of the joy of being one of only two (living) beings who called Ravenswood Manor home was that you were able to find privacy and peace fairly easily. However, despite not being a mage, and despite being so lonely there, your friends and the school itself had gone to a great deal of trouble to provide you with a party. You smiled wearily as you eyed the streamers and other decorations strung about your ground floor rooms. A huge banner reading “Happy Birthday…!” and followed by your name was hung over the fireplace, and piled up next to the spot where you’d installed your television and other such things was a stack of presents you had gotten from all your friends.

Ace had given you a set of playing cards and poker chips, winking as he promised to give you a chance to put them to use. Deuce, meanwhile, had been much more sensible, purchasing some cooking apparel he knew you could put to good use. Riddle Rosehearts, meanwhile, brought you some cherry tarts he and Trey had made together. Cater Diamond also appeared, and had bought a new external drive for your laptop computer. “I would have gotten you a new phone,” Cater had smiled. “But I didn’t think you needed one. Speaking of, BIRTHDAY SELFIE! COME ON OVER HERE…!” Idia hadn’t stayed for the party, but his brother Ortho had been happy to pop in. The two had pitched their cash together to buy you a new game system, along with a new game to play on it. Idia had personally sent a birthday card, as well; according to Ortho, his hands had been shaking so much trying to figure out what to write in it, he thought his brother’s fingers might fall off. All Idia had written in the card was, “Have a nice day,” probably because he had freaked out at the thought of saying anything else. Poor dear. Somebody – you weren’t sure who – had very, VERY wisely remembered to invite Malleus Draconia, who came with Silver. Silver spent most of the party sleeping, but Malleus had been kind enough to bestow a gift of his own, in the form of a leatherbound edition of The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Naturally, Kalim had shown up, tugging Jamil along behind him. Each had a different gift to give: Kalim had brought a VERY expensive looking carpet, done in the ornate styling of his homeland. “It’s been in my family for…um…uh…” he had paused to try and count the years on his fingers…and eventually ran out of fingers AND toes to count on. “…A very, very long time! Like…SUPER long! I thought it might look nice in your bedroom or the ballroom or something! It’s, uh…it’s not too much, is it?” Gods bless that Baby Otter. He needed so many hugs. Jamil’s gift had been much more reserved: a mancala game box, which he had presented all while trying not to blush under his black hood. Vil had stopped by for a short while; he’d only stayed briefly, claiming the “decadent atmosphere of your gloomy domicile” would mess up his hairdo. (Go figure.) However, he had kindly brought you a gift in the form of custom-made suit of clothes he had ordered from his own personal tailor: some of the finest and most formal wear you had ever seen in your life. “Now you can actually look halfway presentable, instead of resembling a half-baked potato, next time there’s a big event,” he had smiled, as if he had been doing you a tremendous favor. Well. With clothes like this, you weren’t going to argue or complain. Azul had stopped for a brief “hello and goodbye” visit; he actually wanted to stay longer – Floyd, who had been with him, seemed particularly sad he couldn’t stay and squeeze his favorite “Little Shrimp” half to death all afternoon and evening…and in his case, that phrase was probably literal – but the Mostro Lounge was open that day, and he didn’t want to leave Jade in charge of things alone for TOO long at the office. The octopus man had brought you a bracelet covered in small seashells: simple, but surprisingly sweeter than you had expected. Floyd, meanwhile…he just hugged you. “What’s a better present for Shrimpy than a nice, tight SQUEEZE from their bestest, most favorite eel-person…riiiiiiight?” The safety of your spine and lungs demanded you agree and hug Floyd back. Ruggie and Jack had been among the first to show up. The latter had brought a hastily-wrapped DVD: a movie entitled “The Wolf of Pumpkin Hollow.” “I didn’t get this because I actually care,” he had clarified, looking everywhere but at your face and scratching the back of his white-eared head. “Just…everyone else would have thought it was rude if I didn’t get you something. Not that it matters what they think! Just…didn’t want to have to put up with it.” He was such a puppy. He truly was. Not only was Ruggie one of the first to arrive, he turned out to be THE first to give you your gift: a box of doughnuts. All glazed. “My grandma used to tell me: ‘Ruggie, get people the same kinds of gifts you’d want them to get you.’ Well, I can’t think of much I want more than doughnuts!” he sang out with an innocent smile. “You just wanted to have some to eat yourself, didn’t you?” you couldn’t help but smirk. Ruggie had gasped, seemingly offended…only to eventually ask if he could have some. The four remaining doughnuts – which you had to sneak away while the hyena wasn’t looking – were now on a plate in your fridge. You’d eat them later. Others had come and gone throughout the day; none of them had gifts to bring, but they had been happy to pop in, give well-wishes, and enjoy the party for a while. Now, however, all the guests were gone; even Grim had left, as you had asked him for some alone time that night. He and the gang from Heartslabyul were going to have a sleepover as a result. Despite the smile on your face as you looked over at your gifts, there was a hint of sadness to your expression. The one person whose presence you’d been looking forward to most hadn’t come. You’d asked his dorm-mates if they knew where he was or what he was doing, but none of them told you. Most of them very clearly had no clue…except for Ruggie. You got the feeling he DID know, he just wasn’t telling. Honestly, that didn’t settle your mind much. Your smile faded completely, and you closed your eyes once more, sighing through your nose…this time with a hint of despondency. Had he forgotten it was your birthday? Was he with somebody else right now? Maybe he was sleeping somewhere, like the big, lazy kit he was…some part of you – you couldn’t tell what part – kind of hoped that was all it was. He probably wasn’t hurt or sick…if he had been you’d think Ruggie would have told you… You glanced out the window. Evening was turning into night. You huffed softly through your nostrils, and stretched a bit where you sat. The party had worn you out more than you thought. You shook your head to clear it of your more perturbing thoughts, and began to wonder if you should just get to bed early tonight… A knock came at the door, jolting you to a more attentive state. You stood up from the ouch and headed out through the hall to the foyer. You wondered who it was…had one of the guests left something behind? As you approached the door, you adjusted your pristine white suit – another obligatory item for those celebrating a birthday at Night Raven College – which must have made whoever was on the other side impatient: they knocked again. “One moment, I’m here!” you called out, and opened the door. “Who’s-?” You froze, the word “there” dying before it ever reached your larynx. The first thing your eyes took in was the familiar, dimly-glowing pair of green ones staring back at you, as well as the dark mane and leonine ears and tail that accompanied their owner. A scar was slashed across one of the two eyes. The second thing – and the one that truly made you freeze – was the ENORMOUS, bare belly that was only inches away from you. The skin was tanned and smooth and supple-looking, the organ swollen to the size of a large watermelon, and only slightly less taut. The navel looked like the center of a maelstrom, drawing your attention towards that bloated gut as it let out a deep, burbling rumble…just before a black-clad hand slapped over it, hiding it from sight. At the same time, another hand suddenly scooped itself under your chin…and you found your head being tilted up, your eyes now locking on a pair of perfect-looking, velvety lips…which then parted to reveal a gaping, red mouth, dripping with saliva and framed by two rows of pointed, pearly fangs. You barely had time to take in the view of this glistening, slimy orifice…before your ears rang and your nose crinkled as two words were burped up. Right in your face. “HAAAAPPY…BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP-DAY!” The belch was followed by a light sigh and a chuckle as Leona Kingscholar patted his stomach proudly. It jiggled at his touch. He smirked as he took in your expression: a loopy, flushed look was on your face. You were swaying so much that if he removed his hand from under your chin at that moment, you might have just toppled over. “Hm-hm-hmmm…did you like that?” he purred, smoothly. You nodded dumbly, still smiling a loopy, dazed smile as the sound reverberated in your ears, and your nose tingled from the lingering odor of the lion’s gut gas: a strong, heady, meaty smell that twined through the pockets of your gray matter, practically putting you in a trance for several long seconds. Finally, you found your voice. “…Where have you been?” “Preparing your present,” Leona said, as if that should have been obvious, and gently nudged you back as he entered the house and swaggered past you. With every step, his hips swung, and you found your blush seemed to be permanent as you watched them rock and sway as he strutted towards the living room. You followed him as if a leash had been tied ‘round your neck, and watched as he flopped onto your couch, gut sloshing with every little motion of his form. He was dressed in his usual clothes, but his gut was so massive it caused his mustard-colored shirt to ride up, exposing his belly to the world. The lion demi growled as he reached down; his waistband was still buttoned up, and clearly it was causing him discomfort. His fingers fumbled for the belt buckle…and he frowned as he couldn’t quite get it to cooperate. “Tch. Figures,” he grumbled. “After that entrance…pain in my ass…” The familiar phrase snapped you out of your stupor, and you chuckled, rolling your eyes. You sat down next to your princely boyfriend, and shooed his hands away. He frowned, growling indignantly, but allowed you to fiddle with his buckle, and finally managed to work it off… POPK! ZZZRRRIIIP! GUHBLORLSH! Leona let out a sound between a sigh and a grunt as – the moment the buckle was released – his trouser button gave up the ghost, popping open as the zipper flew down, the sheer weight and pressure of his belly forcing them open. He sighed as his belly poured into his lap like a mass of mocha-colored dough, wobbling as it noisily burbled. “UUUUUUUURRRRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAARRRRRRRP!” he belted out. “Oof…that felt good…” You blushed bright red, helpless to do anything but nod; you were already starting to tremble at so many…APPEALING things happening all at once. Leona smirked anew as he noticed your expression, leaning back a little further against the sofa cushions as his scarred eye flashed with a superior gleam. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” “How much did you eat?” you asked, marveling at the size of his belly as you fingers fidgeted and twitched, looking for something to do. You suddenly felt a little parched… “Mmmmm…not enough,” Leona growled, and grinned wider, revealing his pointed teeth. “I could fit more in there, I’m sure…” He licked his lips in a sultry, almost inviting way. You couldn’t keep yourself from letting out a shaky, shuddering sound as you shivered, a mixture of warmth and cold flickering across your spine. Leona chuckled – his gut bounced with his mirth, and tilted his head back with a sigh. “Ahhhhhh…went to my favorite buffet and helped myself,” he elaborated as he gave his belly a few hearty slaps. “Pure meat, every ounce.” You nodded slowly, dumbly. Leona snorted through his nose, raising an eyebrow as he saw you openly ogle his stomach. “Hmph. Are you just gonna stare at it all night, Herbivore?” he grunted. He waited till you looked up at him before going on: “Go ahead. It’s not gonna rub itself.” Your heartbeat quickened and you smiled widely. Leona grimaced and snarled. “Oi…just rub, don’t gimme those eyes…you look like that brat back home…” You chuckled – it was hard not to giggle, honestly – and gratefully helped yourself to your “present.” Your hands quickly fell over Leona’s bloated gut as he stretched his arms over the back of the couch. You scooted closer, and quivered at the intense warmth of the half-lion’s greedy, globular gut. Your palms and fingers began to lightly run across his girth, stroking his belly, just to get a feel of the texture and temperature. His flesh was silky-smooth, making it so hard to resist just pressing your face against it and nuzzling into his belly… You did resist though. At least for the moment. Instead, your fingers began to knead and massage the belly of your beau, pressing down onto the thick soup you could feel churning away inside his bowels. You prodded experimentally, almost as if trying to distinguish each bit of food from the next…but there was no way you could. Whatever Leona had gobbled up was now little more than a uniform mush being swirled about by his strong stomach muscles. His insides warbled and rumbled, as if in response to your ministrations. Leona sighed, closing his eyes and savoring the way you massaged his distended tanker. In truth, the lazy lion didn’t need much of an excuse to stuff himself…but you didn’t care that much. Whether he did this for himself, or for you, as he claimed, the end result was the same. “Mmmmm…that’s it…keep it up,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t planning on stopping,” you said, more to yourself than him, but he snickered anyway. “Heh heh…good. Prey like you should be happy to have a chance like this,” he said, and playfully patted your cheek, causing your blush to intensify. A spike of ego shot up in you, and you purposefully pressed down harder against his stomach. It let out a HUMONGOUS groan, and Leona’s eyes widened and his cheeks ballooned…before he let out another sloppy, rumbling belch. “BUUUUUUUHHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRLLLLLLLUUUUUUP! Haaah…oi. Not so rough,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at you, tail lashing and thumping against the sofa cushions. “Sorry,” you smiled innocently. “You had so much hot air in there, it clearly had to be let out.” Leona’s eyes narrowed further. “I could turn you into dust right here and right now,” he said, warningly. “I guess you could,” you said, smoothly, and then traced a finger around the rim of his deep, dark trench of a navel. The effect was instantaneous. Leona tensed up for a second, inhaling sharply through his teeth…then sighed and relaxed, all but melting into his seat, eyes fluttering closed again as he purred louder than ever. You smirked triumphantly, as you stuck your finger into his navel and wiggled it around a bit. “Still want to turn me into dust?” you teased. Leona could only moan. He moaned even louder as you cupped one hand on the underside of his belly: the softest, warmest, most sensitive portion of his abdomen. You gently rubbed your hand against them, and traced your fingers over his sides. You could hear his toes curl in his boots; his tail you could SEE curl into a spiral shape as he bit his lip with pleasure. “I’ll take that as a no,” you observed, a dreamy sort of sigh upon your lips as you were honestly enjoying this just as much as he was, a fact you made clear you when you half-consciously murmured: “You’re so SOFT…” “Mmmm…I’ll be softer once it’s all digested,” Leona mumbled. “Vargas is probably gonna complain…think he’d pester me about that stuff if I ate ‘im?” “I think if you ate Coach Vargas, you’d just get a bellyache,” you said, not wanting to add that someone as egotistical as Leona eating someone as showboating as Vargas probably meant all the weight would to his head… …Cracks like that weren’t funny, and could get you bitten. The second part you didn’t mind as much as one might think, to be fair. …You really needed to see a shrink… Leona just scoffed, unaware of your thoughts as you continued to rub and massage his belly. You gave the side of his belly a few hearty thumps, watching the way his belly shifted and jiggled like a water balloon. His stomach groaned and churned rhythmically, squelches and squeals of liquid being compressed and stirred echoing just beneath the luscious skin of the half-lion prince. It sounded like a huge vat of semi-solid mash being pumped and processed in a factory…a sound some might have considered nauseating, but you just bit your lip, rubbing and kneading more vigorously as you heard pockets of gas being released. As you kneaded and pressed down, Leona would BELCH and BURP periodically. Each was short and low, which only made you rub his gut more vigorously. He gave you a bored sort of look as he realized what you were doing. “Didn’t get enough to drink at your party, did you, you thirsty little Herbivore?” “Not even close,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona rolled his eyes, and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture. He then curled that same finger down, balling that hand into a fist…and pumped his fist against his chest once, twice, thrice…before unleashing a true wall-rattler, which flapped his lips and made him go crosseyed. “GYYYYUUUUUHHHHHEEEEERRRRRWWWOOOOAAAAARRRRRIIIIIPLK!” Leona sighed as the eruption came to an end, and snorted as you squeaked at the sound. “Happy now?” he drawled boredly. “Very,” you peeped, patting his belly thankfully. Leona rolled his eyes as he scratched the side of his gut with his leather-tipped fingers, making it slosh under your palm. You quivered. His lips quirked. “Tch. You’re such a snack,” he muttered. “It’s amazing nobody’s already gobbled you up…” “Just lucky so far, I guess,” you shrugged, and scratched his belly with your own fingers. Leona let out a non-committal rumble…then smirked a bit. “We could fix that, you know,” he purred in a slippery, sly way. You froze, and looked up at him slowly, a little confused and slightly apprehensive. Leona smiled back, eyes half-lidded; the dominant, powerful, but affectionately amused smile that always left you shivering for all the right reasons. Then, one of his his hands lifted, and cupped your cheek. He brushed a thumb against it, and you smiled gently back… …Just before that same hand slid forward, and wrapped around the back of your head. “Here,” he growled, commandingly, as he began to force you downwards. “Listen. Feel.” You didn’t have much choice, and it wasn’t as if you would disobey if you could. You surrendered easily as he eased you down against his belly, pressing your head down and holding it firmly, curling his hand so one of your was right above his navel. You felt your chest flutter as the warmth of his body was now right up against your face, and the deep, thick GRRRROOOOLLLLLLG sounds of his ever-hungry belly echoed in your ear like rolling thunder. You stayed perfectly still; time and place seemed to fade into nothingness. All that mattered was the moment: you were hypnotized by his belly, barely conscious of anything. He started speaking, but it took you a few seconds to realize what he was even saying. “…I’d you’d like it, huh?” were the first words you made out, followed by still more: “I could swallow you alive, Herbivore. You’d slither right down my throat, curl up in my stomach…and never come out. I’d just fall asleep, and let you stay there. It wouldn’t have to hurt: one big burp, and your air would be history. Then, you’d go straight to my hips…my thighs…my ass…even my belly. Every part of me you love most.” He paused, purring as his stomach let out a greedy, longing rumble. “How does that sound for your birthday, Herbivore?” he crooned. “How would you like to spend your birthday – your LAST birthday – turning into more of the body you’re so in love with. To be the snack you’re supposed to be. To spend the rest of eternity as just a part of me.” None of these were spoken as questions. You shivered and let out a whimpering sound – not necessarily one of fear, either – as you heard him lick and smack his lips. He leaned down and sniffed at you, purring in the back of his throat. “Mmmmmmm…I could make that happen. Right here. Right now.” You bit your lip; as his stomach rumbled, you closed your eyes. You could picture yourself inside of there…partially submerged in acid and bubbling goo…embraced on every side by his powerful muscles…hearing him belch with satisfaction above and around you…rubbing over you as you were steadily digestedinside of him… You took longer than most people probably would before speaking. “I know you could,” you said, very softly, then added, “Maybe someday you will.” Leona blinked…then puffed with amusement, his smile growing slightly more affectionate as he ran his fingers through your hair the way a cat might. “Not ready to make this birthday your last, huh?” You opened one eye and carefully shook your head. “If it means next year I could get one as good as this, or better, definitely not,” you responded, without skipping a beat. Leona clucked his tongue, and removed his hand, letting it rest against the back of the sofa. He chuffed as your remained where you were, despite no longer being forced down. “Kinky little morsel,” he mumbled. “Guilty,” you responded in a slightly muffled voice as you freely nuzzled his abdomen, smirking as he purred anew, clearly enjoying it. Leona chuckled, and nudged you, indicating he wanted you to look up at him again. You did…and watched as his cheeks ballooned with gas as he caught a particularly low, gassy burp in his mouth… “HHHHRRRRMMMMLLLLRRRRPH…phoosh.” …Before blowing the residual fumes into your face, almost like a kiss. You nearly fainted dead away. Leona grinned. “Good?” was all he said. “Marry me now.” Leona barked out a laugh and gave your hair a ruffling, then shut his eyes and reclined peacefully once more. “Get back to rubbing, meat,” he growled. “Or I might just swallow you whether you want it or not. Don’t let your gift go to waste.” You smiled and eagerly got back to work, kissing and nuzzling and rubbing his belly worshipfully, without any sign of restraint. Leona’s purring heightened as you pampered his plumpened middle. “Mmmmm…happy birthday, Herbivore,” he growled. “Maybe next year, I’ll add you to my hips…” At the rate things were going…that was starting to sound like a promise more than anything else. If so…you could hardly wait till next year.

