#over leveling is the best offence and defence

[nonovyabuisness]

As someone who has just beaten the Pokémon X elite four.

What’s funny about the kalos elite four is that.

Despite them being seen as one of the weakest elite four, each of them have Pokemons that require you to prepare for them.

Case and point :

Malva has her Talonflame which is problematic since ground types doesn’t affect it. And if like me, you don’t have a electric type and instead have a HM Surf Pangoro. That flying type sucks.

Drasna has her Dragalge that can tear through fairy types due to its poison typing. And even if you use a Garchomp (like me), the poison status effect is no joke.

Siebold has his Gyrados and Barbaracle. His Barbaracle is a problem due to its ground type moves (even for my Venusaur). But if you don’t have an electric type, his Gyrados is a nightmare. It knows dragon dance, and it took me 1 sleep powder and 5 vine whip from my Mega-Venusaur in order to K-O it.

And finally, Wikstrom. His Klefki and Aegislash are a nightmare. If you are an idiot like me who uses a Pangoro against him, Klefki’s fairy typing hits like a truck and Pangoro’s fighting type moves don’t affect Aegislash (who knows a fighting type move btw). My only other option was Delphox who I forgot to use for Klefki and didn’t want to risk due to Aegislash’s ghost typing. Delphox is really good against his Scizor and Pangoro against his Probopass however.

Of course, all of them pale against the mighty power of Over-Leveled pokemons.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Capture the Flag

luke castellan x reader

pt 2

A/N: now that i'm writing for other fandoms, feel free to let me know if you only want to be on a hotd taglist. But now, please enjoy the strongest swordsman in camp halfblood

TW: MAJOR SMUT, slight bondage, rough smut, violence, lowkey dark(ish)!luke

word count: 1,699 words

You want Luke Castellan’s head speared on your sword.

It’s like you spend every minute preparing for capture the flag because of him. He spends every last minute of each game cutting down your teammates and stealing your flag, so now it’s time to change the tactic. You ditch your father’s usual battle advice of going for the kill and hope that defence is the best offence for once. You also pray that he will guide your sword anyhow. So there you stand, guarding your flag with two of your most vicious teammates. You dodge the blue team’s first attack that was supposed to draw you off. You may have a short temper but you aren’t stupid. And you’re more than pleased to see the look of surprise on Luke’s face as he approaches.

“Fucking Ares kids.” He grumbles, sword drawn.

“Were you not expecting me, Castellan?” You ask with a vengeful smirk.

He goes right for you. You’re the biggest threat there but he likes to think you’re not even close to his skill level. You would believe that the man plans to cut you down and then your teammates. He always aims for the glory of it all.

“How’s your team gonna get our flag if you’re here?” He asks as he makes the first swing. It’s much better to start off on offence and he’s the one coming at you.

“Who cares. When you’re done, so is your team.” You block him, hating to be on defence but he’s too quick.

“Gods, you didn’t plan ahead of that? There really isn’t anything in that pretty little head of yours, is there? Other than rage of course.”

  You’re a hothead. He knows it. You know it and it doesn’t take much to rile you up. When you’re riled up, you get sloppy. At this point, you don’t care if he guts you, you go for the little fucker’s ankles. You’re actually surprised when he stumbles from blocking your attack. It’s a stupid mistake, especially for him. Though, you aren’t going to let a chance like this slip by. You keep pushing him back, trying to leave him no chance to think in between swings. He trips over a log behind him, the sword falling from his hand. He has no chance now, not on the ground and you won’t be letting him get up.

“Who’s the idiot now?” 

He looks at you as you approach slowly, taunting him. He then grabs his sword and makes a break for it. You’re too shocked to even keep him down.

What the fuck.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke Castellan run from a fight. Not in your 4 years at camp. So you chase after him.

He’s fast, faster than you but you push yourself. He trails away… and away. Then you lose him. 

“Godsdamnit!” You scream into the woods as you jog around where you last saw him. 

You know you can’t stray for long if you’re not fighting Luke so you turn to make your way back to the flag. That’s when he jumps out at you with his sword swinging. You barely have time to block and it puts you off your balance. He swings at you again and again. You fall as you continue to block the merciless strikes. You’re practically holding your sword in the air and hoping for the best. The best doesn’t come as the weapon flies from your hand. He descends on you, straddling your waist as he holds the blade to your throat. He’s smirking.

“You don’t try nearly hard enough.” He says to you. “I know you’re not very clever but hades, my teammates probably already have the flag over the barrier.” 

That’s when you realize how easily you were deceived. Luke didn’t run from you because you bested him; he ran to draw you off. It was a pathetically simple plan and it worked. The heat rises to your cheeks from humiliation. He grabs your two hands and pins them above your head, his grip gentle but also firm.

“I’ll put you in your grave.” You spit out at him.

“Will you now? While I have you essentially restrained?” He’s clearly amused.

You struggle beneath him with all your force but all you manage to do is roll your hips against him, earning a groan from the man. You feel it too, the burning ache between your thighs. You want him. Worse yet, he wants you.

“Let me up.” 

“No. I think you quite like how I have you pinned to the ground.” He smirks.

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re wet.”

He slips a knee between your thighs and rubs it against your clothed pussy. It takes everything in you not to whimper.

“S-Stop.” You stutter out.

“Make me.” He murmurs, continuing to make you grind down on his knee as he leans down and forces you into a hot kiss. You hate how you kiss back, so hungry for him. Your mind is clouded with lust for a moment before you realize the advantage he is giving you. You never technically conceded.

As swiftly as you can, you wrap your free leg around his waist and use your whole strength to throw him off you, startling him enough to free your hands.

“You bitch.” He groans as you jab him in the stomach to try and give yourself enough time to grab your sword but it doesn’t work. He grabs you by the ankle and yanks hard. You slam to the ground right on your stomach. He moves to restrain you by sitting on your thighs so you can’t move your legs and holds your hands behind your back. You clearly didn’t consider how inevitably stronger he is than you.

“Shit.” You whine. His hold isn’t nearly as gentle this time.

“That was a cheap fucking shot.” He says cruelly. He’s pissed now.

“Fuck you. Castellan!” Gods it goes straight to his dick when you call him by his last name. He grips your hair with his free hand and pulls back hard so you have to look at him. You whine again at the sharp pain.

“You just can’t play fair, can you, princess? Maybe I won’t either then.”

 He drops your head and you hear him rustling with something. You realize it’s his belt when you feel the leather against your wrists. He’s binding you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is full of rage but to him, you just sound petulant. 

 “What you need.” Is his simple answer.

He shifts down so he sits, or rather kneels, with your legs between his. He’s amused by your renewed writhing as an attempt to escape. It is pitiful really. Oh well, he’ll have you writhing for a different reason soon enough.

His fingertips glide across your waist, to your hips and then to your thighs, causing your back to arch upwards slightly, your stomach dipping. He brings his lips down to your ear, his voice is deep and lustful as he says, “Your body seems to know what it wants.”

“I’ll kill you.” You promise.

“Oh, i’m sure you will. But right now, you fucking belong to me.” He yanks on your hair again so you have to look at him and your eyes water from the pain. “I think you like me hurting you.” His other hand slips between your thighs to rub your clit and you let out a strangled moan. “For a girl who is so controlling, it’s interesting how badly you enjoy me manhandling you.”

He yanks your pants down and slips your helmet under your hips so your ass stays high in the air with your chest to the ground.

“This is fucked up.” You say.

“You love it. Your panties are soaked.” And he’s completely right. You’ve never been so turned on before but not a lot of men are as strong and good-looking as Luke Castellan.

He pulls your panties down and groans at the sight of your dripping pussy. He begins to palm himself through his pants and unzips them. “You have about three seconds to tell me if you don’t actually want this.”

You are silent and he chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Before you can even prepare yourself or form a thought, his fat cock is shoved inside of you, splitting you open.

“Ah, Luke!” You moan at the pain and pleasure.

“Gods, this is the tightest little pussy i’ve had.” He begins to fuck in and out of you relentlessly, giving you no time to adjust. “Yeah, you’re good for me now, baby. Such a good little cocksleeve.” He punctuates his last words with hard thrusts, the head of his cock bullying into you each time.

All you can do is repeat his name like a mantra as you get pounded on the forest floor by the strongest swordsman in camp. It’s even worse as he begins to rub your clit again, sending you so close to the edge.

“Never gonna have enough of you after this.” Luke murmurs as he feels you squeezing around him. “My good girl.” 

That’s what sends you tumbling over the edge, bringing Luke with you as you do. He never could’ve kept going, not with the way your walls were squeezing around him. He pulls out almost instantly so he can watch his cum spill out of you. He doesn’t wipe it. He just pulls your panties back on and fixes the both of you up. You’re thoroughly spent, he can tell by the way you pant as he releases your wrists.

“You okay?” He asks as he helps you sit up. He grabs your hands so he can kiss the marks on your wrists. After all you’ve done, that’s the act that makes you blush furiously. 

“Um, yeah.” You breathe out.

“I’ll be nicer next time, I promise. Somebody just had to put you in your place first.” He grins wolfishly.

“Next time?” 

That’s when you hear the horn. The blue team has won again.

He pecks a kiss to your cheek. “Time to claim my kleos.” He says cockily before jogging off to meet his team.

taglist (comment to be added):General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

[ithebookhoarder]

If your still taking requests could u pls do “if you were taken by an unsub” criminal minds imagin? Or smth along those lines, if not that’s fine tho

~ ☘️

(BAU Headcanons) If you were taken by an Unsub

A/N: Um, of course you can?! Thanks for sending this one in angel 😇 I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to answer this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Usual Criminal Minds references to criminals, murder, violence etc. Mentions of mental health. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

If you were taken? This man would not rest until you were back and safe with him - and not just because of what happened to Haley (though it doesn’t help). 

He would bark orders at everyone in a cold and blunt manner that tells them he is not in the mood to be messed with.

They will do as they are told and they will do it now. 

This poor man would be fighting not to let his fear show but he'd be seen clenching his fists over and over and taking long deep breaths in front of the mirror in the bathroom in an attempt to ground himself and get his head on straight. 

He's no good to you if he lets himself fall apart. His team - and more importantly, you - are counting on him.

You know he’s blaming himself and you’re both going to need therapy once this whole experience is over with. 

He would go into his hyper-rational mode, focusing on making plans and ignoring anything that isn’t getting you back safe and sound - which means no sleep. None. He’s running on fumes and caffeine - even after you’re found. 

It would take days for him to feel secure enough to close his eyes and be able to trust you’ll still be there when he opens them again. 

Also you best believe he is breaking out his old law text books and ensuring this UnSub goes down for a lonnnnnng time… if they even make it to trial that is. This man is a trained sniper and knows other trained snipers… just saying… 

David Rossi 

He may like to remind you all of his passionate Italian nature from time to time but it’s impossible to miss when he hears what’s happened to you. He’s an emotional mess, staggering between horror and rage to a frighteningly cold determination that is rare for the eldest team member.  

He’d try to act in control, pulling rank on everyone - including Hotch, which obviously doesn’t work. 

“No offence, Aaron, but I was chasing down Unsubs when you were still in diapers. I know what I’m doing.”

However, they know him well enough to see that despite having years of experience under his belt, Rossi is terrified of making some kind of mistake. 

Once they do find you, he’d be one of the first through the door, too concerned with checking you’re ok to worry about anything else. 

He’d also be sure to pay for the best medical care money could buy, if you needed it following the ordeal.

He also knows people and has no problem paying for you to see a counsellor of some sort if the situation required it. He just wants to take care of you now that you’re back in his arms again. 

Derek Morgan

This man is like a whole military unit in himself at the best of times, but he’s a whole other level of lethal when it comes to protecting the ones he loves. You do NOT want to be on the wrong side of Morgan, and that’s exactly where the Unsub who took you would sit. 

There isn’t a door he wouldn’t be willing to kick down to get you - and everybody knows better than to say a word about it. (Hotch is already mentally filling out all the paperwork he’s going to need once this rescue is done, but he doesn’t exactly mind, given the situation).

Also, Morgan may have trained you himself, drilling you in self-defence and marksmanship so you’d known how to protect yourself out there in the field, but none of that matters now. You may have the Unsub at your mercy already, or you may be at theirs, but he doesn’t know and that’s what’s killing him: the not knowing. 

It’s why Penelope is basically glued to his side the whole entire time, telling him everything she finds out the very second she finds it.  

“We’ll find them sugar, I promise. They’re just as tough and strong as you are, so don’t give up on them, ok?”

He’d be leading the pack once you are found though, tearing through anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he cares about is seeing you with his own eyes and getting you as far away from danger as possible. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed you.”

He’d be beating himself up for weeks after and it would take an entire team intervention to get him to let you go back out into the field again without him being glued to your side. After all, he’s not making the same mistake twice. Any Unsub wants that wants to get close to you will have to get past him first. 

Emily Prentiss

This woman is a super spy and a lethal weapon on an average day but if you were taken? Then she would be the most dangerous woman in the entire United States. 

She knows people in every agency and on every continent so you best believe she will be calling in favours left, right and centre. (Even Rossi is terrified by how quickly she was able to get the Pentagon on the phone…)

She would also be action-focused, needing to do something rather than sitting around wasting time. Every minute spent talking was one more minute the Unsub had to hurt you - and that thought makes her feel physically sick. 

This would end up causing her to explode, taking it out on whichever unfortunate soul is closest. Like, you know she would definitely have to be reminded by Hotch that they actually need the local law enforcement to work with them, if they want to get you back alive, after she is seen screaming at an unfortunate officer for their ‘utter stupidity’. 

Thankfully, she gets to turn that rage on the Unsub after they find you. I mean, let’s be real. It would take Morgan physically holding her back to stop her from beating their face in. 

This frustration would ultimately then be transferred to you, once she knows you’re safe. 

