#forgive me if by the end of this post i sound exhausted : i am
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Life in the City 5
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.
Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader
Note: Heloooooo.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
As promised, you’re shown to your new office by the end of the day. You put your meagre box of belongings on the desk and unpack a piece at a time. Isn’t an exhaustive task so you take your time.
You put your watermelon post-its by the base of the monitor’s pedestal and your cell phone screen lights up. It’s been buried in your bag for much of the day but you took it out to reconnect to your work accounts. Melanie’s name fills the top of the screen. You still haven’t responded to her since the weekend.
You swipe up your phone and cross the office. You answer as you shut the door, eking out a tiny hello as you turn back and bite your thumb. You pace aimlessly as your stomach knots. You don‘t think you’re mad at her, just embarrassed about how it all turned out. She knows how many times your excitement was burnt to disappointment, you hoped she wouldn’t have added to your pile ashes.
“Hey, girl, you busy? I’ve been calling you all week.”
It’s Tuesday, you think to yourself.
“I’m sorry, I just have a lot going on at work--”
“That’s great,” she interrupts, “did you see my texts? I really am sorry about the other night. You know, I was stressed. Clark was out of town for his job and I hadn’t seen him all week. Really, I didn’t forget about you, I just thought we were meeting Saturday, not Friday.”
Your mouth slants as you weigh her excuse. You don’t know if you believe her but it could be true. How long have you been friends? Doesn’t she deserve the benefit of the doubt?
“Everyone gets busy,” you say with a brittle laugh, “I totally get it. Next time I’ll be clearer, that’s all. Make sure there’s no misunderstanding.”
“Of course,” her voice is trills and is overly affected, “I just wanted to check in since Clark said you were so upset.”
“He did?” You frown as you stop by the desk and take your stapler out of the box.
“Uh, yeah, he did. So, in the future, if your upset, you can just let me know, hon,” her tone drips like syrup, “we’re friends, aren’t we? I mean, it’s a big city and we gotta stick together.”
“Erm, sure, I’m sorry, I didn’t think... I wasn’t upset. I didn’t say anything, you know, I was just tired.”
“Whatever, hon, it’s behind us now, isn’t it? You forgive me?” She pauses, waiting.
“Y-yeah?” You answer.
“Aw, that’s so wonderful,” she chimes, “anyway, you sound busy. You must be working so I’ll let you go. Ciao.”
She hangs up and you hold the phone to your ear for a moment after the line dies. That was weird. Like she wasn’t really talking to you, but more putting on a show for someone. Strange.
You drop your arm and a knock comes at the door. You wince and put your phone screen down. You face the door and fold your hands.
“Uh, who is it?” You call out.
The door opens and a throat clears, “just me,” Thor says as he enters, “wanted to be sure you got some of the leftovers.”
He has a container in his hands. You try to blow off the tension and force a smile. You drop your arms straight and drag a finger up and down the seam of your pants.
“Thanks, that’s too sweet,” you chirp.
“Ah, I made sure to get you some cinnamon cookies,” he nears and offers the container.
“Oh, my, I shouldn’t,” you accept the box.
“You shouldn’t?” He wonders, “you’re not on some diet, are you? You hardly need one.”
You laugh nervously, “oh, no,” you back up and spin to put the container on the desk. You go back and reach into the box, “I just... I have a rotten sweet tooth, you know? Sugar keeps me up.”
“Mmm, well, you should indulge. Enjoy. Nothing wrong with allowing yourself the small things,” he goads, “so,” he claps his hands, the sound making you jump, “your office. How do you like it?”
He looks around theatrically as he pivots. You take out your small blue mug with the teddy bear on it and follow his gaze, “it’s nice. Big.”
“Yes, I suppose you don’t take up much space,” he remarks, “if you need any supplies, you can just let me know.”
“Oh, um, I shouldn’t. I... I could just contact finance--”
“Come to me,” he insists, “accounting takes too long.”
“Okay,” you agree.
“Are you excited?” He asks as he turns to you.
“Sure,” you answer.
“Mm,” he hums, “you’re sweet, but I don’t want you to stress. If there’s anything overwhelming me, don’t be afraid to let me know.”
“I know, thank you, Mr. Odinson.”
“Thor,” he corrects you with a wink, “you don’t know want to know Mr. Odinson.” He grins and you look at him blankly, “my father. He’s an old grump.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you put the cup down and rub your palms together, “it’s been a long day.”
“It has indeed,” he checks his watch, “you’re almost done... I should let you finish.” He flicks his finger towards your desk, “tomorrow, the heavy lifting begins.”
“Yeah,” you murmur.
“Don’t forget your treats,” he points to the container, “you’ve earned it.”
“Right, thanks again,” your smile trembles as fatigue nips at the corner of your eyes.
“See you tomorrow morning,” he avows before he spins and goes to the door.
You return your attention to the box as you sense him hovering at the threshold. You think he’s looking at you but you’re too nervous to check. Finally, the door closes and you exhale and close your eyes. You can’t believe how much today has taken out of you and the days to come promise much of the same.
🏙️
You yawn as you come out of your building, eyelids heavy and itchy as you rub them with your knuckles. You hitch up your bag as you turn down the sidewalk and cross to the stop on the other side of the street. You barely slept through the anxiety and anticipation. The unknown stresses you out more than anything and you really have no idea what you’re walking into.
You let your head lean back as you give another silent roar of fatigue. You roll your shoulders and urge yourself to wake up. You got to get with it. You can’t show up at the office half-asleep.
The whir of an engine approaches and you look towards the direction of the bus route. Its too quiet to be a bus. Instead, there’s a vaguely familiar car that slows instead of passing. You squint and cross your arms defensively. You have to keep reminding yourself this is the city.
The window rolls down as you bounce on your feet awkwardly, “hey,” your name rises in the deep timbre.
You bend and find Clark smiling at you. Of course! That’s why you recognised his car.
“Heyyyy,” you say, “what are you doing... here?”
“Working on a story, actually. Was in the area and... what timing, huh?” He pushes his shoulder up as he keeps one hand on the steering wheel, “you on your way to work?”
“Yup,” you answer brightly, swallowing another yawn, “bus should be here soon.”
“The bus? Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to... that’s too far.”
“Where do you work?”
“Tempest,” you answer.
“Tempest? That’s right by the paper. I’ll take you, no problem.”
“Really?” Your brows arch dramatically, “that’s so nice of you.”
“Of course,” he pats the passenger seat and the door unlocks with a loud click.
“I owe you one." You open the door and get in, tempted to melt into the seat. It’s so much better than the stiff ones on the bus. Ugh, your head is tenuous at best. It could start pounding at any minute.
“How are you?” Clark asks as you buckle in.
“Alright,” you repress yet another yawn, “how are you? How’s Melly?”
“Melly?” He chuckles, “she’s fine, I think. I'm... fine too.”
“Oh...” you twiddle your fingers in your lap as he slowly leans on the gas and pulls away from the curb, “just fine?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve just been... talking a lot. You know, relationship stuff,” he drives with one hand, combing his other through his hair.
“Ah, right,” you nod, “hopefully it’s okay.”
“Huh,” he scoffs and puts his other hand on the wheel, “you’re a good friend.”
“I... guess,” you shrug. “I... I just think Melanie really likes you.”
“Oh, I know she does,” he laughs, “doesn’t keep her from being... how she is. I like her too but we both know she can be very demanding.”
“She can be,” you agree, “but I think that’s just her personality. Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.”
“Why would you want that?” he asks.
“Er...”
“I just mean, you’re you. Everyone’s different right and you’re just so sweet,” he says, “this world has enough Melanies.”
“Maybe,” you turn your head and cover your mouth as you yawn at the window.
“I’m dying for a coffee,” Clark says, his tone shifting smoothly with the topic, “how about you? Green tea?”
You look at him. He remembers your order? You rub your cheek and drop your hand to your lap.
“I’m okay, but thank you--”
“Really, it’s no big deal,” he flips the blinker on, “I need an espresso so, how about it? Iced, hot?”
You bite the inside of your lip. You really could use a boost. You don’t often get the chance. Your bus ride is too long to factor in a cafe run.
“Could I get a matcha latte, iced? I have some change,” you open your bag and shove your hand inside.
“Don’t worry about it,” he waves you off.
“Really, you’re giving me a ride. The least I can do--”
“The least you can do is let me buy your drink,” he insists, “because I kinda have a big favour to ask you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, uh, it’s for Melanie. You must know her birthday is coming up.”
“Yeah, I know--”
“I really wanna work through things with her and I figured if I threw her a party, maybe it’s better than all this talking,” he joins the queue for the drive thru, “and you’ve known Melanie a lot longer than me so you’re like an expert. Do you think you could help me out?”
“A birthday party? Well, I... could try. Mel’s always been the one into parties and planning and all that.”
“I’m not good at it either but you know what she likes. I could use help at least with colours or whatever,” he suggest, “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to. I’m not going to blackmail you with a car ride and a latte.”
You laugh rockily, “well, I could try. It wouldn’t be so bad and I should do something special. We’re both finally living in the same city. Maybe this would help with us too.”
“Us? You and... Mel?”
You give him a look then look through the windshield. You fidget as he rolls up to the speaker and orders. You wait until he’s done.
“Things were awkward the other day when I crashed your date night,” you say, “I’m sure you caught on.”
“Yeah, yeah, she wasn’t very gracious,” his tone lowers sharply.
“It’s okay. She didn’t mean anything. I’m not upset--”
“Did she apologise?” He asks abruptly.
“Uh, yeah, of course, but she doesn’t have to--”
“I think you deserve the apology,” he interrupts again. “You know, you don’t deserve to be walked all over like that. Hell, if I had friend like you, I think I’d treat you a lot better.”
“I’m not upset,” you assure him, his mood making you uneasy. It’s flattering he would be so upset on your behalf but you’d rather just put it all behind you, “she said sorry, it’s all good.” You wiggle your foot as you think, “alright, I can help with the party.”
“Ah, yes, you’re a life saver,” he pulls up to the window and pays. He gets the drinks and hands you the matcha before he slips his in the cup holder, “great, I’ll get your number and we can throw around ideas when you have a chance.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, I could...” the cup soaks your hands in condensation, chilling you, “I’ll do my best. I have a new assignment at work so I’ll be a bit tied up.”
“No problem, whenever you can. Hope you don’t mind if I send you a couple of pictures I saw,” he says, “tryna come up with a vision, you know?”
“That’s cool,” you pause to sip the matcha, nearly sighing at the refreshing flow that coats your stomach, “thank you so much for the tea.”
“Any time,” he says as he pulls out into the street, “anything you need at all.”
#clark kent#thor#dark clark kent#dark thor#dark!clark kent#dark!thor#clark kent x reader#thor x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#life in the city#au#multifandom#dcu#dc#marvel#mcu#avengers#superman
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Hi, I don't know if you understand me or go through this, I would like to know your feeling about it.
After all this circus (which I can't take anymore and after a few years in the fandom) I can't stand Caitríona anymore. I swear I try, I swear I try to get excited about her projects. I swear I try to understand her reasons, her anger, her antipathy towards us all these years. For a long time I managed to suppress this sad feeling I feel for her, but now it screams. I can not anymore.
On the other hand, I still support Sam, even more than I should, because he, along with her, plays the main role in the narrative and is not a saint. I think these feelings would be the signal to leave the ship. I no longer admire her, I no longer miss her, at least on social media, I no longer even want to see her face.
I feel bad for feeling this way, I don't know what to do. Have you ever felt like that? And before you start offending me, I'll tell you: I'm not anti, only or whatever. I am someone who paid a lot of attention to this narrative and ended up hurt, very hurt by them, by her specially…
Dear Feel Bad Anon,
I was just about to go to bed after a very, very long and dense day, but your question stopped me in my tracks. Story of my life, really: that banging on the dorm's door at midnight ('it's vile X, we just broke up, help') - ah, the memories. So, I will not let you down.
First of all, thank you for this ask. It is a genuine one, I know it. It takes a lot of honesty to write it down without cackle, hysteria and the everlasting 'they owe me' refrain (no, they don't owe anybody anything, because, Anon, do you owe anybody anything when you are that much in love? I am sure you don't give a hoot about Aunt Y and Neighbor Z, Anon, and fuck them and their curiosity, eh?). And, my goodness, you really do sound exhausted, here.
Take a good look at this pic I took in Mandalay (see post below) of a Yama Zatdaw (Ramayana) puppet show:
All these public ten years are summed up in here: the puppeteers (TPTB), the puppets (S&C) and the convenient prop ( T) in the middle.
Where are the private ten years? I could think of this Amarapura pic, taken the day after the puppet show:
And that is ok, Anon. It's them. Their lives. Their love. We are just peepers through a keyhole, in here: let's try and do it gracefully.
You don't like C anymore? S couldn't give a damn about how you feel, Anon, and forgive me if I sound brutal. He loves her and he already did the unthinkable for her. C does give a damn about you, however. Not because she cares about you, but because she probably thinks your intelligence and your questioning endanger her narrative and put at risk all the negotiated perks. This is why she thought intelligent to bark at you and publicly insult you: by a simple zealot reflex, her part of the bargain. It has nothing to do with her private truth. You are disappointed by a puppet, not the real C. Or, using this time Plato's Allegory of the Cave, you are mad at the silhouettes reflected on the walls of that cave, not at the people whose reflections you see - those people are outside the cave.
Get out of that mental cave, Anon. Stop racking your brains off trying to give definitive answers that cannot be honestly given with the amount of information we have. Stop obsessing about a visibly curated social media presence, online times and all this shit - they mean very little, especially at this point in time. Trust your heart and your intuition. Trust your life experience. Trust yourself, not me. All this side of the fandom can offer you is based on our own life paths and street smarts. Do I think it's legit? Of course, otherwise I'd not be here or I'd be a pervert. Do I think that together we'd be a step closer to what really is? Oh, by all means. But you are the only sovereign master of the course, here. You are the only one able to choose between believing or rejecting, staying on deck or jumping ship.
I chose to be interested in the puppeteers, Anon. The paper trail. The minute intricacies. The boring details Mordor does not want to see or doesn't know how to translate in simple English. That is really what keeps me going and that is something I will never publicly trade. The more I look into it, the clearer the picture is. Oh, for sure, I take great pleasure in seeing and discussing the script inconsistencies - don't we all? But to me and as I see it, this is the tip of the iceberg. The bar I set myself for public happenings, statements and all the shit show is very low. It avoids undue disappointment and even allows me to be relaxed about it. Not always. Not a perfect strategy. But it is my way of managing it and so far, it works.
Take at least a day off Tumblr. Think of it as detox. I can guarantee you will see it way clearer. I wish you well, Anon. And I really hope my long, long answer helped at least a little bit.
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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be
Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3
Chapter 14B: Where Do We Go Now?
Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Guns N’ Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]
Now and then when I see her face
She takes me away to that special place
And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry
- Guns N’ Roses, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” (1987)
Tucson || July 1988
It didn’t matter what Colum or the label or anyone else said – all recording studios looked the same on the inside.
Sure, there were always small differences. The really comfortable couches at Sound City in Los Angeles. Electric Lady in Manhattan still had the really cool paint scheme that Jimi Hendrix himself had designed. Muscle Shoals in Alabama oozed coolness.
But this studio, whose name he couldn’t and didn’t care to remember, nestled down a back street in Tuscon was…tired.
