#the rakish agent

[lavender-gayz]

picture this! (jazz hands) the perfect person for you was born over a century ago! but! you work at a place where miracles happen and now she's here! she's hg wells (yep, hg wells is a woman) and shares your love of literature and solving historical mysteries. however! her motives are unclear and your boss - whom you respect deeply - doesn't trust her. on the other hand! she's incredibly charming and brilliant and rakish and will not stop flirting with you and saving your life! what's a girl (very accomplished secret service agent) to do?

[theseshipsshallsail]

IN LEAVES NO STEP HAD TRODDEN BLACK

There’s an ungodly rendition of Tárrega’s Gran Vals stemming from the bathroom counter; his mobile, he realises, deliberately ignored within the double-breasted confines of his tuxedo jacket. An emerald-green cummerbund dangles accusingly below the overhead light fitting: a fate reminiscent of the silken boxers draped over the dresser mirror. His agent would be appalled at his lack of designer révérence, but Oliver’s pin-striped suit is likewise discarded on the Holiday Inn’s carpet, and Elio…

…well.

Elio couldn’t care less for wrinkled pocket squares when the other man’s clutching his sweat-slick waist like his life depends on it.

When the rhythmic creaks of the querulous mattress are all but smothered by his hiccupped moans.

When the searing heat gathered at the base of his spine is a sure-fire indicator he’s about to come untouched: the relentless drag of Oliver’s cock against his screaming prostate making his balls draw tight in preparation.

And perhaps he says some of that out loud, because Oliver surges upright with a shaky nod, a mottled flush extending from his hairline to his beautifully bare chest as he crushes their mouths together. Tongue delving rough and possessive: claiming him twice over.

It’s been weeks since the West Coast stretch of his album tour began. Since they found themselves in the same city, let alone the same bed. Elio needs him like he needs his next breath - juvenile as the thought may be - and starved of such contact by dint of their heavy schedules, a constant stream of inventive text messages and late night phone calls only served to fan the flames. 

The connection they forged that long-ago summer refuses to fade. Understandably so, when they’d both fallen irrevocably: hard and heedless; regardless of the pain. They were a part of each other, no doubt. Yet strived to be the best part, also. And here and now nothing remains to stand between them. Nothing else beyond magnolia-painted walls and generic prints of the Seattle skyline. 

Elio’s entire world hinges on the salty tang of Oliver’s collarbone - the scratchy stubble tickling his temple - the dizzying gallop of blood hurtling through his racetrack veins, and for all that he finds himself drowning in the full-spectrum intimacy, it in no way prevents him from craving more. 

It never does.

Never will.

That said, a musician’s lot is one of flexibility: adapting to the changing tides. Inspiration strikes on a dime, and flashing a rakish grin Elio reaches behind him, snagging the crisp, cotton Oxford he’d stripped from Oliver’s body not twenty minutes earlier; sighing in bone-deep contentment when the lingering scent of Sandalwood shampoo and Acqua Di Gio envelopes his arms and shoulders in a familiar, homely embrace.

Saccharine, maybe, but when Oliver shook his hand in the villa’s gravel driveway - straw hat, sunglasses, a frayed pair of espadrilles on his size fifteen feet - the quirks and insecurities he’d spent years repressing soon blossomed into being. 

Free. 

Accepted. 

Valued and explored. 

Half the pleasure is knowing what this does to you. Knowing you like seeing what it does to me, Oliver told him once - drunk on the build more so than the wine - so it’s no surprise when his amante simply smirks in return: brows knit in fond amusement as he straightens his star of David amidst the shapeless collar.

“Don’t think I’m complaining,” he murmurs, the raw, post-concert urgency of before notably absent. “But what happened to pants off, mon chéri: no clothes ‘til checkout?” 

He has a point. 

A damned good one, at that. 

Yet -

“I want to feel you surround me, even when you’re inside me,” Elio replies, leaning forward to kiss him for all the times he couldn’t. “I want to smell you on my skin, even when we’re apart...”

“Fuck…”

“You’re mine,” Elio says, wrapping the unbuttoned cuff around his sensitive glans. “And I’m yours,” he declares, turning it translucent with the sticky beads of excitement. 

Oliver’s eyes grow glassy as he clocks his intent, and keeping him pinned by cock and stare alike, Elio proceeds to pick up the pace; the onyx engagement band adorning his ring finger glinting handsomely in the gossamer strokes of moonlight. 

[dustdeepsea]

“I could wash your hair for you,” he offers, with a rakish smile. “Tuck you into bed after. If that’s all that you wanted?”

You meet the Zhentarim agent that promised you a drink at the Elfsong. The night doesn't go as planned.

Folks - I have absolutely no excuse for any of this. Rugan's voice did something to my poor brain. This Tav is angry, horny, and extremely bad at feelings.

This is, by far, the most explicit thing I've ever written. Enjoy the 2.5k of smut, with a veneer of plot for the rest.

Thank you to @my-favourite-zhent for the inspiration.

aqua vitae

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Rugan/Tav (Baldur's Gate)

Characters: Rugan (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Drinking, One Night Stands, Hair Washing, Enthusiastic Consent, Drunk Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Female Ejaculation, Tav is Bad at Feelings (Baldur's Gate), POV Second Person

Read on AO3 (5,758 words)

[thena0315]

Detective Jason "Jay" Halstead on Chicago PD → Supervisory Special Agent Wesley “Wes” Mitchell on FBI: International

[a-little-bit-of-tradition]

FBI Franchise's Joint Trailer Features First Look at Chicago P.D. Alum Jesse Lee Soffer in FBI: International (Exclusive)

"I can't wait for you all to meet him," Soffer tells PEOPLE in an exclusive statement of his character Wes Mitchell

PEOPLE can exclusively premiere the first trailer for the all-new seasons of FBI, FBI: International and FBI: Most Wanted — as well as the first look at Jesse Lee Soffer, who joins FBI: International as Supervisory Special Agent Wesley “Wes” Mitchell.

The trailer sees the bureau's teams in Budapest (FBI: International's Fly Team), New York (FBI) and the Fugitive Task Force (FBI: Most Wanted) as they tackle emergencies all around the world.

Soffer, 40, tells PEOPLE he's "very excited to join FBI: International and for the fans to meet the team’s newest member, Wesley (Wes) Mitchell."

Describing his character, the Chicago P.D. alum says, "Wes is smart, doesn’t take himself too seriously but always strives for justice, no matter the obstacle. I can’t wait for you all to meet him. And the bonus for me is getting to learn some Hungarian along the way. Jo moka lesz ;)."

Season 4 of FBI: International will see the elite operatives behind the International Fly Team as they "travel throughout Europe with the mission of tracking and neutralizing threats against American citizens wherever they may be, putting their lives on the line to protect the U.S. and its people," per an official description.

Soffer's character, the "charming and rakish" Wes Mitchell, has "impeccable instincts and unconventional tactics," which "deepen his drive to stop at nothing to achieve justice."

The Fly Team is also comprised of Special Agent Andre Raines (Carter Redwood), Special Agent Cameron Vo (Vinessa Vidotto), Megan “Smitty” Garretson (Eva Jane Willis) and Special Agent Amanda Tate (Christina Wolfe).

Station 19 alum Jay Hayden is also a newcomer to the procedural and will appear as Agent Tyler Booth in the latter part of the upcoming season.

[columboscreens]

I hope it isnt rude or presumptuous of me to barge in and vent, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on Columbos family. I just finished "no time to die" and I can't get over how bad that episode was. Maybe its me and my headcanons getting in the way but No Way is he from a family of cops. And not a single one of them sounds like they're Italian or new yorkers the blasphemy! To me that mans from an Jewish immigrant family, and proud of it.

combined with:

yeah the whole "family of cops" thing in no time to die came off as cheesy, contrived 90s copaganda, so i just kind of ignore it. it's hardly canon, so feel free to do the same! i picture columbo with a big, loud, italian family myself, in which he's just about the only cop.

I will say though, i actually totally agree that he comes off as more jewish than not. columbo is, in canon, a good little italian boy married to a catholic woman, so the natural assumption is that he, too, is catholic. but peter falk was a very organic, naturalistic actor--as a student of sanford meisner, his primary acting imperative was to live and behave truthfully to the self under imaginary circumstances. so for someone who was barely religious himself in the way "cultural jews" tend to be...

what i'd pay to hear the words "had the fuckin bar mitzvah'" come out of that man's mouth

...to me, falk's "truthful self" is just so jewish to his core that, because he puts so much of himself into the character, it bleeds clean through to columbo, and we get all these jewish mannerisms out of the supposed catholic! (jews, of course, have a rich and historic presence in italy, so there's no preclusion on that front.)

once you notice the little things, you can't stop. his phrasings, his gestures, the ways he interacts with others, his boiled eggs, his gastrointestinal sensitivity, even his sense of humor.

chag pesach sameach

there are, of course, more substantial pieces of evidence than ordering chinese food for his extended family or needing an antacid every time he eats too quickly. i'm not jewish myself, but i grew up in a very jewish neighborhood, had more jewish than gentile friends growing up, and my partner of seven years is jewish. to me, what really codes columbo as a jewish man is how well he embodies many aspects of specifically jewish ethos.

being honorable, sensitive, and humble, he's the ideal mensch. one tenet strongly prioritized in judaism is tzedek, or one's ethical obligation to righteousness, equity, and compassion. he is both moved by suffering and tenaciously committed to justice.

jews hold the deepest respect for both religious and civil law, and you will note that columbo is neither an outsider nor a vigilante--he is a sanctioned agent of the legal system respecting and following the process of the law in his pursuit of murderers. he functions within it, sometimes in spite of it, but not outside of it. when he gets creative, he toes, but never quite crosses the line.

he thinks for himself and thus has a strong moral compass; he treats everyone with kindness and empathizes readily with individual struggle. he is patient, courageous, and clever--all particularly valued qualities in judaism.

