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loregoddess · 21 days ago

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Addendum!

thanks to @space-spring I was able to find the path action text for both NPCs, although the missing cipher letters weren't in any of the phrases...but it's still neat to see what they're saying so, here's some more translated phrases:

Rig tob, e fuppifa. Not bad, I suppose. Ni ohaob, goma eg. Go ahead, take it. Shog'f yiul plitjaz!? What's your problem!? Ris e'z ornly! Now I'm angry! Zlz... Hlzz... Mrm... Hrmm... Ciujb ta silfa. Could be worse. Fula ghern. Take it. Sure thing. Take it. Fgip ghog. It's mine! Stop that. It's mine! All right. Jaob gha soy. All right. Lead the way. Sa'la werefhab ojlaoby? We're finished already? Bir'g bi ghog! Don't do that!

All pretty standard fare for NPC responses to path actions, but honestly it's almost impressive that English phrases with j or even q were avoided entirely.

Ancient Beastling Deciphered (literally)

So when I played Octo2, I saw the phrase "Ghormf" ef "thanks" and thought it sort of looked like a simple substitution cipher. This has haunted me long enough that I sat down last night and gave deciphering Ancient Beastling a try and lo, in the English localization it is indeed a simple substitution cipher.

Here's the cipher that's being used in the game:

Using this, we can "translate" the dialogue for the "Ghormf!" side quest:

The quest starts after speaking to the beastling in the Nameless Village (henceforth referred to as NVB, since he doesn't have a name).

NVB:

E'da taar jaolrern huzor fpaach jogajy. I've been learning human speech lately. Tug e bir'g mris his gi foy "ghormf". But I don't know how to say "thanks". His bi yiu foy "ghormf"? E zufg mris! How do you say "thanks"? I must know!

After traveling to Beasting Village, you can speak with the beastling there (henceforth BVB, as he also lacks a name).

BVB: E'da taar jaolrern orcearg fpaach jogajy. I've been learning ancient speech lately. E jaolrab his gi foy "ghormf"! I learned how to say "thanks"!

After the player guides BVB back to the Nameless Village and speaks with NVB, a cutscene plays out.

NVB: E'da taar jaolrern huzor fpaach jogajy. I've been learning human speech lately. BVB: E'da taar jaolrern orcearg fpaach jogajy. I've been learning ancient speech lately. NVB: Ih. Bi yiu mris his gi foy "ghormf"? Oh. Do you know how to say "thanks"? BVB: "Ghormf" ef "thanks". "Thanks" is "<thanks>". NVB: Ih! "Ghormf ef "thanks"! Oh! "Thanks" is "<thanks>"! Sohoho! E jaolrab fizaghern ras giboy! Wahaha! I learned something new today! "Thanks" daly zuch! "<Thanks>" very much!

Afterwards, BVB remains in the Nameless Village near NVB. If the player speaks to them, this is what they say.

NVB: Jaolrern huzor fpaach ef wur! Sohoho! Learning human speech is fun! Wahaha! BVB: Ancient speech... Very hard. But... Jaolrern eg ef wur! Ohoho! Learning it is fun! Ahaha!

And, that's the Ancient Beastling speech translated! Well, almost. As you can see in the cipher images, there's 4 missing letter substitutions. I could only find the guide dialogue for Temenos's guide from a video tutorial for the quest, where BVB says, "All right. Jaob gha soy." ("All right. Lead the way."), but I wasn't going to try and scour every video that's ever been uploaded in hopes of capturing unique dialogue for other path actions.

Despite a few cursory searches, I haven't been able to find dialogue script for all of the potential path actions, which might fill in the missing letters on the cipher. Since both files I currently have in Octo2 are already 100% completed, I also can't go and see what these two NPCs say when I use path actions aside from guide on them to grab the text for myself, nor have I been able to find a text dump to scour.

(If nothing else, I might end up trying to grab screenshots for myself on my next playthrough, whenever that may be. But! If anyone happens to have screenshots or a video or the text handy of the path actions for these two NPCs, I'd love to take a look).

Some more notes on my process, and guesses for the letters missing from the cipher, below the cut.

Deciphering the cipher wasn't really that hard, since we're given the key that "ghormf" = "thanks", so I was able to write out the alphabet, and then start writing in the substitution letters above their corresponding letters (I handwrote everything while working through this, but I don't have pics handy, so no process images this time sorry).

Then I just had to go through and start applying what letters I knew for sure to other lines of dialogue and then filling in the rest of the letters based on educated guesses (i.e. "Ghormf ef "thanks". became "Thanks" [e]s "thanks". so it was pretty obvious that "ef' was "is", which meant that Ancient Beastling e = i; also the phrase "Thanks" daly zuch! seemed to fit the phrase "Thanks" very much! and when I applied the letter substitutions for "very" and "much" to the rest of the cutscene dialogue, it made other words pop out, and so on and so forth until I had the cutscene dialogue completely translated, by which time the entire cipher was all but complete).

Obviously, there's a few missing letters: we don't have the Ancient Beastling equivalent to j, q, x, or z, since those letters weren't used in any of the dialogue I could find, and the letters k, q, x, and v weren't used, meaning they're the substitutions for j, q, x, and z but we don't know which letters they substitute for.

There's probably an official cipher, but until it's released (or if I find more letters in the path action dialogue eventually), I don't know for sure what the substitution letters would be.

I do have a guess of course, if you're into speculation.

Based on the pattern of the cipher, and the fact that Ancient Beastling looks like something I could read out loud if I wanted to, we can assume the missing letters of the cipher should still be "readable" for phrases translated to Ancient Beastling.

Therefore, my best guess is that x = x and q = q because they're weird letters, and my tentative guess is that English j = k, and English z = v.

x isn't used in English often, so keeping it as it is avoids losing the use of a more versatile letter, and also avoids the various phonetic qualities of x being lost when put through the cipher.

Keeping q as q would preserve the "qu" rule that appears in English, making encoding words with "qu" less awkward looking in Ancient Beastling: i.e. "quiet" would become "queag" which still doesn't look like English despite preserving 40% of the characters, and could still be pronounced out loud.

I'm tempted to have English j become k and z become v simply based on the phonetic qualities of the letters: z and v have a slight buzz when enunciated, and then j and k are the leftover letters. However alternately using j = v and z = k doesn't make the encoded Ancient Beastling unreadable per se.

For example:

the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog (using j = k, and z = v) gha quecm tlasr wix kuzpf idal gha jovy bin (compare against j = v and z = k) gha quecm tlasr wix vuzpf idal gha joky bin

Here's another:

pack my bag with five dozen liquor jugs (using j = k, and z = v) pocm zy ton segh weda bivar jequil kunf (compare against j = v and z = k) pocm zy ton segh weda bikar jequil vunf

So, I guess if you're going to use the cipher to write Ancient Beastling into a fanfic or something like that, you'll have to come up with your own headcanons for the missing letters based on your preferences. At least until either the path action dialogue that I'm missing potentially reveals the missing letters, or until we get access to the official cipher that was used.

In any case, I had a lot of fun cracking the cipher, and I hope you enjoyed reading about it as well. If you made it this far...

ghormf wil laobern!

#actually what I would like to ask the person who wrote this cipher is why f is the substitution for s like...#between fpaach and fgip and the weird Fs at the end of words where s makes them plural or possessive I dunno #phonetically f would not have been my first choice for a substitution for making something look like a spoken language #alas for the lack of missing letters...a happy wish to each their own headcanon for those missing letters though #(signed: a person who is absolutely going to take Ancient Beastling and use it for weaving their own beastling headcanons--#and also thinks other people coming up w/ their own HCs is super cool and hopes this cipher is helpful to them)#lore's lore analyses and headcanons #octopath traveler #octopath ii

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soaps-mohawk · 9 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

NEXT ->

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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punchholesinthesky · 2 years ago

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tonight im making the spanish angry by criticizing barcelona and its use of catalan

how dare i suggest that maybe they should have signs in other languages since they welcome tourists from all around the world

who might like to idk be able to navigate the city without turning to google translate every five bloody minutes or not waste time wandering around public transport hubs confused af

#travelling #spain is woefully bad at signage i found #i didnt make it to bilbao but i bet i wouldve also found signage in euskerra and nothing else #and i get wanting to preserve and use the language #my problem is having signs *only* in your local language #in what world is that a good idea ffs #catalans are almost jingoistic in their fervor its ridiculous

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noahsresources · 2 years ago

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DETAILS ABOUT OCS !

send an emoji/description of emoji to learn more about a writer's oc! many of these are taken from my munday asks meme, because i thought it would be fun to make a version for characters too! the prompts are categorized by emoji type and given descriptions in case anyone can't see the symbols. can be used for roleplayers and any general writers alike! for roleplayers, these can also be used for your interpretations of canon characters if you so desire as well!