Almost as tired as Jamie.
The “quick three week tour” had stretched to eight weeks, with no end in sight. Theater shows had been upgraded to arenas. Playing to thousands and thousands of ecstatic fans. Pouring their hearts out night after night after night, and squeezing in radio promos and sound checks and business meetings during the day.
Fucking exhilarating.
Everybody wanted a piece of Print – their music, their story. Jamie still hadn’t granted too many interviews this tour, but the press ate up every word he said about sobriety and music and forgiveness. Insatiable for details about the woman he had met in rehab, and written all the new songs about, and refused to name publicly.
Print was making more money than they knew what to do with. The label had sprung for a private plane, and nobody in the band missed the rickety and smelly tour bus (except Claire, because it was still all so new to her, which Jamie added to the list of thousands of reasons why he loved her). Their hotel rooms were bigger. Catering in the dressing rooms was much nicer.
Fucking exhausting.
So many people wanted a piece of Jamie every day. Ian and Angus, to run through the new material that just kept pouring out of them. Colum, to talk ticket sales and adding second and third nights in each city. The suits from the label, who kept finding them in Dallas and Kansas City and Detroit, slapping Jamie’s back and pushing terrible ideas for duets with pop stars or contributing to a movie soundtrack or pleading to do the acoustic set in a special for MTV.
And on top of that, some dirtbag reporter from the National Enquirer had figured out who Claire was, somehow got a hold of her personnel file from the hospital, and tracked down her shitty ex-husband for an exclusive interview. Splashed her life all over the tabloids, complete with very grainy photographs of the she and Jamie together, holding hands, on a rare day off in Nashville when he took her to a few honky-tonks. The one saving grace was that thankfully, nobody at The Ridge had said a word about anything about her time there, or the time they shared together.
Claire took it all in stride. She always understood. Holding him in the bathtub of their suite in Denver as he shook from another panic attack. Smiling over a three AM hamburger at a diner in Topeka. Whimpering as he came off stage in Atlanta, sweaty and keyed up from singing about her, hoisting her in his arms for a long kiss against the lighting equipment at side stage, heart stuttering to see his eye makeup smudged against her cheeks.
The man he was on the last tour – unhappy, unfulfilled, so deep in an addition he didn’t care to acknowledge – would not recognize the man he’d become on this tour.
“In ’86, we played seventy eight dates. We had a number one record. I bought my house, and my motorcycle, and my car.” Quietly he sipped coffee in their suite in Seattle, watching the city wake up, running his thumb over Claire’s shoulder as she settled against him in front of the window.
“You had everything you had always dreamed of.”
He snorted. “I was a mess. All I could think about during every show was how to find a girl or a bottle or a baggie as quickly as possible. And the crew would always do that for me.”
The crew respected his – and Claire’s – request for no drugs or alcohol backstage this tour. What the techs and roadies and production crew did on their own time, in their own hotel rooms, with whoever they wanted to – Jamie didn’t care. But for everyone to help with, to respect, his sobriety was a gift. And he never stopped saying thank you.
“If only those reporters could see you now – Jamie Fraser swaggering off stage for an Evian.”
He smiled. “And to kiss this beautiful doctor who for some reason keeps following him around. Because he loves her, more than any man has ever loved any woman.”
He wanted to provide for her. To shelter and protect her. To never leave her side ever again.
She didn’t need him to do any of that, of course. They’d talked about it many times. But she wanted him to do that. And the fact that she chose him, kept choosing him…that was why they kept going. Kept each other sober. Kept holding each other up.
They’d agreed that this time on tour was for her to understand this part of him – and to help both of them decide how and where they would live once the tour was done.
Which is why the radio silence from Boston, four weeks after mailing the letter from Philadelphia asking, politely, just what the hell was going on…was so fucking crushing.
The stress of that – and the grind of touring – did make it just a bit more difficult every day.
Thankfully Colum had scheduled a week-long break at the end of the month. Angus was already planning a trip to Aruba with the two groupies, who truth be told had grown on the rest of the band. Ian was planning to spend the week with his wife, Jamie’s sister Jenny, and their kids.
And Jamie and Claire – well, they’d be getting married.
Only a few people knew, with good reason. Ian and Jenny, of course. Alec and Faith, in New York. Colum. Dougal MacKenzie and his wife Gillian, who had helped both Jamie and Claire so much at The Ridge. Uncle Lamb, who would officiate. And Claire’s friends Joe and Gail Abernathy, who had quite literally saved her life by getting her to The Ridge in the first place.
The service would be simple. Exactly what they wanted – what they needed.
And after that…well. They would truly be husband and wife.
But there was a lot to do – a lot to take care of – between now and then. Not the least of which was, wrapping up this recording session.
The time laying down acoustic tracks in Philadelphia last month was very well spent. They weren't so rusty. But the guys were eager to hear the songs in electric form. And since they were in Tucson, and Colum knew Bobby Higgins – who not only owned this studio, but who had also produced that really killer Ratt album in ’84…
“OK, Jamie.”
Jamie took a deep breath, and looked up through the glass at Bobby, hunched over the console in the control room.
“Ready for take two?”
Jamie looked left, to Angus – and right, to Ian.
“Yup.”
“OK – this is In My Veins, take two.”
Jamie grit his teeth.
Caught Claire’s eye in the control room.
She smiled.
He relaxed.
Angus counted in on his drumsticks, and then started the heavy beat like they’d discussed.
Four bars – and Jamie’s guitar and Ian’s bass joined in.
--
“That was really, really great, Jamie.”
Claire handed him a new bottle of water, cap already twisted off. He drank it in four deep gulps.
“I know you’re not shitting me. So thank you.”
Quickly she looked over her shoulder – Angus’ cheeks were being loudly kissed by the groupies, and Ian played around with his bass, and Colum and Bobby were deep in conversation in the control room.
“Where are you?”
She had pulled him away before, when the panic attacks were coming, and he knew she’d do it again right now if needed.
He wiped his mouth with the back of a sweaty hand. “About an eight out of ten.”
“Do you need a break?”
He met her eyes. “I need a meeting. Been thinking about my old friend Jack Daniels all day.”
“Did you see something?”
He sighed. “I’ve only played electric a handful of times since I got back from The Ridge.” He looked down at the gorgeous Stratocaster strapped across his chest, fist flexing. “I got this guitar because the black tone and white trim matched the label on the bottle. Stupid, I know. But it’s all I could think about today.”
“Not stupid. We’ll deal with it. You should call Alec. And I can find you a meeting.”
He leaned in, and kissed her forehead. “I love you. I’ll call him. And I need to sell this guitar.”
She nodded. “We’ll find a charity.”
He kissed her again. “I love you.”
She kissed him quickly, and returned to the control room.
Grateful that Jamie had turned away to talk to the guys, when Colum tapped her on the shoulder, and slid over an envelope postmarked Boston.
“Mail call. Do I want to know?”
She shook her head, folded the letter, and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Is there a Yellow Pages I can borrow?”
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A Night of Song and Laughter (Part 7)
In which Tav really only wants to drown her sorrow in alcohol. And Astarion is basically being a very good boyfriend and also makes use of what he calls "handsome face and nice smile tax". (Basically imagine the Tiktok sound "what do I owe you? / don't worry it's on the house / reeeeaaally?" - anyone know what I mean?) Also Tav, Astarion, Daegin and Lira raise a toast!
Fun fact about this story: when I started writing this I thought it was gonna be a fun, quick three-part adventure. Now we are already nine parts deep that I've written and I am still not done... I was so naive... I will do a post tomorrow to make a chapter list of this, also... would you people like to be tagged? Tips on how to organise that in an efficient way? And always: thank you, thank you, thank you for all the love and support!
Song for this one: Drinks by Cyn (because Tav needs it)
And if you'd like: keep reading on on AO3!
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)
(Gif from here!)
“Before you undress me, Astarion dearest, remember there is a snoring dwarf between us”, you proclaimed dryly as the vampire spawn made to lean over the table and stretched out his hand to caress your cheek. Also, a voice inside you wondered how smart it had been for Astarion to reveal his real being to these two arseholes.
“If he wasn’t conscious for the whole fight and me threatening your ex with writing my name with his blood on the wall, I think he’d neither notice nor object”, Astarion replied with a lopsided smile, but you could see the primal hunger in his eyes had subsided – for now. A look of worry now filled his eyes.
Lira chose this moment to return to the table, her arms full with everyome’s drinks. She stood on her tiptoes to lift everything on the table while trying not to spill everything.Then she huffed at Astarion and poked a finger into his chest: “I’ll have you know it is not very nice to leave me not only to carry everything but also to skip out of the tab. I barely had enough gold on me to pay for everything.” Lira looked angrily at Astarion and he had the good grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry, Lira dear, but I had to check on Tav real quick. I’m hopeful you’ll understand and forgive me for my insolence.” He bowed gracefully before your friend which made her giggle and blush. “Apology accepted”, she beamed and went to look around the pretty empty table “Uhm, did you being worried about Tav have anything to do with Miyena and Eodin disappearing or…?” She let the sentence go on open-ended.
Her eyes were on Astarion, his eyes were on you, yours were on the two now ownerless shots of strong spirit that Lira had just brought to the table. You sighed deeply, then downed the first – Lira blinked surprisedly – then the second – her mouth opened helplessly – then started to have a go at your glass of red wine – and now even Astarion raised his eyebrows at you.
The vampire swiftly and silently moved over to you, putting a hand between your shoulderblades as you let your head slump on the table with a loud thud. All the rage you had felt like two minutes ago had suddenly vanished and had only left exhaustion in its place. The jolt of your head hitting the table made the glasses and goblets on the table jump and prompted Daegin to wake from his peaceful slumber. He found his mug in front of him, happily took a deep swallow but stopped abruptly when he noticed there was only water in it. Only when he had made a disgusted noise did he notice the changed lineup around the table and the sudden depressed mood.
“I guess, I fucked up”, you mumbled. Astarion drew calming circles between your shoulders but remained silent. Daegin, who seemed much more sober now than a few minutes ago, coughed and cleared his throat: “Could you repeat that? I don’t have elven hearing.”
“I fucked up”, you said louder, raising your head again and making a grimace. Then you borrowed your face in your hands again. “Why, because you two drove Miyena and Eodin off?”, the dwarf answered. You lifted your hands out of your hands a fraction to look at your friend. His sudden somber tone startled you. “Gotta be honest, wish I’d had the balls to do that quite some time ago”, he said and reached over the table to give your hands a quick squeeze. You watched him quizzically. That wasn’t exactly the reaction you had expected.
Astarion kept his hand reassuringly on your back, it slowly wandered up your spine. “I’m glad I could be of service then”, he chuckled softly and toasted to the dwarf before taking a long swig from his goblet of wine. You mimicked him, still not entirely relieved and still feeling empty from the unpleasant exchange. You almost drained your glass completely – right now you could’ve really enjoyed a nice buzz to forget this shipwreck off an evening; this alcohol better got to work soon. But getting yourself drunk wasn’t an easy task as an elf.
“Why though? What in the hells happened while I was away? I thought we were all thick as thieves – hah!”, you giggled at your own terrible joke than drank the rest of your wine. When you put down the now empty glass you tried to reach for Astarion’s cup that still contained a lot of his drink. But he caught you immediately and smoothly moved it out of your reach. You clicked your tongue at him – damned rogue.
Then Lira spoke: “Well, we don’t really know as well. It just seems – you were really the one who glued us all together. Quickly after you’d disappeared Miyena and Eodin seemed to have become closer. And, well, I know it sounds mean when I say it like that…” She started fidgeting. Astarion’s hand had reached your neck and softly started to knead the tense spots there. You melted into his cool touch.
Lira seemed to struggle to find the right words. “I don’t think you need to worry about being nice when it comes to these two”, Astarion chimed in “I’ve known them for the better part of one single evening and was already prepared to take out all their innards - I assure you, not a common sentiment for me when meeting new people. And after how they treated Tav…”, his words slowed for a moment. Both Daegin and Lira looked shocked at first at the vampire’s open desire for violence but quickly turned to asking facial expressions after Astarion’s mention of their behaviour towards you. You swatted their questioning glances away with your hand since you didn’t want to go into that again. “Well”, Astarion said and the following words contained a faint hiss in his tone: “They both deserve whatever words you can find for them.”
With Astarion’s encouragement Lira seemingly decided that he was right: “Well, Eodin is such a…”, she struggled for a moment, obviously still not feeling comfortable with trying to not be nice “gullible idiot!” „Not the words, I’d have chosen, but alright“, you heard Astarion whisper under his breath while the half-elf broke into a rant so intense her braid of black hair started trembling. You chuckled at your partners silent remark and finally lifted your head up from your hands and leaned into him. You moved one arm behind his waist and slowly put your head on his shoulder to give him the time and space to decide if he felt comfortable with this soft display of affection. But when he felt you putting your arm around him he immediately pulled you in and pressed a small kiss on the crown of your head. His closeness felt so good you’d almost already forgotten how awry this evening had seemed to go only some minutes ago.
Meanwhile, Lira was still at it with some remarks from Daegin. Explaining how the tiefling seemingly had influenced Eodin (“this, dare I say… arsehole”, she whispered at one point to which Astarion proudly toasted her in a “hear, hear”-fashion) to take their thief business down other roads.
Of course, they always had been thieves, but Miyena’s vision had been bigger, more dangerous and would have definitely crossed a line. You had always chosen clients and contracts with the utmost care: checking background information, trying not to harm innocent people and deciding democratically. But the tiefling had wanted to take on contracts that could have harmed the hierarchy of powers in the city, hurting those that already almost had nothing. And Eodin had listened, seemingly hurt by your disappearance and he’d eaten up the ideas and the manipulation by Miyena. It had tainted him and had also tainted his image of you. Also, Lira and Daegin had talked for quite some time about getting out of the business altogether, to go why they still could and cut it with a profit.
“To conclude”, Daegin said, when the half-elf had reached a point in her rant that she was completely red in the face and could barely speak “Miyena is a goddamn snake and a bitch and Eodin is an…” At this point Astarion lifted a hand – the one that was not currently holding you - and proposed with a smirk: “Wait, before you finish, Daegin, this sounds like an excellent point to toast, don’t you think?” The dwarf had looked taken aback by the elf’s interruption but seemed to have been reconciled with the promise of more alcohol. Lira looked like she had calmed herself down a bit and nodded in approval. Astarion looked down to you softly: “Will you let go of me, my love, just for a moment? I know it’s an awful lot to ask…” You playfully pout at him but untangle yourself from him slowly. “You want me to help you carry stuff?”, you ask him. But the pale elf just winked and swiftly and disappears in the still growing crowd.
How was there even more space in here? And why the hell were there even so many people coming? Maybe it was a special band that made an appearance tonight? You stood on your tiptoes to try and throw a look downstairs. You could see the stage was currently empty except for two halflings seemingly preparing it for the next act. In hindsight you wondered how long there had been no music and only the busy bustling of the crowd in the background. But it wasn’t really a surprise you didn’t really pay attention to the stuff happening around you tonight, was it?