 The End

[cateringisalie]

If FFVII Remake is indeed a sequel and not a fresh start as some contend (not like the game itself can resist nudging you in the ribs every hour or so to highlight), then it kind of underscores how little interest anyone working on it has to world-building in universe or any kind of extrapolation. By which I mean: they have seemingly no appetite to actually explore the post-Meteor world or the interim between the destruction of Meteor and 500 years later with Nanaki. The only thing that seems to interest the writers is ever more detail on the existing elements, the endless Wikipedia additions to lore to explain circumstances, clear up parts the narrative glosses over because they transparently do not matter to the narrative. Meanwhile opportunities to deploy and use environmental story-telling are squandered and narrative changes are clumsily side-stepped when required to not rock the boat too much too soon.

(to use a Star Wars example, go and look at the official Empire Strikes Back vs the old version. Its near exactly the same film. But the Special Edition felt the need to cut out windows in Cloud City. It felt the need for a new Wampa sequence. Felt the need to change “Bring my shuttle” to a longer line and then show Vader actually getting off the shuttle not trusting the audience to grasp an implied offscreen transition that was handled by one line. Not one of these details helps the film)

Some might be quick to note that given the end-point is certain and known that there’s little creative room for expression or exploration, to which the response is, it didn’t stop any single entry of the Compilation existing somehow – as poor as those are. It especially didn’t dissuade Crisis Core from existing given that could only ever fixate on reaching a very specific plot-point it had to hit (and managed to instead smear itself around the critical point, misunderstand why the OG was staged as it was, wrecked a number of established characters and irrevocably stain the OG and fandom focus as a result). But by the same turn, all expansions to FFVII are really hesitant (more so than Star Wars), never willing to push out properly or detach from what went before, hopelessly caught up in a particular type of nostalgia.

I will of course continue to the accused of being too blinded by nostalgia to appreciate Remake and how it has changed the game I love, but as someone far smarter than me noted that near all of the cheering, championing and enthusiasm before and after Remake’s release is predicated near entirely on nostalgia for the OG. Only those doing this cheering see the OG as a problem and in need of fixing. And not as the central piece of the whole thing or recognising that post-release additions (no matter the author-ship) are not necessarily good additions (and that if you accept these you lessen or destroy the aspect you liked before, so no, I don’t rate Nojima/Nomura et al’s contributions to this after 1997. Nor do I or should I put any stock in their intentions and intended interpretation especially if only conveyed to me decades later and in a book)

There’s a limit of imagination within the context of FFVII and its instalments. Which I know to some is going to sound absurd then it’s a lot like the problems successive Star Wars’ have had – both sequel and prequel. Gotta have our Jedi final boss.