You almost can quote her ‘You almost died’ speech by this point, but you know it makes you both feel better to hear it so you let her rant and rant until she’s calm enough to crawl into your arms and squeeze you close. 

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.” 

You’re also pretty sure she now has people following you at all times, watching over you when she can’t, so that this never happens again. 

JJ

JJ is every bit as lethal as Emily is when those she loves are at risk. If anything, she’s more terrifying because she’ll hide that murderous rage behind a ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ smile before deciding to strike. 

However, it would take everything in her not to just charge in and go on the offensive. After all, she was willing to run into a bank full of armed robbers after Will. 

It would probably end up with the team having to physically holding her back to stop her - usually accompanied by a well meaning pep talk about how she needs to get her head on straight if she actually wants to help get you back. 

You know this woman would follow you everywhere afterwards, never letting you out of her sight. In fact, she hits ‘super Mom mode’ where she is constantly fussing over you and seems to have the world in her go-bag. 

You need tissues, pain-killers, chocolate: she got it.

“Hey, it’s ok. You know I’ve got your back, right? I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She would also call you out on all your BS, if you tried to downplay what happened to you or if you were still affected. 

One twitch of her eyebrow is all it takes for her to have you pinned to your chair and spilling your guts about your emotions. You know better than to make her ask twice. After all, she may be the first to downplay it when she’s hurting but when it comes to her team and her family, she’d do anything to take care of you. If that’s driving your ass to therapy or just holding you, she’ll do it without complaint.

Penelope Garcia 

Would immediately panic as soon as she hears what’s happened to you. Like, we’re talking SO much panic.

Poor girl is spiralling and needs the team to help ground her so she can get back to the lair and do her thing. It would probably be down to Morgan or like JJ to get her to actually remember to breathe and not make herself pass out. 

But once she’s up and running? Well, she’d be all over the Unsub like a bad rash. Every teeny tiny detail of their life is suddenly unearthed and splashed on the 

board for everyone to see. (No one dares ask how she found certain items, but knowing her history with the dark web it’s probably for the best). 

Also, she would be begging for constant updates once the team is out in the field.  Any other day, it would drive the team insane to have a constant running Penelope monologue in their ears, but they’re surprisingly tolerant in this case. 

“Guys, do you see them? Are they ok? What’s going on? I need to know people! I have no eyes here!” 

Would be all over you once you’re safe and insists on installing tracking software on everything. She wants a digital link to you, 24/7 so that this NEVER happens again. It’s simultaneously flattering and slightly terrifying how much power this angel has at the end of her glittery, manicured fingers. 

Dr Spencer Reid

Depending on which season-Reid you’re with when you’re taken, you would have a distraught super genius who makes it his life’s mission to get you back. Or, you’d have a prison-hardened super genius with a slightly grey-er view of the world on a mission to find you. 

Either way, there’s probably no one you’d want more to be in charge of locating and rescuing you. 

Like Hotch, I feel he would become obsessed with nothing other than finding you. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. Hell, no one on the team has even seen him leave the briefing room long enough to go pee, let alone take a break. This results in the team all taking it in turns to be parental figures and coax (and eventually threaten) him into pausing long enough to down a glass of water and eat some snack bar. 

Between Morgan’s physical threats, JJ’s guilt-trips, and Hotch threatening to bench him from this case, they’d eventually succeed. 

“You guys don’t get it. They need me. I have to figure this out - they’re counting on me. I can’t fail them. I won’t. So either help me or get out of here and let me think.”

We all know he would probably harass any medical professionals charged with caring for you, once you’re back. He doesn’t trust them - especially when it comes to your welfare. 

He’d also confine you to the couch and force you to rest, queueing up endless re-runs of Doctor Who and whatever shows you find most comforting to have playing in the background. It’s selfishly what he needs too, being able to sit and hold you long enough to quell any fears he may have about you and your wellbeing. You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe. 

Masterlist

[foxufortunes]

Some random tips and trivia for anyone wanting to take a slightly more realistic look at exy and sport in their fanfics:

Long jogs are not good for sports like exy. The best you can say is they're good cardio, but most exercise they should be doing anyway is good cardio. To oversimplify: long term energy and fast action energy have different power supplies and training one doesn't really help the other. There's a reason sprinters and marathon runners are not the same people. Exy is a sport of fast bursts and in some cases long jogs can actually be detrimental to your ability to play these sports.

Dear lord, warm up and cool down. I know most of us just assume this is in there and glossed over, but if you're going into details, warm up and cool down and wear warm jackets after. Especially cool down. I know Kevin and Neil have already fucked their bodies but don't make it worse. Also, rest days. You body needs time to recover. Kevin and Jean will be lucky if they recover enough not to have any career after college given how much Tetsuji has fucked the Ravens with his training. Thea is probably in agony the entire time and she doesn't have long left playing.

Goalie's lead the defence line. If you want to throw around a defence captain type plot, it's your goalies, it's always goalies. Because they have the best view of the entire court. You dealer should control the entire team's plays, as the person who should be going from defence to offence and back (assuming they work similarly to other sports with a similar position) but the defence is always run by the goalie, and your goalies are usually really fucking loud about it.

Your division/class is actually nothing to do with your team's skill, but your school's sports program and budget. The Foxes are not a Class I team, Palmetto is a D1 school. To get this status, your school has to have a certain level of sports program, featuring a certain number of sports, sports for women, upcoming/rarer sports and certain required sports. While EAU blatantly ignores all of this as presented in canon (they seem to be D3 status, maybe D2 at best) who got their status through bribery and corruption and their coach, Palmetto, as presented in canon, clearly meets D1 school status. Your school's division also affects what kinds of scholarships they offer. Typically, only D1 schools offer full ride sports scholarships. It's most likely Palmetto was looking to fund an exy team and Wymack went to them because they're a D1 school, or they approached Wymack, unlike the Ravens who clearly don't understand how this works.

On the topic of Wymack: the ERC couldn't have had anything to do with Andrew's miracle in October. We'll get to this but the ERC is just not that powerful, and, see above point, they have nothing to do with Palmetto's status. Now, Nora actually gives us a far more likely and better reason in the EC, that she then overcomplicated in canon trying to make the ERC more powerful for no reason, especially given Kevin wasn't even with the Foxes at the time. In the scene where we see Wymack recruiting the cousins, Andrew brings up the idea that Wymack's initial four year will be on it's last year that year and he needs results or the school will decline renewing his contract and rebuild the exy program from scratch under a new coach. This is far more likely a reason for him to need Andrew's miracle. It's his final year of his contract, the school wants results, and if they drop out now with so few games won, he's done for. And given how many NCAA rules he and Abby help the Foxes break, it won't be long before the rest of the Foxes lose their scholarships too.

Four years might seem like an odd amount of time for an initial contract, and it sorta is, but one thing mentioned in TSC that's never brought up in the original trilogy is redshirting. Basically, for all you have a five year contract, you can only play four seasons. One season, you get to practice, but not play games, this is called red shirting, and in my experience and what I've heard from others, it's typically the freshman, for obvious reason, but this does bring up issues for Wymack's team design, and means Neil will have to take a year off eventually. And don't even think about how this affects the Ravens.

Speaking of Ravens, this is honestly one of the most basic NCAA rules: you cannot play professionally and play NCAA. Kevin and Riko literally cannot be playing for professional teams and be playing for the Ravens, the NCAA would boot them instantly. And, up until very recently, you also cannot be paid for your photoshoots, or using your likeness or sponsorships. To play NCAA, during the period AFTG is set, you cannot make any money as a player. Now, there's an argument that Tetsuji could probably make that Kevin and Riko didn't make money as players, but as celebrities in their own rights, but that's a very grey area. But, no, they weren't getting paid for photoshoots or interviews or sponsorships or anything like that. The only exceptions are tournament winnings, and there is a very strict cap on that, and stipends which there was a lot of debate over whether that counted as payment or not. They cannot be paid for anything related to exy because the second the NCAA makes an exception for exy, every other sport wants it too, and I'm sure some of them are mafia backed too. Mafia bribery doesn't fix everything, and if your trying to write your mafia as not a bunch of idiots, they'll know where to stop.

And then the ERC. They're just not that powerful, y'all. I get that Nora wanted to make them seem powerful, but given how Riko does most of the shit not Tetsuji, even that's pointless. So, for a start, the ERC needs specific scope. It's cool to call it the Exy Rules and Regulations Committee, but for what? Sports tend to have an overall ruling body, but they don't actually control everything. They control things like national tournaments and teams. Then you have the country's body, that controls things like the leagues, and they often have different rules that take time to catch up to each other. Different leagues within the same country can have slightly different rules. And often the NCAA also has its own rules. (To use volleyball, because that does have wildly different rules, in the NCAA liberos can serve in certain conditions, and that's about the only place in the world this rule exists). Basically, they only have control if you're competing in their tournament or affiliated. For the ERC to have such control over the Foxes, they're likely an NCAA committee, this means the ERC only has power over rule and regulations of Class I exy (oh yes, each division has their own committee), meaning they control things like gear regulations, rules on bench size, foul rules ect. Not which class the Foxes are in, not if Andrew's allowed to play with them, nothing like that. It's strictly the rules of the game. And they are the bottom of the power chart. Above them you have things like the division committee, the student athlete's committee and so many others. The ERC actually has very little power because the NCAA is a massive, slow moving, complicated bureaucracy. Even if they could drop the Foxes a division or get rid of Andrew, it would take years.

[gorogues]

Fictober 2024

Prompt number #4 Fanfiction Fandom: Flash Rogues Rating: T – Teen and up Warnings: Profanity, general miscreant behaviour

Day Four: “No, we’re not doing that”

The Rogues had piled into the van for a road trip to Chicago to see the Cubs play, as they did every year or so, but things quickly seemed strange to anyone paying attention.

“Hey, why aren’t we heading to the interstate?” Mark called from the back seat, and Len tightened his grip on the wheel.

“We ain’t going to Chicago,” Len replied calmly.  “We’re going to Keystone.”

“What!  What about the Cubbies?!” Mick demanded.  “You said we were going to Wrigley to watch `em play the Cards!”

“Nope, we’re not doin’ that.  We’re gonna go watch the Combines play, because somebody set off a stink bomb in my bed and now we’re gonna do what I want to do.”

Axel’s cheeks reddened a bit, but he figured the best defence was a good offence.  “Hockey totally sucks, and this isn’t Canada!  The rest of us don’t like it and you’re outnumbered six to one!”

“I don’t care one way or another, mate, they’re all shit Yank sports to me,” Digger shrugged, and Evan nodded enthusiastic agreement.

“It’s nae fitba.”

Len took his attention away from the road to grin aggressively at the others.  “Funny you should mention Canada, `cause we’re gonna watch the Combines play the Leafs and it’ll be one hell of a bloodbath.  I get to see my team stomp another, and you dickheads get to watch a team embarrass itself by choking in the clutch every single time.”

Roscoe began fumbling with the van’s side door, intending to make a speedy exit, but the doors were locked from the driver’s controls.

“Oh no, Dillon, you aren’t going anywhere.  Trickster told me the bomb was your idea.”

Roscoe’s eyes flashed with an angry green glow.  “I should have known there was a reason you insisted I go to the ballgame!”

Len just laughed, and the van soon approached the river-spanning bridge to Keystone.

+++

One hour later found the Rogues seated in the arena, watching the start of the game with varying levels of interest.

“This sport is so dumb.  Why the skates?” Axel complained as Len swigged some beer and enjoyed the misery of the idiots around him.

“It’s cold in here,” Mick whispered, shivering.  Mark surreptitiously draped Len’s coat around their suffering comrade’s shoulders, having observed that Dear Leader was absorbed in the action on the ice.

“The brawling’s not bad,” Digger observed appreciatively as several players exchanged punches and one guy tripped another with his stick when the ref wasn’t looking.

“Aye, I’ve watched the ice hockey before in Glesga.  Bu’ it’s nae all that popular with the local lads except for all the doin’,” Evan replied, moderately bored by the game.  His eyes were on another patron’s expensive watch which was located three rows in front of them, seductively glinting under the overhead lights.

Roscoe sat silently and tried to hide his annoyance to deprive Len of any satisfaction, though with only middling success because Len knew him better than he knew himself.  He paid most of his attention to the other Rogues, finding their behaviour more interesting than the mediocre game itself.

But Len was having a blast.  “Fuck yeah!” he jeered when the Combines scored yet another goal over the hapless Maple Leafs, inadvertently drenching Mark with beer.

“God, Len, could you not?” Mark grumbled, dabbing at his favourite Cubs jersey with a greasy napkin.  “I didn’t set off any stink bomb.”

“S-so c-cold…” Mick murmured, and Evan was getting a distinct gleam in his eyes as he stared at the fancy watch.

“Say, have you noticed that gentleman’s beautiful watch?” Roscoe conversationally observed to his fellows.  “Who wants to bet that I can lift it from his wrist without him noticing?”

Evan glared at him; he was determined that the prize should only be his.  He stood up, claiming to need the washroom, so Roscoe sat back and relaxed.  Time to wait for things to blow up.

Soon there was a scuffle a few rows in front of them, involving lots of shouting and shoving.  “Hey, this guy tried to steal my watch!” shouted an indignant voice amidst the melee.

“Fight!  Fight!” Digger cheered from his seat, simply enjoying the drama and not caring who was involved.

Len got up with a sinking feeling, trying to see what was happening.  “Dammit, McCulloch…”  He pushed his way to the aisle with the faint hope of retrieving his idiot before the police were called and the game was potentially ruined.

“I think Mick would appreciate it if you raised the temperature in here,” Roscoe said to Mark in that same conversational tone, and the Weather Wizard knew exactly what he was doing but was only too happy to oblige.

