#the trash man in his demi god form

[soulful-soda]

Spamton… soam neo.. him

Did you know I like that guy

[littlefreya]

Good Girl

gif credit amancanfly

Synopsis: Henry is at the gym testing the new Glute Drive while his longing wife drops by to visit and decides to play a little wicked game of teasing. 

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings: Explicit, this is basically ALL smut. Slight SubMale / DomFem then a lot of DomMale / SubFem, dry humping, cock teasing, dangerous driving, fingering, dirty talk, daddy kink, slight size kink (I am all the kinks today), unprotected sex and bodily fluids!

A/N: Okay so this fic was born out of the UNHOLY union between this thread and the video of Henry going “good boy” at Kal. Many thanks to my darling @agniavateira​ for helping me proofread this!

Title: Good Girl

There he is, my bear of a man. His sculpted, wide body plastered to some medieval-looking torture device. Strong, large arms hang onto the handles, muscles flexing. Slick with sweet sweat, he thrusts his hips up and down while grunting with effort.

Who the hell came up with this air-fucking machine?

I walk through the deserted mirrored room, my black painted nails scratching the glass as I draw closer toward Henry. Gyms tend to be freezing, and I’m not properly dressed for a workout session with my mini plaid skirt and a dark grey t-shirt. But his arduous gasps fill the chilled space enough to make things a little warmer. 

“What are you doing here, little one?” Henry finally asks, pausing his thrusts for a moment as he spots my cattish moves toward him.

I observe silently as I inch closer. he has his waist strapped to a bench, heavy weights of 80kg are on each side of his body while he lifts upward and presses his behind back down. A sheer layer of sweat covers him entirely, his skin glistening in the fluorescent’s light. His favourite blue top is soaked.

“I came home from the studio and my hubby wasn’t there.” I pout, standing right at the edge of the bench where his feet are pressed for support.

He pouts back at me, genuine care on his face. My darling bear might have the endurance of a large predator, but his heart is all strawberry marshmallow when it comes to his lady. He hates to spend time apart. Whenever our schedules collide it’s all about Face-timing and sending nudes. 

Honestly? I care less than he does about this shit ever getting leaked. I even keep some steamy under-the-cover selfies so I’ll have something to work with when either of us is away.

But what I hate the most, is having him here yet he’s absent. The Pre-production shenanigans have him preparing for his next role, which usually means working himself at the gym to the point of collapsing, just so he could look like some demi-god. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind him having a little body fat. That’s why I bake him pizza every weekend. What his gym coach doesn’t know, can’t hurt him.  

“I’ll be done in 10 minutes, darling.” he answers and continues to slowly push down and up again, releasing a pained grunt and clenching his teeth. “Just…  two… more… sets.”

“I don’t want to wait.” I alert him, circling the machine carefully to not get in his way. I appreciate the hard work and stamina, but I am quite tired of having the downside of the deal. Every day for the last 2 weeks I received an exhausted Cavill with aching, strained muscles. The most action I got was massaging his muscles in the bathtub which might sound romantic if not for him snoring 3 minutes in.   

“Ten minutes,” he mentions again. He’s out of breath as he ascends and then lowers once more, the weights pressuring his body down while the bands create a resistance. 

No way in hell someone came up with this device and didn’t think this is a sex thing. I see my bear thrusting his hips upward like this and only one thing goes through my mind. 

Oh, how I need to be on top of this mountain of a man.

I cannot help myself, nor can I hide the malicious grin forming on my mouth. I lift my leg carefully, hovering it in the air above him. I cage him between my straddled legs whilst giving him my best dominatrix glare. Henry raises his eyes to meet mine, looking dumbfounded. 

“What are you doing, darling? You’ll hurt yourself.”

Oh, sweet summer child. 

I sway my hips in a slow dance, with the thrust of his body and his heavy breaths as the music I’m dancing to. The arousal in his eyes is evident within seconds. His lips part away slowly, his beautiful blue eyes begin to cloud, and his adam’s apple slides upward in his throat as he swallows.

“At home.”

“Here.” I ignore his request lowering myself slowly and carefully to squat over his groin. He’s not hard, yet.

Henry releases a deep loud grunt. Usually, I am weightless for him, but right now I’m adding to already 160kg of weights. Well, he is the type of guy who likes to push his limits and I am the type of girl who likes to test boundaries. 

“Don’t,” Henry protests, another grunt escaping his lips. I stretch myself, my ass pressing back, my groin rubbing against the tender muscle that begins hardening between my legs. I can feel the rush of blood, making him throb and grow vast between my legs.

“Don’t do what?” I press my teeth against the lushness of my lower lip viciously, beginning to grind against the hardness in slow circular motions. “Don’t you have two more sets?”

He clenches his teeth, his hands tightening around the handles so harshly his knuckles whiten. With great effort he lifts up, succumbing to my wickedness. His erected cock is concealed underneath his clothes, yet I press and dance onto it, making blissful moans as the friction has me singing that sweet familiar tune.

When he pulls down I dive with him, feeling the exhale of his body and the dancing twitch of muscles. I greatly anticipate the next push upward, my hands reaching to squeeze my breasts together. My panties are now soaked with moisture as I press and rub, bringing myself closer.

When he lifts again, his thrust is a wee bit faster. He’s either getting used to my weight on his groin, or the adrenaline of the beast that I’ve been teasing allows him to push higher. He angles his hips into mine, serving my need, and gives me the friction I demand. His eyes meet mine and pure darkness devours me within them. 

I am in so much fucking trouble, but it’s so worth it. 

“Oh Henry, you’re making me so wet.” 

I moan his name, rubbing myself on his cock at a demanding speed while he lifts up and down. My clit tingles, swollen against his enormous bulge as that familiar wave begins to spread. He’s so hard, so painfully swollen, and so incapable of getting any release while I ride him into a powerful orgasm.

I clutch his thighs, desperate gasps spiralling out my mouth as the pleasure continues to hit my core. My nails dig deep into the hardened flesh but I can’t be bothered.

“Oh god…” I throw my head backwards, trying to adjust my breath while my legs are shaking around his wide waist. There’s still a throbbing hardness against my burning core, the angry drumming of blood pulsating against my opening. 

I’m tempted to take my phone and capture his looks in my camera. But I’m in too much trouble as it is. Henry is drenched in sweat, upset in ways I’ve never seen in my life. He's done with his workout for today,  no doubt about that.

“Are you done?” he asks me with a frown. 

I lick my lips and lift myself up, knees nearly giving up as my legs are still numb from the intensity of pleasure. I let out a provoking giggle, putting my finger between my teeth, knowing he likes that gesture. This is my favourite battle, control. He enjoys superiority with his physical power, but every now and then I sweep the rug beneath his feet. And though he loves it when I am his good girl, sprawling and letting him take what he wants, when I am bad, the beast is willing to split my ass in half.

Guess I won this round. 

Henry unbuckles the harness from his waist as I step back. He takes the towel from the bench and wipes his face. My eyes fixate on the still hard swelling in his nether area. I could offer to take care of it for him, but I am not feeling this generous right now. Better keep his stamina for home, so I can actually get me a proper shag in a nice, clean bed with a nice, clean husband that doesn’t smell like an entire rugby team.

“Go wait in the reception.” he demands, his tone anything but sweet right now. 

“Don’t take too long.” I demand in return as I turn around, flipping back my hair and letting it slide down my ass. I can hear his frustrated groan behind me, just before I leave the room. It makes me lose myself in a burst of chuckles. 

~*~

Henry meets me downstairs, a serious expression on his face. His gaze doesn’t meet mine, letting me know that unlike myself, he is vastly unamused. He takes my wrist in his big hand and leads me outside while smiling to bid bored receptionist goodbye. 

I am forced to follow his large strides. Being a tall man, every step of his is equal to three small ones of mine. Even though it seems like his “problem” subsided, he’s not exactly interested in waiting.

He’d always be tender in his behaviour towards me, a respectful gentleman who knows how to treat women. Sure, he can rearrange a guy’s skull, but he never raised his voice at me. He’d take a walk outside the house and then return to so we can have a talk like adults. 

But this is not a fight. This is but our favourite little war. Ongoing from the day we met.

I notice that we are not going to the car. Instead, he leads me to a narrow, dark space between two buildings. I can smell the damp sidewalk, the scent of earlier rain filling my nose. This spot is anything but romantic or erotic, with street cats screeching at the back and the sounds of trash cans being hit as they bounce on top of the lids.

Finally, he towers above me. His hand lets go of mine and hold it open in front of me with a demanding look in his eyes.

“Take off your panties.” 

I let out a bemused laugh, dry and short as I am uncertain of his odd demand. But he holds out his hand at the stern request, motioning for me to do as I’m told. 

“Here?!” I ask, looking around to see if there is anyone who might be a voyeur on our little engagement. The last thing I need is our agents scolding us again for photos of us being inappropriate in public places. Gretchen swears we make these mess on purpose. We kinda do, because we can’t keep away from one another.

“You want another one of your fancy pairs turned into rubbish?” he threatens.

I comply, breathing out like a brat and leaning down to take off my underwear for him. I place it in his hand and move back against the wall, anticipating his next move. I guess “Cavill and wife caught doing cardio after the gym!” could be a funny headline, better than the one at the hotel at the Academy Awards.

Henry folds the small material in his hand, holding it in his fist as if it’s something he can actually squeeze, before shoving it into his pocket. He grabs something else in exchange. I hear the chink of his car keys, dangling between his fingers as he offers them to me.

“You drive.”

There are no explanations, nor can I make anything of his behaviour. My man is willed with the control of his emotions. To outburst is to be weak, I am keen on that, my own terrible flaw. It only pisses me off more to see him keeping himself so relaxed while I am always the one who sees fire. 

I follow his order, walking after him silently as he leads me to where he parked the car. Having no underwear beneath my short skirt is anything but convenient right now, especially when I have to enter the vehicle and crouch down. 

I try fixing my skirt to cover myself, feeling the leather of the seat beneath my ass and other regions while Henry begins messing with the music player. I can see the small smirk at the corner of his lip, it’s evident that he’s having himself a good time knowing how uncomfortable I am at this very moment.

I roll my eyes at him and try closing my knees together as much as I can while stepping my foot on the gas.

He puts on Queens of the Stone Age and takes the passenger seat back, remembering he needs more legroom than I usually require. His head turns to face me, his lips sucked into his mouth in a cunning gesture.

“Had yourself a good time?” 

His hand reaches toward my knee, grazing at the bone with featherlike movements. It tickles, I am forced to move my knee from him involuntarily, but he keeps it in place, resting his entire large hand on my kneecap.

“I’m driving…” I warn him, keeping my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road.  

I can tell he is smirking wickedly, his eyes staring at the road ahead of us carefully and then back at me. His fingers make their way up my thigh, snakelike on my bare skin. His palm is large and warm, pressing onto my inner thigh while his thumb draws invisible circles on my skin.

“Henry…” I warn again, feeling cool air blowing against my lips as he forces my legs to part wider for him. “You’ll get us killed!”

“Then focus on the road.” he commands, licking his lips. His fingers meet my wetness in a touch so tender it’s almost a phantasm, yet still there, undoubtedly making me swallow a sigh and squirm slightly in my seat. It’s as if he is testing the water first, a slight brush before plunging in and damn if he doesn’t push into me with his fingers, pressing three of his large digits to massage my heat. 

“Fuck!” 

I am fighting to keep my eyes open, my hands clutching at the steering wheel while my left foot kicks at the floor. 

“Maybe we should stop.” I suggest, nearly pleading. 

“Keep driving, we’re almost home.” he answers, sounding relaxed. The amused grin has vanished from his face, replaced with the severeness of pride and triumph.

He strokes my cunt between his fingers in a tight grip, his fingers running up and down, playing with my wetness, smearing it across his hand before plunging two of his knuckles inside me as we stop at a red light. I am very much aware that other drivers might see us, so does he, but he seems to care very little if anyone spots him pleasing his wife. 

“Aww…” he mocks me, hearing the helpless cry that pushes out of my throat. “You shouldn’t have been such a bad little girl.” he teases some more, his fingers now plunging in and out with excitement. I allow myself to grind at the surface of his palm to achieve more friction at the base of my clit so maybe we can finish this quickly before the light is green.

But he’s the one in charge of my satisfaction now. He holds his hand further, so I will have none of it and keeps the stimulation only at the rim of my cunt, his fingers circling my entrance. 

“Too bad you had to tease me like that.” he murmurs in his low voice, his fingers slowly withdrawing and only his thumb grants my clit with a small tender brush.