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒. 💭 THOUGHT BALLOON — what is your oc's MBTI, enneagram, and/or other personality aspects (if known/interested in)? 🚗 CAR — does your oc have a driver's license? can they drive/operate any automobiles/machinery besides cars? ✈️ AIRPLANE — does your oc like traveling, or do they consider themselves a more homey person? 🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies? 💍 RING — does your oc have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings? 🖊️ BALLPOINT PEN — does your oc have any tattoos? do they want any (more) tattoos? 📚 BOOKS — what level of education has your oc most recently completed/is currently in (GED, undergraduate, grad school, phd, etc)? 🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)? 🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities? 🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?

𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐒. 🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often? 💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know. 💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits? 🔱 TRIDENT EMBLEM — can your oc swim? do they enjoy swimming? 🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons? 🔶 LARGE ORANGE DIAMOND — does your oc know cpr? do they have any other medical expertise? 🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄. 🌈 RAINBOW — what is your oc's sexual orientation/gender identity? what pronouns do they use? 🎄 CHRISTMAS TREE — what is your oc's favorite holiday? 🐶 DOG FACE — does your oc have any pets? 🐈 CAT — does your oc prefer a wide circle of friends or a few close friends? 🐷 PIG FACE — what is your oc's favorite animal? 🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc's favorite mythical creature? 🍃 LEAVES FLUTTERING IN WIND — what is/was your oc's favorite subject in school? 🌴 PALM TREE — does your oc have a green thumb? do they enjoy gardening? 🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒. ❤️ RED HEART — what are three of your oc's positive traits? 🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits? 💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc's negative traits? 💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them? 🧡 ORANGE HEART — does your oc tend to prioritize family or friends? 💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any? 💚 GREEN HEART — does your oc prefer being inside or outside? 💙 BLUE HEART — does your oc have any cool/special powers and/or abilities? how are they with magic, if it exists in their world? 💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc's ancestry/genetic background? 🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒. 🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE — when is your oc's birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs? 🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)? 🍰 SHORTCAKE — what is/are your oc's favorite sweet(s)/dessert(s)? 🍦 SOFT ICE CREAM — what is/are your oc's favorite ice cream flavor(s)? 🍔 HAMBURGER — is your oc good at cooking? are they good at baking? which one do they prefer? 🥯 BAGEL — what does your oc's typical breakfast look like? do they usually eat breakfast? 🥪 SANDWICH — what does your oc's typical lunch look like? do they usually eat lunch? 🍛 CURRY AND RICE — what does your oc's typical dinner look like? do they usually eat dinner? 🍸 COCKTAIL GLASS — what is your oc's favorite alcoholic drink, if they can drink? ☕️ HOT BEVERAGE — does your oc prefer coffee, tea, hot chocolate, milk, water, or some other drink? how do they like to take this drink (ex. coffee with milk, hot chocolate with whipped cream, a specific kind of tea, etc)?

𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄. 😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life? 😖 CONFOUNDED FACE — is your oc an introvert, an extrovert, or an ambivert? do they let people in easily, or are they more reserved? 🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms? 🧐 FACE WITH MONOCLE — is your oc more logical or emotional? 🤓 SMILING FACE WITH GLASSES — is your oc chatty or quiet? are they at ease in social situations, or are they more shy? 🤩 FACE WITH STARRY EYES — is your oc a planner, or are they more spontaneous in their actions? 😥 SAD BUT RELIEVED FACE — is your oc prone to getting stressed out, or is it easy for them to keep their cool? 😓 DOWNCAST FACE WITH SWEAT — is your oc open-minded or stubborn? are they inquisitive or do they prefer to keep to their bubble of knowledge? 😞 DISAPPOINTED FACE — does your oc attract others, or do they tend to be left alone? 🤒 FACE WITH THERMOMETER — does your oc get sick easily? 👨��👩‍👧‍👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc's immediate family? how many people are in your oc's extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family?

#oc asks #oc ask meme #oc ask game #oc meme #ask meme #ask memes #ooc #symbols #memes #mine #200 #500 #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k #10k

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peppertoastuniverse · 5 months ago

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pep reads: fluffiest fluff edition

I've just been CONSUMING so many jjk fanfics... here are the softest fluffiest fic recommendations since I think we all need it right now. This list is in no particular order – there's so many talented writers out there! These ones just made me MELT extra hard. Mostly no smut, I just needed to be held.

gojo satoru

☆ only you by Kaiseriin [A03: mini series] [status: unknown] [Cursed speech!reader] Other than Gojo, not many people understand the sign language you use to communicate as a cursed speech user. When some students from Kyoto arrive, one tries to learn so he can get closer to you.

☆ summer skies, winter lies by miyaspudding [A03: long fic!][status: ongoing]

"how cruel was fate? how much had he sinned in his past life, for the woman he loved to belong to his best friend? how little did god love him?"

in which gojo satoru learns that emotions are not weaknesses but consolations; and geto suguru realizes that he's always been a little too late for everything. because the furthest distance is an inch away, and the furthest thing from truth is "just friends".

☆best of luck. by reinerispretty [A03: one shot! part of a mini series] [status: unknown] In which Gojo Satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

☆Ah, you were both equally idiotic by Hiroka [A03: mini series] [status: unknown]

4 times others realized something was going on between Gojo and you, and 0 times you both realized it.

[Oneshots from the Old Beats Cinematic Universe]

☆ For A God, Shopping Is a New Adventure by Bun_sun [AO3] [status: on going!] [Baker!reader]

“Would you like anything else?” “Actually, yeah.” He flashes you a grin that only promises trouble, pushing his sunglasses down with a way too exaggerated flirty expression. “Can I get your number too?” “Haha, really funny Gojo. Now, I have more clients so...” But he's already getting his phone out, as if he hasn't listened to a single word you've said. “...Oh, you're for real.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Reader owns a small cafe with their own baked goods. Gojo comes in one day, and absolutely falls in love with their pastries (and with them).

☆ I Want to Kiss You / キスしたい by arminsumi [A03][status: unknown]

You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

You've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. There's seems to be romantic tension between you and Suguru, too.

geto suguru

it's so hard to find suguru fics without him being used as a plot device for gojo

☆ gentle glow / deep thought by waffiez [AO3: one shot] [status: completed] "I thought about you, you know." Despite the softness of his voice, it cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere profoundly and made your heart skip a beat. "Is that so?" "It is." ☆☆☆ in which you awake to your best friend suguru asleep at the edge of your bed, having returned from a lengthy mission and only really wanting to see you.

☆ unnamed drabble by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: drabble] [status: completed]

comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)

☆ Wash It Away by @shadowsandshapes [A03/tumblr: drabble][status: completed]

Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. ☆ Wisteria and Ciabatta by @hayakawalove [A03/tumblr: mini fic!][status: completed, chapter 2 has smut!]

Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You. ☆ the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: long oneshot!] [status: completed]

bonus!

☆ Digest Your Feelings (DYF) – First Years! by @whalesforhands [A03/tumblr: part of a longer series of fics] [status: completed] new classmates, new life, new friends(?). a look into the life of the dyf au characters in their first year.

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botanicalsword · 2 months ago

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Mercury in Houses & Signs - How does Mercury govern their languages, tones, thoughts?

