#is that something I should tag for?? It's pretty overt

[forgetful-river]

Good puppy

[bunni-v1]

hii,

Can i request che‘nya, neige and rollo finding out you‘re a girl please?

(Just if u weite for em)

Freaking love ur serie 😍

Side Characters Find Out You’re A Girl?!?!?! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

TW: Rollo

Info: Che’nya, Niege, and Rollo x Reader

🍓Thank you! I'm glad people enjoyed this series so much, it was very fun to write. This is the last part I'm afraid, but I hope it is a fitting goodbye to what has been a very long-running series now lol. Excited to move on to other things!

Tags: @kitsun369 @bloomstruck @squidsailing

Che’nya

-Oooooo, Che’nya knows something is up the moment he (creepily) stalks you and the others from the garden.

-His sniffer isn’t as good as Leona’s — he’s just a tomcat, after all — but he can smell that something about you isn’t right.

-Plus, he’s a master of bending the truth, he can see through your lie a mile away.

-Still, he has no reason to bother you about it — he doesn’t even know you. 

-He just thinks you’re a little funny that you’d hide something as pointless as this.

-Doesn’t really have confirmation on it until he asks Cater at the tea party.

-Then he later asks Trey who is like ‘Yeahhhhh…’

-Again, he doesn’t really know you, but he does think you’re cute and stuff.

-He sees your around when he sneaks on campus, and he was happy to bump into you at the VDC.

-(He scored your number there, lets go Che’nya).

-Nah, you two don’t really get to interact until Noble Bell College.

-He’s excited to see you again, and really chats you up this time (everyone there thinks its weird, he literally has no reason to talk to you).

-You’re alone with him and Niege and Grim when he drops the bombshell of “A pretty girl like you should be wearing a dress, right?”

-You don’t know if Trey or Cater or even Riddle told him, but you were gonna deck them across the face the second you found out.

-Still, despite him outing you to Niege, he’s really only mildly annoying about it.

-He teases you and picks on you about it, but he’s more like an annoying older brother than a creep.

-He will hang it over your head though, because they way you get all huffy is funny and cute to him.

Neige

-Other than Che’nya— Neige really doesn’t suspect much.

-I mean, look at him and Vil. Feminine men is not his biggest concern.

-He respects you and your pronouns and he’s a real big sweetheart.

-He is… drawn to you, just a little. 

-You’re different from the other students, and you managed to make friend with Vil, so excuse him for being a little curious.

-Despie Vil being vehemently against it, you and him exchange numbers and start talking casually.

-It’s pretty normal stuff, and it’s not like you’re talking every day, but you consider each other friends at the very least.

-You’re both very excited to see each other again at Nobel Bell College.

-Neige feels bad that you’re sort of forced to go and babysit, but he gets to see you again!

-You bump into him and Che’nya at the fesitval, and Neige is… notably weirded out by Che’nya’s overt friendliness with you.

-“He’s never this nice with people he doesn’t know — never. It’s so weird.” He tells you.

-You brush off his concerns, and you live to pay for it too.

-You and Neige were just chilling, talking, and hanging out for the first time in person and Che’nya walked over and joined the conversation.

-All is good until he drops the one-liner of a century, leaving both you and Neige in shock.

-You because how did he find out, Neige because oh my god you’re a woman.

-He feels even WORSE for you now.

-I mean, being the only woman at NRC has gotta be awful.

-He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, bless his soul.

-He just shrugs it off and also offers his room as sanctuary on the weekends if you need it. 

-He does agree with Che’nya, though, you would look very pretty in a nice flowing ballgown!

Rollo

-Bless this little freaks soul. He is about as sheltered as Malleus and about ten times more evil.

-He, somehow, knows something about you is different from the get-go. Not just your inability for magic, no something more.

-Naturally, he is drawn to you, and evermore curious about you and your life at NRC.

-He, being observant, takes note that you are treated slightly differently by your fellow classmates.

-They are generally more respectful and courteous toward you — gentlemanly in some cases.

-It only makes his interest in you grow. What is it that is so special about you? 

-Then he overhears a conversation with Niege and Che’nya, and it all makes so much sense!

-You are a woman, of course you are. No wonder you were so captivating.

-Rollo holds this card close to his chest — he needs not reveal his secrets.

-Malleus is fond of you — as are the other magicians here. That could be useful.

-This information could aid him in his ultimate plan — and he could be your savior from the beasts you live amongst. 

-He reveals that he knows your gender in front of everyone at the festival, and takes you captive as his own.

-He is so diluted in thinking that he is your saving grace, and that what he is doing is so right and justified that he can’t hear you curing him out over his own thoughts.

-Obviously, you get saved by your friends and all is well, but now a whole lot of people who shouldn’t know you are a woman do, and Crowley has to do a LOT of PR work lol.

[cecilysass]

Honest Man (3/3)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 3

When it’s obvious Bill is down for the count, Mulder follows Scully back out into her living room. She doesn’t pause to look or speak to him. She marches straight into the kitchen and begins to wordlessly fill up a glass of water at the sink.

“Scully,” he begins, unsure of what he’s about to say.

“Sounds like you’ve had an exciting evening,” she interjects crisply.

“Yeah. Exciting.” He steps sideways to attempt to gauge her expression, but she’s facing the sink.

“You gave Bill marital advice?”

“Yeah, I–” Mulder shrugs. “I did. He asked. I guess he and Tara had a fight. I, uh, wasn’t sure what to say, but he insisted. I did the best I could.”

She watches the water glass fill with laser focus. “Then I guess I’ll know how to explain it to Mom if they end up divorcing,” she replies without affect.

“Yeah,” Mulder says glumly.

“Thank you for driving him here tonight,” she says formally.

“Uh, of course.”

“Apparently it ruined some plans.”

“Scully,” he says plaintively. “It wasn’t … a date.”

She turns from the sink to regard him frostily, and he feels like he’s lying to her, although he isn’t. “It wasn’t,” he repeats.

She looks like she wants to say something, but thinks better, pinching her lips together. She sets the water glass on the counter.

“Bill thought I was on a date, but I wasn’t,” he adds.

She turns around, showing her back to him again, to close the cabinet. Then she rests her palms on the countertop, appearing to closely study the design of her own kitchen shelving.

Her small, silk-covered shoulders rise and then fall.

“You know, I bet I can guess this story,” she says in a strange, distant voice. “You met up with Diana Fowley after work because she had some important information about the X-files that she said she had to share right away. On a Friday night. Over drinks.”

He sighs. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Of course, you didn’t mention this work-related meeting to me this afternoon at work.”

“No, you’re right. I didn’t.”

She doesn’t move, her back still to him. He suspects she intended to place the glass of water on the bedside table next to Bill, but she doesn’t touch it again. She just leans against the countertop, as though collecting herself.

Mulder knows she’ll be angry at what he says next.

“Diana asked me to do some unofficial fieldwork for the X-files. She thinks if I do, if she can put it together into a convincing report—”

“She can request you back on the X-files,” Scully finishes, her head bobbing up and down in a knowing nod. “As her partner. Right?”

“Right,” Mulder says, a lump in his throat. “Exactly.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Scully turns around now, and with a jolt he sees there are tears streaming down her face, though her expression is neutral.

“We both know what’s going to happen,” she says flatly.

Mulder is dumbfounded. “Do we?”

“Of course,” she says sharply. “You’ll do it. You’ll be her partner. It’s what you want, isn’t it? You told me what your priorities were on our first case. The X-files come before anything and anyone else. I know perfectly well that includes me.”

Mulder is appalled to hear his own words cited back to him like that. It’s not an especially pretty picture she presents, of a man so single-minded, so disloyal that he would so predictably toss aside his partner of six years, his best friend.

“I’m sure she made all kinds of implicit promises to help assuage any discomfort you might have.” Scully’s words grow venomous, full of more overt anger than she normally reveals. “She offered to give you a little more than just the X-files, too, didn’t she? She made it very hard to refuse? Made you feel like you wouldn’t be lonely?” She places her hands over her face in apparent regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “That’s … unnecessarily petty of me. I’m not thinking straight.”

Mulder shifts weight from one foot to another, watching uncomfortably as she hides her face. He isn’t sure he should tell her that her guess about Diana was so on target.

“Scully, she expressed concern for your career,” he points out gently instead. “She argued that you would be able to get a better placement in the Bureau. Which is true, and something I wish you would think about.”

Scully lets her hands drop from her face and looks at him incredulously. “Is that what she said?”

“Yes,” Mulder says, “and while it’s true that—”

“Mulder,” she interrupts with a bitter laugh, “you’re fortunate that violent criminals are usually men, because you can be truly terrible at profiling women.”

He’s taken aback. “Am I terrible at profiling Diana? Or am I terrible at profiling you?”

She looks up at the ceiling, considering for a moment, then drops her gaze down to meet his eyes again defiantly. “Both.”

He feels something crucial is being lost in this conversation. He’s getting this wrong, for sure. “It’s not like I told Diana yes.”

She smiles humorlessly. “You didn’t tell her no either, did you?”

“Well … I didn’t say those words, no.”

“So, what, you did an interpretive dance?”

Brushing past him out of the kitchen, she speeds into the living room, Bill’s glass of water apparently forgotten. Mulder follows behind her.

“Listen,” she continues in a different, more placating tone, “I’m not angry. Not really. You’ve always been upfront about who you are.” She turns to look at him with a sad smile. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

She means this to be conciliatory, but it’s like she spit in his face. That familiar feeling burns in his chest, his old friend from boyhood: shame.

“No,”’ he says urgently, “you should expect something else. You can’t just think that I— I’m not just…. you don’t get it at all.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Look,” he says earnestly, “back when we first started to work together, I didn’t understand that you and I were going to…”

Scully groans, collapsing into a chair in her living room, her head flopping into her hands. “Oh god, I really don’t want a speech like this.”

“What? I just want to explain.”

“I don’t see what there is to explain.” He watches her trembling fingers swiping a fresh round of tears away, and he scrambles to sit on the couch across from her.

“Scully—”

“Look,” she says, smoothing her hair back, visibly calming herself down. “It’ll be okay. Really. I don’t need a partner breakup talk.” Her voice wavers a little. “I’ll probably go back to Quantico. I’m sure after a while you could even consult with me on cases. I might need a little time to adjust first.”

“I haven’t—”

“And I don’t want to talk to her, Mulder. Only you,” adds Scully fiercely as an afterthought. “I don’t trust her. You shouldn’t either.”

“Jesus, I’m not going to do it, Scully,” he manages to get out. “I wouldn’t … I couldn’t do that.”

She looks uncertain for the first time in the conversation. “You’re … really not?” she says.

He shakes his head emphatically.

She regards him quizzically. “So you plan on turning her offer down entirely?”

“Of course.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah, soon,” he shrugs. “I mean, what can I say?” He attempts a charming smile. “I’m finding all those background checks more interesting than I thought.”

She doesn’t return the smile. She seems to find a little thread on the arm of the chair that she plucks at, her tongue darting out to swipe over her bottom lip.

“What?” he says, his stomach knotting. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she says, continuing to pinch the thread on the chair. “I … guess I just don't completely believe you.”

Again Mulder is stunned. “You don’t believe me?”

“No. Not entirely.” Her eyes won’t meet his, like she feels guilty for the sin of mistrust.

“Why… not?”

She swallows, then raises her eyes to his. “I suppose I worry … that you’re telling me what I want to hear. So you don’t have to deal with the inconvenience of me being upset.” She straightens her posture. “And if that’s the case, Mulder, I wish you would just show me the respect of telling me the truth. So I won’t be unpleasantly taken by surprise later.”

“The inconvenience of you…” He stops, holding back his anger. “Since when do we not believe each other, Scully?”

Her nostrils flare, but her tone is icy calm. “Since you started going on secret dates with ex-girlfriends trying to recruit you to be their new partner behind my back, I suppose.”

“It was not a date,” Mulder repeats in a hiss.

“What exactly do you think a date is, Mulder?”

He sucks his teeth in irritation, jerking his limbs around restlessly on the couch. “Well, for one, I think a date is primarily about someone trying to initiate a relationship, not about work.”

“And you’re saying this wasn’t about both?”

There’s a moment of silence.

Mulder feels the beginning of a headache throbbing in his temples, and his eyes flash longingly towards the door. Maybe he should just leave. Maybe that’s for the best. He could try explaining this all again in the daytime, when Bill isn’t here, when they’re both in better moods.

Then his eyes fall back on Scully.

She looks small and defeated in the chair, looking at the floor, tears still visible on her cheeks. He wonders if it’s possible she might cry more if he were to leave now. He thinks about her belief that he’d go back to the basement office without her. How sure she seems to be that he would do it.

Something deep inside him aches like an old, unhealed wound. He knows he won’t be leaving. He knows it in the same certain way he knew he was going to take Bill home from the bar tonight. It doesn’t even feel like a real choice.

He squirms around on the couch again, trying futilely to get comfortable, and it makes something in his pocket poke him in the thigh.

“Oh,” he says softly, remembering. He digs his hand into his pocket to fish out an object. “I, uh, brought you something, Scully.”

She looks up at him warily. “What? An autopsy report?”

