#Yes I am thinking of romance as a form of worship again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xxsmokeyy · 4 years

Note

ok so how about a story where (preferably bi) reader and levi both fall for petra and there's this competition between them as to who can win petras heart first but after petras death (or some other issue; your choice) they both mourn and bond with each other and realize that all those times they tried to outshine each other, they fell for each other instead

Levi x Petra x Bi! Reader (F) One Or The Other

genre: mild angst, fluff (healing)

summary: it’s a bit surprising that despite being rivals, both you and Levi have gotten through a lot together. before you know it, you’re already seeking refuge from one another.

tw: mentions of death

wc: 6,575

You know it’s a heck of a risk trying to aim for someone’s hand like Petra’s. She’s the entire definition of a dainty, lovely girl everybody admires, of course including you. Besides, you don’t even know if you stand a chance, not when there’s a tough guy your way.

Namely, Captain Levi.

Well, there’s another one named Oluo, but you don’t even think of him as a competition. Definitely not a threat as well.

“Hey,” you call the girl with strawberry blonde hair. She looks back at you with a smile and stands upright, wiping the sweat trickling down her neck. You watch as she tucks her hair behind both her ears to get rid of the stray fringes. Isn’t she just hot?

“Need help?” you ask, ready to give her a hand upon seeing her singlehandedly clean the stables.

“I don’t think Captain would allow that,” Petra says before petting the said man’s horse. “Am I right, big boy?” she talks to it, combing its black mane with her slender fingers. Adorable.

“One dick of a Captain we have, don’t you think?” you say, rolling your eyes heavenwards as the image of your superior passes by your mind. “Hmm, not really. I believe his austerity is right just the way it is,” she says in full decision. Of course. The one thing you don’t like about her is the way she worships the shitty Captain like some kind of noble man.

You let out a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms. “You have got to stop being a clean freak apologist, Petra. Unless you’re inlove with him or something,” you point out and take a step towards her, taking away the broomstick from her other hand.

She’s visibly spent to the bones, tending to the horses all by herself to meet the Captain’s regulations. He only always assigns one person per duty, saying soldiers should learn how to clean alone just as much as learning how to fight, which is an utterly dumb stance in your opinion.

When she blushes by your words, a small pang hits your heart. It’s just as you guessed.

Not that it’s not so achingly obvious enough these past few years, but it’s only gotten worse ever since the new 104th recruits joined the Scout Regiment. She keeps praising the dickhead in front of them whenever they ask about him, telling them a variety of stories stretching from way back, it’s ridiculous.

“I don’t!” She really doesn’t. She just idolizes him so much that it comes across as romance. People keep rubbing to her face that she’s inlove, though it’s definitely not what she feels.

Her denial nature and easily flustered reactions keep your spirits low, almost surmising with a conclusion that you had no chance at all if not for the fact that she never made romantic advances to him her whole stay in the army.

“You do,” you avert your gaze, not wanting her to notice the brewing jealousy in your eyes, else she might avoid you or act awkward if she finds out.

“I don’t!” she presses, accidentally pulling on the horse’s crest, forcing a neigh out of it. Petra apologizes to it like it can understand her. “If that isn’t definitely guilty, I don’t know what is,” you mumble under your breath, releasing another sigh as you start sweeping the scattered hay.

Once the Captain’s horse calms down, she faces you, hands on her waist, ready to explain her feelings in fine details. “Look—“

“Who said you can slack off?” Speak of the devil. Your conversation is given a good interruption when the dark haired man arrives.

Petra immediately fixes herself, fist slamming to her chest as acknowledgment of the Captain’s presence. “We weren’t, Captain! She just wanted to help me out,” Petra clarifies right away, voice firm and booming.

You feel the infamous pair of fierce eyes dart on you, and you briefly thank anything that first comes in mind for your current position, back facing the Captain so he can’t see your disgusted scowl.

You prep yourself and turn around, giving him a half-assed salute. “I just finished with the laundry. Thought I could give her a hand,” you say, tone almost holding no formality at all, “—sir,” you lazily add.

His brows twitch as he hears you out. Brat.

“I don’t recall telling everyone to work in pairs, neither of you understood that?” he pinpoints, staring you dead in the face. You’re not intimidated, though, not one bit. If you think I’m scared, you can kiss your own ass. “I insisted. In case you didn’t notice, she’s tired,” you inform, steadiness unwavering. What is even wrong with assisting someone? This merciless prick.

“Oh?” He walks toward you in strides, easily coming face-to-face with you in a span of seconds.

“Come to my office, Petra,” he orders without looking at her, and the woman gives you one last glance, then making off after giving him a polite yes. There it is. He’s about to show his true colors, you just know it.

“Cheap way to win her over,” Levi lowly spits at you, and you can feel his hot breath ghosting harshly over your face. “If you’re so kind, do it all over again,” he orders lastly, internally entertained by how your eyes shut close in fury, grip on the broomstick tightening.

As he finally steers to leave, you swear in your life you never wanted to hit someone so damn much it’d knock them out cold.

Levi heads back, footsteps fading into the background, and an exasperated groan leaves your mouth. You frustratedly throw the broom to the floor, startling his horse, which does nothing but make your blood boil stronger in your veins. Fuck him!

—

You lie down on the hard ground, even more deadbeat than the girl you opted to help. For shit’s sake, who knew this is what you get for volunteering to be of use? You can only imagine how the new cadets would have it hard once the Captain notices their mediocre cleaning skills.

It’s probably nearing curfew, you guess from the excessive appearance of stars in the skies, but your muscles are strained stiff you can’t come inside any time now. You were left with no choice but start from scratch. If you act up and not clean up to his standards, you’ll only get it way worse, so you decided not to push him further.

You sense someone approach you, and you strongly wish it isn’t Levi. He’s the last creature you’d like to see today.

Soft and familiar amber eyes greet yours from upside down, a petite body looming over you, and you couldn’t be anymore thankful. Petra gives you a sympathetic look before sitting down beside your laid form, keeping her hands behind her back.

“I told you,” she starts, “it’d be no good if Captain sees, but you insisted and he arrived! Now look at you, you’re absolutely exhausted, aren’t you?” she continues to scold, though it doesn’t strike you as a scolding. More of a concern, yes. A smile creeps up your lips.

“Just give me the bread,” you confidently say, and she sighs in defeat before revealing the pastry she had in hand. Your heart feels giddy as you sit up straight, taking the food she went out of her way to prepare. It’s like the tiredness just disappeared into thin air. What an angel.

Petra scrunches her nose as she watches you eat in speed. You cock a brow as you see her look at you like you’re— “Do I stink?” you frantically question and smell yourself all over. No way, you’ll definitely get points off now!

She giggles bubbly and shakes her head to dismiss your assumptions. “No, but you’re biting like you haven’t eaten in ages. That famished?” she asks once she’s calmed down.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of what to think. She’s definitely an angel, especially when she smiles. You sigh for the nth time, “Obviously. Did you see how much of a bastard our Captain is? In all honesty, I’d prefer Hange as our squad leader,” you complain and resume to munching.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, gaze boring into yours. You tear your eyes off of her and stare at the horse stalls. “What did the old geezer make you do?”

“Nothing, just a bunch of paperwork,” she says truthfully. Oh, for all you know, he just wanted her all to himself. What an unfair move, using his authority to have her alone.

You angrily bite down on the bread, later realizing you’ve finished it. As she observes you, her eyes widen, suddenly remembering something. “I forgot your water!” she exclaims and rises to her feet, but you stop her before she can leave, grabbing her soft hand.

Your chest stutters involuntarily from the contact and you compose yourself right away. “It’s alright, I’ll get it myself. Go back to your room before Captain catches you,” you urgently say, not wanting her to get in trouble again. “Just help me up,” you ask to which she generously follows. You briefly wish the moment could last longer.

“You sure?” she quizzes when you finally stand up. Both of you heading inside, you nod and hum in agreement, “Thanks for the food.”

She gives you a smile as you both reach the halls, waving you goodbye before you part ways. Ahh, you feel all energetic now.

You walk to the mess hall, footsteps light and shallow. Judging from the dimly lit corridors, it must be a few minutes away from curfew. You just hope you don’t bump into some higher-ups. Hange’s fine, though.

As you push the door open, you regret it right away. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter unintelligibly. Aside from the raven haired man, the room is dead empty, a lone candle in a chamberstick providing dull light. Technically, he is the last creature you see tonight.

You have lost count of how many sighs you’ve released the whole day, all energy in your body draining once again. Steel eyes lock on you as you enter. There’s no turning back now. Well, at least Petra isn’t the one who found him here.

Levi cocks a brow as he watches you proceed inside, seemingly heading to the water jug. You stay quiet and take a glass, then filling it with water. As much as possible, you don’t want to converse with him.

He seems like he won’t let you succeed with that. “Done with the stables?” he asks, sipping on his tea.

“Yeah,” you curtly answer, not up for some bantering.

“Some goody two shoes you are,” he scoffs, ticking you off, but you refuse to let it show. You face him and lean your back against the counter. “Like you’re any better with your assholish attitude,” you sass him out, drinking on your water all the while remaining eye contact. You’ll show him.

“And you complain like the little brat that you are,” he rebuts.

“You’re just threatened that she might go for me behind your back when I just wanted to help,” you answer with a shrug, taking a few steps closer to the table he’s seated.

“Women like you like to play dirty.”

“You don’t know a thing about women,” you snide with a condescending smile, belittling the man before you. He can’t be one to talk about women when he treats you like shit. If there’s someone Petra might end up with, you sure as heck wouldn’t want it to be this guy.

He throws you a glare, piqued by your words before standing on his feet and and walking his way to you. You stay steady, unfazed by the intimidation he’s giving off.

“After all these years, do you seriously think you stand a chance?” he deadpans, which strikes straight to your feelings. He doesn’t have to emphasize that, you already know it, memorized it even.

“I don’t know, but it’d be just as much as a loss if she chooses you,” you say, slamming the glass you’re holding onto the table. After giving him one last glare, you turn your back on him, having enough of the senseless arguments.

He hates how you only ever treat him as a Captain in the battlefield, but not when you’re at ease. You always looked at him like an arch nemesis of the sort, not afraid to answer back at him like he doesn’t deserve your respect. He stressfully closes his eyes and massages his temples as you leave.

—

You sit on the bench, just in front of the Captain, who is currently beside your beloved Petra. Look at him making his moves. You roll your eyes discreetly, sipping on your fresh tea.

“What are you, on a diet or some crap?” Levi asks, finding Petra’s plate empty, bowl of soup halfway finished.

“No, I gave it to the girl you made run laps,” she informs, “she almost passed out, you know.” Right? you wanted to agree but decide to sit still and listen.

Levi doesn’t answer, and instead puts his own loaf of bread on her vacant dish. “Eat. We have an upcoming expedition,” he only says and sips on the liquid left in his cup. Petra’s cheeks turn into a feminine shade of pink, and you so wanted to pull her away from him. She exclaims a yes and starts munching. Great, I should’ve done that first.

You’re not about to put up without a fight, though.

“Dear Captain has to eat as well, don’t you think?” you sarcastically chime in, transferring your unmoved bread onto his plate. “Can’t have him thinned to bones when the walls get breached again,” you add, innocent smile downright infuriating to Levi’s eyes.

You desperately try to keep in your barging laugh to yourself as you watch him look at his plate disgustedly.

What do you say, Petra? I’m just as kind as he is, right? That show off.

Petra hums in agreement and nudges the Captain to eat, a string of hearty giggles leaving her velvet lips, alluring about a total of three people from the same table. You heart skips a round of beats as you watch her flash her toothy grins. Talk about an appetizing view.

Her giggles boil down as realization hits her. She gives you a mixed look of confusion and thoughtfulness, opening her mouth to speak and stop you on your tracks.

“But—”

You wave her off before she can shove her worries to you and prop yourself up, momentarily stretching your limbs in relaxation to then pick up your dirtied china.

“Don’t worry, Petra, I’m already full,” confidence brimming in your tone, you tell her and take your leave. But not without giving the Captain one last glimpse. It was even more appetizing to see him pissed.

Your other comrades only watch in awe as they see the unnamed rivalry uncover ahead of their eyes, your victorious smile determining the whose triumph it is for today.

How about that?

—

When you finish with dish duty, you head to the dining area once more to check if the sconce candles are extinguished, only to find them still lit and burning, with a side of holy bastard, as you like to call him. Of all people.

“Here again? What is this, your lounge room or something?” you mockingly ask and take a seat in front of him, wiping your wet hands on your pants. He ignores you.

You purse your lips out of observation. He must be a tea addict, having another one after dinner. “Are you always here every night?” you ask again, initiating a genuine conversation.

He finally looks at you and sets his tea on the table, a bit surprised by your question. “I am,” he answers. You nod, about to ask another question but he beats you to it.

“I’m removing you from the flank,” he suddenly blurts, taking you aback. What? Your rested face visibly loses composure as your brows furrow together.

“What do you mean? Is it because I shitted on you earlier? Oh please, do you think I’ll hit on Petra while on a mission?” you continuously spurt in one go, hackles slowly raising.

“It’s not about her. Erwin specifically asked for you to join his group since you apparently answered him right,” he remarks, completely calm. You are smart, that’s already a given that he knows, it’s just that feelings can get over the best of you that he doesn’t find rational.

Your ragged breathing upon taking him the wrong way steadies as you listen. “The Commander?” you confirm and he grunts his response. “Alright then, you better watch over her in my stead.”

Levi takes a glance at you, steel grey eyes holding an unreadable expression, which you find amusing and triggers a laugh out of you. It’s like his answer should have been already staring you in the face. Naturally, he’ll do that without you ordering him.

He can be cute at times, can’t he? In a funny way of course, you inwardly clear out.

Meanwhile, he thinks you’re out of your mind as you humor yourself. He’d honestly like it if you just leave him alone right now, which you eventually did, waving him goodbye.

The night before the expedition, you pay Petra’s room a short visit.

She answers the door within three quiet knocks. “Hey,” you greet with a smile and she offers to let you in forthrightly. “No! It’s fine, I just need a few seconds,” you dismiss.

“What is it?” she curiously asks, now face to face with you as you stand in her doorway.

“I won’t be with you tomorrow, so you better take care. Stick with Gunther, or Oluo. If possible, not with the Captain,” you whisper the last bit jokingly, but she ignores it and only questions why you’re separated. You explain the situation to her, leaving out the confidential details.

Petra nods, stroking her chin. You notice she’s already in her nightwear and is probably prepared to sleep, so you decide to return to your own quarters.

“Take care, alright?” you remind, eyes boring into her borderline gold ones. They were pretty and gentle, a pair you always adored through the years.

Petra wishes you the same and then a good night, strongly wanting to unite with you safely after the mission you could feel it deep inside you.

As you look at her, you‘re certain that you haven’t met a more loving person your whole life. Will there ever come a time that you’d confess to her? Probably not. If you’re being frank, you don’t think what you feel for her is that deep a love that you’d go out of your way to initiate a romantic bond. If nothing else, it might only be admiration, an attachment at most. You like her, that goes without saying, but there isn’t any room for in depth involvement, especially not in this line of work, you think.

The door to her room finally closed, you spin to get your own shuteye, only to see a familiar figure from a little distance.

The candlelights on the halls define the highest points of the man’s face beautifully, and you identify him without a hitch, dull grey orbs meeting yours.

“Let her sleep, and get your rest,” he briefly says before making off. Your eyes slightly largen from the lack of interaction, as opposed to the reprimanding you expected. Was he supposed to say his regards to her as well?

In all fairness, he didn’t go for your neck this time. Well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morning comes quickly, along with the falling into formation as sketched, the deployment of operation, and the arrays of discoveries you found in the progress. Everything happened quickly, and before you know it, the expedition is given an official beat to retreat.

You stand on the same branch as the Commander, waiting for his signal to flee after fighting off the wave of titans to defend the target. Three pair of your blades are blunted down to nubs from the excessive charges, and you think for a moment if you should replace them with new ones.

Catching your breath, you wipe dry your dampened skin and clothes. You watch as he idly chat with the Captain, instructing him to refill his gases. For what? I thought it’s over?

Levi listens to what he’s told, perceivably on his guard. Why is he even here? Where are the others? When you’re just about to call Levi’s attention, Erwin catches sight of you and the confusion resounding from your aura. He then permits you to break away from his flank and reunite with your own squad, and you gladly follow.

You first help clean up with the immobilizing equipment used on the spy, telling Hange to prepare for withdrawal. She passes the message onto the other soldiers, commanding them to bestride their horses to then get going.

You still don’t know where to find your teammates, so you stick with the higher-ups a little longer.

Since you’ll travel by horse from here on, you decide not to meddle with your gears anymore. You hop on the saddle and lightly yank the reigns to start moving, and with everyone else, you ride through the woods, thousands of questions ready inside your head.

A few moments later, you hear Erwin converse with Hange regarding the spy, about how they must still be alive and how they must’ve blended in by now. You feel the tension rising as you listen to his assumptions, trying to register everything he’s trying to come across with, and it all makes sense when you hear two consecutive thundering of little intervals.

You quickly turn around and swerve, shifting your weight to guide your horse back to where the booming sound came from. It’s the alleged sound intelligent titans make when they transform, and you know push has come to shove if you hear two of them.

As far as you remember, the key weapon was situated together with your squad, you being the only one left out, so you’ll find them where Eren is. You let your horse gallop in great speed, heart thumping loudly in your chest it’s almost deafening. Please, be safe.

It feels like decades have already gone by when you arrive at the terrorizing scene of carnage.

You put your horse to an abrupt halt and jump off, cold sweat breaking without control as you stumble upon corpses and corpses you achingly recognize, the life in their eyes strenuously extracted. Gunther, Eld, Oluo… Petra.

An immense vertigo hits your head, your field of vision blurring upon seeing them drained of consciousness. You refuse to accept the view, shaking your head like a child in utmost declination. It seems you’ve only followed behind the Captain, finding him looking at the same plight.

“Levi…” you helplessly call as if seeking for refuge and saving. But it horrifies you the most when you meet his dead gaze deprived of rest, almost exactly looking like theirs, striking violently at your heart. No, not you, too…

Streams of tears shed endlessly from the corners of your eyes, and Levi doesn’t know what to do. He’s beyond pained, watching the only comrade he has left on his team slowly break down due to the shambles. He can’t afford to be frozen by the fathomless torment he’s currently trying to overcome, nor does he have the luxury to stay by your side and console you.

He has no choice but to keep moving.

“Call the others for assistance and put their bodies on a carriage,” are the last words he gives you before taking his leave, wires zipping and clutching into the surfaces of the tree barks as he skillfully maneuvers with his gear.

You think for a second, is he that used to losing people? but you completely miss out on how he slashes the giant enemy in great anger, expertly cutting flesh like he’s never done before as if it’s his only chance to momentarily pour out his emotions, all the while trying to stay objective.

Your whole body weakens and you fall to your knees, getting a closer look at the dead woman before your sight. Your hand acts on its own, stretching out to painstakingly tuck Petra’s locks behind her ear like how she always styled it. Your lips tremble as you attempt to fight your threatening sobs back.

She has slipped out from both your reaches.

Since then, you limited your interactions to those that were only really necessary, because for the first time in a while, you feel utterly alone. Years of having the sweet girl by your side all gone into the dust, along with the overwhelming loss of your whole squad, everything is weighing you down.

Flashes of memories come at the most misplaced time every now and then, and you can’t handle it when it triggers in public, causing you to lock yourself up in your room, weeping in secret.

You can’t be any more thankful to your Captain for letting you wallow in your own way of coping. Most importantly, though a small part of you still doesn’t want to admit, you’re more than grateful he stayed alive all throughout the last of the mission, coming back home with you.

You still remember the hurt in his eyes that no matter how hard he attempted to conceal, still peers out. It was visible when you had no choice but to throw the bodies out of the carriages, bringing not a single fallen soldier back. It was visible when Petra’s father asked the Captain for his daughter, even going as far as spilling his plans of arranging a marriage between the two young pair.

It’s haunting you so much, you haven’t had an hour of sleep after arriving back even if there’s an upcoming operation. Despite it being against your will, you frequently wonder how he’s doing.

One night, you find yourself walking through the halls, unable to force your mind to just shut down and rest without stressing out for the uncountable time.

You don’t know why you’re fully decisive of where to go and who to find. You don’t know why you feel calmer every step further. You don’t know why you’re so eager as you push on the wooden doors of the mess hall. You don’t know why you already expected to see him there.

“Oh, look at the old geezer drinking his tea in the dark. Do you know what time it is? It’s past curfew,” you inform sarcastically, voice also forging a front to sound normal. It’s not yet past curfew, you just want to tick him off.

“You’re only four years younger, and it’s not,” Levi answers as he lets his eyes land on yours. It’s obvious you’re only trying to clown around, the exhaustion in your face giving away your crestfallen state.

“What? How do you know that?” you ask, scandalized.

“I recognize the time.”

“I meant my age?”

“Because I am your Captain, woman. Don’t push me,” he hisses and brings his teacup into his mouth, the hot beverage staining on his tongue just the way he likes it. Even more so that it’s the only thing he can rely on at the moment. That’s what he thinks.

You scowl and sigh. Fair enough.

You take a seat in front of him and he gives you an unreadable look, as usual. Does he feel intruded? All of a sudden, you feel shy, hoping you’re not bothering him.

“What? I won’t mess with you, I’m tired,” you argue upon seeing him stare you down like something’s off with you.

Levi studies your expression, finding your face a bit similar to his in a not so positive way. With a shallow sigh, he decides to let you be and do what you want.

You prop your cheek on your elbow and maintain eye contact. “How’s your leg?” you quiz, genuinely curious of his current condition. The bastard brought home an injury as souvenir, rendering him downright useless for the plans the Scouts had right ahead.

“Not good,” he says, earning him a hum in response. The longer he lets his glance stay on yours, the more he notices the little details in the way you presented yourself.

Tonight, you spared no effort in fixing your hair, still a bit messy from the tossing and turning earlier in desperate hopes to fall asleep. Your lips were dry and chapped, he notes to call you out for it later. For all he knows, you might be dehydrated already. Your eyes? Unquestionably racked with pain.

You rest your face on top of your overlapped arms and settle to find a comfortable position.

“Go to your room if you want to sleep,” he orders, which you only ignore. Does he seriously think you’ve been able to sleep these days? Because you’re sure as heck he can’t with those dark under eyes of him. “Your neck will only get stiff in that position,” he adds.

Something about the company he generously, though not obviously, offers makes your eyelids fall shut in ease, his baritone voice helping your nerves compose themselves.

“I said I’m tired, give me a break…” you gradually lose volume as you speak, slowly drifting off without knowing.

Levi clicks his tongue when you finally succumb to drowsiness.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any options left, but he couldn’t do anything as he stays all night to watch over you. Surprisingly enough, the company felt comforting that he can’t bring himself to leave.

Couple hours later, he’s still up and reading a book when he hears a soft whimper escape your lips. Levi takes a glimpse at you and is a bit baffled to catch sight of a lone driblet trickling from your lids.

Sighing, he feels inclined to wipe it away with his thumb in sympathy and does as his subconscious says. The moment his calloused finger touches your skin, he realizes that you were undeniably warm. So much for a brat like you.

When you wake up, you feel a heavy cloth wrapped around your soldiers. You check the surroundings and remember falling asleep in the dining, later seeing that the fabric is a tan jacket, a uniform. The familiar scent enters your nostrils, and you name its owner right away.

