#suddenly most politicians will find it in their hearts to listen to the will of the people

[genderkoolaid]

Do you genuinely believe we can somehow change the hearts and minds of billionaires and politicians in power in for example the USA in a way that will actually result in a radical change in and improvement of conditions for folks currently oppressed under capitalism in the USA and hopefully globally? If so, how?

This is coming from someone who really would like to believe pure nonviolence is possible but who does not see much of an actual way forward for that. That said I do not see those billionaires and politicians as "nonhuman", I don't think that's productive and I think dehumanizing anyone who is factually a human person as a practice is dangerous so I am in agreement with you there. Thanks for your time if you choose to share your thoughts.

What I like about Against the Logic of the Guillotine is that it isn't for pure nonviolence. It breaks down the false binary that our options are "let the streets run red with blood until our every thirst for revenge is slaked" or "punching nazis makes you as bad as them 🥺"

& i think that binary is tempting because it absolves us of a responsibility to think deeply about things. if all revolutionary violence is good and justified, then you don't have to think too hard about the violence, you just see it & condone it. If all violence is bad and morally evil, then you still don't have to think too hard to condemn it. Our options are like, moral baby food.

But if we reject that binary, then there is no easy answer. Its not as easy as "yes leftist violence is always justified" or "any violence ever is always unjustified." You have to ask yourself, what am I doing? Why? What does this accomplish? Who is affected by this? What do they have to say? It makes us look at the actual nature of our violence and pick it apart and see where we have fucked up and where we might fuck up again. Its a lot more messy and also requires that we form relationships with others & genuinely listen to what they have to say. Its much much harder than Violence Good or Violence Bad but its also much more capable of adapting to the needs of people in the complicated situations where we find ourselves.

My opinion is that we will not reach anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism without violence. But more than anything, its because the systems in power will not let us. I think the foundation of the Revolution (in a more abstract sense of the word) must be community. We should focus our efforts most on building local networks of mutual support. If people suddenly find themself in a community that has free public food gardens & a community fridge, where people are already practicing transformative justice, etc. etc. then it will become materially obvious that we don't need to rely on the current system to survive. It will become clear that the current system is more of a hindrance to what we could do if we were not being controlled. And then people will be more likely to support any revolutionary violence that becomes necessary, because they will see their neighbors and know that when the dust settles, they know how to care for each other through shitty situations. Violence should really be the topping on a cake of community & indispensability politics.

Also this line from AtLotG really changed my perspective on "punishing the rich":

The worst punishment anyone could inflict on those who govern and police us today would be to compel them to live in a society in which everything they’ve done is regarded as embarrassing—for them to have to sit in assemblies in which no one listens to them, to go on living among us without any special privileges in full awareness of the harm they have done. If we fantasize about anything, let us fantasize about making our movements so strong that we will hardly have to kill anyone to overthrow the state and abolish capitalism. This is more becoming of our dignity as partisans of liberation.

"If we fantasize about anything, let us fantasize about making our movements so strong that we will hardly have to kill anyone to overthrow the state and abolish capitalism" really sums it up for me.

[onceonafullmoon]

Misunderstandings

Itoshi Sae x Reader

(No warnings (for once), just pure school fluff, takes place before Spain. Reader is GN but is described as being shorter than Sae and wearing ribbons in their hair. Reader is also an anxious mess, (wonder who they got that from *cough* me *cough*)

A really dumb letter. It all starts, with a stupid letter. And it pisses you off so much, because if you hadn’t written that dumbass confession letter, you wouldn’t have been in this scenario to begin with. But you, being you, a natural walking embarrassment, had to have done so, because the order of the universe was that you had to be a complete, stupidly sentimental dipshit who was born to clown themselves.

It starts off at lunch, your friends chattering away about something, you distantly listening to the bits and pieces that fell off the ends of the conversation, too lost in your own imagination.

“...I mean, it’s fine to say he’s cute, but other than that…” 

A princess lost in a labyrinth, searching for the key to let her leave the main gate, a torch in her hand dragging her palm along the damp, dark walls.

“...there’s more to it than that! Besides you of all people…”

Suddenly, she hears the creaking of the gate behind her, heart dropping to her stomach as a low growl emanates from behind her.

“...see! It’s not the same…”

Sweating, she picked up the pace, running for her life, hands searching for the key desperately, trying to find any way to escape!

“...and that's because you’re delusional…”

Finally, with no choice left, and a monster hot on her heels, no key in sight, she desperately swings around, torch gripped defensively, jaw dropping in horror only to see–

“...fine then! What do you think (Name)?!”

You snap out of your daydreams, eyes darting up to your clearly annoyed friends who were in the middle of what seemed like a heated argument with each other, eyes glaring into the other, while you desperately try to catch up with what happened.

“...uh, I think you both had some good points, but personally, this topic is pretty nuanced.” You blurt out, giving a true neutral politician like statement.

“You weren’t even listening.” Suki sighs, looking at you in annoyance albeit less annoyance than aimed at Naomi.

“...yeah, I’m sorry.” You apologize sheepishly. “Can you give me the Sparknotes version?”

“I was just saying that Suki’s taste in men is lacking and she–” Naomi starts, before getting cut off. 

“-And I’m saying she has no right to talk! Who the fuck finds Maruki from Persona 5 attractive?!” Suki exclaims.

“Who doesn’t?!” Naomi snaps back.

“He is kinda hot–” 

“(Name)! Shut up!” Suki glares at you.

You hold your hands up in defense, not wanting to get into a pissing match with the girl, who in your opinion, was far too passionate about the topic.

“Okay, okay sure.” You placate. “But then who were you talking about Suki?”

“I was talking about a real person, who is appropriately aged and I actually have a conceivable chance with!”

Naomi rolls her eyes at that statement and laughs almost rudely. 

“There is no chance in hell you, or any human being for that matter, would end up with Itoshi Sae.”

“Really? Itoshi?” You ask, jolting in surprise at the name.

Well, you understood the hype around him, good looks, determination, talent at soccer and… uh… yeah… that was it actually… well that was a bit depressing, but hey, most people don’t even have the “good- looks” part, so he was doing pretty okay in your book.

“What’s wrong with that?” Suki snaps.

“He’s a dick!” Naomi snaps. “Right (Name)?”

“Eh? Uhh… well I don’t know exactly, I’ve never talked to him before.” You say, only really remembering the back of his jersey when you saw him playing, being forced to by Suki (and maybe because you secretly thought the game was cool)… which now you understand why.

You do distantly recall seeing the back of his familiar blush hair as he rejected yet another hopeful romantic, the poor girl running away crying, but you could hardly hold that against either of them. It wasn’t her fault she liked him, and it wasn’t his fault he didn’t like her.

Ah, teenage emotions, so complicated.

“Please, (Name), everyone says he’s a dick.” Naomi retorts, to which Suki distantly protests.

You simply just shrug. “It's none of my business either way.”

“Yeah, well it's about to be, this blockhead wants to confess.” Naomi says, gesturing to a slowly red flushing Suki.

“Oh, for Valentine’s day?” You ask, only remembering the date because you make it a point to change the ribbons in your hair for every holiday.

“Cringe.” Your brother said, when you left the house on October 31st, with orange ribbons.

You simply flipped him off.

“Yeah and she’s going to take the risk and be horribly humiliated by that prick, even though we all know she’s going to fall in love again with the next guy she sets eyes on.” 

“This is different, he’s been on my mind for like, three weeks!” Suki protests, earning a glare from Naomi and a laugh from you.

So that’s what this is about.

You can’t help but laugh at Naomi. “So, basically, you’re just worried about Suki, like a sweetheart.”

Suki can’t help but laugh even though she’s still flustered and angry, and Naomi takes her time to blush now.

“Oh fuck off.” She scoffs.

“No, it’s sweet!” You protest, a grin on your face. 

“Besides, it doesn’t have to be a disaster, all Suki has to do is confess through a letter.” You say, already formulating a plan. “I mean it’s gonna be Valentine’s day anyways, he’s gonna have so many letters in his locker, all she has to do is slip it in the envelope when no ones looking and it’ll be fine. Also, if he isn’t interested, like you’ve said, then he’ll probably just ignore it. Easy peasy.”

Naomi still looks unsure, but Suki brightens up visibly at the idea. 

“That’s a great idea (Name)!” She exclaims.

“...Good enough I suppose.” Naomi grumbles.

Suki nods, happy with your suggestion, until a sheepish smile breaks out on her face.

“...say uhh, (Name), what exactly should I write?”

Naomi groans and you sigh with a small smile on your face.

—

In the end, you end up being the one to write Suki’s love confession, not that you really wanted to, to your credit.

“If it’s a love letter from you, why am I writing it?” You frown disapprovingly at her, though she can’t see it through the phone.

“You’re just a better writer than me (Name), please?” She asks, no, more like whines at you.

“...Fine, but at least tell me a general idea of what you want me to say.” You concede, to which she eagerly starts speaking.

In the end you managed to put together a letter, cringy, but not overtly so, even though Suki’s call ended up being cut short, not that what she said had had been of much substance anyways… because Naomi was right when she said that Suki fell in and out of love very quickly, to the point that calling it love was almost an insult. You ended up gushing a tad about his football skills to fill the space that was lacking.

(Okay, maybe more than a tad of gushing, but you didn’t know what else to write about, so you went with fangirling.)

You end up running into Naomi after school who then informs you that Suki’s dumbass somehow got sick.

“Are you serious?” You ask, deadpan. “So I wrote this dumb ass letter for nothing?”

“You wrote it?” Naomi asks, surprised. 

“She told me what to write… kinda, I edited it a bit.” You wave her off, frowning, the expression looking out of place on your pink bow decorated face.

“A bit, huh? You’re too nice for your own good.” Naomi shakes her head. “Are you delivering it for her too?”

You sheepishly avert your eyes to which Naomi rolls her own to. 

“Good God (Name).”

“Well it's not her fault she’s sick!” You pout. “Besides it’s fine, it's basically just a pit stop before I go home.”

Naomi’s disapproving look shows on her face as you wave her goodbye, but you simply stick her tongue out at her, determined to finish this dumb task.

After all, your good friend depends on you… kinda, well it's not as dire as you make it out to be but that’s the fun of it.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you make your way over to the lockers.

You’re fairly sure practice is about to end, and you’re worried about someone else seeing you and misunderstanding, so you vow to make it quick, pulling out the cute pink envelope with the heart shaped sticker sealing it out of your bag as you make your way to the infamous Itoshi Sae’s locker.

As you hold up the envelope, ready to slide it through the crack of the locker, you pause, realizing with shame that you forgot to write Suki’s name on it.

“God, I’m stupid.” You think, pausing to fish a pen out of your backpack pocket, annoyed that you almost let yours, and Suki’s by default, hard work go to waste.

You click your pen, holding the note up against the locker to write on it, when someone behind you clears their throat and you feel your heart drop to your ass.

With fear in your heart, you freeze, before slowly moving to turn around, to see the tall male behind you, with red hair and unamused teal eyes.

Well, fuck me.

You can feel your entire body overheating in pure embarrassment as the infamous Itoshi Sae looks down at you with a critical eye, and suddenly you wish you never wore those stupid ribbons in your hair as you think about how cliche you must look with a stupid pink love confession in your hands.

Desperately, you part your mouth to speak, to say anything, but nothing comes out and you end up gaping at him like an idiot before you finally get the sense to close it.

“Kill me now.” Your thought’s echo in your head.

He either takes pity on you or is tired of you blocking his locker, (you’re leaning more towards the latter) so he decides to take the reins of the conversation for you.

“That for me?” He questions, raising a brow, nodding towards the envelope, and finding yourself wishing that he wasn’t conventionally attractive as you felt yourself wanting to melt.

Now logically, you could have said no, and that you were just planning to give it to someone else and used his locker to finish the details, and that you were very sorry for getting in his way. Or better yet, just the truth, that yes, it was a letter for him but that you were delivering this letter for a friend.

But you weren’t logical right now, you were a hot, flustered mess, and all your thoughts jumbled together.

So, although you wanted to say, “No, I’m sorry, it’s for someone else.” or “Yes, but I’m delivering this for my friend.” Instead you said:

“Yes! I’m sorry! Bye!” Thrusted the letter into his chest, and ran off like you were insane.

When you finally make it back home, you immediately text-scream into the collective group chat about the entire incident and flop onto your bed, before actually screaming into your pillow.

Your brother looks at you like you’ve grown two heads but you simply just raise your head from the pillow to give him a look that says “You don’t wanna know.” so he takes the hint and moves along.

When you finally open up the group chat again, you find Naomi and Suki have spammed you with laughing crying emojis like a couple of assholes.

After they tease you for a bit and Naomi tells you that, “this is why you should never help Suki” you apologize to Suki for accidentally stealing her confession, to which she assures you is okay, because apparently she’s found new love in the cute guy who delivered her her homework today.

If you could, you would strangle her, and you tell her so to which she replies with a kissy heart emoji.

Well, embarrassing experience aside, it’s not completely awful, after all, Sae will just ignore you like every other person who confessed to him and then you’ll be fine, all you have to do is avoid him for your own sake so you don’t die of embarrassment.

It also happened to be the weekend, so there was no possible way that he would even remember your face if what you heard about him was true… so really, you were completely fine.

And with that comforting thought, you slowly unwind, ready to make the most of the weekend.

—

But of course, it’s you, so everything isn’t completely fine and you find that out the hard way when school ends on Monday and you’re left alone in the classroom packing up.

You would have left around the same time as everyone else, but your homeroom teacher had asked you to quickly print off some sheets for her and leave them on her desk before you left, and being a pushover, a nice person, you agreed and did your task, quickly texting Naomi and Suki to leave before you as you were gonna run a bit late anyways.

But maybe if you hadn’t done any of that, then you would have been spared from the absolute bullshit that was motherfucking Itoshi Sae, walking into your goddamn classroom.

Suddenly, as you stare at him in confusion, embarrassment and dare you even say horror, you want to die again.

“Hey, maybe he just needs to talk to the teacher?” Your helpful mind supplies, giving you a smidgen of hope.

“(Last Name), (Name), right?” Sae almost responds in turn, walking over to you, crushing your dreams immediately.

Would it be rude of you to excuse yourself by throwing yourself out the window? You briefly consider it, but decide on nodding instead, feeling the familiar heat of mortification envelop you, as he stops in front of you.

Well, it’s not so bad to be rejected you suppose, especially if you don’t even really have feelings for the person you “confessed” to. Still, you can’t help but worry about the possible verbal ass whooping you might receive, Naomi’s warning now starting to worry you.

However, instead of brutally murdering you with words, when he opens his mouth something different comes out.

“I’ve seen you at my games sometimes.” He says, shocking you to your very core.

“You have?” You ask, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice, not realizing that Sae would have noticed anything outside of the game with the skill he played with, much less you of all people.

“It’s hard to miss you.” He replies, gesturing to your ribbons, and you make a quick mental note to burn every single ribbon in your possession after this.

“Ah, right.” You end up saying, laughing nervously. “Just didn’t think you’d notice me with everything going on.”

Awkward, awkward, awkward, you’d ask for someone to relieve you from this pain, but at the rate these few days are going you know you’re being silly.

As they say, if you want something done you have to do it yourself, so after taking a deep breath, you rip the metaphorical bandaid off.

“So.. uhm, is this the part where you reject me?” You ask, closing your eyes to shield yourself from his reaction.

“...”

“...”

The room falls silent again, at your words and you start to wish you hadn’t spoken until you hear him speak again.

“...I guess you were always like that.” He says, more to himself than you, and the strangeness of his words has you opening your eyes in confusion.

“Even when I read the letter, it was the same as seeing you in the stands.” He continues, eyes glinting some emotion you can’t quite make out, but honestly you’re more surprised that it isn’t one of annoyance, based on what you’ve seen. 

“...I’m sorry?” You ask, trying to figure out if you’re being subtly insulted.

He looks at you, directly in the eyes, his own teal ones piercing and sharp, and you prepare yourself a second time for a verbal smackdown.

Like last time, it doesn’t come, but funnily enough you still have the wind knocked out of you when he does decide to reply.

“You’re cute.” He states coolly, like it means nothing to him.

Meanwhile, you’ve ceased to function for a solid 5 seconds, trying to figure out where and why and how any of this happened, the heat of embarrassment now strong enough that if any particularly cruel person decided to egg you at your current state, they’d likely find themselves with a well cooked sunny side up.

“...huh?” You finally, rather intelligently, respond. 

He huffs out a breath, one you would have thought might be of annoyance had you not seen his eyes crinkle in amusement.

“‘Said you were cute.” He bluntly repeats again, knocking the wind out of you again, like it was nothing, and it probably was to him.

“That’s not what I was questioning!” You scream in your mind, but your mouth, stupidly says:

“Th-thanks, you too?”

If the ground opened up and swallowed you whole, you don’t think you’d be too terribly angry actually.

Despite the absolute cringe-fest you’re being, Sae seems to find it more amusing, (and apparently endearing?), rather than pathetic and rewards you with an unfairly attractive chuckle that makes you want to collapse on the spot from a heart attack.

“You're welcome.” He replies, humoring your flustered reply with an actual response, before continuing. “You know, there’s a pretty good ice cream shop close to the football field, we should go.”

“...Yeah?” You question weakly, so utterly confused by this interaction that you’ve given up on following the flow of it.

“Yeah.” He answers, with a small smile, that previously you wouldn’t have believed existed, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear in a move that has you freezing in place.

“I’ll see you at my next practice then, (Name).” He says, pulling his hand back and leaving no room for argument, and all you can do is dumbly nod back at him.

It’s only when he leaves, when you see his back retreating, the same one you stare at in games, that you can finally process what the hell just happened in the span of what seems like eternity but was actually just 3 minutes.

And when you finally do, you look over at your teacher, who finally has come back and seems confused that you’re still here, your face still flushed, and promptly pass out.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Pilot!Boromir headcanons

Boromir x reader. NSFW!!

Friends with benefits to lovers; obviously modern AU.

This was inspired by this post, and me remembering about Sean Bean's role in Flightplan. Eru, this man looks so good in a pilot uniform...

*****

✈️ His father is an important politician and/or entrepreneur, and Boromir was supposed to follow in his footsteps, but he has always wanted to be a pilot, fly and spend his life in the sky; as a consequence, as soon as he was of age he enlisted in Gondor's Air Force to pursue a military carreer as a pilot. This caused an unexpected, unprecedented rift between father and son, but since Boromir swore that if his father tried to stop him, he would leave and never return home, Denethor had to grudgingly accept his son's decision, hoping in his heart Boromir would one day change his mind and take the place his father had prepared for him.

✈️ He serves in the army for many years, becoming one of the most capable pilots in the Air Force, both in peace and in war. After a few years he is injuried during the Amon Hen Battle, where he risks his life protecting a pair of civilians in reaching his plane and then flies them to safety while a bombing is taking place around them.

