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vaguely-concerned · 3 years

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R-r-r-rewatch thoughts for The Mandalorian S2 Ep2

(or Chapter 10 as they seem resolved to call it)

- can I just express my joy for a moment that in one episode we get peli, the answer to my pleas for female representation in the ‘sketchy middle aged car mechanic’ niche, and a female alien designed with no consideration towards sexiness. (I mean I’m sure there’s someone. There is always someone somewhere on the Internet, is the bitter truth history has shown to us. but it’s not the intention behind the design haha)

- they do take great pains to deliberately show you boba’s armour several times both in the recap and in the episode itself, so never despair he is very likely still on his way onto our screens once more

- this dude holding the baby hostage wanting specifically the jetpack in exchange is the one (1) break this whole episode gave din lol

also the Patented Mando Finger Curl of Stress while he talked softly and calmly to not promp this asshole to make a sudden move... the most endearing character tic, I love my space cowboy dad so much

- fun continuity detail: din is all out of whistling birds now, and you can see it here!

I wonder if he could still use the same mechanism with different ‘ammo’, it’s just not as effective? from the way the armorer spoke whistling birds seem quite rare and it would be an inefficient use of beskar if that’s the only thing it can be loaded with

- I love how after the last episode, a 50 min epic with a bunch of original trilogy significance and impressive technical achievements and exciting character reveals, I was like ‘yeah okay I suppose that is quite interesting’, and this mess/comedy of inconveniences is the thing that fully makes my brain tip into the obsessive ‘BABY AND DAD SHOW!! BABY AND DAD SHOW!!!!!’ mind state lol

- ah the traditional ‘mando trudging slowly but steadily through the desert’ montage we all love to see (I hope this is going to be a Thing for the second episode of every season from now on)

Also I assume his suit has some sort of temperature regulation built in and that’s how he didn’t, y’know. die under the blazing desert sun

CAT FIGHT CAT FIGHT man I love the jawa. also mando doesn’t even glance over at them, really emphasizing how he’s like. done with this entire day (and it’s all barely even getting started din! i’m sorry)

yodito’s look in this scene tho... he’s like ‘we’ve Seen some shit lady’ (actually I think he’s staring at ‘dr mandible’ like O___o. it’s been a long day for a lil boy)

you get to see dr mandible’s cards a few times, so I assume anyone who knows the rules of... sabacc? probably? could figure out beforehand that he was in a bad spot. (the star wars fanbase is one of those where I KNOW the rules exist somewhere, and I know people who know those rules exist too)

- that sound the baby keeps making -- the ‘boo-a’, sometimes with a p-sound at the end -- if that’s the precursor to him saying any variation whatsoever of ‘dad’ or ‘papa’ or ‘baba’ or even ‘buir’ or anything, I will die. I will sink to the ground in a heap and never get up (the way he keeps seeking out gaze contact with the helmet and seems perfectly satisfied with it too... fasdhfaskdjhl my FEELINGS)

- it seems confirmed in this ep that the mandos who died on nevarro did so while holding off the enemy so the rest(probably especially the children) could get away; some of them appear to have escaped. which I guess is a small relief

frog lady stepping out of the shadows and into our hearts

I like that her firm nod after Peli translates ‘her husband has seen them’ lets us know she understands... basic? is that the common tongue thing in star wars there’s just so many to remember across fandoms lol? perfectly well, even if she can’t speak it.

- mando might be running low on ammo for the pulse rifle, if the fact that he hasn’t replaced the missing cartridge on his... bandolier belt thingy is any indication

ETA: actually ignore me this has been a thing since the literal first episode of the show my brain just had a hiccup lol

- so baby seems to use a little bit of the force to pull the eggs towards him -- I wonder how often he ‘taps into it’ or if it’s always ‘on’ in the background for him. if so I guess there’s no wonder he’s so hungry (but also... kid you can’t end this lady’s entire family line like that one cat who singlehandedly made extinct a whole species of bird! D:)

- din so rarely gets openly angry, he just gets passive aggressive and grumpy. and that’s probably not the healthiest way to deal with things but I love him

- frog lady reacts so strongly to when din sends the ping when nothing else woke her up, I wonder if she can hear more frequencies than a human

hello darkness my old frieeennnddd

proof nr 1508 that din does not starve this baby you guys, he even has his own little tray just the right size for him! as it happens the baby simply seems to prefer eating things that are... still alive in some capacity. which, uh. maybe they can invest in some form of non-sentient crickets or something for him to hunt down and.... oh dear

Look how they massacred my boy

By the way I finally managed to put into words why the Razor Crest -- and particularly the way it keeps getting beaten to hell and back and patched up again -- is so symbolically important and meaningful to me in this show in this post over here! it’s always a great relief to me when I can finally understand what the hell I’ve been going on about all this time and this was one of those lol

- honestly if it weren’t for frog lady and (more importantly) the baby I think there’s a slight chance din would’ve gone ‘well I had a good-ish run of it for a while there’ and just let the ice claim him haha

- “Why don’t you come over here and give me a hand. Make yourself useful” This is the one time in the episode I think he crosses the line into just being a dick for a moment (but noticeably the baby isn’t just a little hurt at this reaction, he’s clearly surprised and confused, which means this really does not happen often. after the time mando’s been having recently I guess a moment’s snappishness is understandable haha. he does follow up right after with being much more responsive and attentive when the baby toddles away from him, so it feels like it’s going to be okay)

also the ‘boo-ap’ sound is there again when he’s trying to get din’s attention. just sayin’

when din comes over to see the footprints baby makes a declarative little meep like ‘see??? I did tell you!’ haha

- it is very funny that mando is using all his technology meant to track down dangerous bounties in the grungy depths of the criminal underworld... to find a naked lady just chillin’ in a hot spring

cue the ‘father is evil?’ memes fsadfda. actually the funniest thing about this moment (apart from the fabulous finger acting) is that din actually snatches a few eggs out of the baby’s reach more subtly right before, and that baby only whines for ALL OF ONE SECOND before he goes to sniff around for other food possibilities fkadfhjkds. from my experience with human children he’s a lot less prone to tantrums. yodito doesn’t get mad, he gets even

- baby running towards din through the hatching spiderlings like ‘DAD I FUCKED UUUUUUP’, din’s little strangled ‘ngh’ sound as he picks the baby up and watches all the creepy crawlies come out... *chef kiss* impeccable

(that little ‘ngh’ and the soft shocked ‘ah ah AH!’s from when he goes flying at the beginning of the episode... pedro pascal and his voice work for this character gives me so much life. in some ways din has this sort of dignity and grace and in other ways he uh extremely doesn’t. he gets to be cool but also vulnerable in ways a lot of male main characters don’t and it’s probably why I love him so much)

btw here is that moment when din moves to hold the baby tightly against him with both hands as the big spider appears, because it gets me right in the heart... it such an instinctive thing of holding on to the dearest thing you’ve got before something bad is about to happen

fdsafhsdakjlfhsdkjlhfsdajhf oh my god the baby is clutching din’s finger with his little hand during the chase!!!! 😭😭😭

this FUCKING SHOW has just WEAPONIZED putting in small details everywhere to convey the love and tenderness and attachment felt by a little muppet doll even where only weirdos like me will frame by frame their way through the video to see it I am so MAD

- frog lady going ‘fuck this’ and bounding along is e v e r y t h i n g

- din is an amazing shot, though, he doesn’t seem to miss a single one in this whole scene (then again there’s something to shoot at basically everywhere one can take aim so lol)

baby hiding behind/half hugging din’s boot as he tries to get the doors closed hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I can’t breathhhhheeeee

honestly every single one of the baby’s proximity seeking behaviours in this ep has me on my knees

- it’s very unfair to play the heroic happy mando music like everything is going to be fine and then have a huge fuck-off spider drop down from the ceiling and break it off mid-tune, the mandalorian, you have trained me in certain ways and now do you betray me??? how can I trust again

- the camera work in the scene with the new republic guys gives such a good sense of the discomfort of being judged from on high by someone or something you can’t really see -- the glare of the lights blocking out everything in the shots from din’s pov makes it feel like a tense interrogation (the new republic dude who is actually dave filoni has such a look of fondness as he watches din tho it’s kind of sweet)

- ...oh no I think baby was actually considering munching on that dismembered spider leg YODITO NO JUST EAT YOUR KRAYT DRAGON BABY

- hngh this is a weird filler episode and it has my entire heart. I suspect we might get some episodes of a more stationary baby between active ones like this -- you can tell a little bit in this episode that especially having him running around fast is quite difficult to have look natural, they likely save that effort up for when it best serves the narrative

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian meta #the mandalorian spoilers #mmmm brain empty only dad and baby show in here #(actually that's not true there's some tf/graves activity going on at all times too haha)

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thestraggletag · 4 years

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Creature Instincts

A/N: Surprise, @nerdrumple! It is I, your Super Secret Santa that somehow managed to REMAIN super secret! I’m always stoked when that happens. It’s been loads of fun being your Santa, and it was super nice to write fic for someone who was written some of my favourite Rumbelle fics. Hope you like it!