♡♡♡

❥ Mercury in Houses

Mercury in the 1st House - Enhances intellect and self-awareness, often prone to overthinking

Mercury in the 2nd House - Skilled in negotiation, places importance on financial matters

Mercury in the 3rd House - Excellent communication skills, enjoys traveling

Mercury in the 4th House - Values family and home life

Mercury in the 5th House - Proficient in intellectual games, enjoys performing

Mercury in the 6th House - Emphasizes health and well-being

Mercury in the 7th House - Values and admires an intelligent partner

Mercury in the 8th House - Enjoys studying mysticism and has the ability to uncover secrets

Mercury in the 9th House - Likes to enrich oneself through reading

Mercury in the 10th House - Mostly engaged in intellectual and research-oriented work

Mercury in the 11th House - Has a larger circle of friends

Mercury in the 12th House - Prefers to keep their thoughts and ideas hidden

❥ Mercury in signs

Mercury in Aries - they tend to speak directly and lack patience and sometimes are stubborn with their words.

Mercury in Taurus - they are shrewd and conservative in their speech. They carefully choose their words. They are good at leaving themselves room to maneuver.

Mercury in Gemini - they are skilled at communication and may use a mix of truth and fiction in their speech.

Mercury in Cancer - they are are sensitive and empathetic communicators, they avoid using harsh words when they genuinely like someone. They prioritize maintaining emotional connections in their communication.

Mercury in Leo - They have a strong desire to be seen as right and may express themselves boldly and confidently, sometimes even exaggerating their points to prove themselves correct.

Mercury in Virgo - They are known for their precise and clear communication style. They express themselves with clarity and attention to detail, ensuring that what they say aligns with what they think. They value accuracy and practicality in their speech.

Mercury in Libra - They are skilled at sweet-talking and using tactful language. However, their ability to follow through on their words may vary, as they prioritize maintaining harmony and balance in their relationships.

Mercury in Scorpio - they are sarcastic and may disregard others' feelings. They have a sharp and sarcastic communication style. They may disregard the feelings of others unless they have a deep emotional connection. They are often straightforward and unafraid to speak their minds, even if it may come across as harsh.

Mercury in Sagittarius - they tend to speak impulsively and without much filter. They may say things without fully considering the consequences and often forget their words quickly.

Mercury in Capricorn - they take responsibility for their words and have a serious and practical approach to communication. They prefer to speak with purpose and avoid engaging in meaningless conversations. They value clarity and reliability in their speech.

Mercury in Aquarius - they hold strong opinions and are often resistant to changing their views. They can be persuasive communicators and have the ability to influence and even brainwash others. They are independent thinkers who value intellectual stimulation.

Mercury in Pisces - People with Mercury in Pisces speak based on imagination and intuition. They are easily influenced or misled, but they can also be manipulative and deceptive.

It is advisable to approach astrology as a tool for self-reflection and guidance rather than relying solely on it for making major life decisions.

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millersfinest · 15 days ago

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pluto and charon | e.w

astrophysicist!ellie & aerospace engineer!reader

wc: 4k

blurb: there’s a new planet that formed in the milky way galaxy—and it’s dr. ellie williams’ (and a few research assistant’s) job to prove that life can exist on it. oh, and you’re the second opinion there to back her up and steer the ship (whether she likes you or not). but, when a sector of the shuttle malfunctions, locking the two of you inside… what will two analytical scientist do to fix it? was it a dignified sign from the cosmos?

warnings: nothing much, vulgar language, enemies to lovers (?)

note: ellie loves space, so i wanted to write her as an astronaut—please, enjoy! i haven’t written anything in awhile so…. had to get this off my mind.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

The thick sound of silence and machinery crowded the ears of everyone on board. It had been approximately one hundred and twenty-five earth hours since you have taken off from the ground—to and through the stratosphere. The ship was in autopilot, cruising through the nothingness of the milky way; passing whirling planets and asteroids that shied away from prying eyes.

This wasn’t your first time estranged from earth. It was your second. But there was no feeling like floating in metal that you concocted—stitched together with wires, buttons, and joysticks. You marveled at the large windows that displayed your universe just as enthusiastically as the research assistants on board.

Jackson’s planet was where you were headed. Previously named, J-74.

Through many study sessions and research assignments, it has been theorized that it could withstand human life. Earth’s depletion of resources has been making it difficult to live—for average people. With the atmosphere rapidly thinning, livestock, farming, and health sustainability has been dramatically decreasing.

There needed to be an intervention—and Dr. Williams was the one to jump start it.

You have been working off and on with her since your early years at NASA. Initially, the two of you came in as forthright interns who were too smart for their own good—arguing every chance you got because you both wanted the same thing; to see what space looked like from space. Not from a camera or laptop or extreme telescope.

Eventually, you split into separate fields and concentrations. It was engineering that began to pique your interest. You worked hard to curate materials that could withstand dramatic changes in temperatures and weather. Still studying planets and galaxies, but with a distinct perspective.

The space shuttle was made for damage—only certifying the safety of the mission. There was very little risk traveling to Jackson’s planet.

You couldn’t decipher if it was morning, noon, or night, but you just couldn’t stay asleep. Checking the watch on your wrist you have only been asleep for three hours. How puzzling. Typically, you sleep well in silence and whirring, but it was different this time. The sounds prickled under your skin, pulling you from the absorbing mattress in your sleeping quarters.

Finding your way toward the center of the shuttle, you used a key card to enter each sector. A ziplock of dried fruit was pinched between your fingers—reaching inside every few minutes for a bite. Wanting to estimate time of arrival, you navigated toward the flight deck. A pair of dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose to dim the fluorescent lights.

Shuffling your feet against the floor, you slipped into chair of the pilot seat. There were many screens and buttons before you. All bright in different colors and hues—blinking. However, you focused on the screen that determined the path of the shuttle. It showed the ship following a dotted green line, with the time in the far-right corner. Six hours.

Time of arrival was only a few hours out. You were almost at the very planet you’ve been studying for the past two years. A tired smile stretched onto your lips, leaning back in the cushioned chair.

In the comfort of silence, you watch the celestial bodies minding their own through the three panel windows. Legs folded up, comfortably. You were currently passing Pluto and Charon. There were four other moons of Pluto, but Charon was the largest. And even bigger up close.

The coolest thing about the pair was that they always shared a face. There wasn’t a time where they weren’t looking at each other—scientifically, it was called mutual tidal locking.

“I didn’t think you’d be up…” A raspy voice muttered from behind your chair. She must’ve heard you crunching on your dried raspberries.

Turning around, you noticed her walking toward the co-pilot chair with a yellow notepad in her hands. Her gray NASA jumpsuit was tied around her waist, exposing the white, ribbed tank top she had on. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d kill some time up here.” You responded, watching as she sat down.

“What’s our ETA?” Her green eyes focus on the destination screen.

“Oh-eight hundred— we have six hours left of travel.” You pushed the glasses above your head, eyes glancing at the screen. “Raspberries?” Holding the ziplock toward her, you offered.

Ellie shook her head, clicking the pen in her hands. Pressing your lips together, you shrugged, zipping it tight before placing in the crevice of the chair. She quietly scribbled on the yellow pages—her thick eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

The other moons of Pluto came into your line of sight. They weren’t all close on your path, but Hydra and Nix made a clear appearance. Their shapes were not as circular as Charon; they were like any other moon on any other planet.

She hummed to herself, clicking her pen in thought. “Can you check this equation for me? I’ve been thinking about this since we boarded The Firefly…” Ellie hands the notepad to you. “It’s an estimation of sustainable oxygen and energy— if Jackson’s planet doesn’t provide us with enough… How much can we manually create for it to be habitable?”

It was your turn to hum in thought. Dragging your finger along the inked lines of her equation, you sucked your teeth. The numbers appeared to be correct—Ellie was always good at the math part of theory. “This seems about right, but we can only theorize so much.” You begin. “The only way we can thoroughly verify this equation is by settling on Jackson—running physical tests.” You hand the notepad back to her. “We need specificity, not estimation.”

“I’m just making sure that we’re prepared.” She grumbled.

“We are prepared, Ellie. If we have too many hypotheses, it may confuse our students… Overwhelm them.”