✈️ After that, he decides he has had enough of the army, and his father's hopes are definitely dashed when he decides to accept his friend Aragorn's offer to work for his company, Elessar Airlines.

✈️ And this is when he meets you, a capable stewardess working for the same airline and mainly flying on long-haul routes - just like him. The first time you meet in the company's offices, for you it is not love, but lust at first sight, and how could it not? Tall and athletic, a face that is a textbook example of masculine grace (strong jaw, expressive brown eyes, the sort of nose you would normally look for on a marble statue) Boromir must be one of the most handsome men you have ever met, and when you shake hands, and you hear his deep, musical voice repeating in a murmur the name you have just given him (as if he wants to make sure he understood it correctly, or likes it so much he wants to taste it on his tongue) you immediately know your interest is fully reciprocated. "Welcome to Elessar Airlines, mr. Hurin; I'm sure you'll enjoy working with us." "Thank you. I look forward to working with you, miss (last name)."

✈️ You work together on three flights in the following six weeks, which gives you the opportunity to break the ice and get to know each other. You are impressed with his past as a military pilot, which he shares with the sort of quiet, down-to-earth pride of a man happy to have done his duty and who because of this doesn't look for praises or compliments, and with the clear affection in his voice when he speaks of his younger brother, Faramir (who is pursuing a carreer as a diplomat) since your relationship with your own siblings is much less close and affectionate. On his part, Boromir listens with interest when you tell him about your job or your interests, discovering he can't take his eyes off you while you talk.

✈️ You are sharing a drink at the airport bar one evening, waiting for boarding time, when his leg brushes against yours under the counter; you smile, immediately sure he did it on purpose, and Boromir smiles back, aware you are both thinking about the same thing. "We have about thirty minutes before we need to get on board." he murmurs, his face suddenly so close to yours you can feel his breath on your face, and you feel yourself shivering "How about we... find somewhere a little more private?"

✈️ You immediately, and happily, accept, and a minute later Boromir is closing the door of the (fortunately empty) pilot lounge behind you, your bodies already flushed against each other, your mouth pressed against his in a breath-taking, hungry kiss. "Eru." Boromir murmurs; his hands are moving frantically on your body, caressing, stimulating, and making you wish your neatly pressed uniform were not in the way "You are driving me crazy, I have wanted you since the very moment I saw you..." "You can have me." you answer in a moan, already drunk with desire; your back pressed against the wall, you lift your leg around Boromir's hips, pressing your pelvis against him and feeling him already hard from you "Please... please, I need you inside me..."

✈️ Unfortunately, Boromir's phone and yours ring almost at the same time, calling you both on board sooner than expected for a consultation with the rest of the crew you'll be flying with; by then, you are sitting in Boromir's lap, your panties on the floor and your mouth on his naked chest, and stopping and composing yourselves requires a tremendous effort. "Listen, I'm sorry as well." you murmur as you kiss him once more while Boromir puts his jacket on, feeling as unsatisfied as he looks "But we'll have time. I'll have a room by myself at the hotel when we land; you could come visit me."

✈️ That brings a smile on Boromir's lips. You leave the room and meet with the rest of the crew, the co-pilot and the two male stewards who have no idea you are still wet and he has a semi as you take care of pre-boarding, and you share a secret smile before Boromir leaves to reach the cock-pit and you wait for the passengers. You are both too professional, and aware of the risks, to slip away during the flight, even though all the planes have a tiny room reserved for the crew where pilots and stewards can retire to rest; you force yourself to focus on your duties, making sure all the passengers are comfortable, checking their tickets, serving lunch and making sure they fasten their seatbelts when requested, but you can't stop thinking about him, the tall and handsome man responsible for the safety of everyone on board, and who soon, you know, will fuck you until you can't even remember your name.

✈️ After a tranquil flight, you reach the hotel where the crew will spend the night before your next shift. You have barely time to leave your luggage on the floor, take off your shoes and visit the toilet, before you hear knocking on the door. You are already trembling with desire as you open it; Boromir is there, still in his uniform except for his jacket and tie, and the desire burning in his eyes is enough to make your heart skip a beat or three. He enters and "Come to me, woman." he says opening his arms to you, and normally you are not used to passively obeying men's orders, at least when you are not working, but you feel you can make an exception for him: you jump in Boromir's arms, and you are already kissing him passionately while he carries you to the bed.

✈️ From there, things develop naturally. After that first, magical night, you ask him to meet at your place; Boromir eagerly accepts, and you spend the whole night having sex; there is an adoring light in his eyes as he holds you by the waist, his free hand playing with your nipples, his long legs entwined to yours. "My place next time?" he proposes, and you start kissing his torso, confident it will be clear enough for an answer. It seems almost too good to be true: you have found a passionate, inventive, generous lover, as hungry for you as you are for him, and no matter how many times you sleep together, you are never tired, never bored, and every time you part with a kiss, neither can wait for your next date.

✈️ You are not exactly hiding your relationship, since nothing forbids the two of you from being together, but at the same time you tacitly decide to keep it to yourselves, and you both find excitement, and fulfilment, in having sex where you could be caught, disregarding the fact that you both live alone and could therefore meet at your place or his. One day, shortly before take-off on a return flight you are working on with another pilot, Boromir sends you a text with a long, detailed description of the things he wants to do to you. You read it three times, and then you have to excuse yourself to the toilet, where you touch yourself towards a quick, powerful orgasm that nonetheless leaves you unsatisfied before going back to work on shaky legs. Five agonizing hours later Boromir is waiting for you at the gate, and you let his hand guide you to the airport's parking lot, where his car is waiting for you, and your lover makes good on all his promises, holding you by the hips while you bounce above him on the driver's seat.

✈️ Then there are the lounges. The airport toilettes. The hotels in foreign cities you never get to visit, and where one of your separate bedrooms is invariably left unused. One day, after a long separation (six excruciating days in which your shifts never matched, and you had to make do exchanging pictures, texts, and making each other climax with phone sex) you have him come at your place directly from the airport where he landed; Boromir is exhausted, but immediately forgets it when he finds you lying on the bed, wearing only a pair of high heels and a thong, a flute in your hand. Would you like some champagne, sir?, you ask in your professional voice, and that is the night you discover it is physically possible for a man to come four times in nine hours.

✈️ In the end, you join the Mile High club together. When you confess him that having sex on a plane has always been a secret desire of yours, Boromir surprises you making your dream come true... just, not when you're flying, since it would be unprofessional for a pilot to leave the cockpit after take-off, no matter how urgent the impulse he has to take care of is, and both of you'd get undoubtedly fired if discovered. A couple of guys working for the company's security service owe him a favour, and one night you and your lover slip on board of a plane grounded for security reasons. You kiss desperately as you walk along the carpet-covered corridor towards the first class area, and make love on the pilot's chair, him sitting and you riding him like you both like, and then against the instrument panel, your thighs around his waist and your mouth finding his in a sloppy but passionate kiss. You whisper his name, you moan it, you cry it; no one hears, fortunately, since you're the only two people on the whole runway, but he does, and that is what really matters.

✈️ He is not into toys, and being tied up is too frustrating for a man used to always retain control on things around him. On the other hand, he is happy to indulge your preferences, be it exchanging hot photos when you're in public, or sucking on your breasts until they hurt.

✈️ If you want to make him hard, you call him mr. Hurin, in a sultry tone you quickly learn to use when you are together. If you want to make him come within two minutes, you call him sir. If you want to make him forget his own name, you call him captain, and prepare yourself to walk funny on the next day.

✈️ You like both giving and receiving oral sex, Boromir enjoys being sucked, but obliged when you ask him to return the favour, and discovers he is naturally talented. He likes anal sex, but at the same time wants to look at you in the eyes while he takes you, and thus you prefer to do it standing, leaning against a chest of drawers in your bedroom, in front of a large oval mirror; his lips leave a trail of fire on your skin, and no matter how exhausted he is, he always takes you in his arms to carry you to the bed. "Are you all right?" he gently asks, chastely kissing your forehead before lying next to you; he always asks, no matter how enthusiastically you took part in your lovemaking, and you always nod, and then happily snuggle against his side.

✈️ He asks you once, out of curiosity, if you'd like to open your relationship to a third partner, provided you find someone you both like and can trust. "Absolutely not." you decisively ask as you caress his chest; you don't even have to ask whether the third partner would be a male or a female, because it would change nothing "I only want you, and I want you to have eyes only for me when we are together. Please, let's not talk about it anymore." Boromir obeys; he doesn't express his own opinion on the matter, but he seems satisfied of your answer.

✈️ He likes seeing you in your stewardess uniform, so much that sometimes you surprise him wearing it when he visits you, after you have taken off your bra and panties underneath. Lingerie excites him, and since you refuse to accept money from him, even if as a simple gift, he buys you things he'd like to see on you; when you meet at work, he imagines you wearing his gifts under your uniform, and can't wait to take it off you. Once, you leave a pair of lacy panties under his pillow, as a surprise for when he'll wake up; he carries it with him in his pocket for the whole day, before cornering you in the company's parking lot. I think you left this at my place last night, he says after a long, trembling kiss, your body pressed between his and the door of your car, do you want it back? Or shall I teach you to take good care of the things you are gifted?

✈️ One day after a particularly memorable night, you realize you have scratched his back with your nails; Boromir doesn't mind, so lost in the world of pleasure you had created together he hadn't even felt the pain, and after a moment of guilt you feel quite proud of it, and happy at the thought he is carrying a sign of your passion on his skin, evident enough anyone who sees him would realize. Emboldened, you start biting his neck as you kiss, not so hard that it hurts but enough to leave a bruise, and two days later, when you join your colleagues at the airport for a new flight, you hear an older steward ask Boromir if he is sick, since he's wearing an heavy scarf over his shirt. Just a cold, your lover answers, impassible, and when your gazes meet he tries to scowl at you, but he ends up smiling as he sees you laughing behind your hand.

✈️ Everything is going great between the two of you. You sleep together at least three times a week, either at his or at your house, and while most of your dates begin in the bedroom, you soon discover you sincerely enjoy each other's company; you like falling asleep in your lovers' arms, his body keeping you warm better than the heaviest blanket, while Boromir enjoys resting his cheek on your chest and feeling you play with his hair. You enjoy long talkes, freely discussing personal matters as well as work issues; Boromir appreciates you are not wont to gossip, while you like he actually cares about your point of view as a stewardess, unlike other pilots who consider the other company employees beneath them. Yes, everything is going great, and six months after that first, magical night in the hotel room, you are still completely crazy about each other, fully satisfied of that (initially) purely sexual, no strings attached, relationship... and at the same time, finding yourselves wanting more.

✈️ Boromir is jealous. Naturally protective, and often possessive, of the people he cares for, Boromir finds himself hating every man who approaches you or that he suspects is interested in you, even if he has no reason to fear for your safety. He knows he has no right to feel that way, since you are not dating or anything and never even talked about making your sexual relationship exclusive, but he can't help it, and the simple thought of someone else touching you like he does, or worse, making you feel pleasure like he is so proud he has done for months, makes him see red. He has to bit his tongue to stop himself from asking about it any time he hears a masculine voice coming from your phone, he tries to discover who among the male colleagues you are friends with is single and could as a consequence pose a threat, and that time a wealthy passenger buys a costly perfume from the onboard shopping catalog and then gifts it to you together with his number on a piece of paper, he feels the irresistible urge to throw that cretin off the plane, even as he sees you politely refusing both offers, since the company guidelines forbid you from accepting gifts from passengers. Is this the only reason you declined?, he can't stop wondering, and would you have accepted otherwise? Is there already someone else in your life, someone you see when you're not with him, someone you like more than him and who could one day take you away from him...?

✈️ Your fears are different, albeit equally deep and distressing, and mainly concern the possibility your lover grows tired of you. After all you have slept together for months already, and no matter how intense the connection between you is, how passionate your lovemaking and how often he whispers in your ear you are so beautiful, so good for me, so tight and hot, and how amazing you feel when he's inside you and that no one has ever made him come so hard, sooner or later inevitably enthusiasm dwindles and boredom sets in; Boromir is an attractive man, you have seen passengers (of all ages, and all genders) giggling and looking at him with admirations on every single flight you have worked on together, and many of your fellow stewardesses likewise make no secret of their attraction. What if eventually someone catches his attention? Someone more beautiful, and younger than you, or pursuing whom provides a more exciting past-time than your by now established relationship? You are not tired of him (you have come to suspect you never will be) and there is nothing you wouldn't do to keep him by your side, but you can't stop fearing one day you will lose him...

✈️ Soon, you both realize you have developed feelings for each other, a discovery that does not surprise you (good, and even exceptional, sex does not necessarily translate in love, but what has been born between the two of you was too intense, too special and intimate and deep not to affect your heart) but that puts you both in a predicament. Could each of you confess your feelings to the other person, potentially finding out they did not reciprocate? You had never spoken much about your relationship, to give it a name or establish rules for something that made you both happy and satisfied, and while you had not explicitly decided to keep what there is behind you strictly physical, neither of you had ever said or done anything that could led the other to suspect a desire, or even just a willingness, to transform your acquaintance in a romantic relationship - a committed, serious romantic relationship, because this is what both of you had come to desire. If it came out you wanted different things from your rapport, could you ignore it and go back to being simply friends with benefits? It would be good (it would be great) even though you couldn't help wishing for more, and in the secret of your hearts you both think anything would be preferable to lose each other. But what if you simply couldn't go on like you had, and disappointment and bitterness ended up separating you? What if the one who did not reciprocate their lover's feelings ended up falling for someone else?

✈️ Neither of you could be described as a timorous person. As a pilot, and a former military pilot at that, Boromir had been prepared to make potentially vital decisions in the span of a minute, and you had likewise never allowed fear and uncertainty to guide you. Still, as you keep meeting for the best sex of your lives, sharing intimacy and secrets and laughs and pleasure, you both decide what you share is too important, too precious and special, to risk it... even if it could mean the beginning of something even more marvellous.

✈️ In the end, the solution of your quandary is found not by you, nor by your handsome lover. You had not spoken about your relationship with Boromir to anyone else, more because it was simply a matter that only concerned the two of you than because you had to keep it secret, and your dearest friends simply know there is someone in your life who makes you very happy. He, on the other hand, is an even more private person, disinclined to discuss his personal matters… except with the person he trusts the most in the world, and with whom he has no secrets. "I have been seeing a woman." he confesses one night he and his brother have met for drinks in their favourite pub and remained there for hours just talking as usual, indifferent to everything and everyone around them. The pub is a nice place, he reflects, mainly frequented by men, but one day, it would be nice to bring you there, and have you taste his favourite drink… "I have met her on the job, she's a stewardess, and… she's amazing, Faramir. I have desired her since the moment we shook hands, and for… nine months now we have been having sex, the best of my life, I never even thought I could feel like this… she's everything I have ever wanted in a woman, in a partner, and then some." "Then why the long face?" Faramir, who has started dating his future wife Éowyn three weeks ago, asks, and he listens intently as his brother confesses his fears (something Boromir has never been good at doing) that the woman he has grown to care for so much does not reciprocate his feelings, would break up with him if she knew they want different things from their relationship, and could one day, worst of all, fall for someone else.

✈️ "Do you love her?" "I don't know; I have never been in love before, but I have never felt anything like what I feel for her, so yes, it might be love." Boromir says, shrugging; he doesn't care about names and labels, but he knows he wants more, he wants all of her and wants her to have all of him. He wants to share more than her bed and the warmth of her body; he wants to stop fearing he could lose her any day, if only someone else catches her gaze "I think… in time, I will grow to love her very much. But I don't know if she feels the same, she's very affectionate and I know I can... I mean, that she's satisfied with what we have now; and that's the problem. Maybe she's happy like this, and she could never see me as anything but a sexual partner..."

✈️ Faramir knows his brother doesn't want to be consoled or advised on how to tackle his problem (which he would be unable to do in any case, since he doesn't know the woman his brother has developed feelings for and has no idea whether she reciprocates either); what he needs is to be listened to, and Faramir is happy to lend him his ear, intimately saddened to see his older brother so uncertain, and at risk of having his heart broken. "I'm sure you'll know what to do when the time is right." he says, and while Boromir seems actually comforted by his words, he feels he can, and as a consequence has to, do more for him...

✈️ ... which is why on the next day he visits Aragorn at the company's office, under the pretext of inviting him for dinner but in reality with a very different intent. "I know there is a stewardess here named (name); will you tell me how to find her? She is not in trouble or anything, but I can't tell you why." he asks; Aragorn decides to trust him, and luckily you are at the office right then, having had to come for a meeting with your supervisor and other stewardesses. The moment the two of you are face to face it takes you a moment to recognize him, because Boromir has a framed photo of the two of them on his bedside table, and because the man in front of you is a slightly younger, vaguely gentler version of the one you have slept with for nine months. You know he doesn't work for the company and you have no idea why he has come to see you; for a terrible moment, you fear something has happened to Boromir, but Faramir hurries to reassure you. "My brother has told me about you; believe me, I would never intrude in his personal affairs, but he cares greatly about you, much more than he has ever told you, and obviously you don't have to lie to him about your feelings to spare him the disappointment, but... but sometimes the only thing stopping two people from finding happiness is themselves, and fear. Boromir has never been afraid, never since I know him, and this is why I beg of you, take care of him, and of his feelings. I'm sure you'll know what to do when the time is right."

✈️You remain where you are, dumbstruck, while Faramir thanks you for your time and leaves; after a while, you finally move, reach your car in the parking lot and drive home, where you spend an hour walking in circle and staring at the wall, your mind possessed by a single, simple and at the same time terrifying question. Now what?

✈️ "(name)?" Boromir says, appearing in the living room in front of you, and for an absurd moment you could almost believe you were thinking about him with such intensity, you had him appear by magic. "Are you all right? The front door was open." he says as he reaches you; you had completely forgotten you had decided to meet at your place tonight, and you were so engrossed in your thoughts you hadn't realized you hadn't locked the door as usual. "Yes, I'm fine; sorry, I was... thinking." you explain as you greet him with a kiss as usual, that he gladly reciprocates. You look at him, feeling the gentle but possessive way he's already cradling your hips in his hands, the pleasant scent of his aftershave making you shiver; oh, to Mandos with it, you think, I don't want to be afraid either. "I saw your brother this afternoon." you confess as your lover has already started kissing your neck, gently biting a point on your throat he knows makes you see stars "He... hmmm... he came at the office to talk to me... about you. About what you told him last night."

✈️ Boromir reacts as if he had seen the gates of Mordor open in front of him. "I can't believe Faramir would do something like this." he murmurs, and suddenly he can't even meet your gaze "(name), I... I am sorry, it doesn't have to matter..."