“Y’know, you’re right,” Mark muttered, seeing an opportunity to go home without the boss finding out.  He waved his wand, and the interior of the building began to slowly heat up.  Not enough to make anyone ill, but enough for the ice to start melting in ways the players didn’t like, and they left the rink soon after.

“Your attention, please,” the arena’s announcer droned over the public address system. “The game is temporarily on hold due to unforeseen conditions on the ice, and your patience is appreciated while the matter is investigated.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Len demanded when he returned to the group with a shame-faced Evan in tow.

“No clue.  Something’s gone wrong, I guess,” Mark said smoothly, and the Rogues who’d caught on to the scheme had the common sense not to chuckle.

Len snorted with extreme annoyance.  “We can’t wait around here for things to maybe continue, because this dipshit tried and failed to steal some rich guy’s watch.  McCulloch, I don’t want you to get snatched by the cops on the way home, so you head back right away via your mirror.”

“Aye,” Evan mumbled, and prepared to exit the building via a small mirror from his pocket.  Most of the other Rogues eagerly tried to follow, but Len narrowed his eyes at them, already suspicious about the evening’s various misfortunes.

“Nope, the rest of you jerks are with me, and we’re all gonna drive home together.  And we’re gonna take the scenic route too.”

The heavy sighs Roscoe and Mark uttered were an incredible balm to Len’s soul.

[mullettaegi]

i know the galra had ten thousand years and unlimited resources to build up their defences and offences, to create an insane amount of weapons, to do evil experiments, and rule far across the universe, but HOW does it go from voltron being the defender of the universe, the most powerful weapon in the universe, something that zarkon has been hunting after for ten thousand years, something that made sendak (a very strong galra commander who would not let anyone stand in his way, according to himself) gasp and RUN.

yes he didnt fully run away but he retreated; he watched his battle cruiser get blown to fucking pieces, and remember this is the first time the paladins formed voltron. there was no sword. it was like their second or third time flying in their lions, and the only one that has had consistent flight simulations and training for however long is lance, and even then i think we saw him struggle to strategise a battle plan when going after the yellow lion with hunk because we heard him say he would cover hunk, we saw him carry that out but then get overwhelmed by the galra fighters in the air and take off after them.

hes a damn good pilot, and they all are, especially in the lions, but this is on a next level to what they could've been training for at the garrison.

so, this takes me to my point, why in the fucking world was voltron so fucking nerfed in the later seasons. like yes i dont want an easy win for voltron every battle, yknow, its about them working together as a team, its about voltron not always being the solution (aka when its better for them to split off into lions while they strategise), its about them actually coming up with strategies instead of just going in voltron first and hoping for the best.

its been a while since i watched the later seasons but rn im mostly thinking of atlas. like it just doesnt really make sense to me tbh? to build the atlas, yes, its essentially a replacement for the castleship, a place for a team to watch voltron from the sky, provide back up, but then to have it form into a voltron-esque robot ??? i just dont think thats where they should have taken it.

im glad for the castle of lions to take an important role in some episodes, where again the answer lies outside of JUST voltron, but it doesnt really make sense to build another giant robot.

it kind of takes away the development the paladins are supposed to go through as well, to work together better and stronger as a team thus opening up more weapons from voltron and learning how to fight in different ways.

idk i think the entire thing was kinda over-thought at the end as they were trying to keep the show going, but missing some of the other storylines they could've gone down, (black paladin lance, lotor redemption arc (which he did seemingly have but all along they planned to throw that in the bin), the team coming together as friends more often developing their bond as voltron but also as people, the team seeing their families again, not killing off shiro's FUCKING CANON BOYFRIEND IN A STUPID FUCKING SHITTY WAY ADAM DIDNT DESERVE TO DIE YALL ARE JUST COWARDS, and also the team kinda reflecting back to how they were jn the beginning and realizing they have grown (i say the team but i mostly mean lance and hunk because the writers just did not give two shits about them they really didnt get the chance to become fully thought out characters, they just had some insecurities and interests that were ignored until convenient then ignored again)).

[deusexlachina]

Wannabe Warden Part 4 (Anders, Fenris and Isabela): Make good impressions by setting half my friends on fire

In which I exploit my police connections to safely recruit fugitives so I can get strong enough to convince a Grey Warden to come out of a retirement he wasn't allowed to have in the first place.

With Other Aveline in charge of the police and in my pocket, she gives me a bag of money and looks the other way to the numerous very illegal things I am about to do, all to get the muscle needed to get into the Deep Roads and become a Grey Warden. I take the money and tell her I look forward to working with her.

I use the money to pay a visit to Xenon the Antiquarian, an apostate with eternal life but without eternal youth, so unfortunately he cannot help me in my quest. At least, he can't accompany me. In fact, he helps me tremendously. In exchange for Other Aveline's "thank you money" to fund anti-aging research so he can not be a husk, he sells me the Anderfels Cleaver, an axe that deals fire damage. I don't mean it has some bonus fire damage. I mean all of its damage is fire. That means it's not affected by armour. Conventional defences mean nothing to the Anderfels Cleaver. Best of all, mabari are immune to fire, so me and my obscenely large hurtbox can safely swing away without killing my own dog. (Nightmare Ultra mostly doesn't have friendly fire, except for allies - only your squad is safe!).

I hear my mom's family home is now a front for Tevinter slavers, so I serve them an eviction notice in the form of the Anderfels Cleaver. Slavers are not immune to fire - in fact, they take extra damage, I guess because racist people can go burn in hell. All their heavy armour just serves as a shell to cook them in. Having cleared the slavers out of the family home, I scrounge up every penny, getting over 7 gold - a 140% return on the axe. This makes the Anderfels Cleaver a sounder investment than venturing into monster-infested tunnels and hoping to find treasure instead of monsters and diseases. But I'm not in this for the treasure. I'm in this to become a Grey Warden.

I invest the new gold into Maker's Sighs, a potion that resets all a character's skill choices so you can give them good ones instead of the literal garbage they were saddled with by default. I ditch Pommel Strike to get Cleave, a balanced skill that nearly doubles your damage for ten seconds on a twenty-five second cooldown. Bethany becomes a deadly ice mage. Other Aveline gets sick of tanking for me and goes offence by jumping on the Cleave bandwagon. Varric learns how to hit things when he shoots. My squad is an efficient fighting force, armed to the teeth and with Antivan Crow-level tactics. Unfortunately for Anders, he isn't part of my squad yet, so he hasn't learned to STAY OUT OF THE WAY OF THE MAGIC AXE THAT SETS PEOPLE ON FIRE. Anders Cannot Die Here because he is animated by a demonic version of Justice, which is good because otherwise I would have burnt him to a crisp several times over.

Anders' boyfriend, Karl, was already made Tranquil, which is like a whimsical equivalent of the lobotomy. Anders' possession by Justice temporarily unlobotomizes Karl, suggesting that there may be a cure for Tranquility. However, Anders unilaterally decides that There Is No Choice But To Kill Him, and Karl agrees, because being Tranquil falls in that Thedas euthanasia threshold between a stomachache and immediate death.

After this harrowing ideal, I flirt with Anders, hoping that being a Grey Warden can be transmitted sexually. He's impressed that I'm brave enough to flirt with a demon-possessed mage who just killed his last partner.

Unfortunately, he's not impressed enough to immediately induct me into the Grey Wardens, not least because he quit being a Grey Warden after they made him give up his cat.

To be clear, you're not allowed to quit being a Grey Warden. You're so not allowed to quit that Duncan stabbed a guy to death when he backed out in the initiation. This doesn't stop Anders from quitting, just as it doesn't stop Alistair from quitting if you hire Loghain, who doesn't attempt to quit the Grey Wardens despite his being recruited at least partly out of sheer spite for previously trying to kill them all.

In any case, Salrokka! Anders is back in the game. And with a Grey Warden in the party, replacing currently-weak Varric, things are starting to go in our favour. I help Fenris, a fugitive from Tevinter who was enslaved until sometime after his master infused his skin with powerful lyrium enchantments that make him a living superweapon who is especially resistant to magic, because sensible people don't own slaves in the first place. To put it mildly, Fenris has had a hard life, so I give him some shiny dark armour like he has in Blue Wraith. It's the least I could do.

With my help, and with Guard-Captain Other Aveline pointedly looking away, Fenris storms his old master's house to try and kill him. Unfortunately, instead of metaphorical monsters, all we find is literal monsters, who are not as cathartic to skewer. Because Fenris joined my squad, he is coordinated enough to stay out of the way of the friend-slaying Anderfels Cleaver. He is KO'd anyway because there's an Arcane Horror, but I save the day.

With Fenris, my squad is even stronger. I meet Isabela, who, just as she did years ago, single-handedly defeats several armed men in a cutscene. This is a nod to how overpowered she is. Trained properly, she's extremely deadly but also difficult to hit. Just like Good Queen Morwen.

Isabela has more mods than any other companion, but in accordance with Sturgeon's Law most of them are for making her white, because they were made by the real-life equivalent of Tevinter. Fortunately, you don't mind digging for treasure through piles of literal garbage like Hawke & Friends, you can find some neat stuff for Bela. One of my personal favourite looks is a combo that makes her heavier and armoured instead of her default look with a corset and a buttflap. ("That's just silly," I say, one run after making yet another goth girl PC) I could be sly and argue it's to reflect her amazing potential as a tank, but honestly, I just think this look is rad as hell.

Isabela is challenged to a duel by another pirate, but she expects him to cheat, so she hires me to protect her. This I sort of do. She is attacked, and I do engage her attackers, but she is not safe at all because I am using the Anderfels cleaver and repeatedly set Isabela on fire, with the Anderfels Cleaver, in the Chantry. I could make some laborious joke about Isabela being hot, or the fires of hell, but this is not a blog that makes cheap jokes. This is the caviar of Dragon Age 2 Let's Plays. You and me, we're refined people, and you deserve better. We don't laugh at cheap puns. We laugh at Isabela getting hit with a flaming axe and set on fire again and again and screaming and still not thinking to move away from the fire.

Isabela is a jolly good sport about this, perhaps because she lives in a world with powerful healing magic, making full-body burns the equivalent of a sprained ankle. After discreetly leaving the mass grave with a roast pirate aroma the Chantry has become, Anders patches her up and, I assume, gives her a sympathetic "first time?" smile. Who's to say he doesn't? I'm telling this story, and I can embellish as much as I please. I see why Varric does it. It's addictive.

[g-girlshavingfun]

A sister’s vigil: 5 times Rachel visited her sister in hospital, and 1 time she didn’t.

4/6

Word count: 5,978

When Rachel arrived at the hospital, there was a man holding her sister’s hand.

Holding wasn’t quite the right word. Cradling, grasping, or clutching was probably more accurate. His hand engulfed hers, probably could’ve wrapped itself around both of them, and it was clenched so tight white spots appeared on his knuckles. He wasn’t squeezing though, he seemed almost afraid to apply any pressure at all in fact, so Abby’s pale simply lay limp in his grip.

It was enraging.

———————————————————————

Chapter 4

When Rachel was fifteen, her mother received a phone call from a Mr Nula with the CIA’s human resources department. He informed her in apathetic tones that Micheal Cameron’s task force had encountered unexpected resistance on their assignment in Berlin, that her husband had been gravely injured in the line of duty, that she and perhaps her daughters should make their way to headquarters where they would be transported to the hospital he was taken to. Rachel wasn’t present when the call was made, too busy reading her sister a bedtime story, but her mother recounted the phone call to her several times as they sat in the hospital waiting room, Abby curled up sleeping in her lap.

Over two decades later, Rachel was called into a meeting at Langley with Agent Gordon, a man only a few steps down from the director. With Matthew, Joe, and Abby all out of the country, there was no one to wind her up about disciplinary action, nor anyone to talk her down from ruminating about the last mistake she made on an assignment, so she made the trip to level 20 in a state of general unease. The conversation was short, and almost impersonal, as Agent Gordon informed her that her husband had now missed 3 call ins. That agents, including Agents Solomon and Cameron, had been dispatched to his last known location to orchestrate a search. That she could not tell anyone without level 5 or above clearance, but that Matthew Morgan was officially considered missing.

The next few weeks consisted of lying to her daughter, taking afternoons off work to search through Matthew’s notes and files, resisting the urge to fly to Europe and look for him herself. But Matthews parents couldn’t be clued in to what was going on, and with Abby already in Rome there was no one left that Rachel truly trusted to watch her daughter, not when she didn’t know why Matthew was missing. She had nearly convinced herself everything would be fine. Two of the best agents she knew were out there tracking him down, and they all knew Matthew couldn’t stay away from his family for too long, but then she got a knock on her door one afternoon.

She doesn’t remember much of the conversation with Joe and the senior agents who came to deliver the news. An agent’s memory is their first line of offence and defence, but Rachel can only remember the crushing feeling of despair that swept over her, the air freezing in her lungs, the pit cracking open in her chest. She remembers her vision of Joe’s clenched jaw and averted eyes blurring as someone uttered the words “declared dead”, the sound of his shaken apologies as the others agents saw themselves out, the feel of his arms cradling her when her knees gave way the second the door closed. She remembers thinking this is it, nothing can be worse than this.

How am I gonna tell Cammie?

All in all, Rachel was used to receiving bad news from the agency, and she knew how they went about it. A meeting was bad, and a home visit was worse, but a phone call wasn’t terrible in comparison.

Something she tried to remember as she received a phone call from an unknown number in her office one Thursday evening in Spring.

“Identify yourself.”

Rachel didn’t think that was completely necessary given they called her, and Langley are fully aware aware of the fingerprint ID needed to answer this particular phone.

“Rachel Morgan, headmistress of The Gallagher Academy.”

“…”

“Former CIA agent.”

Her voice neither broke on the word former, nor rose in the tone of a question, but it took a lot of Rachel’s willpower to stop it doing either.

“Is this line secure?”