(rakish semitic looks aside)

paramount is columbo's intellectual curiosity, love of learning, and propensity to question, which is, too, seen as fundamental to a faith built entirely on asking questions. whether he's gently yet methodically poking holes in a suspect's alibi or wondering how much a random stranger paid for his shoes, he never has a shortage of them. he's a little guy bursting with chutzpah, perfectly at home both asking a prime suspect if he can have a closer look at his hand, and God Himself to spare sodom and gomorrah if he can only find a few good people...

if you really needed any further evidence that he's God's Chosen...

[something-pithy]

Oooo a drabble. I've been craving your writing, I love the tone and the way you write internal dialogue for both Astarion and Zee/Tav, it's so distinctive for each character. Please gimme a (fluffy?) drabble from Astarion POV?

Looking forward to mid-Julyish!!

Ummm... soo.... first of all, I probably should have checked my tumblr messages before now if I was gonna make such an offer... >.< but better late than never? I hope? I'M SO SORRY Also I tried to do a drabble and this is what happened instead. loooooooooool Thank you so much for the ask! I swear to god I'll write them actually interacting with each other if I get another ask or request looooool ANYWAY HERE WE GO --- Obviously he couldn't tell her what a precious thing she actually was. His self-absorbed mien more than suited him; it was a trademark, a bait-and-switch, and as such, part of an intricate web of defense- and survival mechanisms that had served his aims well.

It wasn't the sex. Well, it wasn't just the sex -- which was obviously superlative, since he was involved, and she was not only creative and cheeky but quite the acrobat, really. At first, he'd tried leaving her tent after -- casual, rakish, smirking.

But the little gremlin always pulled some sort of trick -- asked him some question too ridiculous not to answer, hid his smalls or his boots or his favorite shirt, or simply draped herself over him as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and it always felt like she belonged there.

And how galling it was, at first, to have to attach himself to someone who not only committed their little band of miscreants and misfits -- and consequently and most importantly, him, to acts of kindness, generosity, and selfless heroism, but was a damned bard, and too witty and clever by half to dismiss. Yes, pretty and witty, and despite her do-gooder leanings, indisputably an agent of chaos with a penchant for mischief that... well, how could he help but appreciate it? She was worth her weight in entertainment value, that much was obvious to anyone.

But although it was a rare quality indeed for such a little altruist to be likeable, charming, and interesting enough for him to overlook -- or at least tolerate -- her benign shortcomings, that wasn't it, either.

Well, not all of it.

Part of it was that she was deceptively, appallingly observant. Keenly so. Quietly so. She saw what she oughtn't; past the misdirection, distraction, past the profundity of violence and darkness and rage that pulsed at his core to something... else. Something she had no business looking at, to be frank, but...

He actually hated that. Hated all that she saw and the strange version of it mirrored in her honestly absurdly large eyes and soft soulful melodies and the audacity of her unguarded sadness that in the briefest of moments, he saw. Hated the way it made him ache, the confusion of unsettling softness it evoked. But saw it he did, despite her performance of the clever, playful, pretty, witty mien that suited her even better his own fit him.

Because somehow it was all genuine, it was all her. Like her warmth. Like her kindness. Like her ferocity and tenderness and feral, demented glee. And though he hated those moments when something in her eyes or voice or touch suggested she saw every pathetic, stunted, debased nuance of his being, the magnitude of his deficiency, his weakness, she never exploited it. Never exposed it, never spoke of it.

He strongly suspected that it had never even occurred to her to do so, and that it never would.

Because she was good. Immutably, implausibly, irrevocably good, no matter her impish insouciance, her reckless intemperance, her convivial subversion. No matter whatever shadows or grief haunted her even as she reveled in joy and color and life.

That such a creature could look at him, see him, and see something worthy... it was almost enough to give him hope.

And the rarity of that for one such as him made her precious, indeed.

Or at the very least deranged beyond reckoning. Either way, entertaining such thoughts and... feelings (eugh) was troublesome enough. Actually speaking them could be ruinous.

No matter what she thought she saw in him or how good she might be, he could only entice if he was always just out of reach. It would hardly do for her to know that she was perilously close to having him in the palm of her dainty, lute-calloused little hand.

Besides, the little gremlin would never let him live it down.

[the-book-queen]

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[miraruinada]

Whose ways is strange when it's time to survive? Goddamn shame, but gave him the nod Gain is a gain, still slept like a log It's two versions to the story In mine a bone poke through chipped bars The witch sighed, "You're not growing very large" You're gonna die in the hearth It's two versions to the story In mine a bone poke through chipped bars The witch sighed, "You're not growing very large" You're gonna die in the hearth Abandoned mansion, squat in basement apartment Still put on airs, squant nose turned like your stuff's garbage High ceilings, lead paint peeling, condemned Gray Gardens Dirty Little Stones in Antwerp, whose heart's darkest? Broke light poles, by riverboat I went the farthest My methods unsound, tasted all the porridge His character's boorish, bravado without the courage Disgusted? The nerve to be disgusted This is A***, it's not for the weak of stomach

Skin tone had them nervous at the straw purchase I said, "It's not like you're in the borough" Breakfast cereal, playing lotto, scratch the numbers off thorough Rest assured, this one's for regular murder The news is all mergers State murders, the indictment of public servants Couple lines on former offensive lines, sordid demise I bookmarked it for later Doorman direct me to the service elevator Nod, grin like you did me a favor, neighbor Smiles all razors though Eyes lasers, scanned the name tag for the day they check the papers State News Station says statements are outrageous But can't deny the charm's rakish though Whatever it take to make the playtest Desperate to get in the Matrix My agent an automated recording of "Yes, he'll take it" Proceed with caution, though In this climate, you should know the client's overtly r*** Oh?! Oh! Oh! Oh!

[megaphonegirlk]

Sylvain and Dimitri espionage AU

Dimitri, the Blue Lion, wasn't known for his careful extractions and operations...in, and out, like a lion's roar...he always got the job done , he always got the intel, he always assassinated the target, and he always worked alone. He looked sidelong at the grinning agent beside him, ordered as his new partner to 'calm him down', with his fluffy red hair and rakish smile, he looked like the type who thought espionage work was like the movies, like James Bond in a tux with a martini and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd hold him back. Still, he had to admit he was eager to see what Sylvain 'the Horseman' could do.

[emerysaks]

The Clothes Make the (wo)Man - Chapter 2

The Clothes Make the (wo)Man - Chapter 2 - EmerySaks7 - Agent Carter (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Angie felt a flutter of excitement as the sun dipped below the horizon. She stood outside the diner, the dimly lit street lamp beside her casting an enchanting glow on the pavement. She leaned against the wrought-iron railing, her heart beating faster with each passing moment.

Cars zoomed by, their headlights casting fleeting shadows on the sidewalk. Angie glanced at her wristwatch, her anticipation growing. Then, in the distance, she saw a familiar figure approaching under a streetlamp, the soft evening breeze gently tousling Peggy's hair.

"Here goes nothing," Angie whispered.

Angie pushed herself away from the railing with a mischievous grin and started walking toward Peggy. Peggy had almost walked straight past her when Angie reached out and wrapped a hand around her lover's wrist.

"Looking for somebody?"

Peggy turned, and Angie felt satisfaction course through her when Peggy's mouth formed into a small ‘o’ and her eyes roamed up and down, soaking in the sight of Angie standing there, nattily dressed in a suit, complete with a fedora perched atop her head. Angie leaned back and grinned. Her left leg was bent behind her knee, resting against the lamppost, and the rakish hat managed to hide her curls, neatly tucked underneath. With the darkness around them, Angie knew Peggy would have been hard-pressed to immediately place Angie as a woman if she hadn't known.

Peggy moved closer to Angie, confusion and delight warring across her features. "Darling, what are you doing?"

Angie grinned. "Well, I thought it'd be nice if I got to wear the pants in this relationship at least once!"

Peggy laughed and then blushed delightfully when Angie offered her an arm.

"Care to take a walk with me?"

"I'd be delighted," Peggy said, looping her arm through Angie's.