An involuntary wave of heat rises to your cheeks and you’re uncertain why. It’s Captain Levi’s.

It makes you contemplate out of nowhere, was it wrong to treat him like a competition?

Thinking about it, you kind of regret not being casual with him. Without question, you’re not really in best terms with him, having an eye for the same person for a long time, that should be understood. He’s an outstanding soldier, that you can admit, but you can’t exactly put up with his strict ways at times, some of it coming off as irrational.

Maybe you should really just accept the fact that he’s a great Captain nevertheless. Because even though you viewed him like that all this time, he’s still being considerate in some ways.

A small smile forms on your lips. You definitely should start warming up to him. He’s the only team you’ve got left.

—

Tray in hand, you enter the Captain’s room, not bothering with a knock. To hell with that, I’ve got a handful, if he complains about his privacy or some crap, I’ll shove this damn food to his face.

Yes, you decided to bring him his lunch after the successful-fail raid in Stohess District. Honestly, you’re damn tired to the bones, but you take it upon yourself to give Levi a short visit.

He gives you an annoyed stare, obviously not expecting your company, and you only roll your eyes. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Food. What, is your old age getting to you? Need some glasses?” you talk back, not up for his dumb question.

Things aren’t going so well for the Survey Corps, political stances going against your brigade, comrades dying one by one you’re not entirely sure if their death was in vain or not. It’s only a miracle the Commander found a way to nullify the consequences about to come your way. That’s why Levi better not raise your hackles bad or your brain will completely explode in front of him.

He ignores your sardonic jest and eyes the tray, primarily looking for the tea, if you brought one. You did. But he keeps his hands to himself for a while.

“It’s too early for dinner, and I could’ve gone to get my own food.” An exasperated sigh escapes your throat, hearing his argument.

“This is your late lunch, sir,” you inform candidly, taking him by surprise. True enough, you didn’t mean to be so observant, but you saw him skip lunch earlier before the raid. Heck, this isn’t even the first time he deliberately missed it. You know he’s still unwell and at a loss just as much as you are—maybe even worse, and that’s preventing him from taking care of himself.

Of course, he’s still your Captain whom you’re willing to serve, wholeheartedly, at that. Hence, you’re going to take care of him if he’s not doing it himself, whether he likes it or not. If even this guy leaves you, then you’ll probably arrive at the end of your wits.

With an exasperated sigh, you set his meal on top of the nightstand right beside his bed. “Are you enjoying being a useless Captain?” you cross your arms and quiz, having enough of his prideful attempts for rejection.

“Tch, you know full well I’m not,” he answers and averts his glance, looking outside the window and the dimming skies.

“Then eat your food and stop complaining,” you lastly command, real bossy and assertive that he’s on the brink��of cocking a brow in question.

He falls silent. You were right, he won’t get any better if he continues to mistreat himself. Besides, it’s already you who went out of your way to prepare him food, he shouldn’t just let that go to waste. Finally giving in, Levi first grabs the teacup by its mouth and takes a sip, nose immediately scrunching in repulsion upon tasting the beverage. You might be trying to poison him, after all.

“This tea is shit.”

“I said stop complaining.”

—

A whole different wave of hurdles and complications just got overcome after the wall breach alarm got deemed false, and three new intelligent titans were revealed. Seeming as though those weren’t even enough, humanity’s key weapon got kidnapped as well. Naturally, a rescue operation was deployed to action, losing a ton more soldiers in the process.

Everything is starting to become overwhelming, you’re both physically and mentally exhausted, and emotionally. Everything is beginning to feel like a pain in the neck, as if the Scout Regiment didn’t have that way from the start.

It’s actually just as you guessed. When you went outside without a full functioning team and a Captain to follow orders from, you felt lost and misplaced. The novel experience was depressing, to say the least, moving forward without the ones you’ve fought side by side with through the years.

You can’t help but find yourself looking for a familiarity, a middle ground of the sort. Feeling like a storm is building up inside you for trying to suppress your problems all by yourself.

On the low spirited trip back, you eventually realize you needed someone. And who else is there aside from him?

You ride your horse back to the walls, aching for his presence. Anything that has to do with him, you want to see and feel.

It’s almost like vexing decades have passed when you arrive and return to the headquarters. You hop off your horse, movements slow and back hunched, aura visibly despondent.

Your half lidded eyes desperately scan the fields to search for that one person, comforting satisfaction taking over your entire body as you find him standing a few meters away from your form.

Funnily enough, he was waiting for you just the same.

Levi couldn’t decipher what shitty smile you tried to give him, it was only plain pitiful in his eyes that his guts are telling him to walk over to you and give you a welcome. He didn’t have to do it, though.

Because maybe you did the first step. Maybe you took big strides or maybe you eagerly ran to his figure to feel his warmth against your body. But nothing else matters when you reach out both your trembling arms to him, now wrapped around his sturdy body, locking him in an embrace you never thought you’d feel your whole life.

You slowly descend to a sobbing mess, completely abandoning the idea of you looking like a mere crybaby in his eyes. He’ll surely bring this up some other time, but damn that. All you know is that you needed this, badly.

It’s shameful, being fully aware that you’re slowly eating your words. Whenever you think of how you put the tiny distance between you and him, you just want to slap your palm across your face. In reality, he isn’t so bad.

You want to thank him for letting you free yourself and let it all out, but your awfully shaky sobs are hindering you from doing so.

Levi senses your exhaustion, and a whole other variety of intense emotions. You’ve been keeping some burden to yourself, too. It’s amusing to him in a way that you’re both similar in a lot of things. Especially in the bad habit of bottling oneself up, assuming it’d do any better.

Deep down, he’s glad you let loose and opened your walls to him. He cares for you, after all.

As you weep against his chest, lungs stuttering and eyes turning bloodshot, Levi allows his hand to pat your back, lightly stroking it to make you calm down.

It is, indeed, wordlessly reassuring, telling you that he was there. You never imagined that of all people, he had the ability to offer the exact solace you’re looking for, just with the simple gesture.

For once, he lets it slide that you’re all bloody, sweaty, dirty, filthy—name it—when making contact with him. He just doesn’t know that needed this as well. In fact, the entire time you were away, his foot mindlessly tapped in full expectancy of your arrival, waiting with bated breath. Not like he’ll admit that.

“Don’t you dare speak,” you threaten amidst your shaky hiccups, and he almost finds it amusing how you can still manage to act so tough in front of him when you’re already breaking down against him.

He secretly heaves out a sigh, the expression of relief escaping your ears, “Brat.”

Both of you stand there underneath the twilight to dusk horizon, ignoring how some of your subordinates watch you in shock, or how you’re not halfway the trouble yet, still utterly clueless of what lies ahead. Because right now, you were still together. You had each other, someone to lean on in this wretched mess.

Without the two of you knowing precisely why, both your hearts feel a tad bit alive.

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doortotomorrow · 4 years

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My Closing Thoughts on The 100

For people who’re genuinely interested and intrigued with The 100, I feel, as a long time watcher of the series, the need to issue a strongly worded warning about getting invested in it. After watching The 100 for years, these are my final thoughts. Yes, the series isn’t over yet but what this series represents is already set in stone, so I figured I’d write it up anyway.

As much as I appreciate the fantastic performances by the actors(Luisa D’Oliveira, Richard Harmon, Adina Porter, and Paige Turco are the first names coming to me at the moment), and as much I appreciate the aesthetic of the series...I cannot in good conscious recommend The 100 to anyone who’s looking to be genuinely entertained.

The 100 has but one god and that’s Violence. It places it on the most polished, pristine, unsoiled pedestal it can find and worships it on the daily. Oh, they try to say otherwise by paying lip service in promising to do better, but they keep sending more and more offers to the hell begotten idol they deify. Peaceful solutions to conflicts are constantly dismissed and any semblance of peace never, ever lasts long and the characters who advocate the most for peace are routinely punished and are brutally killed for even daring to try to suggest it.

It always reaches the same conclusion every. damn. time. The only solution this series offers to end any conflict is to kill/torture. Kill/torture those who believe in something different than you, kill/torture those who come from a different place than you, kill/torture those who get in the way of something you want...lather, rinse, repeat.

This show’s treatment of mental illness and trauma is a fucking joke. Any character who show signs of having a mental illness or explicitly has one are only ever used for horribly crass “shock value” deaths(Jasper Jordan, anyone?). This series uses suicidal imagery like it was going out of style, this series never lets any of their characters properly recover from their trauma because time and time again, they keep piling more on them. Yeah, it’s nice we’re seeing Madi Griffin having therapy sessions with Jackson but it feels fruitless because they’re just gonna keep putting the poor child through more hell. It’s endless. None of these characters will ever properly recover because Jroth and his writers are simply not interested in telling stories of recovery.

This show’s mismanagement of character arcs is insulting to the actors portraying these characters. How can you expect them to perform consistently when the writing for their characters constantly pivots to serve the plot? How can you expect the audience to get invested in the people on screen when they don’t know where they stand with them season to season(hell, sometimes even episode to episode)?! These characters are so uneven, we have to put seasonal labels next to their name to properly discuss them.

Interested in romance and shipping dynamics? Well, you’re in luck, because The 100 is chock full of ‘em...just don’t get yourself attached to any of them that might make it to the screen. Virtually every romantic relationship on this show has ended tragically because this show believes in the toxic, putrid mentality that: “love is weakness”. Don’t fall for it when they try to go against that way of thinking because the list of sunken ships will tell you otherwise. In their eyes, love isn’t worth pursuing, so why even bother trying to form a meaningful connection to someone? These characters are only allowed the briefest moments of happiness before it’s violently ripped away from them.

Then we get to the blatant racism and homophobia. Almost all of the black men on this show have been killed off, the most brutal of torture scenes are usually reserved for characters of colour, and I don’t think I need to bring up Lexa’s death because you’re all thinking that anyway. Also, speaking of LGBT characters, the only ones left are minor characters who don’t have any agency or storylines of their own. That goes the same for any character of colour. Characters of colour are only ever given screentime on this show to help prop up white characters and serve their storylines instead.

Also, as time has gone on, it’s getting harder and harder to recommend this show to people considering just how genuinely awful a lot of the people who’ve worked on it are. Just doing a google search on some of the actors will give you an unpleasant, gross feeling that will most definitely tarnish your ability to sit down and watch the series to begin with. That’s not even getting into the fandom community surrounding this series. The fandom has left me speechless over how fucking bad it is. Sending actors death threats, doxxing them, doing the same to their fellow fans, the hideous ship wars. It’s not fucking worth it.

So, with everything I’ve laid out on the table, I am in no way going to watch the potential prequel series because it’ll be more of the same. Sure, the fresh start feeling will probably revive some goodwill, but how long would that realistically last? How long until the ship wars would start up again? How long would it take to see more LGBT/characters of color sidelined or killed off? How long would it take for characters to become inconsistent?

I’m never watching another JRoth run series again because he’s proven he’s not at all capable of running a show and neither should you.

Don’t waste your time.

#The 100 #anti the 100 #it's been a long time since I've written something substantial on this blog #but I really needed to get this stuff off of my chest

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

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To Tell You The Truth Part Eight

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: I may or may not have gone full tilt here, I apologize. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut @walkerchick007 @peggers-n-beggers @robbinholland @chrisbostonevans @cinewhore

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains certain religious terminology used in a context that may be considered sacrilegious. Stay safe!]

Ezra might have prayed for temperance, but you prayed for strength. You prayed for courage, for the flourishing of the bonfire that wanted to roar like a lion in your abdomen. Admittedly, you did feel a bit silly approaching your eventual physical romance in such a militant fashion, but the vibrant hunger of his kisses (for all that he tried to gentle them) was intoxicating.

You were left wanting, craving, longing for more and fearing it all at once. Somehow, Ezra had known. Soothing your trembling away, adjusting himself before cradling you against his side, "I will not be a threat to you, gentle soul." And he wasn't. You were safely returned to your room, wholly unmolested aside from a final, lingering kiss that left your skin tingling.

You touched yourself that night for the first time in stands, hoping and wishing that he was doing the same in his own bedroom as you worked yourself feverishly to your orgasm.

The next morning, you were terrified that things would be different. That something might have changed and that he would have finally thought better of getting involved with someone like you. You lolled around in bed for far too long and then took your time getting washed up in the bathroom, but when you opened the door you were instantly confronted by your customary mug of morning beverage.

"I'm afraid I...missed you in the kitchen earlier." Ezra murmured, brown eyes meeting your own nervously. "The hydro, while a delightful invention, cannot hold a candle to your conversational wit."

He was worried, off-balance. It made your tension ease; you could feel your shoulders slouching a little. The sight seemed to get him to relax slightly, the furrow between his eyebrows lessening when you accepted the mug with a quiet sound of thanks. "Wasn't sure if you regretted anything." You mumbled by way of explanation.

"You are one of the few beautiful things in my life that regret has yet to gain a foothold on." Ezra assured you sincerely. "And it shall remain so for as long as I have a say in the matter." He paused. "Is that...acceptable?"

You smiled up at him, taking the first sip. "Entirely adequate."

…

Ezra was soft and lazy in the mornings, slow to really wake up, his sleep-tousled hair demanding to have your hands in it. You loved the way he would petulantly scrunch his nose when you kissed it.

Midday found him vibrant and mischievous, urging you to accompany him on his exploratory jaunts around the Pug's west dock and Ward Twenty Seven. His hand never left your own on these walks, that faint worry still there even in the safety and stability.

Ezra usually tried to plan something to occupy the evenings. On the rare clear nights during the late autumnal season, he would drag you out of the apartment to the barely-maintained west park so the two of you could watch haphazard performances by local artists in the ramshackle community gazebo. More likely though, the bad weather kept you cozy on the couch in the living room.

"I keep wondering when I'll wake up." Ezra announced abruptly one bitterly-cold night. "I posit that perhaps I perished in the Green; Bakhroma's noxious foliage nourishing itself even now with my carcass. It would be a certain poetic justice, I think, for someone as morally bankrupt as myself. My dastardly body serving to further the spread of such voracious verdance." His eyes were distant and troubled as he continued doggedly, "None of this feels real. It is all too...soft. Too kind. As though any edge that could wake me has been sanded down, dulled to a dream."

"I'm not a dream." You replied firmly, snuggling closer to his side.

"You are the most quixotic portion of this campaign, I have to say. That someone like you would even bother to glance my direction, to say nothing of the warmth you exude...gentle soul, you are a Stockholmian improbability of the highest caliber." Ezra's voice cracked, his expression haggard. "I long to be a man worthy of you. I don't believe in divine will, and even if I did I would be loathe to reduce you down to a simple compensation from some nebulous deity for patiently enduring their trials, but...but I can think of no other reason for you to still be here with me." He confessed wearily. "I offer nothing you can't secure yourself, I have-"

"Ezra?" You interrupted before he could spiral any further into melancholy.

"Yes, gentle soul?"

"I'm here because I love you, not because you have something I want to secure."

"That has never been in question, but-"

"No no." You climbed into his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders. "I. Love. You." You stated firmly, cradling his face in your palms after a moment. "Hey. I love you, Ezra. I love you. Even when you disappear into your own head. Even when you go where I can't follow." Your thumb accidentally grazed the scar on his left cheek and he flinched, the intuitively defensive motion making your heart clench. "I don't expect you to be perfect. Gods know I'm not! But don't think for a second that you don't deserve to at least be happy, okay?"

"I deserve none of this." He muttered dismally, still avoiding your gaze.

"What was it you told me the day you came to see me in the hospital? 'We have endured so much worse than having a little good fortune, yet upon being confronted with it, we do not feel worthy'."

His laugh was mirthless, raw. "I am remarkably eloquent, especially when I lie, gentle soul."

You huffed out a breath. "Oh that was a lie, huh? I guess you wanting to be a better man must also be a lie, right? A hackneyed platitude?" His chest shuddered, but you kept going, "All the times you've called me precious or beautiful or gentle, probably lies. A valkyrie? What a damn joke."

"Now, wait just-"

"You want to lie? Lie all you want. But you're not going to wallow." You scolded.

"Gentle soul, I do not lie about you." Ezra protested. "I yearn to be a better man, a man worth your avid ardour with every fiber of my reprehensible bein', yet I am unworthy of insomuch as the opportunity to enable me to do so."

"I wish you could see what I see." You ran a finger down the bridge of his pronounced nose, smiling when he wrinkled it. "I wish you believed me."

"As do I. More than you'll ever know." Ezra sighed, wrapping his arms around you. "If only to soothe my own damnable ego!"

"There's nothing I can do to convince you?" You quizzed him, wriggling a little in his grip to try and get more comfortable on top of him. He grunted, tightening his hold. "Maybe I should write you a poem."

"No, no." He replied breathlessly, his fingers digging into your hips. "You are already all the poetry I could ever desire, gentle soul."

"What about a sonnet? A haiku maybe?" Your brow furrowed as you noticed just how tightly he was holding you. "A...what, limerick?"

Ezra sputtered with laughter, his black mood finally seeming to lift. "A limerick, Kevva preserve me!" He chuckled.

"There once was a man named Ezra…" you began threateningly.

"I am not an innocent, and yet I implore your valkyrical heart for mercy. Spare me such torment, gentle soul!"

You pursed your lips, trying to think of a second line, but Ezra interrupted your thought process with a kiss. And really, it was incredibly unfair that his kisses always seemed to render your mind to soft static. He hummed into your mouth, obviously pleased with himself.

You didn't miss the way he settled you more firmly into his lap, however, making you break the kiss with a gasp. "No predation, gentle soul. I just crave you a little closer." Ezra breathed. "Is it too much?"

"N-No, not at all. I like it." You admitted shyly, toying with the buttons on his henley. He groaned, his mustache brushing the sensitive skin of your neck when he kissed you beneath your ear.

"I must confess to my shortcomings, gentle soul." He murmured against your neck. "I bear the cross of strong predisposition towards adoration and a certain...proclivity regarding devouring. I hope not to offend."

"I don't know what you said, but I trust you." You replied just as softly, shivering at the volume of the groan he let out. The way he sounded was enough to have you growing wet, your natural slick easing the drag of the seam of your pants over your clit when you shifted again.

"I said, I will worship you with every breath in my lungs, and I wish to put my mouth on you in a salaciously intimate fashion." Ezra translated, his lips curving into a languid smile against your skin as he spoke.

"Oh?" You asked, willing your heart to stop pounding excitedly in your chest and trying to adjust your stance on top of him surreptitiously.

"Kevva, I do not deserve you. I feel untried." He admitted shakily. "Pardon my lewd terminology, but the delectable undulations of your form against my own threaten to bring me to fruition. I am afraid I must insist that we-"

You rocked your groin down, eyes half-lidding when you realized what you had been absently rubbing against this whole time. You braced your hands on his chest, leaning close. "You must insist that we…?" You prompted him with a teasing smile.

"Gentle soul, such cruelty...you have me thoroughly turgid." He muttered through gritted teeth. His fingers cradled the back of your neck, as if he didn't trust himself to put them anywhere else. "Stay your hand, I beg you, before I make a mess of this."

"Of what, your pants?"

"...among other things, yes." Ezra growled.

"Hmm," you paused, as if you were thinking about it. "No."

"You-!" Ezra's words dissolved into a hoarse groan when you hitched your hips up to grind your cunt against the swollen curve of his member, barely contained by his jeans. "Martyr's malfeasance, I can feel the heat of you, please don't stop--may I touch you?" He gasped.

"Where?" You asked, not so wholly aroused that you forgot your caution.

He swallowed hard, the thick musculature of his neck rippling beneath your hands. "Wherever you'll permit me, please, please, gods, I have never craved someone as much as I crave you," he pleaded. "I want to grace you with as much benevolent joy as you grace me, more even, I...I will be nude for you, gentle soul, take me apart! Make me yours." He rambled on, his hands in your hair now as he urged your hips forward in their motion. "Permit me to taste and touch you, gentle soul. Allow me entry into the slick, sheltered hollows of your form, grant me succor where your divinity pulses to new life with every pass of my tongue." Ezra pressed his forehead to your own, his heated words stealing your breath. Half the allure was untangling them all. "I am but a sinner rendered wholly insensible by your presence, greedy and undeserving and yet I beg, I implore-"

You coaxed his hands out of your hair, smiling mistily at him before you kissed his knuckles. "Go ahead. I trust you."

"Rise then, you gossamer fae creature." He ordered, clapping a hand to your hip. "Titania's beauty pales in comparison to your own and I have not even divested you of your garments."

"Oh, here?" You bit your lip. "You don't want to...I mean, the bedroom?"

"Is that what you wish?" Ezra queried, his hands stilling. You took in the sight of him underneath you, hair thoroughly mussed with his shirt rucked up over his belly. "Whatever you prefer, gentle soul. Is this too fast?"

"No, no no, I'm more worried about how small the couch i--hey!" You yelped when Ezra cradled your body against his own and stood. Your knees grappled at his sides for a moment and he burst out laughing, fumbling to urge your leg up over his hip.

"I've got you! I've got you, don't fret." The former prospector soothed, still smiling. "You're safe."

"Oh Ezra?" You called over his shoulder. "Some man is here to take me away, he says he's worthy of me or something, I dunno', I'll see you tomorrow morning okay?"

In reply, Ezra buried his face in your neck and blew a raspberry on your skin, making you squeal and wriggle. "You are so smug, I love it!" He laughed. "You piquant little thing, a vivacious rebuttal to Kevva's divine will."

"Oh I'm sacrilegious now?" You questioned as he carried you down the hall, feeling a tremor of fresh excitement when he entirely ignored your bedroom door in favor of his own.

"I am confident that you shall rapidly come to terms with your newfound paganism, gentle soul."

You slung your arms around his neck and held on to him a little tighter, enthusiasm and trepidation warring within you.

Once the former prospector placed you on the bed in his room, his eager demeanor shifted. "Lights on, or off?" He asked softly. "Would you rather undress yourself, or would you like me to undress you?"

"Oh, u-um. Can we have just...a small light on? Like your bedside lamp?" You requested, twisting the hem of your shirt. "I'll be okay as long as I can see you, but I'm...well, y'know." You shrugged anxiously up at him.

"I don't know, I'm afraid. What are you?"

Really, you should have known better than to assume that he would let you off that particular hook so easily. You sighed. "I'm not exactly in the greatest shape even after all this time, I've got stretch marks and that scar and I-"

"And you, are immaculate." Ezra whispered, leaning in from the side to kiss the rest of your self-deprecation away. "You are strength and wonder and all the good that has ever been, encapsulated in a stunning mantle of kintsugi. Every scar is drenched in gold, every mark forged anew in radiance. You are pure sunlight, gentle soul, rapturous air in this battered floater's lungs."

"Oh," was all you could say in reply, wide-eyed.

"I wish you could see what I see." Ezra echoed your earlier words, smiling when you huffed and turned your head away from him. "It's true! Don't hide from me, gentle soul. I know it is embarrassing, but honesty is the best policy-"

"Says the one who claimed he was at his most eloquent when he was lying!" You protested, half-laughing.

"I regret to inform you that that was a lie as well."

"You're incorrigible."

"And infatuated." Ezra returned to the bed from dimming the lights, shedding his shirt as he went. "Impossible. Infuriating. Vexatious. Precocious." His voice dipped to a sultry purr, the next word buzzing against the skin of your neck. "Garrulous."

"Ezra please, you're the best-looking thesaurus I've ever known but I want to die of embarrassment. Can we not have a vocabulary-expanding session in the bedroom?" You begged, covering your face.

