vespidaequeen  asked:

“Midnight, on the bridge. Come alone.” for Harding/Krem?

“So,” said The Iron Bull, upon finishing the note his lieutenant had given him, “you received a note about a secret assignation from your girlfriend, who has been away for over a month, and your first thought was of me?” He chuckled, propped his bad leg back up on the bench in front of him, and leaned his chair back on two legs. It creaked ominously under his weight. “I’m flattered, Krem-de-la-Krem, but I really think–”

Krem felt his face heat with anger and not a little embarassment, “It is not that kind of meeting, Boss, it’s not like that. I mean she’s not really my girlfriend… yet… I don’t think…” He grew frustrated at Bull’s knowing look, which was really worse than further teasing. “We don’t have assignations, all right? Lace isn’t the assignation type and–”

“You don’t know what the word “assignation” means, do ya, Krem?”

“–AND ANYWAY this is obviously about some kind of trouble, and I think I ought to take some backup,” he finished with a decisive nod.

Bull looked at him dubiously, and then at the note more dubiously, then shrugged, “Whatever you say. You know, if you wanted a chaperone you could have just asked.”

Krem groaned, then trudged away to gather his armor.


The bridge was newly constructed by one of the Commander’s work crews, the stones were unworn and undirtied, and some reflected moonlight on their facets.  It was quiet here, as the road was not yet in use after construction finished.  He could hear the wind in the trees, and the rush of the brook at the bottom of the ravine. Krem’s armored footsteps were the loudest sound in the night.  Bull’s were the second loudest.

Harding was sitting on a small recess right above the keystone of the arch. She was not armored. She was wearing a dress, and her hair was loose from its normal bun. The dress was trimmed with lace, like her name.  She had turned to smile at him when he approached, but it faltered a bit when she saw Bull was a few paces behind.

Krem stopped in his tracks. He felt embarrassment rush over him again, “I– ah, I thought from your note that there might be trouble here so I… brought backup.”

Harding did an admirable job of stifling her laughter, but she was at least still smiling at him, so that was something. “That’s very… conscientious of you, Cremisius.”

Behind him, Bull muttered, “Now you see this is an–”

“Don’t even start, Boss.”

vespidaequeen  asked:

Just wanted to say that I'm enjoying The Enemy Within so far, and I'm especially loving how you're writing Janet in it. You can definitely see a lot of her strength and confidence in how you're written her. I feel like I'm gushing a bit here, but, well, I'm really enjoying how you're writing her!

Oh, I’m so glad.  I wish she’d had a bigger role. She’s pretty great. 

vespidaequeen replied to your post “Really that’s the summary of my entire fandom experience Defira:…”

I agree with you on all the stuff you’ve been saying tonight! So much of fandom is dreadful with how they handle Justice in fic and everything else and just ugh. Justice deserves better.

He really does though??? Like I’m all in favour of exploring his darker aspects and seeing well written fic where he is an antagonistic figure and seeing a better exploration of the damage done to him by merging with a living human soul but like

that just never happens

He was such a complex character in Awakening and he was capable of great violence and anger and impatience but he was also capable of learning and compassion and grief and curiosity

vespidaequeen  asked:

BuckyNat, thighs; Jan and Tony, ankles.

Huurrrgh Micah you are the absolute worst.

BuckyNat, Thighs.

They lie entwined, limb tangled in limb, bodies so close that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s calming, listening to his breath so close to hers, fluttering through her hair, a steady in-out that speaks, for the moment, of peace.

Neither of them have had enough of that. She reaches out her hand and runs her fingers down his face: the lines that the Red Room gave him, down the jaw and over the shoulder to the crooked mess of flesh and metal, no less dear to her for its brokenness.

“Wake up, love.” she kisses him, and he pulls her body close. “You’ve slept long enough.”

Jan and Tony, Ankles

If there’s one thing Janet Van Dyne isn’t, it’s weak. Still.

She looks at the newspaper, and feels a lurch in her chest. It’s only gossip of the most innocent sort, but: it’s gossip. They’ve found out.

She buries her head in her hands, but almost immediately feels Tony’s hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not a weakness.” His voice is taut, and sharp. “Unless you want it to be.”

I decided hell with it, never again was I going to over-stress myself about Puella Magi Jan, so I stripped off all the color layers and recolored it as if I were using cheap markers.

And it was actually pretty soothing and the results came out cute, so take that, brain.

Anyway, tidbits.

Her power is hard energy constructs. She can fire ‘bullets’ from her fingers and create pulses, barriers, throwing weapons, and even fighting swords. Because a magical girl transformation is essentially a hard light morphing, she can reconstruct the overcoat of her costume to create energy wings, changing her dress to look like the right image.

Her petticoats are gold like the lining of her jacket and the front panel of her dress

Her headphones don’t actually have a power associated with them, but if she comes up against a hypnotic barrier, she’ll blast music through them to keep the witch from messing with her mind.

Her costume is based on the Wasp costume from Avengers #201.