She pressed her lips into a line, averting her eyes toward the three panel windows. You could feel her level of irritation rise, as she adjusted in her seat. The ship was slipping past Pluto and Charon, leaving the bodies in your wake. “Do you have to challenge everything that I say?” Ellie muttered, leaning her chin on her fist with a pinched expression.

You deepened your eyebrows. “I don’t challenge everything you say… You asked for my opinion.”

“On the equation!” She whisper-yelled, pinching the bridge of her nose to calm herself. “Not your opinion on how to teach my students.”

“Our students—“ You corrected, but she abruptly cut you off by standing to her feet.

Scoffing, she ran her fingers through her choppy auburn strands. Rolling your eyes, you watched as she threw an adult tantrum. Ellie’s capacity for managing her emotions has never changed; she’s always been angsty and easily frustrated. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him— I should have chosen someone else for this mission.” She tossed her notepad onto a table, shaking her head.

With that, you stand up. Leaning your arm against the back of the pilot seat. “Oh, yeah? Who?” You squinted your eyes, condescendingly. “Jerry the fucking receptionist? So, you can feel intellectually superior enough to feel good about yourself?” Raising an eyebrow, you chortle. “Wow, Dr. Williams… Didn’t know you could stoop so low.”

“Fuck off…” She sucked her teeth, shaking her head, dismissively.

“Gladly!” You snatched the bag of dried fruit from your chair, before stomping toward the sliding mechanical door. Before raising your key card to the receiver, turned toward her one last time. “This isn’t just about your findings. It takes a team's effort for a mission like this to succeed. Challenges foster discovery— even if I’m the one doing it.” You wave your card over the receiver, the door releasing air as it slid open. “See you in few hours…” And back to your sleeping quarters you went.

It was difficult, but you managed to get four extra hours of sleep after that little argument. Typically, bickering with Ellie lasted more than just a few minutes, but you’ve matured—you’d like to think. Times have changed, and you were in space; you were working. There was no time for petty, egotistical arguments. Even so, you couldn’t help but wonder why you ground her gears so bad. Yet, somehow, she was always around you—orbiting you like the beautiful celestial bodies you know and love. Was she stuck in a gravitational pull—unable to flee? Or was she fully conscious?

Two hours until Jackson’s planet arrival!

The automated voice announced over the intercom. Which pulled everyone on board from their own devices—whether that was sleeping or exercising. The classes you and Ellie taught were basically conjoined; two in one. So, each of you had your own research assistant that tagged along on this mission. But they both worked for the both of you— you were their supervisors.

However, for some reason, Ellie’s assistant appeared to be distant from yours. Allan was his name. When everyone met at the breakfast table, there was a quietness in the room that felt unfamiliar. Usually, Allan and Sophia, your assistant, would be filling the room with casual chatter. About their personal lives. This morning was drastically different. Scraping your plastic fork against the plate, playing with your powdered eggs, you glared at Ellie. “Dr. Williams, how old are you again?”

“Dr. Jones, isn’t it disrespectful to ask a woman her age—?”

“Thirty-one, right?” The legs of your chair screeched against floor as you stood up. Taking your plate, you toss the food into the trash bin. Scoffing, you use your key card to leave the eating area. You navigated toward the flight deck to guide the ship the rest of the way. Flicking off the autopilot switch and taking ahold of the joystick. For as long as you’ve known her, you never thought she’d stoop as low as admitting to choosing another for the job.

You’ve never done anything to Ellie for her to be so adamant about being a pain in the ass. Academically, you rivaled each other, but that was it. At least, that’s what you thought.

In the distance you could see the blue-green planet ahead. Looking like the long-lost sister of Earth. You mused at the sight, grinning to yourself. That was what you were here for.

The sound of air puffing from the sliding door leading to the flight deck, caught your attention. For a moment, you thought it was Ellie, but a much softer voice called your name. “Dr. J,”

It was Sophia wandering into the room. “Tense morning, huh?” She raised her slender eyebrows, taking a seat in the copilot chair. You jutted your eyebrows in response. “I thought it’d be more enthusiastic considering we’re almost there…” Her light eyes glanced toward the three-panel window, glimmering with excitement.

“You and me both.” You responded, dryly.

A beat passed between the two of you. Sophia awkwardly rocking in the chair. “I can’t help but ask— what’s going on between you and Dr. Williams?” She questioned, softly. “I’ve seen you guys' bicker before but…” She dragged on, hoping you’d respond before she rambled.

You sigh, glancing at her. “We’re just having a disagreement. That’s all.” You swallowed, clenching your jaw. Keeping the relationship between you and your student professional, you change the subject. “We’re nearing Jackson. I suggest you suit up and start taking notes on what you see as we approach. Meaning asteroids, moons— anything.”

“Copy that.” Sophia quickly got up, to leave the flight deck.

Focusing, within the next hour you enter the atmosphere of the planet. The ship shuttering through turbulent clouds and temperatures. The ground resembled the dirt of Mars, just darker and muddier. The ship released stilts to prop itself on the ground of Jackson. With a hopeful sigh, she jumped from her seat. Going to slip into her protective suit and helmet. The whistling of heavy winds sounded against the ship, rocking it slightly.

You met the rest of the group in the airlock. Allan was about to press the button to shut the door into the hall—locking them out with an airtight seal. But Ellie stopped him with a wave of her gloved hand. “Your suits not zipped up all the way. Turn around.” She told you, gesturing with her hand for you to turn. Her voice echoing in your helmet, you do as she says; as it’s a safety concern. But you were still annoyed with her—and you were sure that she was still annoyed with you.

She zipped up the back, latching it with a metal button. Ellie even made sure that your helmet was sealed and secure. You grabbed your pack, swinging it onto your back. Then began locking everything into place with buckles and latches. “Thanks…” You muttered, barely sparing her a glance. “Allan, the door.”

He glanced at Sophia with eyes you couldn’t read, before pressing the button. The airlock sealed, puffs of air releasing from the hinges.

The hatch creaked as it fell open, hitting the ground with a thud. The assistants marveled, stepping toward the threshold. You and Ellie mirroring them, approaching where they stood. The morning sky’s were clear and blue. With the reflection of two, perfectly circular moons in view. Allan turned around, looking at his main supervisor.

“It’s your mission— you should be the first to step foot on it.”

Ellie smiled through her helmet, glancing at you, briefly. You didn’t spare her much of a glance, you just rocked on your feet. She should be lucky she has such supportive students.

“I think its just as much as Dr. Jones’ mission as it is Dr. Williams’.” Sophie spoke up, lifted her eyebrows. “If it weren’t for Dr. J… We wouldn’t have The Firefly; I think they both should go. Together.”

“Holding hands…”

You put your hand up, scrunching your eyebrows. “All right, that’s enough.” Rolling your eyes, you chuckled, dryly. “We can go together… If you don’t mind.”

Ellie shrugged. “It takes a team’s effort to succeed…” She held out her gloved hand.

Sighing, you took her hand. She held onto your gloved hand, gently, pulling you toward the hatch. The wind whistled, nearly blowing the two of you over, but when your feet jumped into the mud—the assistants cheered. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind!” Ellie exclaimed, swinging your arm, unintentionally.

You meet her eyes, laughing at the reference. “Be original.” You playfully, jested. Turning back to the team. “Let’s begin our testing— shall we?”

The team was out there for hours with test tubes collecting matter of different forms. You grabbed bites of temperature and took notes of the environment. The assistants diligently worked—doing exactly what they were told. Ellie kept her distance from you, but never forgot to spare you a glance every now and then. Pretending not to notice, you kept to your work. Walking in and out of the shuttle, collecting data. Trying not to mind it one bit.

Fatigue began to rain over everyone—including yourself. Despite your incessant need to prove otherwise. It was reaching twenty-one hundred; it was past their bedtime. Allan and Sophia had grabbed the supplies propped outside, bringing them back into the shuttle. They were the last touch the ground for the evening. But, you and Ellie had been hibernating inside the shuttle running chemical tests on the matter collected.

A makeshift dinner was prepared by the leading astrophysicist as a prized delight. She was proud with how hard everyone worked—giving the pep talk of a lifetime. Her influential words were really meant for your students. You even added a few supportive statements to hers. Applauding their work. Then, eating ensued; chowing down on the blandest food known to mankind.

