#burnthefirstorder

[leopoldjamesfitz-archived]

#peanuts

[the-vault-of-souls]

1/2 So basically eragon is remade and waaaay more true to the books than That Movie was. Eldest is condensed so that is doesnt drag as much, maybe pribably a lot of montages bc i love montages. Brisingr.... would also have to be condensed but only bc inheritance would be split into 2 movies: the first called inheritance and the second the vault of souls, like the alternative title. Inheritance ends with eragon and saphira flying to vroengard and the screen goes to black

2/2 but then the screen fades into the ceiling of the hall of the soothsayer, and nasuada wakes up, and she hollers and yells, and it ends with the door clanging open and keys rattling, and the last shot are boots on the stairs at an angle where you can see part of nasuadas face, looking scared. Obviously vault of souls would begin right where we left off and we find out that its not galbatorix, only her jailor and theres the short scene with them and then its eragon and saphira flying

Eragon is remade and is actually true to the book instead of very loosely based on it, like That Movie was. ;)

Eldest should definitely be condensed (although I did love the details about the forest, the Elves and Eragon’s training while reading it as a 13-year-old). May I also add that I would much rather have Eragon not hit on Arya as much as he did in the book, because that was awkward (and annoying) and I think it would come across as even more awkward on screen.

Suprisingly, Brisingr is my favourite book of the series and I think it would make a gorgeous movie, if only they left out some subplots that were dragging on forever.

I’m so here for splitting Inheritance into 2 movies! Honestly there were so many PoV’s and so many things happening in this book. Splitting it into 2 movies and writing the script in a way that explores the lore (Elves, Dragon Riders of old. the conflict between the Order and the Forsworn, Galby’s reign), as well as the characters and their relationships (Murtagh & Nasuada, for example) in more detail than Paolini did in the book would give the story much more depth, imo! It’s been ages since I read it, but I do remember that Paolini rushed through some plot points and skipped quite a few scenes which I would love to see. Anyway, I absolutely love your ideas about the ending and opening scenes -the Hall of the Shoothsayer would be such a great cliffhanger, I’d be so here for that!!! And just imagine how awesome it would be to see Eragon and Saphira fly above Vroengard and explore its ruins in The Vault of Souls! *__*

Thanks for sharing your ideas! <3  (And I apologize for not being online earlier this week, I only checked my inbox now.)

-Ellie

[electricbluebutterflies]

sara/len hcs about when they retire from super heroism

Ooooh this is something I’ve never thought about. And not a ship I’ve really written for either, so even more fun.

(Obviously this is in an AU where the LoT s1 finale did not happen // canon-divergent from there. I don’t keep up with the rest of the ‘verse so forgive me.)

I don’t know that they WOULD retire, honestly. At least not voluntarily.

But maybe something happens. A significant injury. Enough to make the Canary reconsider her life choices. Not life-threatening, but a long recovery process.

And it hits her that they’re not young anymore. (Len hasn’t been for a very long time, and that’s a separate issue, but she herself has too much faith in her resilience.)

So during those weeks of being sidelined, they talk and make the choice to step back. Together. Not a full retirement, not all at once, but a process of passing the mantle down to the younger generation.

It takes time. A year or two.

As they shift, they learn to be normal human beings for the first time in their lives, with hobbies that don’t include violence and mayhem.

Sara attempts to take up gardening. She’s terrible at first, but over the years that follow she finds a certain peace in it. In middle-age, decades past her expected lifespan, she enters a rosebush in a competition. She doesn’t win, but it’s a highlight.

Len reads a lot. He has more programming to undo. He winds up in therapy for the first voluntary time in his life, and he hates it but realizes there are wounds to heal.

They get a house in a quiet neighborhood, the kind of place one almost expects a pair of mostly-retired superheroes to live. They accidentally acquire a cat. They both hate cats, but the half-dead kitten under their porch speaks to something in their souls and what starts as “we’re just gonna take care of it until it’s able to walk on its own” turns into fifteen years of devoted housepet.