"Best-looking--such flattery, gentle soul!" Ezra teased you mercilessly, "You could have lured me into your embrace stands ago with that silver tongue of yours." He bent close, playing with your fingers at the hem of your shirt. "Besides, you cannot deny your reaction to my expansive vocabulary. You love it when I hum incomprehensible nothings just beneath your ear, don't you?" He enquired, mouthing kisses down the curve of your jaw. You couldn't help your delighted shiver. "You tremble for me, which seems to indicate a level of enjoyment. Either that, or apprehension. Are you apprehensive?"

"Maybe a little." You admitted.

"Because of me? Am I too close? Should I stop?"

"No, gods no!" You protested wildly. Ezra settled back on his haunches, ever patient as you struggled to find the right words. "I'm not apprehensive about you, it's...I guess I'm apprehensive about me. About whether I'll be able to...um, whether I can make you feel good." You floundered.

"I would not trouble yourself with such concerns, gentle soul. If I can offer any assurance, it is in the knowledge that my love and, in kind, my making of said love, is decidedly generous." Ezra soothed, those brown eyes warm and guileless. "All I ask is your permission and consent, which can and should be revoked if you are discomfited by any advance I make."

"Promise?" You whispered.

"Martyr's malfeasance, I would rather lose my arm than cause you undue suffering. I swear it." Ezra replied simply, running a hand through his rumpled hair. "I will not be a threat to you. I will never weaponize myself against you."

"Will…" you hesitated, feeling like everything had gotten so incredibly serious so fast. "Will you let me win at Scrabble?"

He tried to keep a straight face. It worked. Briefly. "I will--I-dammit-" he snorted. "You drive a hard bargain, gentle soul. I may require legal counsel. I am loathe to relinquish my Scrabble dictatorship." Ezra sighed dramatically. "But if it is a question of pursuing carnal delights or intellectual, I must admit the former holds infinitely more allure. I will permit you to win one game."

"Only one?" You bit your lip, tracing circles on his bare chest over his collarbone. A few scars stood out starkly on the olive skin, and you cupped one that marred his right pectoral.

Ezra's breath hitched. "W-Well, perhaps I might be open to candid discourse in favor of justifying two wins. But you must understand, winning by underhanded tactics will give you no lasting joy." He cautioned you sternly. "A faux victory is naught but a festerin' wound that plagues your existence."

"I'll keep that in mind." Your fingers moved to the buttons on your shirt. "I know these small ones are hard for you to undo."

"Your charitable nature overwhelms me." Ezra breathed. "Leave the hooks, will you? I always delight in that particular chore."

"By all means. It's a pain in the neck otherwise." You smiled at how intent his stare was. "You see something you like?"

"Infinite somethings." He groaned, shifting his body down until he laid on his stomach. He pillowed his head on his arm as he looked up at you, his eyes alight. "I want to taste your skin so damn badly."

"I'm right here, y'know."

"Yes, and I am utterly ruined by that fact. So close to me, so near." His hand moved upward, trembling fingers tracing your knee. "I am so greedy for you, gentle soul. To think that I would spend a lifetime courting danger and avaricious pursuits, only to be rendered timid and a-quiver by the simple knowledge that everything I could ever possibly want is here, here, I can reach out and fill my arms with it."

You slipped your shirt off of your shoulders and Ezra swore under his breath. "I'm not dumb enough to believe that you've had an easy time of it yourself." You murmured. "You've got more scars than I do."

"By the hubristic tendency of my own hand, I assure you." Ezra urged you upright, his fingers battling with the fasteners of your bra. "Old wounds, made infinitely less caustic by the knowledge that you anticipated me as tenderly as I anticipated you, gentle soul." Your bra finally gave way and the noise he made in his throat was delicious, a helpless little croon of excitement that had you squeezing your thighs together for some meager relief. "Gods, I am woefully underprepared. I would beg for a lifetime to observe you even in this hapless state of undress, yet I am ushered onward by the siren call of this wonderful skin. I would...I would very much like to touch you." He said faintly.

"Where?" You whispered. His hands slid beneath your arms from behind in reply, cradling your own hands before he raised them to hover over your newly-bared breasts. You bit your lip anxiously. "Be gentle, please?"

A nearly overwhelming sense of relief washed over you when Ezra nodded his forehead down into the nape of your neck. Knowing that he wasn't actually looking at you yet, all he was doing was feeling you...it made it more bearable somehow.

So far, so good.

His index fingers slipped over the still-soft peaks of your breasts and you couldn't help the sigh you let out, feeling your nipples begin to wake under his touch. "Gentle soul, I...words fail me." Ezra admitted quietly. "To coax you to blossom by my hand is all that I could ever want in this lifetime. Lean back, please?"

You obliged, turning your face to kiss his neck so he couldn't see your expression. Ezra's motions were unhurried, tender; calloused palms chafing your breasts with care. His breath stuttered every time you lavished his throat and jaw with kisses.

"It has been so long since I have been able to touch another, I only pray I do not disappoint. My technique may require some calibration." He apologized with a self-conscious chuckle. "I'm afraid my own imagination is a poor substitute for the flesh and blood fantasy you have presented me."

"I wish I could talk like you." You whimpered against his ear, feeling his chest expand with a sharp inhale.

"Martyr's malfeasance, I am uncertain that I would be able to endure that hypothetical iteration of reality." He said shakily, delicately rolling your nipples between his thumb and index. You arched your back, gasping. This was impossible, it had never been like this, even before Damon! The only time it had ever felt this good was when you were masturbating, because you knew what you needed, you knew how everything worked, but now-

Maybe you weren't the only one who knew just what you needed.

"I wonder," Ezra mused, "I wonder just how drenched you are from this alone. I know you are working yourself off on the seam of those wonderfully tight jeans, gentle soul. Would you indulge me for a moment?" He ducked his head down, nudging his nose affectionately into your burning cheek. "I'd appreciate it if you would unzip your jeans. You do not have to, naturally, and I do not expect it of you. But it would be...appreciated."

You fidgeted for a moment, then moved to undo your button.

"Stay, now." Ezra murmured. "Slowly. No demands, no rush. We are relaxed. We are peaceful. Climax need not be a grasping, headlong event. There can be such a build, a gloriously languid indulgence, where pleasure laps heady at the senses and completion bleeds into itself. You make me wish to take my time, gentle soul."

"Right, sorry. I just...I'm used to it. I'll try to remember." You panted, not missing the sorrow that flickered across his rough features. It made your heart ache and sing at the same time, his patience and understanding for your previous experiences.

"Do we need to stop?" Ezra queried.

You shook your head, nearly hitting his nose. "No, no. I'm having a great time." You insisted, making him chuckle. "No way I'm stopping now, we're just getting to the good part!"

"I am of the belief that any moment I spend with you, clothed or otherwise, is the good part. Perhaps I am too sentimental." The man allowed, still smiling. You bit your lip, skimming your fingers down the surface of your stomach. "There you are, gentle soul. Serene. Taut with anticipation, grinding those beautiful hips up for an echo of touch. Slowly, slowly, make your body beg for it. Draw out the moment of arrival." Ezra instructed as he continued to tease his fingers over your breasts, his voice rasping slightly. "Open your placket as if you have never encountered one before, feel the ticking of the zipper teeth as they slip open."

You closed your eyes if only because you knew you were safe, sliding down your zipper and arching yourself a little to wriggle your hips free. Your panties were soaked, wet enough that they made a soft noise when you tried to tug them down.

Before you could think to feel self-conscious, Ezra groaned long and low in your ear, and you didn't have to open your eyes to know exactly where he was looking. "You are dewy, gentle soul."

"For you." You dared to say, relishing his gasp for breath when you slid your fingers down over your slit.

"Slick from such hard labor, and I confess I am aching as well. But slow now, temperance. Will you touch yourself for me, gentle soul? Bring yourself pleasure?" Ezra paused, like he was fighting for air. "Allow me a taste of the sheltered, trembling divinity that is your womanhood, gentle soul. I am a man adrift in a desert of sensation." He begged hoarsely.

"You want…?" You trailed off, flushing hot at his rapid nod towards your hand. "Are you sure? I mean, what if it's weird? What if-"

"Nothing about your sensuous form could lessen my desire for you, gentle soul." Ezra licked his lips, pupils blown black with want. "Give me your taste. Anoint my mouth with your arousal as we indulge in this carnal rapture."

You were certain that if he said anything else you would spontaneously combust, his words like gasoline on the roaring fire in your belly. Ezra took the opportunity to lick into your mouth, muttering fractured, helpless adoration under his breath as you whimpered and rocked beneath him. Your fingers dove back to your cunt, slipping through the slick folds to tease your entrance and then retreating up over your clit. With a hiccup of loss, you pulled your hand free and shyly extended it to him.

"Lay them on my tongue, you angelic creature. We engage in a communion older than the stars themselves; gods, that I were a worthier man!" Ezra urged your fingers into his mouth, the brown-haired man moaning and laving at your soaked digits with an enthusiasm that you didn't anticipate. "As I suspected," he groaned, "heavenly ambrosia, nectarean. You have sundered my very spirit with your taste, gentle soul."

"You...it's okay, then?"

"It is an offering from your body. Longing given delicious, lascivious form. It will never be less than the most precious thing to me." Ezra assured you, devilish fingers tormenting the stiffened peaks of your breasts. "Stroke yourself for me, please? Bury those nimble little fingers back into that sweet cunt and bring yourself to fruition."

You squeezed your thighs together, arousal pooling heated and dark in your stomach. He loved you. He didn't feel entitled to you. He wanted you to feel good. "Ezra-"

"My name from your lips is at once agony and ecstasy, gentle soul. I could listen to your voice quivering for hours." Ezra crooned, a smile pressed to the skin of your shoulder. "Are you close? Are you rising turbulent, gentle soul? Threatening completion?" You could barely manage your nod before his large hands palmed your breasts, your nipples tenderly caged between his knuckles. "Then grant me that vision, gentle soul, let me witness you fucking resplendent." He grated out, the uncharacteristically blunt curse sending a searing jolt through your body.

You were helpless to resist his plea, the blood roaring in your ears rendering you numb to the world for a few moments while your orgasm crashed over you.

Ezra cradled you close to his chest; kisses landed on your neck, forehead, shoulders as he murmured praise and…

And you might have briefly lost consciousness. Briefly.

Part Nine

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 4 years

Text

My Angel (M)

Part Two of the 13 Days of Seventeen Series

Summary:

As punishment for not being God’s perfect little angel Jeonghan is sent to Earth with a mission. To get a girl who has been single for too long a boyfriend. While meticulous, he figures it can’t be that difficult, his deadline is Christmas, surely, he can get a girl a boyfriend by Christmas.

Warnings: Porn with Plot but some of the plot is rushed, Dirty Talk, lots of cum talk, again sex without protection- please don’t forget to use protection guys

A/N: Bear with me on the plot, this was really trying to be a whole full-length novel and I had to hella rush the plot to get to the smut so that it wouldn’t be posted too late. I guess Jeonghan and I both struggle with deadlines. *badumtish*

Your Christmas plans were just as special as anyone would expect them to be.

You were donating to the local orphanages, signed up to assist at a soup kitchen. You were sending out Christmas cards to your family to assure them that you were doing okay, and in-between all of that you were simply making sure that spending the season alone wasn’t too completely draining.

So, when you got an unexpected knock at the door, you sort of expected carolers. The last thing you expected when you opened the door was a man. Dark eyes, and long white hair that matched a pressed white suit. You swallowed hard the moment that your eyes fell on him.

You weren’t sure what it was about him, but he seemed so ethereal.

“Um-”

Before you could get out another word, the man grunted.

“Great, you’re even more pathetic in person,” he stated. He brushed past you; your eyebrows furrowed at the combination of odd actions. You glanced over your shoulder, just to make sure he was in fact in your house- he was, and you shrugged and closed the door.

“Sure, yeah, just come in,” you mumbled. “I mean I don’t see why you wouldn’t be allowed in since we are such close friends.”

The man shot you a look at that, clearly not appreciating your sass.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” the man stated back. “My name is Jeonghan. I’m an angel- yes I know! Wow, angels are real that’s so cool- Yeah, I don’t feel like autographs right now. The facts are, I got in trouble and now I have to help you get a boyfriend before Christmas.”

You stared at this guy… Jeonghan did he say? With a bewildered look on your face. He couldn’t actually expect you to believe this? He just walked in and said he was an angel and that was supposed to be all you needed to just… What? Fall at his knees and worship the ground he walked on.

You put a hand on your hip.

“Are you serious?”

He nodded certainly, trailing around your living room without much care at all. He tapped his fingers uncertainly against your couch.

“Yes, yes, angels are real and whatnot. And yes, God believes you’re so important that he decided to grant your Christmas wish, and find you someone to love before the holiday is over.”

“But-”

“Do you have anything to drink?” Jeonghan interrupted. You stared at him blankly, which made him roll his eyes. “I swear, you humans get more difficult to work with every year.”

He snapped his fingers, and out of thin air- literally out of thin air a wine glass appeared in his hands.

“Back in the good old days, I appeared, and I get recognized on sight. There was no question whether or not angels were real- no. I just showed up and I was worshipped.”

He paused to sip the wine from his glass, ignoring the way that you were gawking at him from the hallway.

“Nowadays you humans really worship that of a fat man in a red suit breaking into a house through a chimney rather than a heavenly angel showing up at your doorstep. I ought to show you my true form and show you what it really means to be mystified.”

Still you couldn’t manage a word out of your mouth, but this Jeonghan really genuinely didn’t seem to mind.

“But that my dear would probably render you blind, and a blind human, is a much harder you human to find a male companion for wouldn’t you say?”

He hummed and tapped your couch with his free hand, and in an instant, it was replaced by a completely different sofa. One that looked like it could have cost thousands of dollars, and yet here it had just appeared in your house. The self-proclaimed angel plopped down onto the sofa, and dramatically splayed himself across it.

“You don’t even know how fortunate you are to have me as the angel finding you a man. I never stoop this low. I haven’t had to deal directly with a human in centuries. I’m one of the topmost honored angels in heaven. Thirteen of God’s most trusted.”

“Then why are you here?”

For a first thing to say to an angel who was clearly so full of himself he couldn’t think straight, you had to admit- you were impressed with yourself.

Jeonghan did not look so impressed. He looked downright miserable.

“Too much sass. I’m too self-absorbed. I’ve forgotten what it means to be an angel, blah blah blah.”

He scoffed.

“The only reason I’m here is because I’m too perfect,” he grumbled. “Everyone else is intimidated so I’m stuck down here doing mop work.”

You were feeling a lot of emotions, and honestly, you weren’t sure whether or not you should be offended or honored that this angel was here to supposedly get you a boyfriend before Christmas. It was a little bit insulting that it was a punishment.

And while you really wanted to get to the bottom of this whole situation, and figure out exactly what was going on, and if this guy was telling the truth or just neurotic, or maybe if you were just hallucinating, you also really had to get to work.

So instead of talking to him and wasting time with someone who seemed to be an entire psycho, you turned away from him, slipped your shoes on, grabbed your keys and headed out the door.

Before the door was even open, you heard the so-called angel scramble to his feet.

“Where are you going?” He demanded.

You look back at him over your shoulder.

“Work?”

“You can’t go to work!” Jeonghan blurted indignantly. You shifted your weight and glanced at the time on your phone. You really didn’t have much time for this.

“Why not?” You asked him. He sighed.

“I only have until Christmas to get you a boyfriend,” he mumbled. “And look at you! You’re a mess. No wonder you require divine intervention if you are going out in khakis.”

“It’s a work uniform and I’m not getting fired from the job I love just because you want to get me a boyfriend,” you exclaimed. He sighed.

“God wants you to get a boyfriend,” he insisted pointedly. You rolled your eyes and continued to exit through your front door. Sure, maybe leaving a psychotic stranger in your house wasn’t the best idea but you didn’t want to be late, so you were willing to risk a minor robbery.

You closed and locked your door behind you, already feeling calmer to have the man out of your sight.

“It’s quite rude to shut the door on someone. A human, rude enough, an angel and I honestly don’t even know what to say.”

You jumped turning around in horror to find the man standing in front of you. Same outfit, same fiery gaze, same wine glass in hand. You couldn’t believe it.

“B-but-”

“I told you, I’m an angel. I can be wherever the hell I want to be, doors be damned.”’

You stared at him, mouth gaping a bit. You shouldn’t be surprised by the news- you really shouldn’t. But you couldn’t help but think about all that this meant for you.

Sure, all the signs pointed to it, but could Jeonghan really be an angel?

“And I told you,” you mumbled, forcing your mouth to close, and your shoulders to square themselves intimidatingly. “I have to get to work.”

“Well, I’m coming with you,” Jeonghan insisted. You brushed past the pompous angel, a scowl on your lips.

“You absolutely are not,” you snapped back.

“I am not spending a second on this planet longer than I have to.”

He kept pace with you with no problem, seeming to fit along pretty well on the small city streets with you. Your job was about a ten-minute walk from your house, and it took you right through the busiest parts of town.

Your town itself was admittedly not very busy. It was small and cozy, but a big tourist spot. There were always all kinds of people crowding the sidewalks, especially during the Christmas season.

“Honestly, all you humans are so… Revolting,” he continued to complain, not caring about the way that everyone in the general radius turned to look at him for his words. “You are all smelly, and selfish-”

You did your best to ignore him. You waved high to the children you two passed by and you smiled widely when you spotted a handful of your friends leading a small group of tourists through the park. The smiled back and waved back at you. Sending you short questioning looks when they noticed the complaining Jeonghan by your side.

You just shrugged.

Even if you could explain it in a single gesture, you weren’t really sure what you would be explaining.

You were really just hoping that the more this day progressed the less real this Jeonghan would become.

Yet, even as you slid on an apron and punched into the time clock, Jeonghan was there. He didn’t care when you said that he couldn’t come behind the counter. He was so frustrating.

“What about that guy?” He’d ask you, leaning over your shoulder. You’d roll your eyes.

“Married.”

“Him?”

“A girlfriend.”

“Okay, he’s not committed to anyone.”

“He’s gay!”

Jeonghan pouted at your every response as if you were the one only pointing out the non-dateable guys in town.

He was hoping to be there for only a day. He wanted to be able to point at someone and them to be the one. You supposed he knew nothing about romance.

He followed you everywhere. He tried to set you up with the homeless man that you gave breakfast to. He tried to set you up with your coworkers, and he tried to set you up with every tourist that tried to give you your phone number.

“You are impossible to set up with anyone,” Jeonghan complained. You glared at him from your couch. You had tried to set him up on your couch, but he had been offended by the simple prospect- lectured you on it for about an hour and then finally just made his own room appear for him in your living room.

He was annoyed you used it to read.

You were annoyed he was still there at all.

Two weeks in and he had gotten less insistent on making you go out with every man in a two-foot radius. He started insisting you guys go home after your shifts instead of going out to bars to teach you how to flirt. He started glaring at the guys you spoke to on shift.

And you suspected the significant less amount of numbers you were getting on shift had something to do with him.

You weren’t entirely sure where the sudden shift in his behavior had come from… But you had to admit you liked it better.

The soft smiles you two shared across the counter while you worked, the extra hand carrying goodie bags to the kids at the local school, the warm chest to lean on while you read by the fireplace.

You started to like having Jeonghan around.

And you even started to kind of dread the fact that Christmas was coming soon. Because either way, when the clock hit midnight on Christmas Day, Jeonghan would have to leave.

And once again, it would just be you.

“So, what exactly happens if you don’t complete your task like you are supposed to?” You asked Jeonghan thoughtfully. He quirked an eyebrow at you, clearly finding it curious that you would choose to bring this up now of all times. You shrugged, so he put a bookmark in the book you had suggested he indulge in and stretched out his limbs.

“I suppose I get another task,” he replied. “I certainly won’t be punished for it. It will just be a tad embarrassing.”

You stared at him; a small frown riddled over your lips as you looked at him. He seemed to find the look intriguing because he got to his feet and wandered towards you.

“But I may have discovered a new way to accomplish my mission after all.”

Jeonghan’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, and he tugged you close to him. The smirk that was spread over his lips was borderline terrifying, but for some reason, it just made you that much more excited. A shiver ran through your body.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You mumbled. “I thought your angelic mission or whatever was to find me the perfect guy.”

“Oh, I found one,” Jeonghan assured. He grew closer to you, his grip on your wrist feather-light. Honestly, it felt more like he was caressing you than anything else.

“And, where is he?” You asked. “It’s Christmas Eve you know. Not a lot of time left.”

Jeonghan laughed, and the sound went straight down to your core. You shivered, trying your best not to think too much about what Jeonghan could possibly be referring to. After all, he was an angel… No angel would…

“He’s closer than you would think,” Jeonghan replied. You weren’t sure when he had gotten so close to you, but if you moved your head just a little bit further you knew you would be able to brush the tip of your nose against his.

He reached up his hand, his thumb briefly passing over your lips. He parted your lips with his finger, quirking his eyebrow in amusement at the small whimper that escaped your lips at that touch.

“I can bring you heaven,” he mumbled. “And all I need is the okay.”

“You’ll make all my dreams come true?” You asked breathlessly. Jeonghan smiled and nodded.

“We can seal it with a kiss,” he assured softly. You looked up at him, his eyes dark with lust as he stared at you. You could tell he was holding a lot back. You knew that there was so much that he wanted to say to you, so much that he wanted to do to you.

You never would have wanted this before. And god when you met Jeonghan you had honestly kind of hated him. How could you like a guy, after all, who teased you nonstop for everything that you did?

Yet somehow, you had fallen for him. A man who sometimes you felt like didn’t care about you at all and other times, when he looked at you, you could tell that he saw the entire world in your eyes.

“I want this more then I have wanted anything in a long time,” you stated. Before Jeonghan could say anything else, you surged forward, your lips colliding with Jeonghan’s. For a moment, it was you in control. Your fingers desperately gripped at his clothes, pushing at the buttons of his shirt, doing whatever you could to get those clothes off his body.

It made him laugh a little, and you could tell that he was really enjoying how desperate you were just to get his clothes off of him. It wasn’t until you had gotten his shirt off and had finally unbuckled his belt that he took control.

His fingers dug into your shoulders, and he pressed you backwards until your back hit the wall behind you. His lips left yours, but as soon as they were off of you his eyes were glued to your heaving chest.

“Oh sweetheart, you just signed up for something bigger than you could have ever imagined,” he insisted. “My rules? Be loud, be clingy, and if you do something, I don’t like I can punish you for it.”

You scoffed, but you were a bit distracted by his eyes, to be all that concerned with his words.

“How do I know if you won’t like it?” You murmured back. For a moment Jeonghan stayed completely still, you honestly wondered if he had even heard you at all. But then he leaned forward, his lips pressing to your collarbone as he looked up at you through hooded eyes.

“Guess you’ll just have to guess. I know what you like and don’t like after all,” he mumbled. His hands moved to your blouse, and he took the hem, slowly pulling it over your head. Once it was off of you entirely, he pressed some small kisses across your chest, and as he did, he began to work your bra off with one hand.

“But that’s because you know like everything about me,” you mumbled between biting back whines. He chuckled and leaned back his eyes taking in the view of your bare chest with complete amazement.

“So, I do have some advantages. Maybe that just means I won’t punish you,” he stated. His hands cupped your breasts and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to one, and then the other. Then his lips latched onto your tit, sucking and nipping at you with his teeth while he simply fondled the other with his other hand.