Prompt: Locked-out, torrential downpour, hold.

Summary: Mr Gold cannot be accused of being a knight in shining armour, but when Belle French becomes a damsel in distress he cannot help to try and play the role, in spite of how ill-suited his nature makes him.

Rating: R for sure. There be sexy sex here, kids.

It was a relief to finally be home, after what felt like the longest day in the month. Rent day usually was, as it kept him out and about town all day, both collecting from those who reluctantly but diligently paid on time and those who thought they could evade him and thus get a reprieve. Very few chose alternative means of payment, and he was sure it was in part because most people enjoyed the notion of making him work for their rent money.

He looked up just before he closed his front door, noticing the grey, fat clouds that he had been running from most of the day. The air already smelled like rain, which for him meant hell on his ankle. That, coupled with the freezing temperature, had him more than happy for the comforts of his home.

His housekeeper had left the house warm and dry, as per his usual instructions, and for a moment or two he paused on the entryway, dropping his keys onto the bowl by the side table and simply enjoying the warmth as it seeped into his skin. Though he was used to the cold- and, to a certain extent, he enjoyed it- he could not deny he was a creature better suited for heat.

Methodically, the motions so familiar that they were almost automatic, he shed his outer layers. First his thick wool coat, a shade of charcoal grey so dark most people thought it was black, and his red cashmere scarf. Then off came the gloves, suit jacket and vest. He took off his tie next, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt before removing his vest and reaching for his banyan, the damask silk showing a pattern of thistles in bloom. He limped upstairs to exchange his suit trousers and Oxfords for woollen lounge pants and thicker knit socks and loafers.

It felt heavenly to be out of his customary suit and into more comfortable clothing, warm and dry in his home as the first drops of rain began to splash against the windows. He flexed his fingers, his elongated nails still a bit uncomfortable from having to wear gloves all day. As he filled the kettle with water for his tea he felt the scales on his neck ripple and begin to unfurl. It was the most unpleasant part of rent day, how he had to hide all day. It made him itchy and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t a duty his nature would allow for him to delegate on others.

As he waited for the water to boil he switched on the tablet he had left on the island, having read the paper on it in the morning. In spite of his claws it was easy for him to navigate around the display and hit the green facetime button, locating and clicking on the desired contact immediately.

“Hey, pop!”

Baden’s gruffy face appeared on the screen, hair a bit wild and beard looking like it could use a trim. ‘Fashionably scruffy’, he called it. Since he had accepted a video call he deduced Emma was not home yet. He had remembered correctly about her extra shift, then.

“Hi, son. How’s life in the big city?”

He moved around the kitchen as Bae filled him in on any news, mainly talking about Henry’s latest antics and his newest clients. He was a bit of a hot-shot graphic designer, much sought after.

“And how’s life in Storybrooke, dad? Still keeping that cavernous Queen Anne, I see. That’s too much house for yourself, pop.”

“It’s not just for me. It’s also for you, Henry and Emma. For when you visit.”

Bae rolled his eyes.

“We only stay over a few weeks every year. What about the rest of the time, pop? Don’t you get lonely?”

It was an old worry of Bae’s, one he tried hard to scoff away every time he brought it up. His son seemed to give up rather easily, asking instead after his hoard.

“Which one do you mean?”

He had several, of course. It was, after all, part of his nature.

“All of them. It’s been a while since I’ve received a full report.”

“Well, the property portfolio is looking good. Market’s been appreciating, as expected given the development of the town. I attended three very productive state sales, so the antiques are looking good. Might even be able to part with one or two of my previously not-for-sale vases. I’ve also managed to find a treasure-trove of jewellery. Owner inherited them from his mother, thought they were costume pieces. I could smell right away he was wrong.”

He smiled, feeling the scales around his neck flash in and out of sight, a golden glint in his eyes, a sure sign he was pleased. The pieces would be a joy to restore and clean, and the thought of how they would shine brought a smile to his face.

“God, you’re such a stereotype sometimes.” Bae shook his head. “Aaaand… how’s the library? Any progress on that front?”

The younger man tried not to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, going for a light-hearted tone as he monitored his father’s reaction. There was no mistaking the way his scales flared up around his neck, as if fluffing up, turning a darker shade of gold than what was usual. It was a minute reaction, there one moment and gone the next, but it was a very telling one, especially for someone as experienced in things as Bae was.

“N-no, not really. Regina, she’s being… unreasonable. Stubborn. It’s a bad year to acquire real estate, in any case, what with the-”

“And how’s the librarian, pop?”

There was a bigger ripple then, crossing the entirety of his face, scales turning so dark they almost looked black. The younger man snickered, trying to be subtle about it.

“Be- Miss French is fine. And none of your concern, boy.”

“Did she recover from that nasty fall the other day?”

Bae tried to valiantly pretend he didn’t notice her father flex his claws unconsciously, and he studiously kept his mouth shut about the glazed look in his eyes too. He had been thrilled when his father first started to mention the woman, over a year ago. A new addition to Storybrooke, at the time, and a sore spot for his father, who had fought to acquire the library only to have Regina insist on reopening it instead, just to spite him. Miss French was, at first, an unwitting pawn of the mayor, but later grew to be a nuisance in her own right. Always fighting with his pop over city funds, organising “noisy library events” that disturbed him while he restored some antique or the other at his shop and absolutely refusing to cower before him like everyone else in town.

At some point he had begun to catch on to the fact that his father was constantly mentioning the librarian, and it wasn’t always to deliver the scathing insults he likely thought he was dishing out. He called her “obnoxiously sweet” and rambled on and on about how she thought she could get anything by batting her long lashes and speaking in her lilting Australian drawl. He had had to endure entire conversations where he talked at length about a five minute exchange between them, to the point that even little Henry had cottoned on to the fact that his grandpa had a crush.

He denied it, of course. Dismissed every single one of Bae’s attempts at discussing the matter and even made a conscious effort to try and stop mentioning Belle French. Didn’t exactly work out all that much, though. Specially after a close encounter, like last week, when his father managed to barge into the library, intending on getting some very urgent books and getting out with as minimal human interaction as possible, only to unwittingly catch the librarian as one of her too-high heels slipped from the step she was perched on and she tumbled off the ladder. His father had called him that night with a dazed look on his face, the pupils of his eyes blown wide as he recounted the event, his scales rippling out completely. Bae knew that look, though he had only seen his father direct it at objects before. A covetous look, possessive.

He understood then why his father was reluctant to even admit to a crush, much less something more serious. It was easy, and dangerous, for his natural tendency towards greed to permeate his relationships with humans, which meant he made a conscious effort to keep people at bay, not only because he could not trust people with his secret but also because he could not trust himself to form attachments that were acceptable to humans, that would not lead to them feeling suffocated and imprisoned.

It had been a point of contention between him and his pop, he could not deny it, back when the issue of college had come up. It had led to heated debates and pleas from his father that he was trying, he was doing his best to let go, but it was hard in a way Bae would never understand. He cringed every time he remembered what he had said in anger.

“Right, because I’m not like you. I’m not your son.”

It had been, until then, an unspoken truth they both knew. That Bae was not biologically his. A hard thing to ignore, taking into account their different nature. It had taken time and effort for him to believe his pop when he said he was his son in any way that mattered. Which, of course, had eventually led to the growing pains of their eventual separation, and his father learning to deal with parting with something he held dear. As much as it had been a chore it had truly helped alleviate some of Bae’s still-latent fears about his father’s affection.

“Miss French is fine, your suspicious concern over her is misplaced.”

Bae, blessedly, let the matter drop, and the conversation was turned instead to Henry’s latest passion, now that his dinosaur phase was fully behind him. By the time they hung up he was already elbow-deep into dinner preparations- heating up a beef stew he had prepared last night. Most of his neck and face were showing scales, as were his arms and hands. Once upon a time, when he’d been young, he had not been able to keep his true form hidden for more than a couple of hours, and it required all of his concentration. It had meant living in the gutter while out on the streets and keeping to shadowy corners and dark alleyways. After his aunties had taken him in it had meant being homeschooled, and dedicating a great portion of his waking hours practising keeping pink, soft skin and dull, brown eyes. Now he could hardly recall ever having such little control, but he still found it uncomfortable and painful to keep up the facade for long periods of time, particularly when his emotions were running high. And though that was not usually the case rent day did like to try his patience. That’s usually why after rent day he prepared himself something full of meat and drank a bottle of a nice red of his choice while enjoying a book or a movie. He had a documentary set up for later that night, a riveting two-hour exploration of traditional kimono-making in Japan. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

Just as he was about to heat up dinner there was a knock on the door. His eyes flashed in displeasure before he shook himself in an effort to try to dispel the scales, hide them under whatever bit of skin he could conjure up. He was tired, hungry and not in the mood for anything other than the barest form of human interaction. With that in mind he put on his fiercest scold, shuffled to the door and opened it wide, ready to make whoever was on the other side regret being born.

“Oh, Mr Gold, you’re home!”