No, the headmistress of the largest and most secure clandestine school in the country operates from a bugged office with a tapped phone line. Rachel didn’t resist rolling her eyes, its not like the mystery man on the other line could see her.

“It is.”

“This is Agent Lockwood, badge number 41098234-PY, clearance level 8. I’m calling in regards to an incident in which a fellow agent was injured in the line of duty. You are listed as their emergency contact.”

Rachel’s heart fell out of her chest.

She was the emergency contact for two agents. She had been Joe’s ever since Matthew had disappeared, had died, partly because it made more sense to nominate his friend who spent 35 weeks of the year in the same building, partly because his only other friend was not known for her reliability. She had been Abby’s since she first joined the CIA. There was a brief period where Abby and Matthew had secretly changed them to each other because Abby thought you’d appreciate it, we just didn’t want to worry you if anything went wrong darling! A sharp look to her husband and a stern lecture-turned-argument with her sister had them changing back pretty quickly.

She was the emergency contact for two agents, both of whom Rachel knew were on assignments. Joe was on an off-the-books wild-goose-chase to an undisclosed location looking for a trail from either her husband or the terrorist organisation they suspected had a hand in his disappearance. He had left a coded note on a piece of evapopaper taped to the underside of the postbox she could see out her office window, as per his promise to Matthew to stay in touch should something happen to him. Abby had been on a collaborative deep-cover assignment with someone from Six in Argentina for months. She had called one of Rachel's burners in the middle of the night and left a voicemail when she predictably didn’t pick up, honouring the promise she had made two years prior to keep her sister in the loop, but tactfully avoiding any kind of emotional confrontation or goodbye.

She was the emergency contact for two agents, for two people she loved, and one of them was hurt. Badly. Langley didn’t inform emergency contacts unless it was bad.

“…yes?”

Rachel’s willpower was wavering, voice ever so close to choking on the glass in her throat.

“The agency were informed last night of an incident in Buenos Aires-”

Rachel’s vision began to swim, blood pounding in her ears, and she hated herself slightly for the second where she wished he would’ve named some arbitrary European city instead of where her little sister was stationed.

“-involving Agent Cameron and an MI6 operative. The operative’s primary mission objective had been met when they received a tip about unrelated and undisclosed clandestine activities in the area. Despite being advised to wait for backup on account of injuries already sustained on their assignment, Agent Cameron opted to investigate. Yesterday morning she carried out a lone infiltrative opera-“

“Lockwood.”

Cam joked that her Mom voice had become an even scarier teacher voice when she took this job. That she so easily commanded the attention of her staff and students, got them to confess to their wrongdoings with a single word, and had the girls of the school hanging off everything she said, because she had spent Cammie’s entire life practising.

Grace had laughed when she heard this, stating that Cammie and the girls obviously didn’t know that her operative voice had come first. Matthew had always said that it sounded remarkably similar to her wife voice, at least the one which he didn’t like. Of course all of them failed to remember that before she was an operative, a wife, a mother, or a teacher, she was an older sister. That the sharp tone which cut through Agent Lockwood’s account of an assignment gone awry originated as a big sister voice.

“Where is my sister now?”

“BAMC. She was airlifted there this morning. She’s stable at the moment bu-“

“I’ll be there in 4 hours.”

With that she hung up the phone and tried to make a plan.

She needed to charter a plane. She could catch a flight out of DCA but that was a good hours drive away where the nearest airfield was 10 minutes down the road. San Antonio was a few hours away by private jet, but Rachel was pretty sure she could convince Langley to foot the bill for the journey by reminding them of her missing husband and the funds they refused to put towards extending a search for him.

She needed to inform Patricia. Not least because someone needed to run the school in the few days to weeks she planned to be absent, nor just because of the fondness Rachel knew the former MI5 operative had for her wayward little sister. No, Rachel needs to speak to Patricia because she may know what to say to slow the racing of her heart, ease the aching in her chest, relieve the pounding behind her eyes.

Or maybe she should call Joe.

Should she tell Cammie?

No.

Cammie had enough to worry about. She had a Culture and Assimilation exam tomorrow, and an ongoing disagreement between Bex and Tina to navigate, and the endless trauma of turning 15, and her Father was already gone. She didn’t need to worry about her aunt on top of all that. That’s been Rachel and Abby’s thinking for the past couple years, ever since Cammie became acutely aware of how fragile the lives of spies are. Since she fully understood what exactly her family did for a living. Since Abby started dedicating almost all her spare time to looking for leads on Matthew and coming up empty handed. Cammie didn’t need to know how futile it was, how much danger her aunt put herself in, how close she’s come to losing another member of her already too small family.

She would get Patricia to tell Cammie that she was pulled away on something for an old case and that she’d be back sometime next week. She wouldn’t question that. They could reschedule Sunday dinner for when she returns, maybe Rachel would give her an update then, depending on how bad it is.

Charter a plane, speak to Patricia, get to the airfield, leave a message for Joe, get to her sister. That was her plan, one step at a time, Abby would be fine.

Rachel prayed that she was right.

———————————————————————

When Rachel arrived at the hospital, there was a man holding her sister’s hand.

Holding wasn’t quite the right word. Cradling, grasping, or clutching was probably more accurate. His hand engulfed hers, probably could’ve wrapped itself around both of them, and it was clenched so tight white spots appeared on his knuckles. He wasn’t squeezing though, he seemed almost afraid to apply any pressure at all in fact, so Abby’s pale simply lay limp in his grip.

He looked tall and broad, though Rachel couldn’t be sure at the moment. He sat hunched in his chair, back slouching and shoulders tucked into his chest. Bowed head and rounded neck, he had essentially curled himself around the air above Abby despite looking like a man who usually sat pinpoint straight. Like he usually had a wooden cross nailed to his spine, pulling his shoulder blades back and and pushing his chest out, propping his head up and jutting his chin outward in a pompous manner. Right now he appeared to be a marionette with his strings cut, tired and lifeless.

His trembling jaw gave the impression of a couple morning shaves missed, and his dark hair was overgrown on top but badly clipped around his ears, like someone had taken a pair of kitchen shears to his head. Rachel remembered Joe coming home from a mission with a similarly bad haircut once, and when asked about it he just scowled and asked how a woman who spent her formative years receiving lessons on both needlework and blades training could be so bad at using scissors. Rachel wondered if the man hated the trim, he looked like a man who went to the same Barbour for the same haircut whenever he could manage it, but looking at him now he didn’t seem to care.

His eyes were sunken. Blue, from what Rachel could make out. Not a bright blue like her husband’s and daughter’s, but something deeper and darker, the evening sky before a storm, complete with redness carving through the whites of his eyes like lightning. Bags sagged at the skin beneath his lower lids, and the dampness of recent tears glistened on long eyelashes decorating the upper.

He was clearly exhausted. And devastated.

It was enraging.

Rachel shut the door behind her with more force than necessary, enjoying the way the man flinched, how he rapidly let go of her sisters hand though didn’t move far enough that his pinky didn’t touch hers. Immediately, it was like life was injected back into him. The marionette strings tightened on his spine, pulling him straight and tensing his muscles. His knuckles relaxed, his jaw tightened, and his eyes cleared. He almost looked like an agent as he angled his head slightly towards her and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Mrs Morgan.”

It wasn’t his nationality that surprised her, she had assumed that this was the MI6 agent who Abby had been working with, so the English accent didn’t surprise her. Nor did the subtleties in the accent. Beyond the mixed veil of exhaustion and Queen’s English that she presumed he picked up at some fancy boarding school and strengthened at Oxbridge, Rachel could detect a slight lilt. Not like Abe and Bex’s London twang, nor like Grace’s northern twang, but something subtle that suggested he didn’t grow up where the rest of his demeanour suggested he did. But Rachel had assumed that too. She had encountered plenty of men who grew up with status, and by the time they were this age they forgot to act like it, losing their good posture and surface level manners to the novelty of sweatpants and sleazy pickup lines. In Rachel’s experience, it tended to be men who grew up ashamed of how little they had that ended up presenting themselves like this man.

So it wasn’t the man’s accent that surprised her, but the fact that he knew her name. She supposed it shouldn’t, she knew her and her sister shared a strong resemblance, and that Abby wasn’t unlikely to mention her existence to someone she half-trusted, but Rachel didn’t know who this man was. She didn’t like that he knew her on sight when she didn’t have a name to attach to his face. Didn’t like that she was starting this conversation on the back-foot.

The man must’ve seen something in her eyes that reflected unease, or maybe he felt uneasy himself at the silence that stretched before them, because he angled further towards her and continued talking.

“Agent Townsend, MI6. I’m your Abigail’s- I’m her- We’re-“

Rachel felt the frown on her face deepen as he stumbled on his words. His cheeks didn’t pinken; he wasn’t embarrassed. He didn’t seem like a man who was unsure of himself or his words, and yet he couldn’t quite figure out how to express how he knew her sister.

“Your sister and I worked together on this assignment.”

Townsend was a name that did ring bells. If Rachel thought back to years ago, she could remember her sister returning from a cover in Romania complaining about some British upstart who nearly blew her operation, how she ended up having to work with the arrogant bastard for weeks. Could remember her bringing him up unprompted for the next couple of months, earning a few raised eyebrows from Matthew and hidden sniggers from Joe. They had worked together a few more times over the years, Rachel remembered. Sometimes joined by Abe, who described the man as cocky but dependable, and once by Matthew, who coined him as formality personified, but good.

No matter how much Rachel knew to pay more attention to her sister’s actions rather than her words, how much she trusted the opinions of her friend and of her husband, something about Agent Townsend wasn’t sitting right with her.

“Really? I was told that this was the result of a reckless solo infiltration.”

Another flinch tore through the man’s body at the words, though he showed no signs of admonishment at her tone, nor at the single eyebrow that rose in a questioning sneer.

“If the two of you were working together, how come she’s half dead in a hospital and you’re sitting here perfectly fine?”

Like a child, Rachel couldn’t resist a mocking imitation of his accent as she spat his words back at him, the anger in her words shielding the break in voice. Instead of shrinking back at her condemnation, Agent Townsend bristled and twisted his face into something cold, though nothing could hide the gleam of guilt in his eyes. His reply was stern and dark, voice deepening in intensity and rising in volume, but his words were pleading, begging for absolution he wouldn’t find in her.

“I told her not to go, begged her even. I told her it was reckless and stupid-“

“Dont talk about her like that!”

“-and that she’d just get herself hurt!”

“You should’ve gone with her. You’re her partner you should’ve-”

“She said she wouldn’t do it."

“And you believed her?”

“She promised!”

“You should’ve stopped her-“

“She drugged me!”

“What kind of agent lets someone drug them?”

“One that trusts his parter?”

“Well there’s your first mistake. God how naive-“

“She was looking for your husband!”

Now standing, Rachel could see that Agent Townsend was indeed tall, almost towering over her from the moment he lurched out of his chair. His chest heaved in angered gasps, and he levelled her with a pained glare, the intensity of which was only weakened by the shine still present in his eyes. One fist lay clenched at his side, muscles shaking with furious adrenaline running up his arm and along his shoulders and chest, spreading down his body to legs that looked ready to bolt, but his other arm remained limp. His hand still lay beside Abby’s, one finger overlapping with hers, almost disconnected from the rest of his body.

Rachel was sure her posture mirrored his.

She had prowled forward during her assault, and now she stood almost chest to chest with the man before her. Her shoulders shook with enraged terror, and the breaths escaping through her constricted throat were rapid and laboured. She felt her nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed, her face flushing, tears burning in the back of her skull. One hand jabbed accusingly in Agent Townsend’s face, steady in it’s fury, and the other rested gently on her sister’s leg, stable in it’s reassurance.

Rachel had been seconds away from grabbing the man’s crumpled collar and shaking the self-righteousness out of him when he screamed his final retort, stealing the insults and allegations out of her mouth. Some of the fire left her lungs, and she felt the tension begin to seep out of her muscles as a devastating understanding began to wash over her.

Agent Townsend continued in a softer, yet still resolutely angry tone.

“We received intelligence that a splinter Circle group were meeting with a local gang for some kind of exchange. Abigail suspected one of the group members was linked to Agent Morgan’s disappearance, wanted to infiltrate the handover to see if she could get any info for a lead. I told her it was too dangerous but-“

His voice caught for a moment, but hardened again, eyes cutting between the two sisters in a near identical glare.

“-but she didn’t care. It’s not my fault she thinks her life is less important than chasing a ghost!”

Rachel felt like she’d been shot.

Agent Townsend must’ve known how his words would cut through her, the angry clench to his jaw suggesting it was done on purpose. He must’ve seen the blood drain from her face, the hitch in her breath, the flinch that tore through her soul, but he remained resolute in his anger, his glare settling solely on her now. He looked at her like she wanted this, like she wanted her little sister to risk her life over and over again for the sake of finding her husband’s body, like there was any universe where she would trade Abby’s life for information of what happened to Matt.

She wanted to scream at him. At the world. At Abby. To scream that Matthew was dead and they all knew it, that they would probably never know what happened to him, that she had accepted that. That her and Cammie had spent the past three years trying desperately to move on so why wouldn’t anyone else? Why wouldn’t they let them? Why does Abby, and Joe for that matter, still not understand that she doesn't need them to find out what happened to her husband, that knowing how and when and why he died wouldn’t help her or her daughter, that all she really needed was for them to be there. To be safe.

She wanted to scream all of this at Agent Townsend. At a man who until 10 minutes ago wasn’t a part of her life, or her family’s as far as she was aware. A man she didn’t know, but who was clearly in love with her sister. A man who had no right to stand there and accuse her of loving a memory of a dead man more than she loved Abby.

She wanted to scream so that she didn’t cry, but looking at her sister properly for the first time since she entered the hospital room, she found she didn’t have the energy for either.