“Gods, you two are so cute”, said Daegin and pulled back your attention “it’s making my damn teeth hurt.” Then he spit out and stuck out his tongue theatrically as if there had been something bile in his mouth. “They are, aren’t they?”, the half-elf agreed in earnest, oblivious to Daegin’s act. She moved over to you and hugged you: “I’m so happy you two found each other, you seem perfect for each other.” You hugged her back hard: “Sorry, I caused such a mess for you.” “Don’t worry about it, Tav, I was always sure that this thieving was hopefully only a temporary business. I mean I am a bit scared because I don’t know what to do yet, but I’m happy to make a clean cut now”, Lira replied, Daegin nodded in agreement.
“Whatever happens, you and your pale boyfriend must come and hang out with us again though. He’s funny and good to drink with”, the dwarf grinned at you. “Oh, and what about my company?”, you answered quickly and raising your eyebrows at him. “I can bare with that, as long as Astarion’s coming”, Daegin answered with playful banter and motioned with his head towards where Astarion was only just returning.
“Did I hear my name? Fret not, I have returned, my friends!” He put a big bottle of liquor on the table, pushed a mug of water towards you with a teasing look of worry in his eyes – you flipped him off. And then Astarion artfully threw four shotglasses from around his back one by one and set them down in front of everyone around the table. Lira cheered and clapped at his display of sleight of hand. Astarion bowed gracefully then went to uncork the bottle of spirit.
“How did you get the whole bottle? Far as I knew they save these for special occasions and special customers only. Whose pants did you charm off for this? Did you strip naked for the bar maid, or something?”, Daegin asked him suspiciously and eyed Astarion up and down. His clothes looked just as well in place as they were a few minutes ago, though.
“Not this time”, Astarion replied while filling everyone’s glasses. “I just asked about the bottle in the back and well, the rest I call the ‘handsome face and nice smile tax’. I even got it for free”, he explained with a smug grin. “You flirted with the bar maid to get us liquor? You are unbelievable, Astarion”, you exclaimed and pressed two fingers to the root of your nose, closing your eyes and sighing deeply. Could this man really be left to roam this city freely?
“Surely never happened to me, don’t have the face for that”, Daegin mumbled and grabbed his shot. “Well, love, flirted is a strong word. As far as I’m concerned, it was only about getting something to drink – at least for me – and it wasn’t even that goo…” You boxed him into his shoulder with full force when you realized he was mimicking your earlier words about Eodin. This fucking dickhead! But Astarion simply threw his head back in laughter. You punched him again, but he kept laughing and grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you, immediately erasing the anger you felt. Then he broke the kiss and looked at you with an intensity in his eyes, that made you breathless, his eyes jumping back and forth between yours. “I love you”, he whispered to you. “Hear, hear”, Daegin dramatically proclaimed to that and made to throw back his drink. “Ah ah ah”, Astarion interrupted him “I appreciate that, but I thought we wanted to toast to something else?” “Yes, yes, you’re right.” Daegin lifted his glass: “Let’s drink to snakes and assholes we got rid off!” Then he looked to Lira to add to the toast. “And to old friends that reappeared and new ones that were made!”, she added cheerfully and lifted her drink to Daegin’s. “To leaving the way of thieves behind and finding new paths in life”, you happily joined in and looked to Astarion to finish the toast. “And to the wonderful people we’ll walk them with”, he said smiling at you in a way that made you forget you weren’t alone in the room. You went to down the drink but saw the glint in Astarion’s eyes. “And to charming the pants off people to get whatever we desire”, Astarion added smugly and threw his drink back. Lira and Daegin both choked, but you simply drank, pressed your forehead against Astarion’s and broke into joyful laughter. The vampire just kept looking at you, his heart full to the rim with love for you.
#astarion#astarion x tav#baldurs gate#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#astarion x reader#astarion x mc#baldurs gate astarion#astarion x oc#astarion x you#fanfic#fanfiction#astarion ancunin#bg3 spoilers#a night of song and laughter#i love astarion being sassy#also being so caring#also pissing off tav#poro fics
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Sorry if this is so random but I saw your posts about him and I remember something in the book where it said Maeglin laid hands on Idril (and Earendil) with an intent to kill her child and forcefully marry her and honestly Maeglin really digs his own grave with his actions in Gondolin that it's not absurd to call him a villain because he actually is. He was sympathetic in the beginning and he could've chosen to remain the charismatic and handsome bachelor he was known as he grew up but nope, from the looks of it he doesn't sound content with his life, and even before he was taken captive to Angband, he already held dark thoughts about Idril which is creepy af. In the end, he chose to betray Gondolin just to get Idril and I find it annoying and exhausting to read how the Fall of Gondolin was blamed on Idril, coincidentally a woman. I am in no way policing headcanons but to portray Maeglin as this poor meow meow while Idril and Earendil (and Turgon as well) are villanize is annoying. Forgive me, Maeglin discourse is surfacing again and I was glad to see a good take on Maeglin that doesn't make him look like he didn't do anything wrong.
Maeglin is a victim of both his father's terrible parenting giving him a twisted view of what relationships with women should look like (also the potential that Eöl may have abused Maeglin as well) and Morgoth's torture breaking him to the point that he revealed the location of Gondolin. but being a victim is not mutually exclusive with being a villain. having a sad backstory doesn't magically justify anything. can you still like him and sympathize with those traits? of course! this is a shame-free zone for villain enjoyers. but I think it's a major disservice to his character to like him while claiming that he's something he's not. if you think Maeglin did nothing wrong then you don't like Maeglin, you like an oc who shares his name
#it's a shame that maeglin discourse is almost a binary of 'pure evil nothing to unpack' and 'uwu did nothing wrong'#he's an interesting character with a lot of fascinating implications!#there's a lot to discuss but so much of what i end up reading from the fandom is just excuses
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‘Raising A Child With Love’ Story Event — Premium END [Yoritomo Route]
I do not own any of the Ikemen Series content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD. Please support them by downloading and playing their games.
read this before interacting with my posts
Maid: Forgive me, My Lady.
Yuno: What’s the matter?
Her expression clouded when I asked.
Maid: … The young lord is running a fever…
(What…?)
At the same time, in another place ——
Yoritomo was looking through some documents at the residence he and Kagetoki were staying at.
Kagetoki: You’re working at a faster speed than usual.
Kagetoki said when he noticed something unusual about Yoritomo’s behavior.
Yoritomo: Is that so? That just means I’m as efficient as ever.
Kagetoki: It makes me smile to know that you want to return to your wife and the young lord as soon as possible.
Yoritomo looked up from the documents.
Yoritomo: Smile? You said that with a straight face.
Kagetoki: … I didn’t expect you to be so devoted to your child.
Yoritomo: Who has time for that?
Yoritomo: I won’t sacrifice anything for my child’s sake. I’m not in a position to do that.
Yoritomo: But, well, I guess I care more about him that I expected myself to.
Yoritomo’s facial expression softened.
There was an unspoken love for Rindoumaru he couldn’t express.
Just then, a vassal suddenly came into the room.
Vassal: Lord Yoritomo, it’s the young lord…!
Yoritomo: … What did you just say?
(… His fever isn’t subsiding.)
I measured Rindoumaru’s temperature with my palm and continuously wiped off his sweat.
Nanny: My sincerest apologies, My Lady. He was under my care and yet…
Yuno: It’s not your fault. Thank you for letting me know so quickly.
I smiled at the nanny who was lowering her head in apology, but her facial expression remained tense.
Nanny: Please get some rest, My Lady. You’re not feeling well yourself, and yet you’ve been nursing the young lord for hours…
Nanny: At this rate, you might collapse!
The nanny was tearful as she pleaded with me.
Yuno: I’m fine. I’m a physician, so I’m used to caring for the sick.
I gave her a small smile to calm her down.
Yuno: Moreover… I’m his mother.
(To be honest, my body feels heavy and my head is spinning.)
(But… I don’t want to leave my son’s side.)
Yuno: This is something I can at least do for him… nothing makes me happier than this.
Nanny: My Lady…
I looked back at Rindoumaru, who seemed to be in pain.
(Don’t worry, Rindoumaru. You’ll recover soon. Mama will go through this together with you…!)
I told the nanny to step down as I took over Rindoumaru’s care…
When night fell, I woke up to the sound of Rindoumaru’s voice.
(Oh no, I fell asleep.)
I immediately looked around for Rindoumaru, but I saw someone unexpected.
Yuno: ! … Lord Yoritomo?
Yoritomo: You’re awake?
In Yoritomo’s arms, Rindoumaru was staring at me.
Yuno: I thought you said you were on a work trip… and will only be back tomorrow…
Yoritomo: I rushed to finish my work as soon as I heard the news and hurriedly made my way here… I’m sorry I’m late.
(He really came all the way back…)
The gesture made me so happy that I was at a loss for words.
Yoritomo: He’s alright now. His fever has completely subsided and he’s been looking pretty bored for a while.
I turned my gaze to Rindoumaru and looked into a pair of midnight-blue coloured eyes that looked exactly like Yoritomo’s.
(He definitely looks a lot better and his fever has indeed gone down.)
I breathed a sigh of relief as I checked on him.
Yuno: Thank goodness…
Rindoumaru grabbed my finger and let out the most adorable giggle I’ve ever heard.
Yoritomo: The nanny already told me the details. You go rest. I’ll look after him.
Yuno: But, Lord Yoritomo, you must be exhausted too…
I stopped mid sentence.
(We’ve had this conversation before.)
Yoritomo: Just who do you think I am?
Yuno: Right.
Yoritomo said exactly what I expected him to, and I couldn’t help but smile at it.
Yuno: … You’re an important person in all of our lives — you’re my husband, and Rindoumaru’s father.
Yoritomo’s eyes widened in surprise a little before he chuckled and said,
Yoritomo: … We’ve reached this point, huh.
He then came closer to me ——
Yuno: Nn…
He gave me a gentle kiss on my lips.
A few days later ——
I was completely recovered from my illness, and was writing away at my writing desk.
Yoritomo: What’s that you’re writing?
Yoritomo peeked curiosly over my shoulder to look at my desk.
Yuno: It’s a record of Rindoumaru’s growth.
(I want to see Rindoumaru. I can’t wait till tomorrow comes.)
I saw Rindoumaru every day, but I’d start to miss him the moment we’re separated.
Yuno: Rindoumaru should be asleep by now.
Yoritomo: I think so too.
Suddenly, he embraced me from behind.
(Because I’ve been bedridden for a while… it’s been a long time since I last received a hug like this.)
Yoritomo’s scent and body heat made my heart race.
I started feeling that just a hug wasn’t enough.
Yuno: Um… shall we go to sleep now?
Yoritomo: … You really want to sleep?
Yuno: Erm…
It was as if he had read my mind like a book.
Yoritomo: It’s boring if the night just ends like this.
Yoritomo: It’s time for children to go to sleep, but… you’re not a child, are you?
Yoritomo cupped my cheek with his palm and looked into my eyes.
Yoritomo: —— From today onwards, you’re all mine and only mine.
Yuno: Ah…
I couldn’t possibly resist those seductive words ——
I closed my eyes and was pulled into a deep kiss.
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well
Gather round, apostates, blasphemers, assorted disappointments, for my statements return, in their usual fashion, of sprawling wax pressed in bruising poetry, and a slow creeping fog of informality.
But I’ve recently contracted a sliver of time perfectly sectioned to listen to The Magnus Archives?
And can i just say.
ahhhhhhhhHhghIFHghkGFDSYAS
I’m late. I understand that I’m late. We all have jobs to scream at, voids to cull, deer to pass by on moonlight walks that you could’ve sworn had a lot more animal noises until right then, flat disks staring back at you from this frozen, jarring thing, muscles packed into thin bone and a skull on a swivel. Human life is messy. I digress.
I owe all of you a deep thanks. Every single one that posted fanart, animation clips, psychological profiles, you infrequent sinners of stunning, hypnotic fractals… Cheers.
Because I saw them. I saw these stunning pieces of art, heard clips of audio performances, and I was fascinated. But I didn’t have time. The finale sent people screaming sobbing shaking onto their preferred hellsites, and I couldn’t drop everything I was doing to listen to two hundred episodes?
I was but a fool, and my transgressions are the most fun I’ve had in awhile this series goes so fucking harddd
Let’s start with the easy one. Jonathan Sims. Vocal acting; wholly immaculate. I have heard dozens of voices expressed by one man, wholly diegetic, and each one is a fucking banger! The hard snap back to Profession Archivist Voice at the end of each episode, after twenty minutes of highs and lows and building tension. Stunning.
All other performances have been very good as well, snapshots of characters given life through some very solid work, but I am just at the end of season one at the time of writing this, so you’ll forgive my unfamiliarity.
Similar thread, the sound editing. It’s so—I’m going to run out of words of praise, the amount of tension built in a story that I know the character telling has to survive, that’s wild. Far more fear comes into play in the space between ‘Statement ends’ and ‘Recording ends,’ but therein lies the knowledge that those encounters need not leave their subjects intact. Subtle where it needs to be, gripping where it hurts.
The writing itself, the substance of the story, the message, the meaning.
God. Damn.
Jonathan Sims, you have the heartbeat of short horror prose wrapped around your pen. I, do not have words. Know that I am clapping in stunned silence. Each story is so carefully tuned for each weird little SCP-Twilight Zone meet cute, engaging in my personal favorite horror vessel: ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be fucked up if some guy who works in a slaughterhouse wandered into an infinitely stretching purgatory of rotting meat and conveyor belts?’
And the slow build of the characters! Jon is so mean! He’s so fucking mean, for no reason. He’s rude to Martin for having like. Emotions. He’s mean to the people who left the statements, which would seem much more reasonable if I was not under the impression that Jon knows Well and Good that the preternatural is a real thing that fucks with people because it can.
If I worked in that space, I would also be a prick to the people claiming the sky ate their son, but I’ve never encountered anything that would impress upon me the existence of ghosts, and he has a malevolent worm infestation.
But this adds only teeth gnashing twists of emotion when he does start to show kindness, or exhaustion, and most recently. Fear.
So thank you, everyone who’s been gushing over this for the past six years, I rarely consume media outside of recommendation or raised interest by cultural osmosis/spoilers. You idiots got me interested, and I’ve been having a marvelous time.
Now I’m onto the penultimate episode to Season One finale. I’m very excited. I’ve also seen the comparison’s from S1 Archive Team to S5. And I’m very scared.
#the magnus archives#tomes of a sacrilegious skeletal scribe#as a side note i have now finished season one and a few episodes of season two#that ending though hot damn#a whole six emotions in one episode?#jon’s learning!#how’s that onset paranoia treating you jon you seem like you’re doing well#what happened to sasha who is that#very fond of micheals voice#also themes#there’s a lot of overarching themes this season#i like them and i fear them
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ok J&H Fandom, let’s talk:
“Popular” blog @thatsmyhyde is a prominent creator in the J&H Fandom. But here’s where the problem shows up:
the content they make is concerning at least, and full of red flags at worst.
DISCLAIMER: This is all information I have gathered through their tumblr blog - I am not aware of what other things they may be posting on other social medias or their written work.
ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: Please be polite, I am a minor, and am just creating this post to ward off / warn other minors from following this person. If you are an adult interacting with this post and blog, be mindful of your actions and be responsible
Trigger warnings for: discussions of homophobia, discussions of p//phillia, fat-shaming, fat-phobia (?), etc. Just be on general edge for this post, we’re talking about a lot of weird stuff
I will be linking their posts as I am not going to take screenshots of their art.