The Australian drawl was unmistakable, and it stopped him from actually verbalizing the genteel-yet-direct death threat he’d conjured up in his head a second earlier. Belle French was, indeed, on his front porch, shivering in her drenched peacoat, tights and boots, hair plastered to her face and eyes wide, wary. It was a look he often saw in most of the townspeople when they looked at him, but he’d never seen it before in Miss French. Afraid of nothing, she’d seemed to be, even an old dragon such as himself.

“Miss French, what on Earth are you doing out at this hour and in this weather?”

It didn’t even cross his mind to demand to know why she had knocked on his front door at all.

“Well, I was out in the woods, helping Dr Hopper get a hold of Pongo- you know how he likes to chase rabbits sometimes- and on my way home I realised I had forgotten my keys. I was about to call Ruby, who has the spare set, but I remembered she was out of town on a date. She would totally come if I call her but she’s been so looking forward to her first date with Dorothy that it would be a shame to interrupt her. I was gonna walk over to Granny’s when it started raining and I saw the light on at your house and thought perhaps I could come in and wait it out a little?”

She spoke in a rushed voice, teeth chattering and trying to look as if she wasn’t freezing to death. Her lips were tinged with blue, and her skin looked pale, almost translucent, in the dim light of his porch. He was about to awkwardly invite her in- perhaps to offer her a cup of tea and a ride home- when a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed a second later by a crack of thunder. In the blink of an eye she was in his arms, trembling like a leaf and holding onto the lapels of his banyan. He struggled to contain his reaction, to keep his human mask in check even as he registered how soft she was, and how she smelt like burnt caramel and vanilla, something he had only once managed to scent before, when she had fallen in the library.

“Miss French?”

He counted himself lucky that his voice, though hoarse and thick, still sounded distinctively human, and that he could talk without breathing out too much smoke. It was all about the small victories.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Gold, it’s just that… Well, I have this thing about thunder…”

By the time she detached herself from him, mouth curved in a tremulous smile, he was fully in control of himself, and also completely aware that he would not be able to keep his cool when Bae mentioned the librarian during their next call.

“Completely understandable, Miss French. I detest the rain myself. Do come in, you’re drenched.”

He ushered her in, letting her linger in the foyer, removing her coat and shoes while he looked for a towel in the linen closet next to the laundry. She wrapped it around herself, following him into the kitchen, self-conscious about dripping water on his hardwood floors.

“Let me fix you a cup of tea. You need some warmth in you.”

The process of preparing a cup of tea was familiar and comforting enough to help quell the last bit of nerves at the idea of Belle French in his home, his lair, where all his hoarded treasure was. His finest antiques, lovingly restored to perfection, his favourite pieces of art, his most prized objects. The house itself was part of his hoard, the antique Queen Anne outfitted with beautiful crown moldings and other unique details.

The moment he started to crave something he imagined how it would fit in his home, where he would place the object, and whether it would look right amidst his already established hoard. So he had pointedly and purposefully avoided even the briefest daydream of Belle French inside his home. Hadn’t allowed himself to entertain the idea at all, knowing that way lay madness. He had been right, of course, and it was patently obvious as he snuck glances at Belle, perched atop one of the stools surrounding his kitchen isle. The familiar itch, to take and keep, travelled down his spine, making his fingers twitch and almost causing him to spill scalding water all over himself. Wouldn’t have done any actual damage, but he would’ve had to pretend to be hurt, and he could not trust himself to do a good job of it at the moment.

She took the cup from him with a grateful smile and he watched her as she poured a teaspoon of honey into it, leaving the milk and sugar untouched. He secreted the information away, as useless to him as it was precious. It spoke of a certain domestic intimacy that he found himself covetting deeply. To be expected, given his nature. He remembered doing the same with Bae, tucking away the bits and pieces of useless trivia that most people would not find valuable or interesting, but that few people would ever get to know about Bae, like how he liked to take hour-long showers and disliked chunky peanut butter.

“This orange blossom honey is lovely. Can’t say I’ve seen it at the local store.”

He got it from New York, from a specialised tea store Bae had taken him to a few years back.

“It pairs well with Earl Grey.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to promise her a case full of the stuff, but he pushed to sudden urge down, unhappy with that line of thought. It was common for him to shower those he had an interest in with things they might take a fancy too. It was in his nature, but he had learnt to curve the impulse, to a certain extent- Bae’s epic comic book collection being his last big failure. It did help that he tended to care about very few people, partly as a sort of defence mechanism. Clearly it wasn’t working as well, given that Belle French had managed to capture him so.

“I’m so grateful for your hospitality, but I see I’ve caught you in the middle of dinner preparations. I don’t wish to bother Ruby on her date, but I’m sure Granny would let me wait for her at the diner. I’ll call Leroy, he’ll give me a ride there.”

His relief at the perspective of being left alone, free to finally shift into a more comfortable form in peace, battled with the surprising cold wash of disappointment at the idea that she’d be gone in a matter of minutes. He was about to offer to drive her himself- Leroy’s truck, after all, was hardly a reliable method of transportation, when the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.

“Oh, bugger.”

He counted to ten before he heard the generator kick in, the lights coming back on. He looked out the kitchen window, realising there were no streetlights. Everything was pitch black outside, obscured further by the heavy rain. Certainly not the ideal conditions for driving.

“Is it that bad?”

He startled, having not realised Miss French had made her way to the window as well, close enough to be uncomfortably thrilling. He saw her biting her lip, obviously realising that calling anyone for a ride was out of the question but unwilling to impose herself on him any further.

“Certainly no weather to be driving in. I must insist you stay until the lights come back on or the rain lets up enough.”

The sheer dread at the idea of having to maintain his human appearance mixed with the heady excitement of having Belle French in his home for an extended period of time. It made him both nauseated and exhilarated, a rather unsettling combination.

The sheer relief in her face settled his mood somewhat. While he ushered her into the downstairs bathroom and went to look for clothes that could fit her- there was no question of her staying in her wet things- he gave himself a pep talk, attempting to bolster his confidence. He was an old creature, he had certainly endured high-stress situations where he had managed to hold on to his control for longer. He could certainly make it through an evening with Belle French without giving himself away.

By the time he had dinner ready he was fully convinced of the success of the evening. He focused on filling two bowls, trying not to linger on the fact that he had chosen to use his Royal Warwick dinnerware set, the stew looking a bit plain surrounded by the fanciful rose designs of traditional Scottish landscapes.

“Oh, that smells heavenly.”

He turned around, sheer instinct keeping him from dropping the plates in his hands at the sight of Belle fucking French wearing one of his shirts- why had he picked his favourite deep blue one?- and a pair of tights, his already oversized cashmere cardigan practically drowning her, making her look small and frail. He should have known, should have tried to contemplate the reaction he might have to someone he craved dressed in things he owned, things full of his scent.

“Oh, let me help with that.”

She took the plates out of his hands, being nice enough not to comment on the absolutely idiotic look on his face. He gestured for her to skip his rather ornate dining room table, ushering her instead to the living room. There was a couch and a divan facing a coffee table, as well as a large carved armoire that hid a flat screen TV. To the side there was a fireplace, which he had been quick to light while Belle had been in the bathroom, unwilling to have to pretend to make fire the human way.

“It costs too much to heat the house, so it’s best to resort to more traditional methods and save the generator for the rest. There isn’t a fireplace in the dining room, so I thought we’d be more comfortable here.”

He settled on one side of the couch, leaving the one closest to the fire for her. She still looked somewhat chilled, even though her lips had lost their blue tint and her cheeks were looking decidedly rosier. He gathered a throw from the nearby divan and wordlessly left it near her, trying not to preen in scaly satisfaction when he saw her unfurl the fabric over her feet, generously leaving half of it for his use. He wouldn’t presume to take her up on her offer, but it was a kind gesture nonetheless. Wordlessly he went to pick a nice bottle of Malbec and a couple of glasses, feeling that as risky as the alcohol was for his self-control it would help his nerves and help him warm up till the fire could properly heat the room. Belle accepted her glass with a charming smile, making a pleased hum with the first sip that had him slapping a hand against the raised scales on the side of his neck.

They ate in companionable silence, broken by small comments from Belle about the stew- Guinness and beef, a personal favourite of his, with a smokey touch of bacon for added flavour- and questions about the many antiques he had sprinkled around. There was little rhyme or reason to his collection, aside from the price tag assigned to each piece, but just because something was considered expensive did not mean it caught his fancy enough to wish to keep it.

“It’s like me and shoes. I adore them, but not every gorgeous pair of Louboutins I see catch my fancy.”

He had noticed her extensive shoe collection. At first because they were obviously expensive and he could smell it but later because they became a central quirk of Belle he wanted to learn more of. It had always bothered him, on the back of his mind, like an itch, the thought of how she paid for them. Her clothing was fine but either second-handed or from outlet stores, and everything else about her spoke of frugality. Her shoes, on the other hand, were decadent, and not just because of how they made her legs look. Her stockings too, always silk and never nylon. Very expensive, all around. Too expensive for a librarian.