Blackened bruises painted their way across the side of her face, streaking over her nose and both eyes, fingerprints dancing across her jaw and around her neck. Deep gashes cut through her cheek. One grazing through her eyebrow and the other stretching down to her chin, partially hidden by the oxygen mask covering her mouth. The cuts looked a few days old at least, held together by sutures still but already beginning to heal, so Rachel figured she picked them up before she decided to go rogue, but the bruises were fresh. Those she earned chasing down Circle members. Looking for Matthew.

The arm that wasn’t lying limply beneath Townsend’s hand was strapped to her chest, a cast extending from her hand to over her elbow. A set of similar casts covered her left leg, one around her elevated ankle and the other disappearing under the thin hospital blanket, likely stretching up to her hip to cover up where a stray bullet had lodged itself. Rachel wondered her femur had broken along the same crevices that had been carved out when she was a child. If the bone’s memories of snapping when Abby tumbled out of a tree had never quite healed over. If any of their old wounds ever truly healed, or if they hid away, dormant, waiting to be opened up again.

Tubes and wire decorated the hospital bed and wove themselves in her little sister’s body, ensnaring her in a web of IV lines and catheters and drains. One drain snuck its way under her gown and into her side, sucking out the blood that was filling the space around her lungs, and other did the same to her abdomen. Her breathing was shallow and loud. Oxygen forced itself into her throat and rattled around her fractured chest, carbon dioxide seeping out of it in a trembling sigh.

Rachel could see the borders of bruises peeking out from beneath the blanket, bruises that she knew covered Abby’s cracked sternum and broken ribs, bruises that didn’t just come from fists and kicks and explosions, but from the chest compressions noted in her medical file. Rachel wondered if it was Townsend’s hands that pressed on her sister’s chest, sustaining her in some state between life and death until the ambulance arrived, keeping her blood pumping when her own heart couldn’t. When Rachel first learned how to do CPR, she was told that it wasn’t effective unless bones were breaking. She wondered if Townsend had been told the same. Wondered if he was thinking about that as he broke Abby’s ribcage.

“The doctors think she’ll be fine.”

His voice voice was soft now.

“It was touch and go for a while but…”

He looked pained to do so, but he began to remove himself from Abby, stepping away from the chair perched by her head and slowly, hesitantly, taking his hand with him. His fingertips lingered on hers a moment longer, and his gaze never wavered from her face, but eventually he made space for Rachel by her sister’s side.

She filled it willingly, unconsciously, instantly. One hand smoothed back greased hair from Abby’s bandaged forehead, the other gently squeezed the tips of her fingers, dancing around the cannulas in her hand and grasping in-between the bruises perched on her knuckles. Her thumb traced the red rim that encircled her wrist, cuff marks, and pressed into the pulse that beat gently through her wrist. Bending forward, she pressed a featherlight kiss to her brow and settled herself into the chair.

“Are you staying?”

Townsend had crept closer towards the door, a weight still settled on his shoulders and in his face. He nodded slowly at her question, seemingly unaware he was doing so, and settled his body against the closed door as if he were blocking it, guarding it, guarding them from anyone who may try gain entry without his approval.

“I’m good here. You should rest.”

She resented being told to do anything by this man, and was half-tempted to tell him so, but he looked as exhausted as she felt, and she felt a wave of pity wash over her. It was a tiresome thing, she knew, to be so wholly in love with someone who put everyone else, their family, their job, the world, before themselves. He had probably spent the past 72 hours fighting, with Abby, with the Circle, with death itself, he could likely to with a slight reprieve. So instead, she relented without argument, laying her head next to Abby’s and slipping off into sleep.

———————————————————————

Rachel woke again to the sound of a door closing.

Straining against the protests made by the crick in her neck, she peeled her cheek off Abby’s shoulder, her head off the pillow they shared, and peeled her eyes open. The room was shadowed, the moon shining through the window and the monitoring equipment that stood next to the bed casting a soft glare across the walls. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, but when they did she quickly registered the glaring absence in the room, the lack of a six-foot-something guard posted by the door, and the red hue that lined her sister’s open eyes, the sliver of a tear that crept down her nose, oxygen mask discarded on the pillow next to her.

“Hey,”

Abby’s eyes jumped to meet hers in response to the whisper.

“He couldn’t stay huh?”

Rachel smiled sadly at the small sniffle her sister let out, the way her eyes, dazed as they were from exhaustion and painkillers, blinked and hardened, the way her fingers tightened slightly around Rachel’s own.

“He was just dropping me off anyway, making sure I didn’t die and all that. Didn’t want the extra paperwork…”

Her voice, scratchy and hoarse, trailed off when she felt Rachel wince, fingers squeezing again in apology. Abby’s tone was casual, and her smile was dismissive even as it tugged at her stitches, but her breath was shook as it brushed her trembling lower lip, the remnants of tears still shining on her eyelashes. Normally Rachel would push, dig at the crevices in her mask, pull apart the story she’d fabricated until Abby relented and spill the details on whatever boy trouble she was having. Looking at her now though, tired and fragile and small, Rachel decided to ignore the heartbreak in her sister’s eyes for the time being. Let her believe she had hidden it from her for just a bit longer.

“You didn’t have to come-”

Rachel’s eyes were rolling before Abby even finished her sentence.

“-no really, I’m fi-.”

“You’re not fine.”

Heat burst from the anger boiling in her gut, bubbling out her eyes in a fierce glare that cut through her sister’s words as they hung in the air between them.

“You nearly died Abby. Technically you did die!”

“Technically I didn’t.”

“You were dead. Your heart stopped, did you know that?”

“I heard.”

The whisper was soft and breathy. Her eyes flickered towards the closed door again, glazing over mournfully. Teeth closed over the skin of her top lip and tugged hard. She swallowed thickly. Unsure. Rachel mimicked the gesture, sighing through her frustration, struggling to stay angry when Abby looked so devastated. Her words escaped her in a plea.

“How could you be so…” Reckless. Stupid. Selfish.

“I had to! Catherine Goode was spotted getting on a boat in Montevideo a few days ago, I knew she was going to be at the exchange. I’m sure she was involved in Matt’s disappearance Rach, I thought I could-“

Single handedly bring in a woman who’s evaded arrest for over a decade. Get the answers to questions we’ve been asking for years in one night. Bring a man back from the dead.

“I thought I could find him.”

Rachel didn’t ask whether Abby meant find him, or find his body, not wanting to know how much delusional hope her sister was still holding onto lest some of it spread to her. She couldn’t afford to think that Matthew was still alive. She had a life and a school and a daughter that she knew she had to put first.

“Why didn’t you just wait for backup?”

“It would’ve been too late.”

She sniffed again, voice breaking, more tears trickling down her battered face. Rachel knew she shouldn’t be fighting her over this, knew she was exhausted and in pain and had probably just had the same fight with Agent Townsend, but she needed her to listen for once. To understand that she couldn’t just keep throwing herself into the line of fire and thinking her family would thank her for it.

“I didn’t want to be too late again.”

Fuck.

“It’s not your fault Abs.”

But Abby just looked away from her again, mouth wobbling and eyes clouded in guilt. Rachel sighed again, combing one hand through her sister’s hair and brushing the other up and down her arm.

No matter how many times Rachel repeated the assurances that still fizzled in the air around them, Abby refused to believe them. She still clung to her self-condemnation and flagellation, to her overwhelming guilt and displays of penitence. Rachel wondered how much of that was her fault. How much the words that she hurled at her sister one evening in Italy, mere days after her husbands funeral, had stuck with her. The blanket of misplaced anger and grief and devastation that settled over Rachel’s memories meant she barley remembered the fight, had no idea what she had said that meant Abby avoided her for months and refused to meet her eyes for even longer. She wasn’t sure how much of the guilt that was crushing Abby was her own, and how much of it Rachel had inadvertently placed on her in an explosion of grief.

There wasn’t a single cell in her body that blamed Abby for Matthew’s disappearance, if only she could get her sister to believe that, to feel the same.

“How’s the squirt?”

Ignoring the obvious subject change, Rachel smiled at the question, heart lightening at the thought of her daughter.

“She’s great. All her teachers are pleased with her, she’s close as anything with Grace’s daughter and their roommate, and she hasn’t even been distracted by boys yet. Much less trouble than you were at her age.”

“Hmmm, give her time.”

Rachel laughed nervously at the thought, still hopeful that her own influence had tempered whatever sneaky habits Matthew and Abby had instilled in Cammie throughout her childhood. Abby breathed a slight chuckle with her, wincing at the way it tugged at her cracked ribcage. Under normal circumstances Rachel would take the opportunity to cajole her sister into visiting Cam. Into spending the summer with them in Nebraska, or a Sunday evening with them at the academy, into breaking through the haze of guilt and regret she was trapped in and letting her niece see her instead of just checking up on her from a distance.

Rachel knew she worried that Cammie would see the guilt in her eyes, in her smile, seeping from her pores and dripping from her tongue. Worried that Cammie wouldn’t need her when she couldn’t be the fun-aunt, would hate her for not getting to Rome faster, would wish that it was her who disappeared, died, instead of Matthew. Somehow her sister had got it in her head that they were better off with her staying away. Happier. Safer. No matter what Rachel said, she hadn’t managed to dissuade her of any of that. Under normal circumstances, Rachel tried again almost every time she saw her.

These were’t normal circumstances though, and Rachel figured she had been pushed enough today already.

She’d try again in a few days. Tell her that they missed her, that they didn’t blame her, that neither of them needed her to be fun and grief-free, that they just wanted her around.

For now though, she just stroked her sister’s hair, and lay her head beside her’s once more, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“You should go back to sleep, get some rest.”

“Yeah.”

Rachel’s heart clenched at the quick resignation, at the way Abby’s eyelids fluttered and voice cracked, at how her head lulled on the pillow, relaxing against her own.

“Don’t know how you expect me to sleep in these circumstances though.”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t bring Monty!

Her thoughts strayed to that stupid sheep, it’s age-worn fur and missing eyes. Last she had seen was in Cammie’s wardrobe, her daughter having found it and the stuffed wolf from Rachel’s own childhood in a box in the attic. She had been enthralled when Rachel told her where they came from, immediately retrieving the stuffed horse Abby had gifted her as a baby, affectionately named Neighy once she could talk. Matthew had sent her into a a fit of giggles by putting on a show with all three of them, mocking Abby’s deadpan yet teasing tone, Cam’s child-like pitch, and her own strong city drawl. Rachel remembered laughing with her, loving how even at 10 her daughter could be so entertained by what was essentially a puppet show as long as her father was at the helm.

For once, such a memory didn’t feel like a gut punch, like the air was being ripped out of her, like she’d never breath again. Instead she felt lighter, the joy she remembered so vividly filling her heart once more.

She wondered if this was what healing felt like.

Rachel hid her growing grin in her pillow, elated by the sound of her sister’s laugh, how it reminded her so acutely of their mother’s airy chuckle and her daughter’s lively giggle all at once. She didn’t want the moment to end, the joy and the lightness and the love, but her own eyelids were growing heavy again, and even laughter couldn’t keep the pained shadow off Abby’s face for long.

“Just shut up and go to sleep you.”

And so they did.

Maybe they could laugh again when they woke.

———————————————————————

Authors note:

Okay so that was both longer than planned and took much longer to write than I thought it would. Oops.

Rachel and Townsend are similar in that they’re pretty stubborn, overthinkers who think they know best, prideful, and did I say stubborn? Rachel, who’s pretty protective of her family meeting Townsend, who’s angry and scared and not wanting to feel any of that, for the first time when Abby’s injured was not going to go brilliantly.

They grow on each other though (they bond over a common source of headaches).

Maybe one day I’ll write the Tabby argument that took place while Rachel was asleep. Or Tabby fight that happened in when Abby decided to go after Catherine. Or maybe even my entire version of Buenos Aires…

(Also it became too long to include Joe so sorry for lying about that, rest assured he will be in the next chapter by which time we will have caught up to canon…)(his cameo was gonna be Rachel using this as a way to manipulate convince him to teach at Gallagher next term)

[lizseyi]

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[jfbuckley]

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. To win and score four goals is good. To be behind twice, at home, against the team that will probably go down with the worst record in premier league history - well that is bad!!