“No, no,” Mulder says. He extricates it from his pocket. It’s slightly dented, but otherwise unblemished. He leans over to hand her the coaster he’d picked up from the table at the bar.

“What’s this?” She examines it with a frown.

“It’s just a coaster.”

“Did you steal this, Mulder?”

“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly. “I stole it from the Honest Man Pub.”

“That’s almost painfully ironic."

Mulder shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges,” Scully reads from the coaster. “Herman Melville.”

“It reminded me of you,” says Mulder, feeling a little self-conscious. “Melville. Truth. You know. All your favorites.”

“You stole this for me on your date?”

“Scully,” Mulder says, “it wasn’t a…” He stops himself, closing his eyes. “Yeah. I stole the coaster on my date.”

Scully is holding the coaster in her fingers, turning it over and over, and she looks up at him.

“So you and Bill were at the Honest Man Pub tonight,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I like that place,” she muses softly. “Good food. I like the chicken club sandwich.”

He nods. “I do, too. I didn’t eat tonight though.”

She stares in mystification at the coaster, her brow creasing. “What … what was Bill and Tara’s fight about?”

“Oh.” Mulder scratches the back of his neck. “Tara wants to go back to work, and I guess Bill doesn’t want her to.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Scully replies.

Mulder just nods numbly.

“What did you tell him?”

“Uhhh … nothing too remarkable. Be completely honest, admit when you were a dick, listen to her.”

“Did Bill listen?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mulder says. “I hope so.”

“Why do you hope so?” Scully asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Bill’s been nothing but awful to you,” Scully says, her eyes fixed on him. “It sounds like he’s been awful to Tara, too. Why would you try to help him at all?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder says truthfully. He considers. “He wanted to be better. And… it seems like despite how he acted, he actually does love her. I just hoped he could get it together.”

Really and truly, Mulder hadn’t intended for this statement to have any double meaning. But in the chair across from him, Scully goes unusually silent and still.

He has thirty seconds of horror replaying the words back, thinking about how she must have heard them. About the implications. About what he might have revealed inadvertently.

There is a short but unbearable stretch of silence.

“So why didn’t you eat?” she asks at last.

“What?” he says, swallowing.

“You said you didn’t eat at the pub,” she points out. “You didn’t eat dinner?”

“Oh,” he says. “No. Because the night ended early. The Bill thing. And Diana sort of decided she needed to, uh, raise the stakes.”

“Raise the stakes,” repeats Scully.

“Yeah …” He rubs his hands together in agitation. “I don’t think I was as enthusiastic about her offer to be partners again as she thought I’d be,” he says. “She tried to raise the stakes. Manipulate the situation. I wasn’t that wild about it.”

“How did she try to manipulate the situation?” Scully asks.

“It was like you said before,” he says reluctantly. “She made some offers. Like she thought she had to do more to … you know. To compete.”

“Compete.” Scully repeats. “Compete with what?”

Mulder doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I’ve known her a long time, and I think her heart is more or less in the right place,” he says. “But I think she felt like she needed to compete with … you know, Scully. The reason I wasn’t going to say yes.”

Scully’s face is blank, and Mulder realizes in shame that he is going to have to spell it out. “I have a partner. I don’t want a new partner. She tried to compete with that.”

Scully’s clutching the coaster tightly in one hand, wide-eyed.

“Anyway, I don’t like feeling manipulated like that,” Mulder says, shrugging self-consciously. The more he thinks about it, the more clearly he sees it. “Diana knows things about me from our past together, and she … tries to use those things as a lever with me. She knows that relationships are a big deal to me, that intimacy in a relationship is a big deal to me.”

“Is that true?”

“Yeah,” he says, feeling his face warm. “Does that surprise you?”

“No,” she says, almost a whisper.

“I mean, you’re right about what you said. In some ways.” He looks closely at his hands. “I went there with a goal, thinking she might give us some avenue to work on the X-files. But there’s no way I’d… there’s no way I would choose to go back to the X-files … like that. Without you, I mean.”

She is only continuing to stare, her face unchanging. He wonders what she is thinking.

“I guess I can’t prove to you that I’m telling you the truth,” he says, suddenly feeling deflated. “The only evidence I have is a lack of evidence. That Diana asked me to come home with her, and I … didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Mulder huffs in frustration. “That’s what I’m saying, Scully. What I’m trying to tell you. I don’t want that.”

Scully’s eyes fall again on the coaster, her brows knitting together. She examines it thoughtfully. “Instead you went home with Bill.”

“Right,” he says. He tries to smile. “Obviously I’d never miss a chance to go home with a Scully.”

To his great relief she offers a tiny, enigmatic smile in response. “You two did seem to hit it off surprisingly well tonight.”

“Yeah, he’s my favorite redhead now,” Mulder says. “You’re second, though, don’t worry.”

Through her smile the beginnings of fresh tears begin to pool in the bottom of her eyes.

“Aw, I’m just kidding,” he pleads. “You’re still my favorite.”

“Really that is evidence you were telling the truth, isn’t it?” she reasons, wiping her eyes. “You brought Bill home safely, even though he’s been an asshole to you for years. You tried to help him.”

“He wasn’t so bad tonight.”

“I didn’t believe you,” she says. “I thought you’d do anything to get the X-files back.” Her voice lowers tremulously. “I’m sorry, Mulder.”

“No, come on,” he says, frowning. “I see why you came to that conclusion. It wasn’t unfounded. But I…” He scrunches closed his eyes, then opens them. “It actually isn’t … just the work for me any more. I have some other priorities.”

“Do you?” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

She’s staring hard at him now, her eyes darting back and forth across his face.

He stands from her couch, hoping he projects more confidence than he feels, and walks directly over to her in her chair. She tracks his movements warily.

He extends his hand. “C’mon, Scully,” he says roughly.

Her eyebrows lift higher, but she places her hand in his, and he lifts her to her feet, drawing her as close to him as he dares.

“Let me show you my priorities,” he says.

It would be much smoother if he just kissed her, but he doesn’t. He hesitates. It’s his habit to check in with her, after all. He always wants to know what she thinks, and that’s one reason he knows he loves her.

Her eyes are round. Her face has lost some color. But her body, her center of gravity, is tipping ever-so-slightly towards him.

Solemnly he nods, and his hands slide around her waist. Her body feels tiny, warm and fragile, slippery with silk.

He bends down to let his lips cover hers. One light kiss, slightly hesitant. Then another firmer, more hungry. He feels her shiver a little in his arms, and he wants to feel it again. 

Tilting his head reverently, he begins to kiss her from every angle, his hands moving up and down, up and down her back. His palms graze the soft slope of her rear end once as he caresses her, and then stop to grasp her there intentionally. He's beginning to feel dizzy, lost in the barrage of sensory details. It’s the kind of kissing that hides nothing, he realizes dimly. Not his swift, overwhelming arousal. Not the fierce intensity of his emotions. That should probably worry him a little, but it doesn’t.

Her own arms have wound around his neck, and it almost feels like she’s trying to climb him, her own mouth pushing in farther towards him, her body meshing into his. He can hear the frantic, uneven quality of her breath. And it occurs to him: she’s not hiding very much, either.

“Bedroom,” she whispers into his ear.

“What about Bill?” Mulder whispers back urgently.

“He won’t know,” Scully says. She pulls back to look at him, her cheeks flushed deep pink. “Does it bother you?”

“Noooo,” Mulder says, shaking his head. “Not enough to stop, anyway.”

They start to move towards Scully’s bedroom, still entangled, Mulder walking forward and Scully taking backwards steps.

He’s distracted by kissing her again and again, and neither of them notice Bill’s shoes on the floor, still lying where they had remained after they both had worked so hard together to remove them.

Scully stumbles backwards first, which pulls Mulder off balance, too. They both crash loudly into an end table on their way down to the floor.

“Fuck,” Mulder exclaims as they land in a pile. He sits up, feeling a bruise rising on his knee already.

Scully pushes herself up and puts her hand over her mouth, laughing. “Are you all right, Mulder?”

“Yeah, you?”

She nods, still laughing, pushing an errant strand of hair from her face. “Wait. Shh.” She abruptly quiets and leans over, placing her finger over his lips, tilting her head to listen seriously for a beat. Then she relaxes and smiles again. “If that didn’t wake Bill up, he’s really out.”

Mulder doesn’t feel as amused. He’d wanted this to be more perfect. “Not an auspicious start,” he says, trying to sound light, but feeling some knots of anxiety.

Scully’s expression softens. She scoots towards him on the floor, taking a firm hold of his forearms.

“It’s okay,” she says soothingly, her forehead pressing to his. “Small hiccups.”

“I know,” he says, feeling silly. “But—”

“Truth, uncompromisingly told, will always have its ragged edges.”

She smiles playfully, her thumbs running back and forth lightly over his arms. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in her pajamas, saucily quoting bar coaster wisdom back to him, Scully is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. His hands find her face, cradling her cheeks.

“Right, Mulder?” 

“That’s right,” he whispers back at her, barely vocalizing.

“And that’s what this is, right, Mulder?” she says, her voice cracking slightly on his name. “The truth?”

In response he leans in and kisses her in a way that he hopes tells her everything, that leaves no secret hidden.

Then he whispers softly in her ear. “That’s right.” Another kiss, this one infused with pure hope. “That’s absolutely right.”

***

[vodika-vibes]

Hey!! Love you writing!! I was wondering if you could write any bardan jusik stories???

Brand New Day

Summary: A chance meeting between you and a handsome blonde Mandalorian in a skeevy bar so far from the core that you might as well be in a new galaxy, leads to something new. And exciting.

Pairing: Bardan Jusik/Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 969

Warnings: Some suggestive comments, but nothing overt

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, I've never written him before, and I'm not sure what his personality is, but I really like the confident man that I wrote here, so I hope it's accurate.

You cringe as the owner of the bar turns the music up several more notches, as if making the music louder will make it sound like anything other than nails on a chalkboard. Still, you know that asking him to turn down the music is an exercise in futility.

You might have a knack for pulling off the impossible, but some fights even you aren’t willing to fight.

The bartender places a closed bottle in front of you and you pick up up, drop some credits on the bar, and move to a table farther away from the speakers. No need to give yourself a migraine on top of the hangover that you’re going to be nursing in the morning after all.

You’re a delivery pilot.

Well.

Okay.

You’re a smuggler. Since the end of the Clone Wars you’ve taken to running odd jobs for the Hutts and other crime cartels, and, to be frank, you’re getting tired of it.

It’s only a matter of time before you say the wrong thing (you’ve never been good at holding your tongue, after all) and the cartels put a price on your head.

In truth, you’re trapped between a rock and a hard place. 

And, for the first time in your life, you wish that you had someone who would be willing to put their neck on the line to help you.

But you’ve burned just about every bridge you’ve ever had.

You pull your hair out of the tail and comb your fingers through the knots, before dropping the elastic onto the table and twisting open the bottle. You’re about to bring the bottle to your lips when the door to the bar opens, and a Mandalorian walks in.

Slowly, you lower the bottle back to the table.

You’re not the only one who’s noticed him, everyone has taken notice of the man.

You watch as he removes his helmet and a small smile lifts your lips. He’s blond and his hair is pulled into a knot at the back of his head. Even with the armor, you’re able to tell that he’s a very broad man. 

Plus, you have a thing for men in armor.

His gaze sweeps the bar, and then his gaze locks with yours. A slow smile pulls up the corner of his lips, and he keeps his gaze on you as he heads to the bar.

You watch as he gets a bottle from the bartender and drops some credits on the bar, and you watch, with a growing grin, as he crosses the bar and drops into a chair next to you.

He sets his drink on the table next to yours, and shifts so his knee is pressed against yours. He rests his elbow on the table and leans in towards you, an easy smirk on his handsome face, “Well now,” He murmurs, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a shit hole like this?”

You laugh and lean in towards him, “Shouldn’t that be my line? What’s the saying…of all of the bars in all of the galaxy—”

“Maybe, but you’re the pretty one,” He tugs off his glove and offers you his bare hand, “Bardan Skirata of Mandalore.”

You take his hand and offer him your name in turn.

Bardan flips your hand and lightly brings your knuckles to his lips, “Mesh’la,” His tone sounds reverent, as though he’s talking about a precious gem, rather than you.

Your stomach flips with flustered excitement, “Well, I’m afraid I don’t speak mando’a, Bardan. But whatever you just said sounds like a compliment.”

“Oh, it was.” Bardan releases your hand and leans back in his seat, his body still angled towards you, “If you’d like, I can compliment you in basic.” There’s amusement on his face, “Should I compare you to the stars in the skies, or would you prefer I stick with more terrestrial comparisons?”

You laugh again, “Please, I’m hardly worth all that.”

“Oh, I disagree.”

You rest your chin on the palm of your hand, a small smile on your lips, “Well, I’m not going to stop you if you want to inflate my ego,”

He leans in so your faces are only inches apart, “Well, my brothers have taught me the best ways to woo a woman,”

You grin at him, “I have a proposition,”

“Oh?”