"But it does; it does matter, and please, don't be angry with your brother, he was only trying to help." you explain, taking his hands in yours "And I am happy he did it; very very happy, in fact." You hesitate for a minute, searching the right words and at the same time simply enjoying the closeness of his solid, warm body; as long as you are together, you think, you'll never be afraid. "There is a party I have been invited on Sunday. It's nothing special, just a friend celebrating her birthday, but it should be nice... and I'd like you to meet my friends; and one day, if you want, I could meet yours. What... what do you think?"

More than seeing it (you can't, since you're staring at your feet) you feel him smile softly. "I'd like that." he murmurs before kissing your hair; his mouth has touched every single inch of your body, and still, no kiss has ever been sweeter than that "I'd like that very much."

[zorkaya-moved]

SVETLANA MOROZOVA:  ZAYCHIK / 27 years old / Russian / Mutation (Ability) type: Physician - Medic. 

Svetlana, dearest Svetlana... A young woman who remains the heart of the team. A woman who stutters yet is able to bring up valid points and make the whole team shut up and listen to her with an angry frown and suddenly voice raised an octave higher. The Physicians have been kidnapped the most out of all mutants for their capability to heal. It made scientists wonder: Will organ transplants carry the mutation over and help heal anything? Could they grow those organs? Could they mass-produce this ability? Morozova is one of the doctors who was working in a hospital in Russia, a diligent and kind-hearted woman who became well-known for her captivating skills and steady hand despite her shy and modest behavior. Many noticed that the room gets quieter whenever Svetlana speaks: either because her voice is so tiny to hear outside of the operation room or because others have respect for her medical talents. After all, she and Andrea are the only ones who graduated from their fields so young to become so popular. However, Svetlana's fame and her ability were discovered by the wrong group of people within Russia. They kidnapped the woman one day and dragged her to an unknown place where human experimentation was happening on mutants with similar powers: they wanted to farm the mutation of Physicians, thinking they would be able to do so without knowing how mutation truly worked. Hit, cut, injected with poison and chemicals... Svetlana had gone through many ordeals within the facility, almost losing hope if not for protecting the kids with the same ability. "Take me!" She would always say, withstanding and enduring every pain she was inflicted with... She didn't know if her exceptional powers as a Physician-Medic were a curse or a blessing, as she was able to heal herself and others without even leaving a scar behind. However, her sacrifices were not always helpful. Many kids and adults were taken when she was asleep or too exhausted to continue, but one day... Finally, someone broke down the door of the hidden facility. Svetlana would find herself staring at a figure with golden eyes, covered in the blood of those who dared to stand in the way of the beast. At that moment, Svetlana wondered if angels truly existed. Even if this person killed everyone, even if this person committed even more atrocious crimes, it was better than what she survived. It was better to take the hand offered by the devil than a faux angel in white. After all, the kids who were left alive... the little Azalea... did not die.  

EVGENIA POGORELOVA: PALACH / 29 years old / Russian Polish / Mutation (Ability) type: Physician - Medic. 

How do you live when all you knew was to be a weapon? Just because you are one who carries the power to 'heal' doesn't mean that you cannot kill. Evgenia's life has been used as a tool, as a weapon, as a hunting dog. Ever since she was born, she was nothing in her father's eyes. A mother was killed right in front of her eyes at the age of three, but her father - upon striking a young girl - saw how she was already healing her injuries immediately. Crying and kicking didn't help, begging to see her mother didn't help; nothing helped when your father was a politician and you were a politician's child out of wedlock. So what happened then? Manipulation, repression, beating, and training. For years, Evgenia had to become the perfect hunting dog for her father. She was forced to train endlessly, to kill, and to never show her emotions. It became so bad that she simply stopped... thinking. What was her order - she would do. It alleviated the pain, it made her forget, it made everything easier to live through. However, she was suffocating. Order after order, kill after kill, she was growing restless. Her father's laughter became an irritable white noise; she wanted it to stop. No one cared about her life, no one cred about how beaten up she would become. After years, she became known as the 'Berserker' (Берсерк) in the world. A woman who didn't care about her injuries at all, a woman whose healing abilities made her neat and unstoppable. A chemical poison? She was in pain but healing herself over and over. A broken rib? She would heal herself in a second. It didn't matter; she got used to pain. Pain no longer was registering in her mind, but one day... She was forced to hunt someone who couldn't be hunted down. She was able to defeat the man who tried to protect her, she gravely hurt another, she made a fellow Physician-Medic cry with her presence, but she had never seen eyes so cold and so terrifying then. Eyes of gold were the eyes of an apex predator, if she didn't escape, then - it would've been the end of her. It was her first failure... but it was also her last. Her father was angry, angrier than ever, as he hit her, screamed at her, and told her to do her job right. Evgenia had never felt fear so strongly as when those golden eyes pierced into her. At that moment, her father's screams, and his abuse suddenly became not as scary. If anything, Evgenia would raise her hand to strike her father herself then. Then hit him. Again, and again, and again. Until his face was unrecognizable until blood would seep into that disgustingly expensive white carpet, until her fists were covered in his spit and blood and whatever his brain turned into. It was then that Evgenia breathed out, suddenly tearing up and crying for the first time since her mother died. After, she would exit the room only to... find the very person who she was sent out to kill before, standing behind the door, waiting. She was there the whole time. She listened, she didn't interrupt. Evgenia thought she would die that day. And she did. She died and was given a fresh start... As Evgenia Pogorelova. Oh, did you really think her true name was [Evgenia Pogorelova]? How cute. 

ANDREA ESTRADA:  VULTURE / 32 years old / Spanish Turkish / Mutation (Ability) type: Physician - Plague. 

Andrea is known as the current vice-leader of the team despite being the latest person who had joined the team aside from Azalea. He is a scientist from MEU, the very place Zarina and Yaroslav have been called to help the facility of researchers evacuate and save themselves from the grasp of greedy and cruel governors. His mother was the very person who Zarina and Yaroslav also met in the facility; he was one of the researchers who was also stationed there. He witnessed the power of the Natural Disaster - Zarina Sokolova - and grew fascinated with diving deeper into the research of the mutation. He and Svetlana are researchers who have delved deeper into mutations and where they came from. Andrea is a sarcastic yet easygoing man with a laid-back attitude. He is confident in his knowledge, and he is confident in his strengths as a researcher and as a survivor. He fought for his life back in the facility before the unit where Yaroslav and Zarina had arrived. A man of class as well, Estrada is an avid enjoyer of luxury and someone who is well-known within the criminal world for his intelligence and his capabilities. His mother might be an upstanding citizen and a wonderful scientist serving the best, but he had a curiosity, and he inherited his father's tenacity. He yearned for change, yearned for knowledge, and he found that ladder to his intrigue through meeting Zarina - one of the rarest mutants in the world. And then he met Victor, and then he met Lyaisan. To have three Natural Disasters in the same family? Andrea couldn't help but be thoroughly amazed at the coincidence, or was it a coincidence? As a scientist wishing to learn more of the truth behind mutation and its origin, he wanted to dig deeper to find the truth. However, with time, he found out that... maybe, it wasn't bad to work in a team like this. As someone who didn't have a warm home to come to, and who survived alone, the team became his new home. A man so confident and so successful enjoyed his evenings in this unique company, learning how it feels to have a place to call [home]. Perhaps, that's exactly why he accepted the title of vice leader. All because he truly came to care about everyone he met and because he will not let this [home] be taken away from him, nor will he let the woman with eyes of gold cry alone again. 

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

“Can you repeat ?”

The woman before you adjusts her glasses. You hate her. You hate her since she has come into your house. You hate her more when she opens her mouth to say:

“Frankly sir, I don’t know why that seems so surprising to you. The facts are damning. Every year on Earth, the number of cartoonish villains is on the rise. You have evil CEOs and corrupt politicians that would make children scoff if they were in a movie. Civilians protests are...fine, I suppose, but we spirits of the earth have decided to help. Magical girls is the only logical solution to that evil. I am the representative of the Dawn goddess, and I have come to bless someone in your family to save your world.”

She doesn’t say “whether you want it or not”, but somehow the way she pronounces her last sentence makes her intention more than clear. Her glasses shine. You clench your fist, but your wife breaks first:

“Maybe when gods will stop being so condescending towards us and clean their own mess we will listen to them, but I am not going to let any of my daughters near you.”

“They’re both eight year old,” you add.

“It’s a traditional age to begin.”

“Tradition can change, in fact I’m all for putting your glasses in a nontraditional place in your -”

“It doesn't have to be your daughters. You could do it.”

Your wife stops her menacing walk, surprised:

“Who, me ? But I have a full-time job !”

“Your husband, then.”

You tilt your head, confused:

“Me ? But I’m…”

You point to yourself, a thirty-seven-year-old, arguably quite muscular guy:

“I mean...I don’t think I fit the picture. I’m a man, to begin with.”

“Oh, don’t be stereotypical. Men can make very decent magical girls if they want to, just as they can be princesses.”

“He does get grumpy if there’s something bumpy under the mattress”, helpfully offers your wife, while you glare at her.

You bite your lip. It’s been a couple of years since you’ve been unemployed. You’re very happy to spend your time with your daughters, but the cost of living is what it is and your spouse works way too much to support your family.

“How much is it paid ?”

The woman with the glasses says the price. Your jaw falls on the floor and you say yes before you have the time to think more.

It’s hard at first. You don’t know much about magical girls to begin with, but you live under the same roof as some experts. Your daughters are very happy to brief you on the subject. You spend hours of intensive training watching old anime on the couch together, while you stuff yourselves with pop-corn (everyone knows that fighting with an empty stomach can do no good. All these girls running with their toasts in their mouths must have a lot of trouble digesting.) You take notes while your daughters explain to you the potential risks, reenacting situations with their toys (you don’t want to notice most of them have lost a limb too much).

The transformation...is nice. Your don’t feel any pain in your joints anymore. Suddenly gravity had no hold on you, no matter how much Training Pop-corn you ate. You can make huge leaps, you feel an ancient power running in your limbs, and your skin is suddenly extremely smooth and glittery. Your main complain is the suit. You desperately try to find a compromise, but the woman and her boss don’t budge an inch: everyone knows that the costume is the most important part to strike terror into your foes’ heart. You don’t know how a weird tutu can do that, but the fluffy skirt is now your nemesis. As you represent the Dawn spirit, it is all pink and orange, and it sparkles so much you want to bring sunglasses with you. The wand shines just as much. The only part you really like is your necklace – a lot of pink hearts made in modeling clay assembled together by a string stolen in the kitchen – because it’s not part of your official costume, but your daughters made it for you. You couldn’t be more proud of it, because if your girls think you’re cool, you’re doing something right. Maybe you’re rocking this costume after all. That’s what’s your wife pretends anyway (even if she changes the subject when you ask if she’d like to wear it someday, the traitor.)

You begin your actual work. It’s the simplest job in the world. At night, you go after a cartoonish villain on your list, break into their lair, point the finger at them dramatically, and if they haven’t changed their lifestyle somehow after your impassioned speech about virtue, you fight them in a duel. (That’s the part you like best. Punching them in the face is your special move. You found this all by yourself.)

To everyone’s surprise, it turns out that an actual trained adult makes better results that a fifth-grader. You win fights in a row, your popularity rises, until the dreaded day when the cartoonish villains decide to counterattack. They invoke their own dark gods, and one dreary night a magical girl all dressed in black rises from the shadows to meet you. You have equal magical powers. But...she’s a teen. She’s literally a teen. You’re not going to raise a hand on a fourteen-year-old who looks like she needs twelve hours of sleep. So you take your scariest voice, the one you use when you discover someone has somehow stuck a pink unicorn on the ceiling (you’re still shivering about that), and you ask if she has done her homework. If not, she’s going to have a lot of problems in life, and she’d better study ! She says no, that she doesn’t care about homework, that you’re cringe and just a mean sexist who doesn’t understand her, and she charges.

Two months later, you sign the adoption papers. Twilight still thinks you’re cringe, but now she says it with a mouth full of pop-corn on your couch (you make very good Training Pop-Corn). To go with your costume, you wear the black ear-clips she gifted you for your birthday. The villains, being cartoonish, thinks that it’s all her fault, and try again. The next year, you have eight daughters.

You still have problems with money.

*

Back to Fantasy Masterlist

magical girls are real, and you have been chosen by a magical creature to become one. The only problem is your a full grown man with 2 kids and a wife.

[madwomansapologist]

Can I get supergirl with a s/o with powers like nightcrawler love your works ❤

being Supergirl s/o with Nightcrawler powers would include

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Kara Danvers | AO3

synopsis: Kara, after all, is just a sweet girl. 

note: thanks for your request my love! I hope you like it!

• Kara did something with your heart that no other hero was able to do: she filled it with hope. As Supergirl, she made you believe on a better world. Her actions and talks made you believe that you could do a difference. That you could make something nice for others. As Supergirl, she made you believe that doesn’t matter if people we’re scared of you before, because if your heart is good then you can be a hero

• The world was not a really great place for you. Before you we’re able to control your powers and appearance, you did suffer a lot. And now, totally able to control what is weird and ugly for others, that didn’t mean you like to do it. You like who you are, you wish you didn’t need to hide yourself. And when you saw a alien fighting for others right, even tho she looks just like a human and could have lived her life without worrying, that change something inside you

• And a year after, using your natural appearance and powers, you we’re a hero. A really great hero. You we’re way more into saving people than fighting, but a hero. Some people have tried to harm you because of who you are, but you find strengh inside. So, when you we’re fighting beside Supergirl, it feels like a fan moment

• You know that thing about never find your heroes? Bullshit. You saw how amazing she was. You saw that she wasn’t someone pretending to be good, but actually was fighting in more ways to be able to help the whole world. You two became closer, from allies to friends, and way after you felt comfortable to show her your appearance as a civillian you realize that what you felt for Kara wasn’t just admiration: it was love

• Kara is a true lover. With her shyness and clumsy way to be, Kara is just a sweet girl that would do anything to make you smile. She is the kinda of person that when discover that you love something, would simply do anything to understand you. Don’t be surprised if Kara casually bring a name of something you like to a conversation

• She loves your power, how you have a tendency to use it on the most casual situation. You are sit on the couch, then you are looking for food on the refrigerator, then you are beside the person talking to you. That makes a lot of people on your work as a hero really anoyed, but she loves it. When she is talking to you, whos in front of her, about something she saw on her phone and suddenly you are behind her, looking at the phone. It always surprised her, but on a great way

• Kara likes to call you...... kitten. She simply thinks that you look like a cat turned into a human. The way you move, you talk, you think: she said it is a copy of a black cat. Kara laugh to herself when something scared you and you jump, using your powers to go to a different place. Kara says she never saw you falling and its starting to get curious about how many lives you do have

• Your natural color don’t make her feel or act on anyway different. She simply says that whos scared of your lookings simply can’t understand what beauty really looks like. She understand when you choose to use your “human” appearance, but she loves when you just free yourself and just let your body relax

• Kara did fight some people that offended you, and have argued with some politicians, but she simply don’t let anyone disrespect you and get away with it. She as lover, but that does not mean that she will lower her head and just listen to dumb people talking shit

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[chrisevansjellybeans]

Undercover- Mob! Steve Rogers Part 2

Okay here is the highly requested part two to my Mob! Steve post! I had some technical difficulties posting it but hopefully you guys see it in the tags now :)

Warnings: swearing and smut

Word count: 2.8k

“When I said go undercover, I didn’t mean under his covers, Agent.” Director Fury slammed his hand down on his desk. It had now officially been twenty-four hours since your encounter with the mob boss and you had been waiting anxiously all day to talk with Nick Fury. The rumor around the office all day was that he wasn’t too pleased with how things went down.

“I did what I had to do, sir.” You stated boldly.

Fury scoffed but didn’t respond.

He was quiet for a moment, his eye scanning over the piece of paper in his hand. You fidgeted uncomfortably as your legs were still sore from your romp last night and you tried to hold it together as Fury gave you a weird look.

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You muttered a thank you as you took a seat.

“Listen, this is all good and fine but I want more. This,” He waved the note in his hand. “Is just a drug felony. I want this bastard put away for life.”

“But what about Stark?”

“A slippery politician, nothing more. I want insight on just more than this. I want it all.”

You sat back in the chair. You understood where he was coming from, but he was also acting like you hadn’t just uncovered a huge piece of information.

“Sir-”

“Which is why you’re going to continue...seeing Rogers. Your undercover assignment has just been extended until further notice.”

“But, sir!” You stood up in protest.

“But nothing, Agent. You’ve made your bed and you’ve already lied in it. Now do it again.” He snapped.

“Are you pimping me out, sir?”

“You did that yourself, Y/N.” Fury snarked. “Anyway, as we speak I have other agents creating an entire new identity for you on the internet so when Roger’s does eventually look you up he’ll find everything we want him to find.”

You felt yourself sinking back down into the chair. He was being completely serious. You suddenly felt very hot as you processed all the information coming at you.

“And what exactly is it going to say?”

“That you are Y/N Monroe. You are the same age as you are now and a barista at the coffee shop just below your apartment. You went to the University of Minnesota and graduated with a business degree, but currently can’t find any jobs. Pity. Your parents died when you were young and you have no siblings-no need to wrap anyone else up in this. We’ve made an Instagram account since that seems to be the most popular app among adults your age. I pushed for no socials but apparently it’s weirder if you don’t have one.”

“Okay...but I don’t have a coffee shop below my apartment.”

“You do now. Your stuff is being moved into a safe house apartment on the other side of town. That’s where you’ll be staying for now. Don’t worry, I have Parker holed up in the apartment two doors down.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to try to calm down. There was nothing else you could do. Fury was right, you had made your bed. You reached over and grabbed the file that Fury had pushed towards the front of the desk. Your new life all put together in a Manila folder.

Damn you, Ma and your slutty advice.

“You can go now.” Fury waved you away, now totally focused on whatever file he had in front of him. You hesitated, wanting to say something but nothing came so you left.

“Y/N!” Peter ran up beside you as you stormed down the hallway. “Heard we’re gonna be neighbors.”

You smiled at how excited he was. “It’s only temporary, Parker. Don’t wet your pants.”

Peter blushed and gently shoved you to the side as you both continued walking. “I know that. But doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. We could have movie nights or something.”

“I suppose we could find some time.” You nudged him back.

“Oh here, before I forget.” Peter shoved a brand new iPhone into your hand. “Fury had me add some tweaks to the geo location so it’s more precise than what Apple has. My burner number is already programmed in there too.”

You studied the burner phone, impressed that they didn’t just give you another shitty tracfone like you were used to.

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m not that much younger than you.” Peter grumbled as the two of you finally made it to the parking structure.

You smirked over your shoulder as you walked up to your Jeep Wrangler. “Young enough. ‘Night, kid!”

Peter flipped you off but was smiling the whole time as you drove off.

You punched in your new address in the GPS and followed along as it brought you to the older part of town. You had always loved this part of the city but never thought to move out here. Even though it wasn’t the new upcoming neighborhood, the rent prices had been driven up by the young kids moving in who just “adored the old time aesthetic” and the lofted buildings.