They walked along in companionable silence for a while. Angie couldn't help but notice Peggy's apparent reaction to her attire. While she knew Peggy had always found her adorable, Peggy now looked at her like she was a delectable treat she couldn't wait to savor. Angie felt the heat rising to her cheeks at Peggy's obvious desire. The way Peggy's eyes roamed over her made Angie feel wanton, and a thrill of excitement shot through her as she and Peggy slowly walked along the street, each step bringing them closer to home.

Suddenly, Peggy grabbed Angie's wrist and spun her around, leading her into an alley draped in shadows. Peggy pressed close, trapping Angie between the hard bricks of the wall and her own body. Angie felt every inch of the heat radiating off Peggy, and when their mouths met in a passionate kiss, it nearly stole her breath away. Peggy's hands roamed restlessly over Angie's body.

Angie gladly returned the favor but managed to turn them around until Peggy was pressed against the wall. Her hands tightened around Peggy's hips and lowered her mouth to the smooth, pale neck on full display. She ran her tongue along the warm skin and smiled when Peggy’s breath hitched.

She let out a full-fledged moan when Angie reached down and slid a palm beneath Peggy's skirt, moving upward until her fingers wrapped around Peggy's thigh and brought it to rest against her own trouser-covered hip. Peggy moaned at the contact and ground her hips against Angie's. Angie nipped at Peggy's neck and raised her hand until she could palm Peggy's backside. She felt Peggy's hands frantically fumble with the trousers belt, and she continued nibbling on Peggy’s neck.

However, their eager advances came to an abrupt halt when a door slammed at the end of the alleyway. Angie and Peggy sprang apart, faces flushed, hands still on belts and backsides. They stared at each other for a long moment until Angie finally broke the silence.

She licked her lips and whispered roughly, "We need to go home."

Peggy nodded, eyes dark. Her hand slipped from Angie's belt and moved south until she could gently palm the heat between her lover’s legs.

Biting her lower lip, Angie struggled not to moan – not when someone could step out the door at any moment, but it was hard when she could feel Peggy's fingers teasingly stroke her back and forth through the fabric.

"Home," she repeated. "Now."

Stepping back, she straightened her suit and reached for the handkerchief in the front pocket. She ran it across her face, attempting to wipe off the smudges she knew Peggy had left. But she stopped when Peggy plucked it from her hand and gently placed her own hand against Angie's jaw.

"Allow me, darling. I'm afraid I've made a mess of you," she quipped.

Angie grinned. She would definitely have to wear this outfit again and soon.

Angie kept her fingers intertwined with Peggy's as they exited the alley. The tension between them was palpable, a mixture of desire and anticipation that seemed to hang in the air. Although their home wasn't far away, each step felt an eternity as they tried to contain their impatience.

[holdmytesseract]

My lovely friend... I can't even put in words how much I love this series, omg. 😭💖

Your laughter chimed against the clatter of porcelain downstairs, his brothers following suit. He had snuggled deeper into the lumpy pillow, inhaling in the way he used to against your hair. And now, beneath a canopy of green and gold autumnal majesty, they had made camp for this morning’s torture; fire-building.

Gods, we didn't even properly start and I am already a mess... 🫠🥺

Loki’s was the longest.

Tehehehe. 🤭 Why did that line made me giggle SO hard? 👀😭😂

“Like that,” you replied shakily. Your breaths were short. They were in time with the thrust of his arms as you hovered by his shoulder, guiding his wrist as it pumped back and forth.

Saucy and very ambiguous. 🤭 Loki is such a cheeky little shit - and I love it. 👀

He looked longingly at the bathroom door, thinking of what lay out of reach.

Ouch... 🥺🫠 That one hit right in the feels. 🫠

Of all the times your gentle hands had cupped his, your caring words of encouragement that he think more of what he was saying; he had not listened. Not really. The armour of arrogance was a comfort to him. It was secure, unchanging. Unlike everything else. And in truth, he’d thought you’d liked it. Despite your occasional protestations.

Nooo, I'm not crying. 'M fine. Really. 🥲

‘Come here, Agent’ he would growl, spreading his thighs wider on the bed’s edge. He knew how much you loved the thickness of his thighs. At least, you used to. The version of you still in love with him would sashay across the room, bare feet leaving wet imprints on the floorboards. A coy smile playing on your pouted lips.

T-The thickness of his t-thighs??? MA'AM, are you trying to kill meeee? 🫠🥵 Brain go brrr 🥴

The rakish smile spreading barely had time to reach his eyes before the door slammed in his face, almost taking Loki’s fingers with it to the other side.

Ouch... 🫠 Pain... 🫠

That was sooo hot and sooo sad at the same time, wtf @lokisgoodgirl how did you manage to do that? 🥴🧡 Like... I wanted to scream, but I also wanted to cry. 🥴 Perfection. Utter perfection. 🧡

Sticks and Stones - The Lakes

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (2) Resolved to make an effort, Loki tries his best. But old habits die hard, some harder than others. Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Ex-Loki. Smut references/ Wankst. Humour/Mild angst. (w/c 4.8k) Recommended Folklore Track: Mirrorball

“Oh blast it all,” Thor wailed like a child, throwing a pile of sticks to the side. Another bundle of promising kindle had turned to mush in his hands.

“We need to find ones that aren’t wet, Odinson – I told you. Sometimes they don’t seem wet, but they are wet.” Steve instructed, standing abruptly from where he’d sat on his haunches. Dismay was thick in the air. “Everything is wet here, Rogers." Thor whinged, kicking leaves. "The allusive flame taunts me.”

Loki sucked in his cheeks. The urge to expel a witty innuendo was almost unbearable. But he was trying to be amenable. Turning over a new leaf, as it were.

When the four of them had trudged back to the cottage last night, Loki had turned in to his sparse lodgings immediately with only the most cursory of bedtime salutations. To his surprise, sleep had descended quickly. He had been expecting to toss and turn for hours on that thin single bed, cursing Rogers and his brother and you; each with the time and thoroughness that was due. But he had slept well. And when he woke, the smell of bacon wafting through the floorboards greeted him.

Your laughter chimed against the clatter of porcelain downstairs, his brothers following suit. He had snuggled deeper into the lumpy pillow, inhaling in the way he used to against your hair. And now, beneath a canopy of green and gold autumnal majesty, they had made camp for this morning’s torture; fire-building. Loki buried his hands in another damp pile of foliage, grasping a hunk of twigs he found there. To hel with it, he thought as he closed his eyes; feeling secretive warmth spreading from his fingertips. Magic wrapped around each stick of wood concealed beneath copper leaves, drying it instantly. He glanced over to you, thrumming some moss between your fingers. “I found some dry ones,” he said nonchalantly, hoping it sounded believable.

You peered at his outstretched hands. “Oh yeah…” you replied. Loki frowned as your attention swung back to the wisped moss being pulled apart in your fingertips. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.” Thor looked over at his brother, aghast. “Cheater,” he rumbled loudly. To his side, only Steve’s ass was visible, shaking side to side as he still searched on his hands and knees through the undergrowth for where dry wood might lurk. Loki turned, one palm facing up. A column of ferocious flame burst from his skin, funnelling up like a portal. The sound of its violence ripped the air, squawks of local wildlife jibbering in the trees above. Steve lost his balance, falling to the side into the shrubbery. He let out a strangled cry, while Thor scooted backwards and knocked him further into the bushes.

“If I wanted to cheat,” Loki snarled, “there would be much easier ways to do so, brother.”

As quickly as it appeared, the flame ceased.

Loki turned back to you, smoothing his anorak. “Sorry about that,” he quipped with a cheerful smile.

In the time it had taken to complete his theatrics, you had selected one of his pile which you deemed suitable. You turned it over in your hands, fingers curled around the trunk of the weighty stick. Loki swallowed thickly. The innocently sensual glint in your eyes as you looked at it was almost too much to bear. Or maybe it was his imagination.

You hadn’t raised a smile all day, after all. He knelt on his haunches, mirroring your intrigue while you ran a finger down the larger stick. “We need to whittle a groove down here” you said. Loki nodded, moving his eyes between the line your digit took and your face.

Your eyes met.

He saw your gaze drop to his lips, only for a millisecond. “Could you?” you whispered, avoiding eye contact again.

In a flash of green, Loki produced a short dagger. He held it to you, handle first.

“I mean really we should use the one in your pack,” you smirked, eyeing Steve brushing sodden leaves from his ass as Thor fumbled fruitlessly in the undergrowth in a last ditch attempt. Loki felt his heart pound faster. He saw his chance. “But mine is better, Agent” he murmured darkly. “You know that.” “Guys – come over, please!” you shouted over his shoulder. Loki flinched. Truly, she now immune from my overtures, he mused bitterly; remembering the times a line like that would have had you groaning in his ear like a harlot.

He smoothed a rakish curl back from his forehead, collecting himself while his brother and the captain gathered round. Thor was muttering Asgardian curses under his breath, his hair wild. Twigs stuck out at obscure angles, a small slug clinging to the scruff of his jawline. Loki peeled it off, flicking it away.