 “Now you’ll have to wait, and be a good girl for daddy.”     

I let out another cry, arching toward the wheel and biting on my lips. It's not out of pleasure, but out of torturous frustration as he withdraws completely. I give him a quick, infuriated stare, seeing how he sucks his fingers victoriously, enjoying every single drop of his sweet win.

Feeling slick between my thighs, I press slightly harder on the gas pedal, trying to get us home faster. Henry pumps the volume of the music player higher.

Watch you come from above

I'm so needy for love, I'm desperate,

Greedy in slavery I sneak around from behind I got a one track mind We got a skin on skin thing baby I want to lick you too much I hear you comin ooh aaaah baby 

~*~

The moment we enter the house I lock the door and try to make my move but he has his hand on my throat in less than a second, squeezing not too tight, but tight enough to make a point. His blue eyes scan my face, his soft tongue slithering across the freckle of his lower lip with arousal. 

“Get on your knees, little one. You’re not off the hook yet.” 

I gasp at his fierceness, weak against his charisma and beauty. I stroke his face, still sticky with sweat from earlier, my fingers are gently smoothing against the stubbles on his high cheekbones and at the dimple of his chin. 

“Please, daddy, just fuck me already,” I bargain. 

“I’m wet and ready for you.”

“On your knees.” he repeats himself, his lips twitching to a small grin as he sees my defeat. His hand slightly releases my neck, his fingers pet my chin and jaw and finally entangle in my hair as I fall to my knees slowly, levelling myself at the height of his groin. His hand strokes my head lovingly, pressing my chin against his growing arousal as I look up to him with fake innocence.  

“Are you gonna be good now?” he asks, his fingers twirling around my long hair lovingly. 

“Yes, daddy.” I nod, waiting to have his cock in me, in any part of me. I want to touch myself so badly, my pussy throbs with desperate eagerness to be stuffed by his huge cock. . 

“I want to see you crawl on fours and wait for me in the living room, babygirl.” he growls at me while discarding his blue top on the wooden floor, exposing his thick hairy chest. 

“I want to look at your cunt as you move for me before I’ll destroy it. You’ve been such a nasty girl today.” 

I shiver at his words, a shrill of air kicks out of my lungs at once. My toughness is down to non-existing. I let him have it, I let him have it all. I crawl on my knees and palms like a cat in heat, my ass exposed for him. My cunt drips with primal desire to be conquered by this menacing alpha. I stop for a moment and then look behind me. I see him kicking off his shoes, his sweats slipping down his thick thighs along with his briefs before he continues to follow me, holding his erection in his hand, massaging the base of his cock while looking at me to open wide for him.

I reach the furry white IKEA carpet in our living room and wait for him, still on all fours. His heavy footsteps make the wood creak beneath his weight which alerts me that he’s close. The heat of his body is near. I feel the aura of his body as he falls down to his knees carefully behind me. 

His hands smooth against the curve of my ass, appreciating my shape to the point of worshipping my flesh. He takes the time to study again what he knows better than I do, trailing up to lift my skirt until it’s hiked around my belly. He then pushes my shirt, prompting me to take it off. Not an easy task to perform on all four limbs.

For one lingering moment, his hands roam across my body, massaging my muscles, pinching my nipples between his fingers. I moan beneath his large hands as he coaxes me into being his little plaything, succumbing to his will. Possessive fingers grip my shoulder and in a sudden movement, I’m pressed with my back down while Henry pushes my legs apart with his knees. 

“I just love to look at your face when I fuck you, babygirl.” he explains, his hands pulling my legs violently against his hips to position me as he desires. That way, we can both enjoy the show of his cock slipping in and out of my slit.

I squirm beneath him, my hands reaching for his chest to stroke at the thick dark hair and hardened pecs. “Please, fuck me.” I beg to the point of whining as I look at his sturdy cock, admiring every vein and ridge that decorates his impressive size. Henry takes himself and begins to tease my entrance, making teasing groaning voices while I plea so weakly. 

But that’s only to prepare me for his brutal invasion. He lets out a loud husky shout as he pushes in, penetrating me with such vulgarness, it takes the air out of my lungs. I am split in half, feeling how my body stretches immediately to bind itself to him. 

My narrow slit tries to remain resilient while Henry keeps himself nested between my lush folds, a groan of pure pleasure vibrates through his glorious chest before he takes my jaw in his great hand and makes me look at him to see the sin in his eyes.

“Good girl…”  he calls out in his deep low voice, pulling himself out slowly and then slamming back inside me in with a slippery wet slap. I gasp, my entire body shuddering in his veiny arms. 

“Good girl.” He speaks again, letting the words roll and linger on his tongue.

His rhythm is somewhere between torturous to divine. When he pulls away he does it ever so slowly, watching with perverse fascination his own cock as it slides out my narrow entrance just before he slams back in. Henry promised that he will destroy me; he never breaks a promise. I already feel how my muscles are thrown into a paradox, trying to resist him yet have him deeper and deeper with each one of his amazing thrusts.  

“Look at how you take me,” he calls in a guttural voice, urging me to look at our union. “You have such a tight succulent cunt, baby.” 

It feels almost too sinful to stare, my entire existence shivers at the sight. His big beautiful cock enters me, slick with my juices as he increases the pace. I’m petite but with him inside I’m forced to expand, my body stealing his shape, embracing him with devotion, wanting him to be like this forever.

His wide thighs are placed right beneath my legs, his right hand silks its way down my hip and grips me roughly as he pounds me in increasing speed. With one hand still on my jaw, he presses his fingers to my mouth where I suck and bite at him. He always wants me to look at him, loves it when I’m hopeless beneath him when my mouth cries for him while he stuffs me with his cock, over and over again. 

I squirm to meet his pelvis. He fucks me so raw that no actual words come out of my mouth but the mewls of a small, helpless animal instead. Being hunted for sport rather than eating. I grind my clit against his pubic bone to elicit more delightful friction, getting me closer and closer. But I’m stealing control and he’ll have none of that right now. 

He shoves us down, pinning my hands against each side of my head while his groin is holding me down to the surface in complete captivity. I am hurting for a mere moment as he shoves too forcefully. His apology is a deep passionate kiss which he is forced to break as we both gasp for air with every merciless push of his loins into mine. 

“Fuck babygirl!” He leans his forehead against mine, a feral gaze in his eyes. I lock my legs around his waist, my body losing every grip it ever had on control as the warmth begins to throb at the base of my cunt, spreading from my womb towards every nerve until I feel nothing but love flowing through my body.

I pant in awe, my voice adding to his deep growls and husky gasps which only become louder as his orgasm looms closer with the tightness of my cunt around his swelling cock. It sucks him harder, demanding his release, milking him of his offering until he shudders through me and yells out my name. 

The gush of warmth that spills inside me is my second favorite thing in the world. I moan with sweet delight as his cream coats me inside.

“I love you so much.” he whispers, holding me in his protective embrace as if to apologize for fucking me so hard.

I’d imagine that after such a long time together he’d already figure it out that I’m the one provoking it.

“What’s the name of that device again?.. the one I was…”

“Glute drive.”

“Glute drive, yeah, we’ll do that again soon…” I suggest, nibbling at his ear playfully while he remains on top of me.

~*~

Song lyrics are by Queens of the Stone Age - Skin on Skin

[wordynerdygurl]

Echoes of You

Author’s Note:  This is from a request sent in to my 500 Followers Challenge.  I’ve included it below... I did have fun with it!  As always, please feel free to re-blog, share, and comment!  Also, I’m accepting tag list requests and story requests!  *The GIF is perfect and I want to thank the original creator/ poster!* Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Summary/ Request: “Loki is badly hurt on a mission and the reader has to make some sort of deal with a dark magical entity to save him. The price she has to pay is that everyone she knows is going to forget she ever existed. She takes the deal and tries to build a new life away from the avengers, however she and Loki keep running into each other and he's very drawn to her.  After a lot of pestering, she agrees to go on a date with him on the condition that he is going to leave her alone after that. Their date goes great and they're almost about to have sex, but she stops him because she thinks he would've never wanted her if he actually had his memories. Obviously he knows though, they both confess their feelings and it ends on passionate, rough smut. Hope that's not too much and you have fun with it :)” Warnings:  Battle scenes of the MCU variety, talk of blood/ death, angst and SMUT

"LOKI!"  

Time freezes in that screamed second.  

You feel yourself running, feet sliding in the gritty sand beneath your boots, desperate.  He is impossibly far away but you can make it.  You have to.

Skidding into the gravel on your knees, you shout his name as you watch him crumple.  He's gone pale, limp, boneless in your arms.  There's blood, lots of it, too much to stop on your own.  It flows freely, drenching you down to your skin, warm and sticky.  There’s no way to stem the flood.  

In your dreams you always catch him in time.  Keeping him off the cold ground, hugging his lean body to yours, ignoring the others as they fight around you.  His twinkling eyes flutter but they stay open, struggling to focus on you.  You watch his soft lips part, they form words, sounds that never reach you in the vacuum of your panic.  

"Hush… it's ok… I'm here.  I got you."  Gurgling platitudes gush from you but there's no way to know if he hears them. A smile, young and sweet spreads across his unbearably handsome face.  Using his last measure of strength, Loki strokes your cheek as you press your hot lips to his too cool skin.  

You wake up wailing, the pillow beneath you wet.  Honestly, it's never dry, not anymore.  Because every night you try to save Loki.  Every night he speaks soundlessly to you.  And every morning you wake up to reality.

Dawn's dark hides you and your pain.  You let the loss of Loki roll over you.  Pulling you under in a rip tide of shuddering sobs, drowning you with memories of what you had before and what you have now.  Swallowing that hard knot of agony, bitter and jagged, your crying steadied then dried out after a few minutes.

This new existence, this new life, was lonely.  Awake now, well before the sun, you pushed out of bed and geared up for a run without much enthusiasm.  When you couldn't ease your mind you took it out on your body.  

Stepping onto the dim sidewalk you stretched just a little.  You wanted to punish your subconscious, your wayward brain, not tear a hamstring.  Setting off with a sigh, your feet slapping the pavement in an even staccato, you tried to turn your mind off.  

On the quiet streets of your new city, one you were struggling to make feel like home, you wanted to outrun the past.  Eager to put distance between you and all that had come before, forcing your legs to go further, faster, you ran by yourself in the shadows.  There was no one to disturb you, not at this ungodly hour.  Not that anyone would.  You used to be a SHIELD agent, one who looked mad at the world, which you were.  So you ran on, giving no thought to direction or neighborhood, welcoming any and all risk if it meant peace of mind. 

Most days the sweat and strain were enough to calm your demons.  By running your body down, your mind would let go too.  Not today.  Today, your dream, like a well directed film, played on a loop in your head.  Each scene was vivid, real, raw.  And not true.

---

"You come here freely?"

Hitching your chin defiantly, "Yes."

The ethereal being before you seemed to float on a crimson cloud, too beautiful to be benevolent, the aura around her dusky skin crackling violet.  Part sorceress, part dark queen, she was your last hope.  A final step you might take to keep Loki alive.

Slinking snake like, she sidled to your side, "I know what brings you here, mortal.  I know what you want."

"Then you know I need help.  Your help."  You weren't begging.  At least not yet, anyway.  But the smell of desperation curled around you, black and rotten, regardless.

"You are not the one in need.  Odin's adopted boy… the prince.  He is dying.  Is it not so?"

Her voice was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  Strong, soft and sweet, the witch's words echoed in the close quarters of her stony temple.  Swirling around you in the rouge red ribbons of her eternal energy, she did not wait for your reply.  "What is it to you, child?  The death of a Jotun foundling can mean but little to a human.  And yet, you come to me willingly.  Why?"

Hot tears formed, threatening to splash, scalding your cheeks.  Your breath left your body as a gutted groan tore the words from your deepest soul, "I love him."

"Love.  Such a human emotion."  You felt her then, the physicality of her form, as she brushed an errant tear from your face.  The enchantress stilled, her beautiful dark skinned face emerging in front of you, scrutinizing your expression, reading your pain.

Questioning you quietly, "You say that you love the youngest of Odin's sons."

"I do."

"The magic you ask for, it carries a hefty price."

Hope at the thought of her assistance made you boisterous.   "Anything!  I will pay any price.  Twice over, if it keeps Loki alive."

Glowing plum colored, her gaze took you in, measuring you and your resolve.  "Your sacrifice will be great, make no mistake.  It will test the love you claim to feel for this demi-god."

What did you care of sacrifices if it kept Loki alive?  Was there a price too high for the life of your love?  Anger flashed through you, frustrated and flustered, "I heard you the first time.  Will you aid me or not?"