You slide your chair closer to him to lightly hook your fingers around the collar of his armor and brush your knuckles against the stubble of his jaw, “I’ve found myself in need of…skilled assistance,” You murmur as you lean in even more, “I’ve found myself in a spot of trouble, you see.”

“Hm, and what do I get out of it?”

“The pleasure of my company, and more, if you play your cards right.”

Bardan chuckles and lightly brushes his fingers against your jaw, “That’s a good start, I suppose. What else?”

“I suppose I can pay you,” You add with an explosive sigh.

He laughs, “That’ll help, I suppose.”

“Great, we can talk details—”

Bardan leans in and catches your lips in a quick kiss, though he breaks it as quickly as he starts it, “How about we talk details in the morning? I have better alcohol in my ship.” He offers, temptingly.

You hum, consideringly.

“I also have a king-size bed and manacles that’ll fit your pretty wrists.”

You grin at him and push your bottle into the middle of the table, “Well, how can I refuse that offer, will you make me breakfast in the morning too.”

“Well, I am a gentleman after all.”

“Not too much of a gentleman, I hope.” You tease.

“You’ll just have to see, won’t you,” Bardan winks at you, and then pulls on his glove and his helmet, before offering you his hand.

[fervonian]

— study. xan irelia

tagged by: i stole it like a little rat tagging: anybody who wants to do this!

—  basics.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀is your muse tall / short / average?⠀⠀standing at 5'7', irelia is probably considered a bit taller than average.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀are they okay with their height?⠀⠀while irelia can be self conscious of her image, her height was never something that bothered her. whilst growing up, her growth spurt arrived earlier than it did for her twin brother kye, and she grew to be only a little shorter than zelos. when irelia begun her formal dance training, she grew to be a little conscious of her lanky form, specifically her long legs. nowadays irelia certainly has more things to be preoccupied over instead of something as trivial as her height.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀what's their hair like?⠀⠀ever since she was young, irelia has been taught to take care of her appearance. her role as a dancer has been integral to her identity for a long time. her hair is especially beautiful; black strands like silk that run almost to her waist, the colour remniscent of high grade calligraphy ink. under the sun, it shines faintly blue.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀do they spend a lot of time on their hair / grooming?⠀⠀irelia's hair is quite long now, but she has gone through a few hairstyle changes throughout the years. when irelia was young, her o - ma would often tie it up as to ' see her darling little helper's face better ' as the two spent time together. after the war began, irelia would leave her hair out until one day she cut her hair short. nowadays, she keeps it at an elegant and practical length — occasionally putting it up in a tight bun. irelia takes good care of her personal hygiene, and enjoys taking baths & caring for her hair, washing and brushing it while she hums songs that remind her of home and a life she had lost.

➤ ⠀⠀⠀does your muse care about their appearance / what others think?⠀⠀yes, but not in a way that can lead to overt self consciousness. she is confident in her looks, and graciously accepts compliments she's offered. irelia plays the dual roles of important public figure as well as a performer — meaning double the scrutiny. she still deals with some nerves during public appearances, but she's become quite a convincing actor. the xan irelia that the public sees is a carefully sculpted version of herself, and it takes more than persistence to see behind her walls.

—  preferences.

➤⠀⠀⠀indoors  or  outdoors?⠀⠀indoors. ➤⠀⠀⠀rain  or  sunshine?⠀⠀sunshine. ➤⠀⠀⠀forest  or  beach?⠀⠀forest. ➤⠀⠀⠀precious  metals  or  gems?⠀⠀metals. ➤⠀⠀⠀flowers  or  perfumes?⠀⠀flowers. ➤⠀⠀⠀personality  or  appearance?⠀⠀personality. ➤⠀⠀⠀being  alone  or  being  in  a  crowd?⠀⠀being alone. ➤⠀⠀⠀order  or  anarchy?⠀⠀order. ➤⠀⠀⠀painful  truths  or  white  lies?⠀⠀painful truths. ➤⠀⠀⠀science  or  magic?⠀⠀magic. ➤⠀⠀⠀peace  or  conflict?⠀⠀peace. ➤⠀⠀⠀night  or  day?⠀⠀night. ➤⠀⠀⠀dusk  or  dawn?⠀⠀dawn. ➤⠀⠀⠀warmth  or  cold?⠀⠀warmth. ➤⠀⠀⠀many  acquaintances  or  a  few  close  friends?⠀⠀a few close friends. ➤⠀⠀⠀reading  or  playing  a  game?⠀⠀reading.

—  questionnaire.

➤⠀⠀⠀what  are  some  of  your  muse’s  bad  habits?⠀⠀while she is generally a pretty well - rounded and caring woman, she of course has more than her fair share of baggage and habits from her traumatic past. she is reluctant to open up emotionally, and dislikes asking for help. adding onto that, she is prone to overworking herself as she often takes on more work than she should handle alone. accustomed to bottling up her emotions, she isolates herself out of habit. irelia can fall into periods of melancholy if she doesn't have anything to preoccupy her mind and / or her hands with. she's a stickler for rules & traditions, and can be quite stubborn.

➤⠀⠀⠀has  your  muse  lost  anyone  close  to  them?  how  has  it  affected  them?⠀⠀too many to count. to this day, the loss of her family aches like a phatom limb. irelia has lost many to the war, be it family or friends or lovers. her past is a long, winding tapestry of unanswered questions and what - ifs. but life goes on, and she has been dedicating her every act towards building a testament to her devotion for everybody she has lost.

➤⠀⠀⠀what  are  some  fond  memories  your  muse  has?⠀⠀many of irelia's happy memories are from when her family was alive, crazily enough. ( link, tw for discussion of war & ptsd ) she does have other memories she cherishes. forming a connection with lady karma, who was a great source of comfort. reconnecting with dancing & performing after all the bloodshed was over & being able to share the artform with new students; fresh faces that are shy yet eager to learn, reminding irelia so much of herself as a child & giving her hope for the future.

➤⠀⠀⠀is  it  easy  for  your  muse  to  kill?⠀⠀yes, almost disturbingly so on a purely physical level. irelia is experienced with the mechanisms of taking lives; what angle her palm should be at while manipulating her blades, how far apart her feet need to be in order to keep her balance yet retain the ability to swiftly leap away if called for, the tell - tale sign of nerves in her enemies' eyes as they face the blade mistress of navori, a living tempest of metal is no match for mere men. the war may have hardened her walls, and she tells herself that it must be done... but she still distances herself from the act. when it comes to ionians, she's especially reluctant to resort to violence & will attempt negotiations or subduing them first, but if peaceful means won't work then she will do what must be done.

➤⠀⠀⠀what’s  it  like  when  your  muse  breaks  down?⠀⠀firstly, irelia will very, very rarely break down in public. she's a highly composed figure & while she will still show a glimpse into her psyche every now and then, breakdowns are reserved for when the storm passes and she has the time to process her grief / anger. but when she truly loses her composure, it is not a pretty sight. an example of a breakdown would be her reaction to finally exacting her vengeance on the man who killed her family & destroyed her village, admiral duqal. filled with rage and tempestuous fury, she fell upon the noxian commander as more of a beast than woman — slashing and stabbing him in a far crueler manner than she normally ever would. after her anger passed, it numbed her to everything. it took her a few days to regain her composure.

➤⠀⠀⠀is  your  muse  capable  of  trusting  someone  with  their  life?⠀⠀yes, but tentatively. having fought in multiple battles, it is necessary to rely on the ones she fights alongside, but irelia is generally very independent & frankly is more used to other people trusting her with their lives instead... as much as that thought burdens her to this day.

➤⠀⠀⠀what’s  your  muse  like  when  they’re  in  love?⠀⠀throughout all of irelia's life thus far, to love is to lose — yet she cannot help but open her heart again & again. it's gotten much harder for her to let down her walls, but it has never been hard for irelia to care for others. romantic love is more difficult & takes a sturdy friendship to develop first. but if irelia does fall for somebody, she falls hard. she smiles in their presence, a warm and caring glow shining upon her face. she allocates times in the day to spend solely with them & not have her work distract her. she's always been the protective type, but she will be extra watchful over them in particular. irelia just becomes... happier, and spirits know she deserves it after the life she's lived.

[nayci]

Tagged by the lovely @keldae. (I didn't forget about this I swear…)

Thing of note, I am an unashamed Canon x OC/Reader fan soooo take that for what you will. lol

3 Ships

Joshua Rosfield/Suraya Murdoch (Final Fantasy 16) These two have lived rent-free in my head and my soul since Final Fantasy 16 game out. Still waiting for it to come to PC so I can actually play it but I digress. Hasn't stopped my brain from coming up with something. Somehow their story ended up being childhood friends to lovers to boot. Normally I go for an older man, younger woman vibe. But for these two? It's reversed and it's wild and I adore it. Joshua being the inheritor of the Rosarian Duchy and Suraya being the adopted daughter of Rodney and Hanna Murdoch. So, the two of them inadvertently got pushed together during the early years since her father wanted her to get the most out of her upbringing, self-defense being a top priority along with her studies. Suraya was and still is incredibly protective of Joshua's happiness and hated his mother with a burning passion for how she treated all of them, even to her own detriment. That said, Joshua formed feelings first when they were children, but never had a chance to speak of them before the fall of Phoenix Gate. So it was years before anything could happen. Suraya on the other hand, never had a chance to even think about it until they were reunited, and she had to come to terms with the fact that her ten-year-old friend was no longer a boy, but was actually a young man determined to bring her the happiness and joy she gave him, should she wish it.

Vergil/Alya (Devil May Cry) These two shitheads have also been living rent-free in my head since 2019 and have given me at least five different massive fanfic reworks since then. And it continues to morph and change so I just keep flipping my desk over at this point. Anyway, for these two it was never an overt thing. They pretty much fell together without ever explicitly talking about it as neither was looking for a relationship. Behind the scenes Dante was over Vergil's bullshit, Trish and Lady were over Alya's bullshit, and Nero was like: fuck that I'm not getting involved, and watched from the sidelines with Nico who had a betting pool that everyone was in on much to the pair's annoyance after the fact. Either way, Alya wanted answers after her father was murdered and Devil May Cry is who ended up coming to her aid. To that end, it opens up a massive can of demons and angels. But those angels aren't your traditional light and loving kind. Having the upbringing Vergil had, or lack thereof after his mother's death, he was always wary about opening up again, and in many ways still is, but Alya takes it in stride. And for that, Vergil is silently grateful. In turn, he is her protector and rock, and a good listening ear. What he can't say in verbal words, he will say in written poetry. This is more of my status quo, older man, younger woman vibe, but with the added bonus of magic, demons, and a slow-burn romance.

Graha Tia/Khulan Noykin (Final Fantasy 14) Listen, when I got into Final Fantasy 14 back during ARR, me and my Warrior of Light didn't think too much of the Allagan cat boy. He was a friend, nothing more to her at the time, and while she did mourn for him when he locked himself in the Crystal Tower, she also understood. Plus, she was dealing with her own feelings for a certain rogue bard soon-to-be gunbreaker. It wasn't until Shadowbringers that Graha Tia came in dropkicking Khulan in the face, and Thancred being a complete ass didn't help. Khulan during this time saw much of herself in Graha Tia's willingness to die for a cause and hated it. Not him of course, but seeing a mirror of some of your faults is never a fun thing. As their friendship developed after defeating Emet Selch, it eventually became a dance around the subject of feelings. Graha never feeling like he was good enough for her and Khulan feeling the exact same way but of herself towards him. Everyone else saw it as it was blatantly obvious, but the events of Endwalker came before anything could become of it. Khulan ends up in a dark place during this time, almost robotic like her ARR self, but a lot more deadly than her early days of being just an arcanist. It's when she begins losing her friends that the walls around her heart begin to break, and Graha's sacrifice was the breaking point. When all of it was over and they were back home, the two of them start to explore something more as Khulan recovered from her fight with Zenos. Now, going into the events of Dawntrail, me nor Khulan know where this is going to go. But hey! it's a new adventure!

First Ship

We're going back to when I was but a small eight/nine year old child and loved Ash and Misty as a pairing. During this time I didn't know what fandom was or that people wrote fanfic and created art. So it was mostly me creating terrible drawings. Did I self insert into pokemon as well? Of course I did! lol

Last Song

"The Phoenix" from Fall Out Boy. I just discovered it after find a GMV for Final Fantasy 16. It was so good I had to find it in my Apple Music and is now on repeat. I regret nothing regarding my hyperfixation.

Currently Reading

"A Court of Thorns and Roses" by Sarah J. Maas. Yes I'm late to the game, but hey! I made it! Am I only on chapter 3? Also yes, but hey, I'll get throgh it eventually.

Last Film

I think it was Mission Impossible 3? It was on at work so it was just background noise.

