Monthly Archives: December 2013

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

“Things I don’t need to remember, things I don’t want to remember! Things like,” she stumbled on the words, “like how little I am liked here. How I am not wanted. Not — there’s nothing /here/ for me. And if there’s nothing here, how can there be anything anywhere else?” Summer pushed the door to the armory open and stepped inside, bracing her hands on the table with her head low.

     ”Summer —” he sighed, “we will leave as soon as we can? Okay?”

“Do you really want to deal with what my mother would have to say about that? Because I don’t.” She just stood there, trembling slightly. “Tell me something nice,” she whispered.

BUS PARTY

copperbadge:

daroos:

I was not anticipating how much I would just want an Agents of SHIELD orgy. Throw in whichever Avengers you think might be fun, but fer serious, can all of them just have a mad 70’s sex party on the bus? Sam? Can you make this happen?

I went with sex pollen, because I find it tough to imagine that OT6 occurring organically and as someone remarked to me, “Does FitzSimmons even understand what sex is?”

So, you know, the usual Sex Pollen warnings for impaired/dubious consent. 

HYDROCODONE MIDNIGHT THEATRE PART FOUR: BUS PARTY

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Sometime around midday, only a few days before the Yule celebrations, while the knights were taking a break from training in the cold to eat and try to warm their hands, a serving boy handed Mordred a note. The boy didn’t wait for an answer, only to see that the knight opened it before he ran off.

In a consciously elegant handwriting, it read, ‘I’ve a gift for you. Come to your rooms tonight after dinner, and try to let nothing keep you.’

Summer waited in the middle of the floor, head bowed, perfectly still. Her hands were clasped in front of her, wrists tied together by a pale satin ribbon. The green velvet corset accentuated the golden tone of her skin, highlighted by silver chains and swing clasps designed to be opened in a hurry. A silver silk-satin skirt fell in straight lines to the floor. Her abundance of hair was firmly braided and pinned up in a heavy swirl at the back of her neck, leaving throat and shoulders utterly bare.

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“Weird text messages. Saying that Mor was cheating on me and that I wasn’t good enough for him.” He smiled bitterly before shaking his head. “Then I started thinkin’ bout my Dad and my mum…”

“You’re going to beli—” she cuts herself off short. “Well. You started thinking, and that led to more thinking, and you just went round in a spiral, down and down and down. Did you block the number?” She sits up, still holding Merlin’s hand, and gives him a look that can only be described as parental.

He frowned, looking down at the white sheets before he sighed. “I’m sorry…” He whispered, shutting his eyes after a moment. “I just got sick of everything… Then the text messages started, and… It got out of control…”

She forces herself to take in a deep breath, and not cry. “Don’t, okay, don’t think about that I’m upset with you. Don’t — it’s not about blame. I’m just asking, as your friend, your best friend I hope, that you try harder to talk to me first next time. What text messages?”

He smiled, hand still locked with Mordred’s, who was asleep next to him in the bed. “Hey… ” He whispered, holding his free hand out to his best friend.

She pulls a chair over beside the bed — one of those horrible plastic chairs that are never ever comfortable — and takes his hand when she sits down. She squeezes it, once, and then leans over and rests her forehead on the bed and says, roughly, “Please, please call me the next time things get like that.” Her throat hurts with the effort of forcing back tears.