"Oh, I suppose we have something in common, then!" assumed Rya with delight that sprouts from beneath the slowly fading caution.

The lands surrounded by sea, framed by mountains, extended by portals and deep to the underground - all the places she had heard but never seen. The space the goddess and the serpent share might not the farthest Rya has ever been; yet, it is the farthest she has travelled on her own terms. The first attempt to try her own wings without a guardian, a plan or even a destination - in her inexperience, she didn't think to need one. Neither she can ignore the crawling dread of homesickness. The familiarity of the sheltered comforts, still beckons the runaway, so bitter sweetly.

" To be honest, I want to see the Lands Between too." she finds herself answering before thinking the words, things she hasn't been able to speak with much anyone, ( her own mother the last ).

Perhaps, it is a confession of sorts, while idly spinning and folding the oversized sleeves over the fragile bones over, and over again. The words flood out: " Others speak of events and places. Satisfied to merely memorize the experiences alike to retired elderly... They are not in rush to see what they have already witnessed. Someday, they promise, to grand me a journey of my own. But that day never comes, I am certain. It hasn't. Not as long as I have existed." chin lifts with confidence. This is the closest she has ever felt something alike to resentment.

" Lies, I tell." frown. " There is always something new out there for anyone to witness. I have things to see and places to be. I no longer wait for others. I understand my choice is far from wise one. But I couldn't wait for any longer."

For a small pause, green hues narrow as she watches the other. Contemplating if anything she had said was off. No. The words were nothing but truth from her heart.

Marika listened dutifully, as one would expect from a god. It was… endearing, to hear such wilful defiance. Lady Rya’s stubbornness was akin to her own, in a manner. Marika imagined all youth contained such fiery obstinance, but to listen to one proudly announce it without insult or raised voice, was refreshing.

         And then she asked the goddess a question which struck deep into her gilded soul.

         Have you ever felt trapped?

         Yes, she did. Divinity was not freedom but a prison, offered as sanctum against the cruelties of savages from faraway lands. At times she wondered if her own thoughts were secret, or even her own at all. Was she simply a tool for the Fingers, and the Greater Will.

         She was, of course. She did not delude herself into believing she was anything more than a piece on the board. Not a pawn, rook, knight, or even a bishop – but queen. Perhaps the most powerful piece, but nonetheless not king. If she perished, the game didn’t end.

         “Mine duties often demand I stay in the palace,” she said, and playfully added: “to listen to lords prattle. They are tedious company.”

         A gentle laugh slipped out of her as she continued.

         “They would say remain in Leyndell, for what doth the Lands Between have to offer, which the Queen Eternal hath not seen previous?” Marika spoke as she thoughtfully looked upon her own likeness in statue form. 

@divinityrisen asked: [ closet ] sender walks in on receiver changing. ( from carol to banner )

Conference in an hour and the slacks he'd packed were torn. This was why you didn't pack sleep deprived an hour before it was time to leave, staring down in disbelief at the truly gaping rend in the fabric. He couldn't even blame packing in the dark, every light in the house had been on as he'd rushed from room to room trying to collect everything he'd thought he would need.

Surely he could blame hulking out for wearing a pair of board shorts to what was being treated like a black tie event. Who cared what he was wearing? He as going to be behind a podium, with a laser, and notes that most people would assume were some kind of hieroglyphics. Except no matter how he spun it that was just not going to fly. Did he at the very least pack the emergency sewing kit?

Yes. Good, looking up, putting it in his mouth and biting down to alleviate some of his frustration. Just get them off, stitch real quick to make it through the panel, and then go find a store that carried his size. Toeing off the shoes he'd just wiggled his feet into, Bruce focused on his breathing for a moment, forcing the rising blood pressure back down. Not today, big guy.