Currently Craving

A vacation. A true, real, good vacation. Tagging anyone who wants to do it

[steel-and-fire]

🥀 romance headcanons

Tagged by: @undyingmedium Tagging: @nameaprice, @duchess-scryer, @llixulia, @belost-the-watcher, @pvremichigan, @witchcraftandburialdirt, @seekslight and whoever wants to~

name: Ferenir Neskan nickname: Fen gender: Male romantic orientation: Gynesexual preferred pet names: Honey, dear, sweetheart relationship status: single

opinion on true love: He crossed his arms in thought. "True love is complicated for me. For starters, it's one that works. But i see many people around me, couples and marriages, with relationships that 'work'...but i could never call them true love, in my eyes. If it exists, true love is a fire that is shared by two people, strong and burning but controlled by their united efforts. If either one falters, it will burn them both, but they trust each other that they will always hold. If they succeed, that would be it.

opinion on love at first sight: "I don't believe in it, no. It's attraction, which is normal, it's natural, that i have and i think a number of people do. But it isn't love, that's just silly. You're better than that, don't be skin-deep in your feeling."

how ‘romantic’ are they?: A lot, or he tries to be. Intimacy and sensuality are a big deal for Ferenir. It's not about courting or chasing, it's about showing appreciation and affection. It's not like he overthinks it, and he will do silly things, and practical things, and casual things. But if he finds the chance, he will always bring feelings forth, and show the other that their bond is more than a business agreement...It's feelings, senses. A quiet night, pretty flowers, a little poem. Hearts speak too.

ideal physical traits: The only really important one here is that they take care of themselves. Whether tall or short, atheltic, slim or soft, whether they have brown hair or red curls, they all don't mean much to Ferenir. He thinks every characteristic has its place to be beautiful, should the person bring it forth, and he lives by that. The people he has been with have been very diverse.

ideal personality traits: Here he is a little more picky instead. He likes people with drive and ambition. People who have something they live for. Whether they are open and arrogant about it, or quiet and reserved doesnt matter, as long as they have that spark in them. He likes people that are easy to laugh and talk with, that will tease him right back when he does. And he likes those that are open with their care and affection. He will give them a lot, and showing their appreciation is very appreciated.

unattractive physical traits: Only if they are heavy or light to the point of unhealthy, and they don't take care of themselves. As long as they keep general humanoid proportions, then it's more than fine.

unattractive personality traits: People too timid, or those self-centered to the point they dont see him as an equal. Overly cruel people aren't his cup of tea, and neither are apathetic people. He is a man of emotions, he needs to feel them reflected and returned.

ideal date: He has many. For Ferenir what matters is spending time with the person he likes. Whether a nice, romantic dinner, a quiet walk, studying together or readin silly books on the couch in pajamas, it's all good. He only doesn't like too loud places, as a general rule.

do they have a type?: As described, not really, he is just attracted to feminine individuals.

average relationship length: Ferenir hasn't had enough experiences to call an average. He had one that lasted about six months in his village, one that was on and of, and he had one after his exile that lasted two months or so. Since then he has had flings, but nothing to call a relationship.

preferred non-sexual intimacy: Hugs, cuddles, hand holding, leaning on each other, meaningful conversations in bed, sharing activities together

opinion of public affection: It's welcome if it's not overwhelming. Little touches, little kisses, sweet things. Nothing overt.

past relationships?: As i mentioned, he's had three. The most recent and important one was with Anika. They had a strong passion, but a lot of bad things happened to the party they were in, and Ferenir's mental health deteriorated rapidly. Foolishly thinking he was dragging her down with him, he left to stop his journies for a while till he healed, and she never forgave him. He hasn't felt emotionally ready for a commited relationship since.

[system-of-a-feather]

So I'm off work and like 85-90% just Riku, so I wanted to explain Fei (name to be revised, but Fei is a placeholder we went ".... best we got rn but maybe we will think of something better later") and for now, I might talk about Fei more in "object" terms due to Fei being more of a mindset from my Riku-only perspective which is the perspective I am currently in

Either way, our system's main hosts and fronters have honestly become pretty accustomed to being co-front and understanding one another enough that we kinda don't sweat active listening to one another cause its a lot more intuitive; and combine that with the last weekend being extremely peaceful and nice we really didn't care much to "ruin" the moment by sweating overt internal listening when we could be enjoying the external present - and as a result most of the time on the weekends, we really just settled in a state where we just shrugged at "whose out" and just existed as an amorphous unit

And so that was carrying over into the drive to work today and we were talking about it and our Wishiwashi Healing Direction and just kinda figured we should welcome and name that state for communications sake and to normalize it as an option so we can build the habit of letting ourselves rest in that "*shrug* Many Parts Up Vaguely Fused without Blurring and Dont Really Care" state when it benefits us

And so tentatively, as Fei, we decided to name that state Fei.

And so Fei will start appearing in the tag sign offs here and there (unless we figure out a name we like better) but Fei isn't so much an "alter" perse as much as a temporary state of mass fusion that we hold when being multiple parts seems to be more effort than being whole.

It's not inherently a final fusion either, otherwise wed probably use our chosen name as Fei was pretty sure some of the elders still floated around, but by the nature of the "don't really care, the fused state I'm in right now feels good and I don't wanna to ruin it by overthinking and overcomplicating the concept of identity" - Fei isn't really any specific parts fused.

And so its some fusion fuckery we are deciding to try to normalize in our system cause at least the four hosts in this brain very much enjoyed being Fei while still knowing we could seperate and redifferentiate whenever.

But yeah, our system really has decided to say fuck the final fusion, functional multiplicity false dichotomy. We can fuse and """split""" (better term would be differentiate imo) as we feel the will and need to cause the concept of "I" is a fake illusory premise anyways

[marley-manson]

I honestly mostly like Margaret’s Engagement, the problem is just that it’s unbalanced to favour Frank. I do like him getting moments of sympathy here, and I think it makes sense for Hawkeye to feel sorry for him, but it shouldn’t have ended with such overt (and misogynist) side-taking.

If Margaret wasn’t so pointedly over the top about flaunting her engagement - or if she got a scene where she got to point out that it’s what she deserves after being jerked around by Frank for so long and the narrative(/Hawkeye) didn’t condemn her for it - and the tag was something else, it would’ve been a pretty perfect episode imo.

Both Margaret and Frank were absolutely hilarious, everything Margaret says about Donald plus her whole attitude is comedy gold lol, Frank’s unnerving see-sawing between breaking doors and stabbing Margaret and total congeniality was so much fun, and his conversation at the end with his mom genuinely makes me feel bad for him, which is great - he’s a pathetic loser and we should pity him from time to time. We just shouldn’t be expected to laugh at his second rate sexist jokes.

“I had this friend who just pretended to like me.” It’s what he deserves, but you still gotta feel bad for him. It’s a great character moment for Frank.

[everyones-least-favorite-bard]

@ciboriaadastra

ty SO much for the giant wall of tags i love this people should do this more this was a JOY to read

really glad to get a take on it from someone who actually knows about PDs! i do not so i didnt want to touch on it but you put together the shit that kind of threw me off VERY well ty

looking at everything with this lens now it definitely gives a clearer look at khoas motivations in being so intensely overt about his whole I Don't Care Actually bit. again i dont have enough of a foundation in aspd or pds in general to really write out something with this but id love to see someone tackle bruces continuing realization (based off of batman annual 2021/batman inc vol 3 issue 1 iirc) that khoa is in fact, an actual person with real actual feelings and how his actions in accommodating for that could make or break the very very tentative foundations of his renewed friendship/relationship with khoa

springboarding off your point about seeing how bruce's "raw emotion and high empathy nets bruce so many successes + a family and community that respects and loves him" i feel like (from the issues that are currently out) batman inc vol 3 is starting to tackle khoa's dissolution of his ideals/internal stigmas and recognition that maybe he can actually be expressive and emotive and form bonds with people (clownhunter/phantom one arc). its like pretty quickly shaken up after that bc of the whole joker inc bullshit but still! the thoughts are there and turning.

wishing for the millionth time that dc had writers who did research on the shit they haphazardly throw around for drama. sighing. one day

hey uh actually its time for me to vomit some thoughts on ghostbat

i really do love all the content out here for them in the vein of like divorced-core bitchy snarking and whatnot its funny its classic fandom behavior so its got that nostalgia factor its real fun to see but (non derogatory) but! i feel like thats such a watered down way of observing them. a reflection of a reflection of a reflection if u know what i mean

like obviously this isnt a new thing fandom is doing dynamics get dissolved into the simplest, most consumable caricatures of themselves possible all the time. its like a rite of passage at this point. but there are truly so many fascinating directions you could take ghostbat in particular and seeing it dissolved into just. gesturing at the above paragraph. that. is kind of sad.

i think (and this is just my observations from reading batman the knight and vol 3 of batman inc) one of the keys to their dynamic that really gets me is how modern-era (for lack of a better term) ghostmaker is consistently chasing bruce's shadow. i would say most of his actions can be described as being motivated by a desire to understand and be understood by batman.

like. hes living in batman's shadow not because batman's reputation precedes him or because batman is more capable than he is but because there is something fundamental in batman that ghostmaker believes he lacks. it's a key part of the infamous pseudo-break-up-in-the-rain in issue 105 of batman (2016) when bruce leaves khoa for gotham: bruce says, “you’re sick. there’s a part of you that’s broken and you’re angry that it’s not broken in me.” and khoa is reasonably incensed by this and takes a swing at him. they devolve into a fight that ends with the agreement we saw dick reference obliquely in issue 104.

of course, this assertion is categorically false—bruce himself points it out later in the 2021 batman annual. ghostmaker discusses his latest take-down of a major portion of his rogues gallery and how his successful defeat of all of them makes him a fundamentally better crime-fighter/vigilante than batman since he’s doing it without any of the personal vendettas and attachments bruce has.

but the key is that in his recounting of his battle he inadvertently reveals that he does in fact have a connection with each of them: madame midas and kid kawaii in particular. madame midas took down his fathers business when khoa was young and we see in his memory that this is something that deeply upset him and something he never forgot. in his actual take-down of her he brings it back up when he delivers the killing blow (batman annual 2021). with kid kawaii hes visibly upset by her physical appearance being that of a child and regularly does his best in their fights to take her down in a way that can hopefully allow whatever child-like portions of her remain to be saved (batman 108). i believe one of his battles with her actually contributed to her creators having to put an emotional inhibitor in her since some of what he'd said last time they fought got through to her (batman 107/108).

and bruce points this out!! he's somewhat subtle about it, of course, but he points out that no actually, khoa isn't free from this fundamentally very human part of him that wants to help people because it's good and that wants justice for wrongs slighted against him. still in the batman annual issue, he says, “you spent years focused on a single crime lord. that dedication isn’t about glory or efficacy. there’s a reason why this victory matters to you. a reason why you care.” and khoa (after a flashback) gives an embarrassingly flimsy defense in response to this but it’s still very, very clear that he does, in fact, suffer from the same bleeding-heart syndrome bruce does—if perhaps not as intensely.

obviously i have my gripes and whatnot with khoa being tagged as a psychopath since it seems kind of flimsy at best but i don't know enough about aspd-spectrum disorders to really pin it as definitively good or bad but still!! still!! he does have the personal stake in vigilantism that he condemns bruce for having (not even touching on the whole phantom one/clownhunter arc). at the end of the day ghostmaker believes hes missing this unnameable quality of empathy/desire for justice and he thinks that's what separates him from bruce and what makes them incompatible as partners (vigilante partners but also like. take that as you will): it is not.

the reason they cannot work together is because khoa believes he is missing this part of himself and as long as he continues to believe he's incapable of these things he's never going to measure up to his ideal of batman in any of the ways that matter.

on the batman end of things i feel like bruce is most characterized (at least in the batman the knight era of their relationship) by his desire to see khoa “fixed,” for lack of a better word. he initially takes khoa at face value for things, so when khoa gives his whole "i’m a vigilante for the art, the drama" speech he believes him.

it's actually a very sweet kind of naivete—like, of course, why wouldn't khoa know why he's doing this? bruce is very clear in his convictions regarding his motives for vigilantism and he and khoa are at the very least intellectually matched, so why wouldn't khoa be honest? why wouldnt he know the reason why he fights? if minhkhoa khan, the ghostmaker, says he fights crime because he believes in the aestheticism of a job well done, why wouldn’t bruce believe him?

so it becomes a point of contention between them for a very long time because bruce believes this kind of selfish method/motive and the incompatibility between them because of it will eclipse any relationship they have and, looking at the notorious issue 105 rain fight, it technically has. in their first mini-divorce arc in issue 6 of batman the knight in which they have a fistfight in the snow and khoa leaves bruce after beating the shit out of him he spends much of the fight talking, again, about the artistry of crime-fighting and how he enjoys the challenge of it more than the justice. when he wins the fight, he stands over bruce with a gun and contemplates shooting him (contemplates being used generously here: he stands over bruce visibly anguished before dropping the gun) and his excuse for not finishing bruce off is just that it would be, “too easy" (batman the knight issue 6). again: bruce has no reason to question this—even in a brutal physical altercation khoa continues touting his vaguely hedonistic motives behind joining bruce’s crusade. there is no reason why bruce shouldn’t believe him.

its only when he comes back in issue 8 and leaves with bruce towards the league of assassins that we see bruce kind of begin questioning how true khoa’s cited motivations are. obviously he's still pretty deeply embroiled in his Woe: I the Bat am Alone theatre kid bullshit—“this can’t last. and i think we both know it.”—so he spends most of their time together more observing the idea of khoa he has in mind and convincing himself that anything he sees outside of his established framework isn’t real, but we see when they escape ra's and blow up a major league of assassins headquarters that the illusion is starting to slip (batman the knight issue 9).