This is not a comprehensive list of all the things they’ve done - these are the ones I could think of and was able to adress. If you have anything additional you want to add to this post (such as concerning things they may do on other social media), feel free to reblog and add on the things you need to say, just please don’t be dumb.
Let’s start with the premise: Henry Jekyll creates an alter ego, Edward Hyde. They begin a relationship - an emotional and physical one. Their AU features Jekyde (A popular ship in the fandom, the name stands for Jekyll x Hyde), people have various views on this ship.
So far so fine, right? Here are the problems:
1. Their Henry Jekyll is an awful person. Now, let’s start by saying that of course you can have bad people in your works, those are, after-all: villains. The problem is,Henry Jekyll is a harmful walking gay sterotype, and an outlet for Biscuit’s obvious fat fetish. But their relationship isn’t just toxic it’s romanticised in how toxic it is.
a. The harmful stereotype - Their Henry Jekyll has a “thing” for younger men, even though he is in his middle-ages, and Hyde looks like a young child. (Age gap relationships are their own thing - they come with their own burdens, and this is not the post to discuss them. This topic will lead into the Edward Hyde section of this post.) But, it was a known homophobic scare-mongering tactic of straight parents to accuse everyone who is gay that they are ‘out to prey on your youths’. This is a stereotype that stigmatized the LGBT community, and still harmfully affects them to this day.
b. The fat fetish: Jekyll is frequently seen with cake (as seen here, here, and here) or being self-loathing, to the point of suicide. (click the link here to acess a list of suicide and other crisis hotlines! you matter to me!). Now, the self-loathing could be a symptom of depression or other mental illness, so I am not going to talk about it, as a person with mental illnesses. But the self-loathing in addition to him being fat is not good. Media is drowning in the “self-loathing fat person” and as someone who isn’t thin i’m tired of seeing this.
- The fetish aspect comes in him constantly being referred to “Chonky”, a term usually used for overweight/obese cats and being drawn obsessed with cake. It fetishises his weight and dehumanises him into something people call their animals. Also, here’s more of Jekyll eating food and being embarassed by it, though this time because it’s seen as “servant’s food”.
- Biscuit admits to liking them “Big and chunky” in posts like this.
[Photo id: A string of texts that says: tantok, frankenstein, twink lore, dorian slipped through the cracks and got himself sketched by yours truly the other day because he brought lord henry along, he and the slime didn’t have to fight to the death because they’ve both got their own chonky old toxic henries to focus on, but this blog still ain’t big enough for the two of ‘em. end id]
- They also talk about how they ‘prefer’ to draw fat (chonky) people. Image attatched above. the thing that should be noticed is that they say ‘chonky old toxic henries’ . they, once again, are making fat people a fetish.
[Photo id: Anonymous asks: are you gonna make a victor design tho biscuit responds: Oh, man, anon, I hate to disappoint but.....probably not. Aside from my non-humanoids and hellspwans (slime gremlins, corpse creatures, and etcetera), I’m extremely uninterested in drawing young thin men. I really need middle-aged chonk to hold my attention. If poor Victor Frankenstein had only been 40-something and round when he made his great creation, then he’d definitely get a design from yours truly. As it is though, he’s not holding my attention enough to want to. end id]
Biscuit once again talks about how he doesn’t want to draw ‘thin men’, because he is only interested in older ‘round’ people. He, is, once again, bringing to light his fetish for fat people.
2. Edward Hyde is basically a child - Edward Hyde is drawn in boy’s school clothes, is taken in and raised like a child after Jekyll’s death, and is constantly cooed over by the creator, even earning a nickname of ‘slime’ from them. In addition, he also has ‘family photos’ taken with Utterson, has his toenails kept, is the height of a child, and teeths. This, paired with the fact that he is in a toxic, abusive, relationship with a man in his middle ages is concerning and should not be romanticised.
[Photo id: the text reads: In his first year of existence, Hyde lost teeth and regrew them in a mildly similar fashion to a kid losing baby teeth - except it wasn’t all of his teeth (Just the canines and some random molars) and they weren’t replaced with a larger set, just with teeth exactly the same as the ones that had been lost. No one knows what was up with this. the teeth are still in Jekyll’s study in a little jar. end id]
a. Hyde is treated like a child after Jekyll’s death. Hyde teething is concerning because that’s something infants do. He also clings to utterson like a child. The idea that he gets taken in by Utterson, whisked away to an estate out in the country, despite both of them having romantic feelings for Jekyll is. how do I put this: WEIRD. (seriously, imagine your father/father-figure dating ur significant other / having a crush on them before you two got together and after).
b. Hyde dresses like a child, whilst being sexually active and wearing lingerie. Now, on their own, these traits aren’t a problem - but together? They are very much a problem.
- Hyde dressing as a child is concerning because he is also treated like a child at certain points in their “lore”. After Jekyll’s death, Hyde becomes a singular entity, and is taken away by Utterson. To care for, like a child. This post sums it up well: he wears both children’s clothes and lingerie.
- Hyde has a very strange appearance - if you compare it to his early design (which was less cartoony and looked more like a man in his twenties), Hyde’s current design is concerning. Why does he have the height of a child? Why does he have eyes that take up a grand part of his face? Now, one could argue that ‘he is not human’ - but if he is treated like a human, whilst wearing children’s/youthful clothes, teeths, and his general enchanment with the world - he appears as human (and looks eerily similar to a child), which is why him being sexually active, wearing lingerie, and being friendly with prostitutes (one that gave him underwear and other articles of clothing) is concerning.
- That said, Utterson is directly talked about being ‘adopted into gremlin fatherhood’ (paraphrasing).
[Photo id: the text reads: 59. Jekyll is irresitibly attracted to everything about Hyde, but if he could somehow be forced to list hte most attractive physical attributes of Edward Hyde in his opinion, aside from Hyde’s youthful appearance in general it would be his eyes, his overbite (Jekyll perceived the way Hyde’s-) the screenshot cuts of the rest of the paragraph. end id]
- Jekyll has a ‘thing’ for younger men. This is to the point that the most attractive part about Hyde is that he is young. (or looks like it), Hyde looking very young is concerning because that would make their verison of Doctor Jekyll a p*dophille . This is something the artist has either not recognized, realised, or simply does not acknowledge.
3. The toxic relationship (and how it’s romanticised) - The relationship in this ‘AU’ is: love comes first, toxic nature comes second. If you scroll through the blog you may see some reference of ‘Henry Jekyll is such a toxic person teehee’ and a lot of them kissing, being together, smiling, or enjoying life. Now, obviously, an artist - if they do not want to - should not draw characters being toxic to each other. But it is concerning when the above points come into a factor, that the toxic nature of their relationship comes second to the highs of their relationship, at least on their blog.
Here is one of the only examples I’ve seen of Biscuit talk about the relationship in a detailed negative light.
4. The fandom - Whilst Biscuit says it’s ok for minors to interact with his blog (in that blog he says that he tags nsfw - which is true.) he does not regularly mention that his jekyde is toxic - not in a concerete way. He romanticises it (despite acknowledging it’s flaws), and the only way it may or may not be (i would not know) acknowledged is his fic: which is mature and not meant for minors. He does not tag his posts with regular triggers for things like: alcohol, drugs, mental illnesses, or abuse (any variants). They’re not even in his blog’s description! If Biscuit had acknowledged it in his blog, something along the lines of: “Hey! This blog has <content warnings> be warned when interacting! But no, he does not.
- A lot of the people who draw things, or generally interact with Biscuit are minors. Being exposed to such a thing may be harmful to my peers, and I am worried. To minors who are fans of Biscuit: if you’ve made it this far, thank you, I know you’re mature and responsible, but being exposed to content creators like Biscuit could lead you down a dangerous path of having this kind of thing normalised to you. Be careful with the content you consume, please! And thank you for making it this far, I’m sure you’re a lovely person :)!
Thank you for taking the time to read this! Stay safe, tell the people you love that you love them.
#J&H#jekyll and hyde#henry jekyll#edward hyde#i spent months thinking whether or not to write this#but#i'm worried about fellow minors on this website seeing this user's blog#and not thinking critically about this#so i snapped and made this#long post#like r e a l l y long post#i am so tired.#brb to answer the hate lmao i need to throw up#forgive me if by the end of this post i sound exhausted : i am#i spent this evening writing this post#goth lit fandom grow up challenge#aus do not remove the context of the original#listen to the minorities if they call you out#fiction REALLY AFFECTS REALITY
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Obedient (Rewritten)
Soft! Yandere! Erasermic x Chubby! Fem! Reader
***18+ Fic***
You must be 18 years old or older to participate in this reading. If you are not, please remove yourself from the line and find another piece. Thank you.
Warnings: Yandere, stalking, implied drugging, kidnapping, reader is way too fucking calm with the situation, Stockholm Syndrome, BDSM themes, a collar, body worship, the word Daddy once, smut, double penetration (diff. holes), anal, unprotected sex, overstimulation, aftercare.
Word Count: 6.6 k
Author's Note: Alright. I've been wanting to rewrite this for a while now. Obedient was the very first fic I'd ever written and posted back in September, and my writing has changed A LOT since then. Reading the original, I realized there's a lot that I can change and tweak, and a lot that wasn't very clearly or well written (in my opinion). So, here it is!
You can find the original here.
Enjoy~
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“Happy birthday to me.” The words tumble loosely from your lips on a heaved breath, your fingers curled lazily around a cold glass of whiskey.
It isn’t a rare occurrence to see you perched atop a stool at the edge of the bar, nursing your third glass at 2am on a Friday night. Or rather Saturday morning. It’s one of the only places you can find solace, away from nosy coworkers and nosier acquaintances. The loneliness is soberingly blissful. You never cared much for social interaction.
At this point the bar is emptying, only a handful of bodies sticking around in the early hours. In the reflections of the rows of glass liquor bottles you see them again. Two lanky figures sitting in the corner booth at the back of the establishment. Any normal person would see them and think nothing. But you know better. When you first walked into the bar six months ago they were in that exact spot, and every time afterward they’d be there when you walked in and stayed after you left.
You, being observant as you are, always watched everything from your spot at the bar, the slightly warped images in the glass serving as your eyes for the night. It didn’t take long for you to figure the two were watching you every time you stepped inside. The blonde one always sat with his back to you, and his head would occasionally turn in the reflection. You’d alternate seats to make sure you weren’t imagining things, but it only confirmed what you’d suspected.
Not that you cared enough to do anything about it.
As long as they keep their distance you’re perfectly content letting them look. And they did keep their distance. They’d never even come within 5 feet of you, seemingly happy with just lingering glances. Of course, tonight would be a different story.
You watch as their glassy reflections stand up, the distance between you and them shrinking with each of their long strides. You let your eyes fall to the amber liquid in your hands, praying they’d only pass you by on their way out. Two sets of footsteps approached, two bodies popped up on either side of you, and a deep, silky smooth voice sounded on your right.
“Mind if we take a seat?” A glance to your right revealed a rugged, yet handsome man peering down at you with his deep, tired onyx eyes. Long raven hair spilled over his shoulders, framing his chiseled jaw peppered with barely tamed scruff and a scar curved along his cheekbone. You turn to look at his friend, long blonde hair pulled up into a high bun and hypnotic green eyes focused on you behind orange tinted sunglasses despite being indoors past midnight. He is handsome as well, a small mustache on his smiling lips, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline drawing you in.
You couldn’t help but feel they look familiar, somehow. You’d seen their faces before, somewhere, but you pushed that to the back of your mind for now.
It wouldn’t hurt to let them sit with you, right? They seem friendly enough, and it’s better to entertain them in case things go south should you reject their request. With a small, tired smile, you nod.
“Sure thing, fellas.” They both plop down on either side of you and the blonde immediately gets talking.
“So what’s the occasion, little listener?” Two thoughts came to mind. One, how did he know there was any occasion, two, what kind of pet name is ‘little listener’? Your confusion must have shown on your face, because the raven haired man spoke up.
“You’re pretty dolled up for a night at the bar, kitten.” Ah. So they had been watching you. You aren’t wearing anything that would normally be considered ‘dolled up’. Your tan sweater and black skirt are relatively plain, and the platform boots you’re wearing accompanied by your thigh-high socks are something you’re experimenting with.
But usually you entered the bar with a white button-up and black slacks from your job as a waitress. Today you had time to go home and pamper yourself a bit before heading to your usual drinking spot. Evidently, they noticed. You bring your glass up to your lips and gulp down the remaining liquid before entertaining the question.
“Nothing special. Call it a birthday party.” And hey, you mean it when you say it isn’t special. Your birthday only marks yet another routine year on this earth. The blonde nudges your shoulder with his own.
“I’d say that’s pretty special, sunshine!” The alcohol must be affecting you, because you chuckle a bit at his enthusiasm.
“Just another year gone by, you know?” You’re never this talkative sober. The man on your right rapped his knuckles on the bartop, the barkeep making his way over with a tired smile.
“One more glass for this pretty kitty here.” The name had your eyebrows raising.
“This one’s on me.” As the fresh glass was sat on the bartop you scoffed quietly.
“Kitty?” A deep hum came from the man.
“Well how would you describe yourself, kitten?” Somewhere in your muddled brain you warned yourself not to be self-deprecating on your 25th birthday. You didn’t listen.
“Definitely not feline. I’m short and chunky and the only thing cat-like about me is my posture and eyeliner,” you stated, matter-of-factly. As a waitress at an esteemed high-end restaurant, you had to learn to be quick on your feet, agile, and most importantly, poised. A hum comes from the blonde, a muttered ‘pretty and humble’ floating on his breath. You force a chuckle at the statement.
“Pretty is also a word I wouldn’t use to describe myself.” A short silence falls between the three of you, and you take the time to study their faces. Where had you seen them before? You’re certain if you’d met them before you’d remember them, you don’t tend to forget attractive people.
They’re oddly patient as they watch the cogs in your brain turn, your eyes taking in every detail of every feature. Your breath caught and your eyes went wide when you’d finally placed their faces.
“Present Mic and Eraserhead. You’re pro heroes.” The words are quiet, nearly imperceptible as you breathe them, but they’re close enough to hear. Present Mic beams at the recognition.
“In the flesh, sunshine. But we’d prefer you use our names.” Eraserhead leans away and sticks a hand out for a handshake.
“Shouta Aizawa.” You shake his hand and turn to the blonde, who similarly has his hand held out.
“Hizashi Yamada.” You introduce yourself, a bit shaky and only slightly starstruck. What in the world are two pro heroes doing talking to you? As you regain your composure you excuse yourself to the restroom. You weren’t prepared to talk to heroes tonight. A glance in the mirror has you sobering yourself, rationalizing their strange behavior. These two are pro heroes. They were clearly only worried about your safety, a woman all alone in a bar till the earliest hours of the morning. ‘That’s why they were watching me’, you muse. You quickly fix yourself, then step back out to the two heroes.
The three of you pass another hour of time before you decide it’s time for you to head home. They offer to give you a lift, but you politely decline. You can't intrude on them any more than you already had. Hizashi insists otherwise.
“Please Sunshine? If something were to happen to you we’d never forgive ourselves!” It made sense to you. They’re pro heroes after all, it’s in their nature to worry. So you oblige to ease their anxieties.
Since Shouta hadn’t touched any alcohol, he’s driving, and you punch your address into the GPS system of their very expensive looking car. As you sit back, Hizashi holds a bottle over his head.