It was not long before half the crew went to bed. You disappeared into the comms room to film the first scientific update of Jackson’s planet. The sliding door shutting with a smooth sss sound. In your hand, you held a personal vial of the dirt you found. With pieces of rocks and, what you could only assume to be, grass stuffed into the top. White scotch tape labeled the small glass: J-74.

There was a small television screen built into the wall. Touch screen. With a little camera at the top center of the shape. You pressed the screen until the recording option came up. Clearing your throat, you started by saying the date and time, then your name. “We just finished day one on Jackson’s planet— it was a busy day.” You held up the vial of dirt, shaking it around. “But it was well worth it.” A grin stretched across your face.

“The team has loads of research ahead— thank God for Allan and Soph; they’ve already made this trip easier— but the odds are looking up.” You nod, continuing. “Jackson just might be everything that we need for our survival. Just like Dr. Williams anticipated.”

Sss!

The door opened, revealing the auburn-haired academic. “Shit-talking me in the comms room?” Ellie raised an eyebrow as she entered. But, upon noticing your filming, she paused in her steps. Cursing to herself. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” She cursed herself, again, for swearing on company file. Her notepad was glued to her hand—as per usual.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear.” You chortle after glancing over your shoulder at the woman. “Dr. J, signing off.” Ceasing the recording, you swiveled around in your rolling stool. Ellie wandered around the room with a nervous aura. Bending the notepad back and forth. “I hope you’re not wanting my opinion on another equation… I’m on too much of a high to bicker tonight.”

Ellie chuckled, dryly. “Not this time. I actually wanted to apologize for this morning.” She inhaled, stiffly. “I was unprofessional— you’re the best this team has; I could never replace you—“

“Okay, I get it. Apology accep—“

“Let me finish!” She held up a hand. You blinked with a slightly surprised expression, pursing your lips. “I could never replace you nor would I want to” Ellie paced the floor before you. “And, yes, it was very childish for me to ask Allan to take a vow of silence when communicating with Sophia and you. That was wrong. But, in his defense, he argued me down about it…” She rambled, messing with her hair, notebook, fingers—everything to busy herself.

This may have been the first time that she has ever thoroughly apologized. Usually, the two of you let the frustration from arguments simmer; then, eventually talk to each other. “Where’s Ellie Williams and what have you done with her?” You joked, standing to your feet. She was a nervous person, but never this nervous. “Seriously, it’s fine. No hard feelings— we do this all the time.”

You move to leave the room, pressing your key card against the receiver. That familiar puffing of air doesn’t sound—the door doesn’t open. The light flashes red. Deepening your eyebrows, you try again. Ellie watches you, intently. Her lips parted, wanting to speak. The focus on you breaks when she realizes she can’t leave either. “Let me try.”

She waves her card, and it flashes red. You swear, stepping backwards, in thought. Was it the high winds? When you built The Firefly, you made sure to consider every possibility externally. Did you really forget about the smaller details—like doors? You weren’t the only one working on this contraption, so this issue couldn’t have been on you. “Have there been any complications in any of the other sectors of the shuttle?” You asked.

“Uhm, not that I know of— I haven’t had any problems.”

“So, it’s just this one… Hm.” You hum, feeling the gears of the door. Bracing your hand on the part of the door that opens, you attempt to pry it open with your hands. Grunting, using most of your strength. Sighing, you look at the woman next to you—gawking. “Are gonna stand there or are you gonna help me?” You exhaled. “You must want to be locked in here with me.”

She jumped to action, tossing her notebook aside to try to pry open the door. “To be honest, I’m not complaining…” Ellie muttered to herself. But she was close enough for you to hear.

Abruptly, you stopped pulling. “What?” Your eyebrows deepened, placing your hands on your hips. “What did you just say?” You questioned, gently. Confusion written along the faint fine lines across your face. Ellie pressed her lips into a line, stepping back from the door as well.

“I have a confession.”

“A confession? Am I being punked?”

She crossed her arms. “Do you seriously think I’m incapable of being nice to you?”

You shrugged, pursing your lips. “For longer than ten minutes… Yeah, I find it a little hard to believe.” Ellie scoffed, dropping her hands at her side. She began to pace, again, but in a different way. Leaving a trail of frustration and irritation in her path. “Ellie, we’ve been butting heads since we met. Excuse me for being a little surprised at the word confession.”

The scientist looked over her shoulder, partially glaring. “Did you ever consider why we bump heads so much?”

You cleared your throat, awkwardly. “Uhm, you hate that I’m smarter than you.” You chortle, but she doesn’t laugh. “Kidding.”

Swiveling around, her freckled cheeks were as red as a tomato. “Ellie, I’m kidding.” You tried, approaching her slowly, remorsefully. You’ve never seen her this way before. Her foresty eyes were glistening and wide like she wanted to cry. Placing a hand on her bare arm, you felt her muscles flinch. “You’re probably the only person at work that actually meets my intellect— maybe even exceeds it at times.”

“Pluto and Charon.” Ellie mumbles, examining your features. Overthinking the feeling of your hand on her bicep.

“What about them?”

“Do you think Pluto always noticed Charon?”

You thoughtfully averted your eyes, but your fingers remained against her warm skin. “She’s so large, I doubt Pluto didn’t always notice Charon. How could she miss her? I mean, they share a face.”

A beat passed between the two of you, leaving room for you to finally understand. Were you that stupid? The most remarkable thing about you was your intellect. So, you wondered, how this could slip by so easily? Ellie had to frame her words in a way that you’d understand. Astronomy.

“Oh.” Your hand drifted up her arm, over her bones shoulder, resting lightly over her trapezius. “Ellie… You have a thing for me?”

She tries to brush your hand off her skin because she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. But, you resist, taking her other hand in yours. Perhaps, you never fully thought about it—drowning yourself in your work. However, when you do think about it, you loved working with her. Even if that meant arguing and bickering every few minutes. At least you got to be around her; seeing her pretty freckled face for hours at a time. Watching her eyebrows twitch in thought as she solved equations.

“Don’t shy away from me now.” Your hand reached to cup her cheek; drawing comforting lines across her skin. Pluto always noticed Charon. It was natural for them to be in each others orbit—stuck like glue.

Despite her nerves, Ellie’s hands found solace at your hips before she leaned in for your lips. You pushed your body against hers, wrapping your arms around her neck; somehow wanting her closer. Her lips were soft and slow moving against yours—melting with passion and warmth. You could tell that she yearned for you, unlocking a part of you that yearned for her. Slowly, the kiss intensified. Ellie’s hands clenched at your tank top, slipping her fingers under the hem.

While your skin was being set aflame by her touch, you pulled away. Eyeing her with glimmers of lust in your irises. “This is great, uhm, but we’re still stuck in the comms room…” Your brushed hair from her face. “I don’t want the entirety of Houston to see or hear what we’re doing.”

“We’re not doing anything…” She smirked, keeping your hips flush to hers.

“Right.” You grin. “Let’s wake the assistants.”

The two of you separated, hesitantly. Ellie reached for the intercom button, but when you both heard giggling from the other side of the door—all movements ceased.

“Those little assholes.”

The cosmos.

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #lgbtq

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lokisgoodgirl · 5 months ago

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Successional Pleasure: The Rite (II)

A Masterlist for The Rite is here A link to my regular Masterlist is here Summary: (2) Loki arranges a meeting, and you're offered the opportunity of a lifetime (w/c 4.8k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Thirsting for unattainable royals. Language. Heavy petting. Ridiculous Asgardian HC lore. Smuttish.

This morning the palace criers announced mandatory palace court attendance for all of Asgard.

Word travels fast, you muse as another person shoves into your shoulder; especially when the Odinsons will be in full ceremonial dress.

A swell ripples through the crowd, pulsing forward. Only one row of people stand in front of you, and the guards lining the jostling mass are becoming impatient.

You always make an effort for these events; everyone does. However bland and self-aggrandising the subject matter (and with the Allfather, when is it not?) – one never knows who’ll attention you’ll draw. But this time, it’s different.