in their one-v-one combat for the position of demon’s heir (demon’s heart in bruce’s case) bruce’s monologue switches out of his doom-and-gloom khoa and i are incompatible talk into more of the space we see him in around the issue 105 break-up: during their fight bruce says, “there’s nothing to you! there’s nothing there! you know what’s in me?! everything!” which is a less accusatory version of the 105 quote but still in the same vein (batman the knight issue 10). so we see bruce has moved past taking khoa at face value regarding his joy in “the artistry of crime-fighting” but he still hasn’t quite shifted further into recognizing khoa’s other/true motives.

the rain break-up on bruce’s end, then, shows a further evolution of his interpretation of khoa’s behavior: he believes khoa’s desire to continue working with him is founded from a desire to keep bruce on his level—an action rooted in jealousy over something he will never be able to obtain. khoa believes this as well since, as stated before, he hits bruce in the face immediately after it’s pointed out. but even then he is still taking what khoa says at face value: he still believes khoa is only motivated by his thirst for a challenge and that khoa wants bruce by his side more so he isn’t alone in his empty hedonism than for actual wanting of bruce himself. this informs his reaction in issue 104 after he and robin chase a criminal to singapore: after his undisclosed argument with khoa he is visibly upset over the state of their relationship but believes it irreparable due to the differences in their morals.

i think from there though, bruce only begins picking out the gaps in the mess that is khoa (that we see anyway) when khoa’s telling him about his grand exploits after they meet up again. while their earlier conversations (ie; batman asking ghostmaker to stay in late issue 105) definitely reveal bruce’s newer perspective on khoa, it’s really only the batman annual 2021 conversation where we see bruce make the jump to further filling in what khoa is (very loudly) not saying. another tumblr post also mentioned the scene being the first recorded mention of bruce saying khoa’s name after the rain fight—which considering the last time we saw him say it was The Fucking Rain Break Up Again, sort of thematically implies he’s reached another level of understanding with khoa.

so i’d say on batman’s end he very badly wants to understand khoa, but he’s also only just starting to realize that he doesn’t have enough of the pieces.

this got away from me tbh but the point being: ghostbat has more nuance than a lot of incorrect-quote-y type content has room for.

[misnomera]

On racial stereotyping of the Haans in TMA...

Right so as someone who is ethnically Chinese I have NO FUCKING clue how I didn’t notice this more distinctly in my initial binge of tma (going too fast and not paying closer attention to character names and descriptions, probably) but the Haan family storyline is, all horror elements aside, pretty fucked up in terms of racial representation re: stereotyping. This got long as hell, but please please please take a moment to read through if you’ve got time for it. thanks.

To start off, the Haans are one of the few characters in tma with an explicitly specified race and ethnicity—Chinese—and pretty much the only explicitly Chinese characters in tma, other than the mostly unimportant librarian (Zhang Xiaoling) from Beijing. But like, Haan isn’t even a properly Chinese surname, at least not in the way that it’s spelled in canon (it should be Han, one a. A quick google search tells me that Haan as a surname has...Dutch origins??).

Of course, that could be chalked up to shoddy anglicization processes within family histories, which certainly isn’t uncommon with immigrant families, so I’m not going to dwell on names too much (although I also find it interesting that John Haan’s name is so specifically and weirdly anglicized that he changed his own surname?? Hun Yung to John Haan is a very big leap of a name change and frankly not very believable. ANYWAY, this is not that important. I don’t expect Jonny, a white Englishman, to come up with perfectly unquestionable non-Cho-Chang-like Chinese names, though it certainly would be nice. Moving on).

What really bothers me about the Haans is how they almost exclusively and explicitly play into negative Chinese immigrant stereotypes. I don’t even feel like I need to say it because it’s like...it’s literally Right There, folks. John Haan (in ep 72) owns and operates a sketchy takeout restaurant. They’re all avatars of the Flesh—and John Haan is Specifically horrific and terrifying because he cooked his wife’s human meat and fed it to his unknowing customers. Does that remind you of any stereotypes which accuse Chinese people of consuming societally unacceptable and ethically questionable things like dog/cat/bat meat (which, if it’s not already crystal fucking clear, we don’t. do that.), which in turn characterize us as horrible unfeeling monsters? John Haan’s characterization feeds (haha, badum tss) directly into this harmful stereotype that have caused very real pain for Chinese people and East Asians in general. 

And Jonny does nothing to address that from within his writing (and not out of it either). And, speaking on a more meta level, Jonny could’ve easily had these flesh avatars be individuals of any race (like, what’s Jared Hopworth’s ethnicity? Do we know? No? Well then). Conversely, he could’ve easily, easily had a Chinese person be an avatar of any other entity. So why did he have to chose specifically the Flesh?

(This is a rhetorical question. You know why. Racial stereotyping and invoking a fear of the other in an attempt to enhance horror, babey~)

On Tom Haan’s side, Jonny seems weirdly intent on having other characters repeatedly comment on his accent (or rather, lack thereof) in relation to his race. Think about how, in ep 30 (killing floor), the fact that Tom Haan had spoken a line to the statement giver in “perfect English” was an emphasized beat in that statement, and a beat that was supposed to be “chilling” and meant to signify to us that something was, quote-unquote, “not right” with Tom Haan. Implicitly, that’s saying that it was unexpected, not “normal”, and in this case even eerie, for someone who looks Chinese to have spoken in fluid, unbroken English. Mind you, the line itself was perfectly scary on its own (“you cannot stop the slaughter by closing the door”), so why did Jonny feel the need to note the accent in which it was spoken in? Why did Jonny HAVE to have that statement giver note, that he initially “wasn’t even sure how much English [Haan] spoke”? 

This happens again in episode 72 with a Chinese man (and again, his ethnicity is Explicitly Noted) who we assume is also Tom Haan. This one is rather ironically funny and kind of painfully self aware, because the statement giver expresses surprise at Haan’s “crisp RP accent” and then immediately “felt bad about making the assumption that he couldn’t speak English,” and subsequently admitted that thought was “low-key racist.” Like, from a writing perspective, this entire passage is roundabout, pointless, and says absolutely nothing helpful to enhance the horror genre experience for listeners (instead it just sounded like some sort of half-assed excuse so Jonny or other listeners could say “look! We’ve addressed the racism!” You didn’t. It just made me vaguely uncomfortable). And again, having other people comment on our accents/lack thereof while assuming we are foreign is a Very Real microaggression that east asians face on the daily. If Jonny needed some filler sentences for pacing he could’ve written about Literally anything else. So why point out, yet again, that the crazy murderous man was foreign and Chinese? 

At this point, you might say, right, but yknow, it was just that the statement givers were kind of racist! It happens! Yeah sure, ok, that’s a passable in-universe explanation for descriptions of Tom Haan (though not John Haan, mind you), but the statement givers are fake made up people, and statement’s still written by Jonny, who absolutely has all the power to write overt discrimination out of his stories. And he does! Think about just how many minor (and major!!) characters are so, so carefully written as completely aracial, and do not have their ethnicity implicated at all in whatever horrors they may or may not be committing. Think about how many lgbtq+ characters have given statements, and have been in statements, without having faced direct forms of discrimination, or portrayed as embodying blatant stereotypes in their stories (though lgbtq+ rep in tma certainly has their own issues that I won’t go into here). Jonny can clearly write characters this way, and he can do it well. So why, why, am I being constantly, repeatedly reminded in-text of the fact that the Haans are East Asian, that they’re from China, that they’re Chinese immigrants, that they’re second-generation British Chinese or whatever the fuck, and that they’re also horrifying conduits for blood, gore, and general fucked-up-ness? It’s absolutely not something that is Needed for the stories to be an effective piece of horror; the only thing it does is perpetuate incredibly harmful and hurtful stereotypes.

And listen, I love tma to bits. It’s taken over my blog. I’ve really loved my interactions with the fandom. And I am consistently blown away by Jonny’s writing and how well he’s able to weave foreshadowing and plot into an incredibly complex collection of stories. But I absolutely Cannot stop thinking about the Haans because it’s just. It’s such a blatant display of racial stereotyping in writing. And I’ve certainly seen a few voices talking about it here and there, and I don’t know if I’m just not looking in the right places, but it certainly feels like something that is just straight up not on the radar for a lot of tma fans. And I’m disappointed about that. 

Just, I don’t know. Take a look at those episodes again and do some of your own thinking about why these characters had to be specifically Chinese (answer: they didn’t.). And in general, PLEASE for the love of god turn a critical eye on character portrayals and descriptions whenever they are assigned specific races/ethnicities (Some examples that come to mind are Jude Perry, Annabelle Cane, and Diego Molina), because similar issues, to an extent, extend beyond the Haans, though I haven’t covered them here. 

You shouldn’t need a POC to do point out these problems for you when they’re so glaringly There. But for those of you who really didn’t know, hope this was informative in some way. I’m tired, man. If some of the only significant Chinese characters you write are violent cannibalistic men with a perverted relationship with meat, just don’t do it. Please don’t do it. 

EDIT: Since the making of this post Jonny has acknowledged and apologized for these portrayals on his twitter and in the Rusty Quill Operations Update, which went up September 2020. A long time coming, but better late than never. This of course doesn’t necessarily negate the harm done by Jonny’s writing, and doesn’t make me much less angry about it, but is appreciated nonetheless. For more on this topic there’s a lot of productive discussions happening in my “#tma crit” tag and in the notes of this post

[andyquynhnickyjoebookernile]

Joe & Nicky

This post has been a long time coming but I have been procrastinating like nobody’s business and I don’t even know why? One theory I have is that I want to hold onto this feeling for as long as I can and I’m scared that sharing it will change it, but I need to do this. I need to talk about this.

So, I don’t know when this happened but sometime ago my tumblr feed started sending up posts related to “The Old Guard” and I do realise that there was a shipping tag involved but I wasn’t paying it any attention. Anyhow, over time I decided I should probably check it out. So, I went on Netflix and watched the trailer which was pretty interesting so I decided I was going to watch the movie. And then one day, last week and I’m truly incensed that I don’t remember the date, but my guess would be the 21st, I finally watched it and oh, God it was so good.

Like, I don’t care what anyone says, this movie was phenomenal and it made me so happy, that I can’t put my feelings into words. That’s how amazing it was and that was in no small part because of Joe and Nicky.

In hindsight, probably there were clues but I had no idea what was going on till the train scene and I feel like there were a lot of people in the same boat as me, who had no idea what was happening till that scene.

Once there was someone talking about representation and they said it was harder to represent sexuality because the character had to come out and express that part of themselves and it wasn’t something that could be done without saying a single world and I truly believed them. But, then along came “The Old Guard” and my belief was completely shattered. That’s when I realised that it wasn’t impossible to represent a relationship and the implied sexuality without a single word, it was just that doing it would require a bigger commitment, because it’s easy to tell us and not show us but it’s impossible to deny something you have already shown us.

Also, Joe and Nicky are so extra. God, I have too many emotions and feelings about the way they sleep. Like, it’s too much. A lot of people talked about the lack of physical contact between them but the only thing going through my head was that these two have been together for a millennium and they still sleep like that. Like literally they are spooning and the movie goes a step further and shows them sleeping for a second time, and they are still spooning in a similar manner. If there is a single instance you can still argue that it isn’t setting a precedent but the moment you go for a second, you are very deliberately telling people that not only are these two together but they sleep like that almost always.

I have too many feels about them sleeping, like not only is that how most of the audiences would have realised that they are a couple but I feel like it very effectively conveyed who Joe and Nicky are.

The biggest hurdle that the movie had was to establish this relationship as something that was extraordinary, because this is the most established couple to ever be established. And the movie does a great job of doing that even without that van scene and that is saying something.

Of course, the movie always had the option of establishing them as a couple with physical touches, kisses and sex but it didn’t do that and I don’t think people realise how brilliant that was. I feel like it’s easier to establish love but harder to establish the other feelings and emotions that are part and parcel of a long-lasting relationship. This is where the movie hits a masterstroke. It has Joe and Nicky not engage in any physical contact before the train scene because, any overt affection between them prior to this would make their relationship feel like a budding one when it is anything but. Instead we see them sleeping and spooning and basically all out cuddling, like I can’t get over how cute that is. But, cuteness aside, this was an amazing piece of showing and not telling.

While kisses and physical touches can convey love, the act of sleeping together (as in actual sleeping together) conveys love, trust and comfort something that would be the hallmarks of any long-lasting relationship.

You can kiss and have sex with anyone but if you are sleeping with someone that actually conveys this sense of comfort in someone else’s physical space that is almost unparalleled. It implies that this relationship is not only about physical pleasure it has transcended that and is more about how much these two people genuinely like and adore each other. Sleeping is also a very conscious decision and sleeping in someone’s arms doubly so. To be touching someone from head to toe as you sleep is intimate and that’s what establishes this relationship – intimacy. Their relationship is special in a way unlike any other relationship and the fact that this is how the movie establishes them means that we have already have placed these two on a higher plane of commitment which better translates to who these two are to each other.