Your building was one of those you noted as you parked your car outside of your new address. The old brick building was tall, maybe six stories and had fire escapes littered across the front of it. The front door was a rusted green that you had to yank to budge to get open.

Extra security, I suppose. You laughed to yourself.

Your apartment was on the third floor and right off the freight elevator. You weren’t expecting much when you opened the door but you made a noise of pleasant surprise when you did.

The inside was warm and inviting. A plush gray sofa that resembled a cloud was center in your living room that you saw right away from the small entry hallway. As you stepped in further you saw a decent size tv mounted against the wall and two bookshelves on either side of it, filled with books and records that went along with the record player that was right underneath the television. To the left the living room was the kitchen. Nothing big, which you didn’t mind-you weren’t the best cook in the world. There was a small bar-like counter that had two barstools perched underneath. Down the small hallway you found your bedroom. A king sized bed covered in an off white comforter set with matching sheets. Small potted plants hung from the corner near the window and an array of makeup and perfumes littered the top of the wooden dresser.

Tentatively you opened the dressers to find a whole new wardrobe waiting for you. There were basics: such as t-shirts, jeans, bras and panties but there was also a whole drawer dedicated to skimpy lingerie that you knew was expensive. The walk-in closet was filled with dresses, some formal and some you wouldn’t let your grandmother even see hanging off the rack.

“Well done, Fury.” You mumbled to yourself as your fingers ran down the silk fabric of a long evening gown.

You were settling on to your couch, sweats on and a glass of wine in your hand when you heard a knock on the door. Slowly you got up, grabbing your gun from the plant next to the door. You looked through the peephole and let out a curse when you saw none other than Steve Rogers standing outside your apartment.

You shoved the gun back into the plant and ran your fingers through your hair before opening the door, but leaving the chain attached.

“Mr. Rogers, how can I help you?” Your eyes twinkled as the man in front of you rested his arm on the top of the door frame and leaned close to the opening you had created.

“You said I would see you soon, princess. Looks like soon is now.” The nickname again caused your stomach to flutter.

“I was just getting ready for bed. You’ll have to come by another time.” You feigned a yawn. Steve’s eyes blared as he stood up straight.

“It’s rude to keep your guests waiting, Miss Monroe.” Your heart jumped at the use of your alias. Thank god your team worked fast.

“And it’s rude to show up to people’s apartments unannounced, Mr. Rogers.”

“Open the door, sweetheart.” He hissed, but his eyes held anything but anger. He was intrigued. He never found a woman before who wasn’t afraid to dish back his sass. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Say please.” You teased through the opening.

“Please.” He said through gritted teeth.

Chuckling you closed the door gently and undid the chain. Before you could reopen it though, Steve pushed his way through scooping you up in his arms as he did. You naturally wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms held tight around him as you squealed against his neck.

He walked you back into the living room and plopped down on the couch, holding you so you were still straddling him.

You pulled away but kept your arms hanging loosely around him. He smirked up at you as his fingers toyed with the hem of the tank top you had on. His eyes fell to the wine that was only half drank on your coffee table.

“Heading off to bed soon, huh?”

“My bedtime snack.”

There was a part of your brain that recognized him for who he was: evil. But another part of your brain saw him as the man who made your body feel things that it had never felt before and that had your heart racing like a schoolgirl with a crush. The part that recognized that he was so easy to talk and joke with. The great sex wasn’t a bummer either.

His smirk was replaced by a genuine smile as he pulled you down and gave you a kiss that had your toes curling. He moaned into your mouth as you slowly ground your hips against his, your fingers tugging at the hair by his neck. His tongue massaged yours, letting you know exactly who was in charge at this moment. His hands ran underneath your tank top, fingers tracing up your spine before reaching the front and giving your nipples a slight twist.

He moved his mouth from yours and peppered kisses along the side of your neck as he lifted the tank top over your head. He threw it to the side as his mouth attached to your protruding bud while his fingers pinched and toyed with the other one. Skillfully, and with his mouth still attached to you, Steve flipped you over so your back was on the couch and he was on top of you. He lifted his head, his blue eyes clouded with lust as he started kissing down from the center of your chest, down your stomach and down your legs as he pulled your sweats along with him.

He hummed as he spread your bottom lips apart with his fingers, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. You wiggled your hips against his face but he responded with a smack against your core.

“Honey, you gotta learn who’s in charge here and who’s-“ he kissed your clit ever so slightly, teasing you. “Just a little cock slut.”

His tongue circled over your bundle of nerves while fingers toyed with your slick. Gently he pushed two fingers into your pussy. Your eyes fluttered closed as his steady rhythm and flick of his tongue brought your orgasm to the forefront.

“Shit, Steve…” you whimpered, gripping his hair and pulling him close. “Oh fuck, I’m close!”

“Let me taste you, princess.” Steve growled. You nearly lost it at the sigh of your juices dripping from his chin. “Give it to me like the good girl you are.”

“Oh god!” You called out as he hit that spongy spot that caused your thighs to tighten around his head. Your body spasmed as it rode out your orgasm. Your chest heaving and your legs shaking as he slowly pulled his fingers from you. A moan was caught in your throat as you watched him put his soaked fingers between his lips, a look of pure satisfaction covering his perfect face.

Steve leaned his body over yours but careful not to let his full weight fall on you. He ran his nose up the side of your neck, along your cheek before letting it rub against your own. You grabbed his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. There was something so erotic about tasting yourself when your tongues met.

“Show me your bedroom?” Steve pulled away. You gave a weak nod. Steve stood up and hoisted you up, your legs weak beneath you.

“Poor baby.” He cooed in your ear. “Only one orgasm down and already can’t walk. I can’t imagine how you’ll be when I’m done with you.”

With that he lifted you and walked down your short hallway to the bedroom. In your hazy, post orgasm mind you hoped the mattress was comfy. You hadn’t even tested out beforehand.

Steve threw you on the bed and you sighed as you fell into the cloud. You leaned back on your elbows and watched as Steve unbuttoned the new shirt and trousers he had on. You stifled your laughter thinking about the wine stained ones back at his house.

“Something amusing to you, sweetheart?” He grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards the end of the bed. He lifted your foot up, setting it over his shoulder as he kissed the inside of your calf.

“No, sir.” You teased.

“You’re a bad liar.” He nipped at your knee.

Not as bad as you might think.

Steve made you come at least four more times that night. Your body completely spent when he finally rolled over and laid next to you, yours and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You rolled over and threw your leg and arm over his body, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. Steve’s fingers toyed with yours as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Spend the night?” You asked into the darkness. It was nearly three in the morning and your eyes were slowly closing no matter how much you willed them to stay open.

“I have some business things that I have to take care of early in the morning.” He answered, his fingers running up and down your arm.

“Oh, okay.” You said sadly. Steve’s chest rumbled with light laughter as he brought your hand that was in his up to his lips and gave it a kiss. You were soon realizing that he was actually a very affectionate person.

“But I want you to come back to the house tomorrow. I’ll send one of my guys for you in the afternoon.”

“Really?” You sat up. Steve blindly reached for your nightstand and turned on the lamp that was on it. His hair was tousled from the numerous times you had run your fingers through it and his lips were red and swollen. He looked like the epitome of sex and it was fucking hot.

“Yes, really.” He chuckled. He grabbed your phone that was on the nightstand and held it out for you to unlock. You did quickly and he took it back and started typing. “I don’t give out my personal number to a lot of people.”

“So I’m special.” You wiggled in your spot, a grin covering your face.

“Yes. You are.” Steve looked back at you and you were taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. He handed your phone back to you and you laughed at the name he had for his contact: Steve Rogers and an eggplant emoji.

“You’re a child.” You giggled.

Steve rolled his eyes and got out of bed and you took the time to appreciate his bum as he walked over to get his pants.

You gathered the soft sheets in your hand and brought them up to your chest. Although you weren’t sure what you were trying to hide, he had seen it all.

Once he was dressed and you slipped on a robe that you found hanging behind the door, you walked him out. He stood in your doorframe, his large figure making the space seem very small. He smiled as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your head and leaned down and gave you a kiss.

“Make sure to lock all the doors behind me. And text me when you wake up tomorrow.” He demanded softly.

“Mmmkay, I will.” You said hazily.

“Go get some sleep, princess.” He laughed as he pushed away from the door and walked to the elevator. You watched as he got in and gave you a quick wave before whipping out his phone to make a call.

Once he was out of sight you closed the door softly, making sure to bolt everything before heading back to your bed. You were too tired to even clean up before you passed out.

[aenaxes-moved]

soirée

[cody x gn!reader] sometimes, commander cody, diplomatic duties can be set aside. otherwise known as living, if only for a brief moment, with the golden boy.

warnings: none

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: i just think dancing with cody on a lakefront at sunset would be infinitely nice. and y/n is gender neutral! they could be read as more feminine coded because of their gown and heels but there are no explicit pronouns/gendered references.

"Have you ever danced for a gala, Cody?"

"I can't say I have, senator," Cody responds as the Theelin representatives pass by. Some tenuous balance of concern and mild amusement playing over the arch in his brow, he watches you lift the long hem of your gown to rub at your ankles.

"I would recommend you avoid it if possible," you say, grimacing when your fingers brush over a sure blister come dawn. "Nasty business, dancing."

Were he but a newly made acquaintance, as he had been when he had known you by name and Fox's fond regard alone, he would most certainly be on his highest guard. But after Obi-wan had very inconspicuously assigned him to your escort detail, placing you through a grand total of one assassination attempt and two stolen frigates, he allows himself a sort of relaxed regard that only comes by a bond forged in the belly of a ship under heavy fire.

Camaraderie, he had called it breathlessly as you wiped engine grease from your robes, collapsing against him after you had finally toggled the hyperdrive online.

Friendship, you had countered with the firm clack of your wrench on the helm. You recall with brilliant clarity that his hand had been warm when you had gripped it tight, illuminated the ghostly blue of the streaks of light flooding the viewport.

Comrades were bound to duty; friends, something much more. So he allows himself to stand back at pause to admire how the setting sun gleams over your skin, how your nose scrunches just slightly as you fuss at the sheer inconvenience of your heels, as if you are not as radiant in his eyes as the fading light sparkling and rippling over the water.

"Truly, an unfortunate part of the democratic process, y/n," Cody chuckles.

Without the presence of other senators to demand the formalities of titles and decorum, you watch his shoulders slacken from sharp attention as he calls you by your name. The cool neutrality of his gaze as a soldier softens into a warm amusement meant for a dear friend, and you are happy to bask in its glow despite the groaning ache in your feet.

"If I knew there would be this much dancing in politics, I would have listened to my mother and taken her speeder shop," you groan.

"And deprive the Senate of your voice?" Cody asks, and his smile, as discreet and small as it may be, is irresistible.

"You have to actually convince me, Cody."

"Fair enough. Then, deprive the 212nd of your acquaintance?"

You hum, your fingers suddenly still over your heels as he watches you genuinely contemplate his words.

"Just a bit closer," you prod, a playful gleam in your eye.

"I thought you said you didn't like 'fawning sycophancy,'" Cody snorts. "You and your politician language."

"I don't like groveling politicians. I won't turn down flattery if it is from you, my dear commander," you respond, unable to hide the bright smile high on your lips.

"Then, say you'd taken the speeder shop. Would you deprive me of your acquaintance?" Cody relents with a huff. It's nothing but a puff of breath exhaled soft, but it's a welcome sound close to the rich warmth of his laughter, the sound of the poorly concealed joy glimmering in his deep brown eyes.

"If you help me to a quiet place where I can simply sit for the rest of the evening, I might just tell you if that was enough," you tease, offering your hand to him with a haughty flourish as if you were the queen of Naboo herself and not a common voice of the people of Coruscant. Cody rolls his eyes, breaking into a brief grin that flashes over his expression as brilliant as the sun.

You're already in a bit of a secluded spot a few paces away from the swelling quartet music and bureaucratic chatter, giving you the space to break your level-headed courtesies and poke fun. But more than anything, you simply want time alone with the commander in all the impeccable neatness of his uniform dress. Besides, while you think you make quite a pair—the clean press of his formal whites and the shimmer silk of your ivory gown shimmering in the sunset—the old senatorial farts have little regard for the handsome soldier in your company (and it's, really, their loss).

"Are you suggesting I help you escape from your very important diplomatic duties?" Cody asks, a low gasp light on his lips. How many times have you played this game, knowing damn well that the both of you would much rather die in a firefight than sit through a foggy senator raising toasts? It's become close to second nature, now.

"I absolutely am, commander," you nod firmly. "As I always say, sometimes, commander Cody, diplomatic duties may be set aside. This is one of those dreadful times."

He rolls his eyes again, but this time, he takes your outstretched hand, complete with a low bow as he plays along with your theatrics. You rise, only to wobble on your heels, but Cody is there to gently grasp your arms, ever steady. The consternation that flashes over his eyes for a brief moment is deep, more than simple concern, and while you cannot exactly label what his expression betrays, it sets your heart fluttering in your throat all the same.

What Separatist arguments and militaristic rebukes could not rile in your unflappable calm on the Senate floor, Cody effortlessly awakes. It's his power, you think as you regain your footing. The man spun from gold.

"There's a place over the water by the back of the villa," you say, falling into step beside him as the din of the party recedes behind you. "I think we should find some peace and quiet there."

"So you already had an escape route planned out?" Cody laughs. "I guess you never needed a security detail in the first place."

"Well, 'needed' isn't exactly accurate. Maybe 'strongly preferred?'" you offer, and Cody laughs a bit brighter. It's funny, how you barely feel the ache in your feet as contentment blooms triumphant in your chest.

By the time you sneak past the serving droids, stifling soft laughter when you hide from a few stray representatives, the sun is a slim arc curved over the silvery waters of the lake. In the moments of approaching dusk, you stand far from the treaty talks and ulterior motives before an old gazebo, its curved arches heavy with flowering vines like verdant curtains awaiting your arrival.

You look to Cody with bright eyes and squeeze his hand.

"We only have a few minutes of light left," you say in a hushed, excited whisper as the the purpling darkness of night begins to chase the sunset light. With little but the soft lakefront winds breezing through the blooming pavilion arches, there is no need to whisper. But your time with the commander is a precious, fragile thing, so easily burst by the sudden arrival of your colleagues or his men. A whisper is only a savoring tribute to this rare moment. "Dance with me."

"I thought you said dancing was 'nasty business,'" Cody chuckles.

"With you, a dance is a pleasure," you say, the whispers of laughter on the tip of your tongue.

"All due respect, but this is the first time we've shared a dance y/n," Cody teases as you tug him to duck under the creeping trellis vines and onto the sun-kissed stone of the little pavilion. "What makes you so certain you'll enjoy this one?"

"Dancing at these," you wave your hand with a sigh, "little parties are nasty, only if by virtue of the other senators with whom I am obligated to dance. They see me as a rival or a signatory to be won over or fought, and dance is little but a means to an end. But with you..."

The words fall back on your tongue as Cody emerges from under the low-hanging leaves, immediately awash in the glimmering gold light of the sun. He is a kind of breathtaking awe in the cresting cold of dawn, chin held high and proud. But in the resplendence of the waning sun, as he tugs his gloves from his hands, he is the warm and steadfast comfort of home.

In his relaxed posture and soft, dark eyes lies the kind of beauty that you ascribe to an ancient sun rising from behind a waking planet. A star brimming with ageless wisdom and forgiving light, as the sunlight dances over the commander's even, tawny skin, he is nothing short of life breathed into pure gold.

"With you, even a dance can be something I hold dear," you finish as he catches your wide-eyed wonder with a wry smile.

"Very well, senator," he says, a smooth, diplomatic cadence that's sickly enough for you to laugh. He extends a hand to you with a flourish, and you relish in the pure joy. "May I have this honor?"

"With pleasure," you grin.

Although he claimed to never have danced, Cody fluidly assumes a regal sort of poise, moving your hand to his shoulder and settling his free hand light on the small of your back. You have seen him heft his brothers over his shoulder; you have seen him cast aside his blaster for raw strength; you have seen the firm hand he carries wherever he goes. And yet, he is gentler than ever as you step close and meet his eyes to share a smile.

With a soft inhale, you begin a simple waltz over the warm stone.

For the first few steps, there is form. You quietly nudge him to take your lead, step by step, and he is a diligent student as he follows. But where political waltzes have always kept rigid time, space between your chests and guarded caution to the orchestral suites, you quickly fall into something sweet, unhurried and soft as your steps become slow sways in the fading light.

Wordless, brimming with joy, you are free. Cody lifts your hand above your head, laughing with you as you tiptoe through a spin that gently flares your dress, and a few dizzying turns and careful dips later, you can't help but wonder if Cody's heart is racing as fast as your own.

Too enraptured by his steadfast composure (even with the warmth in his eyes), you do little to mask your surprise when Cody shifts his hand higher up your back and tugs you close, pressing you flush to his chest under the emerging starscape above.

Shock, then saccharine goodness, sweet on your tongue, floods you as you slip your hand from his. After a beat of hesitation, testing, careful, you slowly reach up and rest your arms over Cody's shoulders, waiting for the bashful regret to overtake you when he might gently let you down. (It's unbecoming of you, you think shamefully, no matter how closely you may regard him as a friend.)

But the rejection never comes.

Instead, as the sun slips below the lake horizon, Cody simply fixes you with a soft smile and clasps his hands behind your waist, pulling and keeping you close while he continues to sway with the lake breeze. He does not need to speak for you to know his presence bared to you, not as a soldier or as your guard, but as a humble man to bear witness to the starlight in your eyes.

Heart beating wildly in your throat, you press a bit farther, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder. You have all but stopped your lazy waltz, simply swaying in place with the cool night winds fast approaching. In the stillness, you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against your ear, a steady, reassuring rhythm that quells the giddy excitement from your chest. Yet you still start when he lifts one hand from your waist to the nape of your neck, raising delightful shivers as he strokes his thumb over your skin.

"Cody," you murmur.

You are certain it is no mistake that when Cody turns towards your voice that he presses close, his lips ghosting over your brow. You are no stranger to his closeness in harrowing blaster battles and narrow escapes from certain death. But this is new, the tenuous gossamer of intimacy not yet shared, as you reach for him and he reaches back.

"Yes, cyar'ika?"

(Cyar'ika? You do not recognize the sound, but it floods heat over your cheeks all the same.)

"My answer. About whether it was enough to choose the Senate over the speeder shop," you begin, reveling in how close Cody stands, cradling you so close that you feel his soft breaths over your skin. "Sometimes I wonder if I would have been happier outside of the politics."

"I hear a 'but,'" Cody muses. But instead of any teasing bite to his words, there is only patience, fond and warm.

"But if I had stayed in the lower levels; if I had never come to the Senate, I would have never left the surface. I would have never come to call a jedi general a friend, nor would I have known your men. I would have never met you. And to meet someone like you..."

You pause, sighing deep as your heart begins to pound anew.

"It is beyond enough."