“I think not that I was made for nature, brother,” Thor lamented under his breath. Loki chuckled, cut short as his dagger, poised in your hand, began to cut away at the centre of the large stick. There was a sharp intake of breath beside him. “That’s not standard issue,” Steve chided quietly, lips hardening. Loki folded his arms, elbowing Rogers in the process. “Watch what I’m doing,” you said sternly, eyeing the men with suspicion. They stood in rapt attention, watching every rut of the blade, every splinter and chunk which sprung forth. But not Loki.

Loki watched your face. Each furrow of your brow, flick of concentration, ghost of a smile as you looked with satisfaction at the result. “Perfect,” you murmured to yourself, running a cautious fingertip through the rough groove. “Now what?” Thor grunted. “Tis still a damnable stick.” You laughed the sweetest, most condescending laugh that Loki had ever heard.

It made his heart twist in his chest. “Now...you each take one of these” you handed each of them a smaller stick from Loki's haul. Loki’s was the longest.

A smirk curled the corners of his mouth against his better judgement. You rolled your eyes, snatching it back and switching it with Steve. “Sharpen these, so they are at a 45 degree angled point. Remember your angles from yesterday, Thor?” Thor frowned. You made the angle with your forearm. “Ah, yes” he smiled. “The little mountain.” For the next few minutes, Loki felt your appraising stare fall on him in intervals. He crafted his edge to perfection, sliding the dagger’s blade so close to the wood’s bark it almost shone. The rough hacking of the other men’s pocketknives peppered the air. Aside from that, and birdsong, there was silence.

When all of them had finished, you called them back around a small, cleared patch of forest floor. The branch with the groove you had made lay on the ground. The three men stared at it, sharpened sticks in hand. Suddenly it all felt very...human. They glanced at each other vacantly. “Loki?” you chirped, gesturing to the ground. He raised an eyebrow.

“On my knees?” he heard himself purr, the feigned incredulity palpable. You nodded sternly, just once.

“Very well,” he murmured, sinking down.

His knees hit the leaves with a crisp, gentle thump.

Immediately, wetness began to seep into the fabric. Like the gusset of her underwear, he mulled. He looked up at you the way he used to while you would have him kiss up your thighs, yanking his hair as he atoned for some imagined grave misdeed with sexual favour. The essence of his vulnerability. A rarity, only for you. He was such a slut for you, back then. Anything you desired. Anything he desired- “Loki?!” you snapped. He had been staring at your chest, eyes glazed. Carefully, he tilted his chin upwards. “Apologies,” he husked. The swallow which bobbed in your throat made his loins ache. Your voice was high. Higher than she intends, surely; he thought.

“Kind of...position it so the big stick with the groove is between your knees-” you’d said.

Loki shuffled, straddling the branch. It brushed the bulge of his cock pulsing lightly against his trousers. “Between my thighs, you say?” he asked innocently. “No, your knees. Well – thighs, sort of yes. Just keep it steady.” You were becoming flustered, Loki noticed. Loki liked that.

You bent down slightly, touching the hard round of his bicep before recoiling like it was a hot stove. “You um...hold the stick like this, no...like-”

Kneeling beside him, you adjusted the angle of his hands to grip the smaller, pointed stick. “That’s it...and then you rub it back and-” you swallowed, “-back and forth. On the one between your thighs. Knees.” Loki bit his lip, beginning to do just that. The sound was awful as his pace quickened after the first few strokes. Scraping, raw squeals that jarred the air.

“Like this?” he panted. A mist of sweat was forming at his hairline. He could feel it tingle.

“Like that,” you replied shakily. Your breaths were short. They were in time with the thrust of his arms as you hovered by his shoulder, guiding his wrist as it pumped back and forth. Thor and Steve glanced silently at each other, brows raised.

Loki saw Thor’s jaw drop from the corner of his eye, a meaty finger protruding from one straightened arm to the smoke beginning to waft from the groove. “Look, Rogers…” he gasped with the wonder of a child. The smoke became thicker, billowing in heavy flow. You fumbled to the side, grabbing some tufts of dried moss.

“Now tip it in, tip the ash in-” you said frantically, barely contained excitement in your voice. Loki complied, watching as the smouldering embers blossomed within the web of moss.

“Be careful,” he whispered, setting the stick in his hands down. He brought them up protectively around the moss. You held it forward, “blow, Loki” you murmured, keeping your eyes fixed on the small ball which had begun to smoke.

“Blow?” he said, forehead creasing while you nodded. Your eyes narrowed at the tuft clenched between your fingers. “Until you get-” “-a spark,” Loki finished quietly.

He blew on the moss, flinching as the vegetation burst with flame. Thor and Steve gasped, crowding round as you dropped the raging ball of fire to the groove of the stick below. You grabbed Loki’s spear, prodding the moss. Loki opened his mouth and closed it again.

He felt that he should be bored. Or annoyed. Longing for home comforts and solitude or some such. But, admittedly, he would not have thought of this whole scenario. Against his wishes, he had learned something.

What you had done? How you had transformed nothing into...something. Like magic. When he set fire to things, he cared not how they burned. Just that they burned. And, Loki thought, they always do.

After what felt like an eternity, Loki closed the door to the cottage and turned the key.

He was the last one in, favouring a meandering pace behind the three others huddled together in a jovial formation. Water saturated him, rolling in thick droplets from his forehead down the carve of his jawline. He had never known rain like it. It had fallen like milk, heavy and thick and relentless in every direction.

Hair was plastered to his skull, to his neck. It stuck in clumpy tendrils and made a weird noise against the garish anorak when he moved. He flicked his hands forward with frustration. The clench of his stomach against the soaking fleece made him shudder.

After the first attempt, he had reluctantly admitted there was no point in drying himself every ten seconds. Even magic, he had surmised, was no match for the English countryside.

Muffled roars sounded from the living room. Loki rounded the corner, cursing every squelching step. Predictably, his brother’s head was lodged in the soaking neck of his roll neck sweater. His hiking trousers lay in a bedraggled heap on the floor, water pooling around them through the floorboards. Muddy bootprints were smeared in circles over the rug. Steve held the hem of the sweater, rolled over Thor’s head and arms, yanking it. “I’m going-to take-your gosh-darned-head-off,” he grunted; before there was a wet pop. Thor stumbled backwards, landing in a chair in the corner. He began to laugh.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I wish to bathe,” he said plainly before turning to the doorway. Steve’s eyes widened. “The lady got first dibs, Laufeyson. You’ll have to wait. Shouldn’t have dallied on the ridge.” Loki froze, a grimace descending.

He closed his eyes, clicking his neck with a tilt to the side. Thor laughed, shaking his head. He pointed to Loki, then to Steve. “What need have we three of hot baths?”

“Speak not to me of my affinity of baths. Tis you who had your very own bathhouse on Asgard” Loki snarled. He rolled his molars, the deep chill setting into his bones only half born from the wet clothes sticking to every crevice. He looked longingly at the bathroom door, thinking of what lay out of reach. The sweet caress of hot water on his aching muscles, covering his weather-worn limbs with the kiss of a million bubbles that only sought to bring him pleasure. A vision of your naked body sinking in foam fluttered in front of his waking eyes, your lips parted to the ceiling as you let your thighs fall open-

The boiler made an alarming rattle in the kitchen.

“I’ll check it,” he muttered, casting a final glance to the bathroom door as he passed. He heard a splash. And then a small groan of satisfaction.

In the kitchen, Loki gripped the counter-lip and hung his head. He stared at the greyed cream of the surface while seidr rolled up his body, every inch of sodden fabric plastered to him airing free. A waft hit his hair, blowing it over his shoulders. Shaking it back, his eyes meeting the row of mis-matched mugs from yesterday. “When in Nilfheim,” he mumbled to himself like a mantra.

He returned to the living room, three steaming mugs in hand. The others had managed to light a stove in the corner and were now wearing pyjamas. Tops and bottoms, Loki noticed. A rarity indeed. He looked again at the fire. The flames were small, but they were there. He decided to be pleasant. “Did you use the groove technique?” Loki smiled, setting a mug down on the armrest of Thor’s chair. The men laughed while Loki straightened, staring pensively into the licking flames. With mild interest, the god realised that this was the first time he had been in this room. No mean feat, considering that the cottage only had three downstairs. The kitchen, the bathroom, and this one. He glanced around at the sparse décor, as antiquated and dulled and beige as the other spaces. “I remember those,” Steve nodded, aiming towards a radio on a corner-shelf. Loki chuckled, before sipping his tea. He smacked his lips. “Honestly, Rogers. What possessed you to house us in this place? Surely there are nicer.” Steve shrugged. “I thought it would be good for us,” he said, brushing his pyjama bottoms. “I mean, look at this chair!?” Loki exclaimed, gesturing to where his brother sprawled. It was some kind of cream leather, cracked at the worn areas where a thousand mortal arses had sat. Stains adorned the peel of its chafed skin. “A son of Odin, in a chair such as that. It’s insulting.” The words were bitter, but a playful smile tugged at his lips. Steve saw it. “Actually it is rather comfortable, brother” Thor piped up. He re-adjusted himself, leaning backwards, “rather comfortable indee-” In a flash, his tea sloshed in the air; hands flying to grip the armrest as the whole chair slid back to a lying position. Loki jumped to his feet, seidr fizzling in the palms of his hands. “Calm down,” Steve said, patting Loki’s lower back. “It’s a recliner, it’s supposed to do that. Had those in my day too.”