At the end of the day, what matters is not that these two aren’t touching each other all the time but the fact that even after centuries together they still love each other so much that they spend their nights spooning and cuddling, like Nicky literally sleeps every night in Joe’s arms. Like the romance of it all will kill me.

I feel like as viewers we give higher points to romance and intimacy then we would have to physical demonstrations because kisses and sex can be used to convey wildly different ranges of meanings, scenarios and emotions but intimacy only ever has one meaning.

Therefore, we as a fandom are obsessed with how these two, sleep and are definitely onto something when we can’t imagine one sleeping without the other. In hindsight, sleeping also denotes how much these two still want to be with each other, their time together hasn’t jaded their feelings and emotions for each other but instead has made them stronger and even more surreal.

Can you tell that I’m in love with these two?

This is already a thousand words long and I’m not even close to finished but I think I’ll split my squee-fest here, and deal with the rest of how this relationship makes me feel in another post.

[Part 2]

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Worthy (pt6)

A/N: once again - just keep poking me until I start tagging you if you want tagged. @rampant-salamander​, @bolontiku​

...

I looked from Tony to Thor and back to Tony.

“I don’t understand your question,” I responded, and threw back the drink. To hell with being moderate. I was pretty sure I was about to lose my dream job on my second day, I may as well go out with a bang.

“Ella, there has to be something special about you to allow you to lift that hammer,” Tony spoke slowly. That was probably a bad thing. I suspected slow speech meant a really active brain. I was now a mystery that needed to be solved.

“There is nothing special about me at all,” I argued.

“You can lift Mjolnir. That is special.” Thor was like a sage who spoke in riddles.

“But being able to lift Mjolnir isn’t what makes me special enough to lift it. That’s a redundancy.” I, like Tony, was slipping into scientific method in order to try to sort things out.

“Do you have Aesir blood, Ella?” Thor asked.

“My family is from Washington. By way of Wisconsin,” I replied. Tony snorted and Thor shot him a dirty look.

“Before this Wisconsin?” He pressed. The way he said Wisconsin made it sound unfamiliar and strange.

“Norway and England.”

“Norway. That is where the Northmen resided.” Thor looked thoughtful. “In the time of the Vikings, the Aesir traveled on Midgard much more frequently than they do now.”

“Are you suggesting that some ancestor of mine got knocked up by a god?” I could feel my eyebrow rising. Tony smothered a smirk behind his hand. My tone was lost on Thor.

“We are not gods, Ella,” Thor corrected. “And I am unfamiliar with knocked up. What I suggest is that your ancestor was impregnated by an Aesir.”

“But in order to lift your hammer, wouldn’t it have to be you that got this mystery ancestor pregnant? I’d have to be your descendent?” I could feel the blood draining from my face. It would be just my luck that the hottest guy I’d ever seen would be related to me. Thor’s smile was mischievous.

“Not necessarily. I would have discovered offspring of mine on Midgard by now, and I know left none. But I think it reasonable to consider you may have Aesir blood in your veins,” he explained. “Which makes you very special indeed.”

“Can everyone in Asgard lift your hammer?” I asked. Thor shook his head.

“None but I.”

“Then I don’t buy it. I keep telling people, I’m nothing special.” I was getting frustrated with the scrutiny. I never thought I would be desperate for a cute guy to stop paying attention to me, but in that moment, I would have given anything to be able to just go hide in obscurity in the lab, building my washing machine.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Ella,” Tony interrupted. I’d nearly forgotten he was there, Thor had such powerful bearing. I didn’t think it was possible to lose track of Tony Stark, but I guess in the presence of not-actually-gods… “You are something special. That’s why Pepper and I lept on your application like we did. How did you make it through university with such a bad self image?”

“I don’t have a bad self image. I know I’m a fucking amazing engineer. I just fail to see a correlation between my ability to understand math and build things and my purported mystical ability to lift a magic hammer,” I snapped. I turned back to Thor. “You’re sure no one else can lift it?” Thor glanced at Tony, almost as though he was looking for approval. Tony gave a slight nod.

“I believe that Captain Rogers would be able to lift it, should he have the opportunity. But that remains untested,” Thor admitted. I sighed.

“Of course. He’s a legit hero. Full of righteousness and honour and nobility.” My tone was more sarcastic than I’d intended.

“Yes, intangible and arbitrary measures of worthiness. Who is to say you don’t meet the parameters in some way?” Thor shot back. I looked into my empty glass, wishing it were still full.

“Did you not see me level that d-bag in the elevator?”

“Tis nothing I would not have done myself, and yet I am still worthy,” Thor shrugged. Pepper had walked in at some point during the conversation, and Tony turned to her expectantly. She sighed and blinked slowly.

“We’ve had a discussion about appropriate professional behaviour. He is aware that if there are any further incidents he will lose his internship.” Pepper reached out for the glass of wine Tony was offering her.

“It’s a bit of a PR nightmare if we lose a second intern in as many days, Pep,” Tony commented.

“It’s a worse nightmare if, right as we’re rolling out a gender equality program and girl’s STEM mentorship program, the media gets ahold of information about how we’re allowing someone guilty of sexual harassment to remain in a prestigious and competitive internship,” she retorted. He pursed his lips and paused. After a moment he nodded in agreement.

“What do I know? You’re the boss.” His acquiescence was met with laughter from Pepper.

“What do you know, Tony? How many times did you attend the SHIELD seminar again?” She choked on her wine. “Trust me. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s a smart guy, and I’d like to think he’ll be respectful from now on.” Tony responded with some other comment and I slumped back into my seat, watching the show. If you didn’t know they were stupidly in love with one another, you might assume they were on the verge of war. But I think Tony liked to goad Pepper, and she rose to the bait. Not because she was gullible though. At least, I didn’t think it was because she was easily duped. I think she rose to the bait because it was how they clicked together. I looked away from them and over to Thor, who was sitting back on the couch, completely relaxed. The hammer was propped up beside him, handle leaning against the bolster. It was uncanny how powerful he looked, even in jeans and a t-shirt. I relaxed a little and just enjoyed looking at him, taking in the contours of his biceps, and the definition of the veins in his hands. There was a lot of him to look at, and it was all very pleasing to the eye. At least, everything I’d seen thus far.

I didn’t realize how overt I was being until he smirked. He turned to look at me, and nodded.

“Is it not considered poor manners on Midgard to stare at others?” There was a teasing tone to his voice, but I blinked and looked away, feeling my cheeks colour.

There was really no way for me to deny that I was staring at him. The only blank wall in the entire place was right behind him. I couldn’t even beg being distracted by some of the weird art that seemed to be all over the building. 

“I, uh, well,” I stammered. “I was looking at the hammer?” It sounded like bullshit, even to me. I heard a stifled laugh from Tony and shot him a filthy look. I pushed myself to my feet and glanced at Pepper. “If you don’t need me, Pepper, I’m going to try to catch up with Angela. I have some things I need to pick up for my suite.”

“You can order anything you need from distribution,” Tony offered.

“Except, apparently, towels bigger than a postage stamp,” I retorted. My ears were burning and I was having a really hard time not looking over to see if Thor was following the conversation. He probably was as there was no one else for him to pay attention to.

“You are aware there’s varying sizes of towel?” Tony’s tone was sarcastic. I rolled my eyes.

“Not that this is really a conversation I feel I want to have with my boss, but I grabbed the biggest one. It still barely covered me.” I was ready to pray for a hole to open in the floor and swallow me.

“Well, you’re not exactly supposed to be lounging around in your tow –“

“I wasn’t!” I interrupted. “I was just getting out of the shower when Thor showed up and I didn’t have time to be getting fully dressed before I answered the door, and then the towel slipped and oh my god I cannot believe I’m telling you all this.” I took a deep breath and looked back to Pepper. “Can I go? Please?”

“Let me walk you to the elevator,” she offered and led the way. As we walked away, I heard Tony clear his throat.

“You’ve seen her naked already, you sly dog?”

“That is enough, Stark. How you have lived so many years on this realm and not noticed how modest some of your women are, I have no idea. But you embarrassed her. Like many Midgardians, she lacks comfort with the physical form.” Thor’s words were a chastisement, and I somehow felt even more embarrassed about him having seen me naked. Because now, not only was I naked in front of the freaking Norse god of thunder, but also he took more notice of what a prude I am than that I was naked. I leaned against the wall and banged my head against it.

“That’s not how you call the elevator,” Pepper teased. “I know we all collectively keep telling you to relax, but, yeah. Relax. If Tony is already giving you a hard time, he’s assimilating you into his world as a permanent fixture. This will be something you laugh about in future years.” Her eyes were warm with empathy and it was so reassuring.

“You seriously need to do something about the towel situation, Pepper.” I stepped onto the elevator and pushed the button for my floor. Once the doors shut, I texted Angela to see how far she’d got without me. I didn’t have to wait long. I was swiping my passcard to get into my room when she stepped off the elevator.

“So, towels? Maybe a beer?” She followed me into my apartment.

“Yes. To both.”

XXX

For whatever reason, I expected getting beer with Angela would be more Sex-in-the-City than it was. She pulled me into a quiet bar after we’d found appropriate towels, and we ordered wings from the kitchen and beer.

“So I did some research today while you were meeting with Markus,” she volunteered over a heap of wing bones. I made a noise that was easily interpretable as curiosity and she continued. “I might have hacked some of Tony’s files about that hammer. Thor wasn’t kidding around when he said you shouldn’t be able to lift it. It was apparently forged in the heart of a dying star, of some crazy space-metal. And the Odin enchanted it so only Thor could lift it. Which is clearly a broken enchantment because apparently you can lift it too.”

“It says right on it that if you’re worthy, you can lift it,” I corrected her with my mouth full.

“Obviously it doesn’t take table manners into consideration!” She laughed. I hung my head in mock-shame, but made sure my mouth was clear before I spoke again.

“I don’t know how it determines worthiness. Honestly, isn’t that a little creepy? Is the hammer sentient? Does it consider the merits of each individual that touches it in that split second between grabbing it and trying to lift it? Or does Odin have some sort of approval system for worthiness, and he gets interrupted from whatever it is he’s doing to approve people in that same fraction of an instant?” I pondered.

“Way to ruin magic with science,” she groaned.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. That’s Clarke’s Third Law. The other two are pretty good too,” I shrugged.

“Oh, that was a kill shot! Come on, let me have some sort of fantasy about the mystical powers of the damn hammer, Ella!” Angela threw her hands up in frustration. I smiled and nodded.

“Of course. The hammer is mystical and powerful and absolutely should not be questioned,” I acceded. Angela swatted at me and flagged the waitress over for another round. I felt myself relaxing and forgetting about the overwhelming stress of the past couple of days as we decompressed over a second beer. When Angela dropped me back at the tower, I realized she may very well live on-site as well, but I was tired and had a bit of a beer buzz and forgot to ask before stumbling through my door and crashing on the sofa.

[bellaslilpapercut]

Oh boy New Moon! I've got some Thoughts a brewin' babey:

1. Smeyer: you do not need to remind your audience what happened last book, they aren't stupid. Imagine if SC started catching fire with ANOTHER explanation of what the hunger games are and that's the vibe of the first chapters of new moon. We remember james, we know what vampires are, we know that Bella is white, stop reminding us!

2. Bella has the worst self esteem of all time. Every bad thing that has happened to her since the Van Incident has been Edward's fault but she still blames herself and idk if this is Intentional Insecurity or if smeyer is protecting edward's "character" or both but gdamn it's depressing.

3. The reason I said Jasper was Inconsistently Written jumped out at me again. Smeyer dedicated a whole paragraph to pointing out how terrible jasper is at the diet or whatever but in the guide, smeyer tells us jasper actively tried to starve himself in the past because of how difficult his gift made feeding. He was one of only two Cullens to show bella empathy, he smelled her blood before, why does he attack her? The weakness of this decision is pointed out in the exposition: if it really were likely that Jasper would attack Bella, she wouldn't have needed a superfluous paragraph dedicated to telling us how bad he is at self control. If the story had convinced us of that beforehand, we would have believed the attack without the addendum.

4. The party is my least favorite part of the whole series and I will die on this hill: edward should have attacked bella. Bella should have tripped into something glass and edward should have lost it because he tasted her blood before and couldn't help himself. That way: edwards self loathing makes sense and he's forced to recon with his superiority complex from the ending chapters of twilight AND bella's self blame makes sense. A vamp who was able to starve himself before he even heard of the cullens should not have lost it around someone he spent days in close quarters with, building rapport and friendship. Edward got too high and mighty after he fed from Bella in Twilight, that should have had real consequence.

5. The writing is getting a little better as we near Edward leaving. "Better" isn't a good word actually but it's getting closer to the prose in twilight (which was flowery and annoying but at least it didn't constantly feel like being spoonfed exposition every paragraph). Hm wrote this blurb while I was still on chapter 3 and the vibe of being spoonfed reminders has not really dissipated lmfao.

We remember Sam Uley, smeyer, you introduced him four chapters ago. Just quick question: did anyone proofread this?? I think it's fair to say: when she isn't reminding us of things that we remember the prose is more similar to twilight. A little annoying but interesting enough to forgive the errors (or at least move past them easily enough lol).