“You’re right.” He flushed, realising he had said the last part out loud. “My other passion is books. I have… so many books. They quietly take over every living space I’ve ever had. I was raised by my dad, who was a florist, so there was never a lot of money for books. I became used to buying books in thrift stores and second-hand bookstores. And I discovered from a young age that I have a nose for rare books. Books that may not look valuable but are. So I’ve been able to turn my hobby into a profitable source of income. I keep a few rare editions that I like, but I am fonder of turning one book into ten than hoarding just the one book. So I sell them and buy books, shoes and occasionally some nice lingerie.”

He choked on what had been a nice sip of Catena Zapata, the alcohol burning his nostrils in an altogether different sensation to the usual one. He blessed the low light for hiding the way his fingers turned distinctively claw-like, unable to hold the illusion of soft pink fingers. He covered his shaky right hand with his left, which looked a wee bit better.

Thankfully Miss French was not looking at him, having apparently also realised what she had said. Both her hands were over her mouth, her eyes wide as she looked at her own glass of wine- the third one, if he was remembering correctly- in a faintly-accusatory manner.

“In my defence that’s the yummiest wine I’ve ever tasted.”

He shouldn’t have found the word “yummy” erotic, but there was something about Belle French’s accent wrapping around the word and the images it conjured that… distracted him.

“Yeah, well… Argies don’t fuck around with Malbec.”

He thought for a second he might have come off as pretentious, but Belle laughed, the tension from her shopping confession fading away as she turned her attention back to the stew.

“These are beautiful plates, by the way. Lovely pattern, and they have a weight to them that’s very pleasant.”

He cradled his own empty bowl protectively.

“Yes, well, they aren’t exactly the finest china. My aunties had part of the set, my Auntie Isla bought it for my Auntie Wyn for their tenth anniversary. After they died I spent many years completing the set, something they had always talked about doing.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Belle smile.

“My mom loved Victoria Holt books. It was one of the few things my father ever told me about her. Gave me her small collection and I set out to find the ones that were missing. I’m still missing a few she wrote under different aliases, but I got a few leads I’m hoping pan out. I get the impulse.”

The comment gave him pause, a spark of something flickering on the edges of his brain. But he pushed it aside, busying himself with picking up the plates and taking them to the kitchen, if only to give his overworked control a bit of a break. He was practically itching all over, skin buzzing in a way that was partly due to exhaustion and partly excitement. The creature in him was dying to claw its way out, desirous to wrap itself snug around Belle French and keep her there. The dragon had always taken an interest in her, before the man, even. Had scented her even before he’d ever laid eyes on her. But he hadn’t much noticed the fixation till he himself had begun to notice Miss French. The creature had rumbled in approval, practically gleeful, and since then he’d had to fight his own growing attraction to the librarian and whatever other baser instincts his nature brought about. Now, in the safety of its lair, with the object of its fixation surrounded by the carefully chosen objects of its hoard, the creature roared to be let out, and he was afraid to even consider what for. Nothing wholesome, certainly.

Debating on whether more wine would damper his instincts or his remaining common sense he picked up another bottle of Malbec- Achával Ferrer this time- and a box of chocolate truffles he had been saving for rent day specifically. No reason why he couldn’t share a few, it was the hospitable thing to do.

He tried not to preen when he heard Belle’s pleased hum at the sight of the chocolate and the wine, turning his head just so to hide the darkening of his scales around his ears, a blush-like response.

“I checked outside and things seem to be much the same, so I texted Emma, who’s been in touch with the electric company as the town sheriff. Power’s supposed to be sorted out in a couple of hours, though she didn’t sound like she fully believed it.”

Well, fuck. Two fucking hours? He wouldn’t make it. He already felt like he was about to spontaneously combust, his grasp of his human self paper thin at best. On the other hand sending Miss French out into the darkness of the night, while it rained, was out of the question. And the evening, so far, was so… pleasant. Intimate and soft and everything he had been denying himself but had secretly desired for the longest time. There was a kinship building. Miss French made him feel nervous, yes, and tightly-wound, but also, at the same time, at ease. Safe.

“Would you be interested in watching a documentary about kimono making?”

He could not imagine posing such a question to anyone else with an honest expectation of interest. Even Bae, whom he loved and who loved him in return, would at best politely decline.

“Sounds amazing. Count me in.”

The documentary was riveting for its careful and thorough exploration of Japanese craftsmanship, with an emphasis on the dying and printing of the kimonos as well as the differences in kimono styles depending on age, marital status and time of the year. Not that Gold was paying attention to any of it, as much as it all seemed right up his alley. Somehow, during the first ten minutes of the documentary- the only ones he would later be able to recall- they had drifted closer in the couch, with Belle eventually resting her head against his shoulder, cuddling close for warmth and comfort.

The warmth he could agree with, the comfort was more of a relative thing. As good as the weight and feel of Belle was against his side- human contact was a luxury for him- it made the itch all the more unbearable, and halfway through a fascinating scene about the process of stamping patterns into kimono fabrics he felt the scales around his neck and hands unfurl completely, resisting any and all attempt to retract. He had to console himself with the fact that the only light in the room was coming from the now dwindling fire, and that the high collar of his banyan and the cashmere throw around their laps was covering most of him. Surely as long as he did not call attention to the changes they would not be all that visible.

He almost had a heart attack when he felt the tip of Belle’s nose brush against the side of his neck. She had to feel it, the decidedly non-human texture, the slight roughness of the scales, but she made no comment, which left him free to pause his relentless anxiety about her discovering his nature and give free reign to his relentless anxiety at her close proximity. She smelled… divinely, and the feel of her made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach in a way that felt too good. It was nerve-wracking in a toe-curling sort of well he seldom experienced and he was shocked at how good it felt, considering how much he liked always being in control of any given situation. Growing up the way he had had forced him to toughen up, learn to be the predator instead of the prey. He had spent years growing into his nature, so to speak, learning to both control and embrace the creature that he was to the point that there was little that could perturb him. Not Mayor Mills, with all her power over the town, not some of the bigger, stronger people who rented from him and thought at first that they could push around their smaller, older landlord and not the ruthless business sharks he made deals with day in and day out. And yet one small, unassuming woman could bring him to his knees. It was irrational. It was worrisome. It was-

Arousing.

Next to him Belle moved, standing up and stretching languidly. He looked at the television, noticing the screen was back to the USB menu.

“That was a lovely documentary, made me feel like I was right there in Japan, soaking in the culture and the air. It’s why I love documentaries, they allow me to travel on a budget, so to speak.”

She moved around the room slowly, tentatively reaching out to touch a figurine or explore a paperweight.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go to your shop, for the same reason. You seem to have so many fascinating things. But your hours are the same as the library’s, so I haven’t had any luck.”

He told himself he was imagining the flirty tone in her voice, surely her accent was just so pretty everything sounded that way.

“I didn’t know you brought your work home so much, Mr Gold.” Rowan, he thought, call me Rowan. “Where’s this figurine from?”

She lightly touched the top of a Lladro figurine depicting a ballerina stretching before practice. Haltingly, he told her the story behind it, how he had found it at a yard sale for five bucks, sold by the greedy sons of a once-wealthy widow that had died a couple of days before. The whelps hadn’t waited till the funeral to try and get their money’s worth out of their inheritance. The figurine was worth just shy of five hundred dollars, in today’s market.

“What a thrill it must have been, to snatch up such a price.”

Yes, the creature inside him whispered, seemingly thinking less about the little ballerina and more about the flesh-and-blood woman in front of them. He closed his eyes, but it only made the scent of her more prominent in his mind. This was utter madness.

“What about this one?”

They spent what felt like hours in such a way, Belle pointing at several objects that caught her fancy and God struggling to somehow relate their story while attempting to ignore how she practically fondled his hoard. The creature did not take its eyes off her, utterly entranced. The fierce dragon captured by the fair maiden, a modern twist to the story. Every now and then she’d find something she particularly enjoyed and she would hum or make low approving noises, which was slowly but surely making him go mad.

He stood up on shaky legs, going over to the fireplace supposedly to add a log and stoke the fire. In reality he was trying to stop staring at her, in the vague hope that it would bring him some semblance of control.

“You have a beautiful home, Mr Gold. So big, and so full of things.” She sounded closer than he expected. “But so empty of people. It feels a bit… lonely.”

He could see her in his peripheral vision, but kept his head low and eyes on the fire, which allowed his hair to hide his face. Otherwise she would surely notice the deep gold-green scales around his eyes, and the unnatural glow of his irises.

“Yes, well… I’m a difficult man to love.”

He hoped she would attribute the strange hoarseness of his voice to his thickened accent. He thought about Milah, and Cora, and the other handful of women he’d ever been with, thought about how careful he had had to be to avoid hurting them, how unsatisfied they had been by what they considered his complete lack of passion. That, more than protecting his secret, had made him swear off human contact and affection. It never paid off in the end, and he wasn’t willing to put himself out there for little to no reward.

“Doesn’t feel that way to me.”