There was silence but for the crackling of the fire which had grown to a healthy blaze. It was comfortable. Loki quietly transformed his clothes to the flannel pyjama bottoms that had lain neatly folded beneath his pillow upstairs. “What about the top? You’ll freeze.” Steve murmured, pulling his mug closer to his chin. Loki smiled, shaking his head. Fresh curls bounced around his collarbone. “I think not that a thin layer of cotton will help in that regard, Rogers.” “Modesty, then” Steve scoffed, nudging his head in the direction of the bathroom. Both brothers rolled their eyes.

“Our dear Agent has seen me in much more raucous states of undress, I assure you” he sniffed, staring pointedly at the flames. He could almost feel the wrinkle of Steve’s nose. There was another silence which hung between them, heavier this time. “What happened, Loki?” Steve whispered, leaning forward like a teen girl at a sleepover. He pulled the blanket in his lap to his chest. “Between you and-” he gestured with his head again towards the door. “You guys were pretty perfect together seemed like.” Loki bristled, feeling his brothers eyes on him too. He knew it would come to this. “We had an irreconcilable differing of opinion.” “On what?” “On me.”

Loki straightened, rolling his shoulders back and resting an ankle on his knee for good measure. Casual. The scratch of cheap upholstery made his back tingle. “Well that could mean all manner of things, brother. You are insufferable.”

Loki swallowed, blinking several times. Steve reached out, patting his hand gently, but Loki flapped it away. “Apparently I am...what were her words exactly? Oh, yes. Haughty. Condescending. Unwaveringly arrogant.” He looked pointedly between the men. “I mean, can you believe that?!” Thor and Steve’s eyes met, each waiting for the other to speak first.

“Well, yes” they said in sync.

Loki bristled again, raking a hand through his hair. “Not to the point where it subsumes all my admirable qualities, surely?” he said, beginning to pick at the green of his bottoms. “I mean really. Is it truly arrogance if what I say is true? I cannot help being a god.”

Silence was deafening.

Loki looked to the side, seeing Steve’s face contorted in a theatrical twist. One eyebrow was raised, lips stretched over his teeth in a grimacing caricature. “You do go on about it a lot.” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Indeed, brother.” Thor concurred. He nestled back in the recliner with a satisfied sigh. “I shouldn’t have to walk with these groceries...I am a god. I have no need of a parking permit, I am a god...I can only imagine how it is to be your significant other, especially for so long-” “Hey, Thor – did Loki tell you about ‘that time’ on Asgard?” “Why yes Rogers he did. All of them. And anyone else who’d listen. Especially the part which highlights exactly how impressive it is that he is...” “-a god,” they both finished. Loki stared between them, open mouthed. His furious gaze landed on his brother. The betrayal in his voice was palpable. “How dare you,” he growled. “You’re one to talk, spouting off about your powers and flaunting your lineage at every chance you can grasp. The audacit-” Thor raised a waggling finger in the air, pushing his feet against the chair and sitting upright. “Ah-ah-ah, brother. But I am both self-effacing and charming, isn’t that right Rogers?” he beamed. “He is quite charming.” Steve agreed, reluctantly. “You on the other hand...it comes across as more..” The three of them looked between each other. Loki’s face fell.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

Of all the times your gentle hands had cupped his, your caring words of encouragement that he think more of what he was saying; he had not listened. Not really. The armour of arrogance was a comfort to him. It was secure, unchanging. Unlike everything else. And in truth, he’d thought you’d liked it. Despite your occasional protestations.

Until the end, that was.

A creak from the hallway signalled your imminent emergence from the bathroom.

In all the commotion, none of them had heard the boiler cease its ragged howl. A few seconds later, your head poked around the door. Wetted hair fell around your shoulders, sticking to the curve of your neck. Loki looked up through his lashes, stomach fluttering as your palm slid innocently down the wooden frame. Moisture still clung to your skin.

Loki hoped you weren’t cold. “I’m going to bed, I’ll see you in the morning” you said, looking to Thor and Steve before your eyes met his. He looked away quickly. “Goodnight,” the three of them chimed, some more enthusiastically than others. You stepped out in full view for a moment, adjusting the towel around your body. “Did you use the groove technique?” you smiled, nodding to the fire. “My brother made the same joke already,” Thor said, reclining on the deceptively comfortable chair again with a flourish. “But alas, no.” Loki’s heart skipped as you focused on him. Something swam in your eyes as you twisted the towel by your armpit. Something that wasn’t irritation, or coldness. He saw your covert gaze drop to his neck, lower to his chest, then to the flat of his stomach. He shifted, curling his long legs up on the sofa.

“Join us,” he said, gesturing to an empty armchair in the corner. You shook your head, offering a weak smile. “I’m exhausted, clearly you guys have more stamina than I do.” Loki felt the mighty need to agree rise in his throat. To articulate the validity of your statement, and its infinite reasoning and commend your observations. For the first time, he was aware of its overwhelming crawl upwards like dragon-fire, sanctimonious empty words writhing like live insects in his mouth – desperate to be spat. He forced them down, under the watchful eye of Steve. The words sat in his stomach like a stone.

“Goodnight, Agent.” Loki murmured with a respectful nod. You returned it silently, before closing the door.

A sliver of open curtain cast moonlight on the wall.

Loki stared at it.

Then he stared at it some more. How long had he lain here? He turned, grasping at the vintage midgardian alarm clock on the side. He squinted. Nine-forty. Loki groaned, rolling back against the lumpy mattress. Tonight, unlike the last, sleep evaded him. Although he had only been in the maze of his thoughts for fifteen minutes, it felt like eternity. Why could he not read you? It was always so easy before, he pondered. His eyes tracked along a crack in the ceiling. Before she raised the drawbridge.

He sighed.

If what Rogers and his brother said was in truth, then it meant the unthinkable. That she was right to do what she did. Was he truly so conceited that he had let love which evaded him so long slip through his grasp for the sake of his pride? For what? To feel important for a fleeting moment? A thousand fleeting moments would be more accurate. A chill ran down his spine. Does she think that, in truth, I never cared for her at all? He closed his eyes, attempting to diminish the intrusive thought. In an act of mercy, his mind conjured the memory of you wrapped in only the towel downstairs. Hair wet, droplets kissing down your neck as you played with the side of the cotton.

‘Come here, Agent’ he would growl, spreading his thighs wider on the bed’s edge. He knew how much you loved the thickness of his thighs. At least, you used to. The version of you still in love with him would sashay across the room, bare feet leaving wet imprints on the floorboards. A coy smile playing on your pouted lips.

Would you wait until you had straddled him to release the towel, or in the moment before you did so? Loki pondered this for a moment, before deciding to indulge in both.

He could feel his cock hardening uncomfortably against the crotch of his pyjama pants, the spill of your perfect breasts into his imaginary hands making it throb. ‘Darling,’ he would sigh as he buried his face in your cleavage. His thumbs would graze your delicate nipples, guiding them to his open lips as you ground against his lap. A hand would nudge his tip inside your perfect heat before you edged down...down to meet the root. And then, you would kiss. You always wanted to kiss the first time you were fully joined. Entwined. Twin-gasps would fill the air, giving way to moans of quiet pleasure as Rogers and his brother slept next door.

Or tried to, at least. Loki spat in his hand, before slipping it beneath the waistband of his pyjamas. Cold fingers wrapped around the mass of untended lust that waited. He pumped once, pulling the foreskin back gently and letting his fist nestle against the neat of his pubic hair.

A ragged exhale escaped him.

How long has it been, he wondered briefly, before tightening his grip.

He extended his thumb, pressing harshly against velvet flesh as he swept upwards. The god’s eyes rolled back in the darkness, back arching up into his pleasure. Low pants began to pepper the air around him, each swipe of his hand more frantic than the last.

Too loud.

He bit his lip, eyes screwed shut while visions of you flashed through his mind. He settled on a memory of you in his bedroom in the tower. His hands were tied behind his back as he sat on the edge of the bed you shared, your fingers curling around his abs as they clenched beneath the touch. Your lips fastening around his trembling cock as you made him yours in each stroke of your tongue. Each slurping kiss that lingered as you sucked, his head falling back as he lost himself in you. Always, he thought between staggered breaths. Completely hers.

Loki’s fingers dug into the mattress, the rough methodical slap of his fist against flesh a din to his ears. But gods, it felt so good. He needed this. Needed to allow himself a stolen moment of pleasure where you loved him still.