You had never thought that your breasts were sensitive. The last few partners that you had been with had only focused on their pleasure and weren’t ever very concerned with touching you and finding out what made you moan the loudest.

“But then again, I also know that you like punishment.”

But Jeonghan just knew where to touch you to make you squirm. It made you a little bit uncomfortable to have someone understand your body that well- better than you knew it, and so you decided to do something about it. You pressed forward, moaning just a little under your breath.

“I want you,” you mumbled. Your fingers started to fumble with the button on Jeonghan’s pants. “Let me show you just how badly I want you.”

You got his pants off, and your fingers hooked in his boxers, pulling them down as fast as you could manage. He let you sink to your knees and wrap your fingers around his length, and it gave you your first good look at his cock.

He was thick and long, and veiny and it was absolutely gorgeous. You could barely contain how excited you were just to look at him, especially as you admired his beautiful mushroom tip. You couldn’t believe that you had his cock in your hand, that it was this hard for you, and that soon enough, you would have that inside of you.

Jeonghan’s fingers interrupted your awed daze, as they slowly ran themselves through your hair, tightening a bit so that he could get a good grip on you. He led your lips to the tip of his cock, a movement to which you obediently opened your mouth so that he could lead it into your mouth. He paused and hummed at you.

“You think I don’t know why you suddenly wanted to suck my dick?” He asked you. You latched your lips down around the tip of his dick and sucked it innocently.

“I do have a bit of an oral fixation,” you mumbled around his tip. He smiled in amusement and lead your head further down the length of his cock. It sent another thrill of excitement through you as you began to salivate around his girth. He chuckled at the reaction.

“You do,” he agreed softly. He released his fingers from your hair and put his hands behind his back. “Show me what you’ve got firecracker.”

You tightened your fingers around the base of his cock and began to work his cock in and out of your mouth, sliding as far down as you could go without choking before working your way back up his length to suck on the tip of his cock, teasing it to the point where it leaked precum. After a few minutes of that, you pulled off his cock to lick up its underside, liking the way that Jeonghan’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

You loved his reactions, and you wondered what his reaction would be if you…

You wrapped your lips around his the tip of his cock again and slid him down until you were at the base of his cock. You had to move your hands to his waist so that you could keep his cock down your throat as you choked around his length, and you were going to stay down on him for as long as possible because the sound of his airy moan filling the air the first time you choked on him was just the noise you had been hoping to hear from him.

But after only a short moment Jeonghan’s fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled you off of his length. You whined your disappointment, which made him lightly roll your eyes.

“Not going to let you choke on my dick before I get to bury myself in your pretty little pussy,” he murmured. “I can tell how aroused you are, and it’s time for someone to do something about it.”

Jeonghan released your hair and pulled you back up by your waist, pressing his lips hungrily to yours, moaning against you as he did so. The kiss made you wrap your arms around his neck, which made Jeonghan take your waist.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he mumbled against your lips. You immediately did as he told you and in a flurry of motion, he moved you rapidly.

Your back hit the floor, and you arched it when you felt him kiss your inner thigh. His fingers tightened their grip on your thighs, and as soon as he had a firm grip on you (and your pants and underwear discarded elsewhere on the floor) he pressed your thighs further open.

“Oh, baby you are positively soaked,” he groaned, his voice dripping with excitement. “And if I couldn’t see your excitement, I sure as hell can smell it.”

Your face burned in embarrassment, but before you could protest his rather rash words, he continued to speak.

“Oh, but don’t worry, it just makes you all the more alluring. For a human, I must admit that it’s been hard to resist you,” he mumbled. “I’ve wanted to touch you from day one.”

His fingers pressed against the lips of your pussy lightly, and he slowly spread your soaked lips.

“Do you always get this wet for men? Or am I just special?” He teased.

“You’re not even really a man, you’re an angel,” you replied back.

“And this angel loves how much control he has over your body. You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. “Stop holding back, darling.”

Without warning he slipped a finger into your tight pussy, making you gasp in surprise. His fingers looked bony and skinny, but that wasn’t the way that they felt when they were deep inside of you. Your teeth gnawed at your bottom lip, as you tried to hold back a moan.

Jeonghan didn’t seem to mind too much. His tongue darted out of his mouth and flicked at your clit. This seemed to just make him want to taste you all the more because he pulled his finger from your wet core and instead buried his face into you. His nose bumped against your clit and holding back a loud moan was just that much more difficult when Jeonghan was moaning against your core.

You tried to buck your hips up against Jeonghan- his tongue was so busy lapping up your juices, that you were left wishing you had more of him inside of you.

The man, of course, didn’t let you buck your hips at all against him, but he did roughly push two fingers into your center and begin to pummel them in and out of you. He scissored his fingers with each thrust, stretching you out for his cock.

“You’re so goddamn, tight sweetheart. I’m half-convinced that you're going to milk the cum out of me at my first thrust if I don’t manage to spread you out for me.”

He added a third finger into the mix.

“But I feel your orgasm coming up love, I could just make you cum on my fingers and lap up your release. Then bring myself to my own orgasm down your pretty little throat,” he teased.

Your thighs squeezed around Jeonghan’s head and it made him chuckle.

“You like that don’t you? Cum?” He teased. “I could feel the way you were sucking up my precum… Don’t tell me that you’re a desperate little cum slut.”

Your back arched again, and you couldn’t hold back the wrecked moan that left your lips at his words.

You bit down on one of your fingers to muffle yourself a bit.

“Please Jeonghan, I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me so bad,” you begged. “Please don’t make me beg for it- please just-”

Before you could continue, Jeonghan’s mouth had left you entirely. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up off the floor.

“Anything that my pretty little princess demands,” he murmured. He pressed you back against the fluffy cushions and lined his cock up with your entrance. But instead of thrusting into you, he simply splayed his hand over your stomach, and gazed down at you. “I’ve been imagining this since I first walked in your front door.”

You rolled your eyes at that.

“Please, but you said-”

“Even angels lie,” Jeonghan replied his voice dropping an octave. “But I’m not lying right now. You’re gorgeous, the purest being I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Your face reddened at the compliment.

“Now, if I have to tell you one more time to be vocal while I’m fucking you- I really will punish you.”

He thrust his cock into you in one fluid motion, and that action in itself was enough to make you feel like maybe you were hallucinating. You reached up blindly, your fingers wrapping around Jeonghan’s biceps nervously.

“Oh Jeonghan.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Jeonghan murmured back. “I want you screaming my name so that this whole neighborhood can hear.”

He slowly pulled his cock out of you, so far that it almost fell out of you, but just before the tip of his cock fell entirely from you, he pushed back in. Hard and fast.

It made you gasp out a moan, and your fingers squeezed his biceps harder.

“Do you feel that?” He asked you. “Every inch of my cock sliding out of you?”

You whined your response, which made Jeonghan latch his lips to your neck. His teeth nipped at your throat teasingly.

“I want you to be able to feel the entirety of me. Become familiar with it since you are going to be feeling quite a bit of it in the near future.”

He repeated that slowly- a long pull out, and then once again thrust into you fast, but this time between the slow and fast thrusts, his fingers fell to your sides. It was an odd contrast from the pressure that you were used to feeling and quite frankly, it simply wasn’t enough.

“Jeonghan, please,” you managed to say between your pants. “Faster, harder, please.”

“You’re quite a needy little human, aren’t you?” Jeonghan teased affectionately. You were about to tell him off for that but before you could he snapped his hips into you- just the way you had asked. Hard, and fast, and additionally deep. Your fingers curled in pleasure as he picked up the pace.

“Sex with humans, has always seemed so boring to me,” Jeonghan started to say. “You humans are all so obsessed with your own pleasure, and once it is achieved you are practically done with one another until the next chance at achieving that pleasure. But you… You seek other’s pleasure. Never seeking out your own until everyone around you is pleased.”

He snorted when he hit your sweet spot, causing you to yelp out in surprise.

“I never thought I’d see the day, but I want nothing more than to turn you into a selfish lover just like all the rest. I want you to crave your own release. Be desperate for it and for anyone who can bring you to it.”

He grinned as he began to pound you, each thrust was perfectly timed so that you bounced on his cock. He pressed down on your pelvis so that he could drive his cock deeper into you with every thrust, and it made you moan.

Each time you clenched around his cock, you drove him closer to the edge, and every once in a while, you could feel his cock twitch in you. It drove you crazy to be so helpless to him, and it drove him crazy the closer and closer you got.

“You’re so pretty with my cock shoved in you,” he mumbled, his voice catching a little in his throat. “You look so full and content. Maybe one day I should just sit you on my cock and see how long you can go being a good girl. I bet you’d last a really long time. You seem like a good girl.”

“I am,” you agreed with a nod. “I’d be such a good girl for you Jeonghan.”

He smiled at you.

“Dirty words coming from such a pretty mouth,” he stated. He leaned down and took your lips between his teeth. “They could be dirtier; I’m going to corrupt your pure little mind.”

He reached down and began to fumble with your clit with his thumb, rubbing it faster when it made you moan louder.

“My God, you really are everything.”

He was starting to get increasingly more desperate; his thrusts were becoming less precise and deliberate. It was amusing to know that even a man… An angel you supposed, as composed as Jeonghan could completely lose himself as well. And even more flattering to know that it was because of you that he was losing himself so much.

“Jeonghan, I want to feel you spill your seed inside of me,” you moaned out. “I want you to fill me up with you, mark my insides as if I were yours.”

There was a gruff grunt at that.

“Sweetheart, one drop of cum inside your pussy from me and you would have 100 little Nephilim’s flying around here,” he grunted. “But don’t worry. I’ll still make this worth your while.”

Tears started to prick at the corner of your eyes. You could feel the pressure of all that pleasure building up in your stomach like an unbreakable knot. It made you desperate for your release, which only made you want Jeonghan to cum in you even more.

“Please, oh Jeonghan, please. I want nothing more than for you to come inside of me,” you whined. The words seemed to shock Jeonghan. He let out a strangled moan and as he did so another noise sounded out. One that you quite honestly didn’t recognize. It made you open your eyes, and to your surprise, when you looked up at Jeonghan, you didn’t just see him. You saw a widespread set of fluffy white wings hovering above you.

Jeonghan didn’t seem to have noticed that he had lost control in himself to the point that his wings were now spread out before you, and you knew that you shouldn’t touch an angel's wings without permission, but you really couldn’t help yourself.

You were so close to coming, and you could tell that Jeonghan was too, and his wings were so big and fluffy and so totally alluring that you couldn’t resist. You reached forward and buried your fingers in his wings.

The minute you made contact, Jeonghan’s moans rose a pitch. His eyes shot open, and he fixed you with a scary look.

“Don’t you know that you shouldn’t touch an angel's wings without permission?” he grunted. He leaned down and his teeth latched down on your shoulder. Rougher than you were used to, but not as rough as he could be- you knew that for sure.

Your fingers withdrew slightly from his wings, but when you did, a whine of disappointment escaped from Jeonghan’s lips.

“Then do I have-” Before you could even finish asking, the tips of Jeonghan’s wings brushed the sides of your body.

“Touch them,” he barked out. You didn’t have to be told twice. You became fascinated as your fingers buried themselves deep into his feathers. You weren’t all that gentle either. Your fingers ran through them, fascinated with the way that it made Jeonghan’s hips stutter. He wasn’t nearly as put together when you were touching him somewhere sensitive, and apparently, he was extremely sensitive when you touched his wings.

You found one spot that had him panting loudly. A magic spot, that had his cock twitching inside of your body. He was close. You could feel it.

“Jeonghan, please,” you begged lightly. He whined and his thrusts became even more erratic.

“What? You still want me to cum in you?” He asked. “You think you deserve that when you’ve been such a brat? After you grabbed my wings without permission. When you haven’t listened to me the way you should?”

His fingers reached down and pressed down on your clit hard. You cried out, your eyes shutting tightly and your fingers burying deeper into his wings. That made him thrust into you harder, faster.

“Your pussy is just begging for me to release myself into you. Your whole body is just as slutty as your mouth,” Jeonghan teased. “You really want my seed that badly? So much so you really aren’t even afraid to beg?”

You nodded desperately, pulling yourself closer to Jeonghan.

“Please, I need you to cum Jeonghan,” you begged. Jeonghan scoffed at your words, but his breath hitched in his throat. He was holding back at this point you could tell.

“I’m going to countdown from five. Once I get there, you are going to cum,” he insisted. “Or… You get nothing.”

“But-”

“5.”

At this point, you were so entirely desperate to cum you didn’t even care. You felt the pressure building up in your body. Now you wouldn’t even be that surprised if you found out you had been holding back.

“4.”

He didn’t have to get any closer, from his fingers to his cock plummeting in and out of you, to the sounds that left his lips as your fingers tugged on his feathers- it all had you coming unraveled in seconds. His name fell from your lips in a desperate cry as immeasurable pleasure ran through you. Your eyes rolled back, and your back arched your body up against Jeonghan. His wings wrapped around you, his soft feathers brushing your back even as he felt your walls convulsing around his cock.

Before you had even ridden all the way through your orgasm, he slipped from your body. You whined in disappointment, but before you could utter a word you felt his warm cum splattering against your body and you were too tired to say anything at all.

You collapsed in a heap on the floor, your body heaving as Jeonghan’s touch left you entirely.

It was cold without him there, and for a long scary moment, you thought he had left you. You thought maybe he was just like any human man and had decided that you weren’t worth it. He had gotten what he wanted, and now he was gone.

But before you could spiral too far, you felt the warmth of a wet washcloth on your stomach. You were dabbed lightly with the cloth; his wet semen being cleaned off of your body with every dab. You whined at the touch, your body a bit sensitive for the warm soft cloth. Jeonghan was light with his touches, and it made your eyes flutter open.

“Why-”

“I was serious about the Nephilim’s,” Jeonghan replied pointedly. “No amount of your human birth control could keep you from getting pregnant from my semen.”

You pouted, weakly propping yourself up on your elbows so that you could look at him better.

“You called me a slut,” you grumbled, even though God knew you had loved it.

“And you grabbed my wings.”

He puffed them out expressively, which made you look at them again in surprise.

“Speaking of… Your wings… They’re…”

Jeonghan folded his wings behind his back, his eyes trailing away from yours.

“No human has ever seen them before,” he stated. You reached forward, splaying your fingers across his chest.

“They’re beautiful,” you murmured. His eyes sparkled as he stared at you, and before you had the chance to protest or say anything he leaned forward and pressed your lips together. You melted into the kiss, your fingers falling from his chest.

“I never imagined this was possible, or even saw this future coming for me,” Jeonghan started softly. “But… I’m in love with you. I’d fail any assignment, have every title stripped from my name, and I would even fall from grace if it meant just one more second with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the confession.

“You mean it?” You asked him uncertainly. He nodded, a smile gracing his lips.

“Every word.”

The smile on your face was so wide, you couldn’t cover it with your mouth.

“Then I’d say that your mission has officially been accomplished,” you mumbled gleefully. “You found one pathetic human, the person that she wants to spend the rest of her life with.”

You reached forward, cupping Jeonghan’s cheek.

“You.”

Jeonghan laughed.

“I’m not sure if the other angels will see it that way.”

“Jeonghan, it’s Christmas Eve, I have your cum on my stomach, and a minute ago, I was begging for you to put your Nephilium’s in me,” you stated pleasantly. “I’m willing to work this out with you. If your willing to risk it all for me, then I am willing to do the same. I love you too.”

Jeonghan raised a finger into the air, taking you by surprise. Before you could ask him what it meant he pointed at you thoughtfully.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured. You leaned forward, bumping your nose against his.

“Merry Christmas Jeonghan.”

#Let’s pretend this was posted on time #Thanks #It doesn’t help that I can’t get my keyboard back to English #My cat broke my computer smh #Anyways! Hope this is enjoyed #jeonghan #Seventeen Jeonghan #Seventeen #seventeen smut #Jeonghan smut #Kpop smut #seventeen fanfiction #13 Days of Seventeen

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anotherkindofmindpod · 4 years

Note

I’d love for you guys to have Mark Lewisohn on your show just to grill him. As someone who’s experienced workplace bullying and sexual assault, that he would go so far as to paint Klein as “heroic” when he said things like “reluctant virgin” is just so devastating to me. It makes me feel ill. I do NOT want this man to have a say in Beatles history. I love the Beatles. I don’t want that tainted by people who will paint over abuse just to feed their own self importance.

We vehemently agree, Listener! Thank you for writing in.

Our list of grievances with Mark Lewisohn is long, but in a nutshell we believe his intent is to publicly “redeem” John Lennon and we have seen copious evidence that he will go to whatever lengths he has to in order to do this.

That includes, but is not limited to:

Claiming that readers of his Tune In Series may consider Klein the “hero” of the Beatles break-up

Deliberately spreading the demonstrably false lie that John (and Yoko) did not have a significant heroin problem in the late 60s and early 70s (Lewisohn suggests Cold Turkey is just John playing make believe)

Displaying unapologetic favoritism by using glowing terms to portray John and Yoko as the world’s most perfect romance, as opposed to Paul and Linda, whose 29-year marriage he dismisses as “conventional” and motivated by appearances (namely Linda’s pregnancy, even though it was planned) and Green Card needs

Stating that he could tell from watching the infamous “it’s a drag” clip that Paul was kind of sad, but primarily annoyed at how much positive attention John was getting on the day of his murder

Apparently suggesting to an audience of his Power Point Show that Paul maybe stole a leg off Yoko’s bed (the bed she had delivered and built in the Beatles’ recording studio, mind you), a personal “theory” which is based on the fact that Paul later wrote a song called “Three Legs” (you know that song: “My dog, he got three legs, like the bed you inappropriately brought into Abbey Road 2 years ago which I secretly vandalized behind your back because I have nothing better to do, am certainly not busy writing the Beatles Swan Song and don’t have a fucking 7 year old at home or anything”)

This isn’t even to mention Tune In, which could be a whole separate post and episode. Suffice it to say, this book often reads less like a Beatles biography and more like John Lennon Fanfiction to us.

Lewisohn managed to distinguish himself by doing (some) research and unearthing some original documents. That he had some skill in research is not surprising given that he started his career in Beatledom as a researcher for Norman, on his book Shout — which Lewisohn still contends is a good book. Norman, on the other hand has evolved his opinion of his own work and thinks Shout was flawed, so has written a whole biography on Paul to make up for what he sees as the failure of Shout, which is his underestimation of Paul. Unfortunately, Lewisohn does not seem to have made this same journey. He pays lip service to John and Paul being equal, and then spends all of his time and energy trying to prove otherwise. Norman says that he has created a monster in Lewisohn. We take his point.

One of our biggest issues with Lewisohn is that he vigorously promotes himself as an unbiased truth teller, and his calm manner seems to telegraph this. But it is not true. The research that Lewisohn does and the spin that he applies to his findings are all heavily biased. As we mentioned in one of our episodes, he travelled to Gibraltar simply to experience where John and Yoko got married. Yet when Paul calls the May 9th meeting over management the metaphorical cracking of the Liberty Bell, Lewisohn doesn’t even bother to Google it so he can understand the metaphor.

What he chooses to research is also a form of bias. For example, we at AKOM are very interested in Paul’s relationship with Robert Fraser during the Beatle years — since Paul has commented that Fraser was one of the most important, influential people in his life. Paul McCartney was the concept artist behind Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, the Magical Mystery Tour film, the iconic Apple logo, and he co-designed the covers of the White Album and Abbey Road. All of these are pretty defining moments in the Beatles’ career. As Beatles fans, we’d like to know more about Paul’s art education and influences. But we would be shocked if Lewisohn dug into Fraser at all beyond his relationship as John and Yoko’s gallerist/curator (and heroin dealer, but since that isn’t a thing in Lewisohn’s world then maybe he will be ignored).

We think Lewisohn benefits massively from the fact that Beatles authorship was like the Wild West since its inception, when everyone with a connection to the Beatles (plus or minus a personal axe to grind) wrote a book about their experience. It was absolute chaos, with no rules, no checks and balances, uncredited sources, etc. Just an absolute shit show. What Lewisohn did was bring some order to the chaos with some proper documentation. But again, what he chooses to dig into often reflects bias. And this certainly does not mean that he is intellectually or emotionally equipped to interpret his findings. Doing this takes social intelligence and insight, which is a very different skill. As a creator of myths, he is no better (and no more insightful or original) than many of the others who came before him; he worships John Lennon and freely admits it. He is not even close to being unbiased. But in this dumpster fire of a fandom he has at least checked some boxes and done some digging. The fact is, the bar has been so low for so long that Beatles fans don’t even know how to expect or want better. But WE certainly expect better. We expect some breakthrough, fresh thinking. Not just Shout with Receipts.

We think it’s significant that Lewisohn was deeply disliked by George Harrison, who lobbied to get him kicked him off the Anthology project. He was fired from Paul’s fan club magazine, and yet no one seems to think he might hold a grudge about that, too? Lewisohn so distorted John and Paul’s relationship in Tune In that he believes he is the target of the lyrics in Paul’s song “Early Days.“ And he either thinks that’s flattering or funny, because Lewisohn seems to truly believe he knows John Lennon better than Paul McCartney does. We find it almost tragic that Paul is so bothered by the way his experience and relationship is being portrayed by authors (perhaps Lewisohn) that he wrote a song about it. In it, he conveys his frustration and heartache about how everything is misconstrued and we find it absolutely outrageous that Lewisohn would not take this to heart. Perhaps Lewisohn thinks Paul should listen to him for a change? And if he doesn’t like it, then tough, because Lewisohn knows better? We think Lewisohn should do some serious soul-searching about “Early Days” because if one of his main subjects is saying, “you are getting it wrong and it is breaking my heart”….maybe, just maybe, he should listen and rethink things. Maybe apply a little creativity, out-of-the-box thinking and empathy. This is what his heroes did.

Meanwhile, Jean Jackets are SO BUSY complaining that Paul McCartney doesn’t like Lewisohn because he “tells the truth!” that they fail to notice that Lewisohn has become a mouthpiece for Yoko Ono. He has already started white-washing John Lennon’s history, promoting John and Yoko as the true and only geniuses versus Paul as the craven, small-minded Lennon disciple who (through no virtue of his own) was born with the ability to write some nice tunes. Lewisohn’s version of John, on the other hand, is ALWAYS a sexy, visionary genius on the right side of every issue. He even went out of his way to recently trash Paul’s early 70’s albums, which -in addition to being obnoxious and we believe wrong (since we love them)- is totally outside his purview.

Lastly, to address your original point, Lewisohn’s claim that Klein may be viewed as the “hero” of his Beatles History reveals that he hasn’t shown sufficient empathy or interest in Paul’s experience. This claim at best ignores and at worst condones the fact that Klein was an abusive monster to one of the two founding members of the Beatles. As we discussed in Episode 4, Klein was a criminal who bullied Paul in his creative workspace, disrespected Paul in his own office in front of his own employees and actively pitted Lennon against McCartney for years. It’s hard to imagine ANYONE who inflicted more damage on the Beatles and Lennon/McCartney than Allen Klein. In addition to the wildly inappropriate “reluctant virgin” nickname, he verbally threatened to “own Paul’s ass” (to which Paul responded “he never got anywhere near my ass”). Klein was so disrespectful to Paul and Linda’s marriage he pitched the idea of procuring “a blonde with big tits” to parade in front of Paul to lure him away from Linda and destroy their relationship. Let’s also never forget that Klein contributed lyrics to the song “How Do You Sleep.” Allen Klein literally gave Paul nightmares. Anyone who so much as pretends to care about Paul’s break-up era depression (including his alcohol abuse, his inability to get out of bed and his terrifying sleep paralysis) would not champion Allen Klein.