This time, as you fixed your hair and let your solitary maid tighten the laces of your dress – there was only one person you wanted to impress. Him. Because this time, for the first time, he may actually notice you.

But that’s madness, you think as you try and focus. His lovers are legendary. He has his pick of…anyone. Literal deities.

But then, the memory of Prince Loki’s glistening chest emerging from the palace baths with wet hair plastered over his brow as he grunted through his orgasm erupts in your mind. That’s a memory not easily forgotten. In fact, it’s very easily encouraged. And each time you think of it, more layers appear.

In the extended, delusional version, he crosses the pool, the lapping water licking around his proud cock snug to his stomach as he wages a path to cage you by the stone edge and—

Trumpets blare. “They’re here,” a woman beside you squeals. Her hand flies to yours, clawing with unhinged excitement. The guards straighten, spears thudding against marble in ceremonial greeting.

He probably does that shit all the time; wanking in the palace baths with people he doesn’t know. He won’t see you amongst thousands of faces. That’s madness. But when it came to Loki Odinson, didn’t that make it more likely? Nerves tighten your stomach. The glint of their ostentatious headwear is the first sign of approach; two small figures against the expanse of the ancient doors floor to ceiling of the hall. Cheers thunders like a burst dam through a canyon as they move in sync down the wide aisle, each set of guards they pass thunking their staff in salute. Each thud made your pussy clench. And finally, you catch sight of his face.

It's the picture of haughty expectation at the wild crowds losing their minds as he passes. Every slice and draw of his bone structure is set like marble. He’s above it all; stunning decorative armour that would be absolutely no use in battle accenting broad shoulders at sharp angles. Impeccable posture, as ever. Today, the prince wears full leathers beneath – ridiculously fitted trousers which melded seamlessly to a forest green tunic stitched in golden trim.

To complete the act of war that’s his outfit, a stiff collar cut to the curve of his jawline sweeps up to his earlobes; a solitary curl of ebony hair lying against the leather, freed from his helmet. Thor wears the same red and garish gold he always does, beaming greedily at the crowds.

Your eyes roam over Loki’s sweeping entrance and you smile to yourself that the last time you’d seen him – he’d been naked. The woman beside you begins to breathe heavily as they draw closer. You have no idea, you smirk.

Loki’s cape billows with theatrical elegance down the open aisle, and you wonder briefly if his magic has something to do with it. Thor’s certainly doesn’t flutter around his ankles with the same effortless gravitas. Thor’s doesn’t undulate with every stride, timed with the military precision of its master’s thighs.

The guard in front of you lifts his spear, ready to thrust it to the marble floor. You hold your breath, biting your lip, their glory radiating with each falling step. And then, time seems to stop. Because then, Loki, Prince of Asgard, looks at you. His eyes flicker to the side, narrowing softly in your direction. A low dimple in his cheek flashes, only for a moment. And then - -thunk

The metal clang makes you jump out your skin, and by the time you get your bearings, the princes have moved on. They each face the platform, sinking on one knee with bowed heads while Odin pats down the cheers. He begins to rumble on, something about war, or tradition or blah blah.

The dark prince’s jawline is a work of art as he kneels in performatively rapt attention. With each swallow, his cheekbones flash. The golden helmet highlights the harsh lines of his face, lids dropping every few minutes as he struggles not to roll his eyes. You smile.

“Oh that’s good,” the woman beside you hums. You frown at her, concentration broken. It was her turn to frown. She shakes her head, gazing back to Odin. “Thor reached a treaty with Muspelheim.”

The next hour passes slowly, and for once, you’re grateful. When Odin stops, it’s the Crown Prince’s turn to regale the audience of thousands with his diplomatic success. Only half-listening, you use the time to your advantage, perving on Loki kneeling on the polished floor with those long, pale fingers clasped around one knee. When the dark prince stands, the rest of the high-nobles do the same. He whips his cape back, allowing the crowd a gratuitous view of his muscular ass and thighs flexing beneath tight leather while he unfurls. Loki’s imperious eyes scan the heaving crowd with an air of disdain. The look rolls like a sea wind, cold and unforgiving until you feel its weight land on you.

You’re pinned by that stare as plainly as though it’s his hands; his body. Goosebumps ripple beneath your dress. I see you, he mouths silently, subtly, before his gaze falls on his brother once more.

The royal family wave a final time before slipping to the doors at the back of the Great Hall. Loki’s attention hadn’t fallen upon you again, but the waiting. The anticipation; it was exhausting.

Around you, the bustle of a thousand conversations grows to a roar. The front rows of the crowd begin to file out and follow the same path the royal family had taken through the golden doors. High-court, only. Friends and family, that sort of thing. A huge curtain hangs behind the throne, buffeting gently from some unseen breeze. It’s a rich amber with threads of green and red and blue, shimmering patterns that no mortal fingers could accomplish woven over centuries, millennia even.

Gods, noted warriors and chancellors all dutifully bow to the empty throne before circling around the platform and disappearing behind the curtain. On their way to a feast, no doubt.

A set of bird-like fingers wrap around your wrist. With a yank you pull it away, whipping round to see the expectant face of a young boy.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. Pickpockets are rife at these sorts of things. The boy stares. Puberty hadn’t darkened a shadow on his skin, and despite his age, he was un-phased by the abruptness.

“You are requested,” he says, bored eyes searching your face. People jostle by your shoulders in annoyance. “By who?” you scoff. They’d try anything these days.

The boy tugs your hand. “Requested,” he says again as though it explains everything, turning and pulling you earnestly towards the line of guards. With a single glance at an insignia on his tunic, they part for him.

You traipse behind him at pace, clutching long skirts in one fist while eyes in the crowd follow you down the marble aisle against the sea of people and behind the mysterious curtain. “Name?” a voice grunts.

You look from the back of the boy’s head to the bulky figure in front of you. He’s dressed in robes of scarlet, the hint of a dagger’s hilt beneath a thick belt. A wiry red beard hangs down his chest, resting on a buckle of black steel. “I know you not…” he sneers slowly. “No names,” the boy snaps. He barely came up to the gatekeeper’s stomach. “She’s been requested.” The gatekeeper’s face crumples and his eyes dart to the emblem on the boy’s chest before standing aside, holding his tongue.

The youth gestures with his head to follow him, and you do…. down a short corridor flooded with buttery light. Delicate jangling of lutes and laughter ring to ornate cloisters, a glittering view of Asgard below the balcony-walkway taking your breath away. “Hurry,” the boy snips without a backwards look. “Master is not a patient man.”

He claps his small hands three times and a set of golden doors at the end of the cloister swing open. Thor comes into view mid-conversation, still wearing his ceremonial armour, a goblet spilling over the sides clutched in one hand as he gesticulates wildly. There’s a rumble of polite laughter. Your hand shoots out, grabbing the boy’s shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you mutter. He shoots a scathing glance over his shoulder, casting a salty look down to your feet and back again. “You have been—”

“—requested,” you finish petulantly. “Yeah, I know.”

Your ribs thrum as you walk through the doors, pulled by invisible hands. There can only be one person who harbours the desire to have you at this exclusive gathering. And even that’s beyond insanity. Has he mistaken you for someone else? The boy, that is. He’s a barely more than a child. You were about to ask where you should go, when you realise he’s gone. Casting a frantic look around the room it’s evident that familiar groups have already formed, jokes cracking in waves; picking at piles of nuts and fruit and meats. Frigga herself stands by an ornate silver trolley, ladling wine into a goblet while Lofn whispers in her ear. Your knees buckle slightly. There he is.

A small figure works through folds of silk and armoured angles to the back of the room. You follow him, before halting abruptly, steadying yourself against a table. The boy’s come to a stop in front of a shadowed figure, exchanging a conspiratorial nod. Loki Odinson claps him on the back, raising a goblet to his lips. He rests against a pillar, choosing to stay apart from the revels. Watching. Waiting. His eyes meet yours as he sips; dark and dangerous over a rim of gold. One brow twitches upwards in, you presume, greeting. Sweaty palms run slip the front of your dress and you fight the sudden urge to run. It’s pale blue, the finest you own. Which isn’t saying much. The same colour as his eyes, you realise.