My particular query in this game was that I was somewhat surprised to find that the referee gave us a penalty - but the ball had crossed the line within a second or two of the offence. Why not just allow the goal to stand? It would have been the height of injustice had the penalty been missed. I asked my football correspondent about it, but he said that the referee had blown up, so that was that. Nevertheless, this is a weakness in the rules, and mark my words, it will happen one day in a vital match with a major club and there will be a stink…————-

hi - this match was originally due to be played in mid march when united still harboured hopes of finishing 4th or 5th - realistically those hopes have gone and 6th (where united have finished 3 times in the last 7 seasons) is the most optimistic placing united can hope for

united were the dominant side in the first half hour creating a few openings the best of which was spurned by garnacho - after 35 minutes united again repelled a sheffield raid and played the ball to onana to launch a fresh attack - unfortunately his pass to dalot was poorly paced and bogle dashed in and put sheffield ahead - but sheffield were only ahead for 7 minutes - a united free kick was cleared out to the left wing - garnacho chased and floated a cross to maguire who was on the edge of the 6 yard box at the near post - a glancing header found the net at the far post - half time 1 - 1

just a few minutes into the 2nd half sheffield scored again - it was a familiar goal for united to concede - the opposition get behind the united defence - the ball is pulled back for an incoming player to score - plenty of defenders around but not picking up anyone

once again sheffield couldn't consolidate - from a corner maguire managed to knock the ball goalwards as he was wrestled to the ground - quite similar to the penalty rodri 'won' for city earlier this season - the ref blew for a pen just before dalot nudged the ball over the line - if only the ref had waited 5 seconds - anyway bruno fired in the leveller

for the next 20 minutes the match was fairly even until bruno found space on the right outside the sheffield area and smashed in a rising left footed effort which beat the flailing keeper - 4 minutes later dalot lifted a ball over the sheffield defence for the tireless fernandes to pick up and set up hojlund for a 5 yard tap in

it felt all over but with recent events in mind 14 minutes felt a long time for united to see the match out  but see it out they did

united are back up to good old 6th again - next up is burnley at OT - a solid 2 - 0 win would be nice but united don't do solid do they

bye

[overwatchcharacterhelp]

WidowMaker - DPS

Abilities + Weapon:

Widow’s Kiss - an assault rifle that becomes a powerful sniper rifle when aiming down sights

Venom Mine (15 sec cooldown) - a projectile poisoning trap that triggers once an enemy walks close by it (can be destroyed if spotted by enemy)

Grappling Hook (12 sec cooldown) - movement ability to help reach higher ground quicker and/or make quick escapes from fights or a dive hero targeting you

Infra Sight (Ultimate) - allows entire team to see the exact whereabouts of every enemy across the entire map (even invisible Sombra’s)

Grappling Tips:

This is Widow’s only movement ability. Like other abilities, it has a limited range and can grapple onto roofs, walls, ledges and even the floor. While a pretty good get away, it can also be used for easy rotation throughout the match. Soon enough, if you keep sniping from the same spot in whatever map over and over again it will become predictable for the other team as they’ll have full knowledge on where you are and what can easily take you out from that spot. Which is why rotating sniping spots as Widow is a key component to progressing your usefulness of her. It doesn’t always have to be on high ground either although it can be harder for some to snipe from lower levels which is completely fine! The grapple can also be used for quick snipes. From a spot within the map that has a clearing or an area you can jump above (press the jump button when you are close to ending the initial grapple) you can get a sneaky and maybe easy pick. While this may be a little less useful with her recent range nerf, it can be good for making an enemy cower and making the fight a 4 v 5. Do keep in mind it takes time to get used to these if you’ve not done it before or have less experience with these actions but you’ll always improve, even if your having a bad game day :)

Venom Mine Tips:

There are not as many things I can comment on with the venom mine but it can be a great warning sign. If you are comfortably and confidently situated (let’s say in Havana in the balcony facing the payload), be wary of the only 2 ways into it. The stairs behind and the other windows. If you are unsure of where to place the venom mine in the balcony, place it somewhere by the stairwell or doorway leading into the balcony. The stairs are prime flanking spots for many heroes if they wish to be sneaky (Sombra, Genji, almost any other hero really), so it’s good to set a trap. Even though it can be destroyed, and it most likely will be, a set sound plays as it’s broken along with a piece of text in the direction of the mine saying “DESTROYED”, it also does this with when it’s triggered but instead using a gas releasing effect and showing the words “TRIGGERED”. Either way, it can give time to react however you please, whether that’s fight with the assault mode of the rifle or quickly grapple away and attempt to snipe them. But if it is a tank, it is best to regroup with your team to have help dealing with the tank if they chose to give chase as killing a tank with Widow, while isn’t impossible, is very difficult without a Mercy by your side (from my experience)

Infra Sight Tips:

There isn’t much to infra sight, other than this ult can be a game changer by giving your team the upper hand. It’s takes only 0.5 seconds to activate but it only lasts for 15.5 seconds. I recommend if your acting as defence and you’re aware the enemy team is regrouping near the end of the game/match or while your teammate(s) have a powerful ult at 100%, get a good high ground point or do a grapple jump, see where they are and activate the ult if they’re grouped in both situations. If you use mic, it’s best to communicate this with your team, but if you don’t that’s okay too, in my experience it’s best to hope and pray they’ll understand, haha. But if you are on the offence, once again utilise the infra and ult combo or use it to find a good flanking spot as a team.

[cflawsblog]

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[tiressian]

"Paradisin'/Living my best life thrivin'" 

- Rina Sawayama

…

1.  

Sixteen-year-old Gojo on some level knows to expect Shoko to take to sex with the same clinical fascination she deploys in the Infirmary; he just underestimates the extent of that fascination when they're finally naked in front of each other. He wants to go back to making out but she's already bent slightly forward, both hands on her hips and squinting.

"Oh wow, so that's it, huh?" she remarks, with zero intonation whatsoever. "Cute and not monstrous. Slight curve, like a banana."

The hell? “Uh thanks?" Gojo says, shifting his weight uncomfortably, face red as he fights the urge to cover himself. 

Two things. One: Shoko is so lucky he's had a crush on her since the first time he laid all six eyes on her.  Two: She also happens to be the only girl in his cohort around for miles. 

(So it’s not lost on him that he’s lucky too in that respect; that she digs him as much as he does her.)

"Hey...you're not even hard. Why's that? Your penis shy or something?” She pauses and straightens, and the clinical detachment is replaced by accusation. "You think I'm ugly, don't you?"

What the fuck? "What?" Gojo says, flushing even more red.

Shoko points accusingly, her tits bouncing a little as she does, and Gojo's eyes track the movement. Shoko sees, because all women see, Gojo knows this, everyone in the world with eyes knows this, but it doesn’t stop him.

He has a feeling he’s on his merry way to getting dick-punched.

"You do!" Shoko goes. She jabs a finger at him, tits bouncing, again, Gojo looks because come on, they're literally right there, Shoko sees, again, and Gojo internally rakes a hand down his face. “You do only want me for my body! You're not even looking at my face!”

Because you're naked and you got nice tits! "I do not think you're ugly!" Gojo says hotly. Talk about a rock and a not-so-hard place. Isn't wanting your girlfriend's body part of the package anyway? He opens his mouth to say so, but what comes out is, "Would I even fucking be here if you were?"

At that, Shoko's expression turns as cold as the Arctic. She crosses her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed. "You know, that's a gooood question Gojo."

Gojo knows answering that question is gonna get him booted from the room and never hearing the end of it from Suguru, because Shoko and Suguru are chummy like that. The best defence is an all-out offence.  

"Oh my g- for f- it's coz you're staring like it's some kinda alien specimen!"

"Of course I'm staring like it's an alien specimen! I've never seen a real one up close! You take me for some kinda hussy or something?”

"Well I've never seen a real vagina before tonight either but you don't see me runnin’ around doing a fuckin' nature documentary about it!" Gojo snaps. 

Silence descends upon Shoko's room for the next few moments, the two of them blushing as they glare at every conceivable object in the room except at each other. Gojo's eyes land on a band poster that wasn't tacked to the wall beside Shoko’s window the last time he'd visited and he forgets he’s supposed to be annoyed.

"You got the poster already?” he says. “Thought we were gonna go get it together."

“Nah you were busy with Goodwill. I went with Mei. She's got a girlfriend, by the way."

“She does? Do we like her?"

“Eh, she’s alright. Kind of a bitch, but in a cool way."

"Poster looks good."

"Thanks."

A second later Shoko snorts and Gojo does too before they both laugh. Shoko touches his arm, turning him back to her. She smiles at him and goddamn him but he melts at the sight of it. Suguru says he’s probably a sucker for brown eyes and Suguru’s probably right and no way in hell is Gojo admitting that aloud. 

"Hey,” she says. “Sorry for being dumb."

Gojo waves it off. “Nah. Sorry for yelling at you. Please stop analysing my penis.”

“Fine. Are we good?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna touch my boobs?" Shoko whispers.

Gojo nods vigorously. Shoko grins as she steps forward, bringing his hands up to cover both of them. He inhales sharply as he squeezes, marvelling at the feel and Shoko smirks as she feels something rise against her belly.

"Well, hellooo sorcerer," Shoko murmurs, and without any further preamble she tugs him down so she can kiss him.

Shoko doesn’t come the first time they have sex. Gojo does after three and a half thrusts, which Shoko finds ironically anti-climatic, but knows better than to voice aloud.

…

2. 

The second time Shoko has sex with Gojo, she has the innate sense that this is how concrete felt when the jackhammer was first invented. Gojo is aware of nothing else save the need to chase his own pleasure because surprise, surprise, the Six Eyes is really just a guy. She spends the whole time staring at her ceiling, listening to his pants and their insides squelching. She doesn't hesitate to state the analogy aloud when he finishes, because she read that it's good to communicate your needs to your partner.

Gojo blushes furiously as he disposes of the condom and retrieves a fresh one from the box at her urging, eager to redeem himself.

…

3.

The third time, Shoko gets on top. She doesn’t understand how the porn stars do it because it hurts her knees and she gets a horrible cramp in one of her calves. Gojo laughs as he helps her dismount and remarks that she's a lot more unfit than he thought, and for that, she punches him in the dick. 

They do not continue for medical reasons. Suguru knocks and asks if Gojo needs an ice pack or if Shoko needs a Real Man to show Gojo how it’s done, and Shoko has to restrain Gojo from stalking out of her room stark naked to kill Suguru with his bare hands.

…

4. 

The fourth time, Gojo lasts a bit longer, and it's almost nice. She still doesn't get off, but she does find his refractory period fascinating. She spends the whole time working out the math while he groans and humps into her. 

“Do you think it’s a side effect of your Cursed Technique?” she asks, watching him tie off the condom. “Wow, that’s a lot of spunk my dude.”

“Excuse you, it’s a normal amount and— are you serious?" Gojo says instead, dismayed because she’s staring at his penis, again, and they’ve talked about this.

Shoko pats his cheek.

"It's for science," she tells him. "This could be handy info for you, you know."

"I don't doubt that," Gojo says, cheeks reddening. "But you’re staring again.”

“It’s for science!”

“Oh god.”

…

5.

The fifth time, Shoko just resignedly reaches between them to rub her clit while Gojo’s thrusting and he slows down, eventually pulling out of her to watch. He slides his hands up her thighs smiling uncertainly at her. 

"That feels good to you?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm," Shoko says with her eyes closed, moaning as she gets herself wetter. Gojo observes her for a beat before he taps her on the thigh. 

“Hey,” he says. “Lemme try." He slides lower along her body without waiting for an answer. 

"Be my guest," Shoko shrugs, disguising her nervousness behind her clinical veneer again. "You just have to put your fi–ohh..." she goes, gasping when Gojo presses his mouth to her swollen clit instead. 

He lets Shoko’s moans and pleasured gasps guide his lips and tongue, all enthusiasm and little finesse, tasting and sucking until her grip is a vice in his hair, and she’s coming with her back arching up off the bed. The taste isn't anything to write home about, but the sounds she makes uncovers and ignites a greed in Gojo that wants to see how much he can pull out of her before she unravels.  

He smirks up at her from between her legs as she comes down, mouth glistening with her slick, watching her pant, all flushed scarlet and sweating. 

“Fuuuck,” Shoko drawls, boneless and dazed. 

Gojo chuckles as he moves back up along Shoko's body. His erection digs into her stomach as he kisses her.

"How was that? Good?" he murmurs against her mouth.

"Super good," Shoko declares with a happy sigh, curling her leg over his hip as she hugs him. He feels her press a kiss into his chest, and the question he hears is soft, somewhat hesitant.  "Can you…do it again?"

Gojo raises himself back on his forearms and looks at her cynically. "For ‘science’? You gonna go note this down in your little docu-diary after?"

“For me,” Shoko corrects, smiling shyly up at him and still blushing, and Gojo’s traitorous heart skips a beat. 

"Yeah?”

Shoko nods, making a noise of affirmation. “Please?” she adds. 

Gojo opens his mouth to tease her, but she looks up at him from under her lashes, and it has the net effect of making half the blood in his brain turn into mush while the other half rushes south, and what comes out instead is an intelligent, 

“Y-Yeah, o-okay. No worries. Gotcha covered.”

Paradisin' - https://archiveofourown.org/works/46964089

First satoshoko fic of 2023 and of course it's crack lol

Please enjoy a crack satoshoko headcanon that I had. Rated M for sexual situations. It held me hostage from working on other fic so I had to get it out so I could get back on the horse lol

[muffindaddystyles]

SERENDIPITY.

(n), beautiful accidents turning out in beautiful journeys.

Nothing to explain, just Vampire!harry.

Smut, Smut and Smut.

Masterlist , Let's talk about more vampire H!

Author's Note: This's me just testing waters with my fantasy writing skills. It got deleted at first and I had to write everything again with fat sad tears. Tried my best hope ya'll like it. Reblogs are always appreciated and I kinda deserve it for this one *sheepishly*

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back.

Or

Y/N interrupts Harry amidst his meal and ends up him clinging to her.

Kittens. One hell of the beasty creatures they're. You'd give them your heart but they'll prefer their two hours sleep over it. Such type of beasty wee landed Y/N into such situation. She's been searching for Meowsie her cat for fifteen minutes now when she heard a feeble cry of an animal. The tall trees with it's roots snatching at soil - the moon at it's peek. Gasping she crouches down for the rescue of a deer with it's fur wrenched in blood. 

When she does so her eyes struck at the sleekness of a pair of loafers stubbing yellow leaves under it. A groan of annoyance whirling in air and gulping she rakes her eyes to find a tall, swiney man staring down at her in offence like she disturbed him. 

He's gorgeous. Features that of greek sculpture with silk kissing it, eyes –well she can't figure them out in her fear. "Who're ye'!?" He snarls and she toppled back on her bum with a squeak, "Aish. should be asking you the same." She shuts her eyelids. He thinks she's very stupid for leisuring in an abnomished forest at this hour of night when every creature's ready to strangle her alive. 

"Who're you?" She emphasizes each word grabbing the broken branch and pointing it towards him mustering some courage not letting her brave cascade waver. 

His first instinct was to say that he's vegan. But, why should he when he's not. He doesn't like lying. 

He steps from under the shadows of trees rims glimmering under the beautiful moonlight, "Could be anythin' ye'r little brain's been thinkin' of." He smirks towering her and scrambles back. Her facial expressions blown out more from the fright he's causing. 

Poor little thing. 