"So cross, so eager."  Silver laughter filled the cavernous space but was short lived.  "You do not know the full cost of your desires and yet... you are in a rush to see them come to fruition.  Child, I can do what you ask. I will do it, if you agree.  In return... no one will remember you.  Only this will purchase Loki's life."

"What?"

The Sorceress took your hand, testing its weight, turning your palm up.  "You heard me.  If this is truly what you want… to keep Loki alive, then your life… your history will be erased."

Gulping hard, understanding hitting you like a freight train, "My life for his?  Is that it?"

Violet eyes bore into yours, purple orbs that fill your vision, unblinking.  "No… you will not die, little mortal.  It is far worse than that.  You will live, but you will live in isolation.  You will be forgotten by Loki… by your family… by your friends.  You will meet them as strangers.  They will carry on without you."

"But Loki will live?"  He had to, you had come too far to fail your God now.

"Yes.  Will you be able to?"

"Me?  I don't understand what you're asking me."

"Will you be able to have a life without the man you say you love?"

Could you?  There had been no one like Loki in your life before.  Smart and strong, sarcastic and cutting, tender and kind.  Loki was all the things you needed in a partner and he made you better at the same time.  Taming you, just a little, being loved by Loki had softened some of your rough edges.  Would it be easy to know he was walking around, enjoying life, but not be a part of it?  No.  But how else could you honor the man who had given you so much?  

With a straining voice, "Loving him, having been loved by him, will have to be enough to satisfy my soul.  There is no other option for me."

Nodding solemnly, content at your knowledge of the bargain, the crimson conjurer drew a symbol on the pad of your hand.  Watching her with widening eyes, she pulled a gossamer green thread from the center of your palm.  A string of memories erasing you in order to allow Loki to survive.  

"It is longer than I would've thought, deeper too."  And you knew what she meant instinctively because your heart pinched as her hands gathered more and more of your time with Loki to her.  Dragging him out of your life with a sharp throb.  When it was over the witch had a skein of your history, emerald green and glossy, which she evaporated into a wisp of smoke.  

You had a small six pointed star shaped scar in the center of your hand.  It was your sole token of the life you and Loki had shared.  That and the memories that you alone carried.

"It is done."  There was finality in her words, a dismissive quality, and for the first time in her presence you were frightened.  Not of her, but of the new world you were facing.

Solemnly, you bowed your head, "Thank you." 

"We shall see, human.  We shall see."

---

By the time you return home, soaked with sweat, you're tired but feeling more like yourself.  It's a relief to feel the night's pain fade enough for you to shower and dress for work.  It's not a career.  But it is just enough to almost pay rent and buy food.

Working with people, although frustrating at times, really does keep the white light of your emptiness away.  Besides, the store offered a discount on clothes, which helped, and there was always something physical to be done.  Lifting boxes, moving racks, hauling trash.  Anything to keep you thoughtlessly busy.  Like you did everyday, you threw yourself into the job, mindlessly.  It was a life raft of sorts, a buoy keeping you afloat, a thing to cling to while trying not to let the weight of your past drag you down.

Listening to the consumer safe playlist, getting into a rhythm, you bobbed your head as your folded t-shirts.  Your co-workers hated restocking, rehanging, straightening the racks.  So, naturally that's what you were doing, lost in your own little world.

"I really don't see why we have to be here, brother."  Something about that voice made you pause.  Haughty and high handed, you could swear that it was…

"Jane has a birthday, brother.  I will not forget it."

"Then, for the love of Odin, bring her some lovely Asgardian silks.  Jewelry in gold or silver.  Or better yet, take her home, seduce her soundly.  Do anything but buy that hideous sweater."

"It's not hideous.  You know nothing of Midgardian fashion."

"Me?  I know nothing?  Dear brother, this suit is Armani.  That is designer.  That means something."

"It means you spent way too much coin, Loki."

Turning quickly you moved closer to the men, still listening, still in disbelief.  Peeking at the mismatched pair through a clothing rack, pushing two furry sweaters apart, your heart was racing.  Stunned, you recognized the strong back of the tall, broad blonde.  When he moved toward another display of shits your jaw fell open.  Loki was here!  Not five feet away!  

"Bah!  I don't see her size."  Thor sighed in frustration, the offending rack of clothes wobbling with the force of his displeasure.  

Loki, picking lint from his sleeve, "Find a clerk… ask for the awful thing in Jane's size so we can get out of this place."  Lifting his piercing blue eyes, he spied you, trying to slip away unnoticed, "You!  Hello?  Yes… can you help us?"

It takes you a second to register that Loki, your Loki, is addressing you.  Stiffly, you straighten up, your eyes rising to his inquisitive azure ones.  They snap with a vitality that was missing when you saw him last.

A cloud passes over his gaze.  Shadows of recognition, maybe?  Or is that just what you want to see?

"Um… sure.  What… uh, what do you need, sir?"  You sound like a robot.  Cringing at the put on voice you're using, awkward and uncomfortable, you smile at Thor.

Loki steps closer, brushing past his brother, not quite in your space but close enough for you to smell his skin.  A familiar combination of leather and vanilla, sugar and spice, reaches out to you.  Your breath hitches at the nearness of him.  Memories on the tip of your tongue.

He's holding a fuzzy sweater, one the color of spicy mustard, about to hand it to you when his head tilts.  "Do… do I know you?"

Heat climbs your face.  Yes.  Yes, Loki.  You know me.  You know me in a way no one else could ever know me.  You know the sound of my sobs and the sigh of my satisfaction.  Why I love the smell of the snow and hate lima beans.  You know me.

And I know you.  I know the strength of your character.   The depth of your love.  Which thoughts haunt you, songs your mother sang over your crib, poems written for no one else to read.  Oh yes, I know you.

But what you say is, "Me?  No… nope.  No.  We've… I mean, no.  You don't know me."  Kicking yourself mentally, the verbal diarrhea couldn't be stopped, and now Loki's surveying you even more closely.

"Are you certain?  It's just… I could swear that I know you."  For the first time since meeting Loki you hear uncertainty in his voice.  It's almost enough to weaken your resolve, tell him all of it, even if it's in the middle of The Loft.

"Have… have you been in the shop before?  I uh, I work a lot."  Looking anywhere but at the handsome man from your nightmares, you settle on the offending sweater, trying to seem like an eager employee not a stuttering mess.

"No."  His smile widened, the natural flirt in him coming out to play, "We have never set foot in this place."

Your thoughts jumbled.  Unprepared for facing Loki, unsure of how to handle seeing him again, you focused on the top Thor wanted to give Jane.  "Oh… well, maybe I just look like someone you used to know?  Um… what size did you say?"

Thor, watching the interaction between you and Loki, was just happy to get back into the conversation.  "Yes.  Size 2 please, my good woman."

Casting Loki a side eyed glance, chuckling at Thor, you made your way to the stockroom.  Stay calm, you willed yourself.  Keeping your back straight, your head level and your breathing even, you walked towards the back.  Your heart?  That jerk was pumping overtime. As soon as you are gone, Thor rounds on his younger brother, "She likes you, Loki!  And, she is rather cute."

Rolling his eyes with a groan, "Cute?  She is far more beautiful than that, brother."

Wagging his golden brows playfully, the God of Thunder teased, "You should take her on a date.  To dinner.  She might actually say yes!"

"It's creepy.  No woman wants to be courted while they're at work.  Although…"  Looking longingly at the “Employees Only” sign on the door you had disappeared into, Loki sighed.

"Yes, brother?"

"Although, she does remind me of someone."

"I have never seen her before.  And she is certainly Midgardian.  There's no other-worldly influence in her."  Thor was sliding through hangers, evaluating gift options for Jane, talking in what he thought was a whisper.

"Yes.  Yes… it's just so strange.  She is so familiar… too familiar."  Loki left his sentence hanging in the air.  You were striding his way, a soft, down turned expression on your face.  The urge to kiss the corners of your mouth overwhelmed him.

"Hi again."  Exhaling, you risked a full look at Loki.  He was scrutinizing you, closer than before, needing to solve the mystery of your connection.

"Hello."  

God, you missed his eyes.  The serious way they took in every detail.  How they lit up with Loki's laughing or glowed with mischief when he got up to no good.  

Swallowing dryly, you remembered his eyes darkening with passion.  Appraising you through dusky lashes, half closed in pleasure as you hugged his body snugly to your own.  His heavy heat inside of you, both finding release, breathing hard, holding onto each other while the world around you faded away.

"I'm… I'm sorry?"  

Loki, peering at you, smirked.  "I said, thank you for the hideous sweater.  My brother's fiancee will hate it but she will, inevitably, appreciate the oaf's effort."

Giggling, your body temperature rose a few degrees, unable to resist Loki.  It was so easy to be around him.  It always had been.

"My lady, thank you!  Brother, I am off to find the cashier.  I shall meet you outside…"  Thor nodded your way, encouraging Loki, failing at being discreet.  

Sharing a laugh with your former lover, Loki risked taking your hand.  You didn't shrug him off.  Instead, your breath caught, frozen in the familiar feeling of his fingers.

"Hmm… you say we are strangers but your body tells another story, little one.  Do you know who I am?"

You could answer that honestly.  Loki wasn't as popular as Thor or Captain America but his name was known publicly.  His reputation was a bit tarnished, surely, but that had always been part of your attraction to him.

Finding your voice, "Yea… I do."

"Uh huh.  Then you know I am not some mortal man, held to the rules and restrictions of this planet.  You understand that I am a God.  One who makes mischief."  Dropping his voice into that silky predatory tone had made your insides go liquid.  

He was too close now, his spearmint breath fanning your face, "Yes, I know where your… skills lie."

Watching your chest heave, your want apparent, Loki licked over his bottom lip, certain he could taste phantom strawberry bubblegum and grapefruit lip gloss.  An odd, yet enticing, combination.  One his mouth knew even if his memory couldn't recall why.

"Then you know I suss out falsehoods.  It's part of the deal, dove.  To lie you must spot lies.  And you…", pressed into a wall mirror, hidden by a rack of wool pea coats, "aren't being truthful."

What could you say to that?  “I… I am too.  Like I said, You don’t know me.” Leaning into you, not touching your begging skin, but still so near, “Little liar.  I think that there might be a way to solve our problem.  Over dinner, tonight.  My treat, assuming there’s a restaurant in this town that is not part of a chain.”

“A date?  With you?” A date was not a good idea.  Too much time to talk might lead to trouble.  Either you’d say too much or, and this was possibly worse, do too much with Loki.  Could you resist his charms?  You weren’t able to the first time around. Now, knowing just how much you missed him, how lonely your nights were without him, would you be able to stop things from going too far?  What if Loki learned the truth?  That you had sacrificed your past together so that he might have a future, would he still want you then?  Could he?

Loki, seeing all these thoughts pass over your face, “Yes.  With me.” “No.”  “No?” “Yes.” “So, yes then?” “No.  Yes to the no.” “I don’t think you know what you want little mortal.  Join me for dinner tonight and I won’t bother you ever again.” Always tricky, this could be another of Loki’s pranks, ready to backfire on you at the drop of a hat.  If he kept his word, walked away after your night out, then it would be worth it. You could do one evening and not lose your head or your heart. “You won’t bother me ever again?  You promise?” That sinister smile spread over Loki’s face, lifting his sharp cheekbones in triumph, “Oh, I promise.  One date.  Tonight.”

--- Years ago, when you and Loki enjoyed the first full flush of blossoming love, dating wasn’t always possible or convenient.  With missions to go on, HYDRA cells to investigate, and near constant alien invasions of one kind or another, dinners and movies weren’t a priority.  Staying alive was the rule of the day. In the moments when relaxation was possible, you and Loki found yourselves drawn to each other.  Bonding over take out containers and warm beers in the early morning hours, sleep elusive, sitting on the counter tops.  Sharing great music, digital from you, vinyl from Loki, led to dancing on the cool tile of the rooftop patio.  Cherished books, personal poetry and moving works of art passed between you at a rate that alarmed the rest of the team.  

You favorite times?  Watching films and must see TV from the comfort of Tony’s leather couches.  Snuggled under soft blankets, touching each other gently, testing and teasing.  Letting the connection you shared grow naturally was what made it so special. Tonight though, this was different.  Loki arrived at your door in full on romantic leading man mode.  His suit was jet with a shirt and tie to match, making him look long and lethal, but undeniably sexy.  There were flowers, an affectation that nonetheless made your heart swell.  Holding your door, pulling out your chair, effortlessly making all the right moves was just Loki’s style.  Why did it make your heart ache in equal measure? Because it was so different from your first time around.  The love that led you here, to a place where no one knew you, had been so organic.  Not forced or formulaic.