FFVII has seemingly two (or three if really picky) boss types: you have the Jenova-project ultra-powerful SOLDIER (Sephiroth (OG, AC/C, Remake), Genesis (CC). Or you have a WEAPON (Zirconaide (BC) and Omega (DC). And that’s it. Some are going to justify this – as some would for Star Wars – that the power-curve of the protagonist(s) require the biggest, toughest foe and what fits the bill better in FFVII that Sephiroth or someone of his ilk or a Weapon. But really? There’s nothing else? No way to reset, no way to have some other issue on the Planet? Curious of course that while any number of instances of Sephiroth is fine, any SOLDIER is fine, any WEAPON is fine, there’s never a new Jenova opponent.

If we accept Remake as a sequel then what a horrible sequel. This should be less acceptable and more infuriating than finding out MGS2 is an extended restage of MGS just with nicer graphics and a perpetual meta-indulgence (and for better or worse, the MGS series is not an endless loop returning back to the same game in a new incarnation as far as I can tell). For FFVII, here is your sequel the same game as the first time but less of it and making you aware the entire time of your nostalgia and counting on murky memories to excite and delight you... with (in general and, in a wearisome number of reviews, in specific) with the same things it did the first time around (it is inexcusable Aeris is called a “wet blanket” in the OG from a Remake review. Just no. This is the trap and everyone has fallen into it).

It’s not even that graphically the experience is in any actual sense different; FFVII was championed and damned on its visuals on release – and while the OG doesn’t have the consistent design-work of the Remake, do not for a second try to claim that the graphics alone make this worth it. The graphics were a big draw in 1997 as much as that appears flatly impossible for many to grasp anymore. The Remake will look shoddy in the future – and likely shoddier than the OG will as time passes. The Remake really is the whole experience again. Just less of it and sold more expensively and with concessions for modern hardware and design and a pronounced lack of care or interest in the world-building.

[dokifluffs]

Work Out Buddy | Bokuto Kōtarō

Pairing: Bokuto X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: cute fluff 😤, mayhaps be suggestive toward the end 👀 

Request: “could you write a scenario where bokuto’s working out and his s/o gives him a kiss every time he does a sit up or something like that?” - anonnie 

Author’s Note: y e s. This is so adorable 🥺🥺🥺 i totally think he would do it vice versa for you if you worked out too! Anyways, happy reading~~ Thanks for requesting! also I kinda made this like post time skip bokuto but there’s literally no spoilers at all 

loud, upbeat music boomed, making it feel like the beats were shaking the entire place throughout the spacious home gym Bokuto arranged to have been set up while the house was undergoing renovations, perfect for you two 

there would be no need to go out to any public gyms anymore when he could have his own and you could, and also would, use it to your disposal as well 

The room was a basically a wide white box with acoustic foam padding installed between the walls since this room wasn’t in the original layout plans of the house itself 

Everything was made to Bokuto’s liking, from the color of the walls, where the windows were, mirror that covered an entire wall down to the equipment to keep himself strong and in shape 

You did your own little routine to the side, one that wasn’t as strenuous as Bokuto’s 

Sweat beaded your forehead as it glistened all over his body, his light blue way-of-the-ace shirt with his sleeves rolled up to make a muscle tank was completely soaked

he laid leaned back on the leg press machine, pressing around three hundred pounds, taking in steady and deep breaths

As you worked on the elliptical, you had a clear view of Bokuto from where you were near one corner of the gym, his shorts riding up his legs, giving you a clear view of his delicious thighs 

With a heavy breath and huff that you couldn’t hear over the music, he put the press into the rest and sat himself up 

he turned to the side in his seat and wiped his sweat away as he downed multiple gulps of cool water, sighing into a smile as he looked over to you, his rapid heart beating a bit faster when your eyes met his 

he took another swig as he reached for the remote, turning down the music as you stepped down, taking a few sips of your own drink

“Are you done for today?” he asked, your ears adjusting to the sudden quietness in the gym from the lowered volume, his hand tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear

“Yep, you?” 

“I just have sit ups left, could you help me?” he looked down to you with a suggestive glint in his eye though you didn’t quite know what he was thinking 

“sure,” he led you to his mat, sitting with his legs bent and you riding on top of his feet 

though inside, he couldn’t ignore how you could make his heart flutter with the way you looked, even if you were sweaty and a bit disheveled

He began to do his sit ups, almost lifting you up with his feet til you pressed yourself more securely into his feet, holding him down, his head always coming up only separated by a couple inches from yours

Then a lightbulb went off inside your head 

You leaned forward and held your chin right above his knees. This made his face only a couple centimeters away from yours as he came back up 

you closed the space and before he could go back down, your held his head and brought your lips to his, humming into the kiss 

now all the energy he burned from his workout was suddenly back, his body feeling like he was overcharged now 

His golden eyes looked down to your lips as the two of you parted, his lips tugging into a smirk 

Before he started his next sit up, he reached to the bottom edge of his shirt and peeled it off, revealing his tanned and toned body, his eyes unable to leave yours seeing the way you ogled him 

he beamed brighter than the sun seeing the way you bit your lip, your eyes devouring every bit of him, never getting enough 

he finished his reps fast and made sure to stretch his body out before he carried you back upstairs, your backs and bodies bumping along the walls

your lips eager against his as your bodies stuck together, only getting unstuck under the temperate water of the shower as the two of you made sure the two of you were clean after your workouts 

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (let me know if you wanna be tagged for all my haikyuu posts): @yams046  @mazey-chan  @sunboikyo00  @kara-grayson04​  @fortheloveofbakugo​ @tsumtsumsemi​ @osamuonigiri @sam-ate-giorno​​​ @1-800-wholesome​ @realityisoftendisapointing@plantisnotplant @k-eijiakaashi​ @pink-panda-pancakes​ @differentballooncollection​ @osamusamusamu@therainroguefanfiction​ @euphorihan​

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

about my money situation... (please read. I know it's long, but it's the last one today, I promise)

also I thought I might update you all about my 'cars' and the 'money situation' since I know I've posted before about only having 1, and stressing over keeping it running, and that having 2 might make it seem like I'm suddenly doing fantastically.

I have 2 now. My girlfriend has built up some savings over the years and was kind enough to let me borrow some money from her instead of from a predatory loan agency to buy a second. My concern was having a second car so that if anything happened to the first, I'd have something to drive (the area I'm in is extremely anti-pedestrian, and even then, I'm disabled and can't walk even a single block without stopping).

The "new" car however is used, of course. For $2500 I got a 2004 Chrysler Sebring GTC convertible. My rationale was that my main car- a 2006 Ford Focus ZX4 SE sedan - could be used as my daily driver, for emergency money making (D**rD*sh, anyone?), since it gets decent gas mileage and is extremely reliable, while the secondary car could be more... fun. So yes. I got a convertible lol.

The convertible needed a bit of work (all new struts, the AC system doesn't work, and the top struggles to come up, but it still functions), but most of that is done now. I have the rear struts and parts for the AC. The front struts have been installed. The back window came partially unglued while we had it, but we glued that back with little issue. After cleaning out vents and putting more freon in, the AC blows cold for the most part, but it clearly still has issues. I have a new convertible motor on the way just in case that is going bad, but it probably won't be installed until this one completely gives out.

All in all, I've probably spent about ~$4000 on the car now, which is as much as plenty of people were asking for convertibles that were just as bad off, so I don't think it was a terrible deal.

That being said, it is extremely hot in my area, and I've dried my funds for the moment on repairing the AC. My dad knows a guy who's willing to do it cheaply, but I don't have any means of paying them for the moment. I also have about $5000 on a credit card at the moment, plus ~$300 on another credit card, and ~$200 on Affirm. My dad asked me to pay his and my mother's ~$2200 overdue tax bills using my credit card and that sorely threw my money management out the window. I've been desperately trying to keep my cards under 40% use which is why they're spread across three sources now, but that extra $2200 (or 22% of my unsecured credit card) was just too much...

I expected to handle most of the repairs and other stuff while I waited for disability decision on my credit card, which has now fallen through due to that. That's why I'm still asking for money, even though I SEEM well off.

I'm not.

I have about $100/wk in groceries, $50/wk in gas (for driving, considering I don't D**rD*sh, which isn't always a guarantee), then about $730.79/mo in bills. My girlfriend is helping some with the bills, but it is... a lot. It is a lot to have to survive on with meager income (it's hard to make even $200 on D**rD*sh in a single week, and I can't physically do any jobs I'm qualified for at the moment, hence the disability claim).

This is why I say even a single dollar will help. because it will. That's a dollar I don't have to make. That's a dollar I don't have to gauge whether D*shing will make me money or lose me money due to the gas prices. THat's why commissions right now would be my LIFEBLOOD.

My girlfriend has gotten money from her father in the past (not much anymore, though), and gets money from the govt to go to school from the GI Bill but this won't last forever. In fact, I believe she may only have 1-2 more years of that. It *could* in theory cover a lot of what I have going on, but... I know what she has in savings, and the amount of money I'd need to crawl out of this debt hole would easily take a significant chunk of her money. And we might need that money in the future to make a down payment on a place to live, not to mention it would be really shitty to take a bunch of her money that she may need for emergency situations or purchases of her own....

So I really, really, really don't want to do that.

so if you were curious. that's why I am asking for money despite seeming well off. I seem well off. but I am not. I am not well off at all and I am scared and struggling.

[daisybeewrites]

Academy Blues — Prologue

word count: 1.8k

warnings: not any for this chapter

ship: Dousy, background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

okay y’all.. here it is. the first installment of my first LONG TERM SERIES!!!!!! ahhhh i’m so excited. literally i cant wait to continue this and see where it takes me. i have an idea and a few different planning sheets, but honestly i have no idea where exactly this will end up. i love each and single one of you <3 thank you for reading!! this is also posted on Ao3, and linked in the masterlist.

Daisy hated the sound of the bells at The Academy. Screeching, awful, way too loud, the bells were the bane of her existence. They all wore standard-issue watches from the lab that monitored vitals and gave them reminders, and also told the time, for god’s sake! Fitz had even modified hers so that she could play snake on the tiny watch face! There was no need for the bells to be so excruciatingly disruptive. Though, Daisy guessed, there were many things more tortuous than bells ringing every hour and fifteen minutes.

Daisy slowed to a jog, cutting her morning run short. The bright side to being a third-year was that you chose your schedule, for the most part, and that meant Daisy had a free first period for four out of five days of classes. She usually spent this free period getting an extra hour in at the gym, boxing or sparring with Mack or Bobbi, two fourth years that had reluctantly taken her under their wings, or sleeping in. She reserved sleeping in for especially rough nights where visions of ashes and earthquakes and lightning returned time and time again, no matter how many deep breaths she took or sheep she counted.