He turned his head slightly to find her looking at him from beneath her lashes. The scent of her seemed stronger and sweeter and that, along with the soothing warmth of the fire, was making it hard to think. The creature inside him was urging him to take. Just one kiss, one fleeting brush of the lips, one small taste. And, surely, he had followed that impulse before. If it gave it something to treasure, however little, it might quiet down. There was no harm in just a kiss.

He moved quickly, swallowing the sound of surprise Belle made as his lips slanted across hers with more pressure than he intended. Relief and arousal raced down his spine, urging him to pull her closer, to bury himself completely in her. Idly, as he cupped the back of her head and tilted her head just so, he wondered how he had been able to resist for so long, and why. It seemed both impossible and pointless now, with Belle’s fingers sinking into his hair, pulling at the strands in a way that he did not know until then he found arousing.

Belle was surprisingly strong, and delightfully feisty. She seemed determined to get boss him around with tugs on his hair and his arms, her hands shoving at his shoulders until he was sitting down on the couch- how had they moved there?- and he had a lapful of librarian. The creature was playfully competitive, encouraging him to roughhouse, to nip and bite and wrestle for control. It was nothing like any of his previous sexual encounters, there was some sort of animalistic, playfully violent aspect to it that was foreign to him but felt familiar somehow, instinctual. He tried, between toe-curling brushes of Belle’s tongue against his, to remember how soft and fragile she was. Human and therefore delicate. He needed to be careful, needed to get a hold of himself and go slow, and soft and-

‘Fuck, did she just bite me?’

He growled in warning when she tried to rip his banyan open, wrestling to trap her arms against her sides and tumbling out of the couch and into the shaggy rug in front of the fire. Beneath him Belle chuckled, a low, deep sound that went straight to his cock. Fuck, but she was perfect, writhing beneath him, fighting to regain the upper hand even as she attacked his neck with her mouth, niping at whatever exposed bit of skin she could get to. Needing to touch her in return he blindly reached inside the shirt and cardigan he wore, tracing the ridges of his spine, feeling her skin hot and slick beneath his fingertips. It was then that she found a particularly-sensitive point between his neck and shoulder, sinking her teeth into it with such force that he practically roared, raking his nails down her back. She gasped, arching up against him before a shred of common sense filtered back into his addled brain, freezing him in place.

Fuck. He had hurt her. He had been so fucking careless he had forgotten his sharp claws and how easily they could cut through human skin. He didn’t fight her when she flipped them over, pinning him down like the fucking beast he was. They were close enough to the fire that he now realised she had to be able to see it all, the eyes, the scales, the sharpened teeth. The utter inhumanity of it, out in all its ugly glory. He fumbled for an apology, hating himself for still feeling extremely aroused after hurting her. She was probably scared to death, he needed to fucking think and try and say something to reassure her, to make her see he wasn’t going to hurt-

“Hey.”

Belle’s voice sounded low, no hint of trepidation in it. One of her hands combed the hair away from his face, turning his head so he would look up at her. It was then that he noticed her eyes… they were glowing. Bright blue, an almost electric colour, with the barest touch of silver. He looked beyond, into the pale skin of her face and arms, bared by his frenzied undressing. The skin had a strange shine to it, and when he focused he could see the small, sleek scales, so pale they were easily overlooked, except that their opalescent nature made them reflect the light from the fire in a myriad of different shades, like an opal. Everything felt, at once, familiar and wholly strange, so similar and yet so different from his own appearance.

‘Like us. Told you.’ The creature purred from inside him, smug and pleased. ‘Smells right. Like mate.’

He inhaled, noticing her burnt caramel smell was more pronounced and sweeter, not to mention coming mostly from within her soft thighs. Fuck, how had he not seen it before? He had never met another like him, not up close and personal. He had heard rumours of others, had read stories, but his had been a solitary life. For all he knew he was the only one like him in Maine, or even the United States. Fuck, the whole world. And it turned out he wasn’t even the only one like him in Storybrooke. And the creature had known by scent and instinct alone.

A new sort of desperation grew in him. He wanted to see, he needed to see. Fully unsheathing his claws, now that he wasn’t afraid to be discovered or to hurt her, he shredded what was left of his shirt on her, uncovering more of her glorious torso to his greedy eyes. His eyes took in her delicate scaled waist and the opalescent reflections the light made on her breasts, where the scales seemed to be softer, almost feathery. He watched in enraptured fascination as a pale lavender blush spread down her torso and across the high points of her cheeks.

Fuck, she was perfect. Delicate and beautiful and a match for him in every way. There was no need to pretend, or hide, or go slow and soft. The creature inside him agreed in a gleeful hiss. He buried his head on the crook of her shoulder, his tongue darting out to taste her scales, marvelling at the feel of them. Not rough at all, but rather pleasantly slippery and hot. He rubbed his head against her neck and shoulder, purring at the feel of it.

“Gold, please.”

She fidgeted above him, aroused and bothered by his seemingly-stupified state.

“Rowan.” He growled his name against her skin, voice thick and barely understandable, pitched too low to be human. “Call me Rowan.”

When she whispered his name in a keen, needy wail it was as if something snapped inside him. He pounced, tackling her to the grown and taking advantage of her surprised gasp to kiss her open mouth, letting his tongue trace the sharp points of her teeth and feel her raspy tongue. His claws made short work of her lovely leggings, and he would have felt a small stab of guilt at destroying them if Belle hadn’t proceeded to practically shred his own pants. He lost the rest of his clothing in the tousle that followed. It wasn’t the way he had ever understood sex to be like but it felt right, instinctual, to wrestle on the hardwood floor, nipping and scratching and biting as they took turns pinning each other down.

Slowly, naturally, a rhythm built between them, everything getting slower and more intense. Claws dragged deeper against skin, teeth dug harder against flesh and the air grew hot between them, smelling pleasantly of burnt caramel and woodsmoke. He mouthed at every bit of skin he could reach, taking special care to map as much of her breasts as she would allow, taking care to notice when she made needy little whimpers or when her scent spiked, indicating her pleasure.

“Enough.” Belle sunk her nails deep into the scales of his shoulder, hurting in the best possible way. “Fuck me, Rowan.”

He didn’t know if it was the words or the commanding tone that made him lose his mind but in the blink of an eye he was pinning her to the ground, hands holding her wrists above her head. He took a quick moment to try to commit the moment to memory before instinct completely took over and he thrust deep into her. She arched, tight as a bowstring, cunt tightening around his cock in a vice grip that had him almost spilling himself then and there. No human woman had ever felt this hot and good, and had he known it could feel like that he would have never been able to orgasm with a human partner.

When he finally had himself under some semblance of control he began to thrust, with little finesse but all the pent-up passion he had. It was brutal but she took it all, reciprocating his movements and begging him to go faster, harder. Pleasure built up to an almost painful degree, his muscles coiling, tension building until it was difficult to say what hurt and what didn’t. Instinctively he bent over, scraping his teeth against the underside of one of her breasts. Belle thrashed beneath him, letting out a hoarse cry as she tightened around him once more, inner muscles fluttering against his cock as she came. She followed her seconds later, the relief leaving him almost giddy with delight.

He found himself desperately in need of pressing himself against her, the orgasm leaving him uncharacteristically cuddly. Belle felt clearly the same, twining her limbs around him. He marvelled at the colour contrast, deep gold against pale opalescent pink, and at the similar way in which their scales were raised, overly-sensitive after their coupling. He pressed his ear against the side of her torso, feeling rather than hearing her purr.

“Hmm, that was even better than I imagined. Didn’t know it could be so good with someone like me.”

It felt ridiculously good to know that he was her first as she was his, in a sense. He wondered if she had always known what he was, if she had been able to recognise him as kin from the beginning, and how. Wondered about where she came from, and how her upbringing had been compared to his. He wanted to see her hoard, her books and her shoes and see if he could detect what it was that appealed to her.

There would be time for all of that later, he decided, propping himself up just enough to reach the cashmere throw forgotten on the sofa, spreading it over them as their bodies cooled.

There would be time for everything.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rumbelle christmas in july #nerdrumple

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lonelydestinyhunter · 5 years

Text

A day in the life of a Hunter.

2:00 AM: Stagger home from the bar, reeking of luminescent whiskey. Sing "I will survive", "Shot through the heart" or "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the top of their lungs, because the whole City has to hear it.

3:00 AM: Fall asleep in their armour, on the couch. Hunters have no "Stop drinking" filter, and therefore consume alcohol on a level unheard of in among the other classes. Side note, this phenomena is recent. It is thought that the Hunters are enjoying their fun now, before one of them is forced to become Vanguard.

6:00 AM: Wake themselves up with a large snore, and roll onto the floor. In their hungover haze, they instruct their Ghost to prepare for rez. After shooting themselves in the temple, they return with the hangover fully cured. They quickly eat some fruit and a few slices of toast, normally buttered but some prefer it without. All Hunters like peanut butter but due to its incredibly high cost, they usually cannot afford it.

7:00 AM: Due to the constant nagging fear of being made Vanguard, Hunters join a Fireteam quickly. If they cannot find a Fireteam within ten minutes, they will simply head out alone. Hunters do everything they can to avoid a member of the Vanguard, and lately have taken to using the air ducts and service tunnels to get around.