“Water?” You thank him and drain the bottle, realizing you’re a bit more dehydrated than you initially thought. In your semi-drunk haze you fail to notice that the bottle had already been opened, and you miss Shouta’s eyes watching you down the beverage through the rearview mirror.
It’s only five minutes later you feel drowsy, your head lolling to the side and eyelids drooping. You don’t quite register the question Hizashi asks you, and when you don’t answer he turns around to look at you.
“You seem tired, Sunshine. Take a nap, we’ll wake you up when we get there.” Your exhaustion takes hold over any rational thoughts, and with a sleepy nod, you stretch out over the backseat and let your mind slip into unconsciousness, blissfully unaware you’ll never see your apartment again.
The first thing you notice as you wake up is how stiff and sore your muscles are. It takes you a moment to realize you aren’t in your clothes from last night, nor are you in your own bed. Your eyes snap open and you sit up, taking in the unfamiliar room. With a curse under your breath you scour your memory for anything, checking if you’d gone home with anyone or gotten yourself in a tight situation. The last thing you remember is being driven home by the two pros, then passing out in their backseat.
Questions began forming in your mind. ‘Where am I? How did I get here? Where had the two heroes gone?’ In an attempt to think clearer, you try crossing your legs, but your ankle is stopped short by something heavy. Throwing off the blanket, a thick metal cuff glinted in the light of the room, an equally thick chain leading somewhere over the side of the bed.
When your breathing begins to quicken, you settle your mind, refusing to panic. Willing yourself to relax, you begin to think about how you can get out of this situation. ‘Today should be Saturday. Assuming this room is part of a house, someone would most likely still be here’. With a small breath, you speak, hopefully loud enough for someone to hear you.
“H-hello? Is someone there?” It only takes a few seconds for footsteps to reach your ears, and the door opens to the last person you’re expecting to see. A ruggedly handsome Shouta Aizawa stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a small smirk on his lips.
“Good morning, Kitty.” As endearing as the pet name is, the only emotion you feel right now is confusion. Your mind is drifting to all the fanfiction you’d read online, piecing together the events of last night like a puzzle. ‘The bottle of water was already open’. In your defense, they’re pro heroes, it’s only natural for you-- or anyone, really-- to let your guard down. A large hand on your shoulder jolts you back to reality, your eyes wide as you stare up at Shouta like a deer in headlights.
“You okay Kitten?” All you can manage as you settle your thoughts is to blink up at the man, swallowing down the lump in your throat before letting out a shaky breath.
“Let me guess. I’m home now, aren’t I?” The man stares back down at you with subtly raised eyebrows before chuckling softly.
“That’s not the reaction I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m mad about it. You’re a smart little kitty, aren’t you.” He leaves you to your thoughts and your mind begins reeling once again. You understand this is wrong, that you shouldn’t be so willing, so obedient. You also know how boring your life has been up until now. How mundane and lonely you’d been for as long as you can remember.
You’d cut ties with your family long ago, and ‘friend’ is a very loose term. Most of the people you called friends are acquaintances at best, your antisociality and trust issues meant ‘making friends’ is not on your life agenda. Somehow you knew, deep down, you wanted something like this to happen. You longed to give up control, to let someone else string you along and take the reins and let you relax, not have to worry about anything anymore. That side of you tended to make itself known through your explorative late teen years.
You’d had romantic partners before, though once anything intimate came up they all refused to associate with you anymore. They couldn’t understand your want to give up control, your need to submit. They refused to collar you ‘like an animal’. None of your partners ever understood the weight behind such a garment. This may be your chance at the relationship you’d always craved, regardless of its twisted nature.
Then there’s the logical side, the chances of you actually escaping. As a quirkless human in the presence of two trained pro heroes (assuming Hizashi is also in on this), the likelihood of you making it out is slim to nonexistent. If you somehow manage to get out, the two could easily track you down and just as easily drag you back. So, as wrong as it seems, you don’t fight it.
Shouta returns with a tray of breakfast, setting it down on your lap after you’d adjusted yourself to lean against the headboard. As he pulls back you mumble a ‘thank you’ and begin to eat, acknowledging the pang of hunger in your belly. As weird as it seems to say ‘thank you’ to your captor, you find it could be helpful even if only a little. Being polite is automatic, but it’s also a great way to make sure you don’t end up injured, or worse, dead somewhere, so for once in a long time your manners are intended. You’d gotten halfway through your meal when Shouta speaks up.
“You’re taking this really well.” He almost seems skeptical. You peer up at him as you finish the food in your mouth.
“There isn’t much use panicking. I’d only end up hurting myself. Besides, it’s not like I can get out.” You motion to the cuff around your ankle and he gives a small chuckle.
“You’re not wrong, kitten.” He leaves to let you finish breakfast, returning ten minutes later and taking your empty tray. He comes back right after, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold in hand.
“I’m sure you need to use the bathroom.” You give a small nod, acknowledging the pressure in your bladder for the first time since you woke up. Gently, he takes your wrists and locks the cuffs around them, then holds up the blindfold before going to tie it around your head.
“These are just a precaution.” Soon you feel the cuff on your ankle fall away, and Shouta’s strong arms loop under your knees and back as he lifts you off the bed.You’re both surprised and not that he can lift you with relative ease. He is a pro hero after all. It takes less than 30 seconds for him to stop and gently place you down, taking the blindfold and cuffs off.
“I’ll be waiting just outside the door. Once you’re done, knock and I’ll take you back to bed.” You nod and he leaves, locking the door once he’s outside. Of course it locks from the outside. You take a moment to just think about your current predicament. Currently you’re locked in the house of a pro hero, being kept against your will (sort of). Your life had just taken an unexpected turn.
You knock on the door like Shouta said, and it isn’t long before you’re back on the bed with the cuff around your ankle. As he turns to leave you stop him, and he turns back to you with a quirked eyebrow.
“Can I...draw?” You didn’t know if he’d actually let you have anything, but it was worth a shot. If you were to be cooped up here you need to keep yourself occupied. With a low hum, he leaves the room and comes back with a sketch pad, pencil, and eraser.
Days come and go with either of the pros serving you three meals a day. They begin questioning your obedience, especially Hizashi. He questioned your lack of panic and how you never seemed to try to escape. Even he knows this isn’t normal. Shouta seems less skeptical, like he’d expected less of a fight than any normal, sane person would give. When Hizashi asked questions you answered truthfully. Lying is of no use to you.
“Really, I don’t mind it here. So far my life has been pretty shitty and boring, so this turn of events is mildly appreciated. Besides, you treat me relatively well, considering I’m being held captive, so I can’t say I’m upset.” You’d guessed from both your reading and their actions that they truly believed they cared about you. The chances of them hurting you are slim, so you’re able to live with them without fear.
The cuff around your ankle came off about a week in, and Shouta gave you the freedom to roam the house, though it wasn’t without warning. He held his hand out to you, an offer to help you stand, and you took it. Slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shift your weight to your feet. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn, but Shouta held you to let you stretch your legs and get comfortable walking again.
He led you out to what you assume is the dining table and sat you down, Shouta taking the seat on your right. You assume Hizashi is in the kitchen, what with the clatter and smell of food. Shouta asked what you’d been drawing, which caught you a bit off guard, but you answered anyway.
“Koi fish.” He hummed, focused on you.
“Any particular reason why?” You take a moment to think about your answer, it’s not a question you’re used to responding to.
“Well they’re gorgeous creatures. Elegant, sleek and graceful. The way they move is so mesmerizing, smooth and flawless like a flowing creek. I’ve always loved drawing koi.”
The conversation lapses into your fascination with the fish, how they somehow remind you of dragons and how the fantastical creature’s existence isn’t as far-fetched as it’s made out to be. Hizashi joins soon enough, serving dinner and listening in on the conversation.
Once you all finish eating you get comfortable on the couch, nestled between the two men. It isn’t long before you drift off to sleep, their body heat lulling you into dreamland. Shouta carries you to bed, carefully laying you down and pressing a light kiss to your temple. He stands above you, admiring your features as you sleep.
You’re gorgeous to him, a goddess in your own right. He and his blonde counterpart had started watching you mainly because you were a woman, completely alone and seemingly unarmed in a bar until the earliest hours of the morning. Neither of them could tell if you were quirkless or not, and as heroes they made sure to keep an eye on you during their weekly trip to the bar should you get into any trouble.
But eventually it became a habit to look for you, and the more they looked the farther they fell. You looked as exhausted as Shouta every time you stepped through the doors, hair just beginning to lose its style and shoulders sagged. But you were so beautiful, even in your exhausted state. Hizashi was the first to mention his infatuation to Shouta, but the raven-haired man had already figured the blonde was into you.
Soon enough they began to get antsy, constantly watching you walk out the door into the dead of night all alone. You’re just too trusting of the world outside, not taking enough precautions for a woman of your caliber. They made it their mission to make sure you were safe, and one day, take you back home where they could protect you.
Now that you’re here, it’s like a dream. Even as you sleep you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. How your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your lips softly part with every breath, how your chest gently rises and falls, it all makes him stare down at you in complete awe. It takes a great deal of willpower for him to tear his eyes away from you and join Hizashi in their room.
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***3 months later***
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A couple months have passed since you’d...moved in with the two men, and you can’t say you hate it. They’ve respected your privacy, allowing you to stay in your own room and letting you bathe yourself after refusing their attempts at persuading you to join them. Honestly it’s been nice living with them.
Though, the longer you’re with them the more thoughts begin gathering and swirling in your head. Caring thoughts, how their days progress, how they’re feeling at any point in time. And needy, dirty thoughts. Any time those pop up you make it a point to push them deep down into the farthest recesses of your brain, refusing to fuel those pesky embers.
Somewhere in the back of your mind you know what’s happening, what’s been happening. You’re no stranger to Stockholm Syndrome, having done your own minimal research on the subject a few years back. You constantly tell yourself this isn’t normal, nor is it healthy, to enjoy the company of your captors. You have to remind yourself that they had taken you from everything you knew, and even though there wasn’t much for you to love, they’d taken you from that as well.
But soon enough the illogical prevailed, because despite all of that, the two have been nothing but good to you.
In no time at all the days you spend alone in the large house are the days you find yourself missing their company, hoping they’d return sooner. You managed to dig through their clothes and pick out some of their older t-shirts, and began wearing them around the house. Their lingering scents have been a comfort as you patiently wait for them to come back. They don’t seem to mind at all, so you’re content.
As time passes you get closer with them, gravitating toward them and snuggling into either of their sides, letting them wrap an arm around you and tug you into them. You began giving kisses when they left and returned, a small peck on the cheek at the door. The first time you had engaged a kiss was a shock to both of them.
You had tugged Shouta’s sleeve and when he turned you silently grabbed his collar and yanked him down, leaving a small peck on his cheek, doing the same with Hizashi. They barely had the time to react before you dashed to your room and curled under the blankets, face heated and heart pounding like some schoolgirl who had confessed to her crush and got a positive response. That night you’d received more cuddles and kisses than normal.
The kisses became routine, and before long you all slept in the same bed. Strangely enough, life began to feel somewhat normal. The house began to feel like home.
And soon enough that schoolgirl crush manifested into something dirty, something lustful and carnal. Just as much as you long to be around them, you want desperately to feel their hands on your bare skin, mapping out the curves of your body as you writhe beneath them. You crave them and their touch. But of course you still have your pride. Dropping hints would have to suffice.
Slowly, subtly, you dress lighter, more scantily. No shorts under their t-shirts that barely cover your ass, allowing the stretched collars to drop and expose the slightest peek of skin. After a shower you walk back to the room in nothing but a towel, allowing the edge to ride up your thighs. Your tactics seemed to work, their eyes glued to the newly exposed skin, soaking in your plush thighs and soft skin. Their stares make you ache, but after weeks of nothing but lingering glances you decide to toss your pride out the window.
You have dinner ready when they walk in the door, and after everyone had eaten and showered you usher them both to the couch while you sit facing them from the coffee table. Their confusion is evident on their faces, your nervous fidgeting and reluctance to look them in the eyes didn’t help. What you’re about to bring up is embarrassing to say the least, but staying silent would be a detriment to your sanity. With a steadying breath, you meet their gaze and quietly force out your seemingly ridiculous request.
“So… I enjoy being here with you,” your fingers twist into the hem of your shirt and you swallow down the lump in your throat, “and I really appreciate that you’ve given me anything I asked for-”
“No.” Shouta’s voice suddenly cuts off your sentence.
“You can’t go outside, Kitten. I’m sorry, but that’s non-negotiable right now.” You blink dumbly at him, completely thrown off balance by his statement before you catch yourself, waving your hands frantically in front of you.
“No! Oh god, that’s not…um…. I wasn’t asking to go outside. I love being here, with you, and doing whatever but...it’s what we don’t do...that’s bothering me...just a little bit…” By now your voice is so quiet and high-pitched you wonder if they can even hear you. Hizashi, bless his heart, is just as confused as before the conversation started.
“Sunshine, you aren’t making much sense. If you think about it, there’s actually a lot we don’t do.” Shouta holds a hand up, silencing the blonde. His dark eyes drag over your body, watching the way your thighs almost imperceptibly rub together and you can’t meet his gaze. You squirm, the intensity in his eyes something you aren’t used to but it makes you hot all over. His hand comes down on his thigh twice.
“Come here, Kitty.” Slowly, you stand and walk to him, letting his hands grab your hips and pull you down to straddle his lap. A finger curls under your chin, angling your head to look Shouta in the eyes. A small smirk pulls the corner of his mouth, a moment of realization flashing across his face.
“Our little Kitty is getting needy ‘Zashi. Isn’t that right, Kitten?” Heat flooded your face, your embarrassment and arousal sending hot blood to your face and chest. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, hoping they’d do something about the very horny state you’re in. Shouta’s hand moves to your hip again, lifting you and placing you in Hizashi’s lap before standing and walking away.
The blonde cooed at the surprised squeak you let out at the sudden movement, and you open your eyes to his wide grin. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. It feels nice, and you let your body melt into him and his warmth, his long fingers digging into the flesh of your lower back as he tugs you closer and a pleasant haze settles over your mind.
It’s a blissful moment shared between you, and Shouta returns just as Hizashi pulls away from the kiss. They share a look you can’t place before the former raises a hand to gently stroke your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He seems conflicted, trying to mull over some sort of decision in his brain, his brows just barely drawn and jaw set. When his eyes dropped to his other hand, yours followed, to find he held a long thin black velvet box. Clearly it holds some sort of jewelry.
After a few moments he turns it to you and lifts the lid, and your heart damn near stops beating. Whether it’s from excitement or a brief flash of fear, you don’t know. These two have been watching you for much longer than just at the bar. Those few months are only the tip of the iceberg, but how they’d come to notice you would probably forever remain a mystery to you.
Right now, all that matters is that they know everything. From your failed relationships to the reason they’d all ended. They had to know, that’s the only explanation. There’s no possible way it’s pure coincidence that you now gaze down at a beautifully crafted leather collar. It’s simple, thin, black dotted sparsely with sparkling gems and a dainty metal ring centered at the front. Tentatively, you reach out and trace the leather with your fingers.