Upon your last word, you hold your breath close.

You had only intended this to be a part of your teasing game of lighthearted chase with the commander. What was meant to be a quick and breezy escape from the politics of gowns and frivolities (even if you could not deny your affections for the commander) has brought you here, wondering if your words might be a push too far. Truths they may be, but they open you to uncharted waters. And you tremble in the falling night at the vague possibilities and consequence.

"Cyar'ika." Cody's voice, still as the lake stretched behind you, rumbles above your ear. "Do you know what that means, y/n?"

You shake your head slowly against him, only to meet him with eyes wide in surprise when he gently takes your jaw in his hand and tugs you upright.

"It means," he says quietly, sliding his palm from your chin to your cheek. "Sweetheart."

You're too stunned to do anything but blink when you feel his lips on your forehead.

"Darling."

Another touch, this time, pressed to your cheek as your eyes slide shut. You wait, anticipating with blooming wonder the promise of more lingering on his tongue. But when he does not return, you open your eyes, and Cody is waiting for you, dark eyes and soft smile radiant even without the glow of the setting sun.

"Beloved," he says at last, and tips your chin to press one final, dizzyingly gentle kiss to your lips. He may not meet you in vivacious energy, but Cody holds you close, pressing unhurried, luxuriant touches over your skin as you hold tight. His touch is chaste, stolid restraint holding him to only slow, deliberate motions, but you savor every fleeting moment in the evening calm.

When you part, you open your eyes to dusk in its clear, cold darkness, bejeweling the lakefront with scatter of stars high above. Yet all you can see is Cody before you, his soft smile and beating heart glowing brighter than any constellation in the inky black of night, his own radiant sun, spun gold.

Enchanted, you reach one hand up from its place on his shoulder and slowly, trembling, touch one finger to the scar carved around his brow. And he knows that you mean nothing but adoration as you trace the dark ridge of his scar beneath his eye, then lower, over the proud line of his cheek to cradle his jaw in your palm.

"I am only a soldier," Cody murmurs, nuzzling close into your touch. "Cyar'ika," he calls, leaning close to kiss your cheek. "Will you have me all the same?"

The cooling wind rises across the water, brushing stray petals from the trellis vines as your gown flutters around your feet. You wonder if this is what it feels to fly through the aftermath of a supernova, the silence of what was and yet the promise of what might yet be, glittering dust and neon gas diffusing into the ever expanding possibility of the universe. You wonder if this is right where you were always meant to be, aching feet and politics and shared breaths with a simple man with eyes full of light and heart like the sun.

"Only if you will have me," you reply, and the smile that breaks over Cody's lips is brighter than any sunset light you have seen, golden and alive. "Cyar'ika."

[madamewriterofwrongs]

my sweet darling - how about an armed forces 911 AU? Maybe Eddie meets Navy Seal Buckley overseas? Maybe they meet back stateside at the VA?

You, my darling, always send me such fun and interesting prompts. I promise I didn’t forget. 

Ooh, okay. Let’s see...

Prompt Me with AUs

Delta X-Ray (I am Sinking) 

Read on Ao3

Eddie first sees him as he’s getting off the plane in Washington. He’s going to receive a medal. Apparently his work in Bagram made him a hero and not a broken, shell of a man. Who knew. And really, it’s just a glance because he has other things to worry about besides a Navy man getting dressed down by his captain. He doesn’t need to hear what’s being said to know that’s exactly what’s happening. He’s seen that look too many times, felt the hot breath of his superior as they spat harsh words meant to ‘toughen him up’.

As he passes the sailor, he hears something to the effect of “if it happens again, you will be dismissed.” And Eddie wonders how many times this particular man has received this exact lecture. It doesn’t really matter, anyways. He just wants to get his medal, shake a few hands of politicians who think they had anything to do with his ‘accomplishment’ and go home to his wife and child – ex-wife, he reminds himself. Shannon had the papers shipped to Afghanistan. Couldn’t get away fast enough, his mind bitterly supplied. All he would have at the end of the day was his son, and a medal to replace the wedding band he’d worn since he was 19.

Before he knows it, he’s standing on a small stage, a million lights flashing in his eyes as cameras and stage lights practically blind him. His shoulder aches – out of the sling for the afternoon so he can at least look more put together than he feels – and he’s dizzy from the attention. That’s his excuse for why he doesn’t recognize the man standing beside him.

“Seaman Petty Officer First Class Evan Buckley.” A blond man steps forward and Eddie catches himself staring at the dress whites and stone expression for longer than is strictly necessary. He seems a far cry from the officer being scolded less than an hour ago, but it is definitely him. And he was standing on stage beside Eddie, about to receive a medal of his own.

“For distinguishing oneself by heroism not involving actual conflict with an enemy of the United States, Petty Officer Buckley is awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Medal.”

As he watches the stripes being pined on the officer’s lapel, he lets himself wonder what crime the man could have committed to be dressed down and rewarded in the same afternoon.

He’s so curious, in fact, that he nearly misses his own name amongst the titles thrown around.

“Staff Sergeant Edmundo Diaz.” He steps forward, holding his breath until the entire ordeal is finally finished. “For gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States, Staff Sergeant Diaz is awarded the Silver Star.” The medal is heavier than he anticipated, but he supposes that makes sense. It is quite a burden he’ll be carrying around, and now he has a gold star to go with it – he wants to chuckle at the irony of his ‘Silver Star’ actually presenting as a golden one.

It seems everything about his life is a life.

There were a lot of reasons Eddie hated attending events like this: The politics, the bravado, the crowds of people ‘thanking him for his service’. Mostly, though: he never knows anyone. Sure, he can charm a senator or two for a few minutes, swap stories with other officers from other divisions about where they were and what they saw. But those are fleeting relationships, meant to get him through the day. He’ll go back to his hotel room at the end of the night with no more friends than when he’d stepped off the plane in this awful, awful town. Eddie is tired of ‘schmoozing’. With any luck, today will be the last time he has to tell the governor’s wife how lovely she looks in her dress.

That’s when he spots the man sitting at the edge of the bar like he’s trying to hide from the world, and he decides to make his way over.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He asks, even as he sits down.

The other man’s eyes light with recognition – and damn, are they as blue as the sea. “Not at all. Diaz, right?”

“Eddie.” He supplies, raising a finger to the bartender to snag his attention. If he is going to make it to the end of the evening, he’s going to need one, good drink. “And you’re Buckley.”

“Actually, it’s Evan but you can call me ‘Buck’.” His amusement must be evident because his new drinking buddy supplies the answer. “There are a surprising amount of ‘Evan’s in the Navy.”

It had never occurred to him to check how many ‘Eddie’s were in his squadron. Maybe he should ask his CO if that’s why he always called him by his full first name.

“Congratulations, by the way.” Buck looks somewhat nervous even as the words leave his mouth. “On your medal. Good job.”

“Oh.” Is all Eddie can bring himself to say as he stares into the bottom of his glass. “Thanks.”

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

He really isn’t doing a good job of hiding his emotions if this relative stranger ca read him so easily. “No, I-” he takes a deep breath to recalibrate his thoughts and paste his best fake smile. “It is a great honour.”

“Bullshit.” Buck laughs in his face but for some reason, Eddie doesn’t bristle nearly as hard as he expected. It almost feels playful. The rest of Buck’s response is cut off by his buzzing phone on the counter. The man quickly grabs it long enough to check his notifications, returning it to its place at the bar with a disappointed look.

“Are we keeping you from something?”

“Uh, no.” It’s Buck’s turn to look caught out and in need of recalibration. His expression changes much slower. “I’m just waiting for a call from my sister. I sent her an invitation to this thing but she never responded.”

Eddie has experience with family not coming to big social events like this one. Of course, in his case, he never invited them in the first place.

“Family ain’t easy.” He shrugs as he takes a long sip of whatever burning liquid he’d ordered – it really doesn’t matter so long as he can stay sitting here and not mingling with the crowds of vultures.

“It’s more than that.” Buck looks worried, and the way he bites his lip is… Eddie shouldn’t be focusing on that. “It’s just…” The man shakes his head, dismissing whatever feelings were eating at his gut. “I don’t want to bore you.”

“Please.” Eddie leans into his space with a playful smile. “It can’t be any more boring than this event. Please try to bore me to tears, if you dare.”

When Buck smiles, Eddie’s heart flutters out of his chest and sits beside him as they listen to Buck begin to speak. He tells Eddie about his sister, how she cared for him growing up, how she went away with her asshole of a boyfriend – now her deceased asshole of a husband – leaving him to fend for himself. He talks about travelling the country, trying every odd job he could get his hands on, until a buddy of his suggested he join the Navy. And he loves the work, he really does, but he hasn’t seen his sister in over a year. Their last conversation ended in a fight about some family secret that Buck is reluctant to talk about. Even Eddie can tell that the man just misses his sister. No matter what the argument was about.

Eddie finds himself talking – in less detail – about Shannon and the divorce and his son at home. At Buck’s prompting, he shows off his favourite photos of Christopher (avoiding the one burning a whole in his shirt pocket, torn and bloody, which never leaves him). The man’s face positively lights up when he sees the kid, offering an appropriate amount of sympathy for his divorce without pushing him for more emotions.

It’s easy talking to Buck, he realizes after a few hours. Because suddenly, the venue rental is nearly up and he’s still sitting at the corner of the bar, talking to Buck. Sure, a few people have passed by and shaken their hands, thanking them for their service – Eddie cringes every time and Buck has to hide his laughter once he realizes – but for the most part, it’s just the two of them, sitting and talking.

“The flag signalling we use now was established in 1855.” Buck explains as he leans further into Eddie’s space. “And while Robert Morse invented Morse Code in the 1830s, the International Morse Code that we use didn’t come out until the 1850s.”

“How do you know all of that?” Eddie was fairly certain he hadn’t had to study the history of communication when he was in training. But he’d also been very focused on his medical textbook.

Buck was incredibly cute when he blushed, Eddie decides – though he opts to keep that opinion to himself for now. “I get bored and I read.” The man shrugs nonchalantly, as though he hasn’t been entertaining Eddie with stories of Naval history and his own dumb-ass mistakes all evening. Honestly, Eddie wants to sit here all night and listen to Buck tell him stories of the world. It seems like he’s lived a lifetime already. And what has Eddie done? Gotten a girl pregnant, joined the army, gotten shot, and now he doesn’t even have a wife to go home to.

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie realizes too late that Buck looks nervous. He thinks he probably wouldn’t have said yes if he’d noticed. “How did you get your medal?”

Now he knows he doesn’t have to answer – and his initial instinct is to close out his tab and see if he can run to El Paso on his still-injured leg. But he also realizes that he hasn’t told anyone since it happened. Not the full story. Even now, he might not have the words. But he tries.

“Our helicopter got shot down while transporting wounded. I could still move so I got everyone out. Or I tried to get them out.” The echo of gunfire is not as distant as the others told him it would be. He can still smell it. “Support finally arrived and they decided to give me a medal for holding down the fort.”

Buck places a gentle hand over his and Eddie gasps, reminded that it has been a very long time since anyone has touched him. God, how he misses it.

“You saved wounded soldiers in the middle of the desert while being fired on. And you think you were just doing your job?”

“I’m an army medic.” He reasons with the bottom of his glass. “It’s my job to save people.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think that’s why you do it.” Without elaborating, Buck smiles at him and Eddie forgets the question.

“What about you?” He asks instead. “What’s yours for?”

Unlike the enthusiastic, bubbly personality he’s been talking to for the last few hours, Buck melts into the face he saw up on that stage. The stoic, professional.

“We were on our way back from an escort mission when we encountered some rough seas. I happened to be on deck with the chief mate when he had a stroke. I tried to tend to him but the storm was getting worse and no one could find the captain, so I just took over navigation. It was rough, I had no idea what I was doing, but we all made it out safely and the chief mate was okay.” As Buck shrugs, memories of an overheard conversation come flooding back to Eddie’s mind.

“Wait, were you on the USS Angelo?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Eddie can’t believe it. He has to laugh. “You were the cadet who sailed out of Hurricane Ida?”

“I am a petty officer first class, I’ll have you know.”

“Buck, you navigated a 2,000 ton ship out of a hurricane and all they gave you was a lousy medal?”

“I should get that printed on a t-shirt, or something.”

“That was incredibly reckless but also incredibly brave. Buck, you’re a hero.”

“I was just doing my job.” The smirk tells Eddie he knows exactly what he’s doing but it still hits him that he’s throwing Eddie’s words back in his face. Cute and cheeky.

He doesn’t know why he asks – well, he does, but it’s incredibly stupid and impulsive, and he definitely can’t blame it on the alcohol but he sure would like to.

“How long are you in town?”

Buck looks pleasantly surprised by his question but answers with regret in his eyes. “I head out with the Fifth Fleet in the morning.”

Wow. “You just got a medal, and you’re headed out to earn another one?”

“Something like that.” Buck laughs and Eddie wishes he was braver than he felt. “But I won’t be gone forever. And I’m really good at telegraphy if you wanted to send anyone a message.”

He’s so grateful that Buck has the good sense to be everything he needs right now. Because asking the next question is easier with someone standing next to him. “I suppose I’ll need a way to get in touch with you, then.”

Buck winks and Eddie has never been gladder that the concept of ‘standing’ was only metaphorical. The man should not be so irresistible after only a few hours, but Eddie can’t help but watch him push off his barstool and walk around the side of the bar.

“Hey, Diaz!” The spell is broken long enough for him to look across the room at where his name is being called. He waves at old friends – well, Senior Airman Han and Space Force First Sergeant Wilson are the closest things he has to old friends but in actuality, he’s not sure he knows their first names. “We’re going to the afterparty, want to join?”

On a normal night, Eddie would decline on the basis that he doesn’t want to go, and would rather lay in bed and watch reruns of ‘Murder She Wrote’. Tonight, Eddie wants to decline on the basis that he doesn’t want to go, and would rather stay up all night talking to someone who makes me feel curious about the future.

“Not tonight.” He shouts back across the room. “I’ll catch you at the next ceremony.”

They wave him off because they know it’s the same excuse he makes every single time but the only thing that matters is getting back to Buck.

“So.” He turns to the bar only to find it empty. The seat beside him is also unoccupied, as is any of the space surrounding him.

Had he dreamed up Buck? Had he been imagining this person who made him feel like divorce wasn’t his last chance at happiness? Was he truly so desperate and lonely?

“Hey.” Eddie looks up with too much hope in his eyes to only come face-to-face with the bartender. “He left this for you.” The man – who is not Buck, no matter how much Eddie hopes to see those eyes again – slides a napkin across the counter and walks away before Eddie can ask anymore questions.

He picks up the napkin and reads the blue ink-stained note written in messy scrawl.

Kilo

--... .---- --... ..... ..... ..... -.... --... ----. .----

The dots and dashes he recognizes as a series of numbers – a phone number, he hopes – but the word above? He tries to recall his academy days.

Kilo. Short for Kilogram. Used in the International Code of Symbols to represent the letter ‘K’. In Maritime Signal Flags, it indicates: I wish to communicate with you.

He’s pretty sure the bartender hates him for how late he stayed and how loudly he laughed at Buck’s note, but he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he spends his energy memorizing the napkin’s contents long after he’s input the number. It’s more than just a piece of paper: it’s hope.

[being-of-rain]

Some thoughts from my Classic Who watch. It’s the end... (of season 18.)

Warriors’ Gate is a weird one! Sometimes I worry that I’m the audience member that people complain has to be spoon-fed the plot, but I can follow some stories that people call confusing just fine if it dedicates a moment to explain things clearly. I didn’t really feel like I got that with Warriors’ Gate. There’s a void in the place between times, with an entrance to a castle which in the past was home to a space empire, and everyone could move between the times through the mirrors? I don’t know. Oh well. The character writing on the other hand is really good. The crew of the spaceship were great villains. I could tell they’d be fun from the first scene when one crewmember announces “We have liftoff,” and the comic relief guys give the most half-hearted cheer ever. Romana’s exit was even quicker than I remember, literally during a ticking-clock getaway. I’m glad they sort of built up to it with the ‘avoiding Gallifrey’ plot, because otherwise it would be laughably bad. As it is, it’s just a shame to see her and the Doctor part so suddenly after they’d been such a large part of each other’s lives. Also, farewell K9. He left the show as he lived in it: breaking down again.

I really do get a large sense of tragedy, watching The Keeper of Traken when I know how the season ends. Here’s a pretty paradise of a planet where the people are happy and the leader asks the Doctor for help. And within 8 episodes the Master will have destroyed it all. That being said, and though I do love some sci-fi political drama, the politicians on Traken suck. Poor Kassia gets so much shit from co-workers who claim to look up to her as a spiritual leader in one sentence and call her crazy in the next. She deserves a break. And the guy who hastily took up the most powerful role of Keeper at the end was totally useless and should not be in charge of a whole planet, he wouldn’t even be my first pick from the literally two remaining Consuls. Nyssa doesn’t get a lot of focus for her first story, did they even know she would go on to be a companion when they wrote it? One of the first time you see her standing up to someone is when she uses her family’s status and bribery to get some armed guards to disperse a crowd who aren’t doing anything illegal, which she seems concerningly comfortable with. Are Nyssa and Adric going to bond over being in the elite? Is Tegan going to represent The Common Man in the new team? Things I liked about the story: the set and the outfits! It made Traken a great setting. Also, Geoffrey Beevers!! Even with an effect over it, I was excited to recognise his voice. And it’s such a great voice too, I’m so glad he went on to do so many Big Finish audios.

Logopolis is an interesting one. Some interesting sci-fi concepts, or magical concepts wearing thin guise of science, and I do love that. I’m always happy when block transfer computation turns up. I think I followed it all a little better than the last time I watched it- so the CVEs have been opened permanently and there doesn’t need to be a Logopolis anymore? That explains how Romana seems to have returned to Gallifrey in the EU without much difficulty. The story also fits together the pieces of the fifth Doctor’s first Tardis team. Tegan’s introduction is a little strange after listening to so many audios, because she’s so... happy. In her scenes before stepping aboard the Tardis, she’s portrayed as excited, upbeat in the face of her aunt’s grumbling, clumsy, and forgetful. It feels like a very different Tegan than you get in later stories and pretty much any EU content. But I can see how that Tegan comes about. In her first story (presumably piling on top of the stress of getting a flat tire on the way to a new job,) Tegan gets lost alone in an impossible endless maze, then finds herself trapped on an alien planet by a mysterious man who won’t answer any of her questions, and a teenager who will only answer them in an extremely obnoxious manner. Then she finds out her aunt is dead, then she has to work with the man who killed her in order to save the universe. She gets grumpy sometimes and upset sometimes, and honestly that’s better than I imagine I would fair on a day like that. And it makes me a little sad that it’s not her upbeat self, but her grumpy-at-being-kidnapped self that goes on to be her defining personality, in the actual show as much as any fan perception. But all that being said, Tegan also feels like a big part of the weakest aspect of the story, which to me is the emotional realism, or the lack of it. Her character backstory feels like it very much starts and ends with “air hostess,” as almost every situation gets an airplane-related quip or comparison from her, while her function in the story feels like it starts and ends with “another companion,” as she falls in with doing whatever the Doctor and co tell her to do extremely quickly. She bounces between complaining and happily accepting the situation a few times. In short, Tegan gets quite a bit of focus in the first episode, then the script seems to lose interest in her, to the detriment of its believability. Nyssa has a similar issue, what with her whole world being destroyed by a man who stole her father’s body, and her getting not a lot of time or lines to react to it. So yeah, that’s about Logopolis summed up for me. Much more interested in its science and plot than its characters and emotions, which is its strengths and weaknesses respectively. The exception is Tom Baker’s fantastic acting in his final story, feeling the weight of the universe on him, which makes for a great end for his character.