They still have connections, old friends who swing by when they feel like it. Mick appropriates the spare bedroom at his leisure, but over time the bond of fire and ice shifts into something a little less codependent.

They’re happy. Somehow.

[chalantness]

Let It Snow - day thirteen

(for my “season of shipping” giveaway)

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: ~1,600 Characters: Steve/Natasha Prompt: Christmas Eve party + flirting + future fic + sex with clothes still on or partly on + Nat stealing Steve’s ugly Christmas sweaters

For: @burnthefirstorder and @bloodredmoon87

A/N: I wasn’t sure how far into the future you were expecting, so I just went with the classic post-Civil War, Vague Optimistic Future because that’s my happy place.

Read on: [ ao3 ]

It has bells. It has bells.

She’s married to a child. It’d be endearing if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

(Well, no. It’s still kind of endearing.)

Tony is having everyone over for Christmas Eve dinner, and they’ll open presents at midnight and then crash in his dozens of guest rooms, and then they’ll probably have a big breakfast spread in the morning, because it’s Tony and he likes to go a little overboard. Like with his Ugly Christmas Sweater theme for their Christmas Eve dinner.

She pokes fun at Steve for having so many of these things that he can only wear one month a year, but, fuck. She may wear them as much as he does, because they’re soft and comfortable and warm, and they always smell entirely like him. Plus, she usually wears his sweater and nothing else underneath, and she thinks that’s the only thing that can make them feel a little less ridiculous. She knows Steve doesn’t have any complaints about that part, either, even if he likes to pretend to be annoyed whenever she steals one from his closet. She’s only ever worn them around their apartment, because it’s a sweater with pom-poms, or jingle bells, or colored twinkling lights. She’s not about to wear it out in public.

Unless, evidently, Tony Stark decides otherwise.

“You look adorable,” Wanda had giggled when Natasha shrugged out of her coat, revealing the Rudolph sweater she’d taken from Steve. It has bells at his ankles and in his antlers and on his harness, and since it’s Steve’s, it’s also ridiculously big on her. “I especially like the socks.”

Natasha had laughed, glancing down at the cable knit, over-the-knee socks she’d worn instead of leggings. The sweater is huge on her, coming down to the middle of her thighs, so she took a page out of Wanda’s book and wear the thing like some kind of sweater-dress. Hence, the socks. She’s also not wearing anything on underneath, and Steve knows it.

It’s why he hasn’t stopped touching her all fucking night.

It started with a brush of his fingers. Over her bared shoulder when he passes behind her, along the curve of her calf when he’s sitting on the floor near her feet, against the backs of her thighs as he walks behind her toward the dinner table. He got a little bolder when they were seated next to each other, very nearly making her flinch when his hand wraps around her knee under the table, giving it a squeeze. He’d idly massaged along her thigh, tracing nonsensical patterns into her skin, inching higher and higher up her thigh, until his fingertips had grazed the hem of her sweater, and then he’d slid his hand back down to her knee. He did this over and over and over again, through appetizers and the main course and dessert.

She offers to rinse the dishes off and load them in the washer as an excuse to stand up, because unless Steve is going to push the dinnerware aside and spread her out on the table for everyone else to see, he needs to stop touching her.

She takes her time practically scrubbing each dish off, until not a spec of food is left, and then she rearranges them in the dishwasher three different times to distract herself. It doesn’t really work (not at all, in fact) because her body is still tingling, still relishing in the ghosts of his touch on her thigh, still pulsing from the fact that he’d touched her like that at the dinner table with their friends just a few feet away. She’s always prided herself on her poker face, but still. She wonders if they noticed how flushed her skin became, wonders if they could see how hard her nipples had gotten under her sweater. She wonders if they’d even care. This wouldn’t be the first time she and Steve would’ve had sex with all of them in the other room.

She’s just closed the dishwasher when Steve strolls in, an easy, almost casual smile on his face, one hand tucked into his pocket.