“Is this...for me?” A deep hum sounds in Shouta’s chest, and that’s answer enough for you. Shouta plucks the garment from its seat and moves behind you. The cool leather feels heavenly as he loops it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. Everything seemed to go quiet as you waited for something, anything, to solidify this moment.
Click.
You shudder out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Shouta tilts your head and presses his lips to yours, looping a finger through the collar and giving a gentle tug. It makes you mewl, allowing him space to slip his tongue behind your teeth. He can see your pupils dilate when he pulls away, plush lips slick with saliva, lust invading your mind. You look so needy and desperate for them, so fucking gorgeous.
Hizashi leaves a kiss on your cheek then picks you up and places you on your feet. Both men grab either of your hands, lacing their fingers with yours, and gently pull you with them to the bedroom. Hizashi begins undressing first, and you can only let your eyes drag over his bare upper body for a moment before Shouta grabs your chin and distracts you with another kiss. This one is more passionate, heated, rough as his tongue effortlessly invades and dominates your mouth. Hizashi’s voice permeates your lust-filled haze.
“Come here, baby.” Shouta pulls away and allows you to walk over to where the blonde sits naked on the edge of the bed. He motions for you to turn around and you oblige, then he grabs your hips and pulls you back to sit in his lap, your back pressed to his chest. You watch as Shouta undresses, baring his skin to you as Hizashi tasks himself with undressing you.
Your shirt is the first to be removed, a groan spilling from the blonde when he discovers you aren’t wearing a bra. He pulls you flush against his chest, peppering wet kisses down your neck and shoulders as your eyes roam over Shouta’s sculpted frame. The raven haired man makes his way over, kneeling down between your legs and reaching up to toy with your breasts, rough fingers working your nipples until they peak. Hizashi’s hands find their way down to the pouch of your stomach, grabbing at the soft pliant flesh and squishing the fat there.
You let out a low whine, feeling extremely self-conscious with his hands working at the parts of your body you hate the most. You grab at his wrists in an attempt to pull him away, but he hushes you and whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your neck.
“It’s okay, pretty baby. Let me feel you.” You will yourself to let him go, let his hands explore your body the way he wants. He keeps his hands on your belly, long fingers massaging into your skin.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He’s nipping and kissing at your neck, whispering praises into your ear as he fondles all the fatty parts of you.
Shouta’s hands reach up and tug your panties down, then grip your thighs and pull them apart, exposing you to his hungry eyes. You can’t help but feel exposed, uncomfortable, as they touch and gaze at every part of yourself you had always despised. A whimper builds in your chest, tears beginning to sting your eyes and your breath shaking. Hizashi leans over and kisses your tears away as Shouta leans forward and kisses at your belly and thighs, hands working at whatever flesh he couldn’t get his lips on.
“Let us love you. All of you. You’re such a pretty kitty.” You let yourself relax, let yourself relish in the fact that these two gorgeous men are doting over your body like you’re a goddess, like they couldn’t live if they didn’t worship every one of your perfect imperfections. Though you’re far from comfortable, the initial fear subsides, allowing them full access to you.
“Good girl kitty, good girl.” Shouta whispers as he nips at your thighs, sucking little red marks into your skin. He hooks your legs over Hizashi’s, and the blonde’s fingers dip down to tease your folds, barely breaching your little hole and making you buck for more friction. A soft moan slips from your lips as he pushes two long fingers into your soaked pussy.
You rock your hips into his hand, his palm barely brushing against your clit making you mewl. Shouta focuses his attention on your breasts and belly where Hizashi left bare, kneading and kissing and licking, leaving blooming marks all over your skin. Soon you feel a knot form in your stomach, tightening and burning impossibly hot. Hizashi feels your pussy clenching around his fingers and quickens his pace, grinding his palm down against your clit hard and curling his fingers to hit that spot that has you seeing stars.
When the knot snaps you’re falling apart on Hizashi’s lap, back arched and legs shaking. You throw your head back against his shoulder and cry out, pleasure racking your body in intense waves. Hizashi keeps moving his fingers inside you, letting you ride out your high, legs trembling and toes curling with the continued stimulation.
After your release you relax back down, chest heaving with every breath. Hizashi lifts you up and lays you down on the bed, Shouta crawling up over you and kissing you sweetly. He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, lining up his painfully hard erection with your throbbing pussy.
“Are you ready for me kitty?” You look up at him through your lashes and nod fervently, needing him desperately despite the sensitivity. He tugs at your collar gently.
“Use your words kitty cat. Are you ready for me?” Your eyes widen slightly and you answer without any real thought.
“Yes Daddy.” Shouta growls at the name and swears under his breath, thrusting his hips forward and bottoming out all at once. The air is punched from your lungs, the stretch around his thick length almost enough to make you cum a second time. Shouta leans down and kisses at the bruises Hizashi had left on your neck, giving you some time to adjust. It only takes a few moments for your walls to stop clamping down on him.
“I’m going to move now kitty. Relax for me.” He starts slow, groaning as he watches his length slide in and out of you.
Your warmth feels so good around his cock, and he moves faster, driving his cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Hizashi lays down next to you and puts two fingers into your mouth, your tongue sliding over them, coating them in your saliva.
He pulls them out and goes to rub your clit, leaning over and placing open mouth kisses along your collarbone, sucking new bruises onto your skin. Your legs quake with the quick building pleasure, your second orgasm creeping up fast. Suddenly both men stop their movements, Shouta pulling your body flush against him and sitting up.
Lithe, cold fingers suddenly dance around your back entrance, toying with your puckered hole. A single finger pushes in and you mewl and squirm at the new sensation. A second finger works its way in, the two digits working to stretch you gently. Soon there’s a third, and when you’re relaxed the fingers are gone and replaced by the thick head of Hizashi’s cock.
“You ready, sweet thing?” You nod and whine, a little weary but ready to be full of the two men. He slowly inches his way inside, shallow thrusts sinking him deeper until his hips are flush with your ass. Both men pepper wet kisses along your shoulders, giving you time to relax, but you don’t need it. You whine, wiggle your hips in an attempt to get them to move, and they oblige.
Their initial pace is slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as they slip in and out of you. They build up a rhythm, when one is bottomed out the other has only the tip in, and soon you’re drooling from the amount of stimulation you’re getting. Hizashi’s fingers move down to work at your clit, and just the slightest touch has you trembling. The stimulation shoves you over the edge and has you cumming hard around them, your slick dripping down your thighs. They slow their pace slightly, your holes clamping down on them and attempting to milk them dry. Hizashi’s fingers rub your clit harder, overstimulating you.
“Do you have one more for us baby? I know you can cum one more time for us.” You whine, thrashing in their arms trying to simultaneously get away and tug them closer. Tears fall down your cheeks and a familiar tension fills the pit of your stomach and Shouta leans over and bites down on your shoulder. The pain pulls you over, crying out as you clamp down on their lengths hard. Their hips stutter as they chase their own release, and they shoot rope after rope of cum into you as you ride out your own high.
They still their movements, holding you and each other close. After a few moments they pull out together, the movement making you moan and tremble. Your body goes limp and Shouta pulls you to lean against him, stroking your hair and back. You’re sobbing softly into Shouta’s shoulder, your last release washing over your body almost painfully, your bones already beginning to ache. Shouta rubs your back softly and Hizashi peppers soft kisses along your shoulders, both cooing praises in your ears.
Shouta picks you up and the three of you go over to the bathroom, where Hizashi plugs the drain and turns on the tap to fill the large tub with hot water. Shouta climbs in and sits down, still cradling you, and the slowly rising water begins to soothe you. Hizashi pulls out a tube of ointment and rubs it onto Shouta’s back, relieving the scratch marks you left on him. After tending to Shouta he unlocks your collar and sinks into the tub, leaning against you. You let the two massage you and wash you, bringing you back from the intense scene.
“You okay kitten?” Shouta rumbles into your ear, petting your hair. You nod into his shoulder and grab Hizashi’s hand, wanting to be close to the both of them. The hot water and the care of the two bring you back down to earth, and you start to feel fatigue pulling at your consciousness. Hizashi notices you drifting off and takes you from Shouta. He dries you off with a towel and locks your collar back around your neck.
“Sho, I’m going to take her to bed. When you’re ready come join us.” Shouta hums and Hizashi carries you to bed.
You lay with Hizashi and cuddle into his chest, letting him hold you and rock you as you drift off. After a few minutes you feel the bed behind you dip and look up at Shouta with half lidded eyes. He gives you a peck on the lips before nuzzling against your back. With a long, soft sigh you melt into their arms, content with the new life you’d been brought into.
#erasermic#yandere erasermic#erasermic x reader#yandere erasermic x reader#erasermic smut#erasermic mha#erasermic bnha#shouta aizawa#shouta aizawa x reader#shouta aizawa smut#hizashi yamada#hizashi yamada x reader#hizashi yamada smut#shouta aizawa mha#shouta aizawa bnha#hizashi yamada mha#hizashi yamada bnha
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The Brothers Comfort MC During a Panic Attack
This is my first attempt at writing down my headcanons for the brothers, so I apologize if anything is out of character. I meant it to be short and sweet, but it grew out of my control after a while. I’m a perfectionist and wanted to rewrite everything. I made minor edits and am posting it anyway or it’ll sit in my drafts forever; I admit I put the most effort into Lucifer’s, forgive me. Also sorry for the repetitiveness and any typos you may find. I decided to write how the brothers would comfort MC during a panic attack, especially as someone who suffers from anxiety and panic attacks themselves. Honestly, I wrote this as a way to comfort myself since I’ve been dealing with terrible anxiety lately. Of course, everyone experiences anxiety differently, so I can only speak from my own experiences. I didn’t go into detail when it comes to the symptoms themselves because it’s from the point of view of the brothers and only so many are visible to the eye. Trigger warning for depictions of anxiety and panic attacks. Thank you for reading!
LUCIFER
Lucifer is troubled. Following lunch, you disappeared, currently absent from class. This is unlike you, his worry intensifying every minute you’re out of his sight. Yet he maintains his composure, resigning himself to scouring the academy grounds. Time passes at a torturous pace, his thoughts beginning to take a turn for the worst. He contemplates whether to involve his brothers and Lord Diavolo himself at this rate, however the sound of his D.D.D diverts his attention. A wave of relief washes over him at the sight of your name lighting up his screen, chased by frustration at you, your silence, and himself for losing track of you so easily; he couldn’t bear living if anything happened to you under his watch. He expects this behavior from his brothers, not you. Though his heart sinks, the Avatar of Pride uncharacteristically overcome with guilt while he reads your message. Of course, you are not his brothers. He should not have doubted you.
Your texts are apprehensive, a weighty pause between them as you hesitate to lay bare the darkest depths of your soul. He approaches you cautiously, to avoid upsetting you further. Your words alone convey the sheer panic taking possession of you, the last of your strength used to press send. Outside he discovers you, huddled miserably in an isolated corner of the building, swathed in shadow. The desire to shelter you from the world burns within him, but your eyes widen fearfully in his presence, wounding his pride. Immediately, you apologize. Sorry you’re missing class, that you left without telling anyone, and upset him—especially when you’re aware of his busy schedule. You’re sorry for not having the courage to pull yourself together, succumbing to your anxiety, your shame palpable. The hand clutching your D.D.D is trembling, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. He aches for you, each tear shed hurting more than the last, your pain managing to touch the very core of his being and set him alight.
If anyone is sorry, it’s him, pride be damned. Kneeling in front of you, he assures you an apology isn’t necessary—your wellbeing of great importance to him. He wants you to rely on him, grateful you confided in him despite your doubts. Hopefully, he can eventually put your mind at ease. His voice low, soothing, he continues to console you, making sure you’re aware he’s not upset, and your feelings are valid. Although he’s not familiar with the inner workings of anxiety itself, he’s willing to listen, learning how to support you to the best of his ability—starting today, providing you’re comfortable accepting his offer. Initially, he prioritized your safety for the sake of the exchange program and Lord Diavolo’s wish to unite the three realms, now it’s merely out of adoration for you, his beloved. Once you’re ready, he’ll let you know you’re not alone. He’s never too busy on your behalf.
Offering you his hand, a smile graces his features as you accept. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, steadying you against him. He notes the way you relax at his touch, shoulders sagging and head coming to rest on his chest. Only you exist in this moment, his gaze not leaving you, not even for a second. Standing in silence until your breathing settles and you regain your balance, he sees you through the height of your attack before escorting you back to the House of Lamentation. He’ll personally excuse you from the remainder of your classes, understanding you need a quiet place to recover. Classical music plays softly in the background of his room, and he’s content to have you in his embrace, drawing you onto his lap after you finish the tea he brewed to calm your nerves. Lucifer pays you special attention, massaging your tired body and kissing you tenderly, his breath fanning across your lips as he reminds you how special you truly are—brave, compassionate, and incredibly loved.
MAMMON
Mammon mourns his loss, wondering how he let them gain the upper hand; admittedly, a foolish mistake on his part. He dreads breaking the news to Lucifer, and the resentment that shows on his brothers’ faces once he confesses does little to ease his mind. Still, he worries about your reaction most of all, knowing his stupidity has put you in a precarious position. In that moment he believes their words—only a greedy scumbag like himself dares to place his human’s happiness on the line. Although certain of his win at the time, he should consider how his actions affect you more often; otherwise, how can he claim he’s the Great Mammon? His confidence is his downfall in the end. Now you’ll suffer along with him. Yet you feign optimism, attempting to soothe everything over despite your innocence. His guilt only grows, a heavy weight on his shoulders. One he deserves.
Three days of waiting on and performing for large crowds at The Fall proves hectic for everyone. He can tell you’re struggling beneath the façade of a composed and hospitable server, going above and beyond to ensure the patrons leave satisfied. Furthermore, you lend him and his brothers a hand, coming to their rescue; it should be him making it as easy on you as possible. His concern for you runs deep, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his usual air of indifference, but you have the nerve to reassure him—it’s meant to be the opposite, dammit. Each night he goes out of his way to check on you, frustrated that you continue to dance around the subject. He can see the exhaustion on your face, hear the slight tremor in your voice, the toll his stupid decision is taking on you, and it stung. You comfort him, even when he’s undeserving, so why won’t you allow him to hold you and kiss the pain away? Not that he’s asked. You should realize by now you can rely on him, right?
Watching you suffer in silence tortures him. He can’t deny it regardless of his best effort to make light of the situation. You barely eat or spend time outside your room, saying you’re tired, which isn’t a lie—working is exhausting, no doubt about it—but he understands you well enough to notice the subtle signs of your anxiety, your smile unable to trick him into believing otherwise. Perhaps you find him as insufferable as his brothers do, or worse, and don’t want to see his face after what he’s done. That doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, hoping he can offer some form of comfort. However, you keep up appearances, supporting the seven of them during the longest weekend of their lives. You work hard too, his chest swelling with pride as he watches you care for his brothers and customers alike. How can you like an idiot like him? You’re selfless and loving, looking past his flaws to see what lay beneath his sin. His human. His angel. He wants—no needs—you to be okay.
The last day comes and goes in a blur. Finally, he can toss these ridiculous clothes and rabbit ears in the trash and never perform that dance again. Better yet, you’re free of his burden, though the guilt remains. He can’t relax until he’s positive you’re okay, knowing he’s genuinely sorry. Standing outside your room, he tries to muster up the courage to open his heart to you—apologies not his strong suit—when he hears you crying. They’re small, muffled sobs that manage to shake him to his core, blood running cold. Yeah, he should knock, but he can’t control himself, throwing the door open without hesitation and rushing to your side. The sight of your tears is almost too much to bear, and he draws you into his embrace, face heating up at his own moment of vulnerability, but this is about you, not him. He can be strong for you too, telling you everything’s going to be okay, that the Great Mammon is here to help.