“I fear I’m boring you.”  Loki’s bright eyes glittered as he swirled his fork through the rich sauce skillfully. Dabbing your mouth, “No, not at all.  I just… I…”  You were lost in remembering.  Loki was telling a story that you had lived, but where you should have been was a hole.  A gap, created when you had made your deal with the purple eyed sorceress, brought reality crashing into the conversation.  It was a distracting detail.   “Lost in your thoughts.  You do that frequently, don’t you, dove.”  Dove.  Oh god, you hadn’t heard his endearments in ages.  It made your stomach tense from need.  Being Loki’s dove had meant something to you then.  It meant more now. “My past is never far.  It creeps up on me all the time.  But I’m sure you know nothing about that.”  Deliberately leading him to talk more about himself, you let the timbre of his voice take over, listening intently to the man who once was yours. The long night was over too soon.  You had been on eggshells, carefully choosing your words, the entire time.  As much as you wanted to keep him near, you knew that one night was already a calculated risk, and it couldn’t happen again.  If Loki kept his promise, tomorrow you would be back to your routine, the missing him would still be there but so would running and the store. “Uh… thank you for the lovely dinner.  I really enjoyed it.” “I believe you used to be a better liar.” Freezing, your key in the lock, you turned to face Loki.  “What was that?”  Panic rose in your throat tasting of bile and bucatini. Leaning his shoulder against your door frame, “You heard me perfectly well.  Like I said, you were better at this once.  At least, I think you were.”

“I don’t know what you think, but I’ve… we’ve…” “Never met?  Yes, that line is familiar.  But then again, so are you.” “Loki…”  Pleading with him to drop it, to let it go, would never work.  Besides, you hadn’t been able to.

And what would happen if you did come clean?  Would the spell be reversed?  You couldn’t risk that.  Not after all that you’d already gone through to keep Loki alive. At the sound of his name on your lips, Loki stepped into your personal space.  His long finger rested over your parted mouth, effectively silencing you, as he whispered in your ear,  “No more lies.  Not tonight.”  Reaching around you, Loki turned your key, opening the door to your place.   Clicking on your lamp, the circle of light small in the shadows of your apartment, you move towards the kitchen.  “I need a drink.  Do you want one?” Nodding, “I think I might need one.”  Barking out a hard laugh, you lifted two glasses down from the rarely opened cabinet.  Tossing in ice cubes, you quickly cover them with the amber liquid of bourbon, swirling the two ingredients together as you walk back to the man pacing in your living room. “Good stuff, right?”  Ruefully chuckling at the harsh burn of the booze, you looked at your date motioning for him to take a seat on your beat up sofa next to you.  Folding himself gracefully, Loki perched on the couch, his knee just barely grazing your own.  The contact was electric, shorting out your speech center for a second, and you moaned softly.  Moving your drink to the table, Loki’s digits circled your wrist, "Now tell me, why do I know these hands?  Soft but strong, with a scar across the middle knuckle…" 

 Turning your palm down, brushing over that exact imperfection, Loki searched your eyes for answers.  "Why am I drawn to you across space and time?  You are a ghost that haunts me.  The echo of a dream that is real and warm… and here."

"Loki…"  Chin quivering, "There are things you don't know.  Things about me… about us…"

Tilting his head, studying you, "Ah.  Us.  We, that is, you and I have history, do we not?  I… I know that is true.  Yet,"  Swallowing thickly, Loki struggled to control the swell of emotion bubbling through him, "Yet, I have no memory of you.  Tell me why that is."

A wild sob ripped through you making your shoulders heave.  "I don't think I can!"

Twining his arms around you, the smell of his skin surrounding you, comforting you, "Why is that?"

Eyes brimming with tears, you murmured, "Because… it might reverse everything.  I… I don't know what would happen if I told you the truth.  All of it."

"So, dark magic then.  Strong… but perhaps not strong enough.  Not nearly capable of keeping you and I apart."  Petting your knee, savoring the nearness of Loki, you parted your thighs in anticipation of his touch. Loki, unable to resist any longer, pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.  One of his palms skated under the hem of your dress while his other hand cupped your cheek.  Tracing over your jawline with his thumb, Loki deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting you in tiny sips. Pulling away from you, “We… We were lovers.”  His voice rose at the revelation no longer concealed by magic. “Yes, Loki.”  Swallowing hard, the raw truth finally said out loud. “But you, you erased yourself from my mind… My life.  Why did you do it?  Why would you take our… happiness from me?”  It was enough to break your heart all over again.  Loki’s voice, trembling, unsure, and clearly hurting.  

Whispering more for yourself than him, "I couldn’t let you go, Loki.  I… I can't, even now.  I watched you almost die.  I won't do it again!" “And this?  This is life?  Dove.  You know better than this.” “I saved your life!”  Needing to defend yourself, you nearly bellowed in frustration, struggling to make Loki understand. Standing suddenly, Loki turned from you, “What kind of life have I had without you?” “I don’t know the answer to that…”  Rising yourself, a hand to Loki’s chest, “But my life without you… you have no idea how hard it’s been.  I dream of you every night, Loki.  And in those dreams, I don’t rescue you.  You die in my arms.  Every night, Loki.  I saved you once with the help of dark magic.  But I’ve lost you every single day since.”

Crying in earnest now, you felt Loki wrap his iron arms around you, “Hush now.  Hush, darling.  Somehow, some way, I found you again.  I’m not letting you go.” Sagging into his warmth, letting Loki comfort you, felt like home.  Without realizing, you were swaying in each other's arms, dancing to the music in your souls.  You curled your arms around Loki's waist, his solid figure reassuring, hugging him closer.

Loki's hands drifted down, cupping your bottom, squeezing your curves firmly.  "I missed you, little minx."

Giggling at his pet name for you, one you never expected to hear again, you smiled up at your dark hued God.  Standing on your toes you touched your lips to Loki's.  Anticipating your move, Loki opened his mouth, capturing yours in a kiss.

Loki's grip, tugging you tightly to his firm form, became needy.  His mouth plundered yours, taking your breath, absorbing your moan.  A hand tangled in your hair, pulling your hungry lips from his own, giving Loki unchecked access to the column of your throat.

Closing your eyes, lost in intimate sensations that were both routine and refreshing, you lost yourself in Loki.  Stepping out of his grasp, you pulled the hem of your dress up, shrugging it over your head and tossing it to the floor.  "Loki, I love you.  I never stopped loving you."

Watching your nearly nude form, Loki shared his sweet, secret smile with you.  "I love you.  And even wizardry could prevent us from finding each other."

"Please, help me remember.  Let me forget."  He knew what you were asking.  Remember what you had shared, what you could have again.  Forget this time apart, this lapse in love.

"With pleasure, little dove."

---

Your bed, usually so lonely, was suddenly too small.  Loki's long body stretched across the mattress, reaching for you, impatient to relearn the things that made you melt.  And you?  You couldn't stop touching his satin skin.

First your fingers fluttered over his thighs, up his torso, over his chest.  But that wasn't enough to satisfy.  So you followed the same trail with your mouth.  Licking lovingly over Loki's abdominals, nipping at his tiny nipples, sucking against his Adam's Apple.

Straddling Loki, his hands on your hips drag you against his rigid rod.  Feeling his driving desire made your core quiver.  When he caught your nipple in his mouth, sucking forcefully, you howled like a wild woman.

"Oh, Loki!  Ah!"  Your hands tangled in his hair, encouraging the exquisite agony of his teeth biting into your tender bud.  

With a growl, Loki flipped you to your back, settling himself between your spread thighs.  Removing your panties with a swift tug, Loki spread your lower lips, licking into your luscious folds.  His tongue thrust into you, lapping at your liquid, drinking you down.

Convulsing when Loki's tactile tongue circled your clit, your core clenched in pleasure, your release is close.  When you announce that to the man pleasuring you, Loki nips at your inner thigh, kissing his way over your mound.  "Not yet.  I'm not through with you or your bountiful body."

As his lips closed over your own, Loki shifted your hips higher, your cleft cuddling his steel length.  Teasing your entrance with his wide tower, drawing a shivery moan from you, Loki slowly sunk into your yielding sheath.  Inch by inch, Loki claimed more of you as you impatiently waited to be filled by his hard heat.

Stretched by his searing shaft, Loki bent your knees, bringing them closer to your chest.  Rocking into you, his hips pressing your legs apart, Loki enjoyed the feeling of your velvet vice gripping his with each push.  He was slow, methodically moving inside of you, taking his time.  

Your body responded with slick skin, soft sighs, melting into a mewling mess.  "Faster Loki!  Please!"

"No.  I never want to forget you again."  Loki's words sparked your internal fire.  Plunging into your pulsing pocket, picking up speed, Loki pursued your pleasure.  

You couldn't keep your hands off of him.  His neck, his shoulders, his firm bottom, the cut of his hip.  Scratching your nails over his arms, along his back, across his chest, Loki grunted in delight.  

"Cum with me, little dove."  It wasn't a command or a request.  It was a plea.

"Always, Loki!"  Locking your arms behind his neck, Loki dug his fingers into the back of your thighs, your tongues tangling together.  Panting through your pleasure together, clinging to each other, determined to hang onto the only other person who mattered, you pressed your forehead to Loki's.

That night you slept curled around Loki, deeply and uninterrupted.  Tomorrow would bring a new dawn, a new day.  And everything before today would be an echo, losing distinction over time, replaced by the new life you would build together. ---

@procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @iamverity​ @jamielea81​ @archy3001​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @lots-of-loki​ @mizfit2​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @jessiejunebug​

[icariamusing]

CHARACTER BASICS

FACECLAIM: Liz Gillies

NAME: Noreen Gomez 

AGE: 26 

BIRTHDAY: January 31, 1994 

OCCUPATION: N/A for the moment 

HOMETOWN: Detroit, MI 

PETS: N/A… for now 

POWERS

She can see and sense the electricity around her, from there she pull the electricity and turn it into small blasts of electricity she can throw at people.

BIOGRAPHY

TWs for:  Prostitution, death, drugs, addiction, child neglect

Marita Gomez was not a woman you could call kind, but damn was she beautiful. She had floated through life using her looks to get what she wanted, and while that got her money and attention it didn’t always serve to put her in a good place or have her care about anyone beyond herself.  By the time she was 18, she was one of the favorites who worked the street and pulled in money for her pimp. Sometimes she’d sleep with the clients, sometimes she’d lead them to those who could get them other black market items, she never really cared so long as she got her next hit and got her money in hand. But she was always the go-to if the cops showed up, petite little Marita could switch between looking as innocent as a lamb and as mouth-watering delicious as a stake to a starving man.

It was that beauty that caught the King of the Gods’ attention. He swooped down from the heavens and took on the form of a human. Marita didn’t care, didn’t want to even know his name, he was just another client. Another fuck to get the drugs she wanted and the money she desired for the clothes she needed. The two had one night of passionate lovemaking before Zeus fucked off back to Mount Olympus and left a now, unknowingly pregnant, Marita. It only took two months before she was showing, three before her clientele started to change to those with a fetish for pregnancy; and by the time she had had her baby? She had grown a following of – eclectic men.

Noreen Gomez was born addicted to coke and in a situation, no kid should be in. Until she was 5 Noreen barely had any contact with those outside of the “family” her mother had cultivated. People flitted in and out of their house, watching her grow while her mom was at work. Sometimes it was the teens from down the street who watched the baby for a small hit when Martia returned home, sometimes it was for a bit – handsier of an exchange. Other times it would be the other sex workers who would occasionally – coo and aww over the baby and other times – forget she existed until she cried for milk or a change. At 5 – well everyone assumed the child was old enough to take care of herself, they stopped caring as much. She was left home alone to make herself food, bathe and change herself and to try and keep the house – somewhat clean. That was something her mom started to expect of her when Noreen was able to walk and remember things.

As a young kid, she worried constantly about where her next meal would come from if they had water, power, all the things kids should never think about. So when the power was shut off one day and she was home alone – it was dark out and she was terrified. Little six-year-old Noreen let out a cry that – well, she wouldn’t know for years why it worked, but the power was suddenly back on, the lights and tv flicked back to life. She never questioned it, and neither did her mother when the electricity bill stopped coming but the power… somehow stayed on.