8:00 AM: By this point they will be near their destination, or have reached it. As soon as their ship leaves the Hanger, a Hunter is far more at ease, and they begin to prep for the day. This involves sharpening knives, cleaning weapons, and having a nap in their ship. Their Ghost will usually pilot. Side note, Hunter Ghosts are normally more quippy and sarcastic. The relationship between a Hunter and their Ghost is one of light hearted banter and insults, the two are very close as only best friends can be.

9:00 AM: The Hunter will always want to be first on the ground. Warlocks and Titans respect this, and so remain in their ship for another 5-10 minutes. A Hunter will move into a half-crouch and move slowly but methodically around the landing zone, checking for any traps or enemies. After a while, they will leap into the nearest tree to get some good line of sight. It is usually in this moment a Fireteam will have a destination set for them. Side note, it is now fully established that the eyes of a Hunter are far superior to any other class. Warlocks have the poorest vision, the reading and looking at datapads all day have not done their eyesight any favours.

10:00 AM: By now, the Fireteam is moving to their destination, be it a ruin, an enemy hideout, or just a location of interest. The Hunter will spend most of their time slightly ahead of the rest of their Fireteam, scouting out any danger ahead. A Hunter is most comfortable in their own company, and some see them as unsociable. This couldn't be further from the truth, as Hunters are focused and alert at all times in the wild, friendly and jovial at all other times.

11:00 AM: The Hunter will normally have caught a small animal by this point, and will cook it over a golden gun shot fired into the ground. Rabbit is a favourite of Hunters, but as they roam in packs of up to 50 and have become carnivorous, taking one out without being eaten alive is a small challenge.

11:30 AM: The Hunter will share a word or two with the rest of their fireteam prior to reaching their destination. Nothing too in depth. That can happen in the bar later. Occasionally they will play a word game with a Warlock, or arm-wrestle a Titan. Hunters are very bad losers, but worse winners. They gloat and hold victories over the head of the opponent for weeks after the victory, and if they lose they go into a huge sulk that lasts days.

12:00 PM: The Titan and Warlock head back to the Tower. The Hunter remains behind. Shaxx orders all Hunters to enter the crucible at 12:00 PM, but very few actually keep to this schedule, choosing to enter whenever they feel like it.

1:00 PM: Hunters make discoveries first, and then will contact a Warlock to verify it. Hunters know better than to enter a room with a locked door, or to play with an aged console. Better to let the Warlock set off the trap or activate the killer robots. Besides, the Warlocks like dying anyway. They continue to search for new and undiscovered items and areas.

4:00 PM: Hunters will now aim to have dinner. A Deer is best because of its size, but a large fish or bird will also suffice depending on the planet. On Mars, Sand Fish are rare but a delicacy, when caught they are best eaten raw with a spicy sauce. Side note, Sand Fish were very nearly eaten to extinction by the Cabal, but the Cabal on Mars have had their numbers reduced dramatically, so the population of Sand Fish has increased.

5:00 PM: Hunters know they should return to the Tower to refuel the ship and restock their weapons, but they also know the Vanguard shift of duty concludes at 6:00 PM, and will therefore be safe from being made Vanguard. During this time Hunter usually relax and take in their surroundings. Side note, Hunters are lauded as being the best photographers, purely due to this lounge time. They take a large amount of Selfies and panoramic shots while sitting around doing nothing.

6:00 PM: Return home, rest and shower. Hunters crawl around in filth and dirt, and their armour is mostly cloth, so the stink of a Hunter can be rather pungent. Special washing machines in their homes are designed to remove this scent and clean the clothes, but not remove the stains. Hunters prefer them stained, as it helps them blend in better, its own kind of camouflage unique to them. Hunters never wash their capes.

8:00 PM: Head to the nearest bar, preferably one with both beers and spirits. The bars of the City are usually very busy, Hunters like to arrive around this time to ensure they get a good seat. Side note, City bars normally serve beer, or spirits. This is because some of the newer forms of alcohol such as Liversquelch Brandy and Headcrack Vodka do not mix well with Beer, causing severe abdominal pain and bleeding from the rectum. The bars that do stock both have signs outside claiming no responsibility for this, should it happen. Guardians are fortunately immune.

11:00 PM: The "Squares" (Warlocks and Titans), have usually gone home by now, leaving only the general population of the City and Hunters in the bars. Around now the illegal Poker matches will start, duels in the middle of the street, and general horseplay. Hunters are often arrested by the City police, and they go quietly without any fuss if they are caught. Its all part of the game.

12:00 / 1:00 am: Return to the bar for more drinks, and then attempt to journey home in a drunken stupor.

( https://www.reddit.com/r/DestinyTheGame/comments/c4n9z1/a_day_in_the_life_of_a_hunter/ ) source

#destiny the game #destiny #destiny 2 #hunter

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imagine-loki · 5 years

Text

Wedded Bliss

TITLE: Wedded Bliss CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 30 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Odin determined to find Loki a wife in a misguided, though somewhat well-intentioned attempt to ‘mellow him’. … RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: This chapter got away from me, so I split it into two because I am annoyingly picky about chapter length constancy. Relevant to the chapter; this is Edith’s new uniform, because reasons.

____________________________

Edith crept along the beams of the warehouse they were investigating, measuring her steps with the absentminded balance born of long practise, her attention half on her surroundings and half on the hushed conversation she was having with Loki through their comms.

“I don’t see why it needs to be red,” Loki argued, waiting for her cue to either go inside the building or the all clear to leave, “Red is hardly conducive to stealth.”

The argument had arisen when she walked onto the quinjet in her new uniform, which unlike the one Loki had grown used to, had a deep red and black colour scheme. Edith hadn’t really considered what his reaction to it would be when she’d designed it with the R&D team that made her equipment; she had simply decided she wanted a change when they’d told her they had improved upon the material her old outfit was made of. If she had know he was going to make this much of a fuss about it, though…

“God, Loki; it’s dark red,” Edith replied exasperated, “I’m hardly walking around in a visibility vest or something.”

“Your other outfit was fine,” he insisted.

“Yes; the cleavage and midriff was very stealthy,” she retorted sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. “Admit it, you just wanted to stare at my tits.”

“I wanted no such thing; I just don’t understand why you felt the need to change it.”

“Because I’ve been using the same outfit for, like, two years? It’s not the first time I’ve changed it, you know. This one’s a lot more practical for the kind of missions we’ve been going on lately, and you know it. Besides, you’re one to talk; you’ve got two outfits for every occasion.”

“That is both inaccurate and besides the point.”

“It most certainly is not.” She pressed a button on the side of her goggles to zoom in on a group of uniformed men inspecting crates and cut off his response when she found what she was looking for, “Alright, looks like that tip was right; I’ve got three cratefuls of chitauri scrap metal and weapons. No visual on the other four crates, though.”

“We should assume they contain the same. Let me know when you are clear,” he replied, flexing his fingers and calling on his power as he stealthily made his way towards the back door. When he heard no reply he smirked to himself. “Did you just nod, Edie?”

“… No.” That got a soft chuckle. “Shut up.” She reached the far corner of the warehouse and made her way down to the floor. “Okay, I’m clear.”

With that, Loki walked inside then placed his hands against the door and infused his power into it, weaving a spell that would turn anyone trying to exit the building right back around. He turned towards his targets and pulled his daggers out of their scabbards as he went; he sensed where Edith was and oriented himself to be across from her. There was a lull in the men’s conversation and Edith took that opportunity to let loose a trilling sort of whistle from her lips that echoed all over with the aid of Loki’s seidr, causing the men to startle and grip their guns.

“Shit! It’s Firebird!” one of them unnecessarily cried as they all looked around warily for said Avenger and her partner.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a heavy mist crept up from the corners, filling the room until they could barely see an inch in front of them, making them panic more. Edith whistled again then she and Loki moved in for the attack, silently coming up behind the few that foolishly moved farther from their fellows and knocking them out, which only served to scare the others more as they tightened ranks. That was exactly what Edith had been counting on, though, and she tossed a sphere about the size of a thimble at their feet; it hit one of their feet and exploded with a concussive blast strong enough to knock them all out cold, after which Loki dispelled the mist.

“Suckers,” Edith commented, shaking her head, causing Loki to laugh as he made his way to the crates.

“As expected,” he switched to the quinjet’s channel, “We are done here; a shipment of weapons and assorted pieces of equipment, and eight prisoners for SHIELD to deal with.”

“Copy that; calling it in,” their pilot replied.

“Where do they keep finding these things?” Edith asked aloud, poking at the contents of one crate, “It’s been months; shouldn’t SHIELD have picked it all up by now?”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

“Hawthorne; we talked about that.”

Agent Hawthorne chuckled somewhat self-consciously. “Sorry, Edith; habit.”

“He fancies you,” Loki commented once they turned the comms off.

Edith scoffed. “He does not.”

“He does; it is painfully obvious.”

“You’re imagining things,” she dismissed.

“If you say so.”