She ends up with a sidekick, Scarlet the Theater Witch.

ETA: Minor Fixes.

vespidaequeen  asked:

What is your favorite thing about Dorian and Lucien's relationship? Same for Josie and Avalon?

It’s hard for me to pick just the one thing, but I’ll try.

I think my favorite thing about Dorian and Lucien together is how very similar they are and yet how different. By which I don’t just mean physical similarities (though that makes me chuckle because it was an accident, I swear!) but more similar stories. They’re both mages, both smart, both use humor to deflect, both are new to relationships, and so on. However, these things that make them similar also make them different. Being a mage had been a point of privilege for Dorian, whereas it had meant life locked up for Lucien. Because of the difficulties of Circle life, Lucien had avoided a relationship yet he’s more than happy to stumble his way forward and try now that he’s free. Whereas Dorian has a lot of trauma and fear that he has to work through. All of these things help bring them together and find a good way forward.

For Avalon/Josie, I’m most fond of how it evolved. At first, it was sort of a game for Avalon. She genuinely liked Josephine but Josephine also fit perfectly into Avalon’s grand view of herself/her fate. It was this perfect storybook romance, complete with assassins, duels, and dancing. But over time it became so much more. Josephine was someone who could ground Avalon, someone to come home to. After a life of play acting, Avalon had something real.

vespidaequeen  asked:

"You’re getting me all worked up." for Cassandra and Cullen maybe?

The Inquisitor had dismissed them a quarter-hour ago, and while the others had left immediately to attend to their tasks, Cullen and Cassandra were left to discuss the deployment of some of the Inquisition’s Templars to Hasmal. “Discuss” was probably the incorrect term.  “Bicker incessantly” was closer to the truth.  It was becoming their usual habit after every war council, since Cassandra could never resist offering input on his operations, and Cullen couldn’t resist the urge to challenge her in response. He probably shouldn’t be so obstinate, especially when they were working towards a mutual goal, but she was glorious when she was irritated with him.

Eventually, she stopped in the middle of a sentence to let out her breath in an angry puff, and violently snatched up her book from the corner of the war table as if that would make the same sound as slamming it down. “You’re getting me all worked up,” she muttered.

“I— erg…” he responded eloquently. 

She looked up at him sharply. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Cullen knew she hadn’t, but that didn’t stop the heat that started in his chest from creeping steadily up his neck.  “No, no, no, of course not.” She said nothing, but glared, and he knew he was beet red to his hairline, and it would be disingenuous to protest further. “I will go, ah, write a response to Knight-Commander Brycen about…” He waved his hand vaguely towards the map before hastily making his retreat. 

He spent the rest of the day trying to forget how dark her eyes had looked at that moment.

vespidaequeen  asked:

What's the worst gift Peter's ever given Gwen? What's the best?

I think we might’ve seen the worst on-screen with those poor dying flowers he brought her when arriving for dinner with her family.  Boy, you tried, dear.

The best would be the locket that his parents gave him when he was younger.  Lockets were all the rage and after seeing them in a bunch of movies when he was little, Peter asked his parents for one.  So they’d bought him one.  They were supposed to pick out pictures for it the same week they left him at May and Ben’s house and…

It’s remained without pictures ever since, but it’s still something Peter keeps close, at least in his thoughts.  It’s resided in a drawer in his room, but he always knows where it is and he thinks about it a lot when trying to fall asleep at night.  It’s hard for him to part with it, but…he wants Gwen to be able to have the same closeness to ones she loves who are maybe no longer around as he has been able to have.  

And he finds, after he gifts it to her, that it doesn’t feel like parting with it at all, but adding more branches to it, in a sense.  More connections, more loved ones.

The locket remains full and empty all at the same time.  Gwen wears it as a bracelet around her wrist.

vespidaequeen  asked:

BuckyNat, coffeeshop AU.

There’s only one place that makes coffee strong enough for her, and Natasha suspects that the universe knows this and conspires to keep her perfect caffeine fix from happening every. single. damn. day. Take today for example. There’s a freaking hipster in her seat.  

Normally, she’d let it go. But she has queued for an hour for this coffee and Natasha is damned if she’s not going to enjoy it exactly where she wants it.

“You’re in my chair.”

He blinks at her, slowly. Maybe all his brainpower is going into growing his stupid hair.

“I’m sorry?”

Her fingers tighten on her cup. “I said you’re in my seat.”

He indicates the rest of the cafe with a lazy sweep of his arm. “There’s other seats.”

“Yes.” she sets the cup down with a neat and final tak. “But this one is mine.”

“Fine then.” he does this whole-body eyeroll and settles back into his chair, the sleeve of his ugly sweater trailing into a puddle of tea. “We’ll share.”

One foot leans out and pushes the seat back for her. Natasha perches on it, still clinging to the ghost of her frustration.


"What?” she looks at him sharply over the rim of her cup.

“If we’re gonna share a table.” He scratches at his stubble. It’s annoyingly attractive. “I’m James.”