6. I'm on chapter 8 now (I'm gonna break this up into three parts so I don't forget stuff like I did during the twilight reread) and there's a very heavy Vibe that smeyer is setting Jake up to be a parallel for twilight-era Bella. This line here is a pretty clear parallel for Bella telling Edward not to hold his breath in Twilight when he tells her she might get tired of him.

7. This line here "almost happy in a shallow kind of way" really jumped out. What Bella's narration says about Jacob versus her conversations with him (and her one paragraph about his happiness being effortlessly contagious) are at odds. It doesn't read like shallow happiness when she's with Jake. However, Smeyer is also a bad writer, she thinks the story she's telling us is literally what the narration says and not what the action shows and I think she realizes this in Eclipse (but obviously I'm not there yet so I can't say for sure).

8. I really can't get over the drop in writing quality. I know that she had already mostly finished Forever Dawn by the time Twilight was published (or was halfway done, I think her website said she had over 300 pages of forever dawn complete when she found out Twilight was getting published). I think the writing quality really reveals that she was not prepared to write New Moon. It's sloppier than Twilight in a way I'm not able to articulate (by that I mean I personally have a more intuitive than technical understanding of grammar and syntax so I don't have the language to break down the differences). Twilight itself is ripe with technical errors and plot errors and awkward exposition so it's not an overt drop in quality but I think it very much reads like a rushed writing job. She was committed to forever dawn, her publishers wanted New Moon, it shows.

9. I think New Moon was when I first started physically editing my copies of the saga lol. Even reading it now I'm so tempted to open up a word document and cut half of the useless shit out and fix all the grammatical mistakes. I can't even talk shit because I am also a comma-abuser but I hoped an editor would at least catch the errors before publishing. Guess not! Brevity is very clearly not meyers strong suit and this would have been a much stronger sequel if she had been able to reign herself in a bit. New Moon isn't supposed to be as narration heavy as twilight, there's already more action in the first seven chapters than the there was in the first 19 of twilight but she always delivers exposition via awkward dialogue or Bella's narration. Again, we already got a lot of the exposition in twilight, we know how vampires work et cetera. You can show us how bella feels instead of making her tell us and the story would run a lot more smoothly.

10. I'll end on a nice note! Little treat!

This is my favorite part of the book so far. I whited-out the useless dialogue tag because the line reads better without it ( line originally ends with "I emphasized" but she could have been brief and just ended the dialogue with an exclamation point for the same effect). The dialogue is natural and shows the J/B relationship that lives in my head way better than anything else I've seen on the page at this point. Like, I literally love this line more than any dialogue that preceded it (including twilight) lol.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄2

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: We vibing these two bad boys so here’s chapter 2. Be safe.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The dress was plain, but you were certai, nice enough for the occasion. You didn’t expect Loki’s approval, that was a rarity, but you were content in your malicious compliance. The long burgundy crepe was held up by thin straps and hugged your body enough not to be entirely baggish. You wore a thin black shawl over your shoulders as you hailed a cab and gave the closest intersection to the underground club.

You hadn’t been this dressed up since your regrettable prom night. Then you were still naive enough to dream about a Lizzie Maguire fairytale. You hadn’t even been arm candy that night, you had merely been a ploy to make some other girl jealous. You’d left early upon the realisation. ‘Fuck ‘em’, your dad had given his usual snipe and since your inner monologue tended to echo him.

A decade later, a little more than, and your cynicism had aged like a stringent and oaky whiskey. You hooked the strap of your small beaded clutch around your wrist as you got out of the cab and peered down the street. Streetlights illuminated the smoke blowing up from the sewer and distant neon light stared back at you from the end of the block.

You would appease Loki and whatever game he was playing. You knew his moods, his tricks. He grew bored often and quickly flitted to his next delight. You suspected he was merely reminding himself of his power after a near disastrous war. And you, too.

You descended the iron steps and knocked on the painted door. The tiny slat slid open and a muffled din wafted through. “Slate,” A voice cut through the night and you replied swiftly, “Pyramid”. A heavy lock turned and you were let into the dark corridor.

You’d been here once before. You were sixteen, your father had been with you. He’d played a game of Hold ‘Em with Diablo and won a few times too many. The two of you had barely escaped before the droopy-eyed owner caught on. That was long ago and yet, nothing had changed.

There was a thick velvet curtain at the end of the hallway. The doorman escorted you to it and pulled it back to reveal a bright room full of men in tailored suits and women draped off their arms like peacocks. You shook your head and stepped through. You needed a drink. You needed an excuse to turn back. But you went on.

Loki was slender but tall, a few inches above most men. You saw him amid the crowd, a snifter held to his nose as he inhaled the scent of the dark liquor. You passed a man in a crushed velvet jacket and his eyes caught yours. His arm was around a slinky redhead distracted by another boisterous guest. He winked and you scowled.

You wove through the bodies and appeared at Loki’s shoulder.

“Where do I get some of that?” You pointed to his glass and he looked down his long nose at you. If he was surprised, it was hard to tell. Only the slight part of his lips cracked his stony veneer.

“Darling, I’d stick to the wine,” He preened.

“Darling?” You scoffed. “You know my name.”

He smirked and turned to you entirely. He was overt as he looked you up and down and touched the fabric at your waist.

“I thought I said to wear something nice,” He muttered. “At least I can see your eyes.”

“You told me to wear a dress. Should I have gone with the black victorian number?” You challenged.

He considered you as his smirk fell.

“Kitty has found her claws,” He taunted. “Best she keeps her growls to herself.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” You said. “Tell me you couldn’t find a better date among your harem.”

“Harem? You make me sound a king,” He mused. “As you are so generous to yourself. This is not a date, darling.”

“Then what is it? Is it really necessary for you to wag your--”

“Watch it,” He warned as he pointed his long index finger at you. “You’re not playing at this anymore. You are made or you are burned. There is no in-between.”

“I tend to doubt your concern for my standing so long as my work benefits your own,” You said. “So forgive my suspicion.”

“Your father was on the scene, he made a name, as detestable as it is, and your grandfather has not been forgotten either,” He said. “We are both a part of this city’s legacy.”

“Mm,” You arched a brow. “I still don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you will.” He shrugged. “But best to start thinking for yourself before another does it for you.”

You squinted and looked around. A woman in a feather dress carried a tray of tall wine glasses. You preferred another taste but you would settle for the pale chardonnay. You beckoned her over and took one as Loki perused the room.

“Is this all you do at these things?” You sipped. “Coil like a snake in the corner?”

“I observe. I learn.” He grinned. “And the snake does not bow to the mice, rather they cower before him.”

“Poetic,” You said dryly. 

“Well,” A deep voice came from your left and you looked to the man you vaguely recognized. His golden brocade was embroidered with dragons; a gaudy Oriental knock-off. Finely tailored but still ill-fit to his person. “Is that Georgey’s girl?”

You greeted him with your usual straight-lipped stare. You batted your lashes sharply and he chuckled.

“I remember you,” He carried on. “You’ve grown.”

“As have you,” You gestured to his stomach, poorly hidden beneath the gauche jacket.

He laughed even louder and turned to Loki.

“I did hear you had the bookie’s daughter,” He boomed. “I wouldn’t trust that ilk to keep my books but call me prudish.”

“Don’t you worry, I wouldn’t touch your books over my father’s dead body,” You snorted. “Even I couldn’t untangle that knot with a blade.”

“Oh, I see,” Diablo shook his head. “The mouth on her.”

“Yes, rather endearing, isn’t it?” He sneered.

“Not sure anyone else would agree,” Diablo said. “The prettier one’s are much quieter.”

“Yet--” You began.

Loki raised his hand to silence you. You clamped your ships and your nostrils flared in anger.

“Let us excuse ourselves,” Loki gestured Diablo away. “And discuss in private, yes?”

“Best while everyone else is distracted,” Diablo replied and peeked over at you. “I dread our next meeting.”

“As do I,” You assured him.

Loki looked at you from the corner of his eye as his lip curled. He directed Diablo away from you and you watched them go, a smirk slowly spread across your face. You never wanted to make your father proud but he would’ve been beaming. 

You finished your drink and searched for a table to dispose of it. You set it down carefully on a tall corner table and slipped your shawl down around your elbow. You glanced around. You thought of fleeing as Loki was distracted but you knew he wouldn’t forget you. In fact, it seemed he had grown intent on you for whatever reason.

A shadow blotted the edge of your vision and you turned to greet your assailant. You were slightly surprised to find Bucky Barnes closing in. He smiled and tilted his head as he stopped before you. He wore a deep violet jacket over navy trousers, his eyes shone in the contrast.

“I wasn’t sure you got my invitation,” He said.

“Invitation?” You shook your head. “What--”

“Loki, he-- I mentioned I’d like to see you again,” He said staunchly. 

“What?” You scrunched your brow.

“I like the colour,” He admired your dress. “But I think a different cut might suit you better.”

“Oh, I didn’t take you as a purveyor of fashion. Well, nothing beyond a g-string and stilettos.” You huffed.

“Ah, I run a pretty classy joint,” He winked. “My girls have nothing but the best, even if it isn’t much.”

You pushed your shoulders back and looked around once more.

“Well, I was not told my presence was at your whim,” You said. “In fact, my being here is entirely undesirable.”

“If I had my way, sweetheart, you’d be doing a lot more than just standing here in that pretty little number,” He snickered.

You looked at him sharply.

“I need a drink,” You stormed off in search of the girl in the feathered dress.

You sensed him following behind you but ignored him. As you made to swipe a glass from the tray, he reached around you and grabbed it first. He caught your hand before you could take another and drew you back to him as he placed the slender flute into your hand.

“I wasn’t done, sweetheart,” He closed your fingers around the glass. 

You were livid. Had Loki brought you here to whore you out? Another pawn to secure his peace?

“Loki’s my boss but he is not my pimp,” You pulled away from him. 

“I didn’t say that,” He said. “I didn’t think it, either.”

You flicked the glass at him so the chardonnay splashed across his front and dripped down his face.

“Not interested,” You snarled and swept away with the empty glass.

“Sweetheart,” He sang from behind you. “I wouldn’t do this.”

“Get away from me,” You rushed away from him towards the door. “If you see Loki, tell him I’ll see him at the shop. To be frank, I don’t care either way.”

“We can just talk,” He purred. “Come on. You haven’t even given me a chance.” He caught your elbow and turned you back. “No other girl has ever thrown her drink in my face because if she had, I’d break hers. Now, I have no intention of hurting you. You see, I will look past your little slip.”

“I came here for business, or so I was told,” You said. “I am not interested in talking to you about anything beyond that.”

“Is this about the boss, hmm? This has nothing to do with him or our relationship, if that’s what you think.”

“I think you are all the same. You all just like to poke and poke and poke at each other until guns come out.” You said. “And I’m not going to be a part of whatever you two are doing.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, especially around here,” He kept hold of you. “Loki doesn’t even know what he’s got.”

“Let go,” You ripped your arm away. “I am not interested in being a comare. Especially yours.”

His brows lifted and slowly he smiled. His blue eyes twinkled and he wiped away the last of the chardonnay with his sleeve as the rest soaked into the front of his jacket.

“Comare… noooo.” He coaxed. “No, you’re not that type.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from him. His arm shot out and he planted his hand against the wall to block you. You sighed and crossed your arms.

“Look, I know you, you’re just like the rest of them. You don’t like being told no. Little baby.” You snarled. “But I don’t like to repeat myself. So--”

“There you are,” Loki called from behind you. Bucky pushed himself straight as you looked over your shoulder. “Barnes…” He lifted his chin as he approached.

“Loki,” Bucky’s jaw squared. “I was just getting to know your little secretary, but she’s not very chatty. Hasn’t even given me her name.”

Loki snickered and peeked over at you.

“Don’t be rude, darling,” He said. You bit down and looked at Bucky and stiffly recited your name. He smirked. “She’s shy, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bucky countered. “I feel like you’ve been sneaky, hiding her away.”

“Well,” Loki’s arm slowly snaked around your waist. “I thought we agreed to keep to our own territory.”

You went rigid and tried to pull away. Loki tightened his hold and kept you against him. Bucky watched you squirm and his thoughts wrinkled his forehead.

“And I thought we were just becoming friends,” Bucky returned.

“Allies,” Loki corrected. “Have I not been peaceable?”

Bucky poked his cheek with his tongue as he glanced over at you. You stared at him blankly and he nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “Both of you?”

“Of course,” Loki spread his hand over your hip and squeezed. “You know where to find… us.”

“I do,” Bucky affirmed and turned away.

You watched him go and wished you had more wine to throw as you stared at your empty glass. You tore away from Loki and jabbed his arm.

“What the fuck was that?” You snapped.

“That, darling, was how you play the game.” He grinned.

“You’re disgusting.” You glared at him.

“Oh, I wouldn’t deny that but you see, that man, oh, he is a tough nut to crack but I’ve finally found something he wants.” He said. “Something he really wants, not just some stretch of land.”

“No, no,” You spun and set your glass down. “No, I will not do this.”