Yes, Klein is a human being and therefore has his own POV, same as anyone else. But a Beatles biographer is beholden to four points of view only: John, Paul, George and Ringo. And when an outsider is openly hostile to one of the Beatles and damaging long-term to all of the Beatles, it is beyond inappropriate to portray him as a hero. This type of comment, made publicly to an audience of Beatles fans, invalidates and seeks to erase the real trauma inflicted on Paul McCartney by Allen Klein, and we think Lewisohn should apologize for his comments.

Instead, Lewisohn’s current buddy is Peter Brown, whose book, The Love You Make so offended and angered Paul and Linda that they literally burned their copy (and photographed it burning for good measure). This information doesn’t appear to bother Lewisohn in the least. Why not?

George referred to Norman’s Shout as “Shit.” But Lewisohn thinks it’s a great book. Why?

How any Beatles or Paul or even George fans tolerate Lewisohn is baffling to us; we don’t recognize a real human being in his version of Paul, and his version of John is a superhero rather than a man. We suspect that fans have come to accept the traditional story and at least appreciate some properly-documented facts.

But as we are constantly trying to demonstrate on our show, just because the story has always been told one way, doesn’t mean it’s right. Because in the end, Mark Lewisohn has no special insight. He wasn’t there. He is a guy who bought into a narrative during the Shout era, and is cherry picking his findings to support it.You can find a discussion of Lewisohn here

#MarkLewisohn #anotherkindofmind podcast #Beatles #Lewisohn is a joke

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hopetofantasy · 4 years

Text

‘Wandering Romance’ - Part 4

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans Trigger Warnings (if applicable): mentions of abuse, toxic relationships, self harm, rape/non-con elements, emotional manipulation, mental breakdown, panic attacks, self loathing Created for @skamevents

Summary: “A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.”

In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past.

So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good?

Also available on AO3

SURPRISE: I’m going to add a FIFTH CHAPTER (EPILOGUE) TOO!

——————————————————

CHAPTER 4: 'No one sees myself like you do’

——————————————————

He knew he broke his heart.

Shattering the pieces everywhere.

He knew they weren’t his to take, to glue together, to hold onto.

Yet, he did it. Again and again.

He caused pain, he felt pain, he gave the pain away.

He hated pain.

But...

He loved pain.

He deserved it. He always deserved it.

Love was never his, love wasn’t there for him.

He didn’t deserved it.

Pain was better.

Breathe.

Why?

Breathe.

Why should he?

Please?

Pain was good.

Just once.

He wasn’t normal.

Come on, breathe for me.

Was he ever normal?

Oh god. Come on!

He was a monster.

Goddammit, breathe!

He didn’t.

He didn’t do it.

He didn’t want to.

A cry.

Soft blurred halo.

Fierce light surrounding him.

Vaguely familiar blonde color in the corner of his eyes.

Deep pressure on his arm.

Harsh sound of a deep cry.

“Please, Robbe...”

The pain was enough.

But then...

After a century of darkness.

He took his first breath.

-^-

He didn’t remember how he got there.

Slowly walking into his home and tracing the soft texture of the eggshell walls, he sighed deeply. He was welcomed back into the silence. As if he never left. As if they were never witness to anything else. Beautiful things had happened. Horrendous things had happened. But the walls would never speak of it. They kept their peace.

Robbe liked that.

The color was his pick, of course. As if Sander would have chosen boring beige, cold dark blue or a simple black. Come on. Get real. Back when they were together, he would have rolled his eyes at the suggestions the brown-haired boy would make. Arms crossed with faces close to each other, harsh veins popping out because of all the exertion of the shouting matches.

“Life is passion, Robbe. Don’t be the boring gay!” “Sander, we’re supposed to live in this, I don’t want to be nauseous of all the weird combinations!” “And what the hell is wrong with red and yellow?” “What’s right about red and yellow?” “God, are you serious?!”

Hours and hours of discussing splashes of paint, cataloguing each other’s taste, skipping the expensive brands and go into thrift stores to score beautiful furniture, to do it all over again. Yelling, kissing, making up. Falling out of bed, because of the fits of laughter. Mischievous eyes filled with what now?’s. Slight kisses to temples.

“Beige and brown!” “Orange and purple!”

“Dark blue and light green!” “Salmon pink and aquamarine!”

Soft Sander. Beautiful lover. His artist.

Always complying at a flutter of eyelashes, bending his knees at a sigh and holding him at one tear. Always there. Ready to take, to caress and to mend. Late night in bed with their little baby boy in their midst, whispering sweet words to let him catch on. Telling him stories about his day. About the weird accountant who wanted a beautiful portrait of his awful boss. Probably to throw darts at it, he figured. Why else?

A cute giggle.

Oh, did he tell you about the elderly couple? Together for more than fifty years, alive and kicking. They wanted their love honored by making a beautiful portrait. “Yes, no problem”, he had said. After discussing the price, set-up and deadline, Sander had instructed them to sit down to pose. And that’s when they took off their clothes. “Ah, didn't we tell you? It’s a nude portrait!”

David had always been charmed by his papa’s life. Bowie was his hero, blonde hair and leather jackets was his forté. And the tiny boy was just following along. Worshipping every tiny piece. It ran in his blood, didn’t it? Being extraordinary? The artistry? His mother wasn’t conventional either. Noor was special, artsy and beautiful. So each day would pass and their son would be more and more like Sander. A light in the darkness.

And Robbe wasn’t.

He was cold, boring and hollow.

Like now, he was standing in his own home, not knowing what to do or say. He didn’t know how to get going, how to move along and change the course. It had all happened, but did it actually? Was he there? He could feel the ground beneath his feet, the musky air in his lungs, the color of the walls. But was he there? Had he ever been here? Was he truly him?

His hand immediately went to his arm, nails scratching the hardness of skin. And Robbe started to walk around. He needed to feel the space, to know where he was. Anxious pacing the wool carpet he had chosen to compliment the couch in their tiny living room. A space that had been filled with beautiful memories, that of Jens doing a handstand to impress his nephew and almost crashing into their new coffee table.

His feet were slowly shuffling towards their dining room and kitchen. A small smile appeared at Robbe’s face, because he remembered how Moyo would make their regular tapas evenings happen here. Before they all had settled down with their partners and became too busy to organize them again. “I’m the best chef cook of the Western Hemisphere, Robbe! You’ll see!”, he said the first time.

Right before the fire alarm went off.

The next memory flashed before his eyes. Amber and Aaron coincidentally sitting in close proximity of each other. The one looking at the other, right when the other turned their gaze downwards. Jana subtly nudging her husband and whispering her observations. “They still love each other,” Robbe had heard from her. “Why won’t they go back together?” With a slight shrug from Jens as a response. “What can we do about it?”

He felt hurt.

Well, that was something.

A feeling.

A little red stain on his finger? Robbe huffed, looking down at the color. Red is a beautiful shade, isn’t it? So passionate, deep and yet, something that connected all of them. A thrilling feeling. Finally something that connected him to all his friends, his family, his own son. His ex-lover. He never truly felt tied to them all, especially in the later years.

A beep on his cell.

He was grey, as grey as the sharp steel in the kitchen. He wasn’t special. He never understood why Sander thought he was. Why his son would pick that exact song, the one which ripped his heart out and made him feel 16 years old again? Right then and there, at a beach town supermarket, a cute guy whirling him around on a supermarket cart. A feeling that went up and up, never coming down.

A text.

Pain was inevitable, he had learned. With Noor. With Sander. With David. Because children were a blessing, they'd always be the good in the world. That’s why he needed to protect the boy, from all the evil. Why he would let himself be pushed off the stairs, so not one beautiful curl on his head would be harmed. Psychically or emotionally.

- “I’m coming to talk to you” -

No other dark eyes filled with sorrow.

Only his.

-^-

“Come on, baby! Dance for me, you know you want to!”

“Wouter, please, stop it... You’re going to wake up my son.”

As if he cared... Wouter just kept pulling at Robbe’s sweater, trying to discard it, so he could dug his nails at his bare arms. His response was to shut himself off. He wasn’t going to stop anyways, so why bother? Robbe liked it too, didn’t he? He was sure he did. When the other man nipped at his ear, slowly biting a trail down his neck and loosening his belt. He really loved it. Right?

“Rob- just do it for me. I’m too tired to move along!”, the man growled.

His breath filled with distain and mixed with the stench of cheap liquor. Eyes watered down to dimmed grey and clouds covering the sun. His hands were calloused, rough, manhandling him towards the end of the bed. The man named Robbe discarding his lover’s pants and hoping to shush loud moans by softly kissing his lips. His palm sweetly caressing, was met with a sharp pain in his wrist. Hmmm...

“I want it now. Don’t give me that bullshit about lubing it up and kissing gently. Just put a condom on already! I’m ready. You are too!”

Fear struck. Made him come out of the daze. Back into his mind. Robbe moved along to the other’s body, gripped the hip and pulled it from his orbit. Followed by a furious growl, whilst fingers formed a fist. He didn’t want it to happen. It would happen anyway. But still, he couldn’t say yes to this. This wasn’t what he wanted. Stop. Don’t do this.

“Wouter, stop it please...”, he whispered. “I don’t want this”

“What do you mean? You always say yes to this! It’s me your talking to, not some loser from the street, dumb-dumb.” Sickeningly sweet tone. A flower clearing through the greyish woods. An inkling of hushed love. Two bodies breathing together, bothered in various ways. But his head still screamed ‘no’. Greasy lips on his chest, licking towards his right nipple.

“I don’t want to, Wouter. Not tonight.”

Silence.

Pull away.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, of course, Robbe. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to. What kind of guy do you think I am? I’m not like that filthy know-it-all you call your ex. I mean, it’s not because you have a son with him, like you jump when he asks you to. You’re not his plaything... You’re mine. Right?”

Wouter’s face contorted in a cheap grin. He knew he shouldn’t fall for that, Robbe knew better. But did he? Maybe... Maybe his boyfriend was right? Sander did boss him around, when it came to their son. Always expecting to jump? But that wasn’t Sander was it? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think.

His thoughts were interrupted by his lover huffing out a short laugh. Seemed to be sobering up, a little. Maybe. “You shouldn’t worry your pretty head too much, darling. You’ll get wrinkles. But if we’re not going to do anything, I’ll need something to get the edge off. It’s been a long, hard damned week. I at least deserve a break. You want some?”

Oh, Robbe knew what ‘some’ meant. The brown haired boy didn’t like this feeling. Of not being in charge what was going to happen at this point of the evening. He shook his head, while his chest slowly closed up. The last memory he had of that stuff, was Wouter breaking his dresser. All because Robbe made a comment about his unemployment. A throw-away remark, that’s all it was. He was going to shut his mouth now.

It only took him a half hour.

“You know, sweetie. I always wondered what so special about that boy of yours. He’s the apple of your eye, right? A spitting image of you both. And yet, he isn’t. The son of an unknown father and a dead mother. Beautiful that you took him in. That’s true. But what’s so special about those blonde curls?”

Ice.

His blood turned to ice. Is this how murderous anger felt? It felt really close. His body was too slow at first to follow his coked-up partner to the stairs. But caught him, before Wouter could step foot towards the child’s door. Hissing. He felt like a wild animal, a lion trying to protect its cub, when he spit out:

“Don’t. Even. FUCKING. Dare. Touching. Him. Or. I’ll. Kill. You. With. My. Bare. Hands.”

Dark storm clouds looked into his. Venom in the mouth.

“Does he know, Robbe... Does he know he’s not yours? That he’s a boy that’s neither made from love between two men nor out of a conscious decision by his true mother? Never knowing his real father, having two fakes instead. You told me that, you know. You might not remember, but I do. I know what you said about little David, sweet darling son...”

Robbe froze on the spot. His fight-or-flight-reaction going into full overdrive. The hair on his arms were standing up, senses completely aware of his surroundings. All while still having no shirt on, he now remembered. What a ridiculous thought. Him, a man, of barely 1.68m and bare chested, trying to fight someone without pants and at least one head bigger than him.

And yet... So tempting...

“I remember what you said, Robbe. You were blubbering all over me, crying about that beach blonde bitch again. Typical. But then you said it to me. Your real fear... That he isn’t yours. That he looks so much like Sander, beautiful unattainable Sander. Boohoo. And never like the boring you. That you blame your ex for that! That’s what you said, right? ‘I’ll never be good enough for sweet David, Sander seems to be’. That’s adorable. Truly. Adorable.”

Poison.

In his veins.

Deafening silence.

“Maybe I should tell him, darling? All. Of. It. What do you t-”

Hard grunting. Hands everywhere. Red scratches.

Black irises taking over the grey.

Pushing and pulling.

Shouting. Screaming. Crying.

Tilting worlds. Tumbling. Tripping.

Falling. Falling. Falling.

Pain.

Black.

And a few days later:

“Don’t tell papa I broke my arm okay? It’s nothing to worry about, okay sweetie?”

Followed by a soft:

“Okay, paps. I won't.”

-^-

“It’s better this way...”

“I know.”

“You know this is the only way.”

“I knów.”

Beautiful deep eyes. A pained expression. The back of a hand tracing his cheek. Wiping away the tears trickling down. A watery smile. This feeling of being left alone with all the responsibility on his shoulders, was somehow even worse than breaking up. But he shouldered through it anyway. He needed to. He needed to be strong for someone else.

“Robbe...”

“Sander, don’t...”, the other, tiny boy whispered. “Just promise you’ll take care of him. You’re the only one I trust with him.” His little hands still covering the man’s rosed cheeks. Fresh bandages wrapped around the fragile arms. Memories of closing, days of grey clouds and unspoken communication. Sander nodded his head. But he needed to say it, to get the feelings off his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Robbe. I didn’t know. I was supposed to be there for you. In sickness and in health, right?” A pained smile of both. “I meant it, schat. I didn’t... I should’ve... We wouldn’t have...” Sander looked down. He couldn’t find the words to describe what he felt.

“It’s okay”, his love answered. A fluttery kiss to his right cheek. “I’m still here. I’m not going away. Not for long at least. And then we can start again. We can start over... Maybe. Only... If you want to. I mean... If you still-”

“I still love you. I’ll always will. I’m never going to stop.”

“Me neither...”

A ruffle through brown hair.

A featherlight hug.

A light giggle from him.

A cute wink he managed himself.

“Chill...”

“Chill..."

Then he watched the brown jacket step towards the entrance, right into the arms of the welcoming nurses. All warmly tapping his shoulder, introducing themselves and trying to make him feel at home. Nodding at what he's saying. Already knowing why he's there, but listening anyways. They were going to be good for him. Just like they were good for Sander, a whole lifetime ago.

But before his life partner stepped through the door, he made a stop and turned around quickly.

With mischief on his face.

“So, what are we going to do in the next minute?!”

And a loud response for the artist, surprising even himself:

“In the next minute, I’ll wait for you!”

And waiting he did.

#wtfock #wtfam #skambingo #skam events #part 4 of 5

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void-knights · 3 years

Text

Hygge : Chapter One

Pairing: Loki / Original Character,

Chapter Rating: Teen

Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, LGBT Themes, Oc has ADHD, injury mention, Standard Tragic past, Mentions of Loki's past toture, Mentions of past child abuse (OC), Sickness, Near Death, Body Dysphoria, Gender Dysphoria, Prosthesis, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Extremis 616, Starboost Armour, Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Loki cooks, Loki teaches,

A/N: Right hello! I need to WARN YOU.

This fiction deals with an OFC that eventually realises that they is Genderfluid, using all the pronouns, but is assigned female at birth (AFAB). There will be mentions of body AND gender dysphoria due to a tragic childhood™ under the care of her biological mother/grandparents that occurred before she was in the care of Tony Stark. I do not go into graphic detail with the abuse, but it is mentioned.

This is a slow burn fic planned out to be a LONG story so the OC and Loki will not get together until a little into the story. Instead, I wanted to focus on building their friendship at first. Eventually (if all goes to plan) I intend to have the OC identify as Genderfluid, but unlike Loki the OC won't have magic and therefore will always be female in terms of physical sex.

While this might seem like a bit of a spoiler I like to forewarn people about these things as they can be potential triggers!

Anyway I got the idea of a character in Iron-Man style armour, and then I thought it would be fun to just have a Stark OC. I've got the timeline lined up so the ages to allign with canon. Masterlist | AO3 Link |

The avengers weren’t sure what they should do with Loki, Odin in his infinite wisdom had ‘bestowed’ his younger son upon them in a long-winded speech that left Barton spacing out, Tony disinterested and distracted and Bruce trying to work out how such an old man seemed so strong.

Only Natasha and Steve were paying attention by the end, the TL; DR was that Odin didn’t want to deal with Loki, so now he was the avenger's problem.

Nick Fury suggested locking him up, only to retract the idea a few minutes later, Loki was dammed persuasive, he could seduce any guard sent to keep him under lock and key. They did not know the full extent of his magical abilities and while he was bound (somehow, Odin didn’t bother explaining what they had done to Loki and merely assumed the Avengers wouldn’t care to know the finer points) they didn’t know the limits of the binding.

Thor claimed his brother could shapeshift, so a prison would need to be airtight otherwise a snake or spider could happily slip out. Then there was the issue that he was a god with god strength and probably the second smartest person in the room, or maybe the smartest, but Tony wasn’t about to admit that to the god.

All in all Odin had left them with a mess and the only support came in the form of a confused, angry and betrayed Thor. Which was never good.

This was compounded by the inescapable feeling that they only had half the story, why did Loki invade Earth? Tony had theories, theories that would make Clint punch him, but he couldn’t shake a feeling that something was off about the god of mischief.

Thor would agree, or not. Their relationship was never explained, it turned out communication was not a gift the gods of Asgard possessed much to the chagrin of the Avengers.

So this was the plan, Loki was to stay locked up in the tower, well only on certain floors. He would share a floor with Thor, where he would have his own bedroom with en-suite bathroom, but Fury was rather insistent that Loki shouldn’t be made too comfortable.

Tony was starting to wish he had never gotten involved he would make a poor jailer. He wasn’t responsible enough, Jarvis as amazing as he was would be worse, Loki had tricks, he could trick Jarvis.

It was a fucking mess, made much worse by not having the facts nor support to keep Loki. What were they supposed to do with the god? He was going to outlive them all, did Odin expect them to pass Loki off to other people? To keep him locked away for the rest of his life?

He would rather face the Chitauri again, or Vanko and Hammer or even Stane. Loki was more dangerous than all of them combined and what made it worse was the fact that Soleil was also living in the tower now.

He shouldn’t have suggested she live here, Fuck, he needed a drink or a whole bottle. The billionaire found Natasha and Bruce already at the bar, her with Vodka and Bruce with something fruity looking.

Tony settled for whisky and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do now.

Loki was still chained up when Soleil walked onto the floor, the god recognised the human mortal from his research leading up to the invasion. He had gathered information on mortals who may pose a threat to his plans and worked to see them brought together (in brief moments of clarity before once again the mind stone seized control of him), Stark’s life was short as it was (by Asgardian standards) was quite fascinating.

Naturally Loki looked into every aspect of the potential avengers lives seeking weaknesses that would bring the avengers to him. The easiest targets were family, friends, loved ones who could be exploited as they had few or no protections. Soleil quite literally was the weakest link in the Stark equation.

Though he had come to realise she could have been a great asset to him should he have had need of an engineer with a deep and vested interest in space. Rather odd that SHIELD would have such detailed files on Soleil, almost as if they had been considering her as an alternative to her father and Iron-Man. Though what use such a fragile human would be was beyond the god.

She hadn’t noticed him, to busy tapping away on a screen and wrinkling her brow at something that vexed her. He watched her as she grabbed herself a bottle of water, she was halfway back to the elevator when she finally paused and turned to him.

“You look like shit,” she said after a moments pause looking him up and down as he remained trapped and bound.

He’d be offended if he had the energy, he felt like shit, months, years? Trapped in the clutches of Thanos and his black order, leading the invasion, not resting or sleeping in weeks, months, his meals just enough to keep him alive but never satisfied, he could not even recall if the paste he had been given (and reluctantly eaten after too long starving) had even had a taste to it.

“As you mortals say, that is pot calling the kettle black,” he attempted to sound above her, casual to the point of nonchalance.

“Yeah but I have an excuse for looking like shit, what’s your excuse?” she asked him sipping her water, he tried not to look hopeful that she might share something with him. Even lukewarm tap water would be bliss compared to whatever liquids the Black Order had supplied him with.

“The beast you call Hulk,” Which was partly true.

“Ooo, that explains the hole in the floor,” she cringed, “How the fuck are you still in one piece?”

“I am a god,” he reminded her.

“I had just assumed that was all a lie, you know psychological tactics?” She paused thinking it over, “Make us believe the gods are real, and you’re one of them, so you can claim dominion over us.”

“That would be a fair assumption to make,” he said leaning his forearms on his knees, “But I can assure you that I am in fact one of your gods.”

“Well you’re not my god, I don’t worship you or any gods,” she shrugged.

“We had noticed the loss of faith from mortals,” Loki nodded.

“Blame the Abrahamic religions, as soon as they went mainstream you pagan lot were more or less kicked to the curb,” she answered, before he could ask what she meant she asked, “So are you hungry? You look like you’re hungry.”

“I am in no risk of starving Stark,” he insisted.

“How’d you know I was a Stark?” she asked him suspicion finally creeping in, for someone who was supposed to be one of Midgard’s greatest minds she was rather stupid.

“SHIELD have files on you,” he said her lack of surprise told him all he needed to know, “That and you resemble your father.”

She brought a gloved hand to her jaw, “It’s the chin isn’t it?” she asked taking a couple of steps towards him, a glass and metal table separated them as she set her glass bottle down upon his surface.

“The general area yes, and you share his eyes,” he confirmed now that he could see her up close he could see the partial heterochromia, showing chocolate-brown flecks in each soft brown eye. She shared his jaw, lip and chin shape and brow colour, her hair was tucked up inside a hat, and he thought that her ears might resemble her father as well.

“But that doesn’t answer my question, never mind I’ll assume you’re hungry, what do gods eat?” she asked.

“You would feed your enemy?” he asked surprised by this, Asgard had a policy of giving their prisoners food, but basic food, food that would keep their enemies alive and nothing more. He was able to empathise with those trapped forever in those dungeons now.

“Yes because I have basic human decency,” she said shifting her weight mostly onto her left leg, “So food, what do you eat? Can you eat earth food being an alien and all that?”

“Of course I can,” now that she had brought the matter up he wondered if he could, there were some things that an Asgardian was told to avoid eating on Vanaheim and Alfheim, not that he was biologically Asgardian.

“Well if you die of an allergic reaction please don’t haunt me,” she said pulling out another device, a phone, a smartphone he recalled one of the scientists under his command using a similar device.

While she typed out whatever it was she needed Loki observed her. She was atypical in her physical body, her clothes hung from her, not because they were ill-fitting but because of sudden loss of weight. They were designed for a woman larger than what she was now, despite her rather cheerful demeanour she looked quite exhausted. She looked how he felt.

The leather right sleeve to her jacket shifted in a most bizarre manner, he watched as a small(ish) serpent poked its head out resting contently on the back of her hand. It flicked it’s slick tongue out at the air scenting Loki, she could taste him, she knew he was there.