But this morning was not one of those mornings. She had been up before sunrise, a little before her usual alarm and silently headed out of her dorm for a run. It was humid this time of year on most Virginia mornings, but never so hot that it made Daisy feel as if she was being smothered. The cooler air chilled her sweaty skin, her chest rising and falling as she jogged up the three flights of steps to the second years’ dorms. Down one long hallway, and she arrived at her room.

Daisy had been given her own room at the start of last year, complete with poly-adaptic-proto-whatever panels, which she had painted a pastel shade of purple, to compliment the greens of her cacti and the dark purples and blacks of everything else in her room. Even May had agreed that the stark white was too ”psych wing” for a bedroom. Daisy was grateful for the space, but considering the panels and the private room were only necessary since...

She shuddered. Grabbing her shower caddy, Daisy set off to the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall, hoping no one else was spending a free first period at the dorms.

Her shoulder-length waves were wet from bouncing against her neck, and starting to become annoying now that the sweat had dried and was starting to itch. Picking the white tiled shower furthest away from the door, Daisy quickly turned the water on, checked the temperature, pulled her sports bra and shorts off and hopped into the shower. Shampoo, condition, soap body, rinse. Checking her watch, Daisy found that she had showered in record time, less than three minutes. After spending another five just enjoying the hot water, she hopped out and changed into her class clothes.

Dark purple leggings, Coulson’s grey vintage SHIELD tee and a pair of white running sneakers she had “borrowed” from Jemma completed her look. Passing the mirrors, Daisy tried not to glance at herself. If her hair was messy or her undereye bags a bit too dark, she didn’t want to know. Instead, she headed back to her room to pack her bag for the day.

SHIELD-issued laptop, extra hard drives and a charger, Advanced CS 3: Ethical Hacking: Theory and Application, Advanced CS 4: Secrets of The Coding Languages, Physics notebook, an essay that was three days late on some boring book about international laws, and her sparring gear were all thrown into the black bag. She gave a second glance at the Russian notebooks Bobbi had loaned to her, promising that she’d learn without taking the class. Oh well, she still had all of this term to start. Plus, would she ever really need more than the dirty words?

One look at the alarm clock that sat on her dark hardwood night table showed that she still had almost forty-five minutes before she had to be in the computer lab. Sitting down on her bed, Daisy ran a hand over the grey blanket May had given her.

Daisy’s relationship with May and Coulson had been something of a problem with other students when she first got here. Some had been okay with the obvious paternal love Coulson showed for Daisy, showing her around and checking up on her, scheduling lunch dates and reminding her of tests. May was more subtle, texting her links to tai chi videos when she noticed Daisy getting too stressed or letting Daisy do her own thing if she saw that she was overwhelmed. Of course, none of the other students knew her family history, what she had gone through just to realize that May and Coulson were more her parents than her biological father and mother could ever be. She would see them later today—May during field training and Coulson in between lectures in the canteen.

Daisy walked over to her window to open her blinds, staring out at the campus she had grown to love. The large brick buildings scattered around acres of the Virginia countryside; green fields meant for physical activities like sparring or obstacle courses, or simply basking in the weather to study or chat; the dorms—red brick and concrete melded together to upgrade and expand the charming style of previously-built homes.

Grabbing a protein bar, Daisy headed to the canteen to make a green smoothie (and maybe snatch a cup of joe before she had to listen to an hour-long lecture on the reason SHIELD must cooperate with the UN’s stupid rules at 7:30 in the morning). Smelling the pines and morning dew surrounding her, she smiled slightly. Maybe this term wouldn’t be so bad.

———————————————————————

Daniel Sousa was a man of honor. He was a man of great strength. Agent Daniel Sousa, previously Officer Daniel Sousa in the US Army, was a man who could fix his damn alarm clock on his own.

Just, not today. Or the day before.

So, Agent Daniel Sousa was now hurrying his way to class at The SHIELD Academy, books in hand and gym bag slung over his shoulders. Catching a glance at himself in the shiny glass doors of the bio-chem building, he groaned. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. And, looking down, he discovered he was wearing two different shoes.

This is the college experience everyone raves about, he thought bitterly. You see, Daniel Sousa had enlisted to the army straight out of high school, forgoing university. He climbed the ranks impressively quickly, earning his place as second-in-command and reconnaissance scout in the 28th Infantry Regiment. Unfortunately, after only four years in the army, Sousa was injured in the field, losing his leg and almost his life.

He came back to the US a war hero, and yet, he felt he wasn't finished. So, when a recruiter named Peggy Carter knocked on his door claiming to be from SHIELD (“Wow, you guys are still a thing?”), he leapt at the chance to continue fighti-...doing good. The Academy wasn’t exactly what he had bargained for, though. Trying to earn his B.A. and training to be an agent at the same time was grueling, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

No, six different one hour and fifteen minute long classes plus mandatory physical therapy every day wasn’t going to break him. Learning how to be a communications agent and re-starting field training and catching up on general college education was no problem. Pressuring himself to be the best, to break the limits, to get past all his weaknesses was just another miniscule feather to add to the pile.

Unless his stupid alarm clock broke. Then yes, Agent Daniel Sousa would fail, buckle under the weight and be left on the floor to die.

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic.

One bunny-slippered right foot and a sneakered left leg carried him forward, propelled by a quickly chugged orange Celsius and his sheer will not to be late.

Daniel heard the late bell ring out, understanding that, on his first day of class, he would be counted late. It wasn’t like him, not at all. Especially when his first class was a refresher course on field tactics and covert strategy, something in which he was already aces.

He let out a sigh, slowing as he rounded the corner into the comms building. At the Academy, most buildings were grouped into categories: the cafeteria, gym and pool, and student resource building all to the south; the gun range, obstacle course, and specialized gym to the east; bio-chem labs, tech labs, and smaller rooms for lectures to the west; the computer labs and comms buildings right smack in the middle; and dorms to the north.

He swiped a key card with his driver’s license picture and student ID, unlocking the sliding doors that led to the computer labs. It was quicker to short cut through them than to walk around the building to the entrance closest to communications classrooms.

It wasn’t because he knew a certain broody brunette spent her mornings in the lab.

No, it wasn’t, because she wasn’t in her usual seat in the corner, typing away.

He slowly walked through the rows of computers, searching for a familiar black backpack. Nothing was there.

“Hey, Sousa,” an accented female voice called behind him. He whipped around to see who it was, feeling just a twinge of disappointment when Elena, or, as most people knew her, Yo-Yo, was leaning against the door frame. Yo-Yo, a fourth year operations trainee, who was very close with Daisy.

“Hey, Yo-Yo. Good morning,” he called, “I’m running a bit late.”

Elena checked her nails casually, “Way to state the obvious. You were running faster than I could trying to get here before the bell.”

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. “Yeah…”

“Daisy’s running late today, too.”

Daniel looked around, pretending that hearing Daisy’s name didn’t make him want to smile. “Oh, of course. She’s usually here early.”

Elena nodded, chuckling a little at his response. She couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or just a bad liar. It was charming, really. “Right. See ya ‘round, Sousa!”

“See ya,” He replied. He thought he heard a quiet ‘Lovable nerds’ coming from the direction she left, but he couldn’t be sure.

And so, with a last look around the computer lab, Daniel set off to arrive late to May’s lecture.

———————————————————————

okay okay,,, what do y’all think?? like/reblog and let me know! it’s the best way to support writers and it only takes a second! stay tuned for more chapters!!

[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (December 14, 1974): 51/?

QUEEN KILLING THEM SOFTLY IN FRANKFURT

IT WAS, said the tall and studious Brian May, like playing to a vacuum cleaner. "We were just pouring it out and they (the audience) were sucking it in, with nothing coming back. I tell you, for the first time in many months I felt like I'd done a hard day's work when I came off stage."

May, along with the rest of the band, is sitting in the diner of Frankfurt's Why Not club reflecting on Queen's second date in Germany. The mood is not bad, but there's an undercurrent of steely determination following the difficulties of that night's gig.

The fact is, support band Lynyrd Skynyrd. were exactly what stoned-out Frankfurt wanted. As in England with Golden Earring, so in Germany with Queen, Lynyrd Skynyrd make an over-poweringly succesful support band. Here In Frankfurt there were even more difficulties for the English and. Most of the audience are American GI's, looking like inmates from the local borstal with their cropped hair and rippling muscles.

As you enter the 1100 capacity hall, the air is stuffed with the stench of dope — an intermingling of hash and grass and the sweat of a crowd at least 300 over the top.It's a strange place, former stock-exchange for farmers, complete with balcony, and surrounded by tropical plants.

Up on the balcony above the stage a group of Queen supporters self-consciously tap their feet to Skynyrd's rhythmic weave. Roger Taylor, ever grinning, appears to check on th band, notes the wild applause and disappears, no doubt to plan strategy.

There's a long break between sets leading to the dissipation of part of the crowd. Heidi, the whizz-kid of EMI Germany, explains the local GI's problem: "Zey have to report back to camp by 11.00 pm". So when Queen's little rock 'n' roll drama explodes, there are considerably fewer people end even less enthusiasm.

Presence

Mercury, the self-styled rock supremo, looks unabashed as Queen open with as much presence as a band can muster. Lights, tapes, and screaming dynamics combine to counter the audience apathy. It's ahighly professional first assault. Procession, Now I'm Here, and Ogre Battle make a promising start which draws warm applause. But unlike many gigs, this one did not cook to boiling point. If anything the crowd were almost undecided when Queen departed after an energetic stab. It took fully two minutes before muted applause turned to a good old stmp and chant, bringing the boys back on stage for a stirring finale.

Freddy stalks the stage with controlled aggression as they bash into Big Spender and you realise that here's a rock artist who can sing, cavort, and write songs with an almost contemptuous level of excellence. He is a classic rock star — complete with costume changes and bare hairy chest. Seems, his only real need is to develop that outrageous off-stage campery into the act. He's very much the mincing Queen, yet on stage this seemingly natural personality is overtaken with host of: "Right now we'd like to do" type announcements. Roger Taylor, a veritable demon on the drums and very fine musician, has more idea when he tells the crowd to get off their arses. Nevertheless there were those in the company who felt Queen showed too much aggression in the face of audience apathy.

Anyway, by all account there's a huge row in the dressing room afterwards which sends the EMI rep scurring away with cries of: "Don't let them break the windows."

The Swedes were apparently as wild as English audiences, but in Germany it's different.

Next stop is Hamburg with Skynyrd supporting for the last time.

Unapproachable

More talk on the way back to the hotel suggests the band will be unapproachable and there's even talk of spending the rest of the evening with Slade, who just happen to be staying at the same hotel. The word is that Queen are THE most fastidious band and no matter how good the gig, they (or Freddy paticularly) will find fault.

Eventually Brian and John walk into the bar. They look cool but not too unnerved and they're all prepared to go clubbing.