Just multi task, it wasn't hard, applying pressure to the heel of the other shoe as he jerked at his belt and undid the fastening before shoving the fabric down. A soft click reached his ears just as he realized he'd just pushed down everything, head already thrown back to groan around the sewing kit. If one things didn't go right he was going to let Hulk out and take a little mental na-

Wait, a click?

Managing not to topple over in surprise by sheer force of will, Bruce spat out the emergency sewing kit and caught it, holding it front of his groin. Which did absolutely fuck all, his face going red at how ridiculous he knew he looked. To hell with it, kicking the pants from his feet, he glared at the shoe he hadn't finished taking off.

Deep breath! Innnn and ooooout... And again, feeling his chest ache as the muscles shifted. He was not going to Hulk out on the first day, he refused.

She felt ridiculous. Carol had never been a woman to wear dresses, even as a little girl she despised them. Countless times she and her father argued, because she refused to wear one to an important event. Every time, she lost. Every time, she ended up in some stupid outfit which her relatives would fawn over and she loathed.

      This time at least, there’d been no argument. Well, not a real one, and definitely not with her father. She’d lost a bet to Rogers, so she had to wear a dress to the event. Romanoff had been kind enough to help her pick one: a beautiful, champagne gold spaghetti-strap gown. In fact, the problem she was encountering had absolutely nothing to do with the dress, and everything to do with being unable to get the clasp on her damn necklace to catch.

      She was searching for Rogers, because since it was his fault she had to wear this, he could at least help her with the necklace.

      But as she passed Banner’s room she paused. There’d be a mirror in there for sure, then she wouldn’t have to ask good ol’ Captain America for help. Her pride would be saved, well, as much as it could be until that bastard saw her in the damn gown. She’d briefly seen Banner in a hall earlier, he wouldn’t mind, surely. Carol turned the knob, happy to find the room unlocked and stepped inside, gently shutting the door behind her with a click.

      She stopped dead when saw him, heard him groan. Not a word managed to escape the spacefarer for a hot second, voice caught her throat. She would have wondered what the hell was in his mouth, she was not distracted by the fact he was naked.

Oh.

Then, he noticed her. And she was so resolutely trying to keep her gaze from wavering it was comical, but failed when he he spat whatever the hell he’d had in his mouth and used it to try and cover his—

Yeah… that wasn’t doing much, Banner. Good on you though. Her gaze shot back up to meet his, again. Before he kicked off the shoe, and it flew across the space as they regarded each other in awkward, heavy silence. A sharp, amused huff escaped her as she tried not to laugh. Carol opened her mouth to say something, failed, closed her mouth, and then her feet carried her not outside the room but instead, to the small dresser with a mirror on it.

      She could still see him, saw he was still staring at her (and rightly so, because apparently her brain had malfunctioned somehow leaving the room hadn’t crossed her mind), in the reflection of the mirror as her stifled smile cracked through and then she laughed. She hid her face in her arms as she leaned over.

      “I’m so sorry,” she apologized, “I thought… I saw you in the... um, hall? Talking with Rocket and Barton.”

      When she recovered, she kept her gaze on the table, still chuckling.

consider this an invite to let me love y'all by providing starters uwu. my love language is silly adventures with angst and violence. give this a like if you'd like a starter. C:

let me know which muse you want a starter from or i will pick for you, and if you're a multi, specify who my muse is interacting with ❤︎ ( this i won't pick for you )

muses below for easy deciding!

carol danvers / captain marvel ( mcu )

lady sif ( mcu )

gamora ( mcu )

antonia dreykov / taskmaster ( mcu )

ki'ir ( bg3 companion tav )

dame aylin ( bg3 )

sylvanas windrunner ( wow )

queen marika ( elden ring )

lara croft ( tomb raider 2013 )

lightning farron ( FFXIII )

The trolls in rut comment does it.

Corlana flares with anger.

She lifts the blade and steps closer, reducing the distance between them until the toes of her boots touch the bottom of the iron bars.