****

Loki was sitting at his desk reading a letter when Edith made her way to his room the next day, and muttered an absent ‘enter’ when she knocked on the open door’s frame. She walked up to him and he slung an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, still not looking away from the letter, causing her to chuckle softly as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Wow, such focus. Should I be jealous?” she joked.

He breathed a laugh and looked up at last. “It’s from father,” he explained, “My Nameday is next month; he wants our attendance for the celebratory feast.”

“‘Wants’ or ‘demands’?” she snorted.

“There is a difference?” he asked with mock confusion.

“I take it we’re going?”

“Well, I am; you don’t have to.”

“If a Nameday is what I think it is; of course I’m going. Besides, I’m kinda curious how you celebrate things in Asgard.”

“Very loudly,” he deadpanned.

“Ah, I, um… I see,” she giggled then stepped back and took his hand in hers, tugging a bit, “Anyway; come on.”

He remained seated. “Where am I coming to?”

“You’ll find out, now come on,” she tugged harder, for all the good it did.

“That is not helping this sound any less suspicious.”

She tugged again and he sighed but got up anyway and followed her out the room, to the elevator and to one of the training areas, where the rest of the team waited. The large room had been set up to have many obstacles and cover, and the team was wearing strange armour Loki had never seen before and carrying some type of gun.

“Oh, good; you got him!” Clint said by way of greeting when he noticed them, prompting the rest of the team to look their way, “I call dibs.”

“The hell you do!” Edith retorted, “He’s my boyfriend, that’s automatic dibs.”

Loki looked between the two of them somewhat apprehensively. “May I ask what exactly I am being claimed for?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Steve asked Edith.

“More fun that way,” Edith shrugged, earning a sigh.

“Why am I not surprised?” Steve muttered more to himself before turning to Loki. “I know you’ve been part of the team for two months now, but there wasn’t time for this before,” he raised the gun in his hands, “Paintball. It’s a team building exercise-slash-way to unwind and have fun. It’s kind of a tradition, we do it every year.”

“I see,” Loki replied, oddly touched. He’d formed somewhat tentative friendships in the months he’d been there, but he’d attributed it to his relationship with Edith making it something of an obligation. He certainly didn’t expect to be included in such a thing. “And what does this ‘paintball’ entail, exactly?”

“Well, first of all, you might want to change into something you don’t mind getting paint on,” Tony suggested, causing Loki to look around at them all and notice they were wearing gym clothes under the armour.

Loki glanced down then waved a hand over himself, causing his clothes to shimmer into something casual. Edith, who had since donned the same armour as the others, brought a set to him and helped him put it on. Natasha gave him one of the guns and Steve gave him a quick run down of how to play.

“Now, there’s not really a whole lot of rules to how we play, but they are important,” Tony said as they got ready to split up into two groups, “Everyone gets ten ‘lives’; that’s ten times you can walk away from a kill shot, after that you get to sit with Bruce in the control room and watch the rest of the match like a loser. No helmet, no headshots; these little balls sting like hell and it’s just a dick move. In theory we stick to this room, but the playfield tends to expand when we get really into it, which is always. That said, the labs are absolutely off limits; we do not want a repeat of the summer of ’04,” he looked pointedly at Edith, who blushed scarlet, “If we do end up elsewhere, no involving other people; they might quit and I hate vetting new people. This one’s new, but, no powers; kind of defeats the purpose,” he thought for a moment, “Yeah, that’s it; pretty much everything else is fair game.”

Loki nodded his understanding then they split up; with him, Edith and Natasha heading to one end of the room, while Tony, Steve and Clint took to the other. Once their helmets were on, Bruce called the match to begin.

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #wedded bliss #chapter 30 #MaliceManaged

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andallhisausterenhost · 5 years

Photo

After Action Report: The Omission of SovP1D (Part One)

An entire sub-sector of a γ-class planet depopulated [...] on the brink of attaining η-status within the next three centuries. ...many scenes of war, my lord. [...] none like this. Most signs of damage show signs of conventional damage pointing to a raid by pirates, most likely spillover from the Magog Cluster. Servitor-computed possibilities include abhuman pirate raider fleets such as Skipherra Cnut Reach á Drottning Hefnd, Ork splinter warbands, or

+ + + R E D A C T E D + + +

possibilities do not account for the total absence of population. Unusual damage to some superstructures and fragmentary monofilament wiring discovered on the edge of the principal proto-hive possibly indicate Eldar involvement (sub-species Ordo Xenos designate: Drukhari). Investigation ongoing.

- - - transmission fragment recovered by Throne agents from illegal salvage vessel Юпітэр Узыходзячы. Unauthorised holders summarily executed; see attached.

Last Sunday... no, like, two weeks ago, @littlemangsofwar and I played a double-feature set of Kill Team games. I brought a Dark Eldar team, and he brought two Imperial teams; Guard and Dark Angels. Despite intending to blog about this, I completely forgot to take team photos, which is a real shame as I used mostly Trueborn models for the Kabal of the Sun Betrayed and their Cult of Splintered Sight allies, and they looked bitchin’.

The Kabal sent a Sybarite with phantasm grenades and a splinter rifle as my Leader specialist, along with Kabalite gunners with a shredder (Veteran) and blaster (Sniper) and two Kabalite warriors with splinter rifles; the Cult sent a Hekatrix with agoniser (Combat) and five Wyches, three with Wych weapons.

@littlemangsofwar‘s Guardsmen were mostly snipers, one of whom was a Sniper specialist, together with a gang of Stormtroopers* and a sergeant with a chainsword and bolt pistol.

The first game was Take Prisoners, which made me very happy, but Mangs took the deployment side with the tall ruined hab-block, allowing him a very clear killing field. That made me sad. I chose to place traps, while he chose to eliminate scouts; this meant nothing for his scouting choice (as I didn’t advance forward), but I got to make some of his lads terrified of moving around. Fun!

My drugs gave me Painbringer (+1 Toughness), possibly the most useful combat drug on the Kill Team scale. Mangs was consistently unable to hurt my Wyches, but his clear lines of fire did prevent me from being willing to engage.

We did set up on a slightly larger board than Kill Team recommends, at 4′ x 4′ rather than the usual I think 3′ x 3′. In hindsight, I think that if we do that, we should add an extra game turn, as it means we always spend a turn moving around and not doing much. Of course, that could be because I was a very melee-oriented force and he was a bunch of snipers!

I’m not going to do a blow-by-blow. @littlemangsofwar kept the pressure on that open field; I sent a few token Kabalites into that field to keep his snipers interested in it, while my Wyches and short-ranged firepower sidled around the board’s edge to flank him.

His firepower kept me hiding behind cover on that flank for most of the game. I took out a Stormtrooper** with my shredder gunner, but that’s about it. When I did get toward range, he slowly (the traps mean he halved his movement in the dangerous terrain) backed off and rapid-fired las fire into my now-T4 space elves.

I did manage to get one Wych across that open field and into his lines, where she (after several rounds of failure and running around) managed to scrag a Guardsman to take back to Commorragh. (This would win me the game, as victory points were earned from taking people out within an inch of other models.)

His snipers did take out my Sybarite, who did nothing else all game. Good luck explaining that to the Archon.

The other engagement of note was my heroine Wych with hydra gauntlets who absolutely refused to die, even if @littlemangsofwar did manage to prevent her from ever getting to grips with any of his men. She took round after round of fire! I swear Mangs was going to start eating his dice.

The game ended on the random dice roll about a turn before I really closed in on the Imperial Guard, so we agreed that the 363 wisely agreed to withdraw rather than become Warp Beast chow. I’ll close with a couple of other photos from the match.

Splinter fire felled this Guardsman.

James ‘Jammy’ Jenkins called this station Eagle Perch. He would go on to perish in the Uagantu Annihilation as Penal Trooper 07801080113.

Imperial Stormtrooper. Probably.

Line ‘em up.

Knock ‘em down.

After hiding at the back of the board for most of the game, this Kabalite Warrior leapt into the killing field, stormed behind this cover, and then took out a Guardsman with a volley of splinter fire. Hardly an original murder, but still filling...

*Or whatever they’re called now. The elite guys. You know. With carapace armour on. Hellguns. Wossnames.

**Seriously, what are they called these days. I am drawing a total blank. It’s not like he used the classic models or anything. Yeesh, I’m old.

#after action report #wargaming #miniatures #warhammer 40k #dark eldar #science fiction #games workshop #citadel #unrestrained ravagings #there is only war #fluff

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adaar-i · 5 years

Text

OC Asks: Daya

1. What do they smell like? Leather and wildflowers.

2. What is their voice like? Filipino accent. Slightly higher pitched (except in the mornings her voice is deep and croaky). Rolling r’s, hypercorrection.

3. What is their biggest motivator? The thought of what comes after The Blight. The thought of freedom, of not having to kill any more. Quiet.

4. What is their most embarrassing memory? There was this one time that Oghren convinced them all to try this new ale he found. Everyone took it well, except for Daya who got slightly plastered and proceeded to do a dramatic reading of some of the illicit love letters she had found in her travels. There was a lot of…movements. She is reminded of this often.