She started school not long after and while the teachers raised eyebrows and tossed worried looks her way – no one called CPS, no one ever came to check on the obviously neglected Noreen. She learned very early on that adults were trash, and the only people who really cared were the other kids. That was the one time she got any sort of good in her life – when she slept over at a friend’s house and could relax, and just … be a kid.

By 10 Noreen understood how the streets operated, she understood how to get and take without getting in trouble, without getting adults to look at you twice. She understood how to run a con, how to get a bit of extra cash. Her protection? Well, it seemed like she was always a bit electrified. A bit energetic and too quick. You touched her when she wasn’t expecting it? You’d get a nice little shock. No one really questioned it – static electricity but stronger. So she generally felt safe. Most of the time.

She had just scammed a man out of twice the amount of money the product she had was worth when she ran face-first into Jarvis. He had been shocked, both literally and physically, by a 10-year-old who seemed to have a giant wad of cash she was trying to stuff into her non-existent bra. There was a quick exchange of words and meeting of his “kids”  before she understood that she could make more and not have to worry so much if she worked for him. It’s not like her mother would care – it’s not like her mother took care of her. So she agreed and was welcomed into the fold.

By 12 more children had joined Jarvis’ little crusade and Noreen had become known as Spark or Spitfire – mostly because of the static shocks or the words that came out of her mouth. A mixture of Spanish and English and 90% of it cursing your existence. But despite that she became a bit of a mother hen to the other kids, looking out for them and making sure they had food or a place to sleep. It’s not like her own mother cared; So Noreen took in the kids, and they slept on the pull-out couch. They were always out by 9 am (when her mother woke up and usually would start bitching), but came back each night to sleep or just have someone to talk to.

A school friend, one not involved in the life she lived on the streets, had invited her over for a slumber party… turns out it was a surprise birthday party. But the sudden kids jumping out and yelling surprise scared Noreen enough that every light in the house arced and blew out. Before they could finish the word the city block had lost power and it was spreading. Noreen knew it was her; she could feel the sparks arcing from her fingertips to the light switch mere inches from her hand, she could see the electricity in the air. No one else seemed to notice – most just screamed because the power went out but it quickly turned into laughter and lightning candles as they got cake and settled down.  But Noreen… Noreen couldn’t stop looking around, it wasn’t just that some friends had decided to do something so nice for her, but the fact that she could register where all the electricity in the room was by sight and sound. She could hear it humming in the walls, she could see it connecting switches and lights.  

This fascination carried over into school, she was 14,  and when she was in science class doing experiments with her lab partner it all went just a bit sideways as she tried to manipulate the electricity in her experiment… and she somehow got electrocuted, except it was bad enough she ended up at the hospital. There she was alone, there the doctors looked her over, ran a battery of tests, and realized – this poor teen was on drugs, electrocuted and no one was coming to get her. They confined her to the hospital. They called every number they could and it wasn’t until the fifth call that a woman picked up the phone. She claimed to be Noreen’s mother, that Noreen had been living with her aunt for the past year while she was away on assignment in Greece. She had “no idea” about any of this and hadn’t heard from either in a month. She had “been trying to reach them and would be on the first flight out.”

Noreen told them she was lying, that her mother was not some weird jet setter that lived in another country but a bitch of a lady who lived in the slums. Still; they kept her they started to help her detox and get clean of all the drugs in her system. Two days in she was experiencing severe withdrawals and angry as hell. That was the day her “mother” showed up. She was a beautiful woman, sure, and they looked sort of alike, but not really. But somehow… she had all the paperwork, she knew too much to not be her mom. Noreen felt like her head was in a fog, nothing made sense anymore. She was required to stay another three days before her “mom” could take her.

But the minute she could the two were on a plane back to Greece. The plane ride was agony and they didn’t really talk. Noreen wasn’t sure what was happening or why or who this woman was but she – also couldn’t get the questions out. So when they finally landed in Greece and she was brought to a temple she was needless to say… very confused. The next five weeks were spent in Hera’s temple with the priestesses. They cared for her and helped her get clean, they taught her meditation and how to calm herself, they took her to the doctor and got her any help they could… and within three months of that faithful day back in Detroit, she was clean. She had cravings, sure, but she now knew ways to deal with it.

Noreen found out that the woman who had got her was in fact not her mother, but apparently her father’s wife. Hera. This was her temple. She was a Greek goddess and Noreen was the daughter of Zeus – making her a demi-god. She chalked up this weird story to withdrawal and tried to ignore it. But she realized very quickly there was no ignoring this. It made sense with the shocks her whole life, the fact she could see electricity running through the walls, see it everywhere. Hera told her she was welcome to stay so long as she helped around the temple.

So she did. She helped clean, she learned the ways and she started back up schooling. It didn’t take long for her to make friends. Scout and Lachlan. They became the three musketeers telling one another almost everything… though even to this day she’s still not told everyone her full past. It just hurts too much to think about. But those two – they know more than anyone else. It was this level of trust that started to make Noreen open to the idea of feelings. There was Scout… her best friend who was just so damn pretty. She would watch her when the other wasn’t paying attention and just sigh. Hoping that one day – they could be more.

But as time passed and the other never really showed much interest Noreen resigned herself to looking outside of their friend group for comfort and love. – well until the day that Scout decided she needed to have a conversation with her and – just kissed her. Needless to say, Noreen was on cloud nine and the two began dating. For years the two were happily in love, and Noreen was certain that they would one day get married.

Hell, she had a ring picked out and everything! She was ready to go. But she knew better than to propose before Scout finished law school. She would not distract her girlfriend from that endeavor with a wedding. But Scout got more and more absorbed and slowly started fading from the relationship. She stopped wanting to go out, stopped really – even paying attention to Noreen. And after years and years of being ignored by her mother to have Scout, the one person she loved more than anything she blew up. The two argued and shouted and – Noreen stormed out. She just needed some air. Needed a moment to refocus and figure it out… and she would get it.

Five years of thinking and air. For that night was the first kidnapping. The night that Nyx herself snatched her off the street and put her in the meadows. She was terrified, confused, and utterly unsure of what the fuck was happening. Nyx appeared with her son Weston, and they explained that they had a plan to get Zeus’s attention, that they were sorry they had to take her and she would be back once they got to talk to the man. Noreen tried to tell them that Zeus didn’t care about her, that she had only met him a couple of times, and that he was a trash god. They agreed on that part but they thought – he’d realize that one of his own was taken, that Hera was throwing a hissy fit at Noreen’s vanishment and would do something. But they underestimate the god’s willingness to care about anything other than the next lay he was going to get.

So she’s been in purgatory for five years. Honestly? She hasn’t really noticed the passage of time. It’s like she’s told people, “Time has no meaning here, 1 minute here could be an hour back on earth, 1 day a year. Or it could be 1 minute is 5 years. There are days where I felt like I’ve been here for centuries and days where it felt like five seconds. In the end, I’m here and I like it.” Instead, Noreen dedicated herself to learning how to do all manner of things, she can happily say she’s a much more well-rounded person than she had been in her teens or the last time she saw and felt the earth beneath her feet.  

Being back on earth, away from the meadows is going to be a huge transition for her. But she’s ready to see what the fuck life has in store  – and to kick her father’s ass.

LAUREN | SHE/HER | 30 | EST

[themissingmarvel]

Tell Him

((I took a lot of liberties with this. I also kept some characters alive because fuck you I do what I want and it fits better. I changed a bit because also fuck you I do what I want and it fits my story. It’s got Endgame spoilers like crazy so if you haven’t seen it and don’t want spoilers, save this and move on. Or read it and get spoiled idc live your best life. I plan on making this a series, depending on how it goes over. Or just in general cause I like this.

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst, talk of death))

 Harder!

Sweat was beading on your forehead as you felt your heart race.

HARDER!

 You could feel your muscles aching, sore. Your body was fighting as hard as it could.

Don’t stop!

 Now you could feel it in your lungs, your breathing hard and labored, panting as you could feel the sweat dripping off your body.

 Keep going!

 Your body hurt. Your lungs ached. Your hair was sticking to your head and neck. Every fiber in your being was pushing you forward, past what you even knew what you were capable of. Your mind was blank, filled with only one thought. One need. One desire. You only wanted one thing as you pushed your body past its limits.

 “Hey!”

 A voice echoed in the gym, snapping you from your trance as you suddenly stopped slamming your fists into the punching bag that had honestly seen better days. Bucky was walking towards you, concern on his features as he looked at you. Your tank top was stuck to your skin, your workout shorts soaked even. What he was most concerned about, however, was the blood seeping through the white hand wraps around your knuckles.

 You hadn’t even noticed.

 It had been six months since the world had returned to normal but you had felt so out of place still. You’d been one of the unlucky ones dusted into oblivion, cast into darkness and a void so dark you didn’t know light existed. You had seen nothing in your final moments except for the sky, laying on the ground and staring into the bright Wakandan world. It had disappeared, just like you had, and the world had moved on.

 When you came back, when you all came back, it had been to a fight to the death. You’d lost a best friend and almost lost a father. You’d watched Pepper hover over Tony, Peter begging in his own way for the man not to leave. FRIDAY had read his vitals as critical and you had thought that maybe this was what true fear felt like. What had Thanos done?

 Now all you could think about was the darkness. The void. The endless fear that came with your final moments and how it wouldn’t go away.

 Bucky knew what was happening as he walked over and placed hands on your shoulders, “You need to stop with this. Hitting that thing ‘till you bleed won’t make it go away. We went through something and now we have to live with it.”

 Tough love, right? He wasn’t wrong, though. Bucky had vanished just like you had. He had collapsed to the ground close to where you had been, and he had felt his form dissipate into nothingness. All of you were trying to make sense of not just a world that had carried on five years without you, but a world where you lived again. It had been moments between the snap and the return, but those moments had been agony. No pain, you’d reassured everyone, but the pain had been mental anguish.

 Bucky knew.

 He also knew you were avoiding the one man you wanted most to hold you and fix this. He had seen the way you looked at Steve and he had known it was more than just a crush. He had seen you get quiet and bashful, and this from a woman- sorry, a warrior, who shied from nothing. You drank with Valkyrie, had trained with Natasha (fuck…) and you had Wanda teach you to control your abilities, the electricity that rain through your veins and made you an asset.

 Moments before you’d fallen and as you lay on the ground, crushed over the snap that echoed before you even knew you were taken, you’d seen Steve. He’d been the last face in your vision and as you lay on the ground, sun bathing you in a beautifully tragic way, you’d thought only one thing: Tell him you love him.

 Even death (if that’s what the snap even was) hadn’t pushed you into Steve’s arms. He was powerful and he was good. He was better than you could be, you had thought, and deserved better. Didn’t he? Who were you? Some test subject that Hydra had let get away before they could twist your mind. You’d voluntarily gone in to change but had escaped once you realized what that place was. You’d practically run to the Avengers begging and pleading and Tony had taken you in.

 Letting you go, Bucky stepped back and sighed, taking your hands and eyeing the damage, “Let’s get you cleaned up, OK? Tony and Steve are out taking care of some business in Wakanda for the week, just left. We need you in shape in case anything happens.”

 You stayed quiet as he let you go and you followed him through the suddenly quiet gym that moments ago had echoed with your panting and yelling, that had echoed with your pain. Tell him. Tell him you love him.

 ________________________________________________

Leave it to Bucky to clean you up. He had envied you for getting away from Hydra, as had Wanda and Pietro, but it had let him trust you. You understood firsthand what they truly were and you were an example of what they were capable of. So was he. So were Wanda and Pietro, frankly.

 Once the water had washed away the blood Bucky had seen that the damage wasn’t bad and that it needed to air out more than anything. You’d thanked him for taking care of you and assured him he didn’t need to, “It’s fine, Buck. I’m fine. Just training too hard is all. Got caught up in the moment, you know?”

 He frowned and turned, beginning to walk away, leaving the living room where you two had been, but pausing before turning his head, “She’d be proud of you.”

 You held back tears, knowing he was referring to Natasha, only watching as he walked out of the room for which you were grateful. You’d only lose it more if he’d stayed. He missed her, too. Clint arguably missed her the most which was why he’d distanced himself so much from the Avengers. He was spending more time with Laura, which was good, and his family was whole. Except for her.

 You walked to the wet bar Tony had of course set up and poured yourself a whiskey, neat. Your plan wasn’t to get trashed, which was good, but you did need something to take the edge off. Tony had seen your pain and begged for you to get help.

 “C’mon, Y/N, this isn’t what sane people do. You… you were dust. You’re back. No one would blame you for needing to talk to someone.” He had sat across from you on the couch at the Avengers base in upstate New York, rather than the tower in the city.