“How’s it going in here?” he asks, and it sounds entirely innocent. There’s even a slight wrinkle to his forehead, as if he’s genuinely curious as to what’s taking her so long.

Fucking asshole.

She narrows her eyes at him, and he actually grins when she grabs him by his penguin sweater and drags him toward the linens closet down the hallway. Pepper is going to kill them when she finds out about this. But Natasha doesn’t care, not even a little.

She shoves him inside, clicking the lock into place behind her. It’s totally dark other than the slivers of light coming in from the kitchen, and there’s not much room at all, so she’s already sort of pressed against him in all the right places, and something akin to a growl rips from her throat as she cups her hand over the back of his neck and yanks him down for a kiss. He makes this noise from the back of his throat that sounds a little like a groan, his hands coming to her hips and giving them a squeeze as he licks his tongue into her mouth.

He slides his hand up her thigh and under her dress, fingers swiping over her sex with the deftness of knowing that he’d find her bare and wet and wanting.

She digs her nails into the muscles of his biceps, shelves digging into her back as she leans her weight against them, her legs already shaking. He’s barely even touched her and she feels like she’s about to burst. He teases at her entrance, then moves his fingers up, circles her little bundle of nerves once, twice, three times.

Her bells are chiming as she squirms under his touch, and the asshole laughs at it. “You’re a little too loud,” he tells her, sounding entirely amused by this as he dips two fingers into her and curls, finding her sweet spot with a few easy strokes, because that’s how well he knows her. She parts her lips, grinds her hips down on his hand. “They can probably hear us.”

“So do something about it,” she retorts, because she knows what he’s doing: asking permission. Because, even though he knows her body just as well as she does, and knows her every thought without her uttering a word, he’s Steve, and he’ll always ask. Usually it’s endearing, but right now, they don’t have time. Not with everyone just down the hallway.

He pulls his fingers from her too quickly, too abruptly, drawing a pathetic, strangled sort of sound from her throat, but he brushes a kiss to her lips as if in apology. Then he curls his fingers around the hem of her sweater and yanks it up and over her head in a harsh, clanging rush of sound, tossing it onto the floor. “Fuck, I wish I could see you properly,” he groans as his hands slide down her sides, over her hips, to the tops of her over-the-knee socks. “I wish I could see you in nothing but these damn things, dripping wet between your legs.”

She lets out this desperate little sound as she kisses him again, her hands coming between them and fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

He’s hard when she gets the front of his pants undone and slips a hand inside, fingers curling around his length and stroking up, once, twice, three times. He groans, lets his forehead fall forward on her shoulder as he gently rolls his hips into her palm.

“Is that what you thought about? Why you’re already so hard?” She runs her thumb over the tip of him, nipping at his ear. “Were you thinking of me?”

It’s a question she knows she’d never, ever had to ask, but he answers honestly all the same. “Yes,” he groans, his grip deliciously tight. She wants him to elaborate – needs him to – and of course he does without her having to utter a word. “I wanted to spread you out on that table. Wanted to push your sweater up and suck on you until you screamed.” She gnaws on her lower lip, giving him a squeeze, and his hand grasps at her wrist to get her to stop. They’re both already teetering so close to that edge. “I don’t think I can last,” he whispers.

She shakes her head. Neither can I, she means, and he groans as if in response, pulling her hand off of him and hooking an arm around her waist. He hoists her up and leans them against the linen shelves as he presses at her entrance—

And then a voice – muffled through the door, but very clearly Tony – carries down the hallway. “…but seriously, every time? This is our house!”

Pepper laughs, her voice sounding closer. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it, either, but what can you do?”

“What can you do?” Tony repeats. “Just because they’re newlyweds doesn’t mean they can get away with having sex in every room in our house! I still miss that glass coffee table.”

“You wouldn’t even have used it after that, so what does it matter?”

“It matters, Pep,” Tony grumbles, and Natasha’s heart skips. They’re standing just outside the door.