After his stupidity, you tell him you were afraid to bother him? He can hardly suppress the shock at your confession, the sadness in your eyes breaking his heart. You wanted to make sure it went smoothly for his sake? You suffer through Hell alone because you chose to put his feelings first? Crazy. Though he thanks you, not completely ashamed to admit he’s touched. However, he tells you that you don’t have to put aside your feelings for his benefit; he prefers to be by your side then know you’re having a rough time on your own. He is your first. Taking the initiative, he asks what he can do to make it up to you, no matter how big or small the request is because he’ll do it in a heartbeat. You opt to stay in his arms, burying your face into his chest, and he wipes away your remaining tears, being as gentle as he possibly can. He can feel how tense your body is, your skin unnaturally warm, and it takes a while until you stop shaking. It’s moments like these he’ll tell you how much you mean to him—that he loves you, okay—and he wants you to come to him for everything. He’ll hold you, taking your hand in his, and kiss you with all the adoration in the world because you’re incredibly important to him. Mammon can attest to that.
LEVIATHAN
Leviathan invites you to his room to play video games, a daily routine the two of you have comfortably fallen into. He loves gaming with you, though on occasion you opt to watch instead, thoroughly enthralled by whatever is on the screen. Miraculously, you enjoy listening to him ramble—whether it’s about the game he’s playing, anime he’s watching, or TSL among other things—genuinely showing interest in his passions; he’s incapable of expressing how truly grateful he is for your company. His heart nearly bursts whenever you compliment him on his gaming prowess, encourage him during a particularly intense battle, or merely tell him how you enjoy hanging out. How in the Devildom did a gross otaku like him get so incredibly lucky? He can hardly believe you love him of all demons. The thought alone sounds crazy lmao.
Unable to contain his excitement, he awaits your arrival that night, ensuring everything is perfect when he hears a knock on the door. However, his smile fades the moment he lays eyes on you, mind beginning to race as he wonders why you look miserable, your gaze trained on your hands. Before he can speak, you apologize, dissolving into tears while you return the game he let you borrow. You’re stuttering, completely winded, and he can barely hear you confess to accidentally corrupting his data in your panic. In fact, he loses track of the number of times you choke out a sorry. He treasures his games, his collection extensive, but he cherishes you most of all. The loss is a minor annoyance, nothing that lessens the feelings he harbors for you. Although difficult, he overcomes his insecurities to show you it’s okay—you’re loved.
Not only are you sad, but you’re also terrified, a part of him wanting to destroy the game itself if it means you never have to experience the pain that torments you now. Regarding you carefully, afraid to make matters worse, he reassures you that he’s not upset—far from it, honestly—and that he cares about you more than any game. No stranger to your panic attacks, he reaches out to take your hand in his, hoping you find comfort in what he has to offer. And when you finally glance up, hope shining in your tear-filled eyes, he can’t help but wrap you in his arms. A warmth spreads across his face, heart pounding in his ears, but he knows you need him, allowing his body to relax around yours.
Holding you against him, he tells you everything’s all right, stuttering out how he loves you and, most importantly, wants to you to feel better. Your arms circle around his waist, causing his heart to jump into his throat, but he only pulls you closer. You’re his Henry, and what friend is he if you can’t rely on him? Leviathan is understanding, wanting you to come to him for support at your most vulnerable. Now he puts his knowledge to the test, easing you into his room with continuous words of affirmation. You always know how to console him at his lowest, and he hopes he can return the favor. If anyone deserves to feel loved it’s you, who brought joy into his otherwise bleak world, and he’ll sit with you every day and night if you need him to.
SATAN
Satan knows he shouldn’t be awake, though he finds it difficult to satiate his curiosity as he peruses the books lining his shelves. He barely registers the sound of his D.D.D, reluctant to put the book aside to see who’s messaging him at this ungodly hour; Asmodeus most likely. His tune changes after he sees your name lighting up his screen, his annoyance replaced with worry. He knows you struggle, especially at night, but he can tell you’re hesitant to reach out. Nevertheless, you gradually begin to confide in him, his patience limitless if you’re concerned, and he feels a sense of relief that you choose to trust him at your most vulnerable instead of suffering on your own. Pouring over every book he can locate on anxiety, he studies it religiously, engraining each page into his memory. Not by giving unsolicited advice—he doesn’t want to make that mistake twice—but by comforting you the best he can, even if it simply means to stay by your side, waiting for the panic to pass.
A second later, he appears at your door, gaze softening as your eyes meet. In the darkness of your room, he can tell how exhausted you are. You apologize for bothering him, particularly this late, but he dismisses you with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile, sitting beside you on the bed. It saddens him that you feel the need to, but he’s familiar enough with anxiety by now that he understands how much of a manipulative monster it truly is; if only he can destroy it with his own two hands, strangling the life out of it so it no longer taints that innocent soul of yours. To watch you struggle fills him with a rage that he forces deep within himself, fully aware anger isn’t the answer no matter how great his desire to protect you is. So, he cups your face in his hands, your skin warm beneath his fingers as he strokes your flushed cheeks and presses your foreheads together.
Focus on him, he tells you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his voice while he whispers words of love and encouragement. He never tires of letting you know how beautiful and strong you are, that he’s always here for you and loves you—all of you. You unravel in his arms, opening your heart up to him, and he listens intently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips the moment you look uncertain. You’re not a burden he promises, hoping one day you’ll believe it yourself, but he’ll remind you every chance he gets; forever if he must. It’s worth it in the end, when you relax against him and smile, kissing him in return. Slowly, the anxiety leaves your body, Satan thankful that the waves of panic have receded enough to let you rest your weary mind. He remains next to you, pulling you down to lay your head on his chest and closing your hand in his, entwining your fingers. He’s content here with you, watching you fall asleep and chasing away the nightmares.
ASMODEUS
Asmodeus loves shopping, but he loves shopping with you most of all. The day is bright with you by his side, and he can’t help but buy you clothes and matching accessories to bring out your inherent charm. Your potential is endless, and he gushes over how gorgeous you are, unable to contain his excitement when your cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink in return. He can hardly control himself around you, gaze fixated on your every movement and heart racing each time you flash him one of the sweetest smiles he’s ever seen; your very soul seeming to shine through and blind him. Nothing prepares him for the love he feels for you, but he considers it a welcome surprise, his desire to grow closer to you intensifying day after day. You captivate him, the Avatar of Lust of all demons. What an exciting turn of events!
Of course, he attracts attention wherever he goes, posing for pictures with adoring fans and basking in the compliments constantly thrown his way; nothing new, but he enjoys it, nonetheless. Who can resist the allure of his very presence? However, anger wells within him at the sight of you being shoved to the side, falling to the ground and lost to the crowd that has gathered. Their words of flattery fall on deaf ears as he rushes to you, throwing a heated glance at the lowly demon who dares to touch his darling human. He desires nothing more than to punish them for such an injustice, but the fear in your eyes tells him otherwise. By the time he scoops you up into his arms you’re trembling from head to toe, and he can feel your heart pounding against him. A part of him places the blame on himself, an unfamiliar feeling, but he chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on getting you home in your worsening state.
In the peace and quiet of his room, he sits you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms as he affectionately runs his fingers through your hair. He can tell you’re upset—in an absolute state of panic by the looks of it—and all he can do is hold you through it, quietly asking what you need and willing to answer your every beck and call if it means that adorable smile graces your features once more. For a moment he considers seeking out Lucifer, worried something has gone terribly wrong, but thankfully you find your voice, mumbling into his chest about anxiety and panic attacks, that you’ll be fine—eventually—and are sorry for ruining your date. He doesn’t understand completely, though he knows you need him, promising to stay by your side for as long as you want. Kissing your cheek, he assures you there’s no need to apologize to him, your safety more important than anything else; the demon who laid his hands on you won’t go without punishment either.
Admitting a bath helps calm you down, he prepares one for you, steam rising from the surface and the heady scent of roses filling the air. Together you slip into the water, enveloped by its warmth, and he hums in contentment as you lean into him, his arms coming to rest around your waist. He watches you carefully, making sure you’re able to relax and preparing himself in case you call on him; he’ll do anything for you if it brings you the happiness you deserve. Your eyes flutter close, Asmodeus showering you with delicate kisses, comforted by the fact your breathing has levelled out and you appear a lot calmer than before. The day didn’t go as planned, and he hopes to make it up to you, vowing that no one else will hurt you on his watch. He loves himself. He loves his brothers. But loves you most of all.
BEELZEBUB
Beelzebub notices you haven’t touched your dinner and is beyond happy the moment you offer your plate to him. Yet he can’t bring himself to enjoy the food in front of him while you excuse yourself from the table, eyes downcast and voice quiet, the usual smile gone from your face and leaving behind an emptiness that rivals his own hunger. His mouth waters at the thought of seconds, but his concern for you grows, and he decides to follow you without question, disregarding the ravenous growl of his stomach. He catches you in the hallway, calling out your name. You turn to him, his brow furrowing in unease at the sight of your tears and the slight tremble of your lip. It hurts him to see you in obvious distress, and he earnestly offers his support.
The only sound is that of your sobbing. He desperately wishes to hold you tightly and rid you of your pain. However, he falters, studying you. Your gaze is trained on the floor, shoulders stiff with tension, and the color drains from your cheeks. When you speak, he’s surprised by how helpless you sound and the fact you’re trying to reassure him, putting his needs above your own although you’re struggling to hold yourself together. Fear flickers across your features at the echo of the brothers’ voices travelling up the stairs, and he mumbles out an apology as he carefully lifts you into his arms, cradling you to his chest.
Before the others can round the corner, he hurries down the hall and slips into your room, determined to protect his vulnerable human. He notices you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he can’t help but want to keep you close, relieved after you lean in closer to wrap your arms around his neck. Stroking your hair, he allows you to cry, his patience and love for you endless. Eventually, you mutter an embarrassed sorry, thanking him profusely, but he’s merely relieved you’re beginning to feel a bit better, reassuring you that you can always depend on him.
Listening to you intently, he never breaks eye contact. You open up to him about your anxiety, his stomach twisting as you describe what you call a panic attack and how it wrecks you both mentally and physically. Beelzebub knows he has a lot to learn, but he expresses interest in understanding anxiety and, most importantly, how he can help you, so you don’t suffer alone. For the rest of the night, he keeps you company and eases you through the remainder of your attack, giving you plenty of hugs and rubbing your back in soothing circles until you no longer shake, and your heartbeat returns to its usual pace.
BELPHEGOR
Belphegor enjoys the time you spend together, especially when the two of you are alone. He asks you to accompany him in the attic, and it’s not long before he curls around you, falling into a peaceful sleep as he listens to the steady beat of your heart. However, when he awakes it’s to the sound of your soft cries in the dark, which fill him with a fear he can’t seem to shake. Without hesitation he’s at your side, sitting up to softly place a hand on your shoulder and ask you what’s wrong. The sadness in your eyes as you glance up at him, tears staining your cheeks, tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t bear to see you upset.
Once he realizes you’re having a panic attack, he’s attentive to your needs, cradling you in his arms as you cry into his chest. You confided in him about your struggles with anxiety after you fell to pieces in front of him months ago. A part of him understands, the loss of Lilith haunting him throughout the years and instilling a similar feeling of unease within him, especially when his nightmares seem to blur the line between reality and the painful memories of his past. You always came to his rescue and now it’s his turn to comfort you in your time of need. Sleep can wait.
With you in his embrace, he brings you down to relax against the pillows, pulling the blanket around your shivering form. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he gently brushes the remaining tears from your face, whispering words of love and reassurance. He listens to you when you’re comfortable to talk, the slight tremble of your voice causing him to draw you closer and press a kiss to your forehead. Belphegor tells you he’s here for you—forever—and although he’s still learning about anxiety and finding the best ways to comfort you during an attack, he wants you to depend on him no matter what. Even if that means you wake him up in the middle of the night. He won’t rest until he knows you’re okay, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms.
#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me mc#obey me reader#obey me headcanons#obey me imagines#obey me scenarios#my writing
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and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)
In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.
(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)
A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3
The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]
“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”
Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.
“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.
“So what?”
“So I’m forgiving him.”
She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.
“Hey! That’s not nice.”
“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”
“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”
“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”
Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.
“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.
“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”
“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”
Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”
Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.
“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”
“Essi—”
“Think about it.”
She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.
Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.
Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.
He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.
“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.
“Good,” Jaskier lies.
---
The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.
What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.
He was left anyway.
But now…
Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.
Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—
“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.
Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”
“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”
“No?”
“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”
A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.
“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”
Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?
“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”
“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.
“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”
Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.
“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.
Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.
---
Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.
Jaskier makes no effort to get up.
Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.
He will not do that tonight.
Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.
Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.
“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.
“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.
He’s so still, hovering even.
“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.
Adorable.
Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.
“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.
“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”
It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.
“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”
Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?
“Well, I don’t.”
Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.
“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”
“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”
The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.
“What are you doing?”
Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.
“Sleeping.”
Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”
“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”
Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.
“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”
“You do?”
“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”
Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.
“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”
“I do.”
It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.
He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.
The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?
The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.
---
Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.
Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.
“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”
She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.
“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”
“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”
“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”
Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.
“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”
Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.
“You said you’d come.”
Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.
“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”
Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”
Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?
“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”
With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”
“Surely you understand, Geralt.”
“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”
Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?
For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.
Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.
Was.
Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.
And yet, he’s punishing him still.
The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.
The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.
Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.
Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.
Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.
It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.
Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…
Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.
---
Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;)
Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.
Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3
Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3
#geraskier#geraskier fic#geralt x jaskier#jaskier being an idiot#geralt apologizes#mutual pining#miscommunication#cursed jaskier#jaskier whump#reverse trope#lying spell
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A Wife for Thor Pt.18
Annulment
03/06/2021
Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,291
Warnings: angst, pregnancy, broken marriages, depression, abandonment, little bits of fluff, supportive Loki
A/N: After I finished the last chapter, I went right to work on this one because the mood was good and I’ve been wanting to get these chapters out since the very beginning. These are the moments that drive me to write fics. The point of contention when everything gets messy. I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much for your comments and reblogs. Since I posted this one so quickly after the one before I will be replying to the comments on this one instead of the one before. I hope you can forgive me! <3 Thanks for reblogging if you do, it seriously helps SO much. xoxo
If you were ever in question as to whether you had a fight or flight instinct when faced with stressful situations, you now know that your instinct is to freeze.
You’re immobilized by the terror that’s tearing through you. Nothing feels real at this moment when your whole world has suddenly come crashing down.
Only seconds have passed but you quickly push your meltdown as deep within you as you can.
One hand placed on your belly in an absentminded caress of the baby growing inside, you reach for the door to go in and tell Thor you’re pregnant. It doesn’t matter that Jane is pregnant too.
You’re his wife. This little one inside you is the heir to the New Asgardian throne. And yet, your mind starts to add up the time that Jane might have become pregnant and her baby would come first.
Her child would be heir, not yours. Legitimate or not. These days, that stands for nothing.