According to them there've been a few problems already on this, still young European tour like the incident which decapitated their equipment truck. Apparently some hapless roadie was hurtling through the Swedish night when he failed to notice a low-bridge warning. The lorry went on through, losing its root and half the amps in the process. Two gigs had to be cancelled while another truck was driven out from London in time for the Munich gig, a first in Germany. According to Heidi, Munich was a smash: "The audience just didn't know what had hit them," she says, adding that tonight's comparative failure does not over concern her: "Queen will be huge," she says confidently, "I'm sure they are going to be enormous, but it will take a year."

None of the boys seem overly worried and the general feeling in their road party — and among the visiting journalists — is one of disdain for the Frankfurt crowd. A crowd of dopers into boogie rock is hardly likely to appreciate futuristic guitar pyrotechnics and 1975 flash a la Mercury.

"Still," muses May, now installed at the night spot, "they could have returned something. The more an audience feed back the better we play — naturally — but there I just felt like I was wasting my time."

Electronic

He's a musician of the electronic school, very much on top of the latest developments in the uses of amplified sound. On stage he uses two American Echoplex units. The guitar he built himself over two years: "There's nothing special or different about it, it's just a good instrument." The amplifiers, he draws from a good old British tradition. Back in the days when The Shadows were the inspiration for every rock group in the country (they were celled rhythm groups then) Vox amplifires were renowned. Now, in contrast to almost all of his contemporaries, May uses the good old Vox AC 30, or to be more precise, nine of them (three are spare). 

Over a crab cocktail and non alcoholic drink (he's still recovering from Hepititis) Brian quashes the popular misconception that Queen are just a studio band manipulated by highly professional technicians. The truth is self-evident in the stage act. They compare favourably with their recorded sound. But Brian goes further. 

"Do people really believe it's all down to the studio?" he asks indignantly. 

Well, er, yes Brian, Trident Studios has got a reputation for expertise, and you must admit there's a lot of production goes into the Queen discs.

"OK," he returns, "but most of that studio direction comes from us.

"We think of all the ideas. We love being in the studio. We're full of thoughts on how the songs should come out."

Fair enough. But what about being on the road? There are nothing but tours ahead for the band. Can they all cope? What will they do to keep sane?

"I suppose this," he looks unimpressed. "I can't drink more than a couple of pints so there's no danger of me getting wrecked. I must admit though it's going to be long haul. It'll be really good for us but I'd prefer not to be away so long. We're just going home for Christmas then we're off again to America." 

Meanwhile on the next table, Freddy Mercury is being his ourtageous self: "When we were in Copenhagen dear, we went to a Russian restaurant where naturally I ordered the speciality of the house. It was delicious. I said 'what in this' and they told me I was eating bear. Bear, dear, I loved it."

Freddy and Roger Taylor seem to be taking Europe in their stride, and a few indifferent gigs won't stop their growing style in this band. Freddy's voice is on the way to giving out, yet he still has time to confide that he simply must do something about his hair. Perhaps he should send for his personal hairdresser? 

The Queen has her eyes on an entourage no doubt, and what's the betting she gets it...?

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Things the Scoundrels Are No Longer Allowed to Do Part III

Based on “Skippy’s List,” this is a continuation of Things the Scoundrels are No Longer Allowed to Do.  I hope you like it.

Part I

https://thelordofdarkreunion.tumblr.com/post/637424500291600384/a-list-of-things-the-scoundrels-are-no-longer

Part II

https://thelordofdarkreunion.tumblr.com/post/660088048783097856/things-the-scoundrels-are-no-longer-allowed-to-do

371.   The “dibs” system is not a recognized method of promotion in the military.

372.   High recoil guns and roller skates are not an accepted method of transportation.

373.   You can’t find the true names of demons in the phone book.

374.   If the top floor is too well defended, you can’t just blow off the next to top floor.

375.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to elope with anyone for any reason.

376.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to give anyone preemptive last rites.

377.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to name droids IC-UP.

378.   The male and female members of the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to hold competitions against each other outside the Scoundrels fleet.  The last time that happened, the governor’s palace on Fildenfal got destroyed.

379.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to fish with flamethrowers.

380.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to call radio talk shows in the middle of missions.

381.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to re-create any scenes from Grease.

382.    Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

383.   No amount of genetic engineering can turn pigs kosher.

384.   There is not a map written in invisible ink on the back of the Declaration of Independence.

385.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to run for political office.  Especially with the slogans “vote for me or I’ll kill you all,” or “because I’m just that awesome.”

386.   When asked who their greatest role model is, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to answer Agent Smith from The Matrix.

387.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to shoot any god in the face just to brag that they did so.

388.   Stain glass windows are not standard features on tanks.  Stop giving the Imperium ideas.

389.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use guns to communicate in Morse code.

390.   If it is cheaper to buy a new starship than reload your weapon, then there is a problem.

391.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to announce their arrival with eight straight hours of orbital bombardment.

392.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to put small restaurants on the bridges of their starships.

393.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to rent ad space on the outsides of their starships.

394.   The Dirty Harry “Are you feeling lucky, punk?” speech does not really work with fully automatic pistols.

395.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play High Speed Dirt while making emergency orbital re-entry.

396.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to convince shapeshifters to change into any celebrities or murderous dictators.

397.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to scan alien ambassadors for “cooties.”

398.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use government resources to pay their restaurant bills.

399.   Most places frown upon using ammunition as currency.

400.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to mount bayonets on flamethrowers.

401.   You can’t thwart Reaper cyber attacks by installing Norton antivirus.

402.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to sing along with the elevator music.

403.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use the Enterprise’s Holodeck to recreate scenes from Caligula.

404.   Starting a flame war on the internet is bad.  Starting a flame war not on the internet is much, much worse.

405.   If it takes more than five minutes for the debris to stop falling, you need a smaller gun.

406.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to name newly discovered planets after themselves.

407.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to build Gatling Gatling guns.

408.   Klingons do not have French accents, and it is wrong to state otherwise.

409.   Darth Nihilus does not “just need a hug.”

410.   Dr. Suess rhymes do not have any part in exorcisms.

411.   Unitards are not part of any of our governments’ dress uniforms.

412.   Using heavy artillery in assassinations is just being lazy.

413.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to buy onesie pajamas to “raise crew morale.”

414.   You can’t just shoot a hole in the surface of Mars.

415.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to surf in active war zones.

416.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to put discotheques, bowling alleys, or movie theaters in their starships.

417.   “Getting uppity” is not a capital offense.

418.   Deer season is restricted to rifles and bows, and, thus, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to hunt deer using Greco-Roman wrestling.

419.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to start telethons.

420.   Imperial Star Destroyers do not have help desks.

421.   The Covenant does not have an IT department.

422.   Using ventriloquism to trick your enemies into fighting each other is fine.  Using ventriloquism to trick your superior officers in fighting is not.

423.   You can’t suplex Tyranid monstrosities.

424.   Summary Execution Man is not an appropriate name for a superhero.

425.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to ask the Ultramarines why their chapter’s primary color isn’t ultramarine.

426.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to recreate scenes from Blues Brothers.

427.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to tell AI’s that only humans can divide by zero.

428.   The Scoundrels do not need to know the melting point of Borg.

429.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to post-date letters of marque.

430.   The city of Boise, Idaho, does not need a dark, brooding vigilante of the night.

431.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to run up their enemies’ cable bills by ordering PPV movies on their TVs.

432.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to improvise, “wing”, or fabricate alien funeral rites.

433.   The Scoundrels will keep all eldritch artifacts of unspeakable power out of the reach of small children.

434.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to ask tech-priests if they are AC or DC.

435.   “Medium rare” is not a phaser setting.

436.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to hold AT-AT drag races.

437.   Any gun that’s wattage is best described in scientific notation is not allowed.

438.   Off duty Space Marines wear robes, not tank tops and speedos.

439.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to enter or exit buildings while playing Carolus Rex.

440.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to brew any alcohol that can double as jet fuel.

441.   Vrul do not appreciate the Socratic method.

442.   Snipers don’t appreciate their spotters yelling “Boom!  Headshot!”

443.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to do anything they saw Nicholas Cage do.

444.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to call suicide prevention hotlines on behalf of the Death Korps of Krieg.

445.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to make Liechtenstein a world superpower.

446.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to make any plan that hinges on their opponent having a peanut allergy.

447.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to hack into the national address systems of any government that could be considered communist and broadcast Economics 101 lessons over them.

448.   Apex Predator Pilots will not respond to jury summons.

449.   They do not make civilian models of mini guns, and the Scoundrels are discouraged to visit any country that does.

450.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to regift cursed artifacts.

451.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to convince super soldiers to get pompadour, Afro, or macaroni hairstyles.

452.   You can’t plea bargain mass regicide, even if the rulers in question were incredibly corrupt.

453.   When asked who the greatest human being of all time was, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to answer Millard Fillmore.  (Who’s Millard Fillmore?)

454.   There will be no more product placement in the mission evaluation videos.

455.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to commission statues of themselves, especially if said statue is meant to be mounted on the outside of their starships.

456.   Mission preparation does not include a mani/pedi.

457.   It is best if Master Chief does not go through the metal detector in customs.

458.   “Call in the Deathwatch and wait for the screams to stop” is not automatically Plan A.

459.   Despite its tremendous cost to benefit ratio, bubble wrap is not a staple in black op missions.

460.   If challenged to a competition by an individual of a species whose average height is below 5’5”, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to choose basketball.

461.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to question ONI agents or Ordo Malleus operatives on why a town of 4,000 people with zero strategic value warranted a 100 megaton nuke.

462.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to genetically engineer walruses to ballroom dance.

463.   In retrospect, it was a bad idea to show Imperial Inquisitors Monty Python skits.

464.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to engage in any “research” involving more than a gallon of super balls.

465.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to lease out Halo Rings, even if they include the option to buy.

466.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to be in possession of any carbonated beverages while in possession of Mentos brand mints.  The last time that happened, they somehow managed to cause an earthquake near Indonesia.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to claim responsibility for natural disasters unless they were actually responsible for them.

467.   The Scoundrels will refrain from encouraging tech-priests to develop emotional attachments to heavy ordinance.

468.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to form political parties, especially based on themselves.

469.   Anesthetic is not “only for sissies.”

470.   If the person who posted a bounty asks for proof, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to bring back the bounty’s reanimated corpse.

471.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to abuse homonyms.

472.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to purchase modern art with government funds.

473.   “The Chaos Gods are bad, so, therefore we should reforge and summon the Nightbringer to destroy them” is a really, really bad idea.

474.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to start a cult that worships Richard Sharpe, Jason Bourne, or John Wick.

475.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to abuse union bylaws to exploit holes in security.

476.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to expose individuals to Reaper technology, Sith holocrons and Chaos artifacts to “see which form of corruption will win.”

477.   Militaristic, highly honorable species, such as the Drev or Klingon, do not appreciate you fighting dirty in their trials by combat.