And then I watched A Girl’s Best Friend, which is obviously a mandatory part of the watchthrough. My brother and I joked that the K9 & Company series didn’t continue because Sarah had got almost the entire town arrested at the end. Can’t have a fun crowd in the pub when they’re all in jail. We also found it funny that Sarah’s aunt was thought to be missing the whole episode because Sarah claimed that running off without telling anyone wasn’t in-character for her... only for it to be revealed that that’s exactly what she did do, telling only one random person about it, who decided not to tell anyone else because... well he’s in an evil magic cult, so it would be a bit of a laugh to make others’ lives more confusing I guess.

[interstellarflare]

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART SIX-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. I apologise for the long chapters. Gif by @xmichaelmyers​

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE| |PART FOUR| |PART FIVE|

After activating the pager hacking device after you had entered the building, you and Homelander went your seperate ways for the night.

You watched as Madelyn Stillwell hung off of his arm, smiling and pretending that she was actually interested in tonight’s events as Homelander indulged politicians and government officials in small talk. You however, stood in a secluded corner of the room, waiting for your device to break through Vought’s firewalls whilst idly sipping a glass of champagne. You didn’t know how long he had been there, but Black Noir stood by your side, his arms folded over his armoured chest as his suit blended perfectly with the shadows to your right.

You were growing more anxious as time went by. You expected to hear a small beeping noise when your device had finished its task, but the growing fear that the device wouldn’t work caused your palms to become increasingly sweaty. You loosed a shaky breath, taking a small sip of the champagne in your grasp. You found small comfort in the fact that Noir was by your side, grateful that at least someone else knew what you were up to.

From your position in the corner, you could hear various topics of conversation. However, the majority of them were about you. ‘Who was that woman with him?’ You heard someone question, that someone turning out to be the wife of the Secretary of Defence. ‘Who is she? I don’t think I’ve seen her around before’. ‘Her dress is beautiful, no wonder Homelander chose to escort her inside’. ‘He was probably being nice, she doesn’t really belong here’. You felt Noir step out of the shadows and move to your side, his arm brushing against yours as he stood defensive and tall. As soon as he appeared, the conversations about you stopped, everyone averting their gaze to anywhere else in the room but towards you and the Supe. No doubt he would have heard all of the negative chatter his stern stance giving off a pissed off vibe loud and clear.

“Is it normal for you to intimidate people who piss you off?” You asked teasingly, a smirk growing on your lips as you finished the last of the champagne. Noir nodded wordlessly, his helmeted gaze not leaving the gathered congregation before him. You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly as you anxiously peered down at the clutch in your other hand. Still nothing. You huffed through your nose, your anxiety being replaced with frustration. What if all of this was for nothing? What of at the end of the night, the device didn’t go off. What then?

Slow music began to play, a choir of violinists, cellos and various other instruments beginning a long classical piece which you knew would likely last the entire night. “Excuse me, can I have a word?” A toxically sweet voice spoke softly, causing you to turn your gaze and meet the emerald eyes of the blood red reporter from earlier. She smiled a viper’s grin, her eyes turning a shade darker as she towered over over your smaller frame. You blinked in surprise and confusion, unsure as to why this woman was even speaking to you. As if sensing your confusion, her grin widened “I only want to interview you in regards to your entrance with The Homelander himself, it was quite spectacular I have to say”. You laughed breathlessly, unsure of what to do or say. So you shrugged your shoulders “Oh, uh, thank you? To be honest it wasn’t really that-”

“Tell me, is there a secret relationship going on between the two of you behind closed doors?” She pried, her question catching you off guard. You choked, shaking your head in disbelief “I’m sorry? I don’t think I understand” You spoke lowly, standing as tall as your heels would allow. The reporter smirked evilly, knowing that she had gotten under your skin. She stepped closer toward you intimidatingly close with her hands propped on her hips. “Well one would assume that something was going was going on between you two with the way he escorted you inside” She spoke lazily, staring down at you with a bored expression “everyone has been talking about it, you know”.

Your eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare, one that even made the Supe at your side flinch with how much hatred and ice radiated from your form. “He was just being chivalrous-” “Oh, I’m sure he was...” The reporter interrupted sarcastically, picking at her red painted nails through her hooded eyelashes “then again, why else would he associate with someone as dull and uninteresting as you? I mean, look at you. You don’t fit in here, you’re hiding in a corner for gods sake...”

Dull and uninteresting...is that how people saw you?

You tried to maintain your composure, you tried not to take the bitch’s words to heart. But why did they hurt so much?

Dull and uninteresting, boring and plain. You averted your gaze from the reporter’s and casted your eyes across the room. Where your eyes met his. And you knew. You knew Homelander had been listening, given by the stern and unreadable expression on his face. Damn his superhuman hearing, damn him to hell. You could feel him staring after you as you weaved your way through the dancing crowd. You could feel him staring after you as you climbed the main marble staircase, disappearing down the hall and onto a stone balcony. You leaned against the balcony, breathing deeply to try and prevent the tears in your eyes falling.

Why were you hurt so much by this? What did it matter what people thought about you? Why did it matter what he thought about you?

Why? Why did it matter?

It was peaceful out on the balcony, the noise of the Gala inside was nothing but distant rumbles. The music still clear as day. A gentle but cool breeze caressed your skin, brushing strands of your hair out of its well-kept do. Footsteps echoed on the balcony. They were heavy, but taken in a stride that was light and cautious. You didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing behind you.

“Do you think I’m dull and uninteresting?” You asked him, keeping your gaze ahead and on the night cityscape before you. You heard Homelander sigh, but he made no attempt top move toward you. When no answer came, your chest tightened painfully. Of course, he thought you were dull. Of course, he thought you were uninteresting. He was The Homelander. And you...you were just a nobody.

“It’s John...” You heard him sigh out lowly, his tone of voice showing no sign of teasing or malice. With your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you spun to face The Worlds Greatest Superhero with an expression of pure bewilderment. “What?”.

Homelander chuckled, a genuine sound resonating from deep within him as he stepped toward you, his cape billowing slightly in the wind. “Yesterday...” He began, standing beside you and leaning his hands against the stone railing “you asked if I had another name Homelander, otherwise you were going to call me prick or arsehole. My name is John”. You laughed lowly, nodding your head as you leaned back against the railing with an amused smile. So he did have a name. “It suits you” You responded, looking over at him with a soft smile. John nodded, giving you the same smile in return. “And you know what, any woman that can speak to me with such sarcasm, wit, and foul language, and live to tell the tale, is definitely interesting in my eyes”.

Your laughter echoed out from the balcony and across the city. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It wasn’t like the small sarcastic chuckles, or the amused scoffs you would always give him. This was genuine, this was pure. And he loved every second of it. But why? Why did he enjoy your laugh? Why did he long to see you smile, why did he long to always see you as happy as you were now? You turned to face him again, the frown on your face now non-existent as you grinned. “You know, this is why I don’t leave my apartment” You joked lightly, causing the Supe beside you to scoff. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear anything other than an oversized shirt and sweatpants” He teased, shying away slightly as you lightly slapped his shoulder. He laughed as you pouted, folding your arms over your chest as your eyebrows furrowed.

The music from downstairs floated up on a graceful wind, a slow waltzing piece that would have no doubt been played at a dozen luxurious events prior to this one. John stood up from his position by the balcony, moving to stand in front of you with a soft smile. “Dance with me” he spoke suddenly, holding his gloved hand towards you with a smirk tugging at his lips. Your expression became more confused as you looked up at him with an expression that couldn’t have been more confused if you tried. “What? You want to dance with me?”.

“Why not? It’s a Gala, we might as well” John tried to reason, rolling his eyes as you laughed loudly once again. Placing your clutch carefully on the balcony, you shook your head slowly as you placed your hand into his own. He immediately pulled you close, wrapping one arm securely around your waist, and intertwining his other with yours. The two of you began to sway slowly, your cheeks flushing a bright red at the amount of limited space between you. Your heart was beating so loud, that you were sure the man before you could hear your heart beating wildly in your chest without his superhuman hearing. The thought alone caused your stomach to flutter. Pushing down your nerves, you forced yourself to look up, and almost fell apart. John was staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t read. No one had ever looked at you like that before, with such emotion, with such raw-

Pain...there was so much pain.

For a split second, you couldn’t breath. The air was taken from your lungs as John flinched, his grip on your form tightening as his eyes widened in pure horror. Blood splattered the front of his uniform, tiny horrifying droplets coating his skin. A strange warmth suddenly spread over your chest, a deep rumbling cough caused the pain to increase. Blood dribbled from your mouth, your blood. You collapsed forward, the world suddenly spinning in dizzying stars. The ringing in your ears became louder and louder, drowning out the terror-filled shouts from downstairs, and John’s frantic cries. You could make out your name on his lips, his arms wrapping around your form as he lowered you to the ground. You were scared, terrified. What happened? 

You suddenly felt tired, your eyes becoming heavier with every second that passed. It was cold, so very cold. Everything suddenly became numb, consumed by the agony and pain that everything slowly began to fade. You never saw the figure emerge from the doorway, you never heard what John said to that blurry image of a man.

But the last thing you saw was his furious expression. His blue eyes glowing a bright red in rage, hatred, and pure madness.

Tag List: @lauraaan182 @tardis-23 @freshmakertaco @shilsvampsinger @cynthianokamaria  @delicatetimetravelarcade @coloursunlimited @clean-soap @themarch-oftheblackqueen @soft-hargreeves @kennedywxlsh​ @itskatrinahere​

[super-predictable98]

(Not) My Dream Girl | Princess Jellyfish AU

Warning: Strong language.

(Masterlist)

September 5th

Dear Diary,

WHAT A FUCKING DAY TO BE ALIVE!

Today I had the scariest moment of bi panic. Every time I tried to come out to my mother she said I was just confused, that I didn't actually like girls. Today I got proof that she's wrong. I definitely like girls, maybe more than boys after meeting this goddess.

She's an exchange student, I barely know anything about her. All I know is that she's a sophomore who came to New York to study fashion, her dad is some big shot politician back in Japan, and she's the most beautiful, the funniest, the sexiest girl I've ever seen in my life. Her name is Kuranosuke which probably means insanely hot chick in Japanese. If it doesn't, it does now.

I was walking down the hall, nervous as all hell (but then again, when am I not?). I was still thinking about what mom said when she found out what my major was: "Are you insane, y/n? How do plan to make any money like that? You think you're just gonna suddenly become Coco Chanel and get rich?" Yeah, God forbid I follow my passion, right? But then a voice pulled me away from my overthinking trance.

"I'm a little lost," she chuckled. What a vision, with her long blonde hair, bubblegum pink lips, slender figure with long limbs like a top model, and violet eyes. I never knew someone could have such gorgeous eyes.

Her outfit? Well, she was dressed like she just walked straight out of the cover of Vogue. And she smelled so good, not sweet or fruity, she smelled like... like... she smells like the feeling of watching a Broadway show for the first time, if that makes sense.

I helped her find the way to class, luckily we were going to the same place, that's when she told me the little bit of info I listed before. She was so friendly, I imagined a walking Barbie doll like her would be rude and self-absorbed, but it's quite the opposite. She's kind, she's dedicated and passionate in a way that makes you passionate too. The way she speaks, so... not worried, loose, like she has the world in the palm of her hand.

She must think I'm so shy, but I just couldn't find the right words to sound smart and captivating. Usually with boys, it's easier. You look at them and that's enough, but Suke is different.

When I asked her if I could call her that, she laughed again. She has a boyish laugh, that's probably what I like the most about her. That and her accent, it's absolutely adorable.

"I'm sorry, for an American it must be a little complicated to say my name. Suke is cute, I like it."

When she asked if I wanted to sit with her, I nearly had a heart attack. I just assumed she was being courteous after I helped her find her way, but she actually wanted to spend time with me and have a conversation? What sort of sorcery did I do to deserve her attention?

Needless to say, I barely paid attention to the lecture. I did hear some bullshit about the regency era and how the fact that period dramas have actresses wear corsets without a chemise is a crime against fashion, but I was mostly focused on the way Suke twisted her curls in between her fingers.

How she bit the end of her pencil while listening to our professor blabbing about something unimportant, and how sometimes she would look at me and smile as I tried to hide the fact that I was staring the whole time.

If I had to guess, I'd say Suke is pretty used to the attention, and why wouldn't she? A girl like her must have all sorts of admirers, she can pick whoever she wants. I feel like the song She's So High was written with her in mind.

I wonder if she's thinking about me like I'm thinking about her. I wonder if she thought about me at all after we parted ways.

I don't think I've ever felt like this before. That feeling like your heart might explode if you're not next to that person. And when you are, it races non-stop. Her voice has been haunting me, I can't stop thinking about the way she says my name or when she asked to see my notes because the professor was talking too fast.

"My brother told me I would have trouble," she shook her head with a small pout, leaning closer to me and my entire body nearly went up in flames.

Her arm went around my shoulders as she read my (probably very unhelpful) notes. "But I didn't believe him, he's soooo stuck up and annoying. Do you have any siblings? If you do, you know how it is, we love them and hate them at the same time. Thank you, honey, you're a lifesaver."

Wow, I must sound like an idiot, gushing over someone I just met a few hours ago, like I'm in love with her or something. That would be hilarious and ridiculous, pitiful really. I don't even know if she's queer (judging by her long nails, I'd be doubtful). All I know is that I can't wait to wake up tomorrow and see her again at fashion history.

[far-away-stars]

@empire-at-war making nice questions~

My answers are a bit all over the place, some I answered in Illyrio's stead but some are just about whomever they made me think the most. (It's mostly Illyrio tho.)

---

1. what would it take for your characters to defect from the Empire?

Would they do it in order to protect their family/loved ones? Force apparition calling them out on their atrocities? they were left to die and got rescued by a Jedi?

I think the only way for Illyrio to renounce his place in the Empire would be if the Empire was no more.

Assume the Republic won, or that something shook the Empire so much that being a Sith has no real importance anymore; nothing short of that would push him to go look for a life elsewhere, I presume. He spent his whole life making something out of himself, becoming powerful, influential, becoming who he is. It's not moral values that pushes him against the Jedi and the Republic (albeit there is some of that, since one of his bond-mates is a former Jedi with a very bad opinion on the Order), but ultimately it's about the fact that he trusts he knows the system he grew out from, knows the Empire, knows the Council, knows the Sith, knows himself.

After being powerless for much of his life, I think nothing, not even his loved ones being put in danger, would justify defecting. Being a Sith means he still has a chance to fix it, anything else is purely giving up. And that idea terrifies him.

But, like I said, if somehow he would truly think the Empire and Sith as institutions are truly doomed he would leave them behind. He would maybe wait too long, but at the end he wouldn't let himself fall with them. If being a Sith suddenly doesn't mean anything then his priority is making sure he still knows where power is and that he can find a place in it.

I don't know if the Jedi would be fooled (I hardly think Illyrio would plan to change much of his ways), but it would be a as much sincere defection as Illyrio can make it. Ultimately, he only care about very little, and I suppose he's cunning enough to make it work.

2. would they actually join the Republic military/Jedi/SIS or go neutral?

Going neutral could work in the sense that he could make use of his reputation as a Force user without having to follow the trappings of an honest Republican life. I see him more likely to become a Crime Lord than a Jedi for sure.

That being said he would certainly think he has things to gain associating himself (albeit maybe temporarily) with the Jedi and/or the Republic. It would be a gamble, but with a good enough game it could work. Politics aren't that much different from Empire and Republic, of that he is pretty sure.

3. what do you think the Jedi do with Sith they capture, who refuse to give up the dark side? Is there a Sith prison somewhere out there?

I do assume Illyrio is a bit of a special case, not only because of his former status, but because I don't quite see him giving up the dark side, but also not making a big deal out of it.

The Force is the Force, ultimately, and its nature is only changed by what you do with it. It's less phylosophical and more practical, in his opinion.

He doesn't want nor need a shrink, and in his opinion it would only be a loss of time to psychoanalyse their way out of him. He's a politician at heart, and he'll rather just being told what the restrictions are and then he'll carve himself some wiggle room with the power of his slitheriness.

But this would be the best possible outcome, assuming, I don't know, that the his contribution is welcomed in this specific time and place, and that he finds the right people willing to listen to him. If it wasn't the case, well, I would assume he would be in some prison, yes.

His former Jedi bond-mate, once she had been caught at the time of the Cold War, had been frozen in carbonite and sent to Belsavis. Maybe if the Empire is indeed in crisis and a lot of Sith find themselves caught in the Republic/Jedi's net I suppose it would make sense to establish a prison, be it temporary or not. If it were on a more case to case basis maybe they would find a more "ethical" way, but who knows. It would depend on who the pieces in place are, on one place as much as the other.

I know Kalen'Sol would protest the making of another Belsavis-like prison or a prison at all, but in time of crisis, and with a subject as delicate as the Sith I cannot really tell that the most ideal outcome would win.

4. what do you think the Jedi do with Sith who flee from the Empire and don’t know where else to go and knock on their door and ask for protection because they had nowhere else to go (yes THAT trope again, I know)…

Well, it's what happened for Tenja Rel. He ran from the Empire after he lost his sight, and found himself too scared to live amongst the Sith anymore.

In his case he was taken in by the Jedi. His sincerity in wanting a new life was clear, as was his fear and need for an real connexion. He didn't lose all of his bad habits yet, but is doing his best.

He was lucky, I think, if we can call it that. He opened himself to the Jedi, maybe in a real act of selfish desperation, maybe truly believing he had nothing else to lose. In the end I think he was saved not because he ran away, but because he didn't give up, and gave himself another chance.

5. What actually makes a GOOD redemption arc in your eyes?

I'm not answering that one, I really don't know. Not losing track of who your character is?

I just know Illyrio is never going to get a redemption arc. He is never going to apologize and no one will ever apologize to him or be sorry for him. I think that's also part of it? Redeption stories are not meant for every character.