 You huffed, “We don’t live in a sane world, Tony. I can make electricity with my hands. You’ve got a suit of armor that can trash a tank without thinking. We work with two demi-gods from a place called Asgard. Sanity went out the window a long time ago.” You’d eyed him carefully.

 So why was this so hard?

 A part of you was so angry at yourself for not telling Steve you loved him before the snap. Another part was angrier still that you continued to keep quiet about it. Your final wish had been that you had wished you’d told Steve you’d loved him. You’d imagined being held in his strong arms or being twirled on the dance floor, a beaming smile on your face and the world disappearing around you. You were getting that second chance now and still you hadn’t told him? Trauma, you’d told yourself. It was trauma.

 “Didn’t realize you were one for drinking alone,” spoke the voice behind you. Turning you saw a grinning Steve, standing tall with his arms crossed, powder blue button-down shirt on and nice khakis. He paused for a moment before strolling towards you, taking a seat on the couch perpendicular to the one you were on.

 You raised a brow, “I thought you were in Wakanda with Tony. Bucky said you were doing some work out there.”

 Steve leaned back and sighed, “Strange decided to go instead. Makes more sense, really. Strange hasn’t been out there, yet, and I’ve earned a vacation.” He smirked.

 A blush crossed your cheeks for whatever reason and you nodded, “Glad to have you here, then. You know, in case we need America’s Ass again.” You smirked this time.

 Steve laughed, a true and heavy laugh, glad you had remembered one of the stories he had told once you guys had all been back together. Tony had thought it might be good to talk about what happened getting the stones given all you guys had been through. Banner explained how weird it was being out of his own body and you had wondered what it must have been like to see a huge, hulking man shown what-was-up by a smaller woman using only her bare hands. It sounded like they all had quite the trip.

 Taking a sip of the whiskey you relished in its gentle burn. You supposed that if it had been five years then you’d earned at least more than a drink. But it was a struggle to remain cool in the lone presence of the man you pined for.

 He narrowed his eyes a bit, suddenly leaning forward, “Hey, what happened to your hands?” He reached out, taking the hand not holding the whiskey, eyeing the skin that had been etched away leaving your knuckles raw.

 What’s happening?

 You snatched your hand back, inadvertently knocking the whiskey out of your hand and onto the floor, those words that had passed through your mind in your final moments passing through once more.

 Please… not with Steve…

 The liquid hit the hard floor and the glass shattered into a million little pieces. You felt the same. Stumbling to your feet and glad you had on shoes you felt yourself shaking, “I’m-I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m sorry.” You mumbled, repeating your words as you stumbled out of the room and towards the one you had called your own.

 Somewhere in your mind you could hear Steve calling out your name and you had wished for a moment you were able to tell him to make it better. You had wanted to run into his arms instead of leaving him with shattered glass and a concerned look.

 Entering your room, you about fell apart. You made it to your bed before the tears fell hot down your cheeks. That same pain you tried so hard to push away was flooding your vision. You saw that Wakandan sky again, felt the dirt beneath you, heard a voice that was so far away, “Bucky? Y/N?”

 It was beyond unexpected, then, to feel a pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around you, head against your own as you heard him whisper, “Hey, hey… it’s ok. You’re safe, Y/N. I promise you, you’re safe, ok?” The words were gentle and healing, little pieces that were working to clean up the glass that had just shattered into a million tiny pieces.

 Opening your eyes you saw that it was Steve holding to you and without even thinking you threw your arms around him as well. It just felt so good. It felt like a relief, like letting out a breath you’d been holding in as he held you to his warm chest. His smell, a soft cologne, wafted up and you felt comforted more.

 But there you sat, unsure for how long, as he let you sob. You were certain tears were staining that nice shirt of his and you knew how he was turned it must not have been comfortable. But he held you. He held you close and he didn’t flinch as you sobbed. It was compassion from a man who had been through so much himself and still he was letting you unravel, keeping you centered as best he could while you finally let go of what you’d been holding onto.

 So why can’t I say it?

 When he finally did pull away you had calmed considerably, soft whimpers escaping over loud sobs, looking at him as he smiled warmly and brushed your cheek gently, “It doesn’t feel like it now, but I promise you it’ll be ok. And I promise, more than anything, I’ll keep you safe.”

 You nodded, wiping at your tears a bit as you looked away, “Thanks, Steve… sorry for falling apart there. I think I’m feeling better now, though,” you forced a smile and he leaned in, placing a chaste kiss upon your forehead.

 Tell him!

 He stood slowly, “I’ll be a few doors down if you need me, OK? Wanda said she’ll make us some food tonight. Vision is helping, though, so not sure how it’ll be,” he smirked. You couldn’t help but chuckle, only nodding as you watched him leave.

 If only you’d known. If only you’d heard his own voice screaming at him, his internal dialogue that never ceased once more at attention as he shut your door and moved smoothly down the hallway.

 You were the last one he saw. He watched as your form, the one he had memorized so perfectly, began to disappear. Without a word he watched as you slowly vanished into the air. He watched as your perfect eyes, your perfect hair, your perfect everything slipped from his fingers. Another missed chance. Another dance he would never get.

 Tell her you love her.

( @skymoonandstardust @spookydefendordreamer @luckynumber1213 and lemme know if you wanna be tagged or untagged w/e)

[miqojak]

14. What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed?

Looooooong post inc!

That’s a tough one. I almost feel cheap falling back on a given - her brother. She doesn’t show it too well, but a lot of her guilt isn’t just survivor’s guilt or the like...it’s knowing that her own reckless involvement in rebellious activity cost not just her, but him. He lost a sister, and she lost a lot of her youth, and innocence.

She feels like a crap sister, and was kind of trying to be a sister to Kini in the end...and that’s part of why she feels so bad about what happened - and why she’s a little uncomfortable with Kye ( @rukaen ) saying he thinks of her as a sister...she doesn’t think she’s very good sister material. She wants to look out for @miqo-vynnie, but comes down too hard with criticism, and only seems capable of backhanded praise. She pushes him, because she feels like she lost the best parts of herself, but he hasn’t - and she wants him to live a long, happy life...something she just doesn’t see for herself. She sets a high bar for him, and pushes a little too hard, sometimes.

A lot of those fall into similar categories - loyalties, commitments, moral codes, and philosophies. She’s...shockingly loyal, and that’s got roots twisted in a strange sort of moral code, I guess? For all that she likes chaos, she likes order where business is concerned - you give, she gives. A fair trade is a fair trade, and she keeps her deals/commitments. Loyalty is...earned. If she were in a game like Bioware does, she’d probably have some perk that like, once you’ve gotten 50%+ on rep, it degrades slower/is harder to lose ground with her. It is, in my mind, quite difficult to reach that point. Being there for her, and not judging her in her difficult moments, goes a real long way to cementing in her mind that you deserve loyalty in kind. It jars her out of her nihilistic gloom a bit, when people are like ‘no seriously, look - there’s meaning in things.’ She just needs some SHOVING to get there.

Her philosophy would probably boil down to the notion that the world is ‘dog eat dog.’ It’s every man for himself, and that the nature of man - in his various forms - is, inherently, selfish. 

Passions! Piano is absolutely quickly becoming one - it fascinates her, and she’s quick to be lost in the music. She likes drawing, but she’d probably not call it a passion (though I would). Cooking is a BIG one that she really enjoys, but doesn’t share all that often.

Spirituality/faith - my headcanon about her tribe is rather Native American, I suppose, in how they would tell tales of the Jackal, and other beasts as these deific figures. So, the Jackal ends up becoming this sort of...demi-god, or lesser god figure that she looks up to. If you played Battle for Azeroth at all, my version of the Jackal is a lot like Jani. A scavenger god of trash, of secrets...and of unwanted things. The Jackal is a lot like that, for her - they represent a godlike hero figure, in a sense: the Jackal is the ultimate survivor in a harsh world. She heard lots of stories about how the Jackal survived, as a child, and used those tales to give her faith when times were at their worst. She discarded the parts of her she didn’t need, and asked the hard question: What would the Jackal do? It’s the only real semblance of religion in her life, though. The Twelve sure as hell didn’t help her when she was a prisoner of war - the Jackal’s teachings did, though. (GARBAGE CAT GARBAGE GOD I GUESS. :P)

Her expressions of most of these are sometimes not easy to catch? - when she cares, even if it sounds like she’s being rude...she’s showing interest in you and it might seem subtle to the rest of the world, but that’s loud in her little corner of things. If you offer up some deep dark secret - she will too. You give...she gives. Trust comes in degrees, and she’s bad at taking the first step. But when she takes steps to confide things at all, it’s a big leap of faith for her ( if, again, somewhat subtle over all). Like a cat, it’s a lot of understated gestures, until she’s comfortable.

[ocprompts-andsuch]

LONG POST

So we ended up getting a lot of asks! Which honestly was fun as hell. However, I don’t want to spam our followers with 30+ posts, so, instead I’m making this.

mixolydian98 said:My OC is a misomaniac college professor who was transformed into a grotesque monster by an evil sorceress.

My OC Bor was cursed to live as a beast by a bunch of angry forest spirits -Ven My OC Ursa was cursed to be a werebear-Chris/p>

Anonymous said:My OC is an edgy, beatnik unicorn in a turtleneck sweater.

The closest thing I have is Priscilla, Sunan, and Hala are also very edgy -Ven My OC Cadence wears a sweater his husband made and tells edgy poetry -Chris

djdashieticktock said:My OC (Yesman) is a smelly rotting boi who needs to take a bath and chill on preforming necromancy

1. that’s a mood and 2. Priscilla is the result of necromancy -Ven My OC Beckett is a necromancer who wants to become a lich -Chris

Anonymous said:My OC is a mutated bunny who is a great mother.

My OC Dryn isn’t mutated but he is a great father! -Ven My OC Adrien is a great father and husband!

Anonymous said:I made my OC super trope-y because cringe culture is shit. She’s a witch with dark skin, bright blue eyes, and pink/magenta hair. She’s a bubbly baby who trains dragons for a living and I love her. Fight me Cus I’m having fun with her!

She sounds fun as hell! My OC Nelsis is a beast tamer who loves space and has a dragon (along with a plethora of other beasts that seem very intimidating but actually just act like dogs) -Ven Cringe culture is shit she sounds really cool! My OC Nimbus has naturally pink hair and she designed her hella mechanical wheelchair after a dragin she saw once -Chris

cyrokinetic-iceman said:One of my OCs is named Rory and he’s an Irish maid for Sean Cassidy from the xmen. he had long, frizzy red curls and is more freckles than man. He’s tall and bony with very pale skin. He’s a hemophiliac but also has mutant powers that allow him to take the energy (and in fatal enough cases life force) from organic life forms and he later discovers he can also enhance their energy and life force. He’s very shy but friendly and likes to bake and cook

Priscilla can take people’s life force (well really the demon that’s with her can but whatever) -Ven My OC Orion has a lot of freckles and red hair but he is trash at cooking -Chris

Anonymous said:My gay OC Steven had his arms ripped off by a demon, after breaking up with said demon.

Wow.. hmm.. My OC Tarryn only has two limbs because of an explosion -Ven My OC Nimbus lost use of her legs after being shoved out of a very tall tree by a schoolmate -Chris

PHANTASYMIST SAYS:my oc practices forbidden magic because of hunger for knowledge

my OC EcC0 is a hellish combination of magic and failed technology and he accidentally made himself and his friends immortal through a series of experimental magic and glitches -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My Oc is possessed by the spirit of a Samurai and is immortal because of this. She also owns her own City Apartment building and lives in one of her apartments, she even rooms with one of her tenants

My OC Shelby lives in the top room(home??) of the Penthouse her family owns and accidentally became a Naiad’s sugar momma -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My oc Icarus is the child of Aphrodite but gave up on finding love for themself.

My OC Darcy is a demi-god who always forgets that he passed down his powers to his 6 year old until she starts telepathically throwing his circus group around when having a tantrum -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My Oc Alex attracts portals to a different world and goes through them in order to close them. She knows a bunch of survival skills because of how often she goes and stays there, especially cause there aren’t any civilizations in the other world.

My OC Ken is a dimention hopper who accidentally got stuck in time jail with three alternate universe versions of his friend Angel -Chris

Uuh… my OC Bor knows a bunch of survival skills cause for a while he was a human living in the forest -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My OC Regalius is an 2000ish year old immortal who manages to screw up every relationship he has.