Her eyes snap up to Steve’s, finding his gaze through the dark, and honestly, she’s not at all surprised to find him smiling, his eyes sparkling in that amused cockiness that she hates (loves) so much. He teases the tip of him over her little bundle of nerves, and she bites down on her lower lip, hard, muffling a whimper as he leans forward and nips at her jaw.

“If we’re loud enough, do you think they’ll go away?” he whispers into her ear, and, before she can even think of a response, he rolls his hips forward and pushes into her, her lips part open as he bottoms out.

She’s pretty sure she moaned, but she doesn’t care. Not even a little.

[hanorganaas]

Like, i just got called a homophobe because i was talking about damerey lol like i figured something like this was gonna happen eventually because how much more vocal about damerey i've been i was wondering what was taking them so long

You are not a homophobe. If anything the asshole who called you a homophobe is bi/panphobic.

Poe is not gay until its explicitly mentioned Poe is gay. You can headcanon him as anything you want gay, bi, hell trans and thus can ship him with whoever you want. [which is what Mark Hamill said about Luke].

So don’t feel bad, its not like you are shipping Alex Danvers with Winn Schott after explicitly mentioning she is a Lesbian. 

Policing people’s headcanons on a character who’s sexuality isnt adressed is wrong. Stop.

[senatorrorgana]

what about a damerey fic where poe and rey keep meeting each other all hours of the night bc poe can't sleep bc of nightmares and rey can't sleep bc she can't get kyle's words out of her head and also when she does sleep its nightmares and they end up bonding over stars and ships and bb-8? just an idea haha :D

Oh, this sounds so good! I always like exploring the idea of Poe having nightmares after everything and Rey would certainly have some too, I can’t wait to write this! :3

[meraudurs]

Lily was actually a prank master, but considering her role as prefect/head girl she refrained from pranking. She didn't want to ruin her reputation... SIKE of course she pranked people, once she actually engaged in a prank war with the boys and no one caught on that she was the other party. Sometimes she and Remus worked together to outprank James and Sirius. (They won, naturally) and to this day, no one really knows who won the Great Prankoff of '77 (cept it wasnt the boys)

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

YEEES!!! omg she is not a goody-two shoes. she!!! pranked!! and!! got!! detention!! and got points taken away. ok!!!!

i approve this so much!! omg and once they were graduating, they worked together and pulled a major prank :”))

send me an opinion and i’ll rate it

[inactiveagentpolarbear]

{Mistletoe} 

Merry Christmas @burnthefirstorder!!! I’m your Fitzsimmons Secret Santa!! I’m so excited to finicky introduce myself!! i hope you like your present! i had so much fun writing it!

“Fitz be more careful,” Jemma said as her boyfriend clumsily dumped the cup of sugar into the bowl of cookie mix.

“I am being careful! You know kitchen stuff isn’t my strong suit.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile to herself at hearing this comment. The last time Fitz had tried to cook it had been a disaster. He had burnt the brownies, which set off the alarm calling for the fire trucks. “Oh believe me Fitz, I know that. But that’s why we’re doing it together.”

“I don’t see why we can’t just buy some cookies from the store. It’s not like the team will know the difference.”

“But baking is fun,” Jemma insisted cheerfully.

Fitz scoffed. “For you maybe. But if we just bought some, we could take a nap before meeting at Coulson’s tonight.”

“Oh hush,” Jemma said tossing a pinch of the flower towards Fitz.

The powder hit him right on the cheek, which made his scruffy beard look white. He hastily whipped it off and then looked down at his hand. However, as soon as he looked back up Jemma she knew she was in trouble.

Jemma slowly and gently placed the bowl of mixture on the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Fitz?”

But there was no denying that a mischievous grin had appeared on his lips. “What wrong Jem?” Fitz asked her raising his eyebrows.

“Fitz don’t you dare,” Jemma replied as she saw Fitz’s hand dipping into the bag of baking flower. She took a step backwards every time he took one forward.

read the rest on Ao3