The Prince lowers the goblet, cocking his head. He’s still adorned with the ensemble his part in the day’s festivities required save one, the helmet. Dark curls spill freely over the shoulders of the cape fastened to guards beneath, intricate folds of fabric worked to perfection.

He raises a hand, forefinger beckoning twice in subtle succession before lowering it again. Just like the baths, you think with a shameful thrill. Your gaze darts to faces you’ve only seen in paintings around the court as you glide over, trying to look like you belong - but no one bats an eye. Loki unhooks one foot from behind the other, nudging himself off the column. Leather boots gape teasingly around his calves. You wonder, if you beg like a common trollop, if he would fuck you wearing those boots. Only those boots—

“You’re not wearing green,” the Prince drawls. You open your mouth and close it again, irritatingly mute while his blue irises smoulder. “Usually they wear green.” You press your lips together, collecting yourself. “Who?” “Those trying to bed me,” Loki says.

“I’m not trying to—” The prince waves a dismissive hand. “—Catch my attention, then.”

You feel your cheeks heat under scrutiny, a very obvious swallow working its way down your throat. “I don’t know what you mean your Highness,” you say. “You summoned me.”

“Indeed, I did. So I imagine I must have a very good reason,” the Prince murmurs. He brings the pad of a fingertip to his lower lip, brushing it across the skin as you stand in silent bemusement. “Loki! Did you send for a jester? What fun!” You inhale sharply as Fandral slides into view beside your shoulder. His hair is on point this evening, a lush wave cresting over his forehead and swept to the side as his eyes trail to your feet and back to your face. “Oh, my mistake. Just someone getting a little a carried away with the rouge, it seems.” Your stomach tightens. “I’m leaving, your Highness,” you say with a lacklustre bow and a bitter taste in your mouth. “But you do not have my permission,” Loki growls quietly. His feet come into view on the floor and you raise your head, inhaling the sweet breath from his lungs clouding your lips. “More wine, Loki?” Fandral asks brightly, already pouring into Loki’s goblet. The prince’s eyes don’t leave yours, but his mouth hardens.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he asks through gritted teeth. Fandral looks at you with mock-surprise. “Oh yes, most recent conquest is it? Come for a peek behind the gilded curtain before you’re sent back to the depths of banality? I thought he’d run out of new faces.” He winks; it makes your stomach churn. “She’s not a conquest,” Loki says, hovering the goblet by his lips. “Not one of mine, anyway.”

Your eyes dart to his and catch them narrow slightly. Fandral looks genuinely confused. “Well, what then? Why is she here? Who is she?”

Suddenly there’s a loud crash to the side. Thor stumbles against the table laden with wine-soaked pears and pastries and mounds of tartlets, knocking a pile of cold meats to the ground. He wobbles after them, kneeling on the floor and beginning to pick them off the stones as if they were jewels. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Loki mutters, and you feel the gentle pressure of a hand on your waist. “Walk with me,” he urges in your ear and a shudder rolls down your spine.

“Loki?” Fandral calls as the figures around you start to blur and the Prince manoeuvres you through the crowd like a feather. “Loki, I must speak to you about the…matter, I’ll…later. Yes, later. Quite.” A wall of fresh air skates over your skin. You hadn’t realised how warm it was inside. The two of you come to a stop at the wall of the balcony, nails skimming against polished marble. Loki clears his throat.

“I apologise for Fandral he’s…” Loki looks up from beneath his lashes, a performative sheepishness softening his face, “well, himself.” You stifle a laugh, focusing on the edge of the moonlit waterfalls in the distance. Silence hangs between you, made louder by the jumbled festivities inside. “Why am I here, Prince Loki?” you whisper, not daring to look at him. “If it’s about what happened in the baths, I won’t tell a soul I swear—” “—It’s not.” Irritation begins to brew in your stomach. “Well then Fandral has a point. Why am I here? I’m no one.” “Exactly.” A prickle of heat rises up your neck, stinging your ears. “Am I a joke to you, your Highness?”

Loki’s eyes flashing in moonlight, but he says nothing. It stings.

“You bring me here to make a fool out of me in front of your friends? In front of Frigga? Frigga.” “I needed to see if any of them knew you.” Loki’s voice is eerily calm, his gaze as unflinching as a cliff jutting into night. “And clearly, they do not. Fandral would recognise you if they did; that little fishwife knows absolutely everything.” “Why would they know me? And what does it matter?” “It matters a great deal. To me, at least. And to you, perhaps.” You push a strand of hair back from your forehead, hating that its damp. The skin feels hot. Hot and flustered and clammy with embarrassment and…shit, arousal. Can he tell?

Black strings of lax curl blow gently around Loki’s jawline, pale lips stained with wine. “Tell me, my Lady…have you heard of the Rite of Successional Pleasure?” he asks, and suddenly all other noise vanishes from your ears save the hum of his voice.

Loki’s eyes run down the blue chiffon of your robe, wondering if he could peel it off and cast it skating across the stone with a solitary swipe of his hand. Allowing you a moment to collect yourself, he decides that yes, he could. “Surely just a legend, my Prince…” you answer demurely, busying your hands and staring off into the distance as an unmistakable waft of heat courses from your bare neckline. He licks his lips, feeling a smirk curl the corners.

“Aren’t we all?” he purrs. Their eyes meet. “I assure you it is very real. A relic, to be sure. But real enough. And I require a partner to enact this Rite, else my succession to Asgard’s throne will not be entrenched in law. I have waited too long as it is, as I keep being reminded.”

“That’s very…interesting,” you say.

Loki straightens. He hadn’t taken you for a dullard, but he does appreciate the delayed gratification of enthusiasm at the proposal. Loki can hear your heart thud faster; he wonders how much of that blood is flushing to your sex beneath the gown billowing about your ankles. You glance at him and quickly look away. It makes Loki’s stomach twist. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps events in the bath-house were simply…opportunity. Or worse, fear. You clear your throat. “What is it, exactly? The Rite of Successional…” “—Pleasure,” Loki finishes abruptly. He rolls his shoulders back, steadying the flurry of unwelcome nerves in his chest.

“One of my family’s farcical traditions. When Asgard’s twin moons are in perfect equilibrium within the heavens, once every half millennia – eligible members of the royal family suitable for rule must, in order to be considered for finite succession, perform the Rite.” “Which is?”

Loki’s eyes fall down the curve of your neck, hovering on your moist lips. He’d thought of nothing else in the days since the bath-house; those lips sucked between his teeth, stretching around his cock; swollen and wet and…

“Pleasure.” It comes out sterner than intended. “To be given, only. A king must not just be skilled in diplomacy, in combat, in war and sacrifice, but in giving pleasure,” he says, imitating the cadence of his father’s voice with a caricatural wave of his hand. “How else can Asgard’s citizens know we are to be trusted, to be benevolent, if is not documented in the annals?”

“You can’t be serious,” you say. “I thought it was a joke, like the other things.” “Contrary to belief, I can be very serious indeed, little owl,” Loki replies with a smile. It fades. The weight of the pet name plucked from nowhere hangs in the air like smoke as you fidget with a fold of your dress. Gods, how he hates that it’s blue. “I still don’t see what it has to do with me,” you posture meekly. Loki tenses, words hissing between his teeth. “Bifrost’s blood, woman. I’m asking you to be my partner for the Rite. Must I carve it in stone?”

The widen of your eyes makes his stomach flutter and you attempt a clumsy curtsey which makes Thor’s staggered collapse among the strewn meats look elegant. “I…I don’t know what to…I—” Suddenly, you look up. “Is it witnessed?” “Of course.” Horror blossoms in your eyes. “Oh…it’s very tasteful,” Loki says, inspecting his nails. “Much more so than the Ceremony of the Sacred Seed, I assure you. It relies more on…aural methods. For the most part.”

“I’ve never been invited to that,” you reply absently, and Loki notes that your fingers have curled around his wrist armour, steadying yourself. “When is the…the moon thing?” “Five nights from now,” he says, and your jaw drops. “I understand I’ve left it rather late, but I really am in rather a bind.” The irony of him practically begging this unknown woman of the court to bring her the greatest ecstasy she’s ever know wasn’t lost on Loki, but for the moment at least…he decides to restrain his natural urge to remind her of that fact.