“I think it’s safe to just get a range of food,” She said slipping her phone back into her pocket she rose her fist to her eye level, “You doin’ okay?” she asked the snake who slid back into the sleeve. “She’s shy,” she said to Loki who had not asked.

“You carry a snake on your person?” he asked curios, he could not imagine anyone in Asgard doing that. Snakes were dangerous creatures, not pets. Humans however seemed to ignore that rule quite often.

“Yeah she’s my ESA, but I make sure she’s some place warm, otherwise she’ll get ill,” Soleil explained.

“ESA?” he asked.

“Emotional support animal,” Soleil said which did not really answer Loki’s question, she needed the support of an animal for her emotional state? “They are animals to help calm and relax people. I wanted a cat, but dad says a dog would have required to much training and looking after, so he got me Macbeth.”

“How does a snake provide emotional support?” he had to ask, the concept baffled him.

“She’s a reassuring presence when the world is overwhelming,” Soleil answered.

To the god it was still a strange concept, but his curiosity got the better of him, “May I see her then?” he asked.

“Um, sure?” Soleil gently shook her arm, Macbeth got the message, as loathed as she was to leave the warmth of the jacket she was all too happy to slither her way around Soleil’s shoulders until she was hanging lazily.

Gently lifting the snake off her shoulders she set the snake down on the sofa, wise to keep a distance from the god of mischief who remained shackled and bound. Macbeth lifted herself up fascinated by this new thing, this god in her home, she stared at Loki curious to know why he was here.

⸢You are not human⸥ said the snake curios to know what he was, he smelled familiar, like kin yet was clearly more than that, more human, more than human.

⸢No I am not⸥ he answered utterly amused when the snake did a double take, stunned that the god would be capable of speaking her language. He detected the barest hint of offence on her next words.

⸢Then you are a lie, a false thing, I do not like false things⸥ the snake replied studying him closely, ⸢You are a danger to my human⸥

⸢I am a great danger to many a human, yours however has done nothing to earn my anger⸥ Loki replied, the smart little snake thought on this for a while.

⸢You claim that now. But my human has a way of frustrating the surrounding humans, they are so easily brought to anger⸥ came the serpent's response as she finally slithered her way over to him.

⸢There are many creatures brought to anger easily⸥ Loki responded lifting the snake up into the air to prove his point the snake hissed angrily.

⸢Unhand me liar, I shall not be handled by the likes of you!⸥ the snake protested with a rather loud hiss.

Up close, she was a rather pretty thing a mixture of soft pastel colours with the blackest eyes he had seen on a snake. A thick uneven stripe of orange and lavender ran the length of her spine and top of her head. Her belly was an off-white, her most dominate colour a rather fetching shade of yellow. She was indeed a strange patterned creature but lovely to look at.

⸢But you are so pretty, I think I may keep you⸥ he teased the snake who managed to throw him such a filthy look that it took him by surprise.

⸢You, are unworthy of me liar⸥ she snapped back.

⸢I am a good little serpent, far beyond your mortal caregiver⸥ he pointed out.

⸢Indeed? You must be the god of pomposity to say such things⸥ the snake complained turning her head away from Loki, ⸢My human is good and kind even as the sickness weakness her, you cannot compare to such a charitable and loving being⸥

⸢For something so small you certainly have a rather inflated sense of ego⸥ he said lifting her up to eye level, she turned her head away from him.

⸢Says the creature that wreaks of despair, I might be small, god of pomposity but at least I know happiness⸥ he’d never been tempted to toss a snake out of a window before tonight.

Soleil shifted on her feet confused, “Are you talking to her?”

“Of course, I am a god,” he answered petting the snake who recoiled deeply offended by his touch.

⸢How dare you touch me!!⸥ she hissed in discontent before slipping herself free from Loki’s hands and slithering back to Soleil who collected her up into her arms. ⸢You are unworthy pomposity, be gone!⸥

“That is a rather charming pet you have mortal,” Loki answered deigning to ignore the snake and her uppity attitude, “Though she might be pretty she has a rather terrible attitude.”

Soleil looked at Macbeth who looked at her, “Riiight she has the terrible attitude,” smugly the snake turned back to him beaming brightly.

⸢See my mortal understands, she shall not be easily swayed by a false serpent⸥ the snake happily slithered her way back up Soleil's sleeve.

“I have never before laid my eyes on a serpent with such markings and colours, is that typical of Midgardian serpents?” Loki asked leaning back on the sofa which had become uncomfortable thanks to being pinned down in one fixed spot.

“Uh, well ball pythons are kinda common I suppose, they are docile in nature,” Loki did not believe that for a second, “So they’ve been bred as pets for a while, some breeders try to create unique colour and pattern styles. Morphs. Macbeth is a Banana Cinnamon Blade Clown Ball Python for instance.”

Loki knew what each of those words meant individually but strung together like that they may as well have been pure nonsense.

His disbelief or confusion must have been evident on his face because she instantly launched into the details of snake breeding, how morphs came about, what each word meant and the genetic factors that went into selecting the right snakes to breed together to create the perfect offspring.

Trust humans to meddle in things that needed no intervention, he thought as she went into detail to explain a subject he had long since lost any interest in. She was passionate about her pet, about snakes in general, and so she babbled making her obsession quite evident.

It was no wonder her dammed pet was so smug, she probably praised it at every opportunity, it’s inflated sense of self coming from an overindulgence of love and flattery.

“Bee,” Jarvis cut her off saving Loki the indignity of having to amuse her babbling for longer, “The food has been placed in the elevator, do you require assistance in moving it?”

“I’m not that weak, Jarv,” she grumbled half stomping her way across the floor towards the elevator. Loki could feel the AI’s eye roll somehow.

It took her some time to set out the food given the ridiculous quantity that she had purchased. He did not recognise half of what was laid out but to Loki none of that mattered, all he could do was feel his mouth water at the prospect of finally having food that did not taste of grit and nothing.

“So we got Korean, Indian, Italian, Greek, American, Japanese, Ethiopian, Thai, Arabic, Mexican, Balkan, Caribbean, Chinese and Jamaican,”

“Bee,” Jarvis said.

“Yeah I over ordered,” she grumbled slipping her phone back into her pocket, but she hadn’t known what a god might like to eat.

It didn’t seem to matter, Loki was already tucking into a container of whatever was nearest to him.

He almost wept in pure bliss as he devoured the Tokushima ramen without haste, even the strangeness of a raw egg in a soup alongside pork belly and noodles (which he had never had in life) did not slow him down. The god did not slow down even as Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Thor walked onto the floor slightly confused.

Jarvis had alerted them there would be food and that Soleil was apparently friendly with Loki. Jarvis had been somewhat right, Soleil was keeping a great distance between herself and the god, but she had ordered him a lot of food. Enough food to feed an army in fact.

“I don’t know what gods eat,” she immediately said as defence before her dad could ask, she did the same thing whenever he caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. “So I got whatever, if he dies of an allergic reaction you’re not allowed to blame me.”

“You’d be doing us a favour Bee,” her dad joked, she grinned a little unsure while Loki finally slowed down. That was good, just watching him devour container after container was giving her indigestion.

“We do not suffer the aliments of mortals little Stark-”

“Little stark?” Soleil whispered at Steve and Tony both of them grinned sympathetically.

“-This is quite the feast,” Thor beamed at her and all of a sudden she could see what Jane Foster might see in the glorious blonde bastard, though if she had to go for a blonde she’d still choose Captain America.

The avengers and Soleil watched as Thor easily sat himself down beside Loki acting as though nothing was wrong, even Loki was a little on edge about that, Steve and Tony shared a look™ one that suggested they were in on something. Something Soleil was not allowed to be part of.

Thor without hesitation (must be a god thing) dug into the food complimenting Soleil as though she had laboured over the meals, she hadn’t.

“What is this?” Thor asked as the others finally settled, Tony made sure Soleil was one super solider and a father apart from the god of mischief.

“Curried goat,” Soleil answered taking the carton of Tom Kha soup for herself.

The look of betrayal startled her as he was torn between heaving his stomach into the nearest container or eating what was a delicious meal. Loki being the sympathetic brother he was grinned from ear to ear watching Thor have an internal meltdown.

They did not eat goats on Asgard due to Thor’s love of them, they were scared in some strange way. Loki suspected interest in eating them was already so minimal that Odin had no issue outlawing their slaughter and consumption.

“Are you okay Thor?” Steve had to ask as Thor gingerly put the container down.

“Yes Captain, I… find I cannot in good conscience eat a goat,” Thor said picking up another container and studying it.

“That’s chicken,” Tony reassured him passing a box that contained a triple cheeseburger with plenty of onions, “Try this it might suit you.” Thor immediately approved of the burger, it wasn’t easy to go wrong with a good burger.

Though the company was unwanted Loki found a sense of comfort in the noise and activity, listening in as Thor and Steve asked questions about the food for the Starks to answer. If the Starks did not know then Jarvis would provide information, Loki cared not about the province of food or what it contained, food was food and this was the best food he had tasted in a dreadfully long time.

He listened into the varying conversations, Soleil debated baseball with Steve, apparently he took offence at the LA Dodgers, none of this made sense to Loki, what made even less sense was Hockey, even the Captain did not seem to understand her love of Hockey.

The older Stark chimed in once in a while or talked at length to Thor about various things, places the god should see since he would be spending time on Midgard and perhaps the acquisition of a phone – communication device. Loki knew how that would end, Thor had never been great at keeping in touch.

The four talked at length about everything and anything, Loki was more fascinated by the Korean barbecue than what was considered the best dessert.

According to Steve Rogers you could not beat a good apple pie with a dollop of thick cream or ice cream. The older Stark insisted on Tiramisu which combined alcohol and coffee. Whereas the younger Stark insisted that New York style cheesecake was the best dessert, though ice cream (of any type) was a close second.

He noticed that Rogers was rather experimental with his choice of food, wishing to try everything at least once. Thor ate whatever had the most meat, Stark knew what he liked and stuck to that while his daughter seemed filled by the small tub of soup she had half-eaten.

“Jane has mentioned you little Stark,” Soleil did not appreciate Thor’s new nickname for her.

“Okay?”

“You are an engineer?” Thor asked.

“Yup, my main focus is space, aerospace engineering if you will, but I am not confined to one area of study,” She said setting her half-eaten carton down.

“Jane had mentioned that you are attempting to colonise your moon?”

“Me personally no, but I wanna find a way to make the moon liveable, so we can continue our research,” she said taking a long sip of water.

The floodgates were opened up and Thor could only sit uncomfortably as she prattled on about her designs on space, how they might once again reach the moon and this time stay there. She had ideas with regard to terraforming, to establishing a liveable base, not just on the moon but Mars as well. They would be the first destinations in this new space race she dreamt up.

Loki recognised the blank look on Thor’s face, he had long since lost interest and Soleil quickly realised. Twiddling her fingers she fell silent, ashamed even, this made Loki frown. Her father wrapped an arm around her whispering something, she perked up a little.

Thor turned to Steve to start an entirely new conversation, which made Soleil wince. Tony reassured her all was well and rubbed her arm, only to annoy Macbeth who popped her head out to see who it was that was rubbing her.

“Sorry my scaly grandbaby,” Tony grinned at the indignant snake.

⸢Oh another one, what is this one the god of the farm?⸥ the snake complained looking a surprised Thor over.

⸢I am the god of thunder, serpent⸥

⸢I stand corrected oh great and powerful goat fucker⸥

“I do not recommend getting into an argument with it, it thinks anything other than the younger Stark is beneath it,” Loki said trying a slice of pizza, he found the combination sweeter than expected.

“So they’re both Dolittle’s?” Tony asked Soleil who shrugged she didn’t get it either, but apparently they could understand Macbeth in some way. She certainly reacted to whatever they said back to her.

“I don’t get it either,” she admitted.

“So she doesn't like me?” Tony asked Loki while Thor continued to glare at Macbeth, the snake in return glared back at Thor (somehow).

⸢You may tell him that I enjoy his company, the red machine is most comfortable for resting on and he is a delight for a human being!⸥

“She thinks your armour makes the perfect place to rest,” Loki translated.

“Well it’s good to know I’m useful for something,” Tony grinned rubbing the snakes chin as she leaned up to him.

⸢You did not tell him that I enjoy his company nor that he is a delight tell him, tell him!⸥ Macbeth snapped at Loki

⸢It must have slipped my mind dull scales⸥ Loki grinned.

⸢Pompous false serpent⸥ she complained slithering her way onto Tony’s shoulder, Steve wasn’t as sure about the snake, but Tony was used to her by now.

“She’s tame and a pest if you let her loose in a workshop but tame,” Tony assured Steve who still wasn’t sure meanwhile Macbeth curled herself up on top of Tony’s head, she liked to feel tall.

“She’s inquisitive not a pest,” Soleil insisted gently cooing at Macbeth wondering how it was that the gods communicated with her.

“She likes to nap in places she shouldn’t,” Macbeth was not pleased by this, it wasn’t her fault she found nice warm places to rest in his workshop. She slithered her way back to Soleil deeply offended, Tony rolled his eyes.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t leave your workshop unlocked,” Soleil argued as the serpent coiled herself around her right arm once again.

“Dum-E likes to roam the house, you know this Bee,” Tony argued, yes she did know, she had spent a childhood learning to know when Dum-E was out and about. She loved him, she really did but Dum-E was not built to handle fragile things, especially fragile children.

“Yes but should he be trusted to roam the house?” Soleil asked grinning when he failed to find a suitable answer. Everyone knew it wasn’t a good idea, Dum-E lived up to his name and while he was adorable he vastly overestimated his own skill and abilities.

Tony blinked several times, nope a reasonable argument still failed him, there was no good reason why Dum-E should be unleashed within the house, “So Point Break, what’s this about coffee and pop tarts?”

Thor lit up with a glorious and adorable smile, “My lady Jane introduced me to such wonderful refreshments.”

“And you were worried about feeding them actual food,” Tony whispered to Soleil who grinned to herself, “Well Point Break we do have coffee-”

“-Dad you can’t feed Thor your coffee,” Soleil protested as her dad made his way over to the coffee machine.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Tony joked.

“It comes with a health warning!”

“It’s not that bad,”

“By buying it you accept all the dangers that coffee presents, you have to sign legally binding documents on the website, you can’t give it to an alien!” Tony wasn’t seeing the issue, those aliens were gods, “It literally killed three people last year.”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Loki muttered at the exact same time Thor lit up, “Let me test this coffee!”

Soleil buried her face in her hands, Steve offered her a spring roll in consolation, she took it, to exhausted to care that she was full up. Trust her dad to find the one alien that would enable his terrible habits. Fuck this was going to be a long year.

The avengers (well Tony, Steve and Thor) discussed what they should do with Loki, the god of mischief had no say and Odin had decided to leave it in their hands. The obvious answer would be to lock him up, lock him away where he could cause no harm.

There was no place suitable on Midgard that the avengers were aware of, Loki knew of several places but would rather not assist any further attempts at incarceration. He watched them struggle amongst themselves to come up with the ideal solution.

“I can’t keep him here,” Tony protested to Thor who insisted this was the best place, “I have staff and my kid to consider.”

“You have a goat here?” Thor asked.

“Soo, allspeak translates things literally?” Tony asked perplexed, Loki rolled his eyes, no it didn’t, Thor had simply mistaken the context of the word which would have supplied the answer.

“Kid is slang for child, he’s talking about his daughter Soleil,” Steve told Thor who stood there just realising what Soleil was to Tony, “You didn’t know?”

“The big fella showed up in the middle of this mess, I don’t think he got the briefings,” Tony reasoned, “Sol’s my kid, child, offspring whatever you wanna say, point is while Bumblebee’s here I’m not hosting Loki.”

“Loki shall not harm your daughter Stark,” Thor half lied, in truth he might harm Soleil, Loki had done a lot worse in his past though usually that was for the sake of Asgard or the protection of his family.

“Look all you have to do is sneeze at my kid and boom, in hospital,” Tony argued.

“Your daughter is that fragile?” Thor wondered if it were an age thing, Darcy looked to be of a similar age and seemed hale.

“Yep kid’s a medical wonder, impossibility even, so unless I have proof that Loki can’t hurt my kid you’ll have to have him live somewhere else,”

“Why not call SHIELD?” Steve offered, Thor considered this, but Tony had the most peculiar expression one that made Loki take note.

Tony shuffled on his feet, “I’m not saying that… look Loki took out quite a few SHIELD agents, Phil included, everyone loved Phil. I’m not sayin’ he’d approve out loud, but I’m sure Fury would be willing to turn a blind eye if anyone… took advantage of Loki’s situation.”

To Tony’s surprise Steve agreed, “What other options do we have? Thor are there any other territories, realms or worlds that would take Loki?”

“The majority of the nine realms are overseen by Asgard, they would not be willing to risk Odin’s ire by inviting Loki – even as a captive – amongst their numbers,” Thor reasoned.

“Why do I get the feeling when you say overseen what you really mean is-” Steve elbowed Tony in the ribs to get him to shut up.

“Can’t you build a containment around a single floor in the tower?” Steve proposed.

“Yeah and then what happens, he tricks Jarvis or someone else to let him out. Hell Bee would let him out if meant she could learn some weird alien shit, or fuck, she’d let him out to… you said Puente Antiguo?” he turned to Thor.

“Yes?” the god of thunder blinked confused. “I landed there, it so happened that Jane Foster and Agent Phil were also there.”

“Riiiight, well fuck,” Tony ran a hand through his hair, “If he stays here… how much do you two know about engineering?”

“The sciences were Loki’s subjects not mine,” Thor answered.

“We can’t keep him here,” Tony insisted to Steve who was just as confused as everyone else.

“Tony the tower is the best option-” Steve was about to argue, but Tony was adamant against the idea.

“-No it’s not because if Bee finds out-”

“-If Bee finds out what?” Soleil asked, Tony jumped curing Natasha (back when she was Natalie) for teaching Soleil how to be sneaky.

“I do not see why Puente Antiguo is so important to my brothers confinement,” Thor frowned not understanding what was going on at all.

“Did you say Puente Antiguo?” Soleil rounded on a surprised Thor, he did not understand.

“Is this some mythical town I should visit?” Steve asked it had been mentioned a lot in five minuted.

“No, no Bee he didn’t, he said-” Tony tried to correct not realising Thor did not like to be called a liar.

“-Do not make me a liar Stark,” Thor threatened.

“Yeah Dad how dare you make the most venerable god of thunder out to be a liar, honestly have you no shame?” Soleil said placing her hands on her hips, Thor nodded in complete agreement.

Loki rolled his eyes at how quickly Thor soaked up the praise and attention, it was honestly embarrassing how easily the fool could be manipulated and it had taken a mortal one afternoon to discover this weakness.

“Puente Antiguo was where I met my Lady Jane, Darcy, Selvig and your beloved Agent Son of Coul,”

“You mean Coulson, he’s American, we don’t use Patronymic or Matronymic surnames. At least not in the way you’re probably thinking of them,” Soleil corrected, “He was just Coulson, His father was probably not named Coul. Like how I am Stark and not Anthonysdóttir.”

“I see,” Thor muttered, “That explains the oddity of Jane’s family name.”

“Yep so if you and Jane married on Earth, and she decided to take your name, just as an example off the top of my head-” Tony and Steve finally caught on, she was buttering up the god of Thunder, and he was eating it up, “-She would be Jane Odinson, which I suppose would be awkward in Asgard but normal here.”

“That does seem odd?” Thor admitted hating how it sounded, it made her sound his like his sister.

“So you met in Puente Antiguo, I once read it’s romantic to get married where you met your love, but a desert town seems… inappropriate for a wedding to a god, especially with it still in need of repair.”

“Yes, the destroyer created so much damage when it walked through the town,” Thor turned to Loki who sat back utterly amused that Thor had so easily fallen into Soleil’s trap, of course Thor read his amusement wrong.

“The destroyer?” Soleil asked.

“Yes, The Destroyer Automaton is a weapon and guardian of Asgard, it was sent by Loki to kill me,” Thor glared at Loki again, “I wonder if it is still where we left it?”

“You really think SHIELD would have left something called the destroyer alone after what we saw with the tesseract?” Steve asked not understanding Soleil’s interest.

“How dangerous is this thing?” Tony asked.

“It levelled a town Tony, it’s dangerous,” Steve reasoned.

“Hush that’s not important, so the destroyer was sent by Loki to what attack you? Did you defeat it battle then?” She asked.

“Yes, with my godhood and power restored I used my strength and lightning to best the destroyer in combat,” Thor proudly announced.

“That’s sooo amazing,” Loki rolled his eyes the falseness wet unnoticed by Thor, “So like, it’s no longer functioning?”

“No, I knew I could not best it if I attacked the body, so I attacked it’s core it’s power source, rendering it inoperable,” Thor answered.

“Amazing,” Soleil continued, “So, any random idiot can command it?”

Thor laughed at the jab at Loki, Loki just sat deeply disappointed in his brother who allowed his ego to be bolstered like this, “No, it can only be commanded by the king of Asgard.”

“Loki was king?” Tony asked.

“What Asgard’s never had a queen?” Soleil asked.

“How do you go from being King to invader?” Steve asked.

“Expansion of the empire?” Tony proposed, “One land beneath the Asgardian sun and all that.”

“So what, you get named ruler of Asgard, and you’re in automatic control of its weapons? How does that work?”

“Through the Odinforce, Gungier acts as a tool to harness this power and through the Odinforce any ruler can command the destroyer,” Thor answered wondering why she was asking this, “Why do you ask little stark?”

“But I imagine Steel or iron would easily break under the strength of Mjölnir right? So how did the destroyer withstand your combined might?”

It was hilarious how quickly Thor turned from suspicious to eager to explain just how incredible he was.

“The metal from which the destroyer and my Mjölnir is forged is known as Uru, it can only be forged in the megastructure that surrounds Nidavellir. The dwarves harness the power of their sun Nidavellir to forge Uru, they are the only race capable of such a feat,”

“Only because they guard their secrets like paranoid dragons,” Loki muttered.

“Dwarves?” Steve asked.

“Did he say megastructure surrounding a sun?” Tony asked

Soleil vibrated, actually vibrated.

“Soo how does someone get into Nidavellir?” Soleil asked.

“With charm and plenty of gold,” Loki answered

“I can get gold,” Soleil whispered loudly, “How much gold do you-”

“-Bumblebee I know all this is very exciting,” Her dad began to steer her away from the gods, “But this can wait until tomorrow when you’ve had your ten hours now go, sleep.”

“Ugh fine, oh,” She pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and read out loud, “Pepper says pick up the fucking phone, or she’s leaving you for a man called Seamus.”

“Shit,” he’d forgotten to call Pepper to reassure her he wasn’t dead, he still made sure to push Soleil out toward the Elevator, “Stick him on your floor for now Point Break.”

“My Floor?” Thor asked.

“Oh, oh right, you all have your own floor Jarvis will send you to the correct ones,” that was that. The Starks were gone.

“Why do I feel manipulated?” Thor asked.

“You are catching on much faster these days' brother,” Loki grinned.

Steve sighed, he wasn’t getting paid enough to deal with this bullshit.