"All tits and violence," she repeats, her voice dropping into a lethal purr. She tilts her head, her gaze dropping deliberately to his bruised knuckles, then trailing up to lock onto his eyes with a furious intensity. "And yet, I am standing out here in the fresh air, while the clever little fox is locked in a cage, nursing a dry throat and playing with rocks."

Corlana leans in, gripping two of the iron bars with her free hand, her face just inches from the barrier between them. The sneer returns, sharper this time, cutting through her mock-amusement.

So, she hadn’t taken his offhand comment well. He caught the shift in her stance as she moved, how anger swam through her veins. Aurius tilted his head, lips curved into a smirk when she repeated his statement. He flicked the stone upwards again, as if accentuating her point.

         What Corlana didn’t know was how aware Aurius was of his predicament. It was a shit situation, and he did need her help. He shouldn’t have taunted her, but as beautiful as she was when she was threatening dismemberment upon others, or leading the charge against…brigands, monsters, or some other unlucky fuck who happened to be in her path, he found her absolutely gorgeous when directing her fury towards him.

         Truly, it was a dangerous infatuation. Probably spoke to some sort of unresolved childhood trauma. He didn’t dwell on it.

         “I am the best rat though,” Aurius said, tossing the pebble so it bounced harmlessly off her breastplate. “Which, I imagine, is why you haven’t left me to rot quite yet.”

         He rose to his feet with a bit of a wince. Aurius approached, but minded the distance. He was not going to step into stabbing range just yet. If she wanted to kill him, she’d have to work a little harder.

Peter's ship is a disaster, and the one responsible for this mess is putting a lot effort into looking like a man who has everything under control. He doesn't, but Carol doesn't need to know that.

He stands in the center of the bridge, a smoking fire extinguisher clutched in one hand and a half-eaten churro in the other. Wisps of grey smoke curl toward the ceiling from a console that is absolutely not supposed to be sparking. Behind him, Rocket's favourite welding torch is inexplicably wedged into the ventilation shaft, buzzing like an angry hornet.

"Okay, first of all, time is relative in space, Danvers, you should know this shit by now" Peter says, lowering the extinguisher and gesturing vaguely around the mess. "Second of all... a lot can happen in thirty seconds! The universe tests us!"

He takes a slow step backward, accidentally kicking a stray wrench that clatters loudly against the metal floor. He clears his throat, shoving it under a seat, and leans casually against a console, only to hiss and jerk his elbow away when it zaps him.

"Look, the important thing is that nobody is dead, and the ship is... mostly okay," he offers, flashing her a winning smile. "So, instead of focusing on that, how about we focus on how much you were missed, yeah?"

His explanation really didn’t clear anything up. Carol’s attention flicked between each point, returning to him as she almost smiled. She was amused, there was no hiding that, but she was baffled on how this had happened.

         “Times relative in space, if I leave the ship,” Carol countered, voice tittering as she tried to stifle her laugh. “What… what even…”

         She approached and took the fire extinguisher from his hand, shaking her head as the laugh she’d been attempting to thwart escaped. She placed the object on the floor, next to a seat, and then slipped by Quill to grab the welding torch. It took a hard yank to get it free, and she was quick to shut it off before something accidentally melted or caught on fire.

         She placed it next to the extinguisher.

         “So,” she said, as she pressed closer. “What did you do for the half a minute I was gone, which…”

         The console behind him sparked again.

The world still felt brighter, and sharper, as though every torch in the hall burned fiercer in quiet celebration of what had just passed between them. Her laughter, soft and unguarded, settled into his being as something long missing finding its rightful place, warming his insides.

At the sight of their companions Thor's grin turned unabashed, wide and utterly unrepentant, and there was not even a sliver of shame in him.

' Mock me all you wish,' and the scoff towards Fandral is easy, voice rich with triumph of an entirely different kind. ' I have been a fool, this is nothing new.'

Volstagg's booming approval earned a hearty laugh in return, though the claps nearly drove the breath from his lungs.