Before, he could fill in her curiosity his prey escapes into darkness gaining his attention. He growls throwing his head at his shoulders — Harry isn't that of tantrum throwing person (a practice of one hundred year has taught him that bitterness brings you nothing) but he's been devastatingly hungry and the feeding clubs grossed him out. 

The smell of grinding bodies, sweat and the combination of different human's blood makes him sick to core rubbing his appetite away. He's bored of them. 

Her sweet glazing auroma calls him to trap her and take a succulent bite out of her but before that she benefited the opportunity running away from him exiting the dark forest only to find Meowsie snuggling inside her bed. 

"You batty creature!" She huffs, "No wonder I'd be found – dead one day because of you." 

With whoever; she bumped in the forest wasn't human at all Y/N thinks. 

.                                  .                                .

She's been fighting her sweet tooth for so long but it's not helping her. She muttered a fuck it before lecturing Meowsie, "No sneaking." When Meowsie meowed bobbing her head she cheered, "Good baby." Like a proud momma. 

It was success. Reaching the nearest store and buying the oreo yogurt to savour it immediately. When she strolled outside gloomy vibe hit her causing her nerves to shudder winter chillness freezing her toes.

The cup hits the pavement and she emits a loud scream as a brutal force rams her in a brick wall. 

A groan of pain rumbling in her chest and she shuts her eyes as a shadowy demon creeps up her calves agonisingly trying to pop her in two. 

Counting on her death when it screeches in horrifying noises being ripped into bits and pieces mercilessly. When she squints her eyes open she finds the mossy jade eyes peering down at her more pissed than he was in the forest, "do ya humans don't sleep at night? Or are ye' a mouse that steals good-ys at night?" He traps her head with his hands on either side of wall and she grumbles at his insult of calling her human. But isn't it what she is? A human? 

"I -- don't be mean." She pouts hissing at the dull ache in her legs and he sighs voice getting gentler, "Can ye' walk?" When she nods he scoffs with a thick accent lips quirking and nose scrunching. He wanted to leave her at it but the scared look on her tightened his chest and he felt his responsibility to walk her home safe and invest if she got hurt. 

"No you can't!" He winds his arms around her encouraging her to put all of her weight on his side as he walks her. "Who're you. And how did ya do that?" She asks with a timid voice. He doesn't want to scare her away but the truth's he's been keeping an eye on her for days. Muttering a curse to himself whenever she'd have her nightly visits without a care for herself. Silly human. 

"Harry." He replies without a care and if it wouldn't be for the pain she's feeling she'd have never let him inside her home. "I can't even eat my yogurt in peace 'cos of you Harry." She reproaches as he sits her on sofa taking her ankles and putting them over his knees. 

[That's how I felt when you interrupted my meal you little pesty thing he wanted to mutter but held back.] 

Taking out the potion Nana gave him that heals painful scars. 

"It'll hurt a bit little mouse." He murmurs pulling out the cork of bubble shaped bottle she flinches, "Don't call me that!" Staring at the way her ripened gnashes disappears in beautiful spirals. "Then stop acting like a coward-y mouse." He stands up looking down at her slumpy with sleep. He shushed her, "'s okay. . ." with each dab feeling sorry for exposing her to his world and now the demon who was manifested without a precise spell thought they're co-related kept lingering around her and well he couldn't leave such an innocent girl to be harmed by evils.

"Not gonna tuck ye' in bed, now." He stands up chin doubling raising his hands in defence albeit he's privy for such actions. Too domestically affectionate for him. 

"Please." She doesn't want to be here on uncomfortable sofa and wants to snuggle inside her blankets. "Fine." He rolls his eyes not giving heed to the angelic details of her home for that it'll create a soft spot in his heart for her. 

His body swimming in her scent once stepping inside her room and he tucks her under quilts grabbing Meowsie akwardly and putting her beside Y/N so she could cuddle with her. He stares her for time and Y/N doesn't hear door shutting and he's out of her bleary vision in a tick 

.                                  .                           . 

White swarms over the crimson in hues with yummy smell spreading everywhere along with the waves of Y/N melodic hum. Meowsie tries to rip the muffin batter and Y/N smacks her paw away ending up having a standoff stare competition with her in the kitchen. 

She literally heard her saying mean mommy. 

Y/N thoughts are all over the place. All she could think of is his's stupid beautiful face and they way his gentle touch made her feel floffy from muscles. He shouldn't pesk her like that. The white chocolate chip pops and she was about to see if they were done when a rasp crawled in her ear making her jump and causing the pyrx bowl to hit the oak counter, "Been thinkin' of meh, lil mouse?" 

"What the fuck. Harry!" She spins sending him into fits of laughter with squeaky scream.

"Not funny. Don't you guys not go somewhere unless invited?" She gasps putting her hand atop her heart and Harry's eyes follows her commotion, "'course we do. Got some manners 'n shite." He scoffs with cupid bow quirked up and nose scrunched. 

"Then where are your manners now?" He smirks at that leaning at her level, "You manifested me s' hard it broke rules." Heat splashes on her cheeks and she notices the intricate details of his features finding them dull and sick than his prior glow. She gasps in shock taking his hands leading him to sofa and sitting him with a push to his shoulders. 

"God. You look terrible what happened?" He gives out a smile at her care throwing his head into headboard cushions, as she scrambles back to kitchen to take out muffins from oven she asks worriedly proper concerned for his health, "Would you like something?" 

A warm mug of delicious bubbling blood thank you very much.

He wanted to mutter but his throat went dry from the headache making him all dizzy. He's been death starving for days now cause his appetite seems to vanish and tongue wouldn't accept any kind of blood since the day he smelled the gush of crimson running inside her veins. 

"Can I bite you?" He regrets the moment it slipped from his tongue. Y/N doesn't seem to mind instead mulls about it for a moment putting two warm hot cocoa milk and red velvet muffins on the lil coffee table. 

"Will it keep you alive?" When Harry closed his eyes in gentle affirmation she cranes her neck to side like she has seen in many movies. "Okay. Go then." He smiles weakly taking her fingers ever so tenderly in his hold and ushering her in his lap. 

"If you wouldn't mind — it'll be more comfortable like this. ." She just nods knees bended on either side of his thighs and his mouth waters at her appetizing sweet smell. He rakes his nose along the curve of her neck swearing that she's made of puddle of how soft her skin's. His senses wrecking havoc as his fangs glistens at the surface grazing against the barrier of her sensitive spot. 

"Aa-a!" She cries out and He pulls her back anxiously brows kinking, "Didn't even bit yet." 

"Surprised is all." She confesses shyly and Harry shakes his head with a silly smile letting her fist the hem of his shirt tight as he wrapped his arm around her waist smushing her closer to him and keeping her head in one place stopping her from squirming..

"Ticklish baby mouse ye're." Saying this he pushes his fangs into her flesh and she created a mousey noise head lulling. He gives out a moan-y growl at the taste of first droplet hitting his tongue. He doesn't think he could stop from now on. She tastes like the nectar birds of heaven could feed on. 

His body coming to life. Inners feeling fresh as ever again. 

She feels float-y. Like taking a nap over clouds and letting the zephyr cocoon her and she stuffs her face in the crook of his neck breathing him happily with a loopy smile.

This's oddly satisfying and calming. He wants to take care of her. She's a beacon he always wants to keep protected from the storm. He gasps feeling himself nourished all over again after days of starvation. Lapping at the shiny drops of what's left making her giggle and he could easily recognize that smell. Of her arousal. 

She's all worked up in his embrace snuggling closer to him. He has been in this position with many people before but once they serve his purpose they'd been walked away to take care of.

"Don't go lost on me little mouse y'need to eat somethin'." He settles her over his thigh taking the mug and muffins. 

Tearing it in two and bringing it to her mouth as she lays her head against his shoulder. He sighs happily feeling full as she nibbled slowly, "Thank you." He wipes the crumbs from the corner of her lips feeling the petalness of them and wondering what he shouldn't be wondering at all. "'S okay." She quips with cracky voice making Harry chuckle and sipping onto his own warm milk.

.                                  .                               .

Harry didn't know a human could attract him like a magnet to metal. She manifested him once and now he's always at her cosy home, he likes the radiance of sunshine that promises from her presence. They watch movies till the clock doesn't strike six in the morning, have secret rendezvous hidden from the eye of normal people at the places Y/N has never been, he has his weekly bites from her and in return brings her every Oscar Wilde's books from his shelf. 

Biting her's the most pleasing yet excruciating part because the way she melts like a honey over him like she depends on him and the sweet smell of her wetness that billows in the room makes Harry gripe at her sides, sometimes drinking more than her petite body could handle. He feels awful after that. 

Cuddles her to sleep and makes the walnut pie he learned from his Nana which apparently is a witch (she isn't actually his grandma — he has long forgotten about his real family). 

Harry took her to the vampires museum and when her marshmallow lips baubled in astonishment at the wings of Angels displaying on the burgundy wall. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist the whole time eyeing anyone that would look towards her weirdly (humans aren't allowed at vampire premises, but who dares to point a finger at Harry? No one.) One of the reasons he hugged her in a smushing coddling suffocating way to lather his scent all over her leaving her flustered and confused. Y/N has finally met someone that shares the same sleeping schedule as her insomniac ass. "We better leave before they hang me angel here too." His breath was hot against her neck running shivers down her spine. 

His words carrying amiability and seductivity causing Y/N to gape at him. Did he just call her his Angel? He definitely did. Annoying leech that's fucking up with Y/N's emotions. 

They didn't talk about it at all after that. 

Harry did with Nana. Freaking out to her how his emotions are always spiraling for her. That he wants her all to himself. Wants to feel her in ways that's beyond just the touch. Nana just laughed it off and made him eat his coconut pie. He almost choked on his bite. Adam apple bobbing in pain when she cleared to him – that; The they indeed have bonded to eachother. 

Her blood runs inside him. His marks are on the most precious spot of her body. Where lovers claim their affection — how could he not feel like that towards her? She's sure that Y/N also feels the same for Harry. 

Harry was getting done with some cluster of work when a stab of pain invaded his whole body prickling uncomfortably against his skin. Something's up. He could feel in his bones that his little mouse's not okay. When he goes her home he's met by pure silence making him more anxious than he already is.

He picks Meowsie from the floor rubbing her crown as he steps inside her bedroom. She's layered under many fold blankets in her bed shrinked into a pea and her head perks up when Harry's voice reaches her, "Angel. . ." She throws everything aside tackling him to mattress making him squeak.

He smiles petting her hair as she purrs against his chest fisting the hem of his shirt tightly. "One of those days?" He asks genuinely not stopping his gentle action and she bobs her head  vigorously bottom lip wobbling, "Oh my little mouse – c'mere what happened?" His gaze flitting between her's as he cups her cheeks squishing them adorably. 

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back, "Then can I bite you?" She just wants to distract herself from the unbearable headche of her history course. 

He chuckles breathily at that sighing because could he say no to her? No. He smiles down at her dimples denting in his cheeks, "Kay. Go then." She stuffs her face in the dip of his neck sniffing the marbled beach fragrance of him that of summers I'm December's cosiness. Her teeth grazing at the curve of his pale skin and Harry closes his eyes in anticipation. He feels intimidated by this little human being like no other. His little human.

Her teeth grazing against his cold skin and Harry almost whined letting a moan slip his eyes rolling back into his sockets as she bites him. His hands on her ass twitching to grope at the flesh when his cock stirred with her heat leaking against it. She creates sweet filthy noises succling the mark and "Enough." Harry cleared his throat and the haze in his head bounding her wrists between them pulling pulling her away looking at her sternly when she whines. 

"Baby. . talk to me." He caresses her cheek with his knuckles but she ignores his words floating in her all headspace staring the mark she created. Tracing the beautiful hue of love bite with her fingers, "How did it feel?" Harry's eyes flutter with charming smile as he kissed the hand which's not busy memorizing him. 

"Like a lil mouse ticklin'" She leans at that kissing her work of art, giving wet little sweet kisses up his jaw palms running down his midriff as she whispered. 

"This?" Her hips stuttering with his swell sitting delicious between her panty clad pussy lips, she peers up at him from her under her lashes as her lips rested against the corner of his pillowy full mouth. 

"And this?" Test of his patience. "Like I've never felt before." Saying. He smudges his lips against her's in a succulent, sweet and affectionate kiss. Lapping tenderly with his pink wet tongue at her mouth to deepen the kiss squishing her cheeks in the process. Swallowing her whimpers and whines down his throat like she's most precious. She humps his bulging cock with erotic swivels of her hips and Harry griped at her sides to leave blue blemishes in some hours.

He closes his eyes still smiling foolishly resting his temple against her's – noses doing eskimo kisses. 

"Can we talk now, what's disturbing my angel?" He tucks her hair back kissing her forehead and she bobs her head embarrassed at her tantrums. "It's silly. 'M gonna fail my history exam." His eyes twinkle, "Just havocin' your brain for this?" 

"No worries. I gotcha."

. . .

This's how they ended up like this surrounded by notes and papers. Harry complaining with an unbelievable scuff, "What do they teach ye' kids now days? That didn't happen at all in history." Still ending up helping her with learning which ended up him giving her his slender fingers fucking her with them to let her work for her reward.

"No pet. Wrong answer." He tutted eyes still on the quiz card and it's the sight for sore eyes. She cramps her thighs around his wrist and he curled his fingers rubbing her walls in return as a warning, "Come on lil mouse ye' right there." He leans from the edge of his chair to snatch a chaste kiss from her parted ones.

"189-5?" She mewls not sure of her answer and Harry again pressed his lips against her's murmuring against them driving a third finger inside her and rubbing her clit in circles with his thumb, "such an intelligent girl. doin' s' good fo' me – wanna cum?" He bites at her earlobe gripping the quiz cards tightly.