My OC Felix used to be dating an ex war goddess until she tried to leave him for dead (the other gods called her out on her bullshit) -Chris

I have an immortal OC Bor, he never gets into any relationships he just kind of sits in the forest and makes stew and helps lost travelers and protects the forest -Ven

THAT-AWKWARD-FANGIRL-270 SAYS:One of my OC’s is Ethan, he’s about half French and a gay trans boy and I love him so much and he’s also an adorable book nerd and has like a hundred thousand siblings (jk but there’s Lots and everyone is good at braiding like trust me sleepovers there are The Bomb) I love him

My OC Wesley is a french american who’s half succubus and owns a giant library, he’s also a necromancer -Chris

Uuh… I have a gay Hawaiian war vet named Jeremiah with like 9 siblings -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My OC Locke is the headmaster of a guild and he’s also dating another guy also named Locke who tried to steal his money once

My OC Cyrus met his first boyfriend while doing a stickup -Chris

Well… my OC Xaro first met Cinder when Cinder tries to steal his stuff? They’re not dating or anything tho Xaro literally ends up adopting him -Ven

BUNNIKKILA SAYS:My OC is a member of the HEMA Alliance! Her dream is to open her own fencing school, as most of the schools in her immediate area focus on Olympic fencing.

My OC Telly fences in his spare time and is teaching his boyfriends daughter how to -Chris

My OC Cinder loves fencing and is very good at it, but didn’t actually get to start until he was 15! -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My OC took Tae Kwon Do as a tween. She was one belt away from getting the black belt (highest rank), but financial issues made her have to quit.

My OC Poppy knows Capoeria -Chris

I have an OC who gets to the 7th dan of Judo by age 14 -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:I have an OC based off the planet Neptune….her name is Neptune.(I know, real original name :/ )

I named my OC Castor after Pollux and Castor since I wanted a constellation name and I’m a Gemini -Chris

I have an OC named Snow White -Ven

REMEMBER-THERAIN SAYS:my OC Stevie is a 14-year-old aromantic/pansexual bounty hunter who travels the galaxy with her robot Lux :))

Oh cool!! My OC Dryn is also pan and sometimes does bounty hunting, he also travels a lot -Ven

my OC Castor ran away from home at 15 and is now one of the most renowned Space travelers of his species -Chris

DRAGONIANGIRL SAYS:My OC Nimladrie is a cleric of a drunk god that accidentally swore a blood oath but she can’t remember for what or to whom.

My OC Beckett accidently became a cult leader because he thought it was a Bards club -Chris

((Amazing)) Well uh… the closest thing I have is my oc Priscilla has blood contracts with like a shitton demons/daemons/etc

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My oc Yilim is… well. To plainly state it he one ugly ass mofo.

My OC Scrib is just,,,,, literally a poorly drawn doodle, i usually draw him left handed -Chris

My main OC Tarryn is also considered ‘ugly’, another OC I have is unarguably ugly because his face is literally a deer skull -Ven

ATQEVALE SAYS:My OC Matisse wears a really freaking ugly salmon colored hoodie to school every day and my other OC Sparrow has a crush on her in spite of this

My OC The Boy has no fucking clue what fashion is and neither does his mom Ursa (he’d get it from his dad to if he wasn’t a giant Stag) -Chris

Uhhh… my OC Mike is colorblind and until he memorizes his wardrobe he has to ask people he lives with what color the stuff he’s wearing is?? It led to an Outfit Disaster a couple of times -Ven

WEARETHERUSSIANTWINS SAYS:My oc Hayley Williams (aka Sailor Aries) has schizophrenia and ADHD

My OC Finch has ADHD to! -Chris

My OC Mike has ADHD(a few others do as well but I haven’t hashed that out yet) -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My OC Janice comes from a planet with pink water, and secretly prefers it over earth water.

My OC Scravenlay comes from a world that is mostly covered in turquoise freshwater that is extremely buoyant -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:My oc Vlansen forgot all about his past and is in love with a hallucination!

My OC Cadence woke up in the middle of a battlefield with no memory of what side they were on and they later married the soldier who found them! -Chris

ANONYMOUS SAYS:i have so many OCs. But my mains are a Schizophrenic ex-hitman who runs a daycare and a half alien-human hybrid that has the ability to control plants and crystals ;v;b

My OC Brin is a (retired later in the story) Rebel Leader with a softspot for kids and animals and my oc Scravenlay was supposed to be the king of his species/people but decided he preferred to be an adventurer after an assassination attempt -Chris

Well… the closest I have is an assassin who also has a soft spot for kids? -Ven

THE-TINY-KRAVIST SAYS:My OC, Binary, is an android who is terrified of water!

My OC Rhys is a self made android (makes more sense in context of the story) who runs a roller rink -Chris

My OC Mike is terrified of water. He’s not an android he just can’t swim -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:my oc has a brand on her left side right below her heart from where she forced to fight in an arena

One of my OCs used to have something like that, now the closest I have is Tarryn has a lot of scars from fights! -Ven

My OC Beckett has a lot of scars after the gang who owned him tried to kill him for trying to escape - Chris

ECHOING-NIGHT SAYS:My OC iasi is claustrophobic.

My OC Beckett tries to fit into small spaces when he gets nervous or scared -Chris

My OC Xaro is also claustrophobic! -Ven

ANONYMOUS SAYS:Uh my OC is a detective in the 1940’s

My OC Lost was a private investigator until he got possessed (this is close enough right?) -Chris

[myinterestsvary-writes]

Lena The Ballerina (prologue)

A/N: I've been developing this for a few weeks. I should really get to writing "For the God Whom I Hate So Much".

Disclaimer: I do not own D.Gray-Man.

Edit - 12/04/2019, 3:33 AM: Re-reading this, I've noticed how some parts of the prologue felt weird to me so I decided to change it a little. I'll keep this and majority of how it's written however, I just wanted to change some parts that were bothering me.

Artwork from Priintaniere on TBLR.

Lena The Ballerina:

The One Who is to be Her 'Rino

Allen Walker's room is a garage that has walls poorly repainted over as jam red with nothing much occupying his living quarters especially in the centre excluding himself and the matching red rug. All his furniture pushed up against the gross walls he came to tolerate. The largest thing in his room being his portable bed which wasn't really so as it could easily have fold up against the wall leaving him plenty of space—again in the centre—for whatever really. That whatever really being his dancing space, previously used for nothing really. Allen positioning his arms and feet in first position: inner elbows at either side of his belly button, arms formed in a circular shape. His hands relaxed and fingers straight with his thumbs folded into his palms, and feet shaped similar to a V with his heels touching. He bent his knees, proceeding to demi-plie.

Feeling lightheaded however, Allen straightened his knees then walked over to his sofa and sat. Spreading his legs while leaning back against the worn out backing of two years that he was lucky to keep from falling apart until this day. Allen for once not complaining to himself about the fact that Cross was a cheapskate that used as little money as he could in spite of the fact that he could be considered rich regarding the area of New York they lived in, and regardless of it.

It being quite possible for them to move out of the tacky area of New York they lived in.

With his hands over his face, he didn't bother to remove them as he was too agitated to look up and see either Cross or Kanda at his garage door again for the fifth time this week lecturing him on his forced ballet lessons. The art or sport or whatever he didn't really care about but now loathed.

If it weren't for the reward of him practicing ballet so well that he even could've gotten accepted into some prestigious dance studio, he'd be sitting on the same couch he was on now and binge watching YouTube videos. Reading up on books for extra credit too as he would miss so much important information due to being late to class most of the time.

The fact that the garage door opened for the fifth time in a row since he moved into the garage, it was all the more clear why he didn't bother to put stuff back against the door the third time. Originally not meant to open ever again.

"Oi, you're not even going to look to see who it is, moyashi? How careless of you. More careless than you leaving this garage door unlocked." Kanda chided, irritated as usual just by the sight of him.

"Again, we've only known each other for six days yet you're calling me by a pet name. Which I don't even know the meaning of." Allen looked up at him finally. "Kanda's got a crush, huh?"

"You disgust me. I'd never think of you as anything else but trash." Kanda scoffed.

"Whatever." He dismissed, removing his back from the couch. He rested his forearms on his knees, wringing his hands as he gazed up at Kanda. "So what am I going to learn now?"

"Not much to learn for you. You're surprisingly a quick learner and I've taught you all that I know from my time there. I'm sure Anita's going to be more than impressed by you since I after all taught you this shit. A few more practices of the moves for today and then all you'll have to do is rest for tomorrow in order not to fuck everything up." He informed, gesturing for him to get up.

Allen lifted himself up fully from the couch then with a sigh. Telling himself that—finding comfort even in the beauty of knowing that—everything he learned from the past few days would all be for naught and that he finally could go back to being a normal, heterosexual young male.

Kanda began reviewing everything he's taught him. The basics essentially, some moves that he made up and demanded Allen to copy for his audition since he gave no creativity to even the art's most basic motions, and finally how to pirouette not only three but five times consecutively.

Pirouetting being Allen's favourite thing to do. Allen surprised at having a favourite at the thing he was sure he hated.

"Do you think you could go for a fourth spin every time? Five is often times too much." Kanda asked, somewhat rhetorically. Analyzing how well he spun, how he continued keeping his balance enough to strike different, attractive poses each pirouette set.

"I guess."

Kanda shook his head. "No, you don't guess. You know. You should know. You can do it."

"Okay," he complied, neutral like.

He swung his foot forward with his arms in first position but them raised higher up his abdomen and foot finding its place on his knee and spun himself with enough force to swing his whole body around.

Around and around and around and around he went.

His leg swinging this time behind him with the front of his foot rested upon the floor, bending his knee positioned in front of him as he immediately raised his arms to the sides of his head outreaching above it. Fingers curling elegantly as he presented his finishing move.

Kanda almost would've clapped but clenched his hands instead. Bringing his fist to his mouth and coughing. "Pretty good, moyashi."

"My name is Allen and thanks," he said with pride and a smirk.

"We should add that at the end. As a matter of fact, let's go through the choreography once more." Kanda instructed, eliciting a groan from Allen.

A period of time passed then, Kanda was getting his things ready to leave.

Allen turned on his television and coincidentally, an advertisement for Anita Zhang's dance studio was being broadcast for what felt like the millionth time to him. Only though because of his recent hatred for all things ballet. Anita's studio being the studio that his master specifically told him to apply for, to take up ballet for in the first place. All just for some woman, whom he practically paid more than the house by now for even though they hadn't even went on a date yet.

That was when he got reminded as well of the fact that Kanda studied at her studio too, with someone named Adam or something that his master randomly mentioned. He looked over his shoulder, actually twisting his torso about-face to see Kanda just about ready to walk out his room. "Kanda," he started, making him stop to scoff and face him. "You were in Anita's ballet studio, that's the only reason why I trusted you to teach me ballet, yeah? Since that's some prestigious place and you came from it."

That really bringing attention to Allen how much money Cross was spending. Cross obviously valuing the warmth of a female more than his own body keeping the warmth it already had instead. Much, much more less so Allen's.

Kanda didn't bother to respond to his redundant questions as he already answered every question he has the first time they met. He simply rolled his eyes and was beginning to walk home free from the brat he wanted nothing else to do with but Allen's next questions swung a stop sign to Kanda's legs.

"Who was Adam? I mean Alma. Yeah, Alma, I mean. Who was he? Your friend?" Allen queried. "Your boyfriend?" He began jokingly, laughing quietly at his own little tease.

The booming sound of Kanda's hostile voice brought Allen out of his comfortable mood, "it's none of your fucking business, moyashi! Keep to yourself, because we're not fucking friends and we'll never be as so! Fuck you! I'm glad we're finally finished this shit!"

Then he left.

Leaving Allen hoping that the rest of the money Cross spent wasn't a bipolar waste.

A/N: I'd think that ignorant people would think less of a male when they're involved in something as "feminine" as ballet. I guess their laughs get caught in their throats when they realise how beneficial it is to someone to participate in such a difficult and painful sport though. Have you seen their bods too? Hot damn. All that serious effort doesn't go to waste in the end.

*A male ballet dancer is called a ballerino.*

Allen's kind of ignorant in this. That's what character development's for though!

[recentanimenews]

The World’s Strongest Rearguard: Labyrinth Country’s Novice Seeker, Vol. 1

By Tôwa and Huuka Kazabana. Released in Japan as “Sekai Saikyou no Kouei: Meikyuukoku no Shinjin Tansakusha” by Kadokawa Books. Released in North America by Yen On. Translated by Jordan Taylor.