His heels clicked behind you as you closed the distance to the curtained door. He shoved you through and pulled the velvet back into place as he grabbed your wrist.

“You will do whatever I want you to do.” He lowered his voice as his shadow loomed over you in the dark corridor. “You are good at what you do; your numbers, and I am sure you will recall a little jot in your margin. That one marked with the star.” He squeezed your wrist. “That’s you, darling.”

“Me?” You sputtered.

“Diablo, along with Viscardi, old pals with your father.” His other hand played with the strap of your dress. You gulped at the latter, the name of your father’s killer. “That bounty was not just for old Georgey, that was for every drop of his blood left. You…”

“No, no.” You said.

“I paid that bounty. I still pay it and it keeps you alive and in my pocket, until I should need you and your time has come.” He taunted.

“I don’t--”

“My father always said the best investments are people.” He touched your neck and tickled. “They are the most useful tools in this business. The most profitable.” He drew away and stroked your chin. “Know your worth, darling, and you might just prosper from it.”

[cockasinthebird]

Dear anon,

Here’s the Second Part to the request you made about Billy watching Steve masturbate! I would link the first part but then this post wont show up in the tag because that’s how it works, apparently

I think this might be one of my favourite things I’ve written, and yes I know I say that quite often, but there’s nothing wrong in enjoying your own stuff!!!

And I hope that you all enjoy it just the same~

-

The second time, he sits in a very expensive chair, specifically the one Mr Harrington occupies whenever he’s actually home and dealing with work from his office, the room covered in mahogany furniture and shiny leather seats. 

He spins around a few times, taking in the grand paintings on the walls, none of them of the family whose house this is, the glamorous curtains, the small and tasteful plants, and the head of a stag hanging in all its grandiose above the fireplace. Expensive, fancy, ostentatious. A showroom of importance and wealth.

Any one piece of furniture in this room costs more than Billy’s own house, and there is nothing Billy loathes more than rich assholes that think they can buy the world. Which just makes him defiling the heir to this fortune all the more fun for him.

The leather creaks underneath him as he stops spinning. From atop the desk he brings a glass of scotch to his lips, and gives it none of the respect Mr Harrington would believe it to be deserving of; simply bottoms out like it’s a shot of vodka. He licks his lips clean and swallows a few extra times to really enjoy his stealing of the oldest bottle in the liquor cabinet.

Then finally he stands up, slams the glass down with almost too much force on the dark wood, and walks around the desk to sit down in another leather chair, this one facing a couch on where Steve lies naked.

“Enjoying yourself, daddy?” he asks with a smile that runs from one ear to the other, on the verge of cracking his sexy facade.

And Billy laughs heartily at it, throws his head back a bit. “Oh don’t start on that, pretty boy! I am not ready to explore either of our daddy issues just yet.”

Steve can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, then settles it into something more smooth and delicate, teasingly so, as he runs a hand down his side, from chest to hip where it rests. He’s lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, his front turned fully toward where Billy admires the view - still dressed from head to toe - Steve’s cock hard from attention alone, the flushed head resting against the leather. And he waits patiently for whatever Billy has in mind.

When Steve had come home today, Billy had done the whole Marco-Polo charade till Steve found him pouring a drink from the glass bar behind the large desk. He hadn’t bothered complaining or asking any questions about why Billy is in his father’s office, simply sat down when commanded, and stripped without any hesitation when told. 

Now they’re looking at one another in silence. Billy spreads his legs as wide as the armrests will allow, and runs his hand rough up and down his girthy cock trapped inside denim still, and Steve’s dark and lustful gaze follows the movement attentively.

“You look amazing like this, Stevie,” Billy mutters, voice thick and salacious as he touches himself through too many layers. “I wanna watch you.”

Steve hums pleasantly and slowly starts slipping the hand on his hip down toward his full erection.

“You said last time you love watching me…” Fingertips graze against his cock, teasing and gentle and slight. “You ever watch me jerk off in private?”

Billy swallows hard, contemplating whether he should tell the truth or if that would be too intrusive to admit. But Steve has yet to get upset at Billy for any of his deviant behaviour. “Yeah, a few times.”

And for the truth he’s rewarded with Steve wrapping his fingers around himself, slowly moving up and down, squeezing around the head that leaks into his hand.

“Ah-h, good,” Steve’s voice starting to waver as he strokes his dick; wetting it with his own pre. “I think about you a lot when I masturbate, fuck, thinking about you at all gets me hard.”

Billy blinks slowly, wanting to meet Steve’s gaze but finds it impossible to look away from how Steve’s hand moves a bit faster. He removes his own hand from the bulge in his jeans and grips the armrests of the chair. 

“Do you ever finger yourself when you think of me?”

Steve licks his lips at that, and smiles with certain intent, although Billy doesn’t notice as he’s mesmerised as always by the way Steve touches his own throbbing prick.

“Not always, but whenever I do finger myself, I only think of you.”

“Show me,” Billy demands without hesitation - softly, but with no hint of ‘if you want to.’

But Steve wants to. His breath hitches at the stern tone to Billy’s words, the restraint in his movement clear as he slows down and eases his grip. 

“You want me to finger myself in front of you, here, in my father’s office, on his expensive couch?” Steve asks, incredulously, feigning reluctance, yet doesn’t stop the now lazy caress of his lengthy cock, keeps smiling, stays posing on his side.

Billy sits silent, doesn’t respond right away, instead he pulls up a small, inconspicuous, clear plastic bottle from the pocket of his shirt, and tosses it onto the couch.

“Yes.”

Steve looks at it; there’s no labels or text or anything, really the most boring and ordinary little container, but there is no doubt in his mind what it is.

“How do you want me?” he asks and finally meets with Billy’s eyes, a fire there burning hotter than the sun could ever dream of.

“However you do it when you’re alone - when I’m not here to fuck you into your mattress. Show me just how badly you want my thick cock.”

And as is often done in situations where words aren’t needed anymore, Steve simply bites his lip, keeps the bottle firm in his grasp, and gets up on his knees. He turns around on the couch, angling his perfect ass towards where Billy sits patiently like a statue, then bends forward; arching his back and spreading himself before his audience to grant a good look of everything. His leaking prick hanging between his legs, hole exposed fully.

“Fuck, Steve…” Billy nearly gasps at the view - didn’t expect to be this affected by it as he shuffles around in his seat, almost overwhelmed by the urge to just shove his tongue through Steve’s rim and eat him out till he’s cumming and crying. Billy adjusts the taut fabric of his jeans before settling in his place.

The cap of the bottle pops off loudly, lube drips onto Steve’s fingers, and with a careful motion, as to not waste a single drop, he brings his hand behind himself. He runs three digits flat and slick over his entrance, getting himself proper wet, staring straight at how attentively Billy watches, the self control damn impressive as those bluest of eyes twitch at the sight of Steve slipping in his middle finger.

Steve coos and keens, perhaps a bit excessive, perhaps egged on by the way Billy’s knuckles turn white as he strangles the leather armrests. He holds one hand on the back of the couch to keep himself steady as he quickly finds an all too pleasant rhythm that leaves him craving more.

Billy hasn’t been this turned on, this painfully erect, since the first time he saw someone play with themselves, back when he was 13 and stole a porn tape from a thrift store in Cali. He still has it hidden away, mostly for sentimental reasons now, because nothing can compare to watching Steve finger himself open, moaning and dripping worse when he adds a second finger.

“Ah-h, mmh- Billy,” Steve teases with his name on that lascivious tongue.

And every sound that escapes makes Billy’s lust boil hotter, bubbling under his skin, the urge to touch like a strong current pulling him under. Touch himself, touch Steve. 

It takes all of his strength not to stand up, close the short distance between them and drive in two fingers past that gorgeous clenching ring of muscle, opening up Steve faster so that Billy can fuck him hard into the leather of daddy’s dear couch, press his face against the cushions and have him cumming in less than a minute.

Steve pushes in a third finger, thighs trembling as he moans out, “Shit, oh-” with an overt shudder running through him as he hits just the right spot.

“Feel good, baby?” Billy asks softly, voice husky and smooth, as he unbuttons his shirt slowly.

“S-so good, ah-” Steve’s prick leaks onto the seat, between his knees, fingers pumping fervently in and out leaves him writhing as he abandons any sense of rhythm, and Billy recognizes the way he’s calling out, cursing, close to mumbling his words.

Knows that it won’t be too long now.

“Fuck, Billy! Billy- Billy-”

“Yeah?” Billy groans out, pleased with how erotic his name can sound when it comes from such a pretty mouth.

“I’m- I’m close.” Fingers go as deep as they can, as quick as they can, it’s almost kinda impressive how rapidly he moves those digits, and it all goes to show that this might be something he does more frequently than originally suggested.

Billy unbuckles his belt, flicks free the button of his jeans, and lets the zipper run loose, immediately bringing some sense of relief to his own pent-up, aching cock. He then removes his hands again, one elbow on the armrest, chin in hand as he continues to simply leer at how Steve fingers himself, how his brows are pulled high and tight, how his eyes can barely stay open as they fight the urge to roll back.

“Think you can cum untouched like this?” he asks, impatience apparent in his rumbling tone.

“N-no, fuck, ah-h-” Steve cries and bucks his hips onto his fingers.

“Hmm…” Billy hums like he’s dissatisfied with that response. “I’ve seen you do it before.”

“Mmhn, ahh, yes, yes- in your ha-ands, not- not on my own,” Steve whines and meets Billy’s gaze with all too sincere eyes.

And fuck if that doesn’t make Billy’s full erection kick and leak in its entrapment - to know that he can make King Steve cum on his fingers or dick alone is empowering, strokes his ego just right.

“Fuck, Stevie, baby,” Billy growls with exposed teeth all predatory and lecherous. "Touch yourself. Cum for me, all over daddy's expensive leather couch."

Steve doesn't waste time before he brings his other hand to his weeping prick, and as he wraps his fingers around it to eagerly jerk himself, Billy grunts lightly as his own cock twitches with overwhelming jealousy. 

It really doesn't take more than a few strokes till Steve buries his face against the backrest, crying out loud as he moves his fingers hard and precise, back arching in the most beautiful curve, spilling all over the dark seat as he pumps himself dry of every drop, thighs visibly tensing and quivering.

“Gorgeous,” Billy breathes out, convinced that his grip on the armrests will soon tear the leather apart, his underwear completely soaked with pre.

Steve’s arms fall till his palms rest against the leather seat, his entire being pulsating and shivering with every heavy breath, sounding like he just ran a marathon. But as he moves to change his position, perhaps get more comfortable, Billy intervenes-

“Didn’t say you could move,” there’s barely a hint of play to his tone, “Stay just like that for me.”

So Steve does just that - shuffles around a bit on his knees to kneel better, swallows thickly, and hangs his head low to look at Billy from between his legs.

Billy in turn finally pulls his pained cock free with a loud and telling grunt of relief, the air almost sharp in its coldness, but it’s soothed by his firm hand running up and down his slick erection. Already he knows that this won’t last nearly as long as he wants it to; feels it in the way the coil twists pliantly, thighs and abs flexing at his every move.

“Mmh- shit, arrh, baby I- I want you to show me- fuck- spread your ass out for me.”

And Steve obeys all too readily, moving his hands back to grab a full cheek in both to spread them as far apart as he can, exposing his fluttering hole, puffy and well loved.

The sight of it makes Billy’s hips buck off of his seat, an interrupting moan punches the air out of his lungs, his cock spurting pre something horribly, the sounds of his jerking motion obscene and loud and overwhelming as he grips himself harder- tight like how Steve’s ass would feel right now, wrapped around him, sucking him in, milking him dry, right here in his father’s office, soiling the leather, defiling the high and mighty importance with moans of the heir’s hole getting ravished-

Just the mere thought of what Billy might get to do with Steve in every single room of this house, all goddamn 12 of them, has him cumming in near record time - a loud and unexpected orgasm that crashes through him as he lifts up and into his hand, cursing loudly towards the ceiling, cum shooting all the way up his chest to clash with the sweaty tan skin, painting him in white, pumping till he’s sore and lets his cock go with a hiss.

Suddenly so exhausted he could probably fall asleep right here, eyes closed and struggling to catch his breath as he slumps in the chair. That is until hands land on both his knees, squeezing gently and caressing him, and when he opens his eyes to look down there’s Steve, kneeling between Billy’s legs, a slight smile and the most adoring gaze, a glorious vision that shoots straight through Billy’s heart and overstimulated cock simultaneously.

Before Billy gets to make the next move, Steve crawls closer, brings out his tongue to run it hot and flat over Billy’s flaccid dick, pulling forth a pained, “shit, ah-h!” then continues with soft kisses up his stomach, across his abs, till he reaches where cum has been splashed across Billy’s pecks. And under the watchful stare of blue skies, Steve lets out his tongue once more, licks a stripe through the white pool and swallows with an almost delighted little hum.

A whole show that Billy will play over and over in his head those few nights Steve isn’t around.

And Steve finishes his climb straddling Billy’s thighs, kissing him deeply and passionately, as if he’s not satiated quiet yet, mixing the taste of them with dancing tongues, sweet and salty and strong still with an aftertaste of scotch.