"Yes. Please‐" He cuts her off taking his digits out making her whine and squirm loudly. Sage coloured panties clearly drenched in her slickness as Harry licks her sweet juices like a hungry kitten from his fingers wrapping his magenta lips till his knuckles — if it's a lollipop humming around them vulgarly.

"Harry No!" She huffs making grabby hands at him and he squeezes her bossom thigh to push her down, "Harry yes. Now -- tell me babe where Buddhism originated from?" He wets the pad of his thumb nonchalantly eyeing her playfully and Y/N just wants to kiss that pink pretty tongue as he turned the page around.

She grabs his hand moving them closer to her swollen pussy head falling at his mere graze, "Please." He gives love nibbles at her cheek flickering her clit to tease her.

"What baby?" He murmurs gliding them up and down her slit causing her to rock her pelvis against his touch his freezing fingers adding upto sensation. "Want your fingers." She gasped breathily because before her request Harry was stuffing her back with his fingers massaging the sweet shell of her g-spot.

Her tummy coiling with pleasure and she threw her arms around his neck parted lips pressing against his throat, "Last quiz and then ye' can come all over me fingers." He tells her pinching her thighs. His cock weeping in his pants. The world around them deafening to glitter noises and Harry puts his chin atop her shoulder raising the card infront of her shoulder as she thrashed in his arms.

It was for his last criss-cross of swipe when she gushed all over him with noises that stroked Harry's ego and this time he gave her a hickey coaxing her orgasm from her high, "Hmh. S' warm I could stay inside ye' forever." A sugary smooching voice echoes in room when he kissed the spot between her ear and neck.

Y/N thinks Harry has successfully made a nest in her heart.

. . .

They were flopped over quilts in her bed moon glowing happily in love with them together and Y/N turned in his arms admiring each glimmer of his skin with an awestruck puppy eyes, "You're such an Angel. . .so pretty." He chuckles softly bringing her closer to her chest to hear her heartbeats.

"People think otherwise my mouse." He gives out a 'oof' sound giggling when she climbed up his torso heels of palms pressing against his pecks. "You're for me resting in the depths of ye'r skin — that went through love and sorrows, nourishment and pains until god decided you were meant to be mine. . ." She sucks in a breath cupping his beautiful face to lull it side to side. Harry could bite her whole made of petals and honeycomb she is. He stares her zoning out for a moment.

"Sorry. But seeing ye' with my bites makes me s' hard. . ." He whispers. "Bite me again then." She nuzzles in the crook of his neck pressing her wet crotch down against his hard dick pressing against his zipper.

"So polite and carin'." He grins smacking kisses against the thin skin of her shoulder reaching the mark that's still pudgy and purple. She moans getting him out with shaky fingers and kissing him heatedly in full vigour making slick filthy noises. He slaps her bottom ripping her panties to throw them carefully rubbing his weeping blushed head in between her clenching pussy lips to smudge their arousals.

Whimpers of bliss whirling in air when he slipped inside her slick cunt filling her to brim his balls pressed against her bum, "Fuck. Just how I imagined — tight 'n snug. I love ye'r cunt baby." He gritted grinding his pelvis against her's in slow teasing motion hitting one spot continuously.

"Feels good. . ." She cries softly thighs quivering by his sides and he wrapped his hand around the nape of her to bring her down for another passionate kiss, "Would ye' bond to meh? Huh - lemme cum inside ye'r pretty pussy? Make it mine?" He mumbled wet-ly against her lips sucking her lower one to make it all plump and pinkish.

"Make me yours." She gives out a squeaky whimperish moan when at her words he licked his mark biting it. Her walls creamping around his cock to feel each, ridge and thick vein and she turned a loopy butterfly in his arms.

"Ye' can't cum unless I give ye' permission and I've had plenty to drink. . ." He growls grabbing her jaw eyes turning oyrx and she wipes her own blood from his mouth to press her thumb against his tongue letting him suck. Now, she doesn't have one mark only it's plenty that of flowers scattered on canvas.

He stretches his legs wide toes curling holding her down from her hips to fuck into her with rough mind forging thrusts, "Yes!" Y/N whispers with hoarse throat that she hasn't spoken from months.

"Cum fo' me. Over me cock baby wants to feel ye' Angel." He moans fondling her breasts in his large calloused palms smauching kisses at very skin he could find to shower his love to. Y/N comes a wave of shiver running from her soles to head as she just created noises straight out of porn.

Her creaming around him. Warm and slick cum dribbling down his balls didn't last Harry too. He came inside her in thick spurts of ribbons leaving blueprints at her arse.

They remained like this for some moments. Cacooned into eachother breathing eachother Harry memorizing her to memorize the memory he could never forget and caresses her cheek with the back of his hand.

He lays her on bed gently slipping out of her shushing her with pecks on mouth when she whined from sensitivity, "Gonna take care of ye' little mouse." He bends her knees kissing them stroking the insides of her shivering thighs to calm her down taking his discarded boxer from side.

"Want you to squeeze baby -— I came alot." She does as he said and he cleans her with his clothe showering her in kisses and praises.

Running a steamy bath with essential lavender and rose oils and bathe salts. Resting her between his legs to feel her skin everytime against his skin.

"I love you. Gonna keep ye' forever." He whispers in the silence of night and she smiled with fuzzy heart. Feeling good and fluttery. "I love you too."

Shrugging she retorts playfully, "I'd be all old and wrinkly but you'd be still this gorgeous now that's unfairrrrr." He just laughs at her cuteness creating obnoxious kissing noises while kissing her face.

"Gross." She mutters bashfully eyeing him and he fake offends tickling her sides causing the water splash from rims, "Wasn't gross when I was fucking your brains out—" She tries to smack him in between laughters.

"Heyyyy."

[prof-peach]

I know on your island you guys deal with a lot of pokemon from a lot of scenarios, but have you ever had to deal with ex-rocket pokemon? Either surrendered or found. Would there have to be a specific protocol for that, or safety measures?

Yeah we get a few that come to us each month, someone either hands them in, or we get them sent to us from other places that can’t handle them.

As for treatment we have to take each case sepratly, the local authorities send us poison, bug and grass types who need rehabilitation, usually it’s not too bad and we socialise them for a while. No people, just give them time to hang out with their own for a while. This can take anywhere up to a few months, just them and some other Pokemon kicking back and taking time out. We see a lot of Pokemon who didn’t get a chance to learn about their skills, their home, they never had a good family life, they often got torn from the wild and remember humans quite harshly. This time is key for them to settle into normal Pokemon behaviour. They are usually surrounded by others and can eventually pick up the right social queues and etiquettes, when they behave like the others, we start to introduce humans more, one member of staff will be assigned groups to care for, usually handling the rescues alone for the first few months, so the Pokemon being helped can get use to just one person at the start. Once that trust has grown, and they seem confortable, we introduce more members of staff. At this point it’s usually clear who will be rehomed fast, and who will need extra care, and we can divide up time appropriately. Recovery depends o the Pokemon in question, and what they’ve gone through. We’ve got patients with us that have stayed on the island for many years now due to relapses in behvaiour, if anything they’ve become part of our personal teams, part of the family, so I suppose they usually find a home one way or another. When possible we release those who are fit but otherwise uninterested in being a trained Pokemon, there are many release sites that the regional rangers oversee all around the world. Getting them home isn’t too hard luckily.

Because we have such a high population of bugs and grass Pokemon we just handle them more. They can find a group and settle here, without any outside interference.

On occasion we will personally choose to take on difficult cases, our lab is pretty hellbent on taking the Pokemon that are deemed “too far gone”, mostly because of the space we can offer them. Grey handles a lot of unruly water Pokemon, he has no fear of a Gyarados, doesn’t shy away from defensive Walrien or Carracosta, that’s just his area of love I guess? You have to love the work if you put yourself in the way of pretty big, pretty angry Pokemon, right?

Either way, we have our joy areas, and work with the odd species that can’t be otherwise helped by normal means. We use unorthodox methods, perhaps have too much patience, and tend to get really stuck into the work.

One case that’s a wonderful example was a dowdy little Salemance that came to us, had been shifted about by Rockets to fight in underground battle rings, it’s poor wings torn to shreds over the years, didn’t fly anymore, pretty sure the original trainer wanted it that way so it couldn’t just fly off. But it came to us so angry, and so violent towards anyone and anything, well I just about had it with the big idiot. Threw down with the dumb baby myself to put him in his pace once and for all. He was being outwardly nasty to everyone, snapped at everything. So I waited, and dodged, and ran, and hid until he had exhausted himself, and then used its bad vision against it and body slammed the little devil. He got tired trying to thrash me off, fell over and stayed there. Because I didn’t hurt him, I simply used his big dumb baby energy against him, he lost. Since then he was under me in the hierarchy, and we were able to get close enough to treat him, get his wounds seen too. He didn’t dare snap again after that, least not at any of the team. He got fitted with a prosthetic wing, has been flying for about half a year now, and is in the process of being adopted by a lovely young couple who live out in the mountains away from any towns, perfect place for him. I think they run a pumpkin farm out there and needed some defence. Me and that Salamanca are friends now, he’s learnt that just because a humans in a position of power doesn’t mean you have to cower, no ones ping to hurt them now, they’re safe, they can enjoy again. We socialised them, we tended to them, they’re not perfect, they still get spooked by too much noise, they’re jittery with crowds, that’s to be expected.

This is a case I mention because it’s a difficult one, not a lot of sane people will throw themselves at a Pokemon like that, and this is what the work is like. Sometimes you just do what’s right, even if it could end pretty badly, luck, great training, and years of practice are on my side, and for that reason I’m able to take in difficult ones. Each professor will handle different Pokemon, different types and varying levels of difficulty, all help is good help, you don’t have to wrestle a dragon, you can handle things a hundred different ways, and hell they might just work! The only true constant is patience. You sit up at night with them, when it’s stormy or windy and they’re scared, you hold your ground when they’re lashing out, you sit through the worst of it with them. You get bitten and cut and bruised and broken and it’s worth it because at the end they get to start again, they get a go at a second life that’s way better than what they had before.

Very rarely will we ever initiate attacks on a Pokemon on the island, we usually do all damage control with non-violent, defensive methods, and at the very most the rescue Pokemon will be put to sleep or knocked to the ground and immobilised. I see some folks battling against their rocket Pokemon, which can be a great use of energy but also can plant more seeds of distrust between the humans and Pokemon involved. It’s best to at least leave that until you’ve built up trust between you and the Pokemon I think, but each to their own I suppose.

If we need to do psychology we send them to Pari, who does therapy sessions with individuals who think they need it or are referred to her, she’s quite an accomplished student and uses my dear old porygon-z as a translator to talk with patients about their issues. Life is a lot easier when there’s less of a language barrier. We offer pretty much everything we can to the rescues we get, and they are given dedicated space upon arrival.

As for safety measures, yes, of course we have them. Gear is necessary when handling certain types, fireproof overalls and gloves are most common. We always go in with a functional pair of Pokemon, alwasy two minimum. We have this minimum because of many Pokemon going to attack our partner, missing on purpose, and going straight for us. One partner is offence, one is defence, you must cover your back, that defensive individual is more for you than anyone else, if you get hurt you can’t help others effectively. It really depends on the case, I’ve handled big Pokemon who got freaked out by heavy protective gear. Their old trainer would wear safety gear while being cruel to them, so we had to ditch it all, we realised it was causing problems and dealt with it fast. There’s also a number of first aid stations all over the island, not only for the sake of the law but also, we all get hurt a fair bit on the job.

Hope you feel informed!

[butterfly-winx]

Some fun inconsequential secondary character headcanons

The Dragonflame allows users a control over temperature as well, mostly limited to the ability to control body temperature. At her most annoying pre-teen stage, Daphne would prank people who annoyed her by purposefully making them sweat.

She really misses the temperature control aspect post resurrection, when she is constantly cold on Domino and has to resort to wearing layers like some sort of peasant.

Brandon has a half sister who is 9 years younger than him. Kira was born to Lysetha and her second partner, who to that point was an alright stepfather to Brandon, but then became really shitty when he and Lystha had "a proper child of their own". He got yeeted super fast. Lysetha is now onto long-term-partner nr 3, who adores both kids.

Riven for someone who is very attached to masculinity (among the specialists at least) wears a lot of gnc clothing. He has a couple of knee length kilt style skirts and crop tops he loves, but you still wouldn't catch him experimenting with traditional Tengali clothes.

Galatea has a massive crush on Musa, which Musa keeps misinterpreting as her gratitude for being saved by her that one time in 3rd year to almost comical levels. "Wow, Galatea saved me the last croissant, she must feel so indebted" "Wow Galatea remembered my fave artist and send me one of their songs to cheer me up; she sure must appreciate not having been burned alive in that library". Galatea suffers a lot.

Timmy is incredibly face blind, though that got revealed pretty early on, when he failed to recognise that Bloom was indeed not one of the royals of his country. In his defence, the secular and magical worlds are separate in all countries of Manubra 47, so he didn't have to pay that much attention to the magic royal family. If his offence he met Bloom several times and and it never occurred to him to ask about Callistian home things/ never noticed that if it ever came up Bloom just had no clue whatsoever about it.

In his extreme offence: Varanda isn't white.

(Some more things in his defence: Timmy's father is a second gen immigrant from Earth, so he is used to some cultural things from there. And he is super socially anxious, so even if he noticed Bloom was wrong he wouldn't have commented on it and rather assumed that he misremembered his culture.)

For some indescribable reason, and she really can't tell why, Krystal tends to leave a really polarising impression. People either hate her or love her, which is one of the key reasons she hesitates about becoming a career diplomat like her parents. Much scarier than a potentially flopped career however was when she met Flora for the first time and had to live through the fear (and very real option) of: "fuck what if my childhood best friend's girlfriend-slash-potentiall-future-wife despises my guts" for months.