[smylealong]

The Tragedy of Song Huai'en

In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m a Liu Duan Duan fangirl. Unapologetically so. This is a spoiler filled post, so reader discretion is advised. (Written with some inputs from @terribleteej)

When we first meet Song Huai’en, we don’t see him. The focus is fully on Xiao Qi (a brilliant Zhou Ye Wei), like it should be, because he is the male lead. And this was his introduction scene. I, of course noticed him because I started this show forLiu Duan Duan. At this point, he is just a background figure – standing half a step behind Xiao Qi, a lieutenant bellowing his General’s orders.

When we next meet him, we learn that he is Xiao Qi’s right-hand man. Walking behind him, following his orders, fiercely loyal and protective of his General.

Decked in all black, he lurks in the shadows. In fact, he is Xiao Qi’s shadow – something that both becomes the cause of his meteoric rise and terrible downfall. But more on that later.

As the episodes go, we see him as this loveable dork, who likes to playfully banter with his friends. We see him gently tease Xiao Qi, and sportingly let people tease him. One cannot help but love this sweet man. The fact that he looks super pretty is just a bonus. But up until this point, he is, as the poster would have us believe, a side character.

In fact, based on that poster, I assumed that Zitan was the second lead. Huai’en did not even feature much during A’Wu’s abduction and subsequent rescue. A brief, flash in the pan appearance follows when A’Wu and Xiao Qi are attacked, but here, we do see that this man can be very intimidating, something that comes to play later.

However, a discerning viewer might notice that in the small appearances that the character is making, his eyes seem to be trailing A’Wu. He is very quietly crushing on her and at this juncture of the show, we cannot really blame him. A’Wu is stunning and as a young man, he was attracted. Understandable and even innocent.

It is only when we get to Huizhou that we see Song Huai’en in his element. He is leading the army, defending the city, working with A’Wu, Pang Gui, and Mou Lian to make sure that Huishou does not fall. This is the brave General who shines like a bright star, earning A’Wu’s trust and respect, and Yu Xiu’s undying devotion in the process.

At this point in the series, to the viewers at least, Huai’en’s crush on A’Wu becomes obvious in the little queries, the shy smiles, and the feeble excuses to see her. Before he can introspect on his reasons for wanting to see A’Wu, Ma Zi Lu goes tyrannical and Huai’en has to put aside his personal jumble of feelings to focus on the chaos that Zi Lu has unleashed. In trying to do so, he is tortured, believes that he failed in doing the task that A’Wu assigned him and in doing so, falls in his own eyes. One thing that I would like to point out is that here is where he also sustains a significant injury to his head.

Why am I talking about this scene? I mean, it was just whumping, and Pang Gui got massively whumped, so why the focus on Huai’en’s whump? Because unlike Pan Gui, Huai’en suffered a cranial injury. An injury to the head is not something to be brushed off easily. Even a tiny clot in the brain can change a person drastically. And Huai’en does change. He pretty much splits into two – Song Huai’en and Su Yi Bo. I believe that some of it was his inherent fragility, exacerbated by an injury to head that was never addressed. He comes back, all guns blazing, and shoots his arrow to put an end to Ma Zi Lu’s reign of terror.

The chaos reined in, he settles back to his comfortable familiarity and all seems normal. However, with Xiao Qi’s presence at the Yuzhang Manor, things are not what they were before. Huia’en too, is no longer who he was before. The cracks are hairline at this point, so no one notices it. But change is there. He starts to pull back from Xiao Qi and by extension, A’Wu.

On some level, he too understands that his desire for A’Wu is not right, so he holds himself back. The scene below is a perfect example of it.

He comes in with medicines and a plant. A plant that A’Wu had asked him to take care of. Clearly, he wanted to show her that he did what she had asked him to do, but then, when A-Xue jumps to the conclusion that the plant was for Yu Xiu, like the medicines, Huai’en quietly surrenders, knowing that it would be improper for him to harbor any kind of feelings for A’Wu. A theme we see repeated in his terrified reaction to his dream.

Granted it happened after Xiao Qi called him out on his frequent visits to A’Wu, but here is a man who understands he’s crossed a line he shouldn’t have. This is a critical juncture for his character. This is where we first realize that not everything is copacetic with Song Huai’en. Suddenly, his little rueful dialogues early on about Xiao Qi selling away his material possessions take whole different meaning. This is where we learn that this brave soldier from a humble background is dazzled by the material possessions and wealth that is in abundance in the capital. This is where we see that Huai’en is not a mini-Xiao Qi. That in comparison to Xiao Qi, he fails.

Here, I would like to call attention to Xiao Qi’s personality. Xiao Qi is, simply put, larger than life. He is a brilliant General, a loving husband, an adept politician, with iron control on his desires. In some ways, he practically has no vices. If he has a flaw, it is that he is perhaps a tad too patient. What I’m getting at here is that Xiao Qi is like a saint. He is a standard that is almost impossible to achieve.

Huai’en, being his shadow and arguably his best friend, understands that. He is keenlyaware that he is not Xiao Qi and as people start comparing him, his bravery, and his valor to Xiao Qi, it begins to grate on him. If you have ever had a sibling who outshines you in every aspect, you would understand how that slowly chips away at your confidence. All your merits are recognized, but they are perennially the lesser than that of the golden child. This is the crux of Huai’en’s problems. He is eternally the second best.

Wang Lin later states that Huai’en has an inferiority complex, and he is absolutely right. At this stage, Huai’en begins to realize just how wide the chasm that separates him, and Xiao Qi is. And that starts eating at him. The laughing, joking, shy Huai’en slowly starts to retreat into his shell. Both as a scared reaction and as a punishment to himself, he latches on to Yu Xiu.

Why Yu Xiu, though, one might ask. To some, it may look like him trapping her in a loveless marriage. I, however, saw it as him deciding to do the right thing and step away from A’Wu. It was also a bit of if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you are with. He chose a woman he liked enough to give himself a chance to love someone else other than the one forbidden to him.

And love her, he does. But if you are looking for the extravagant flair and loud actions declaring his love, like Xiao Qi does for A’Wu (the second marriage, for example), you won’t find it. Why? Because the entire arc of Song Huai’en is that he is not Xiao Qi.

With A'Wu and Xiao Qi, they have the same love language. But as someone who's been married for 13+ years, I can say that is rare. Most cases, the love languages of couples are different and it takes some time for each to fully understand the language the other is speaking. Time that the two did not get. Yu Xiu never hid her feelings for him. She was upfront with it. So, what was the language that Song Huai’en speaking?

Yu Xiu says he treats her well. Gives her gifts, medicines, clothes, jewelry. Having grown up poor and struggling, money is a big deal to Song Huai’en. Every human being shows their love to their partners with the one thing about themselves that they value the most. For some, it’s food. Some singing. Huai’en is a battle-hardened killer. That’s what he is good at. That can’t be the language of love. So, what else can he do? He showers her with gifts. That is his love language. Yu Xiu wanted more, but Huai’en is not one for big declarations.

Carrying her in his arms is the biggest declaration he would ever make. His love shows in the softness of the tone that he speaks to her in. His love shows in his reaction to her tears. In the soft smiles he gives her. In his horrified reaction when he sees her at the city gates. The battle-hardened Duke is suddenly reduced to a terrified, trembling man. He tells her to go away, repeatedly.

Huai’en is not Zitan. He is not delusional. He knows that there’s a good chance that he would end up dead or worse. He did not want Yu Xiu to witness that. As their conversation proceeds, you see his heart breaking in his eyes.

(Man, Liu Duan Duan spoke VOLUMES through his eyes. Somebody give this man an award already!). And then, he shoots an arrow at her. Only, it misses her. Or does it? An archer of Song Huai’en’s caliber would never miss a shot that easy. This was his way of scaring her into going away, because Yu Xiu was not listening to his words. This was also his way of trying to show the world that she was not his weakness. Only, this backfires and Yu Xiu, in a desperate attempt to make him see reason, jumps from there. The moment she fell, Song Huai’en broke. Shattered.

But he did not weep. Did not seem to mourn her loss. He just moved on. Because, again, Song Huai’en is not one to show big emotions. Not so publicly. Look at his eyes instead. Listen to his gasp of horror and pain. If he had lived through the coup, Huai’en would have mourned Yu Xiu in solitude. But not while thousands of eyes were on him.

But what of the scene where he pushes Yu Xiu and orders her to stay home? He did try to be gentle. He did try, as lovingly as he could, to tell her to stay away from it, but she refused. She dug her heels in. And with so many people watching, and the clock ticking, he snapped. We have all said and done things to the people we love that we should not have. That’s human. I will not crucify him for this one event.

An argument can be made against my theory of him not willing to show his pain in public – that he wept in that carriage with Wang Su when he learned of the Empress Dowager wanting to kill him and the news of Xiao Qi’s death reached him. Yes, he cried. He cried because with Wang Su, was private and safe to show the emotions. (He didn’t know of the assassins waiting outside). Something that the city gates most certainly were not. At the city gate, he lets the soldier in him take over. But in the carriage, he is still Song Huai’en.

Which brings me to Wang Su and by extension Wang Lin. Wang Lin, being the snake that he is, tells Huai’en exactly what he wants to hear. Wang Lin is a master manipulator; he’s made his entire career out of being the devil on people’s shoulders. Huai’en was just not equipped to shut out that insidious voice. It had been previously established that Huai’en did not understand court politics as well as Xiao Qi did, so the puppet did not see the strings till it was very late.

Wang Lin, however, for all his tricks, forgot a crucial thing. That Song Huai’en is a Ningshou General. The army that has, on more than one occasion, changed the course of history with their blades. And that Huai’en is a soldier through and through. Something Wang Lin should have realized with Maidservant Xu’s stabbing, but he didn’t. He missed just how easy it is for Huai’en to switch from a human to a killing machine. He did not realize that it was Su Yi Bo that he was talking to when he told Huai’en that he could not let Xu Gu Gu see him. When she does see him, he instantly goes into the soldier following orders mode. It was a crucial bit that Wang Lin missed. It was a mistake that ultimately cost him his life.

That cold blooded killer is the one that resurfaces with the killing of Hu Yao. Yet again, I have seen people rage at him for killing her and yes, it was not pleasant to see, but guess what? They were at war. They were both fulfilling the role of a soldier. One died, one moved on. It hurt him to watch his comrade fall under his own blade, you can see it on his face, but the soldier marched on.

By now, Su Yi Bo, the Edward Hyde to Song Huai’en’s Henry Jekyll, is fighting Huai’en for control. He’s at war, both inside and out. But he still doesn’t show it. He puts his game face on and goes on to fulfill the one dream that both the viewers and Huai’en himself have nurtured for a very long time – he flings Zitan out of the throne. (Man, that was glorious!). Allows Wang Lin to sit on it, only to stab him in the back, both literally and metaphorically.

When Wang Lin turned his back on Huai'en, the real soldier --a General of NIngzhou-- stepped out and killed the opposition leader, and thus did as he has been trained to do all his life. Fight and conquer and take from the enemy. He knewWang Lin was the enemy in the end and he rose to the surface long enough to do what he has been trained to do all his life. But immediately after that, Su Yi Bo takes over.

And then, and only then, does he speak of his real feelings. Feelings that he has buried deep in his heart. Feelings of inadequacy and neglect. Feelings of being the second best. The silent fight he fought all his life. The one thing he wanted to do – get out of Xiao Qi’s shadow. That was his motivating factor. By this point, his proposition to A’Wu is more of a snub to Xiao Qi than a love declaration for A’Wu. He knows very well she would not accept him. And at this point, he no longer cares. He is broken beyond repair. He is unstable, switching between Song Huai’en and Su Yi Bo.

Song Huai’en is the one that killed Wang Lin and threw Zitan away. Su Yi Bo is the one that killed Hu Yao and propositioned A’Wu. Su Yi Bo is the one who gets shot by the arrow, but Huai’en is the one that pleads with Xiao Qi to take him back to Ningshou with his dying breath. And then, Xiao weeps.

Xiao Qi weeps at the loss of his best friend. His brother. Arguably the one he loved the most after A’Wu. Xiao Qi is the first to see the crack in Huai’en. Upon discovering the evidence of pilfering, Xiao Qi hopes that his veiled insinuation and gentle nudges will put Huai’en in the right path and for a time, it does. But then, the Empress Dowager pulls them apart by sending Huai’en as flood relief. By the time Xiao Qi meets Huai’en again, he is aware of what the court is doing. By then, Xiao Qi has already been framed for Zilong’s murder, has lost a chunk of his soldiers and has been labeled a traitor.

When Huai’en and Xiao Qi meet at the gate, Wang Lin’s claws are already deep into Huai’en. When Xiao Qi addresses him as Su Yi Bo, he has already realized that his best friend and brother is lost. Cracked. Xiao Qi mourns the loss of his trusted General and yet, holds on to the hope that Huai’en will pull through. But as a more than a month passes and Huai’en doesn’t come to visit them, Xiao Qi has to accept that things will never go back to being the way they were.

Yet, it is Xiao Qi’s love for his brother-in-arms that makes him adopt Huai’en and Yu Xiu’s son. It is of note that Huai’en did not name his son. It may not the sign of neglect that it is perceived to be. I know that in some parts of the world, there was a custom to not give a baby a name for he first six months of its life for the simple reason that infant mortality was very high. Once the baby was relatively safe, the parents would name them. I don’t know if this was a thing in ancient China, but it might be. By the time the child became old enough to be named, Huai’en is already splitting, being pulled in a hundred different directions. He never got a chance because of the Roaring Tornado of chaos in the capital that kept him too busy to be able to focus on his home. He did not name his child. He should have, but he didn’t.

He was undoubtedly the most tragic character in the end. He broke and he did some things that are very hard to forgive, but those were done in the throes of insanity. Not bitter hatefulness. Zitan was hateful, Zi Lu was hateful. Wang Lin was consumed with hate. Wanru and Jin’er fed the hate in their heart, enjoyed it even. The Empress Dowager hated the whole world. Huai’en, however, was just tragic.

At the end of the day, I guess what I’m saying is that Song Huai’en is not a villain. He is human. A fallible, flawed, foolish one, but human, nonetheless. Conflicted, controlled, corrupted, confused, cracked, and compromised. And he is not, as the poster would have us believe, a support character. He was the second lead of this story and that is a hill I will plant my stake on.

[cant-think-of-anything]

Pirate AU (Part Nine)

Kamala sought out Grace as soon as she returned back to their own ship. 

It wasn’t a difficult task, Grace was always lurking down near the lower levels when Kamala tried to find her. She desperately needed to talk to her before Tatiana recovered, before Tatiana tried to get into her daughter’s head as she always did.

“Grace!” She called, making her way down the winding pathways.

Before she could shout again she caught a glimpse of her, sitting cross legged on one of the empty beds that was meant to belong to a military official. Like most things in their life, the ship was stolen.

“What do you want?” Grace sighed irritably.

“You can’t be enjoying this,” Kamala said softly, approaching the girl carefully. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? They deserve it after all.”

“Oh? Alastair Carstairs deserved to be jailed and sent to trail?”

Kamala was worried about him too. She knew the London government wouldn’t take mercy on a dark-skinned foreigner, especially one with a vague backstory that could easily crumble upon closer examination. 

Grace stiffened, discomfort seizing her face for a moment. “If that’s what it takes.”

“I know you think that your mother is right, that these families deserve to suffer. But Tatiana lies.” 

“They killed my family,” Grace hissed. “Why should I have mercy?”

“Tatiana may not be responsible for her husband’s death but she certainly played a role in her son’s death.” 

Her eyes went wide. “Jesse?” Suddenly there was no hostility in her voice anymore. Just pain.

“Before I joined Tatiana I tried to dig up information about her. She let Jesse become sick and she let him die. Some sort of crude point to the Herondales, that if they wronged her they would have blood on their hands. And when that wasn’t enough she went after their children. Please Grace. I’ll prove it to you if I have to,” She gently laid a hand on the younger girls shoulder.  “But don’t let your mother take another child’s life.” 

~~~

Alastair inwardly groaned when he heard the door open once more. It had been doing that all morning, or at least, he assumed it was morning. He wondered if all prisoners were told so little about their situations. Even more unfortunately a rather unpleasant man was questioning him. 

“Where were you born?” Charles Fairchild asked, his bright red hair giving Alastair an intense headache.

“Paris,” He responded, which was true enough.

Charles gave him a skeptical look which he leveled with a glare. Honestly were all English people so dim-witted? 

“I would like to speak with my sister,” Alastair said before Charles could question his place of birth further. 

“You are in no place to make demands.” 

Alastair smiled lightly. Careful not to reveal anything true, he leaned forward. “Aren’t I? Fairchild, the youngest of the two is known to frequent scandalous places but the eldest is a reserved politician with a lovely fiance. So why was said eldest Fairchild seen multiple times near a bar reserved for rather improper activities among the youth? I could dig deeper if I wished but I don’t believe either of us want that.”

Charles had turned an alarming shade of red. At least he matched his hair now. 

“So,” Alastair said tilting his head to one side. “My sister?”

~~~

Cordelia’s first choice for any venture would’ve obviously been Lucie, but she found herself quite amused in Ms. Lightwood’s company. 

“You seem to be quite distracted lately,” Cordelia started, her voice low but clear in the chatter of the London streets. She’d been beyond relief to get a permit to visit her brother earlier in the morning, but she felt nerves build up thinking of what was to come. 

“Haven’t we all?”

“Not in that way,” Cordelia responded, grinning when Eugenia’s face flushed. 

“And you are an exception? Is staring at Lucie a hobby of yours then?”

Cordelia sputtered, and Eugenia laughed. 

“So I was right! Delightful. Tell me all about it darling.”

Cordelia’s face heated up. She knew she wasn’t being subtle with her yearning but she hadn’t expected someone to pick up on it quite so fast. “I don’t know what to say about it-or to her. The timing of it all seems horrendous. I don’t even know how she feels about me. We’re friends aren’t we?”

Eugenia snorted, “Oh you’re certainly more than friends. I don’t see you wistfully gazing at me or Thomas.” 

“You and Thomas seem to have your own people to gaze at,” She retorted, smiling when Eugenia stopped talking. She wanted to ask but she also didn’t want to push.

“We’re here,” Cordelia said, instead regarding the building with distaste. “Stuffy nobles and their stuffy rooms with their-” She broke off and looked guiltily at Eugenia. “I apologize.” 

Eugenia simply looked amused as they stepped inside, following the person leading them to the jail room. “Don’t apologize. I’m rather tired of it myself. I wish-” 

She was cut off by their guide opening the doors and saying “Five minutes. That’s all.”

Cordelia pushed past him, running to where her brother glanced up from his book, a half amused, half worried look on his face. Where he managed to get a book in prison was beyond her. She wrapped her hand around the metal bars.

“What do we do?” She whispered, horrified by the desperation in her voice. “How do we get out of this?”

Alastair didn’t respond for a moment, brief concentration flickering over his face before he responded, “The trail will be private. I have an idea but you’ll need to create a distraction for me.”