5. How do they deal with/react to pain? Quietly. She tries to hide it.

6. What do they like to wear? She loves wearing intricate leather work (belts and things). Finding unique designs. She does like the same with armour, but armour is heavy and she prefers looking at it rather than wearing it. She likes loose clothing, tunics and things, and boots. She loves boots.

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively? Her relationship with Alistair. He is a constant reminder that despite all the evil in the world there is still good too.

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten? Some kind of fish and berry pie. It was…different, and she was starving.

9. Describe the way that they sleep. On her back mostly, slightly on her side. One arm above her head, one over her side. That’s when Alistair isn’t feeling cuddly at least (which isn’t that often). Then one of them is on their back and the other is on their side draped all over them.

10. What is their favorite food/kind of food? Sweets. She doesn’t come across them often though, much to her dislike.

11. What do they feel most insecure about? Hand to hand combat. She’s great with her magic, but she feels she could improve her skills.

12. How do they like to dress? Loose clothing. Intricate detail work. Florals.

13. How do they react to feelings of guilt? She ends up worrying about what is ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. She gives too much of herself trying to make everyone happy.

14. How do they react to/deal with betrayal? It depends on who betrays her. For the most part she can be forgiving provided there is a VERY good reason behind it and lots of remorse. If someone has done something unforgiveable then that’s it. She cuts them out.

15. What is their greatest achievement? Ending The Blight. Or having a hand in it anyway. Having the capacity, courage and determination to go through till the very end.

16. What are they like when they’ve gotten too little sleep? Cranky. You don’t mess with a mage that’s had no sleep.

17. What are they like when they’re drunk? It doesn’t take much to get her drunk. She gets very…happy, carefree. She sings. Lots of floaty arm movements.

18. What kind of music do they enjoy? A lot of percussion. Music so loud she can feel the vibrations through her body.

19. Are they right or left handed? Ambidextrous. She uses both her hands for magic.

20. Fears? The Blight happening again, losing her loved ones, her team, her mabari. She’s not scared of anything happening to her, but if something were to ever happen to someone else, she’s not sure what she would do. She fears never finding her biological family, and also fears the possibility that she may never be able to bear her own child.

21. Favorite kind of weather? Rain. There’s always so much fire around, she loves the feeling of cool rain on her skin.

22. Favorite color? Green.

23. Do they collect anything? Leather bracelets. Flowers.

24. Do they prefer either hot or cold weather more? Cold.

25. What is their eye color? Dark brown with flecks of gold.

26. What is their race/ethnicity? Magi, she’s half Filipino half Hawaiian.

27. Hair color? White.

28. Are they happy where they are currently? She’s off living life in private with Alistair somewhere. She’s ecstatic.

29. Are they a morning person? She’s kind of learnt to be. She got used to not sleeping much at all really during the Blight, but now that it’s over she (meaning Alistair) is trying to get her to sleep more regularly. Though she does love being awake early and watching the world wake up around her.

30. Sunrise or sunset? Sunrise. It’s so peaceful.

31. Are they more messy or more organized? More messy. She is an…organized mess.

32. Pet peeves? Alistair’s snoring. She swears she’ll smother him one day.

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance? An amulet from her mother.

34. Least favorite food? Nug.

35. Least favorite color? Red.

36. Least favorite smell? Burning.

37. When was the last time they cried? The other night, the nightmares can get terrible sometimes.

38. Were they with anybody the last time they cried? She was with Alistair and her Mabari. She was well taken care of and reassured.

39. Tell us about one of the times they got injured? She and Zevran created an ‘assassin’ game that they played during their travels. One would slink into the shadows and try to ‘assassinate’ the other. Daya thought she’d drop onto Zevran out of a tree, so after excusing herself to ‘go to the toilet’, she raced up ahead, climbed one of the trees and waited. Unfortunately for her the tree she had picked was home to a hive of bees and well, she did land on Zevran, but it was more out of falling than it was leaping. Alistair spent the next week applying salve to the stings.

40. Do they have any scars? She’s got her fair share. It’s hard to avoid when you’re up close and personal with darkspawn. She’s got many small ones on her arms and legs where her armour doesn’t quite cover.

41. Do they struggle with any mental health issues? PTSD. She’s been through a lot, and that gets to a person.

42. Do they have any bad habits? Nail biting.

43. Why might someone dislike them? She can get very snarky at times. When she’s stressed or overwhelmed her tolerance levels take a nose dive. She tries to be level headed but sometimes she just can’t and it can get…ugly.

44. Why might someone love them? Her determination and drive she’s been told. And the fact that she still tries to see the good in everything.

45. Do they believe in ghosts? Yes.

46. Is there anyone they would trust with their lives? She would trust her team, just…maybe Morrigan slightly less.

47. Are they romantically interested in anyone? Alistair.

48. Are they dating/married to anyone? She is with Alistair. They haven’t gotten married yet.

49. Do they like surprises? Only little ones, and not ones involving people/things jumping out at her.

50. When is their birthday? November 12th.

51. How do they usually celebrate their birthday? She prefers to have a quiet night in. With or without her friends, though she finds it very entertaining to get a little tipsy with them all.

52. Do they have any family? She did. She had her mother and three sisters but having grown up in the Circle she has not seen them for a very long time. She’s not even sure if they’re still alive, but she searches for them constantly.

53. Are they close to their family? Not any more.

54. What is their MBTI type? ISFJ or ESTP.

55. What is their zodiac sign? Scorpio.

56. What Hogwarts House would they be in? Gryffindor.

57. What D&D alignment are they? Neutral Good.

58. Do they ever have nightmares? If so, what about? Mostly about the Blight, or her loved ones dying.

59. What are their views on death? She is not afraid of it, not of her own death at least. She accepts that it happens. But she cannot stand the idea of her friends dying.

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at? Zevran tripping over his own feet.

61. When bored, how do they pass time? She likes braiding things. Leather, or hair if people will let her. Anders loved it.

62. Do they enjoy being outside? Yes. After being locked up most of her life she cannot get enough of the outdoors.

63. Do they have an accent? Yes.

64. Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, what is their first reaction? Take a bite, then smash some in whoever’s face is closest.

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say? Well I’m assuming she wouldn’t be alone. So she’d try and make eye contact with whoever (friend) she could find and just smile. She did her best, she lived her life as best she could.

66. How do they feel about sex? That it’s fun, great stress reliever, but she doesn’t mind if it doesn’t happen all that often either.

67. What is their sexuality? Bisexual, with a preference for men.

68. Do they become squeamish at the sight of blood? Maybe at the start. But after the Blight and everything you just kind of get used to it.

69. Is there anything that they find really gross? Vomit. That she can’t stand.

70. Which TV Trope(s) best describes them? The Damsel.

71. Do they enjoy helping people? Yes very much so.

72. Are they allergic to anything? Mosquitos.

73. Do they have a pet? She has a Mabari named Jag :)

74. Are they quick to anger? What are they like when they lose their temper? Not to anger no. She is quickly frustrated and annoyed. When she loses her temper though she goes quiet.

75. How patient are they? She has gotten more patient over the years.

76. Are they good at cooking? She knows two recipes and that’s it.

77. Favorite insult? Do they insult people often? She takes pleasure in insulting dumb bad guys. She’s more of the teasing type though.

78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy? Small smiles and a lot of blushing.

79. What do they do when they learn about other people’s fears? She takes note and may warn them if something they don’t like is about to happen/be seen/etc.

80. Are they trustworthy? Yes.

81. Do they try to hide their emotions? Are they good at it? She tries to hide her negative emotions/her pain. She’s pretty good at it, until it gets too much and then she cracks a little.

82. Do they exercise regularly? Probably not as regularly as she should/could. During the Blight her fitness improved as she fought, after the Blight she really enjoyed the idea of just…not doing much at all.

83. Are they comfortable with the way they look? Yes.

84. What are some physical features that they find attractive on people? Nice chest/arms. Soft hair, the little creases besides people’s eyes when they smile.

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive? People that don’t take themselves too seriously. Funny, kindness, loyalty.

86. Do they like sweet foods? Loves them. Doesn’t get enough of them.

87. What is their age? 34 in DAI.

88. Are they tall or short or somewhere in between? Somewhere in between.

89. Do they wear glasses or contacts? Nope.

90. Do they consider themselves attractive? Yes but she’s not cocky about it.

91. What is their sense of humor like? Physical (slapstick) and witty.

92. What mood are they most often in? She’s pretty neutral, slightly more positive.

93. What kinds of things anger them? When people don’t think through their actions properly, or when people go back on their word.

94. Outlook on life? Things were pretty bleak for a long time, but she remained hopeful.

95. What kind of things make them sad/depressed? Death, pain.

96. What is their greatest weakness? Her combat skills. Trying to please everyone.

97. What is the greatest strength? Her determination, hopefulness, drive.

98. Something that they regret? The fact that she couldn’t save everyone.

99. Biggest accomplishment? Doing her best to end the Blight.

#daya #long post

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