Climax began to bubble in his deepest centre, swirling behind his eyelids. Loki’s thumb circled the tip with every fuck of his palm, squeezing tighter while droplets of precum made the pyjama pants damp. His teeth were gritted to the ceiling, bared in a grimace. His chin pointed upwards, the pillow folding in on his cheekbones with the force of the brace. His breaths were short. ‘Mmmm’ The god’s eyes shot open.

He paused, wincing as his fist froze tightly halfway down his cock. His ears pricked, concentrating. ‘Mmmm-uh’

Loki’s head fell to the side, facing the wall. The wall on the other side of which, you lay.

He closed his eyes, summoning every magnification of his senses that he could. Your voice. No more than a whisper, seeping through the stone.

‘Loki, yes…’

He’d know those sweet sighs of pleasure anywhere.

A breath he’d been holding rattled free, timed with a tentative tug of his cock.

He could hear everything now. The rustle of bedsheets tangled around your knees, the beat of your heart quickening as you reached your peak with him in your head. The press of your fingers on that spot just about your plump, beautiful clit. Were you imagining the flat of his tongue caressing against your desire? Loki thought you were. Orgasm began to rise alongside some unplaced feeling, his legs tensing; toes curling into the mattress.

She wants me.

In a split-second decision, he whipped the bedsheets from his body and jumped cat-like to the floor. Within two strides, he had opened the door with a creak and slipped into the cramped hallway. Your door loomed before him, adjacent to his own.

What are you doing, he thought; suddenly horrified as the chill set in. He looked down, cock hard and leaking against his pyjama pants.

He began to step back, emitting the loudest groan of a floorboard he had ever heard in his life. Loki grimaced, hushing the accursed building with clawed fingers. But it was too late. He heard the succession of your bare feet meeting the floor, and in a matter of seconds; your door opened. Just a crack. “Loki?” you warily whispered into the darkness. He cleared his throat softly, casting a glance over his shoulder before daring to meet your questioning eyes. That dragon-fire bubbled in his stomach like acid, quippy lines and heavy-handed flirtations that begged to be freed.

How had he never noticed before how much effort it took, not to let them out? I thought you might need a hand, You called for me, so I’ve come to... make you c- I know you still desire me, which is to be expected, Admit it, no one can pleasure you like me, For old times sake- Because, Loki realised, he had never tried. You opened the crack of the door wider, looking to either side of the landing suspiciously. His eyes ran from your bare feet to the hem of a nightdress falling around your thighs. He recognised that nightdress. Your favourite. It had dead leaves on it, which he never understood. But maybe now, in this place, he finally did.

You only wore it when the nights grew colder. And only when he was not there to hold you for warmth.

Which these days, he thought with a pang, is always.

All too late, the god realised he had become distracted from his newfound restraint. It had wound like ivy around his thoughts, vines twisting and flourishing with alarming speed. But there was nothing to be done about it now. “I thought you might want some... company,” he growled suggestively.

His cock pressed ferociously against his hip, covered from view by one thick forearm.

Your eyebrows rose beneath a deadpan stare. “You can’t be serious.” Like an out of body experience, Loki raised the forearm covering his crotch to rest high on the door-frame. The unmistakable scent of your arousal seeped into his nostrils, an interrupted climax lingering in the air.

Moonlight from the cracks in your curtains licked across his chest, his obliques – casting deep shadows in his cheekbones, Loki would wager.

Hair fell around his jaw, tingling the flushed skin. He could feel his manhood pressing eagerly against the cotton, as desperate for your touch as it always had been. The thrill that in mere seconds, he would feel you against him again where you belonged. The heat of your skin flush to his own, the muffled mewls from your lips as you kissed, the insatiable wandering of your hands as you devoured him like an addict’s first fix. You would be so happy. This time, Loki would make sure of that.

He looked down deep into your eyes, smouldering with all his might. “Deadly, darling.” he purred.

Your disbelieving stare fell to his crotch. It widened. “Oh my god, Loki.” you hissed. “Yes...?” he crooned presumptively in response. The rakish smile spreading barely had time to reach his eyes before the door slammed in his face, almost taking Loki’s fingers with it to the other side.

Tags (contd in comments)

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[newstfionline]

Saturday, December 30, 2023

World population up 75 million this year, standing at 8 billion on Jan. 1 (AP) The world population grew by 75 million people over the past year and on New Year’s Day it will stand at more than 8 billion people, according to figures released by the U.S. Census Bureau on Thursday. The worldwide growth rate in the past year was just under 1%. At the start of 2024, 4.3 births and two deaths are expected worldwide every second, according to the Census Bureau figures. The growth rate for the United States in the past year was 0.53%, about half the worldwide figure. The U.S. added 1.7 million people and will have a population on New Year’s Day of 335.8 million people.

America has a life expectancy crisis (Washington Post) The commissioner of the Food and Drug Administration had an urgent message last winter for his colleagues, brandishing data that life expectancy in the United States had fallen again—the biggest two-year decline in a century. Robert Califf’s warning, summarized by three people with knowledge of the conversations, boiled down to this: Americans’ life expectancy is going the wrong way. We’re the top health officials in the country. If we don’t fix this, who will? A year after Califf’s dire warnings, Americans’ life expectancy decline remains a pressing public health problem—but not a political priority. “I wish that life expectancy or health span were a fundamental political issue in the 2024 presidential campaign,” said Dave A. Chokshi, a physician and public health professor who formerly served as health commissioner of New York. “We’re not living the healthiest lives that we possibly could.”

Migrant Surge Overwhelms U.S. Border (NYT) At a remote spot in the Arizona desert, near a hole in the border wall, dozens of migrants huddled over wood fires. After fleeing war in Sudan, violent gangs in Central America or Mexican cartels, the men had all crossed into the United States illegally, walked on foot over rugged terrain for hours, and arrived at this outpost exhausted, hungry and cold. They wanted to turn themselves into the authorities to ask for asylum, but were stranded here, miles away from the closest town, Sásabe. Then, as temperatures dropped on Tuesday night, a convoy of Border Patrol agents rolled in, loaded the men into a van to be processed and sped away—off to search for more people in need of rescue. “We are not equipped to deal with this,” Scott Carmon, a Border Patrol watch commander, said while surveying the muddy encampment. “It’s a humanitarian disaster.” This is the crisis unfolding at the southern border, as migrant encounters once again hit record levels and test the capacity of American law enforcement to contain an explosion of illegal crossings.

An ‘almost naked’ party of Russian elites brings on jail time, a lawsuit and apologies (AP) The nightlife of Russia’s elite has long been famously rakish but a recent party crossed an invisible line and provoked a public scandal. One pop star ended up in jail and several others issued public apologies while an ensuing lawsuit demanded a fortune in reparations. The scandal erupted after TV presenter and actress Anastasia Ivleeva hosted a bash at a Moscow nightclub with the stated dress code of “almost naked.” Soon after, photos from the party began circulating on social media—including those of rapper Vacio seen wearing only a sock on his genitalia. Conservative legislators, bloggers and others unleashed a storm of criticism, contending the images were unseemly, even unpatriotic, for a country embroiled in war. Some of the criticism reflected the fiercely conservative sentiment in Russia amid President Vladimir Putin’s repeated denunciation of the West for trying to undermine “traditional values” and the nationalism intensified by Russia’s war in Ukraine.

Russia launched a large and complex air attack on Ukraine (NYT) Russian forces fired more than 150 missiles and drones into cities across Ukraine today (Friday), hitting factories, hospitals and schools in what Ukrainian officials said was the largest air assault since they began tracking them last year. At least 30 people were killed, more than 160 were wounded and critical infrastructure was damaged, the authorities said. The barrage included hypersonic and cruise missiles that were designed to overwhelm and confuse Ukrainian air defenses, which have successfully shot down a vast majority of attacks in recent months. Today, however, more than 40 missiles and drones hit their marks. One Russian rocket also traveled through a Polish border area near Ukraine for three minutes, briefly violating NATO airspace, Poland’s military said. But unlike the Russian drones that crashed in September in Romania, the rocket did not hit anything on the ground in Poland.

Ukraine’s frontline children yearn for return to classroom (Reuters) Sitting alone in her bedroom, Ukrainian third-grader Arina Herasymova cuts an image of loneliness as she stares at her teacher and classmates on a screen. “I would like to go to school, to lessons. To play with friends during recess, not sit at home,” she said. Herasymova, 8, lives near the front line of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which is nearing its two-year mark and has forced many local children into online learning. The war has deprived younger students, especially, of the opportunity to start off their schooling like most of their peers elsewhere. First the coronavirus upended Arina’s daily schedule, then came Russia’s February 2022 invasion, according to her mother Iryna, 32, who said the once-active child is visibly sad. “I look at her now, and she has completely changed,” she said. “She doesn’t want to do anything.”