I’ve talked before about the times when I read a bad book and people ask me “is it bad in an MST3K way?” and I have to tell them no, it is bad in a bad way. However, we may finally have a winner. The World’s Strongest Rearguard is sort of what happens if you tell an author all the pitfalls they should avoid when writing a Japanese light novel, only he mishears you and uses them as must haves. It is a gloriously over the top power fantasy starring a hero who is so beige he verges on see-through, a harem of adoring women, and his magical job, which we’re assured is super perfect though it’s never quite made clear why he’s the only one who’s ever done this. It should be like dragging yourself across broken glass, but… it’s very readable and guileless. There are tons of “game stat” battles, which I will never ever enjoy, but aside from that, this is some of the finer trash I’ve seen in a light novel.

Arihito Atobe is a corporate wageslave who’s too good at his job, so he’s overworked by his manager – who’s also younger than him. And super hot. On their way to a corporate event, along with various other folks, their bus crashes and they are killed. Reincarnated in a world filled with labyrinths where you need to seek and defeat monsters to be able to have a place to sleep at night, Arihito is forced to choose a class – Rogue, Vakyrie, Shrine Maiden, etc. Getting an explanation from the guild receptionist, he chooses “Rearguard”, a far too general classification that is nevertheless accepted. Now he discovers that while he’s not good at attacking on his own, with the right party, he can provide fantastic buffs, restore vitality, and improve morale. But who would possibly form a party with a man such as himself? Oh, right, everyone.

I’m not even sure where to begin, so let’s start with the other cast. Kyouka, the Valkyrie, is his former boss, who apparently left her tsun back in Japan when she reincarnated and ends up all dere. The author says in the afterword that the webnovel version was too mean, so he toned her way down. I think he overdid it. She’s had a crush on him for ages. Theresia is a lizard woman… not what you (or Arihito) is thinking, it’s almost a costume. She looks like a small Japanese woman put on her robe and lizard hat. She’s a demi-human who was defeated in the dungeons by a lizard monster and so became this, and is also mute. Now she works as a mercenary, and Arihito (presumably) is the first to treat her with kindness. (Actually, this is one of the book’s few clever ideas, and I like how it avoided just making her a slave like other books would.)

Elitia is a Level 8 swordswoman who’s been here a while, but everyone avoids her due to her cursed sword. Suzuna is a sweet and mellow shrine maiden, and Misaki is her friend (they were on the bus together) who is the classic genki girl who lives for the moment and tends to get in trouble because of this. She’s a Gambler. Finally we have Louisa, the guildwoman, who is boggled by the fact that Arihito’s generic “rearguard” job was accepted and that his party keeps defeating stronger and stronger monsters. Every single one of them falls for Arihito almost immediately, and all seem to have issues accepting any sort of compliment, so any time a battle is won there’s a round of “it was all thanks to you”, “no, it was really your win”, etc. They think Arihito is their leader and let him make all the decisions. Oh yes, and he also exudes some sort of magic that, when asleep and behind them, makes them aroused. Nothing explicit happens. Yet.

As you can see, this is absolutely bonkers. It should be terrible beyond belief. It sort of is? Arihito has the personality of lint, and I started to refer to him as Huckleberry Hound due to his blase reaction to everything (he also seems to spend the entire book in his suit and tie), but let’s face it, if he had a personality this would be unreadable. The “reincarnation” aspect of the book reads like a job fair, with everyone keeping all their memories and appearance, they’re just shifted to this new world, which is explicitly designed to be “game world”. The sheer amount of rewards he gets for everything made me giggle. By the end of the book he’s found the secret level that no one else knows of and awakened a sleeping God (who, of course, is a naked robot sort of god) who vows to give her support from afar… though even SHE has severe self-hatred issues and is over the moon when Arihito and his party say they want to work with her. And there are a few plotlines that clearly are being introduced for further books (Elitia, Louisa and Theresia’s backstories, the “other gods”, why Arihito’s job works the way it does), so things are not going to get less extra.

So, again: this isn’t a good book. But, coming at it from the right angle, it’s a fun book. You won’t want to throw it away in disgust. Just read it as if Joel and the Bots were at the bottom of the page making comments, and you can’t go wrong. I can’t wait for Book 2.

By: Sean Gaffney

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 2 April 2018

Quick Bits:

All-New Wolverine #33 marks the beginning of the end with the first part of “Old Woman Laura”. It’s mostly set-up, easing us into this future. Playing against the usual dystopian futures, Tom Taylor instead opts for a more utopian world where the heroes actually won and things are going well.

| Published by Marvel

Amazing Spider-Man #798 is fairly explosive, both literally and figuratively. Stuart Immonen, Wade Von Grawbadger, and Marte Gracia make this entire issue look incredible, showcasing the first round in this Spider-Man/Green Goblin confrontation.

| Published by Marvel

Analog #1 is a blend of hard-boiled noir and an espionage thriller by Gerry Duggan, David O’Sullivan, and Jordie Bellaire. Duggan’s dialogue and narration keep it snapping along and the art from O’Sullivan and Bellaire is a perfect mix of shadow, light, and weird angles.

| Published by Image

Astonishing X-Men #10 should be purchased just on the back of ACO’s phenomenal layouts alone. Not one single uninteresting page visually in the entire book. ACO, David Lorenzo, and Rachelle Rosenberg do an incredible job here. Thankfully, Charles Soule’s script is no drawback either. Things are getting a bit more interesting as we head towards the finale.

| Published by Marvel

Avengers #687 takes a bit of a breather as the team collects itself following the battle with the Hulk. While they deal with the fallout of the discovery of Voyager’s truth, Jarvis and Banner have a bit of a heart to heart regarding the darker nature of heroism and the name of the team itself.

| Published by Marvel

Backways #4 lays it all out there, explaining some of the history of the Backways and the threat of the Outsider. Much of it was shown in bits and pieces in earlier issues, but Justin Jordan presents it here to allow for Anna to make a choice about Sylvia. It presents an interesting quandary about love and sacrifice.

| Published by AfterShock

Betrothed #2 continues the weirdness, with the teens tossed back to Earth, where they try to make some sense of what’s going on and naked dimensional travel. There’s some humour and further development of some of the intrigue going on between the worlds as the factions prepare for another war.

| Published by AfterShock

Black Bolt #12 is the epic conclusion to the series. Saladin Ahmed and Christian Ward have managed to tell an amazing story over the course of this book, full of heroism and heart in the most unexpected of places, and this issue brings it all together for one final bow.

| Published by Marvel

Black Cloud #8 gets stranger, like a fluorescent nightmare. Great art from Greg Hinkle, Andy MacDonald, and Matt Wilson.

| Published by Image

Dejah Thoris #3 sees Dejah reunited with the green Martian she freed from her father’s prisons. For her survival and directions to the lost city she’s looking for, the green Martian offers her to play a game similar to live-action chess. It’s an interesting story development from Amy Chu and gives Pasquale Qualano another opportunity to deliver some action.

| Published by Dynamite

Doctor Star and the Kingdom of Lost Tomorrows #2 again hits Jeff Lemire’s strengths of turning the fantastic into a relatable family drama, expanding upon Doctor Star’s failure to support his family while he was off saving aliens. The art from Max Fiumara and Dave Stewart also remains top notch.

| Published by Dark Horse

Elsewhere #6 reunites Amelia and DB, while setting off their quest to find their way back home. The quest opens up for some fantastic fantastical artwork from Sumeyye Kesgin and Ron Riley.

| Published by Image

God Complex: Dogma #5 sees Seneca dealing with the augmentations that the gods gave him. It’s interesting to see science and technology as the stand-in here for magic and it continues to be a compelling way to tell this story from a modern perspective.

| Published by Image / Top Cow - Glitch

Incognegro: Renaissance #3 gives us a look into the life and situation of Bette Mignon, the actress who was at Gray’s party where Xavier was murdered.

| Published by Dark Horse / Berger Books

Iron Fist #79 continues to mine past Iron Fist (and this issue Ghost Rider) stories as Ed Brisson sets up a fight tournament for Orson Randall to save his soul. Of course, as being part of the Damnation event, it turns out not as simple as the initial outlay. Damian Couceiro’s art (with colours from Andy Troy) is again wonderful.

| Published by Marvel

Isola #1 is a beautiful piece of work. The art from Karl Kerschl and Msassyk is drop-dead gorgeous, instantly transporting the reader into a lush, beautiful world. The story, from Brenden Fletcher and Kerschl, is equally up to snuff, presenting an interesting fable of a soldier protecting her queen, who has been cursed to wear the form of a tiger.

| Published by Image

Jazz Maynard #9 sends Jazz and Teo off to Iceland to find a supposedly mystical bauble that allows you to rule the world. As they find themselves unable to keep a low profile, we get more of Jazz’s history.

| Published by Lion Forge / Magnetic Collection

Koshchei the Deathless #4 takes a twist in the tale, revealing Koshchei’s love for a witch and then his attempt at the systematic destruction of the Baba Yaga. Mike Mignola’s story continues to be enthralling, with gorgeous artwork from Ben Stenbeck and Dave Stewart.

| Published by Dark Horse

Marvel Two-in-One #5 continues with Ben and Johnny in the universe where Doom became Galactus, joining with its heroes to try to stop Doom’s final push to devour everything. Valerio Schiti really steps up his game here, delivering some artwork that is among the best of his career.

| Published by Marvel

Mech Cadet Yu #8...in spaaaaace. Greg Pak and Takeshi Miyazawa take the cadets and their mechs in to space to confront the Sharg mothership on its way to Earth. Things gets worse on land as the military continues to kill other robos to harvest their hearts to make man-made mechs.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

New Mutants: Dead Souls #2 is arguably better than the first issue, as we get the team in the furthest recesses of Russia battling a frost giant. Aside from just the structure of one-off issues being put together to make a broader narrative for the series, I also enjoy how Matthew Rosenberg is playing with traditional horror stories to do something different. Here we have the unspeakable ancient terror found in the ice, but with a Marvel twist. I still think it’s weird in relation to the X-world, but I can’t deny that it’s good. Also, the art from Adam Gorham (with colours by Michael Garland) just puts it over the top.

| Published by Marvel

Red Sonja #14 turns to the next chapter as Sonja and Wallace return to the land of the living only to discover that years have passed and Kulan Gath has ascended to supremacy over the seven cities. Like with the excursion into the dead realms, I expect that Amy Chu and Erik Burnham have some surprises up their sleeves for what’s coming.

| Published by Dynamite

Ringside #15 is a quiet goodbye to what has been an excellent series from Joe Keatinge, Nick Barber, and Simon Gough.

| Published by Image

Rogue & Gambit #4 sets up for the big finale as Rogue and Gambit battle their way through Lavish’s simulacra, absorbing the powers and memories that were stolen from them along the way. Kelly Thompson starts it off by the pair absorbing a memory from each other, giving them each a deeper understanding of the other’s perspective.

| Published by Marvel

Runaways #8 reveals the explicit plot link to the title of this arc as “Best Friends Forever” as Molly’s new friend offers her a Peter Pan solution. Rainbow Rowell also adds more depth to the idea of the Runaways as family, as Julie Power gives a different perspective. Also, Doom’s villainy. That just seems weird. Although he’s looking very stylish as designed by Kris Anka.

| Published by Marvel

Scales & Scoundrels #8 begins what I believe is a series of single-issue adventures for the time being as Luvander attempts to discover her own path. In any event, this is a perfect jumping-on point for new readers, as she stumbles across a band of mercenaries and questions change.

| Published by Image

Venomized #1 begins the third and, I believe, final chapter of Cullen Bunn’s infliction of symbiotes and poisons across the Marvel multiverse. In this first issue, we get a seeding of symbiotes amongst Marvel’s heroes, but no conversion to poisons yet. I’ll be interested to see how they get out of this mess, especially in regards to Jean Grey’s conversion during the Poison-X crossover. It’s also good to see Iban Coello back for this series.

| Published by Marvel

Other Highlights: Agent 47: Birth of the Hitman #5, Avengers: Back to Basics #3, Betty & Veronica: Vixens #5, Brilliant Trash #5, Demi-God #1, Giant Days #37, Green Hornet #2, Killer Instinct #6, Monstro Mechanica #5, Motor Crush #11, The Punisher #223, Sex Criminals #23, Spawn #284, Spider-Man #239, Star Wars #46, Thanos: The Infinity Siblings, Venom #164, The Wicked + The Divine #35, Xerxes #1

Recommended Collections: Birthright - Volume 6, Centipede - Volume 1: Game Over, Eternity, Head Lopper - Volume 2: Crimson Tower, Horizon - Volume 3, Noble - Volume 2: Never Events, Paper Girls - Volume 4, Redlands - Volume 1, Star Wars - Volume 7: Ashes of Jedha

d. emerson eddy is not your boogie man.