478.   If asked to choose a religion, the Scoundrels cannot make their choice solely by the greatest number of sexual positions it allows.

479.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to rate their favorite alien species by which ones have reproductive systems closest to humanity.

480.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to dual wield .50 caliber machine guns.

481.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to say “I am Alpharius.”  Ever.

482.   There is no such thing as a right to a strip search.

483.   While it is customary to initiate a duel by striking with a gauntlet, it is also customary to do so at subsonic speeds.

484.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use heavy artillery for industrial purposes.

485.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use wombats for medicinal purposes.

486.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to spend the entirety of their bonus pay on flamethrowers.

487.   The following aren’t acceptable seconds in duels: Space Marine Chapter Masters (even if you are on a first name basis with them), intelligent demon swords, the primarch of Palaven, Prussia.

488.   The Scoundrels will keep the amount of sexual innuendo to a minimum during autopsy reports.

489.   If you are given a wish by an immortal, you are to leave out the words “you incompetent prick.”

490.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to organize skeet shoots with office furniture.

491.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to genetically engineer any animal from the continent of Australia.

492.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to start wars over what the best polearm is.

493.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to give shout-outs in ransom notes.

494.   You can’t learn a language by only learning the profanities of said language.  Even if the Russians in your crews disagree.

495.   If a party is black tie, that doesn’t mean just painted on the armor.

496.   Every day is not Mardi Gras.

497.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to sneak into the Sanctum Imperialis or the Celzex throne room disguised as a documentary crew.  Especially on behalf of Trazyn the Infinite.

498.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to threaten sentient monsters by telling Cajun restaurants their location.

499.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to abuse the “kids eat free” rule at any restaurant.

500.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to compare Starfleet uniforms to the Wiggles.

501.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to dump napalm in fire sprinkler tanks.

502.   Support gunships are for air support, not beer runs.

503.   While acting as sniper spotters, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play I Spy.

504.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to call enemy corporation’s tech support for help with breaking into their computer network.

505.  “Humor me” is not an acceptable targeting parameter on robotic sentry guns.

506.   None of the Scoundrels need 10 tons of duct tape for any reason whatsoever.

507.   It is not a race to strip mine a planet.

508.  The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to buy any major league sports team.

509.   Asking a taxidermist to stuff a deer head is OK.  Asking the same taxidermist to stuff a full-size rancor is not.

510.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use necron “My Will Be Done” programs on Reapers.

511.   Any argument with your significant other will be done verbally and in person, not across the battlefield using heavy artillery as Morse code.

512.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to imitate Captain Jack Sparrow in any way, shape, or form.

513.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use Siri as their ship’s central computer.

514.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play the theme from Jaws on missions to aquatic planets.

515.   There are only so many flavors of beef jerky, and the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to create new ones.

516.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to create their own frozen pizza lines.

517.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to go trick-or-treating, especially dressed as themselves.

518.   Peter Quill is not allowed to quote Parks and Recreation.

519.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to communicate exclusively in a computer programming language.

520.   The answer to a Flood invasion is not to ask junior personnel if they’re “bad enough dudes” to contain it.

521.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to ask weapons corporations to sponsor children’s charities.

522.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to conduct interviews on new personnel.  Especially not if they specifically ask for them.

523.   Ghillie suits are not formal wear.

524.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to summarily execute anyone who causes a M.R.V.N. to display a sad face.

525.   “Kill ‘em all and let God sort it out” is not a valid battle plan.

526.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to enter diplomatic conferences via the Old Time Rock and Roll slide.  Especially not in their underwear.

527.   “Excessive flatulence” is not a crime punishable by death.

528.   “Oops, I missed” does not excuse missing a shot by that much.

529.   Even if you claim you hit exactly what you were aiming at.

530.   The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to antagonize anyone who can kill them with their minds.  

There we have it.  I hope you enjoyed, and if you have any suggestions to add to the list, feel free to tell me!

[batarella]

The Commander - Part 12 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

We’ve reached the point where the events take place in the Arkham Knight video game!!! I found these more difficult since I wanted to stay true to the source material. The timing isn’t perfect but I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY.

WORDS: 3239 WARNINGS: BATMAN ARKHAM KNIGHT SPOILERS, ARKHAM KNIGHT AUDIO LOGS SPOILERS, VIOLENCE, JASON FLUFF, AND A LIL ASS GRAB

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

The Arkham Knight to Ace Chemicals.

Deathstroke to Stagg Airships.

And Deadshot, the Militia Commander, to the abandoned Killinger’s Department Store. The Arkham Knight Headquarters.

Five trucks and two choppers surround the building. Crates for the weapons were being unloaded, drones being dropped off by the helicopters, some driving off into the tunnels and the rest through the main entrance.

The Commander held a gun to a police officer’s forehead, who was on his knees, his hands behind his head, and was trembling. Five others lined up beside him. They were found in the mall before any of the soldiers got there.

“Call off your reinforcements. Now.”

They looked up at the Commander’s chilling white mask, at the red gun optics where an eye hole was supposed to be. She looked positively terrifying. The police officer gulped, then lowered his hands to pick up his radio.

“What kind of army are you?” the officer beside him asked. The Commander pointed the gun at him. “You be quiet.”

He saw this as a chance. Instead of a radio, the officer quickly pulled out his pistol and fired at the Commander. Everyone else flinched at the gunshot.

The officer dropped his gun, then his whole body fell to the floor. His blood leaked out of the bullet hole right out where his nose was supposed to be, and smoke came out of the second pistol the Commander quickly pulled out before the officer had even moved.

She pointed the two guns at the remaining cops.

“Any of you want to do it?”

The one in the middle swallowed hard, finally thinking it right to pick up his radio.

“Commissioner, this is Officer Chang.”

A ball of sweat poured out when the commander clicked the trigger.

“Call off reinforcements to Killinger’s Department Store.”

He turned the radio off, then threw it to the ground.

“All your weapons. On the ground,” the commander ordered. All of them did as told. “Sergeant. Make sure they don’t escape. Anyone see us?”

“None so far. We’re good to go.”

“Get all the trucks out of here. Make sure no one finds us.”

Cameras. They should be here. Somewhere.

Even with the building abandoned, she could feel some where staring at her.

At the far end, on a street light. Deadshot raised her arm and pulled on the gun on her wrist. The optics on her eye flashed its signature. The camera exploded and the lights flashed red, yellow, and green at the same time.

There was another one. By the building across them. Her optics picked up the movement and she fired at it before it could fully turn at her direction.

The last one could be ignored. It was ten stories up, by a skyscraper. It only barely got a glimpse of the entrance to the shopping mall.

But she wasn’t taking the chance.

From such a distance, Deadshot raised her arm and fired from ten stories down, right at the almost microscopic security camera installed at an office ceiling.

The glass window blew up and there was a flash of light coming from the building, until her optics detected nothing more than just ceiling bulbs.

Done. It was safe.

She watched the officer’s dead body being taken away. He had a family. A daughter like Zoe. A niece like Y/N. They were waiting for him to come home.

The Commander walked over to the entrance. Sentry guns were being placed, her men marched to the elevators and some passed through the tunnels. She pressed the communicator on her ear.

“Knight. We have the base.”

“Batman is in Ace Chemicals. He’s about to go after Crane. Did they get Barbara Gordon?”

She looked over to the final truck unloading by the entrance. A red-haired woman confined to a wheelchair was being wheeled down to the elevators. She was gagged, laying unconscious while she was taken to the undergrounds.

“Arrived just now. What do we do with her?”

“Just keep her in the base. Crane and I will get there as soon as we can.”

“Copy.” The gates were being pulled down and the lights switched off. The Commander walked into the elevator with the captive.

He said Barbara Gordon worked for Batman, that she was a crucial part in his operations, and that he used to know her when he was still working with Batman.

“Keep her alive,” she said, as the elevator pried open and Barbara was wheeled into the underground base, into a secluded room which she thought used to be a large clothing store. Its window was overlooking most of the base, and she could see what went on outside.

How many innocent people has she hurt? How much guilt did she have to push back her whole life?

“Clear everything. This will be the control room for the drones and the communicators. Take Gordon to the back.”

She went with them to the offices, and just then, the generators turned on. They left Barbara in one of the rooms.

“Knight. Are you here?”

“I’ll come up in a few minutes.”

She told Lieutenant Whitman to wait in front of the closed door, walking back outside where the computers were being set up just outside.

Scarecrow walked in, just as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He looked at her, head to toe.

“Commander…”

“Crane…” she snarled. She took a seat at the center of the long table and pulled up the camera footage of outside the mall.

No one was outside, and the entrance remained dark. The tunnels were closed, and the Batman was nowhere to be seen. She sees Jason pull up in his motorcycle by the entrance, hiding it behind a dumpster.

“Commander,” she heard her comms buffer while watching the Knight with his hand up to his ear. “I’m at the base.”

“Just walk in to the elevator. What happened at Ace Chemicals?”

“Batman blew the whole place down. But we got what we needed.”

“Good job,” she smirked. “I’m looking at you right now from the control room. I’ve destroyed every other camera and installed new ones from all over the command points and watchtowers going online.”

Jason looked around, finding the camera and looking straight at it.

“Everything looking good?”

“Yes,” she said. “Looking good indeed. That ass looks phenomenal.”

The Knight chuckled under his visor as she watched him walk into the mall. “I’m coming down.”

“You know where to find us.”

She turned her communicators off, then glared at the sergeant looking at her funny. He quickly looked away.

Finally, this was where it all came to be. The bases were all online. On the screen newly set up in front of her, she brought up the live footage from the serpent drones flying above the three islands. Everything was in place.

But one of their bomb mines in Miagani set off an alert.

“A bomb has been hacked, Lieutenant. Send the drones to the coordinates.”

“Yes sir,” her comms spoke into her ear. Tapping onto the controls, she sent a serpent drone to hover above the scene.

And fucking hell, was it something she didn’t expect.

It wasn’t a car. Batman had a fucking tank. Bigger than any of their drones, and so much more than any of them expected.

She sent every drone close to the location to ambush the Batmobile. “Open fire.”

The drones fired their missiles. Rattlers, Diamondbacks, Mambas, and even a Boa, all firing at him. One by one, a drone went offline, and she wanted to rip her hair out from her scalp. “Why did no one tell me about his fucking tank?”

The Batmobile just went on and on, and it fired a 60mm canon right at a Boa, blowing it up after just two shots. She could only watch on, locking onto five different drones and clearing the ambush without so much as a dent. When every drone went offline, the bomb mine hacked, the Commander fell back to her chair.

She suddenly didn’t feel so good.

The Knight came up to the control rooms. He took more time down the elevator than Batman did blowing up all those drones. “Commander.”

“Knight.” She stood up. “Gordon’s in that room.”

He didn’t say anything, and the Commander realized he was looking at her new suit. “Nice job with the HQ.” Jason walked over to the back. “Where’s Crane?”

“He went in there with Barbara.”