India targets Apple over its phone hacking notifications (Washington Post) A day after Apple warned independent Indian journalists and opposition party politicians in October that government hackers may have tried to break into their iPhones, officials under Prime Minister Narendra Modi promptly took action—against Apple. Officials from the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) publicly questioned whether the Silicon Valley company’s internal threat algorithms were faulty and announced an investigation into the security of Apple devices. In private, according to three people with knowledge of the matter, senior Modi administration officials called Apple’s India representatives to demand that the company help soften the political impact of the warnings. They also summoned an Apple security expert from outside the country to a meeting in New Delhi, where government representatives pressed the Apple official to come up with alternative explanations for the warnings to users, the people said. They spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss sensitive matters. “They were really angry,” one of those people said.

China says it won’t turn a blind eye to Philippines’ repeated ‘provocations’ (Reuters) China on Thursday said it will not turn a blind eye to repeated “provocations and harassment” by the Philippines, amid heightened tensions over a spate of run-ins in the South China Sea. Manila earlier this month accused the Chinese coastguard and maritime militia of repeatedly firing water cannons at its resupply boats, causing “serious engine damage” to one, and “deliberately” ramming another. Calling the accusations “purely false hype,” Wu Qian, a defence ministry spokesperson, said the Philippine side insisted on sending vessels to “intrude into” waters near a disputed shoal and “proactively rammed” a Chinese Coast Guard vessel.

The number of wounded Israeli soldiers is mounting (AP) Igor Tudoran spent just 12 hours inside the Gaza Strip before a missile slammed into his tank, leaving him with a life-altering injury. “Already within the tank, I understood from the condition of my leg that I would lose it. But the question was how much of it will I lose,” he said, seated on a bed in the hospital where he has been treated since he was wounded last month. Tudoran, 27, a reservist who volunteered for duty after the Oct. 7 attack on southern Israel by Hamas that triggered the war, lost his right leg beneath the hip. He has kept up a positive attitude—but concedes that his hopes of becoming an electrician may no longer be possible. Tudoran is part of a swelling number of wounded Israeli fighters, yet another sizable and deeply traumatized segment of Israeli society whose struggles are emerging as a hidden cost of the war that will be felt acutely for years to come. Given the large numbers of wounded, advocates worry the country is not prepared to address their needs. Israel’s Defense Ministry says roughly 3,000 members of the country’s security forces have been wounded since Hamas militants stormed into southern Israel on Oct. 7.

Sudan war: ‘When a bomb fell I told my son it was an action movie’ (BBC) Rasha Amin’s five-year-old son now wets the bed at night after a neighbour’s house in the capital, Khartoum, was struck by a missile in October. “He wakes up at night crying because he had a nightmare or he’s scared,” explains the mother of two. A golf ball-sized piece of shrapnel had smashed a hole through her wall and air conditioning unit and narrowly missed Rasha’s other child, her 20-month-old toddler, who was asleep in his crib. A paramilitary unit that had set up next door was the intended target and Rasha’s explanation to her older child that people were filming an action movie did not convince him for long. The 31-year-old schoolteacher and her family had a narrow escape in the eight-month civil war that has killed at least 10,000 people. Nearly seven million others have fled from their homes but many, like Rasha and her family, remain trapped and traumatised amid the fighting.

[collage-collage-collage]

In collaboration with @therakishgent 

Photography & video - Nicholas Andrews

Styling - Taj Hayer

Models - Alex Mitchell

[heliads]

Helloooo! I hope you're doing great! was wondering if could do a Loki x fem reader in which she's the daughter of a powerful Mafia family, and she happens to be in the city when a member of the rival family - one whom she absolutely loathes and has been in a feud with for years - is captured by Shield. She approaches Fury when she hears that he won’t cooperate, and he lets her interrogate him. Of course, Stark being a bloody git decides to have the whole team watch how exactly she gets him to crack, and even Loki’s intrigued. Being the skillful manipulator she is with extensive knowledge on torture methods, they have a bit of a back and forth about pain. He says he won’t crack, that he’s dealt with all sorts of torture, and this prompts her to fire a shot that soars right next to his head, managing to even scratch his cheek in the process. “Pain has its limits. Fear, however, does not.” So she whips her gun to face hus forehead and does Russian Roulette with him, taking turns with the gun. He eventually cracks, and Loki’s impressed - even more so when she reveals that she was using a gun that only had a single bullet ( the one from before the Roulette when she was scaring him). They eventually get on good terms, and it ends with her inviting him over to the Manor in Italy before leaving with a handful of guards.

me and the squad after determining that fear isn't real for us

masterlist

Loki is staring at the woman sitting across the room. Black booted heels crossed matter-of-factly, she’s eyeing the door to the interrogation cell with a resolute gaze. According to S.H.I.E.L.D. principles, interrogations don’t happen within the agency’s halls, only cleanly cut interviews. The truth is that agents do whatever they damn please, and Y/N L/N is no exception. There are no rules, not for her, not as long as she keeps getting the information that all of them need.

The Avengers were supposed to be handling this case. The Gallants make up a well-known crime ring; one of the toughest mobs in this side of the country, or this side of the globe, for that matter. Loki and his partners managed to bring in the youngest one, Tom, for questioning, but they haven’t been able to crack him.

That leaves only Y/N. Loki knows that the rest have been reluctant to involve Y/N, too afraid of what she’ll do to get the answers they require, but they have no more options. Y/N is a L/N after all, the only natural counterpart to the Gallants. This city is split by a gang war between the two families, as much as the Avengers hate to admit it, and they’ve got the best of the L/Ns running amongst their numbers. If you’ve got that good a tool under your belt, why not use it?

Steve Rogers has been pacing back and forth for a while in the adjourning room. He’s still not sure about this, too used to the ‘40s codes of conduct that are now just as obsolete as the friends’ phone numbers he keeps tucked away in his cracked wallet. Loki is used to the changing of the times; no matter what, violence always stays the same. Y/N speaks his language, and that’s why he’s here, the same as the rest: to see what she does.

At last, Y/N receives the sign she’s been waiting for. A burner phone by her side buzzes with a new text from Nick Fury, and judging by the pleased lock of her jaw, it’s the all clear. Y/N stands, briskly folding her dark coat back around her, and heads towards the door.

Steve, Natasha, and Tony move to intercept her before she can head inside. They may be handing over the role of investigator, but they won’t do it without feeling like they can maintain some semblance of control.

Steve holds up a warning finger. “Remember the rules, Agent. You can’t lay a finger on him.”

Y/N smirks. “I don’t need to.”

Natasha arches a brow. “Even as a mafia gang leader who’s notorious for her torture methods?”

Y/N flashes her a particularly rakish smile. “Come on, Romanoff. You of all people should know that there are ways to make people crack without resorting to the usual ways of inflicting pain.”

Natasha shrugs. “Do your worst. We’d like to see it happen.”

Tony chortles. “Damn right we would. We’ll be watching the monitors outside. Technically, I have to tell you that if we see anything suspicious, we’ll come bursting in guns blazing, but mainly I just want to see what you do.”

Y/N shrugs, reaching for the door. “I hope you enjoy the show.”

She glances at Loki over her shoulder, a dagger-sharp glint in her eye the only sign that she’s been onto him since she first arrived at the Avengers complex, then disappears inside the interrogation room. The cell door clicks shut behind her, and just like that, they’ve got a performance to see.

Tony hurries over to the bank of monitors. “Oh, I’m excited for this one. I mean, the Godfather can only teach you so much, right? This is sure to be much more modern.”

Natasha laughs dryly. “Try not to seem too excited, Tony. We’re supposed to be unhappy about this.”

Loki drifts closer so he can see over their huddled shoulders. Tony messes with a few of the controls, and the sound starts to flicker in through glitchy waves of interference.

Tom Gallant is strapped to a chair in the room, only separated from Y/N by a standard issue table. His hands are cuffed to the surface in front of him, and Loki can hear the alarmed clink of his chains when he flinches upon seeing Y/N for the first time.

She takes a seat opposite him, evidently pleased to have created such a stir. “Already desperate, Tom? I mean, I haven’t even gotten started yet.”

Tom schools his expression back into solid stone. “I’m surprised they let someone like you in the building. I thought dogs were meant to stay back on the streets.”

Y/N scarcely reacts to the jibe. “Clever, Gallant. How long did it take you to come up with that one?” She folds her arms across her chest. “You know what we want. Give us the answers, it’ll be much easier for you.”

Tom remains silent, although this seems to add to Y/N’s glee more than if he had just started talking.

“Wonderful, I was hoping we’d get somewhere. It’ll only be fun from here on out.”

Tom scoffs. “I know the rules, L/N. You can’t lay a finger on me. How are you supposed to get anything from me without trying to bleed me out?”

Y/N’s grin is frightening. “I’m so glad you asked.”

She reaches inside her coat to pull out a phone. “Here’s how this is going to work. I am going to ask you some questions, and every time you don’t answer me, I’m going to mention a name to a couple friends of mine who are very eager to get back at your family. You lie, or hold anything back, and you’ll start losing allies. Do we understand each other?”

Gallant rolls his eyes, although he seems worried. “Do your worst.”

Y/N laughs once, the sound abruptly ending as if cut off by a guillotine. “How melodramatic. Well, let’s get started. What were you doing on S.H.I.E.L.D. premises on the night of the twelfth?”