' Careful, old friend,' and retort is formed with a waxing of the grin. ' You may yet bruise your prince before the celebrations begin in earnest.'

Attention returned to Sif, drawn as surely as oncoming tide, and the bright teasing sparked something boyish within the bright ceruleans.

' I would sooner face a thousand more battles than allow Volstagg that satisfaction.'

And when she turned thunderer did not only follow; catching her hand was firm and certain, with a burst of restless, irrepressible joy the god turned the motion into something swifter, pulling her along then with him through the hall, past lingering glances and knowing smiles.

The nearest balcony was only mildly illuminated, the city laying beyond a dark blanket dolloped with flickering lights, winking dots resembling the stars above it.

Cooler air brushed flushed cheeks, and the murmurs and laughter turned soft and distant.

Away from curious looks and celebration, the quiet of the balcony was a wonderful reprieve. There would be frequent moments where all eyes were on them, but now needn’t be one of them. It was a girlish thought, but she couldn’t recall when Thor appeared as happy as he was now. His sincerity made it impossible not to smile as he took her free hand and threaded his fingers with hers.

         The cool air felt striking against her skin. How many times had she turned away his interest and fled outside to breathe? The sensation now was remarkably similar to then, and for a moment, she wondered if this was simply a dream. Something her mind conjured as she tossed about in bed, too cowardly to voice the wants of her heart.

         “It is,” she agreed, and drew closer to press a kiss to his lips once more. No, not a dream. His lips were warm, and his beard tickled her skin. Her own heart beat told her she was awake, and fate had been kind to her drunken blunder.

When she reluctantly pulled away, a gentle laugh escaped her.

“They will all be insufferable,” she cautioned him about their friends. She stayed close, because finally there was no cautionary voice in her mind speaking of propriety. “But we’ve earned their teasing… in the least, you have.”

Her smile was sharp and playful, but gentled as she admired him. The guarded nature of the war goddess fell away as she spoke honestly.

# LEGACYWEBS ⸻⸻ - ̗̀ a   mutuals only   writing   blog   for     MAY " MAYDAY " PARKER [   the daughter of peter parker & mary jane watson   ] a . k . a . . . THE AMAZING SPIDER - GIRL !    POST - CANON BASED ⸻ EARTH - 982 & EARTH - 616 [ + crossover adaptable ! ] ;   canon divergent & heavily   headcanon   influenced.     [   . . . .   ]      rarely   follows   first !      *    as loved   by   aimee.      [   25+,   SHE / HER,   EST.   ].

Her fingertips were numb against the cup of tea. There was a faint twitch of antennae when Steve's question met her ears, and for a moment, the empath said nothing. Words couldn't describe the feeling of being ripped apart from the inside out, the way each breath seemed to fill her lungs with mud, the depth of the black hole that had been carved in the space where her heart should be, swallowing all the light until there was nothing left but darkness.

Because it wasn't just her grief she felt.

"Um, I- I don't know?" Mantis blurted out. "When you feel the sorrow of so many people, you don't really know what you feel." A sound, half a chuckle, half a sob, escaped her. Mantis shook her head. "It's... not very nice."

The empath sipped more tea, cradling the cup in her hands, contemplative. Her expression turning distant like the stars that were slowly becoming visible outside.

It was a dumb question, Steve realized. Though a second too late and he felt bad. How was an empath holding up as he and everyone around her struggled to make sense of the new world. He hoped there was some sort of reprieve, a way around the emotional turmoil.

      “Can you block it?” he asked, “even temporarily?”

      When she mentioned Banner and his observation, he couldn’t stop the irritated half-smirk from manifesting. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to believe no one was sleeping well. The fact Banner thought he needed help, was as thoughtful as it was annoying.

      It was also the last time he’d ever mentioned his struggles to Banner. His smirk faded to something close to an apologetic smile.

      “I don’t know what Banner told you,” he said, “but I do sleep.”

      “Mostly.”