“That son of a- Get the hell away from her!” He screamed at Scarecrow just as he swung the door open. Crane shot up, but he took his time.

“Soon, you won't be able to choose who lives or dies from your own doings, Knight.”

“I said get out.”

“Crane,” the Commander said. She walked over and grabbed him by the arm, but Scarecrow shook it off. “Remember what we talked about, Commander…”

He left the room. Commander Y/N looked over to Jason.

“Commander. Can you leave us?”

She looked at him, then at Barbara. Nodding, she left the room, but kept her ear close to the door.

“He’s gone. Did he hurt you?”

“Spare me the good cop, bad cop routine.”

So he cares about her. Fair enough.

He talked about Batman, the same things she’s already known about how he was betrayed, how he kept talking to the Joker hoping it would give him enough time to come rescue him. How he never did.

But then she heard his visor turn up, then it was Jason’s unfiltered voice, screaming at the captive.

The Commander kept at the door.

“Jason, we can fix it.”

“I can fix it! I know now what to do. I take all this pain. All this blackness. And I put it all in a bullet. And I put it right between Bruce’s eyes.”

His voice was breaking as he spoke. She wanted to go after him. But Scarecrow’s boney hand touched her shoulder. She flinched away.

“She’s ready. Be at the undergrounds in fifteen minutes.”

The Commander just watched Crane barge into the door, calling for the Knight to prepare the Cloudburst.

“Someone put a gag on her. Anyone hurts her, they’re a dead man.”

She was the only one nearby. The Commander walked in, took a gag from her pockets and placed it on Barbara’s mouth.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispered to her. Gordon stopped struggling, and a soldier came in bearing a gun.

“Watch over her,” the Knight ordered. At the control center, Scarecrow took a seat. And he brought the camera logged into the Cloudburst up on the screen. “Ten minutes, Knight.”

He nodded at Scarecrow, and the Commander trailed behind him as they headed for the elevators to the undergrounds. The one that lead to a tunnel up to the streets in Founder’s.

The cop’s blood was still probably spilling on the streets. How many people did she hurt by killing him?

Jason pressed the button, and the elevator roared in a twitching buzz.

His silence only pained her. She wanted to hold him tight, but if he wanted that, he would’ve pulled her close himself. Jason inched himself to the corner, his arms shielding his chest. He didn’t want to be bothered.

Nothing has meant more to him than putting an end to Batman’s reign over Gotham.

But what happens then?

What happens to Jason after he’s done what he wanted? When he has Gotham under his feet, when all else has been destroyed?

Y/N watched the walls outside the elevator move up, until suddenly there was a loud crash and the whole thing stopped moving, the lights dimmed out and the noise from the gears came to a halt.

Jason cursed every swear word he knew. “These fucking generators. They’re all over the place.”

“It should be fixed in a few minutes. Don’t worry.” The Commander leaned against the wall. “Are you alright?”

No. He wasn’t. Since they arrived at Gotham the dark cloud over his head just grew darker and stronger, knowing his path to kill the Bat was coming to a close. The Commander stood right beside him and brushed her arm against his larger one.

“Take that thing off. It’s only me.”

Jason pushed the button, then his hand immediately wiped the tears that had been sitting on his cheek. Y/N fell ill, taking off her own mask and pushing her shoulder against Jason’s.

“Talk to me.”

He faced her. “You already know everything.”

“But you’ve never told me yourself. I only had to find out.”

“I’ve told you enough.”

“No,” she said, taking his face. “I don’t think you have.”

He no longer flinched when she did that. Instead, the corners of his mouth curved up, taking her hand and squeezing it. He pulled it away from his face, but kept running his thumb over her fingers.

“I waited for him to come for me. Even after so many months. I never lost hope. But Joker…” he choked. “He just kept beating that hope out of me. He kept me in an abandoned wing at Arkham. No one ever found me. He paid one of the guards to let him in, beat me with a crowbar, tied me to the ceiling, strapped me to a chair, called all his friends to help torture me, did this to my face..”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I went in there a boy with so much wonder to look at in the world. And when I came out, I was nothing. Emptied out. I only knew anger. I hated everyone around me. And there was nothing I wanted more than to kill him.”

The Commander looked up at him, and he craned his head down so his face was nearer to hers.

“I think I would’ve gone clinically insane without you.”

A kiss to the lips. Already he’d calmed.

“How ‘bout you? How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m trying not to think about him. For tonight, at least.”

“You know you can just sit back if you like-“

“I’m fine. I can rest after I take out the Cloudburst.”

He shuffled his arms and took his hand away from hers. “I was meaning to talk to you about that.”

“What about?

“I should be the one to go out there. I want to take him by myself.”

“We talked about this,” she said. “I can blow a tank.”

“And I know you're going to say you’re so much better than me at it.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“With what just happened, with you, your uncle, it’s better if you stay upstairs.”

She just looked annoyed by then. “Jason, I’m taking the Cloudburst.” Jason didn’t answer and kept his head craned down. The Commander scoffed. “You’re not paying me more than a million dollars tonight just to stay behind at the control room.”

“Fine,” he stood in front of her. “Five Cobra drones will be at your escort and I’ll come along in a Serpent when the time comes, or if you need any help. Also, I forgot to give you these.”

He pulled out an earpiece. “This communicator only links to mine. It’s a second one. We have our main, which Batman probably has access to. And this. He wouldn’t be looking for it. Not even Crane knows about it.”

She took it and placed it on her ear. “I’ll be fine.”

“Be careful out there.” His voice was soft.

He wasn’t talking to the Commander. He was talking to Y/N.

Jason slowly held her hips, pulled her close and finally managed a small smile. He kissed her, harder as if saying goodbye. She hugged his neck and leaned in even closer.

At the midst of a city wide apocalypse, she was his only light. And it was true. If not for her, he’d be so engulfed in his own darkness, there’d be no escape, not even if he wanted to climb out of it.

After he kills Batman, he’ll need her more than anything else. He’ll need something to level his ground, to bring out the humanity still left in him.

She knew first hand what it was like killing someone she had a terrible grudge on. It wasn’t the same as killing someone you never knew. It ruins you, drags you to every circle of hell until there’s no where else to go. She had to climb out of that deep pit by herself. And it wasn’t an easy task.

It was partly the reason why she couldn’t bring herself to go to Arkham.

When you thought your life would be a much lighter weight to carry, it only adds to the pain. Jason didn’t need to be told that.

The elevator finally started up, then the lights turned on. He slightly pulled away, leaning his forehead against hers for as long as he could. The Commander held the side of his face and closed her eyes.

“By the way,” he whispered. “I love the new suit.”

His hand grabbed her ass. She jumped up, playfully pushing his arm away. Her laughter was the last thing he heard when the doors pushed open and they pulled away.

The Knight flashed his visor back on. It was there.

She was ready.

The Cloudburst. The beautiful monstrosity that was Scarecrow’s most beloved weapon. The Nimbus Tech was in place right at the front, and it had the much of the toxin, enough to drown a person before they’d even get a glimpse of their fear. The front flashed a dark blue, much like the eyes on the Arkham Knight’s visor, and the gun optics, the Commander couldn’t help but revel in it.

It was the best tank she’ll ever get to man in her life. And she’s been through quite a number.

The gates slowly rolled up, and a soldier stepped out the hatch. It was time. She took one look at Jason, even through the visor.

She wasn’t afraid. She knew she wasn’t going to die tonight.

But she should’ve told him she loved him. Even for the just the slightest chance she might not come back. He deserved to know.

So she had to come back. For him. She still had so much to look forward to. A life outside the militia. A life with Jason. And she had to make sure he’ll be okay. That he wouldn’t have to claw himself out of the darkness, that she’d be there to hold him up. He needed her. Just as much as she needed him.

‘Breathe in. Breathe out.’

She closed her eyes, then climbed up to the hatch.

The gate was fully open, and the five Cobra Drones have been driven out the tunnels. The Commander closed the hatch, settled herself in, and pulled on the lever.

‘Always breathe. Don’t let the world touch your focus, Deadshot.’

Y/N looked onto her scope, still after so many tries. Floyd kneeled down next to her, and brought her hand further out closer to the muzzle. She knew she should have just hit the birds.

At the pull of the trigger, her eyes closed shut. She didn’t want to look. She waited for Floyd’s hand on her shoulder again, or another piece of advice that only did so much to help.

‘Bullseye,’ her uncle said. And she shot up in the air and cried in joy.

It was steak night, tonight. That was what Floyd promised.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

----

  Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive  @lucy-roo

[honeytea8]

“Mister Fix-it” - Josuke/gn!Reader

A/N: Something I posted a while back on AO3 and now I’m dumping it here, I edited it to be gender neutral, pls let me know if I missed anything, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: When your brand new air conditioning system doesn’t live up to the hype, you’re left with no other choice but to call Josuke Higashikata, the neighborhood handy-man and Morioh’s local heartthrob. (Post-canon; Josuke is 19/Reader is 23ish)

There is not a single ‘moderate’ thing about the summers in Morioh Cho and you come to this shocking discovery during your very first year back in this crazy, noisy town.

One early morning, a wave of heat sweeps in like a thief in the night, creeping over your body and making your nightshirt cling to you like second skin. A relentless force of nature that saps any residual moisture in the air. Everything is left high and dry—you lament over your dying succulent.

You can’t count how many cups of ice water you’ve guzzled or how many cold showers you’ve taken just to end up sweaty again, but something’s got to give. The day after Kai Harada announces the possibility of record-breaking temperatures in the following weeks, you delve into your emergency savings for a solution only money can buy.

Two days later, a portly electrician comes and installs a new air conditioning system for your home. He’s yammering on about how it’s supposed to be the best on the market. State of the art and all that jazz. You don’t really care for the details; you just want to be comfortable in your own house lest you end up a melted pile of goo. Who the hell would take care of your vegetable garden then?

You inspect the newly installed system with subdued interest. Truthfully, it doesn’t look like anything but an eyesore that’s completely thrown off the ambiance of the entire living room. It’s practically hanging out of your window. However, the only thing keeping you from complaining about its appearance is the dusty fan overhead that’s been circulating the same muggy, warm air for over an hour now. You prefer functionality over appearance, screw feng shui, you needed this AC.

“So, you’re positive it'll cool down the entire house?” you question one final time.

As if to prove his point, the electrician flicks a switch and the machine attached to the wall comes to life. The droning hum is annoying and would take some getting used to but it’s blowing the coldest air you’ve felt in a while. Both you and the electrician remain standing in front of it for a few seconds, basking in wonder.

Like magic, the heat-induced stress and tension leave your body all at once.

“Well then,” you say with a smile, “It’ll do.”

One week. Seven days. A hundred-and-sixty-eight hours of pure, absolute, uninterrupted bliss. You are in heaven! Your plants are flourishing as usual, and you aren’t sweating profusely like a pig for slaughter. Life is oh so good.

Until you wake up on the eighth day at four am with the worst case of cotton-mouth you’ve ever experienced.