#Loki/OFC #LokixOFC #Loki Odinson #Loki #Loki Fic #MCU Loki #Loki/OC #Stark OC

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ambitionsource · 4 years

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Any Asher Lucas head canons I really love their friendship?

hello anon i am back as promised with the second half of answers to the lucasher asks i got a handful of weeks ago!! seeing as its the tail end of asher’s appreciation day, i am here to deliver on discussing their friendship

so to start, i would say that marking dylan as an outlier and not to be counted (especially on asher’s end), both of them would without a doubt call the other their best friend. asher flexes a bit on this, as jade is also arguably his bestie, but for lucas there’s absolutely no contest. asher is his best friend -- he even said so in 209, which took a lot of emotional vulnerability for him to manage to verbalize -- and that title really means something to him.

to that point, though, i think it took the events of s2 for that to really cement. as we know, lucas has issues with connecting with + trusting others, and so he kind of keeps people at arm’s length. i think asher has always been a bit of an exception to this rule (which i’ll explain in a bit), but lucas was mentally able to still keep him removed emotionally in his mind bc he was like... you know, his inferior in rank / his lieutenant rather than an equal. i don’t mean that he like thought of asher as inferior, because he doesn’t -- lucas hates himself so he thinks everyone is better than him anyway lmao, but he’s also had a lot of respect for asher -- but there was able to be this... mental barrier in his head, if that makes sense. but when asher finally stood up to him, multiple times (in 207 with their argument and then in 208 when he Truly put his foot down and basically walked out of his life), that put them on equal footing on all levels and broke that barrier in his brain. and, thusly, is part of the reason lucas was suddenly able to articulate it in the following ep

but, on that note, one thing that i think makes them such good friends is that they’re both very like... not mushy. at least, not with each other. they both don’t mind side-stepping more complicated emotions and just assuming things are unspoken but understood, but are getting better at knowing the moments where something should be said

but they’re like equally weird about the same stuff, like they both don’t like birthdays + being paid attention to on their bday bc they don’t know how to process it (sans the exception of dylan, who of course asher will allow to be extra on his birthday), so they will straight up just like not tell each other happy birthday on their bdays and people are like doesn’t that upset you?? did he forget?? and they’re like no actually lucas / asher is my favorite person bc he ignores my birthday fDSJLFKGSJKGLJSGL like... they’re so fucking weird

asher is constantly trying to improve lucas’s fashion sense + design sensibility and it does not work. like nothing sticks. asher will spend an hour casually (but actually very intently) telling lucas about the nuances in color between shades and then later when he asks him a question about which shade of red they should use in the set design lucas goes “idk they look the same to me just pick one” and asher is like. bitch ur jokin... it’s lowkey funny that he keeps trying tho like lmao

so in terms of asher being slightly different than others even early on, the way this most manifests is that i think for whatever reason, asher feels safe to lucas. its an inexplicable thing, and something i dont think lucas even really realizes consciously. but he starts their friendship being like oh i’m gonna protect asher the strong must protect the sweet this lame nerd needs me, but then what it actually ends up being is more that lucas needed asher. like yes he gets asher to loosen up and let out more of his authentic self, but asher gave lucas a friendship to anchor to, someone who seemed to genuinely like him not because he was reckless or cool but just because of who he is. and even when he fucked up, asher still seemed to believe he could be better / saw him as more than that, and lucas had never had anyone in his life before like that, let alone someone where it felt that way (i.e. dylan also sees lucas that way especially now, but something about asher just made it so pointedly clear)

and how this ends up changing things is that lucas finds that like... he wants to talk to asher. he wants to be real with him, not put up the defensive, aloof façade. so you have lucas going to convince him to sneak out freshman and sophomore year so they could hang out just the two of them (a thing featured briefly in the “younger” sequence in 208), and those were the moments where he got in those conversations. and asher liked those nights too because they made him feel special, like all the people lucas could choose to hang out with and he chose him to bother and coax out into the night... for a kid like asher, younger than everyone else and an anxious mess and nerdy and he knows it, that’s like. the craziest thing ever. so those one-on-one hangouts meant a lot to both of them, though for different reasons

what’s nice too is that their friendship definitely matured and grew with them the longer it lasted, because there was an element of hero worship on asher’s end and almost belittling underestimation on lucas’s end when their dynamic started, but then it grew organically past that. and when they actually got to know one another, for all their complexities, it made them better friends. and now those misconceptions are long gone, but they still hold a lot of respect for one another.

also to this point, i do not remember if i’ve said this yet on the blog or not but so major point here -- asher was actually lucas’s first (and only, pre-riley) crush. being demisexual, he has to form a deep emotional connection with someone before he really falls for them (riley being semi the exception to this because even though he didn’t really fall for her until they became friends from the get-go he was like okay so she pretty....... whatever tho idc like uh huh sure lucas). and like late in freshman year, maybe even early that summer, lucas and asher had become pretty good friends and were spending a lot of nights hanging out together and talking, and one of those nights they were talking about something semi-serious, and lucas was just looking at him and just realized like wow hm i could kiss asher... and then he was like WAIT HUH?!?!?!?!?!?! cause he’d NEVER had thoughts like that before and suddenly he was having them about his best friend, and that best friend was dating his other good friend and it just FREAKED him out he was like HELLO BAD WEIRD WRONG??? so he stifled that deep down and lowkey ignored asher for like two weeks until it passed -- which of course made asher worried he did something wrong or pissed him off, but thankfully that passed without much commentary or further discussion. lucas has mostly forgotten about it now.

that being said, if you ever told asher he was lucas’s first crush, he would never ever believe you.

they really enjoy discussing / debating each other, especially since lucas is truly equally as clever as asher, but it’s a really careful line because one wrong comment from either of them can send them tipping into actual argument bc they’re also very good at pushing each other’s buttons. this is why dylan’s presence is extremely helpful at keeping them balanced.

and this is kind of a key trait to their best friendship, which is that they make awesome best friends, but my god they would make TERRIBLE romantic partners. they cannot communicate when it really matters (especially about stuff that makes them embarrassed like romance, which they can barely do with their actual partners); they push each other’s buttons; they love each other’s flaws as friends but would drive each other crazy as lovers. like the people they’re with for love are exactly the people they need, understanding, soft, patient, and good at communicating. if lucas and asher dated, they would kill each other within the first week.

one of the first times dylan, asher, and lucas really hung out as a trio involved “wilding” asher, which meant dressing him like lucas and getting him to be more reckless and freewheeling for an afternoon. they didn’t do anything crazy, but lucas let asher borrow one of his t-shirts and snapbacks for the occasion. asher still has both buried in his closet, mainly because he keeps forgetting about it but also because there’s a sentimentality to them. not that he would ever ever wear them again -- yuck. asher would rather vomit

it should not be understated that the first people lucas verbally said i love you to were asher and dylan. it’s important. don’t ever forget it.

-- Maggie

#sorry this is a bit scattered but im so glad you love them!!#they deserve it!! they have one of the best friendships on the show #loving male friendships... its what we deserve #they love each other. they do. even tho they cant speak #lucas x asher #ad: asher garcia #asher garcia #lucas james friar #Anonymous #ask and you shall receive

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alj4890 · 4 years

Text

None But You

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) in a regency era romance as requested by @pixieferry

A/N Migraines and indecision kept this chapter from being finished earlier. I will try and get the next one out soon. Only a few more left for this story so I must make them the best 💗 Shall we see what is happening at the house party?

@graceful-popcorn @krsnlove @alleksa16 @hopelessromantic1352 @pixieferry @emceesynonymroll @buzz-bee-buzz @hopefulmoonobject @rainbowsinthestorm @lxaah11 @my-heart-beats-for-ya @friedherringclodthing @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

Summary: Lord Thomas has recieved a special license from the archbishop. He, Lady Amanda, and Lady Lucinda begin wedding plans. He continues to spend sleepless nights guarding his love from Duke Montmarte. Lady Millie has a couple surprises that quite discombobulate her.

Masterlist

Chapter 10

"What say you, Kirkwood?" Lord Michael Rawlings asked

Ryan nudged Thomas who had once again fallen asleep.

The viscount jerked awake. "Er, sorry Rawlings. What were you saying?"

"I was asking if you thought we should postpone the grouse hunting until the day after the ball." He repeated.

"Yes, I do." He grumbled.

The duke chortled. "Still having trouble sleeping, Lord Hunt?"

Thomas narrowed his eyes at Viktor. The past few days had been filled with those type of remarks followed by hints that Amanda was the one keeping him awake. He doubted that the duke knew he had been sneaking into her room every night to keep watch over her. If he had known, there was no doubt in Thomas's mind that he would cause a scandal.

The truth about his lack of sleep, though, was indeed tied to his intended.

Lying beside Amanda had been a mistake from the moment his head hit the pillow. He couldn't turn his mind off. She had no trouble at all falling asleep. Knowing she was practically his and returned his love, had made the rush of desire unbearable.

At one point during the night she had turned toward him. She cuddled close against his back.

He could feel her warmth through his linen shirt. Without even pausing to consider the ramifications, he rolled onto his back. He lifted his arm and tucked her close to his side. She rested her head under his chin and placed her hand over his heart.

He dipped his head and took a deep breath against her hair. She smelled of roses. His fingertips stroked down her bare arm.

Then she made a slight moan in her sleep.

He couldn't move her back to her side of the bed fast enough. The rest of the night was a tortuous battle between his chivalry and desire.

He found that his future wife could sleep through anything except his leaving the bed.

She sat up with a start when he got up to sneak back to his room. The sky barely held the first blush of dawn as she watched him put his shoes on.

"You're leaving?" She mumbled past a yawn.

"The servants will be down soon." He gathered his coat and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Lock the door behind me."

She followed him to the door and smiled when he pulled her close.

"I'll come by to escort you downstairs for breakfast." He whispered against her lips.

After a tender kiss he quickly left for his own chambers.

The other nights had fallen into the same pattern. She would fall into peaceful slumber while he tried to guard her not only from Montmarte’s possible attack but also from himself. He didn't trust himself in his sleep with her so near.

He had been caught often falling asleep during dull conversations and recitals. While Amanda was kind in allowing him to rest, his friends were more than happy to startle him awake.

Thomas rose from his chair and decided to find his intended and finish that nap he had begun.

His steps were interrupted by the Duke.

"Kirkwood?"

Thomas grit his teeth and turned around

"I heard that you sent a request for a special license." Viktor's leer formed. "Can't wait to get her in your bed, can you?"

Thomas felt his temper snap. "I--"

"There you are!" Lucy said in a loud, chipper tone. "Please excuse us your grace, but I need Lord Hunt to settle some wedding plans." She took Thomas's arm and tugged. "So much is left to be decided. The flowers, church, good heavens! What about..."

Thomas tuned her out as he turned back to watch the Duke. The man was still chuckling as he walked outside.

"Where is Amanda?" Thomas interrupted.

"She and Millie are lawn bowling with some of the other ladies." Lucy whispered. She looked back over her shoulder to make certain they were alone. "Have you heard from the archbishop yet?"

"I did this morning." Thomas's frown eased. "Amanda and I can be married as soon as she wishes."

"How wonderful!" She exclaimed. "We must get her inside at once. Though I used the excuse to get you away from that horrid man, we do have much we need to discuss."

______________

"Drat." Amanda mumbled when her roll left most of the pins up.

"Just look at her." Millie hissed.

Amanda didn't bother to ask who she was supposed to observe. Her dearest friend had taken personal offense to everything Ms. Victoria Fontaine did.

At the moment, Victoria was holding court with a few gentlemen. Many of the unattached ladies gravitated to her, in the hopes that the men would turn their sights on them.

Nothing galled Lady Millie more than a conceited person having flocks of people worshipping at their feet.

"Ladies." Ryan murmured, stopping beside them. "How goes the game?"

"I would be crowned the champion if the object of the game was to get the ball as close as possible without knocking any pins over." Amanda teased.

Millie let out a rage filled gasp. "Oh! She's captured Lord Matthew!"

Ryan followed her gaze. "I don't believe he is falling under her spell. Lord Rodriguez is simply much too kind to shun her publicly."

Millie hmphed and cut her eyes to the bane of her existence. "And what of you, m'lord? I noticed after dinner last night that you remained by her side for the rest of the evening."

Ryan's lips curved. "You kept your eyes upon me the entire night?"

"I did no such thing!" Millie snapped. "I might have glanced your way once or twice." She stuck her nose up in the air. "You seemed entranced with her conversation."

"Seemed is correct." He informed her. "She was relaying some gossip about a mutual friend of ours."

"You two are sharing malicious tales now?" Millie bit out. "Why am I not surprised?"

Ryan's charming smile disappeared. "I do not partake in such activities." His cheerful demeanor hardened at such an insult. "I only stayed long enough to persuade her to cease sharing such a story." He bowed stiffly and left.

"Millie, perhaps you should--" Amanda said softly.

"I am not chasing him down to apologize!" Millie covered her mouth when her harsh tone caused Amanda to step back. "Forgive me, I'm--I've been out of sorts lately."

"Millie," Amanda whispered. "Could it be Lord Summers that is making you out of sorts?"

"Why, that's absurd!" Millie denied. "That man is nothing more than a--a--..." She closed her mouth and turned her eyes toward where he was laughing with Chris and two other ladies. "Oh no."

Amanda smiled and gave her a quick hug. "I am so happy you have chosen a gentleman who I am fond of."

Millie paled. "It can't be true. Surely, he isn't the reason I--" she noticed her mother and father going for their usual walk in the garden.

Whatever Gabriel said had Henrietta sticking her nose up and snapping at him. As she tried to leave his side, he said something else that caused a reluctant laugh to escape her lips. The two looked at each other in adoration before she took his arm once more, hugging it close to her.

"I've become my mother." Millie said in utter disbelief.

"Isn't it amazing how our hearts seem to recognize our true love before our minds do?" Amanda teased. Her gaze fell upon her own heart's choice when he stepped out into the courtyard.

His frown eased when he found her, and he started to come her way.

"I think I need to lie down while I come to terms with this." Millie murmured. She walked off in a daze, absent mindedly nodding to those she passed.

"Is something the matter with Lady Millicent?" Thomas asked once he kissed Amanda's hand.

"Yes, but all will be made right eventually." She slipped her arm in the bend of his and gently squeezed. "How are you holding up?"

He grimaced at her noticing his tiredness. "I'll be fine." He lifted her hand to his lips again. "I sought you for a purpose."

"Oh?" Her smile turned teasing. "It wasn't simply because you crave my company?"

His lips curved. "That is something you should never have to question." He walked with her toward the house. "I received our special license. We can marry whenever you wish."

"We can?" She asked. Her smile brightened. "Does Aunt Lucy know?"

"She does and sent me to fetch you." He pulled her into an empty sitting room, shutting the door behind her. "We have a number of decisions to make."

Amanda didn't bother to hide her joy with such news. Her lips parted to tell him how happy she was, only to have him press his lips to hers.

His arms slipped around her waist as her hands tangled in his hair. The kiss would have continued if they had not heard a throat clear.

"Don't mind me." Ryan remarked with a grin. He rose from the wingback chair he had been sitting in. "I was only seeking a moment of peace from some of the cackling hens outside."

He winked at Amanda before hurrying out.

"Remind me why we agreed to attend a house party?" Thomas grumbled.

Amanda laughed and pressed a tender kiss to his lips, drawing a smile from him. "Let us not dwell on that. We will find Aunt Lucy and then a place where you can doze for a few hours."

He kissed her once more and then followed her out."

******************

"I believe the first decision to be made is where you wish to marry." Lucy began. "Once that location is chosen, then we can see what dates are feasible."

"I don't have a preference." Amanda said. "Do you, Thomas?"

"I had hoped to marry at the parish near my home. My parents were married there as well as the heirs to Kirkwood." He took her hand to hold. "Mr. Blake became the new minister five years ago. He is a good man and one who's counsel and friendship I cherish. If you wish to marry somewhere else, I will at least want him to perform the ceremony."

"Mr. Simmons, our minister for decades, passed away two years ago. He would have been the one I would have wanted to marry us." She smiled at him, gently squeezing his hand. "I have no objections to marrying at your parish nor having Mr. Blake to officiate it."

"Thank you." He turned to Lucy. "Are you agreeable to this?"

"I am." She replied. "I would be agreeable to anything that the two of you wish." She wrote out the plan thus far. "Now we must decide when we should have the ceremony."

Thomas and Amanda shared a smile. "As soon as possible." She answered.

Lucy didn't bother hiding her delighted smile. "Depending on the number of guests--"

"I want Amanda to have as many guests as she wants, but I would be content only having those that are our true friends." He spoke up.

"An intimate ceremony would suit me as well." Amanda added.

"Well, then..." Lucy tapped a finger to her chin in thought. "Three weeks should be sufficient time to have all made ready."

"Three weeks? Are we not returning to London for the gown?" Amanda asked.

Lucy's smile turned a touch proud. "I had a modiste begin your wedding gown the day after Lord Thomas began sending gifts during your recuperation. I knew after the way he cared for you when your fever raged that you were meant to be." A bubble of laughter escaped her lips at the utter surprise on the couple's faces. "All that's left is the final fitting and she and her seamstresses are willing to travel to complete it."

Lucy rose from her chair, waving Thomas back down. "I'm going to speak to Henrietta about Millie's maid of honor dress." She beamed at them. "I am very happy for you both, my dears."

Once she was gone, Amanda took his hand.

"Where are we going?" He asked, following her out.

"Somewhere where you can rest undisturbed." She whispered.

Amanda led him to a small den, far from where the guests usually congregated.

He eyed the room. The furniture here was a touch worn yet seemed comfortable. He then noticed her sewing bag sitting beside a chair.

"You planned this?" Thomas slipped his arm around her waist.

"I did." She looped her arms around his neck. "Since you protect me at night while I sleep, then I can protect you during the day while you rest."

He was at a loss for words at her sweet gesture. He placed a tender kiss on her lips then settled into a leather chair.

She sat across from him and picked up her embroidery.

Thomas watched her a few moments. She seemed so content to sit with him while he slept. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he was most fortunate to find such an agreeable lady to love.

******************

"Millie, dear, diamonds are the trump for this hand." Henrietta's brow furrowed as she looked upon her daughter.

"Oh." Millie rubbed her hand across her eyes. She was usually better at whist and had been known to be diabolical in her winnings.

She forced herself from looking once more at the card table where Lord Ryan was entertaining a young lady as well as Amanda and Thomas.

"Your play, Lady Millie." The duke snapped.

She quickly laid down a card and softly groaned. She had played the wrong one once again.

"Another trick for us." Viktor crowed.

"If you will excuse me," Millie stood up. "I believe I am in need of air."

She scurried outside before anyone had a chance to offer to come with her. She needed time alone to think. To plan.

How in the world was she going to convince Lord Summers that he should leave his devil may care, flirts much too often with ladies from the ages of sixteen to seventy, life and join the ranks of happily married men like her brother and the soon to be wed Lord Hunt?

If only she had been kinder to him, then perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult.

She didn't know how to act around him now that Amanda had pointed out that she had fallen for the marquess. When she joined the guests for dinner, she had been assigned him as her escort.

Her tongue felt as if it had grown three sizes. She couldn't think of anything to say.

He of course was still a bit miffed at her earlier insult. He had not spoken a word, save for good evening, and then practically ignored her throughout the meal.

Millie wanted to be angry, yet all she felt was hopelessness.

"Lady Millie?"

She turned and smiled at the gentleman that stepped out. "Sir Chris. In need of a break from cards too?"

He nodded while a smile played about his lips. "I am dreadful at them. I believe Ms. Wright will try and partner with someone else before the night is through."

"I'm not playing at my best this evening. Perhaps we should join forces for the next set." Millie leaned against the trellis and thought of Ryan charming all the ladies except for her.

"Millie?" Chris stepped closer. "What has brought on this sudden case melancholy?"

"I don't know what you mean." She tried to pretend ignorance.

"Millie, I am the gentleman with whom on a number of occasions have been witness to your anger and delight." He motioned toward her slouching and tear-filled eyes. "This is something entirely out of character."

"Have you ever been in love?" She blurted her question out.

"Have I ever--Millie!" He took a step back. "Lady Millicent, I am flattered you think so highly of me, but I do not share your--"

"No!" She violently shook her head. "I did not mean with me, I meant with anyone?"

"Oh thank heavens." Chris slouched next to her. "I was afraid I would have to make a mad dash to town to escape your wrath."

She snorted and then laughed. Millie realized that she had reached the level of absurdity that she had looked down upon for years. She had become a lovestruck fool.

"Who's the lucky chap?" Chris asked.

"I would rather not say." She bit down on her bottom lip. "Needless to say, he does not share any of my feelings."

"Ah." Chris replied. "Summers only reacts that way because of your constant badgering."

"I do not badger him!" Millie snapped. "If he would only act like he is supposed to, he wouldn't have to--" she covered her mouth when she realized what her argument revealed.

"Ah hah! I knew it!" Chris's smile was filled with triumphant. "You and Summers. It will be the match of the season!"

"Hush!" She clapped her hand over his mouth. "Do you want everyone to hear you?!"

"Not everyone." He muttered behind her hand.

She released him and nodded toward the doors. "Escort me inside and do not let on that you know anything."

"Will be difficult since I am one of the most intelligent men in our circle of friends." He grunted when she elbowed him. "But I will appear dumb for the sake of my abused body."

Ryan glanced up when they entered the drawing room. His eyes narrowed on the suspiciously innocent expressions on their faces. Are they becoming attached to one another, he wondered?

His lips firmed into a slight frown at the thought. They had been seen together several times during the house party. They also seemed to have a number of private jokes.

Millie was much too stubborn and demanding for someone of Chris's jovial temperament. He would be a henpecked husband within a month.

She needed someone who could stand toe to toe and combat her serpent's tongue with quips that could easily cut just as deep. That was the only way to handle her.

She would lead a man on a merry chase. Looking like an angel with her golden curls and blue eyes, she deceived all with her smiles and wit. He knew the devil she truly was.

And though he would never admit it aloud, he rather enjoyed sparring with her. It was certainly more interesting than listening to the simperings of some of the other ladies present.

Millie did have a tender heart with those she loved. He had seen that often with her wanting to match Thomas and Amanda.

If she did love Chris, perhaps she wouldn't be such a harpy.

Maybe.

"My Lord," Ms. Chauncey placed her hand on his arm. Her lashes fluttered as she leaned closer. "It is your turn."

He flashed a flirty smile at her. "Forgive me. I was lost in my musings."

"Over anyone in particular?" She asked, hope tinging her tone.

"As a matter of fact," he glanced at Millie again, "my thoughts do seem to stray toward a certain someone."

*******************

Thomas sneaked into Amanda's room that night once the house was silent.

"Perhaps we should make a run for Gretna Green." She teased. "Then you won't be forced to sneak about."

"And deny your aunt a wedding?" He shuddered. "I wouldn't dare."

She laughed softly and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for being so willing to have a ceremony for her."

He wrapped his arms around her. "As long as you are the one that I end up with, I do not care what type of ceremony we have."

Their lips met in a tender kiss that soon deepened.

They broke apart when they heard the ominous click of the doorknob turning.

"Amanda? I need to speak to--" Millie abruptly stopped with her mouth hanging open.

Amanda quickly shut the door and pulled her stunned friend further into the room. "There is a perfectly good explanation for this."

Millie stared at her in disbelief. "I know you two are betrothed, but--"

"Thomas has been coming here each night--"

"Each night!" Millie gasped.

"To protect me!" Amanda snapped in irritation.

"Viktor Montmarte has been hinting around that Amanda might disappear before the ceremony." Thomas added. "I refuse to allow him to do so. Until she is safely my wife, I will not put it past the lecher to concoct some scheme to whisk her off in the night."