“Distraction? Of what kind?”

“Anything that will take their eyes off me.” Then he stopped. “But please Layla, do try not to destroy the entire city in the process.” 

She glared at that, flicking his arm lightly though inside, she felt a bit of worry dissipate. “Fine. I will. Will you be alright? This prison seems rather cramped.”

“There are worse.” 

“I suppose so.” Her voice went low. “Did they hurt you? On the ship?”

“No. They didn’t.”

Cordelia wanted to believe her brother but Alastair had mastered the art of spinning stories to soften both his pain and hers. Before she could push any further she felt Eugenia’s hand grip her shoulder. Cordelia nodded, pulling away from the cell.

“A distraction. We can manage that.”

~~~

Lucie tapped her fingers anxiously against the counter she was seated on, the repetitive noise drowned out by the chaos that was Christopher’s lab. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had come down to her cousin’s laboratory but she quite enjoyed it. There was something soothing about the disorder. Thomas had accompanied her, now sitting next to Chistopher, anxiously watching the controlled fire.  

“Christopher!” She called, waiting for him to glance up from his notebook where he was furiously scribbling something down. “What would be your advice,” She started, choosing her words carefully, “to someone who needs to confess something, but isn’t sure how to go about it?” Thomas looked up as if he too was interested in the answer.

Christopher put down his pen, tilting his head. “This is about Cordelia?”

Lucie choked, nearly slipping off the counter. “Why- why would you-”

“I thought everyone knew,” He said, giving her a perplexed look.

Lucie had no response to that. She stared at the ceiling, willing her face to stop flaming. The door swung open and it took every ounce of her will to not run out of the room when she saw Cordelia and Eugenia step in.

“You’re here!” Cordelia exclaimed, smiling.

Lucie just nodded faintly, glaring at Eugenia’s knowing smile.

“We needed to get something, do you think you could help us?” Cordelia asked, looking at Christopher.

Christopher lit up, listing off ideas rapidly. Lucie smiled and crossed over to where her friends were seated, listening to him talk excitedly.

“Do you need help?” Lucie asked, once they had all reached a general consensus.

Eugenia and Thomas had to return home, worried that their parents would notice such a lengthy absence but Cordelia and Lucie opted to stay with Christopher. 

When he shook his head, Cordelia piped in “Explain it to us then? My brother talks often about criminal forensics and I would like to recognize at least some of the words he uses.”

“You wish for me to tell you about it?” He sounded surprised, causing an uncomfortable twinge in Lucie’s heart.

It was often that when Christopher talked of science or her of writing, their friends would cease to pay attention, Thomas being an exception. To have someone care about something you cared for… Lucie smiled to herself and nodded.

“We would.” 

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno @barbra-lightwood @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @foxglove-airmid 

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 13

Day 13 - Everyone is born with a super power, but when soulmates are together their powers are nullified by each other.

Pairing(s): Romantic Intrulogical, Romantic Moceit, Romantic Prinxiety (background), Familial Anxceit

TWs: swearing, one mention of puking [nothing detailed], innuendo, Remus being Remus

--

Logic reigned at night in Newmind City.

Okay, that may not be entirely correct; the quicker the time sluggishly dragged itself towards 6 am, the faster the brain cell count dwindled. Stupider and stupider decisions were made edging the lines of the illegal and bordering on the disastrous. 

No, the Logic that owned the night came in the form of the superhero; Logic. 

The hero had to admit, it wasn’t the most extravagant name out there, he’d heard many more creative and intimidating names; the Sandman, Sweet Psyche, the Tempest Tongue, all of them household names by now, whether hero or villain. Logic wasn’t exactly a name that struck hearts much outside of NewMind City, but within the alleyways and dive bars, criminals lived in fear of his watchful patrols.

Harnessing the power of Order and Stability made Logic a formidable opponent. The effect on his physical balance allowed him to fight on any surface - even hundreds of feet off of the ground - with almost zero chance of falling. The way he could manipulate any situation into the perfect rube goldberg machine to aid his crusade was terrifying given the right situations. Only one villain dared provoke Logic at every turn; Deceit.

The Lord of the Lies. A Self-Proclaimed Subterfuge Specialist. 

Deceit seemed to live for one thing and one thing only; to destroy the city from the inside out. Logic would have admired the serpentine slanderer if not for his methods. Forcing politicians to spout the truth? Urging government officials to spill their true agendas against their will? Logic admired that kind of drive, but at the same time, this was a man who used lies as weapons. Deceit used them to hurt others whenever he so desired. 

Stalking across the edge of the Talyn Street apartment block, the hero could hear a commotion in the distance; by the sounds of it, at least three men were involved and by the sound of it, things had gotten ugly in a hurry. Logic took off along the edges of the nearest buildings and-

Wait. Something didn’t feel right.

The closer he got to the commotion, the less balanced he felt on his own two feet. Had he somehow exhausted himself? Impossible. He’d faced rather a quiet night until now. His thoughts were distracted long enough that he nearly slid right off of the edge of the building overlooking the alleyway in question. The scene that unfolded set Logic’s blood to a boil. 

Four men, not three. One held back by the largest thug in the group while the other two took turns brutalising the man, though he didn’t let out a single sound. Logic had to be careful; he couldn’t tell if his powers were acting up for sure, but just in case, he used the fire escape to stick to the shadows, to better observe the situation.

Despite the beating he was taking, the man being held back didn’t seem too worried. Logic found out exactly why when the man waited for the next brutal gut punch and used it to flip the larger man holding him onto his attacker. It was impressive to say the least. The final attacker still standing went to pull out a blade, evident by the flash of silver light that caught Logic’s eye, but thankfully, their victim was armed as well. 

The way the man twirled the butterfly knife in his hand so effortlessly was hypnotic, borderline erotic if Logic were to be so bold. Focus. You have a job to do. He leapt down from the fire escape with only a few inches between him and the attacker’s back. Before the assailant could do anything, Logic drove his elbow into the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious. Checking that he hadn't actually killed him, Logic took his pulse with relief before looking up towards the victim, 

“Are you unharmed-”

“That was so sexy.”, the man murmured.

“..... Come again?”

“Gimme a second.”

It took Logic that second and more to realise the innuendo. He annoyedly rolled his eyes and made sure his hair was neatly pushed back once again out of the way of his mask.

“Would you mind informing me of the situation, um..?”

“Remus.”, the man grinned. 

Logic wasn’t sure whether the grin reminded him more of a gassy shark or a seasick crocodile, but either way, he began to wonder if Remus wasn’t entirely innocent in this situation…

“Remus.”, Logan repeated, “Actually, I’ll need to ask you to assist me in escorting these charming gentlemen to the station-”

“That won’t be necessary. You’re too tired to move.”

The silky, venomous voice pierced through Logic before he could react. Dammit, he hadn’t anticipated these thugs would be working for Deceit. His movements were sluggish and just as he watched Remus hit the ground, Logic too felt the rough kiss of gravel before he was out like a light…

--

When Logic awoke, he felt rather like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air; everything was flipped, turned upside down.

Startled, he noted the boiling oil below him - typical of the villain’s over the top style - and the power suppressing cuffs keeping his hands secured behind his back. On the floor just to the left of him, he could make out the goons from earlier sat playing cards while Remus was tied to a chair a couple of feet away. Logic was thankful to see Remus had no new injuries though he was still out cold. The man may be a wretch but the hero really didn’t want to see harm come to him.

“Ah, you’re finally awake, my dear nemesis.”

Deceit’s voice trickled from the speakers in the room, sickly smooth and deadly, like honey laced with poison. Logic knew not to listen to it consciously, he’d made that mistake once before and it’d nearly cost him his life. He instead focused on struggling to get out of the situation he was in, but with his hands cuffed using suppressor cuffs, he was fighting an uphill battle. 

“Now, now, don’t exhaust yourself. I’ve been waiting for this day for a while now, I don’t want you too tired for the grand finale.”

The smugness dripping from every word even passively began to give Logic a headache. His attempts to escape were becoming more and more fruitless; the chain that held his legs in place also stopped him having his skin boiled right off the bone so being too unruly with them was out of the question. All he could do was hope that Remus would wake up and have some kind of ability that might help the both of them. 

Come to think of it, why had his powers suddenly stopped working as he’d approached? Perhaps one of Deceit’s thugs had been in possession of something made to counteract his abilities? No, that didn’t seem likely. Knowing the smug villain, Logic knew there was no way Deceit would let his cronies take charge of something that powerful and impressive. He was wrenched from his thoughts as Deceit’s message continued,

“I hope you’re prepared to-”

He stopped. There was a sound akin to rustling and clattering before Deceit’s voice came once more. From the muffled volume and the conversation, Logic guessed the idiot had forgotten to turn off the microphone.

“Pat, dearest?”

Another voice, probably the aforementioned Pat, spoke sweetly in response, 

“What, honey?“

“Where’s my villainous cape?”, came Deceit’s inquiry. Logic had to bite his tongue to refrain from laughing. Might as well enjoy the show while he thought of an escape plan.

“What???”, came Pat’s reply, a little closer now going by the acoustics.

“Where. Is. My. Villainous. Cape?!”

“Oh, I put it away!”

Logic was thoroughly enjoying the drama going down over the speakers, and so were Deceit’s henchmen who Logic spotted had stopped their rousing game of blackjack to instead get comfy and enjoy the show.

“Where did you put it?!”

“Why do you need to know, Jan!?”

Huh. This wasn’t how Logic figured he’d find out his arch nemesis’ name, but he wasn’t about to complain. What did strike urgency back into him was the progression of their conversation.

“Oh for the love of-! My plan to erase my nemesis is in danger!”

“Our EVENING is in danger!”, there was a soft sigh, “Look, Jan, we’ve had this reservation planned for months now! I’m gonna assume your nemesis is a little tied up at the moment,” , Logan rolled his eyes at such an awful pun, “So why don’t we just go enjoy our anniversary dinner and you can deal with him when you get back, alright?”

Horrifyingly, Deceit huffed a sigh, “I suppose it would be interesting to keep him suspended for a while, let the terror sink in. Good thinking, my love.” The sound of a light kiss and a chuckle could’ve made Logic lose his lunch. Or perhaps it was the idea of being held upside down for so long..

 “Alright, Pat, if we hurry, parking shouldn’t be too awful...”

The intercom went quiet and now Logic could truly let the situation sink in; he’d have to remain suspended over boiling oil, watched by Deceit’s cronies, unable to save himself or-

Remus!

He’d almost forgotten about the odd gentleman. He turned to see him-

Oh, are you kidding me.

Remus was still out cold. How. How in the HELL could one man be asleep for so long?!

Logic didn’t like the idea, but he had little choice. Inhaling, he began to yell, “WAKE UP-” when something hard impacted his cheek. The blow sent his glasses hurtling onto the ground - thankfully missing the boiling oil at least - and breaking apart on impact. Dammit. 

“Keep your mouth shut, Zero!”, one of the thugs chided, earning snickers from the other two and inciting them to join in on the jeering and insult hurling. Logic was just thankful that whatever had been thrown - he suspected a mug by the feel of it - must have been the single dispensable item at hand considering nothing else was thrown other than attempts at insults. The hero had no idea what was worse; the idea of dying from heart failure with the blood rushing to his head, or dying of sheer embarrassment knowing it’d happen while having to listen to these ignoramuses try to genuinely roast him.

Logic could already feel unconsciousness taking hold of him when the first thug began screaming. It took the last of his strength to turn towards the cacophonous cries of terror, but his vision was so blurred without his glasses, all Logic could see before he passed out were a pair of glowing green eyes and a whirlwind of obsidian tendrils.

--

When Logic awoke, the first thing he noticed was the cold breeze settling into his skin through his suit. Opening his eyes, the hero still couldn’t see clearly, but as he squinted, he began to make out stars and clouds. Shit, how long was he out?

“Wakey wakey, princess! You had me thinking you’d gone and died on me there!”, came Remus’ already unmistakable voice. Logic sat up, still reeling as he saw Remus approach him, getting clearer the closer he came until he was knelt down beside the hero.

“Here,”, Remus placed Logan’s broken glasses in his hand, “Sorry I couldn’t fix ‘em, it’s not exactly my expertise.”

Logic had so many questions already; how had they survived?! What had Remus done back at Deceit’s lair before he’d passed out?! Why did he still find it hard to use his powers even now he was free of the cuffs?! The hero frowned as his powers refused to work on his glasses. Remus - seemingly uncaring about Logic’s lack of a response - watched him attempt to work before he caught himself.

“Ah, wait. Lemme back up.”

The hero was confused as Remus backed away a good couple of feet from him on what Logic now recognised as the rooftop of the Crofter’s Hotel. He was about to ask for an explanation when he realised his powers were slowly coming back, reslotting the glass into the frames and straightening out the bridge and legs of the glasses. Order maintained once more, Logic donned the glasses, thankful for his vision stabilising. 

“Thank you, Remus.”, Logic went to stand up, but he still felt lightheaded. Thankfully, Remus saved him from toppling over, catching him at the waist and helping him carefully sit back down.

“Careful, Specs. I don’t want my soulmate hurting himself-”

“Apologies, your what?!“

Logic was stunned to say the least; Remus had just thrown that out there like it was any old fact.

“Soulmate. Y’know, your cosmic companion, your destiny dictated darling, your fatemate!”, Remus listed excitedly, “You know all about it right? When you meet-”

“- your superpower is nullified around that person, yes, I am aware.”

Logic wasn’t sure what to think; he’d never paid much thought to his soulmate, in truth, he preferred to think of his work as his soulmate. Not that he didn’t like the idea of meeting the man the universe decided was his perfect match. Nor did Logic mind that the man was rather handsome in the mysterious cryptid kind of way. Logic gestured for Remus to sit with him and extended his hand to Remus for shaking, 

“Logan Berrie.”, Logan offered, trying to settle back into his civilian mindset.

“Pie.”, Remus responded, low-fiving Logan’s hand.

“Pardon?”

“....We’re not playing a word association game?”

“.... I was providing you with my name, Remus.”

Remus grinned, “Wait, that’s your name?! That’s-”

“Ridiculous, I am well aware.”, Logan scowled, “I did go to school after all-” 

“I was gonna say that’s awesome but whatever!”

Logan did poorly to hide his surprise as Remus laid back like he could fall asleep, “So Logan, how’d you fall in with ol’ Snake Face himself?”

Logan rolled his eyes, still propped up on his hands, “The same way all heroes are presented with their arch nemesis; he and I crossed paths and unfortunately, while we share some values, we have vastly differing opinions on how society’s problems should be fixed.”. He glanced over at Remus, fidgeting idly with the corner of the beat up long coat his soulmate wore. 

“What was your transgression?”

Remus squinted at Logan for a second, “I’m cis.”

“... No. Transgression. What was it you did that made my nemesis target you? I noticed you addressed him by a rather flattering nickname earlier, so I assume you know of him personally.” 

“Oooh.”, Remus grinned, snickering at just the memory of it, “I may or may not have pissed off his little brother.”

Well, that had Logan’s attention immediately. The hero lay on his side next to Remus, propping his head up on his hand, ready for the juicy details. He may have thought himself above gossip, but that didn’t mean Logan didn’t enjoy a good old tea party.

“How so?”

With a grin Logan was sure should’ve split his soulmate’s face in half, Remus proudly elaborated, “Well he and my twin brother were dating, and they had a bunch of friends and family all gathered for some bullshit, and my brother wants me to say something - a terrible decision, really - and I’m there kinda caught for what to say. So I’m having to think on the fly.”

“So, what did you do?”, Logan inquired, clearly getting sucked into the plot unfolding.

“I just said the first thing that popped into my head!”

Logan rolled his eyes once more, but there was a fondness to it this time. “Which was?”

Remus proudly cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to clasp an imaginary microphone, reciting perfectly from memory,

“To the seventeen people in this room that all wished they’d taken my brother’s virginity first, just remember this is the guy who got blackout drunk, cried because he couldn’t afford chicken nuggets, and scared a birthday party of kids when he puked up behind Chuck E Cheese’s back in college!”

The snort of laughter Logan let out was disgustingly ugly. He clapped his free hand over his mouth despite his giggling soulmate’s attempt to swat the hand away. Logan finally gathered himself,

“That’s amazing, oh my goodness.”

Remus excitedly beamed, “Ten tittied Christ, thank you!”

What a visual.

He continued to rant, “I knew it was funny! But nooooo! It was all “that's not an appropriate story, Remus”, or “How could you say that right now?!”! They were the ones who wanted me to ad lib a last minute speech! So what if I said it in front of hundreds of people at their wedding-?!”

Logan couldn’t help it, the bellowing laughter that tore out of him was too much to contain. When was the last time he’d laughed so heartily? Logan wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure when Remus joined in with his laughter, but by the time they were done, Logan had laid down next to his soulmate to stare up at the stars. Then a thought hit him,

“Wait, you said your brother and Deceit’s brother are married, correct? Making you and Deceit brother-in-laws? ”

Remus nodded, “Yep.”

“And you’re not on his side, but are-?”

“Nah,”, Remus predicted with a head shake, “Ditz-ney Prince and TT are both heroes, so there won’t be much of a problem with us being a thing. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Logan nodded, though his frown continued into his query, “Ditz-ney Prince and TT are… interesting hero names...”

Remus rolled his eyes as if it was obvious, “Nah, those are nicknames. My brother’s The Prince over in Sanders Town a couple miles out from here, and you probably know the Tempest Tongue-”

“I’m sorry, your brother is married to THE Tempest Tongue?!”, Logan interrupted, though he shot Remus an apologetic look for his outburst. His soulmate chuckled, “Sounds like someone’s a bit of a fanboy.”

“No, no,”, Logan assured him, frowning despite his obvious embarrassment, “Nothing so childish, I merely admire his work-”

“You think he’s hot-”

“I said no such thing-”

“You didn’t deny it either.”

Remus had him there. Logan punched him in the arm playfully and, as if to prove a point, shuffled closer until he was almost laying on Remus. There was a question on Logan’s mind still, and he finally verbalised it as his gaze fell back onto his soulmate,

“Might I ask, how did we escape? I hate to admit it, but I was passed out for the entirety of your rescue.”

“No shit, who do you think had to carry you?”  Remus teased, “I just used my power, wanna see? It’s super fucked up-!”

“No. I mean, I would like to at some point, but I would rather we stay like this. For a little while.”

It felt like his cheeks were on fire, and the sweet smile Remus shot his way had Logan’s heart racing. 

“Sure thing, Specs!”, he slid his hand along Logan’s arm and softly let it card through his dark hair, “And how about after we’re done here we go mess with Snake Face? ”

Logan grinned back at him; why shouldn’t they have a little fun after all?

“What did you have in mind?...”

-----

This was fun! 

I haven’t written many hero fics before so I hope this is okay!

A big thanks to my friends in the discord for helping with this one when I had a writers block moment.

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account   @cateye-glasses   @fandomsofrandom