You tumble out of bed, delirious from the sudden onslaught of heat that has transformed your bedroom into a sauna. Loose cotton sheets tangle with your ankles and you hit the ground, chin scuffing against the floor in your haste. The adrenaline pumping through your veins keeps you from wincing, or even feeling the pain. All you can hear is the sound of your own two feet pounding on the polished wooden staircase.

“Please, no, no, no, no—“

You sweep into the living room only to find the new air system is completely silent and no amount of switch-flicking or button-punching is going to change that. Mouth screwing into a scowl, you glare at the overpriced piece of junk with unbridled disdain.

This has become personal.

A hard smack from the palm of your hand to the surface of the machine echoes through the room—still nothing, not even a stirring. 

Big fat tears well up in your eyes. Whatever hormones fueling your rage are now flooding you with sadness. Your hand and chin are throbbing from the pain. The money spent on this crap was gone and now you’d have to shell out another hefty amount just to get it fixed. You want to pull out your hair in frustration.

Glancing around the room, everything is so still and calm. It’s still quite early in the morning, a few hours before dawn and you are tired as hell. The heat is making you lethargic, so after drying your tears and chewing on some ice cubes, you curl up on your sofa and go back to a fitful sleep.

.

.

.

Later in the day, you’re hanging clothes out on the line when your neighbor comes out to greet you.

She’s a grandma who lives alone except for when her grand kids come to visit, and despite her penchant for being a nosy gossip, you kind of like her. She waves and meanders over to the edge of her fence. 

“This is some heat, I tell you.”

“Right! I didn’t realize Morioh could even get this hot,” you pick up another sheet and toss it over the wire. “Would you believe that I spent two paychecks on an air conditioner that doesn’t even work.”

Your neighbor gives you a look of pity. “Oh dear, such a shame.” You watch as she adjusts the chairs and tables around her patio.

“You know, I have a teacher-friend with a son who has a knack for fixing things. Had him take a look at my plumbing a few weeks ago and he had it working right as rain. I can ask him to come by and take a look at it for you.”

You shuffle the empty bamboo basket in your arms. “I...guess that could work. Have him drop by sometime.” 

What’s the worst that could happen?

Two days later, you’re tending to your many plants—because you’d be damned if another died because of this heat—when a Greek god falls from the sky and onto your doorstep.

“Hi! I’m Josuke Higashikata, your neighbor said you had a problem with your air conditioner.”

To say you’re surprised would be an understatement: the young man standing on your porch is a damn stunner. His pouty lips, broad shoulders, and slim waist are more than enough to fuel a wet dream or two. Your brain short-circuits for a solid minute. Is it hot in here or what?

(And for once, you aren’t talking about the actual weather.)

He shifts nervously from one foot to another when you don’t immediately respond, but all you can do is stare. You’re thirsty for more than just a drink of water right now.

“Um,” he looks down at the sticky note in his hand and mumbles to himself. “This is the address, right?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. You internally berate yourself for looking like a gaping idiot in front of this knockout.

“YES! Ahem—yeah, y-you’re at the right place.” you move aside and allow him in. And good Lord, he’s tall. You wouldn't mind climbing that beanstalk.

Josuke is dressed in a striped yellow tee and pair of boardshorts that fit just right, a real sight for sore eyes.

You try not to swoon and realize rather belatedly that your own attire isn’t hiding much from view. Since the air conditioner stopped working, you reverted back to wearing tank tops and shorts around the house. Josuke, for what it's worth, isn't ogling you but he’s obviously noticed if his reddened cheeks are anything to go by.

“Right over here.” You say breezily.

The sway in your hips is subtle enough that it doesn’t look intentional. You guide him over to where the AC is sitting in the wall like a heap of scrap metal. Josuke didn’t bring any tools with him, so you’re skeptical about how he plans on fixing it. Honestly, even if he can't, you plan on making the most out of this.

You enter the kitchen adjacent to the living room, allowing him to take a look at the thing without you hovering.

As you’re straightening out the dining table, you ask, “So, how old are you, Josuke? You look a little young to be a handy-man.”

There’s a pause in his movements. “I just turned nineteen!”

Your fantasy dies a swift death somewhere deep within the dredges of your subconscious. Of course he’s young, as if you hadn’t noticed. Dialing back on the flirtation, you hum out an ‘oh cool’. The last thing you want to be is a cradle robber!

You aren’t that much older than him...but it still feels a bit wrong? You’ve never been with a younger guy before.

A startling hum resounds throughout the house and you feel a gust of cool air coming from overhead. Josuke has managed to fix it! You rush back into the room just in time to catch him stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“All done!”

“That—That was really quick? What was wrong with it?”

Josuke only shrugged. “Not sure, but it seems to be working now.”

You stare uncomprehendingly.

“So...was there anything else you’d like me to fix?”

Blinking you look around for something but come up short. “No, not unless you can bring plants back to life.”

Now it’s Josuke’s turn to blink as he takes a look around with wide eyes. He hadn’t noticed all the plants in the various corners of your home, he had been too distracted by—

“Which ones?” He says before he can stop himself.

You point to the succulent perched on the coffee table, it’s dried up and brittle in some parts, but it’s not completely dead. He kneels down to its height, touches some of its chubby petals. Then he silently calls on Crazy Diamond and with a single touch, it’s restored back to its normal health.

A few years post-Yoshikage Kira, Josuke has gotten a lot better with his powers, utilizing his stand with ease. He turns and gives you a smile and has no idea he’s giving you heart palpitations just by looking like that.

“Woah! Josuke, what the hell was that?”

“Ahh, it’s hard to explain. Just know it’s something I’ve been able to do since I was a kid.”

“Wow, th-that’s some trick,” you glance at your plant in shock. It’s literally back to normal. You recall all the time spent nurturing it, along with your other plants. All the sweat doled out during back-breaking gardening. How could you ever repay him for making sure your hard work didn’t go down the drain?

Before you know it, you have his face in your hands and you don’t know what the hell you're doing but you're holding him and staring tearfully.

“Thank you times a million. Seriously.”

Josuke just gulps and nods. “Uh huh, not a problem.”

You really try to ignore the way he’s staring at your lips or the heavy blush on his cheeks because, again, you are not robbing the cradle. With more self-control than you knew you had, you let go of his face and step back.

“S-So would you like some tea, or lemonade or—“

“Lemonade,” he says as he stands to his full height. “Lemonade is fine.”

You nod with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. He is so cute. You scamper off into the kitchen and pull out a full pitcher of homemade lemonade. Meanwhile, Josuke is left to take a look around your house.

There are plants everywhere, most are leafy, green, and healthy. The ones that aren’t, get a boost from his stand power.

Josuke wants to compare your home to a jungle or the Amazon, but that’s not quite an accurate comparison. Even though there’s clearly a lot going on, it’s not cluttered or disorganized at all. It’s just...really freaking amazing! There’s even a flourishing terrarium built in the walls near the staircase.

With your obvious love for nature, Josuke thinks you’d get along great with Mr. Jotaro, but for some reason he doesn’t feel too inclined to introduce you two.

When you finally return, you catch Josuke eyeing your little turtle tank with a weird look.

“That’s Kame, I just got him a month ago.”

Josuke laughs, “Kame, huh? That’s pretty clever.”

“I thought so too,” you hand him the cold drink and as he takes it, his fingers graze yours. “He doesn’t do much, so if you’re expecting him to do a trick, you’ll be waiting a while.”

“Oh nah, it wasn’t that. I’m just…kind of afraid of the little guy.”

Biting back the urge to say ‘awww’, you usher him over to the engawa overlooking your vegetable garden. “A fear of turtles is understandable. But would you believe that I used to be afraid of fish?”

“Fish? No, I can’t say I would. But I also wouldn’t judge.”

You smile at that because of course, he wouldn’t judge you. “Yup, had a bad experience when I was five. My father used to live in Morioh, near the coast. He was a fisherman,” you pause, momentarily distracted by the bob of his adam’s apple as he takes his first sip.

“H-He umm, took me fishing once... and it was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on a real fish. Needless to say, I screamed my head off.”

“No! Seriously?” Josuke chuckles and it’s so contagious and addicting. Soon you're laughing too.

“I swear, I cannot make this up!”

“So, what happened?”

“Okay, so I’m screaming like a mad person and running away. You know what my dad does? That asshole chases me with the thing still dangling from his fishing rod.” You shake your head at the memory. “I literally got sick and threw up that night, and boy did my mom chew him out for it.”

“That sounds so hilarious and yet so traumatic.” He laughs again. “That’s terrible!”

“Right! I could never look at a fish after that or even be around them. It took years before I finally got over it.” You sigh and shake your head again.

Silence ebbs between you for a moment before Josuke clears his throat. 

“So, this might seem a bit forward, but would you like to go on a date with me?”

The question doesn’t register in your head all at once, leaving you to stumble over your words until you can finally think coherently. “Josuke I...I’m a bit older than you. Shouldn’t you go for someone more closer to your age?”

“No, and I’ve never believed age should stop two consenting adults from getting to know each other better.”

“Josuke, I’m old enough to be your big sibling though.”

He quirks his brow at that like you’ve just said something weird. “Well, Mr. Joestar, was like ancient when he met my mom so that really doesn’t bother me.”

For some reason, that comment breaks the tension. You barely hold back a grin. “This Mr. Joestar guy is your father then?”

“Biologically speaking, yeah. He’s pretty old now and I never really knew him, but my mom still loves him with everything she has.”

Okay. Now you are really having heart palpitations.

Josuke is exhibiting a surprising amount of maturity right now, making you eat your words about him being too young for you. Why did he have to be so convincing on top of being cute?

“Give me a chance,” he says. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

After mulling over it for a moment, you finally acquiesce.

“Alright, Josuke. One date, and we’ll see from there.” and just to catch him off guard, you peck his cheek. “Okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Of course, it’ll be perfect!”

Taking the empty lemonade glass from him, you both re-enter your home with smiles on your faces. Josuke stays a little longer and you both chat for a while then make plans for your date. You get to learn about how much of a hopeless romantic he is and how he’s a firm believer in love. He makes it very clear that he doesn’t want a fling and that he’s looking for long-term. All of these things surprise you, as they aren’t what you’d expect from someone as gorgeous as him.

By the time the sun is setting, you know it’s time for you two to part ways. Josuke stands at your foyer with pursed lips and a blush on his cheeks. “Can I...kiss you?”

To answer his question, you lean up and press a soft kiss on his mouth. Josuke’s strong arms snake around your hips, drawing you closer into his sturdy frame. His plush lips are gentle and pliant against your own. 

When Josuke finally pulls back he is presented with the sight of your closed eyes and kiss-reddened lips and it’s the most enthralling two seconds ever. He thinks you're so freaking beautiful.

“Alright handy-man,” you say as you give him one last peck on the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure thing!”

Ironically enough, you have this nightmare of a heatwave to thank for your date with Morioh Cho’s favorite dreamboat.