“Your reputation will only be enhanced, I assure you,” he adds. “It’s a great honour. And I am, if I may say, quite renowned for my skill in that department.” “Why me?” she asked. And there it was. He grimaced. “Don’t lie to me,” she added bravely, and his grimace deepened. “The Rite will only be valid if the recipient has never known the touch of a god. Or, more specifically their…essence. Our essences must never have touched each other. The punishment is severe; there are tomes and everything; rules…how I loathe them,” he says, offering a weak smile. Realisation blossoms in your eyes. “And…I’m afraid my roster has been rather full these past centuries.” A small laugh erupts from your throat that makes it incredibly difficult not to shut you up with his mouth. “Surely you can’t have fucked everyone in the high-court?”

Loki bit back a laugh of his own. “Rather brazen, aren’t you?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Regrettably, my options in that circle are limited to Fandral. And I’m afraid I cannot bring myself to give him the satisfaction he most desperately desires; it’s far too much fun tormenting him.” You raise an eyebrow and Loki scoffs, smoothing a curl back. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. I know what they must say about me.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, your Highness,” you say with a conspiratorial smile.

“Liar,” Loki replies softly. The sparkle of your mischief fades, and he finds he immediately misses it. “So, I’m…a last resort, then?” “Somewhat, yes.” You bristle, goosebumps rising along your bare arms in the evening chill. Loki watches them flare, fighting the urge to soothe them with his fingertips. Another eruption of his brother’s drunken laughter bounces from the archways.

“What happened in the baths,” she says, eyeing him warily. “Wouldn’t that count? Wouldn’t your…uh, essence have…travelled?”

A small noise scratches from Loki’s throat. “Far too diluted. Fortunately…we were rather far apart.” She moves a step closer, looking up at him beneath her lashes. Her scent makes his mouth water. “And besides, if memory serves you made rather a hasty exit.” “If I agree to this, what’s in it for me?” you ask with a coolness he isn’t expecting. He frowns. “Aside from the obvious?” You shoot him a scathing glare. “You’ll be an honoured guest of Asgard’s highest echelons until the ceremony; luxurious quarters, the finest garments…yours to keep, naturally. A feast in your honour, the honour of my escort, a place in Asgard’s history, and of course…my eternal thanks.” He waits until you turn fractionally towards him before deploying a calculated wink. Your expression is stamped with suspicion, and yet he sees the intrigue nestled beneath the veneer of resistance. He’s not surprised when you shuffle closer, glancing over your shoulder. “Is there um…practice, involved?” Loki feels his brows shoot up. “Practice? Norns haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? Our…”

He whips his cape as he spins, eyeing over his shoulder, catching the glint of Fandral’s flaxen hair hovering by the feasting table. “Our evidence of arousal cannot be in contact before the Rite…not a single drop, lest the entire ceremony be declared null and my honour as a successor questioned.” “Right,” you say stiffly. “Of course.” He can feel the heat of embarrassment radiating from your skin.

You need her, fool. Loki clears his throat with a dry rattle. “But we may…get to know each other. That is expected, at least. If you agree, of course.” You turn to him, eyes shimmering in moonlight. Loki wonders again how he could possibly have missed such a rare jewel in the drab sameness of Asgard’s court. He straightens as your finger runs over the metal at his wrist, trailing up the hem of his cape. “Are you allowed to kiss me?” you ask. A thick swallow works down his throat, his trousers tightening as you add, “What do the rules say about that?” Suddenly it feels as though he could be three-hundred again, unfamiliar nerves sizzling in his belly like fire. “I…there is no impediment to that particular act, no.” “Don’t you think it would be wise to…make sure we’re compatible before you make such a momentous decision?” A flush creeps up Loki’s neck above the high collar of his tunic as the clink of goblets and laughter continue inside the archway and he’s thankful for darkness. A muscle in his jawline twitches, fingers clenching and unclenching by his sides. There it was again, that audacity. So wilful, and yet…

In a flash his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you back with him into shadow. He slips a hand around your back, cushioning your spine as you meet rough stone with a gasp. Your sultry eyes look up at him with manufactured innocence.

“Let’s spare ourselves the virginal theatrics,” he hums, drawing his nose up the line of your cheekbone. The shiver that racks your body makes the toes in his boots curl. “You will be my partner for this sacred Rite?” You catch his lips with the brush of an autumn breeze, grazing against the words. The scent of you overwhelms him; a deep forest tang with overtures of a fragrant sweetness he can’t place.

He groans into the kiss, hungrier with every work of his mouth against the reach of your tongue. Loki’s hands slide up the swell of your breasts, each moan shivering from your throat into his making him want to explode.

As your fingers card through his hair, he realises the other hand is working down the harsh wall of tunic, sliding down his abdomen, hungry for the engorged lust strapped to his hip. There is a barrier, he thinks wildly, tempering his fear. There is a barrier. You squeeze. “Norns, woman…” he growls between gritted teeth, steadying a forearm against the wall behind your head as his gnawing kisses work down your neck. Stone veins spread in crunching crackles under the pressure. “Loki,” you gasp beneath him, bucking into the press of his armour into your endless curves. The realisation he can’t sate it hits with sudden, unwelcome clarity.

“Far too familiar,” he chides against your ear with a feigned derision that makes another moan snake from your throat. Loki’s cock throbs harder. “I remain your Prince, and you will address me as such.” You crush his lips with a kiss full of such desire Loki thinks he might shatter. His cock rubs against your stomach, harsh friction sending jolts of pleasure lancing through his body and suddenly, you break from him with a pant. “Do you want to know my name now, my Prince?”

His saliva rings your mouth; lips swollen and puffed. He nods twice, keeping his chin low on the second as his eyes flutter closed as you lean to his ear, whispering the word. Now that he knows it, he can’t imagine it being anything else.

“…and I’m no one’s last resort, not even a god,” you say, meeting his eyes. Loki steps back, jaw hardening as you smooth down the front of your dress. “I didn’t mean to imply—” “—Well, you did. So, if this still seems like a good idea in the morning, I expect to see you again under less…crowded circumstances.” Loki bit back the urge to protest, but as much as he was loathe to admit it…she had a point. Preparations for the Rite were usually conducted over months, and as he widened his stance, clasping his hands behind his back, a familiar coiffured sheaf of golden hair glinted and disappeared with suspicious urgency. “Unless you’d rather partake with Fandral?”

Loki’s stomach flips but he swallows down the urge to answer. “You’re familiar with my apprentice?” he asks. You nod. “He shall come for you at noon tomorrow.” A small smile flickers at your glistening lips. “Very well, your Highness,” you say, sinking into a curtsey that makes Loki’s cock ache before rising and gliding towards the open archway. He rolls his lips together, fighting the urge to follow you – but he’s already shown his hand too heavily tonight.

As you pass through the arch, Thor wobbles in the other direction, casting a quizzical glance backwards. “There you are, brother,” he slurs, slumping onto the balcony. His arm makes a heavy gesture towards the party, swinging wildly. “She is the one?” Loki bristles. “Yes, brother.”

“Finally. Norns preserve us, I thought you’d never make it. You know she is not suitable for the ceremony if she has been...sampled, already?” he asks as both eyebrows rise. Loki scoffs and throws his brother an incredulous stare. “I know that,” he snarls. “What do you take me for, some kind of rube?” Thor sighs, picking a slice of cured boar from his breastplate and dangling into his mouth. “Let’s hope you can satisfy her, then – in every way. For all our sakes.” Loki’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “If you can scrape past the requirements, we both know I shall have no issue.” “Mmm,” his brother hums. “If it wasn’t for the other matter her response will be measured on.”

“It’s all in hand, brother,” he lies, ignoring the thump of his heart, watching the bob of your head as you wind between intoxicated council members towards the door. “Five moons is more than enough time for that.” And beside him, Thor snorts.

Chapter Three: Measurement The Masterlist for the Rite is here Tags in comments (≧ヮ≦) 💕

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