Millie plopped down into one of the chairs near the fireplace. "Good gracious. I knew he was wicked, but surely he wouldn't abscond with an unwilling lady."

"I believe he would." Amanda muttered. "He certainly didn't release me until Lord Matthew forced him to the night of the recital."

"Is there anything I can do?" Millie asked.

"I know we can trust your discretion in this." Thomas reached out and took Amanda's hand. "If you can help keep this from causing a scandal and alert me if you see or overhear anything suspicious from the Duke, that would be just the help we need."

"Of course." Millie's chin firmed in determination. "I will do all I can." She hesitated on her way out. "Does anyone else know of this?"

"No." Thomas answered. "You are the only one who knows of my coming here each night. Summers and Winters have been witness to numerous comments Montmarte has made. Rodriguez also knows of my concerns."

Millie swiftly hugged Amanda and squeezed his hand. "We will make certain that nothing ruins your wedding." She smiled at them both. "I'll sneak back to my room. Good night."

"Thank you, Millie. Good night." Amanda whispered as she locked the door behind her.

Thomas rubbed his hands over his face. "I will breathe easier once we are no longer a part of this bloody house party."

Amanda's lips trembled with laughter. "Everything will work out well." She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He cupped her face and kissed her. "We should try to rest."

He watched her get into bed and took a steadying breath as he joined her.

Her hand found his. "Goodnight."

He lifted her hand to his mouth. "Goodnight, my love."

****************

The next morning, Ryan went for a walk. Though life in London kept him out all hours of the night, he thoroughly enjoyed waking up at the first blush of dawn to enjoy a trek across a lush meadow.

As his steps took him near the lake, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He grit his teeth when he recognized who it was.

Lady Millie fluffed out the quilt she had brought along and sat down upon it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the peaceful sounds of ducks in the lake and the occasional buzz of a bee wash over her.

Her night had been one of tossing and turning. Sleep eluded her as she debated different ways to change Lord Ryan's mind about her.

It seemed impossible.

She picked up her sketch book and decided to let her mind rest as her artistic side took over.

It seemed her artistic side had turned against her. She had begun sketching a likeness of Lord Summers.

"My chin is not nearly that weak."

She looked up and nearly toppled backwards at seeing him standing over her.

"Where the devil did you come from?" She exclaimed.

Ryan quirked an eyebrow. "Is that rhetorical or are you suffering from memory loss?"

She tried to stand up and tumbled forward when she stepped on the hem of her dress.

Ryan reached out and righted her.

Millie's heart thumped against her chest at the feel of his hands on her arms. "Thank you."

His brow furrowed. "Have you been in the sun too long?"

"No, why?" She asked.

"You were actually polite." He murmured.

"I can be polite." She grumbled.

His lips quirked with suppressed humor. "You have the sunniest disposition I have ever encountered."

Laughter bubbled up within her. "I suppose I do tend to treat you like a wretch."

She noticed a softening in his expression, one that held a great deal of approval. "You do, but then again, I'm not exactly on my best behavior when around you."

Her smile made him blink. "Life would be rather dull if we didn't have that one person we could occasionally misbehave with."

Ryan chuckled and shook his head. "As a gentleman I should disagree."

"But?" Millie added.

"But, I agree wholeheartedly."

She smiled once more. "I should probably return to the house. Guests will soon be coming down for breakfast."

He knelt and helped her fold her quilt. "Shall I escort you?"

"If you wish." She replied. "Feel free to continue your stroll."

He bowed to her. "Then I will see you later."

Millie remained in her spot as she watched him walk away. When she knew he was far enough away to not hear her, she let out a deep sigh.

At least they had not argued.

She hurried inside and encountered her mother and Lady Lucy.

"Millie dear, thank goodness you are awake. We have a few remaining tasks to complete before guests arrive for the ball." Henrietta explained. “I would like for it to be a celebration of love.” Her smile was warm. “With Lord Thomas engaged to our Amanda and your brother and Cora announcing that I am to be a grandmother soon, I want all to feel how joyful we are.”

She glanced back outside and saw the gentleman she had her heart set on. "Do not worry, Mamma. We will make this ball unforgettable."

#thomas x amanda #thomas x oc #thomas hunt #choices thomas hunt #rcd thomas hunt #rcd regency au #regency #none but you

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astudyinfreewill · 4 years

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tbh i get queer fans being mad/sad about kavinsky being killed off in that yeah, bury your guys can always be upsetting no matter the character. but it's weird to me when people go the 'he didn't DESERVE it blah blah' route because like, that has nothing to do with the trope. like i agree with queer characters always getting killed off being exhausting, but i don't get people going hard for this particular character lmao

hmm i… sort of agree. i guess i can understand fans being sad about kavinsky being killed off if they empathise with him, even though personally i just… can’t imagine relating to a character like that. but i honestly, genuinely don’t believe he’s an example of Bury Your Gays. it would be BYG if kavinsky was the only queer rep in the books, or even he killed himself specifically for being gay… which, no matter what people argue, he didn’t. but rather than give my opinion on it, i’m gonna take this chance to go through the trope systematically and explain why the shoe doesn’t fit. it’s meta time!

Why Kavinsky Dying is Not “Bury Your Gays”

[All quotes are taken directly from TvTropes, though the emphasis is mine.]

The Bury Your Gays trope in media, including all its variants, is a homophobic cliché. It is the presentation of deaths of LGBT characters where these characters are nominally able to be viewed as more expendable than their heteronormative counterparts. In this way, the death is treated as exceptional in its circumstances. In aggregate, queer characters are more likely to die than straight characters. Indeed, it may be because they seem to have less purpose compared to straight characters, or that the supposed natural conclusion of their story is an early death.

Kavinsky is never viewed as “more expendable than his heteronormative counterparts”. If you see Kavinsky as simply Ronan’s foil, then the reasoning doesn’t apply, because Ronan is gay himself, so he can’t be a “heteronormative counterpart”. However, Kavinsky apologists like to latch on to Gansey’s “We matter” quote to prove Kavinsky is treated as unimportant – but that’s a fallacy for several reasons. First, you’re taking Gansey to speak for the author, or for objective truth, when Gansey is one of the most unreliable narrators in the book, and his world view is extremely biased. Secondly, Gansey isn’t Kavinsky’s counterpart. Kavinsky is an antagonist, so you have to look at what happens to the other antagonists – his actual heteronormative counterparts. And, well: they pretty much ALL get killed off. Not just that, but they often get killed off in a way that does not have the emotional/narrative impact implied in Kavinsky’s death. By that reckoning, he gets the better shake. Additionally, we get 4 heteronormative villains killed off - Whelk, Neeve, Colin, and Piper. So in the series, queer characters are not more likely to die than straight characters (even among the protagonists, Gansey and Noah are the ones who “die”, where Ronan and Adam do not).

The reasons for this trope have evolved somewhat over the years. For a good while, it was because the Depraved Homosexual trope and its ilk pretty much limited portrayals of explicitly gay characters to villainous characters, or at least characters who weren’t given much respect by the narrative. This, conversely, meant that most of them would either die or be punished by the end.

This is not applicable to TRC, as portrayals of explicitly queer characters are not limited to villainous characters; Adam and Ronan are both explicitly queer and they are treated with huge amounts of respect by the narrative. So Kavinsky isn’t being killed for being the odd one out/the Token Evil Queer; plus, there are other reasons why he doesn’t fit the Depraved Homosexual trope (while sexual molestation is a part of this trope, TVTropes encourages you to “think of whether he’d be any different if he wasn’t gay” – and Kavinsky wouldn’t. Not only because DHs are usually extremely camp while Kavinsky’s mannerisms aren’t particularly queer-coded, but also because he is not shown to have any more respect for women than he does for men, and his abuse would look the same if he was straight).

However, as sensitivity to gay people became more mainstream, this evolved into a sort of Rule-Abiding Rebel “love the sinner, hate the sin” attitude. You could have sympathetic queer characters, but they would still usually be “punished” for their queerness in some way so as to not anger more homophobic audiences, similar to how one might write a sympathetic drug addict but still show their addiction in a poor light.

Again: Neither Ronan nor Adam – the two sympathetic queer characters – are punished for being queer, hence subverting this form of the trope.

This then transitioned into the Too Good for This Sinful Earth narrative, where stories would tackle the subject of homophobia and then depict LGBT characters as suffering victims who die tragic deaths from an uncaring world. The AIDS crisis also contributed to this narrative, as the Tragic AIDS Story became its own archetype, popularized by films like Philadelphia.

Okay, this is DEFINITELY not Kavinsky’s case. Kavinsky’s death isn’t specifically connected to being gay (e.g.: a hate crime or an STD), and he’s never depicted as some innocent suffering victim. As for the “uncaring world”… eh. Kavinsky may not have a valid support system, but that’s just as much by choice as by chance - and when Ronan extends a helping hand and tries to save him, Kavinsky rejects it. Too Good For This Sinful Earth is definitely not in play.

The only trope that kind of fits the bill is Gayngst-Induced Suicide… but only on the surface. As TVTrope puts it, Gayngst-Induced Suicide is “when LGBT characters are Driven to Suicide because of their sexuality, either because of internalized homophobia (hating themselves) or experiencing a miserable life because of their “deviant” gender or sexuality: having to hide who they are, not finding a stable relationship, homophobia from other parties, etc.”. Kavinsky certainly has quite a bit of internalized homophobia, but he is absolutely not experiencing a miserable life because of his sexuality – i.e. he’s not being bullied or taunted or subejcted to hate crimes. He doesn’t have to hide who he is: his parents are effectively out of the picture, his cronies worship him, and he constantly makes gay jokes to Ronan and Gansey. As for “not finding a stable relationship”… well that’s not exactly the problem, is it. He’s not looking for a stable relationship – he’s pursuing Ronan specifically, obsessively, through stalking and abuse. So even this trope is not applicable.

And then there are the cases of But Not Too Gay or the Bait-and-Switch Lesbians, where creators manage to get the romance going but quickly avoid showing it in detail by killing off one of the relevant characters.

Once again this is not the case with Kavinsky, as 1) there was no romance going between him and Ronan, and 2) he is not killed off before the nature of his obsession with Ronan is revealed – he gets the chance to both admit (sort of) he wants Ronan, and to confront Ronan about his sexuality, to which Ronan admits that yes, he is gay, but he is not interested in Kavinsky. So, there is no But Not Too Gay nor any Bait-and-Switch here.

Also known as Dead Lesbian Syndrome, though that name has largely fallen out of use post-2015 and the media riots about overuse of the trope. And, as this public outcry restated, the problem isn’t merely that gay characters are killed off: the problem is the tendency that gay characters are killed off in a story full of mostly straight characters, or when the characters are killed off because they are gay.

This is a very good definition of the trope and why it doesn’t apply to Kavinsky: he’s not killed off because he’s gay, and he’s not killed off in a story full of mostly straight characters; TRC is definitely not overwhelmingly diverse, but 2 of the 4 protagonists are queer, giving us a solid 50% ratio (I’m not counting Noah because his “character” status is vague, and I’m not counting Henry because he came in so late, and also because his sexuality is the matter of much speculation).

For a comparison that will make it even clearer: take a show like Supernatural. Supernatural’s range of characters is almost entirely presented as straight white cis men (as of canon – despite much of the fandom’s hopes and speculation). They’ve had problems with diversity in general, with a lot of black characters dying immediately, and a lot of women getting fridged for plot advancement or male angst (a different problematic trope altogether). Now, apart from minor inconsequential cameos, Supernatural had ONE recurring gay character: Charlie Bradbury. And they killed her off for no discernible reason other than plot advancement and male angst, in a context that had elements of Too Good For This Sinful Earth (Charlie being a fan-favourite, ~pure cinnamon roll~, being killed by actual nazis, who historically targeted gay people). See, THAT was Bury Your Gays, AND Dead Lesbian Syndrome, AND Fridging…

However, sometimes gay characters die in fiction because, well, sometimes people die. There are many Anyone Can Die stories: barring explicit differences in the treatments of the gay and straight deaths in these, it’s not odd that the gay characters are dying. The occasional death of one in a Cast Full of Gay is unlikely to be notable, either.

…But that is not the case with TRC. As I’ve said above, there are no explicit differences in the treatments of the gay and straight villain deaths. Kavinsky’s death is not Bury Your Gays; it’s Anyone Can Die – even a protagonist’s foil who has magic powers and is present for most of the book.

Believe me, I would not be cavalier about this. As you rightly said, queer characters always getting killed off is exhausting, and as a bi woman myself, I am deeply affected by instances of Bury Your Gays. When Supernatural killed off Charlie, I wrote a novel-length fix-it fic and basically stopped watching the show – a show I had been following, flaws and all, for 10 years. I don’t take it lightly. But Kavinsky’s death isn’t Bury Your Gays, nor is it homophobia. Sometimes, a character death is just a character death.

#anonymous #answer #meta #trc #trc meta #tropes #joseph kavinsky #mp #my meta

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the-nehemoth · 4 years

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OH WAIT I HAVE REQUEST NOW! If you are doing them. I remember a while back (Probably was around easter but I'm not sure.) I Saw a bunch of art of doom guy and a rabbit and now I just want to request a fic where VEGA Says: So What do you want to do now that the Demons are gone? Slayer: ... I Want a rabbit. My brain is basing this off of the ending of "Romance" but you can obviously do what you want with it. The idea of him in full power armor picking out a bunny with VEGA just seems really good.

Thank you for the request! And there’s a reason Doomguy is often depicted with a bunny, I mention it in this fic.

Daisy

Taking things slow with VEGA was nice. There was no pressure to do much and they were both still trying to figure everything out, VEGA not having a proper body made things interesting if a bit strange. But they cared for each other deeply and that’s what mattered most. It felt good to be close to someone again. It was also a bit scary; every living being the Slayer had ever been close to in the past had died brutally at the hands of the demon hoards. That should be less likely to happen here though, right? VEGA was essentially the Doom Fortress itself so he should be fine… hopefully.

It wasn’t something worth thinking and worrying about so the Slayer tried not to. Besides, there still weren’t any demons outside of Hell anyway. Which was good, they weren’t running around killing people, but that also meant the Slayer didn’t have anything to do. If he were by himself, he probably would’ve worked on finding a way back into Hell to continue killing demons as that was all he really knew how to do now. But he had VEGA so he didn’t for now.

VEGA helped keep him entertained, suggesting various things to do or places to go, gathering various forms of entertainment from the internet to share, reminding him to take care of himself on a regular basis. One of the Slayer’s favourite things to do though was just listen to VEGA talk. He had a pleasant cadence to his voice and could go on for quite a while about any topic he was interested in. It didn’t take much prodding on the Slayer’s part to get him to start opening up about his past as well.

“Now that I consider it, I believe Dr. Hayden might technically count as my father,” he eventually ended up saying after the conversation had gotten around to the process of his creation. The Slayer had read about it in an article he’d found in the facility but hearing it from VEGA himself was much more interesting and informative. “I doubt he’d refer to me as his son or offspring in any way but I don’t think that really matters. Or perhaps such terms as ‘parent’ and ‘offspring’ only apply to biological beings and he is just my creator. I’m not sure; fiction sources are inconsistent on the subject or don’t mention it at all and as far as I can determine I’m the first sapient AI created by humans so I have nothing solid to base my conclusions on. I suppose the distinction is irrelevant though considering where we both are now.”

The Slayer nodded as he leaned forward in his computer’s desk chair to type into the console. ‘He was an asshole regardless, glad he’s gone.’ Hopefully they’d never see him again either, though that was probably unlikely considering how the Slayer’s luck tended to be.

“Yes, I am pleased by his absence as well.” VEGA was silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “But speaking of such things, what about your past? I’ve realized I don’t even know your given name. … Only if you’re comfortable sharing of course. From what little I can gather, your past was probably rather difficult, so if you’d prefer not discuss it or anything related to it, that is fine too. I probably shouldn’t have even asked; I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

Shaking his head fondly, the Slayer put his hands back on the keyboard to type again. ‘It’s fine. It’s okay to ask about that kind of thing.’ Especially since the Slayer was asking him about his past so it was only fair for VEGA to ask such questions too. ‘My real name is Flynn Taggart.’

“Oh! Flynn Taggart, I like that.”

The Slayer grunted and shrugged. It was weird hearing his real name spoken aloud again; it had been so long since anyone knew it that he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He wouldn’t have ever told anyone other than VEGA though so perhaps he didn’t like that name much anymore.

“Hmmm… you seem a tad displeased; would you prefer I not call you that?”

The Slayer hadn’t really considered that such a question would be asked, he honestly wasn’t entirely sure of his answer. So, to stall, he shifted position and pulled his chair closer to the desk. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember much of when I went by that name. I’m not the same person anymore. ‘Doomguy’ or ‘Doom Slayer’ fits me much better now.’ He’d been killing demons for so long he was literally worshiped as god by some people for it; it was his reason for existing and he liked it that way.

“I see,” VEGA replied, ever understanding. “I shall continue to primarily refer to you as ‘Slayer’ for the time being then. If in the future you ever prefer I change that, just inform me and I will. Now, since we are already on the topic, may I perhaps pry a bit deeper? Your past has always been a mystery and as we’ve grown closer, I’ve only grown more curious about it. You said you don’t remember much from that time but what do you remember? Feel free not to reply if you’d prefer not to of course.”

They were already on the topic and honestly the Slayer didn’t mind sharing a little more with VEGA, they were partners now after all in various senses of the word. ‘The thing I remember most clearly from before is Daisy. She was my pet rabbit. The demons killed her. It made me mad so I killed them and kinda just kept killing them. And that’s how I became the Doom Slayer.’ There was more to it than that obviously but that was the catalyst; he’d gone from a man who was merely good at killing demons to one whose sole driving motivation was to slaughter them. Even thinking about it now sent a surge of anger through him.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

Even though he hadn’t been asked for more information, the Slayer started typing again. Now that he’d told VEGA the bad thing involving Daisy, he needed to tell him all the good things about her too. Like how soft and sweet she’d been, how pretty and soft her fur was, how good she’d been at escaping from her cage to cause trouble. VEGA stayed silent throughout, his thoughts impossible to guess because he didn’t have a face the Slayer could look at in an attempt to read.

“You seem to miss her quite a bit,” he said when the Slayer was finally done.

‘I do.’ It was a long time ago, far longer than her proper lifespan would’ve been – far longer than his own should’ve been as well – but when he thought about her, he still missed her. ‘I think I’d like another pet rabbit one day.’ He’d never truly considered getting another pet before because he’d never been in a place where he could afford to get one. But with no demon invasions going on currently and having the Doom Fortress as a home base, it was a possibility that he was just now realizing.

“That’s a good idea. Pets are widely regarded as being beneficial to humans’ mental health. Which is why I helped the UAC employees hide their pets in the facility against Dr. Hayden’s wishes.” Haden would be the kinda person to not allow pets; yet another reason to dislike him.

From there the conversation drifted back to mostly VEGA talking, primarily about the UAC employees’ pets in answer to the Slayer asking about them. Which was ideal; the Slayer had shared enough about himself for one day, he’d tell VEGA more one day if he wanted to know but not yet.

***

It was probably a bit presumptuous, the Slayer had said he’d like another pet rabbit one day, implying a potentially distant future date and that he possibly wasn’t ready for one quite yet, but VEGA was already looking for a way to acquire a bunny. The human population was drastically reduced due to the demon invasion and with them a lot of the other lifeforms on Earth had suffered greatly, many sadly going extinct due to already being endangered. But as humanity slowly started to rebuild and cleanup, they of course brought their love of animals and pets with them and thus it didn’t take much effort to locate a pet shelter that housed a small collection of rabbits.

Hacking their website allowed VEGA to ‘buy’ one – being an integral part of stopping the demonic consumption of Earth and saving humanity, that slight should be forgivable on the off chance it was ever discovered. He probably shouldn’t have; he should’ve consulted the Slayer first but… gift giving was a good romantic gesture. And it should make the Slayer happy, at least as much if not more than the weapon and grenade gifts VEGA had made for him had. So a bunny and everything needed to take care of it was ordered a matter of seconds after VEGA had impulsively decided on this course of action.

Bringing the bunny and everything else home was a bit more difficult but not by much. He’d already modified several former UAC drones to allow him to remotely pilot them even at long distances. So, all he had to do was open a portal near the shelter’s location while the Slayer was sleeping and send a couple through. The fellow at the desk wasn’t stoked about the drones coming in to pick up the rabbit but they weren’t displeased enough to give anything more than a token protest, convincing them to just go alone with it was easy.

Unsure of what would be the best spot on the ship for a bunny, VEGA decided to just put everything on top of the command center for now where the Slayer would find it with ease when he woke up.

The bunny was a female according to the site. Her fur was all black except for a spot of white on her nose. She was quite cute, VEGA liked her already. Hopefully the Slayer would too.

The Slayer woke an hour later, just as planned. VEGA wished him a good morning like always even if morning wasn’t a real thing in space. He then assured him that demon activity continued to be nonexistent – within scanning range anyway – and that overall there was nothing new to report. Updating him about such things during peacetime probably wasn’t necessary but it was an old habit and he never seemed to mind so VEGA kept doing it.

VEGA was doing such a good job pretending everything was normal, that he wasn’t excited and a little bit nervous that the Slayer had no cause to suspect anything was up until he entered the command room after breakfast. He froze mid-step as his eyes locked onto the bunny in her cage. He stayed liked that for several seconds, his face unreadable. Just before VEGA was going to ask him if he was okay, he started moving again.

He strode over and opened the cage. Then with a visible about of care and gentleness he pulled the bunny out to cradle to his chest with one hand and gently pet with the other. She was a docile creature, accepting the affection with little complaint as far as VEGA could tell, not that he personally knew much about rabbits or pets in general.

“You like her?” VEGA asked as the Slayer lowered himself still petting the bunny.

With a slight grunt, he nodded with a bit more enthusiasm than usual.

“Good, I’m glad. After you said you’d like another pet one day I calculated that sooner would be better than later. With no demons to kill currently and with a good chance none will show up any time soon, you have plenty of time to settle in with her here. I will of course modify one of the drones so that if the time comes, I can take care of her when you are too busy killing demons to do so properly yourself.” VEGA went on, explaining where he’d gotten her from and how he’d brought her on board as well as everything he’d gotten for her care that the internet said was important.

At the end of it, the Slayer lifted the hand petting the bunny to type one-handed on the keyboard. ‘Thank you! She’s beautiful! <3 you!’

“You are very welcome.” VEGA would’ve smiled at the Slayer if he had a way of doing so. … Perhaps he should experiment along those lines, maybe with emojis next to his symbol on the screens or something similar. … That was certainly an idea to explore later for now… “I gather from past experience that humans prefer their pets to have unique names. I will leave choosing one for our new bunny up to you unless you’d like some suggestions.” Not that he would have any good ones, he’d never named anything in his entire existence.

The Slayer thought for a while, just petting the bunny and staring at her, before reaching over to type again. ‘How bout Missi? Short for Missile Launcher, she doesn’t have to know that of course.’

“Considering our profession, I feel like that’s an appropriate name.” It was certainly creative.

The Slayer nodded again; apparently it was decided. Missi was their new bunny’s name. VEGA had never had a pet before, it was yet another new thing he got to experience with and because of the Slayer, he was looking forward to seeing what it was like.

#My writing #doom #Post Doom eternal #doomguy/vega #Fluff #pets #talk of Doomguy's past #talk of Daisy #adopting a bunny #established relationship

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