Tom says nothing, and Y/N sighs. “Alright, then. You know Ariel Rollins? That’s your brother’s girlfriend, if you forgot. I believe your brother said that he really wanted to marry her, and I also know that he’s one spell of bad luck away from quitting your gang.”

She sends a text to someone, then holds up a photo on her phone. Even over the blurry security cameras, Loki makes out the figure in a pool of blood in the photo, and also Tom’s startled jerk against his chair.

Gallant sputters for a moment before he manages to control himself. “What have you done?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder, allowing Tom to gaze at the photo for a moment longer before tucking her phone back away again. “I’m following the rules. I can’t hurt you, but I can hurt many other people. I have quite a long list, if you’re interested. Anyways, my question still stands. Why were you trespassing on S.H.I.E.L.D. property on the twelfth?”

Tom swallows hard. “It was business.”

Y/N presses a finger to her temple. “Obviously. You need to be more specific.”

Gallant looks around, as if hoping for some sign of help. Nothing comes, and he falls silent again.

Y/N shrugs. “Fine. How about Randall Benjamin? He's been your best friend ever since the second grade. Randall is the only one you trust, right?”

Tom’s breathing stiffens. “You wouldn’t. He's innocent.”

Y/N stares at him. “Ah, but I am not.”

She sends another text, and holds up another photo. This time, Tom can’t stop the choking sob that freezes somewhere in his chest.

Y/N smiles at him helpfully. “The next on the list is Leon Brennan. If you want to see him again, I’d suggest that you get talking.”

Tom grimaces, then starts speaking in a rushed whisper. “I needed to go because we heard a tip. We know you have alien tech, we know you have money. We have a deal with the Cervones, and they say they’ll get our men out of prison if we help them find a couple things.”

Y/N nods solemnly. “How did the Cervones know about the S.H.I.E.L.D. access codes?”

Gallant wavers, but lapses into conversation again when Y/N holds up her phone. “They have a mole on the inside.”

He falls silent. Y/N taps the side of her phone against the table. “I need names, Tom. You do want Leon to survive this little talk, don’t you?”

Tom shudders, but stays quiet. Y/N allows him a moment longer to change his mind, then holds up a new photo of a different man, dead on the ground. Tom’s eyes widen in horror. 

“Val! Val Jensen! That’s their mole. I don’t know anything else, I swear. Stay away from my friends.”

Y/N furrows her brow. “Why should I? How do I know you’re not holding anything back?”

Tom is visibly sweating now. “I have nothing else, I promise. I’m just the youngest kid, you know that. I’m not supposed to do anything except stay alive in case the rest of my brothers die out before they can take over. They don’t tell me anything if they don’t have to, really. Please don’t kill anyone else.”

Loki can sense that this is true. Tom Gallant is the least threatening of all the mobsters in this city; he’s been forced into it by familial duty, but he’s kept on the outskirts of the action enough that he doesn’t have to act with the same caution and heartless rage that permeates the rest of his gang. No wonder Y/N could break him so quickly, although Loki does have to admit that she has considerable skills.

Y/N stands slowly. “In that case, Tom, I think we’re done here.”

He looks pleadingly up at her as she goes. “Wait, you can’t just leave me here! You know what happens to chatterboxes.”

Y/N glances back at him, smiling. “They get killed, don’t they? I wish you the best in staying alive.”

With that, she sweeps from the room. The door opens across the hall, and Y/N walks over to them. She takes in the horrified looks on their faces.

“What, disappointed you didn’t think of that earlier?”

Steve seems ready to kill her himself. “Those were innocent people that your friends murdered. That was wrong.”

Y/N sighs. “They’re not actually dead, Rogers. Those are actors. I had the photos staged before.”

Loki frowns. “Wouldn’t Tom be able to tell that they were fakes?”

Y/N smiles again, and Loki can’t decide whether he thinks it’s beautiful or frightening. Then again, why can’t it be both?

“Fear can turn even the most hardened criminals into believers, Odinson. All you need is to figure out what they can’t lose, and take it away.”

She walks away, leaving the Avengers awestruck. Loki, however, is still fascinated, and follows her out.

“Is that why you took this job?” He asks, curious. “Not just the fact that he was a rival gang member, but because you wanted to figure out how to make a Gallant crack?”

Y/N nods. “Something like that. I will admit, the no torture restriction troubled me at first, but it wasn’t actually that important.”

Loki raises a brow. “Not that important? Sweetheart, pain can make cowards out of the best of us.”

She looks back at him as they walk. “Even you?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had enough experience with torture that it doesn’t work on me.”

They’re alone in a S.H.I.E.L.D. meeting room, so nobody except Loki notices when Y/N whips a revolver out of nowhere, firing it right beside his head. He doesn’t flinch, even when the bullet streaks past him, scratching his cheek from how close it came.

Y/N extends a hand, and it comes back tinted with his blood. The blood of gods, that is, so easily drawn by a stunt. He loves it.

She studies the blood, then turns back to him. “Pain has its limits. Fear, however, does not.”

Loki wants to laugh. “Are you free of fear as well, then?”

Without warning, Y/N turns the gun back on her own forehead, spinning the cylinder so the one remaining bullet is randomized in the chambers. Just as she pulls the trigger, Loki recognizes the game as Russian Roulette. He hasn’t had the chance to engage with a player such as her before.

“None of us are, but we try to hide it, don’t we?”

Loki takes the gun, pointing it at his own head and pulling the trigger. “You hide it quite well, I must admit. I consider myself impressed.”

Y/N grabs the gun from his hand, not even hesitating. She gets a blank as well, but the odds are slimmer and slimmer each time they trade roles.

Loki isn’t about to back down, though, not now. He carefully removes the gun from amongst her fingers, pointing it at his head. Nothing happens, though, so he hands it back to Y/N. It’s suicide to take it now, they’ve gone enough times. Y/N still pulls the trigger, though, holding Loki back when he tries to take it away from her head.

Loki stares at her, confused. “How did you do that? Why did you stay in it so long?”

She grins, flippant as always. “There was always one bullet. I already fired it at you, remember?”

Loki looks at her for a moment longer, then breaks out into a smile mad enough to rival hers. “I think I like you.”

She laughs. “That’s funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

There’s a murmuring in the halls, the sound of footsteps starting to find them. Y/N pulls him close for just a second longer so she can whisper something in his ear.

“I have a manor in Italy. I wouldn’t mind if you joined me there every once in a while.”

She smiles at him one last time, then leaves the room, disappearing in a cloud of guards that seem to have arrived out of nowhere. Loki watches her go, wondering just what he’s gotten himself into. For once, he isn’t worried about where this will lead, only excited for what is to come.

marvel tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv-blog, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sherlokid7, @amortensie

[spybrarian]

[hi I got inspired]

“Sorry!” A soft, deep voice sings out through the door following Jade’s clear, precise knock. “Nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted.”

Jade rolls her eyes in a particularly unprofessional manner, but she’s alone in the long, fluorescent corridor. She doesn’t allow herself much give, at work, but she needs this brief moment of self-expression today. Jade understands it is not her place to question why she’s been reassigned to this office in the basement, it is only her place to do the very best job she can possibly do, but she is allowed to roll her eyes when nobody's looking.

Her face is as neat and unruffled as her hair and her perfectly pressed suit by the time she pushes open the door. The schooled expression lasts for all of a heartbeat. 

Kit Tanthalos looks up from behind her piles of paperwork, and stares straight at Jade. She’s changed a lot since the time they shared at the Academy. Everyone back then had their share of intensity - Jade knows she has maintained her own, polished it to something with clear, smooth edges - but Jade remembers Kit as a firewhip of a young woman, her ferocity and focus so sharp it was off putting. Her academic reputation was stellar, her social reputation abysmal, and from what Jade has heard of Kit these days, little has changed in either regard.

The agent before her now has a certainty and a purpose behind those blue eyes, just as focused and just as unnerving as Jade remembers, but there’s a confidence now, a solidity. This is Kit’s space that Jade is stepping into, and as unorthodox - as messy - as it looks, it seems to fit Kit like an extension of her skin. As she stands up from behind her desk, she moves with both ease and confidence.

“Doctor Jade Claymore,” Kit says, and there’s something about the sound of her name that makes Jade feel, well... researched. “Barely two years working for the Bureau and you’ve already ticked off someone badly enough to be stuck down here with me. What did you do?”

Jade steps into the office and holds out her hand. “It isn’t like that at all. I’m looking forward to working with you, Agent Tanthalos.”

Kit’s grin is as lopsided as the pile of manila folders behind her, and as she moves closer she drags her hand through hair that looks so soft, so silky, and just the wrong side of regulation. 

It’s rakish. Agents aren’t supposed to be rakish. 

"Alright then," Kit grasps Jade’s hand in hers; it’s a warm grip, and very strong. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

putting this out there just so I remember to draw it but I desperately need an X-Files AU with Kit as Mulder and Jade as Scully