So, despite knowing that you’ll have to deal with Jane for the rest of your life as she is the mother of your husband’s first child, it’s really not all that bad.
He loves you.
Thor loves you.
While you process this sudden revelation, the conversation on the other side of the door continues not waiting for you to come to get a grip.
“Are you certain?”
“Do you doubt her?” Thor demands, sounding frustrated and stressed.
“Yes,” Loki says passionately, “I would doubt anyone that I have not seen in several months.
“What reason would she have to lie?” Thor begs, genuinely looking for an excuse that will make this untrue. “She has never wanted the responsibility of the throne. She has always spoken of having children as a distant possibility. Not an assurance. The last thing Jane would want is a baby.”
“When did you even have the opportunity to bed her? Did you secretly make her your mistress?”
“No!” Thor gasps, as if the idea of cheating on you is ridiculous. “No, I-it was the day I went to end things with her when Y/N accepted my proposal.”
“So, you slept with Jane and then came back home and bedded your new fiance on the same day?”
“I’m not proud of that fact,” Thor admits.
“Regardless, even if you did sleep with her, you need to have her examined, Thor. You cannot take her on her word, not with so much on the line.”
“Fine,” Thor agrees, “But I’m certain that she isn’t lying. She’s been tired and sluggish since she arrived, her appetite strange, and this past week she’s been sick at every meeting, unable to hold down any of her lunch.”
A deep sigh from Loki tells you he’s resigned to Thor’s judgement. Jane is pregnant.
“What will you do?” Loki asks.
The quiet tone of their voices more dire than the passionate denial Thor’s voice had been just a moment ago.
You should go in now. You’ll tell him that you don’t care that Jane is pregnant. You’ll support him and assure him that if he wants them to move into the palace or maybe one of the houses on the palace grounds, you won’t mind! In fact, it will be better so that your babies can grow together as true siblings.
“Y/N is not pregnant yet,” Thor says slowly, his voice calculating.
He’s thinking hard.
“What is your point, brother?” Loki demands, sounding defensive.
“If-” Thor breathes in deep, but when he speaks, the words tumble out sure and decided. “If I am to do right by Jane’s and my child, if I am to legitimize my heir, I’ll-”
He hesitates, your heart thrumming so fast and hard that you can hear it’s beat in your ears as your brain throbs.
“I’ll get an annulment. The basis of which will be that Y/N has been unable to provide me with an heir. I’ll get sworn statements from her doctors that our-our bodies are not compatible and since Jane is already pregnant-”
You take a step as if to run but freeze because you know you can’t do this. No. You can’t face this. Not here. Not this close to him and her and all of this stupid royal bullshit that you never asked for but got anyway.
As you fracture from the inside, you paint a calm smile on your face and while you pull it off, you can’t disguise the exhaustion that pokes through. You take several feet back from the door, giving yourself a good length of hallway to walk.
You straighten up, stand as tall as you can, and move towards the parted door, “Thor?”
There’s a rush of movement from inside as you reach the war room and you try to keep your hand from trembling as you reach down and pull the door open.
Inside, Loki stands ramrod straight, hands behind his back and his face carefully devoid of any kind of expression other than his normal neutral.
Thor turns away from his desk, forcing a smile for you until he sees your face and his own falls quickly.
You know he doesn’t think you overheard him because you’d given yourself plenty of distance so that he and Loki could stop talking before you were close enough to hear anything.
But he knows something is wrong and he moves towards you, right hand extended to take hold of your arm.
Trying not to make it obvious, you meander towards one of the tall wooden chairs by the war table and sit down before Thor can touch you.
“What is it, cherub? Are you ill?” Thor wonders, moving towards you.
Feigning interest in the small models of the outposts that the Warriors Three occupy across the planet, you get up and move away from him again as you lean down to look at the one in the United States.
“I’m-to be honest, I am feeling a little under the weather,” you nod, sighing as you give him a quick pained smile.
You clear your throat, hoping that it sounds like you’ve got a tickle.
“I’ll send for the doctor,” Thor moves towards the cord by the door but you stand up straight quickly and shake your head.
“No, Thor, don’t. I think maybe I just need some rest?” you nod, smiling at him again but it still just looks painful. “I came to ask you if it would be okay for me to go stay at my house for a little while? Maybe a week or so? Just so that I can get some proper sleep and-and maybe find out if it’s really me getting sick or I’m just stressed out about this park project?”
“I thought the park was almost done?” Loki checks.
“And it is,” you nod at him. “But we’ve had so much trouble with the import of several of the plants that I’d wanted to have in the wildflower corner of the park and the fountains are still giving us trouble so, I-I just need a few days to get away from it.”
You turn back to Thor who isn’t looking at you anymore but has his hand pressed to his mouth as he loses himself in thought.
As you watch him contemplate and weigh his options, wondering if he should seize this very convenient opportunity you’ve intentionally given him to make up his mind on what to do about Jane and her baby, you very nearly break.
Your lip quivers and in your desire to hide it, you move back towards the door and feign a quick peek out as if looking for someone.
“Thor?” you prod, getting a hold of yourself and turn to fix him with your expectant gaze. “Is that okay? Can I take a few days to just rest up?”
He snaps out of his thoughts and his face softens. You see the Thor who’d just had you perched on his lap, arm around your waist.
“Of course, cherub, if you need some time then you should take it.”
The sadness that fills you is urged on by the knowledge that before Jane’s pregnancy was revealed, Thor would have insisted he come with you.
There is no way that he would have let you go off on your own.
As he moves towards you, this time you make sure not to budge as he places his hands gently on your arms.
He cups the left side of your face, stroking your cheek with his large thumb before he makes to lean in towards you.
Instead of pulling away or making it look too obvious, you press your face in against his chest and he strokes your back as you successfully juke his kiss.
“No, don’t kiss me. I-I threw up and I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you pretend to fuss.
“You know I don’t care, cherub,” Thor nudges you back a little.
“Well, I do.”
You shake your head at him, delving deep into your soul to scrounge up whatever pieces of it you can find and give him a small pout instead.
“Alright,” Thor gives in, but he still leans down and presses his lips to your cheek and then your forehead before you’re pulling away from him to edge towards the door.
“I should go if I want to catch the next flight out,” you tell him.
“Y/N,” he calls and you stop by the door to look back at him, wishing he’d just let you go so that you can fall apart alone and away from all the eyes of the palace.
Thor clenches his hand into a tight fist, gently tapping it against the war table as you wait.
“I love you.”
You blink, give him a quick forced smile, and sigh because despite the heartache you’re drowning in, “I love you too, Thor. So much.”
As you walk away, you know that nothing will ever be the same. In a week’s time, you might not even be Queen anymore. Wouldn’t that be something?
~~~~~~~~~~
You’re given a bodyguard. Well, more like a friend who can kick serious ass. Hilde was happy to volunteer.
“Something’s up,” she observes as she escorts you into the airport gate.
Normally you’d have set up for a private plane, or Thor would have.
But he has other things on his mind.
“What do you mean?” you ask her, clearing your throat again for the fifth time since you left the palace in order to uphold the pretense of feeling sick.
“Your face is all wrong, you’re not saying something.”
“I have nothing to hide, Hilde. I’m just tired. I feel weak and beaten. I feel like I can’t catch my breath. Like I’ll crack if I’m not careful enough to hold myself together.”
All of this is true. You do feel like you’re about to crumble to pieces. Nothing you just said is a lie. You’re not hiding anything, just waiting. In a week’s time, you’ll know where you stand. And then you can tell Hilde everything.
“How long have you felt this way?” Hilde wonders, real concern painting her tone.
“Not long,” you tell her. “It just started today, actually. About two hours ago?”
“There’s something more,” she refuses to believe that you’re only sick. “It’s like you’re running from something.”
“What would I be running from, Hilde? My luxurious and comfortable life? My loving husband? My sweet and loyal people? My life is perfect. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything.
“I have a family. The only thing I’ve ever wanted. Why would I run from that? Unless of course, I’m being kicked out?”
Hilde fixes you with a look of complete confusion.
As you hand over your ticket to the man at the gate, you force a smile on your friend.
“If I were being kicked out, I’d run before they could get the chance to give me the boot. Then at least it was my choice and not someone forcing me to go away.”
“Why would anyone kick you out? It’s not possible, Your Majesty. You are Queen of New Asgard. Or did you forget?”
“I don’t think it’s possible for me to ever forget my time as Queen. I think I’ll remember it until the day I die.”
Hilde takes your arm, turning you to face her with subtle force, “Oi, what aren’t you telling me?”
You swallow hard, pushing your sorrow down until you can ignore it a little better.
“I’m-I’m not hiding anything, seriously. I’m just tired, Hilde. Being Queen is harder than I ever thought it could be and even though I love being married to Thor, the stresses of doing my job as Queen have reached a point where it’s boiling over.
“I just need a break...from everyone, Hilde. Even you.”
“What did I do?!” she demands, offended.
“Nothing. You’ve been one of the good parts of being Queen, but I just need a little break from Asgard as a whole. I spent my entire childhood and teenage years alone with no one to rely on me but me.
“I just need to be alone for a bit. One week. That’s all I want. So...I know that Thor won’t be happy about it but now that you’ve seen me onto the plane-”
“I am not leaving you alone,” Hilde frowns, almost angry at you for even asking.
“David is meeting me when the plane lands and then driving me home himself. I’ll be fine being alone for just the flight,” it’s a plea as much as it is a reassurance. “Please, Hilde. Please? Please?”
The higher your pitch gets, the more she breaks, turning sympathetic.
“Please, Hilde? Please?”
She growls and rolls her eyes, holding out your carryon bag--a large brown duffel bag stuffed with clothes--so that you can take it.
“Thor is going to be pissed at me,” she grumbles. “And it’s all your fault.”
You take your bag, hang it on your shoulder, and quickly pull her in to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you, Hilde. I’ll text you as soon as I land. I promise.”
“You’d better, or I’ll come find you and stick at your side like paste.”
A stewardess comes out to peek down at you and you hurry off before Hilde can change her mind.
In no time at all, you’re in your seat, the plane up and the air, and New Asgard--Thor and his annulment of your marriage--is fading fast behind you.
When you land, no one is there to meet you.
A necessary lie. You'll have to call David in the morning and let him know what's happening. He's your lawyer and if Thor goes through with his plan, you'll need to be legally ready.
You're hit with a stab of hurt that your previously loving marriage has taken such a shift.
Still, you feel bad for lying to Hilde, but when you’d said you needed your alone time, you’d meant it.
You rent a car with your own money, ignoring the shiny black credit card that Thor had given you during your honeymoon shopping trip. The last thing you need is them tracing your movements when you just want to be left alone.
The drive home is lengthy but the peace it brings you is welcome.
Four hours of no one but yourself, the music on your radio, and endless grassy hills and small town charms streaking past your windows like long lost friends.
After an hour of driving you stop at a roadside diner. You buy a bag full of fries, smear them in lines of ketchup, grab a lemonade to go, and text Hilde that you’re with David and on your way home.
After another hour, you stop again. This time at a decently sized convenience store, newly built. It's a truck stop really and you take the chance to use the bathroom then loiter by your car as you tap the screen of your phone with your thumb, waking it up over and over again. Unable to make up your mind.
Your wallpaper taunts you. A picture of you sitting between Thor’s legs on your massive bed, his arms wrapped around you as your left hand is placed to his cheek as he kisses yours, your other arm extended as you take the picture.
It’s difficult to find the courage to unlock your phone, scroll through your contacts, and press the little phone to dial Thor.
He doesn’t pick up right away.
Sadly your marriage already feels like a past life. It feels dead. Like a good dream you’ve woken up from and you just know if you try and go back to sleep to keep it going, it’ll only turn into a nightmare.
The phone rings and rings. It goes to voicemail.
It hurts. So much more than you expected it to hurt and your tears overflow leaving salty trails along your cheeks as you hiccup and try not to sob out loud.
You lean and cry against your car for the longest two minutes of your life before your phone is ringing and vibrating in your hand.
It’s Thor, and for a second, you consider not answering. You consider disappearing. Just fading into the wilderness. Abandoning your car right here. Never making it to your little house. It's so tempting in the moment to give up your throne, which will soon be taken away from you, and start your life again.
How long would they look for you? Would they eventually assume you're dead?
Still, you know that Dr. Wilson and Dr. Alric would spill the beans and if Thor knew...
You press your free hand to your stomach and know that you can’t just vanish. This life will follow you wherever you go and as painful as it is, you’re not sorry for the baby you’ve made.
You swallow your sobbing and with all of the other things you’re not allowed to feel right now or you’ll give yourself away, bury it deep down inside.
Gliding your finger across the screen, you answer the phone and press it to your ear.
“My love,” Thor gasps, sounding stressed or tired? Labored breathing.
Your mind goes to dark places and you chase away the nasty images your mind thinks up before you can let them hurt you more.
How can he still call me that?!
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer. Forgive me. I'd left my phone on my desk and I had my hands full of books.”
Your mouth won’t open. It won’t speak.
You realize all of a sudden that you don’t want to talk to Thor. You’re so angry at him. You’re hurt and betrayed and everything he’s ever told you is a lie.
“Y/N?” he sounds so confused.
“I’m here,” you manage.
“How are you feeling, cherub?”
Stop calling me that!
“I’m not great,” you sigh, sagging against the car. “I just wanted to call you to tell you that I’m with David and we’re on our way to my house. We stopped at the store to go to the bathroom, so I thought I’d call you.”
“Wait, David? Why is David with you? Where is Brunnhilde?” Thor asks, his heavy breathing still loud.
“I asked her to stay behind,” you explain. “Look, Thor I don’t really feel well enough for talking. I just didn’t want you to worry. I promised I’d call.”
“Why would she let you go alone?” Thor demands, shouting into whatever room he’s in. “Loki! Where is Brunnhilde? Get her up here!”
“I have to go, Thor. David’s waiting. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Wait. Don’t hang up yet, cherub. Do you have a doctor to see you close to home?” Thor frets, and you can’t stand it.
“I’m coming, David!” you pretend to call, the convenience store clerk currently throwing the trash looks at you then turns his head back and forth as if searching for who you might be talking to. “Bye, Thor.”
“No, wait, love. Don’t hang-”
His voice is cut off and yet his deep tone still rings in your ears as if he were standing right beside you.
Your heart cries out for him. You wish he was there with you but then your brain reminds you that your time with Thor is already over.
The clerk is still looking at you and you give him a quick shake of your head.
“Sorry,” you start. “Bad breakup.”
He nods sympathetically as you get back in your care then gives you a wave as you drive off, setting back off into the night.
You’re not driving twenty minutes before your phone dings. A text.
Then again. And again. And again. Too many texts come through and you can’t stand it.
You reach over and completely shut it off.
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s midnight when you finally get up from bed.
There’s no escaping Thor even here in your own home. Your honeymoon memories are everywhere here.
The bed. The shower. The closet--Thor was eager one morning. The kitchen. The backyard. Every room has a memory. Not all of them sex, but all of them just as poignant and meaningful.
Or so you’d thought.
You wander down the hall to your kitchen, flipping the switch as you enter and make a beeline for the vintage fridge.
“Shit-” you sigh, not even opening it as you remember that there will be no food until you go shopping for some.
You take a peek, just to confirm, and all that's inside is a half empty jar of pickles on the door.
Irritated, you move towards the pantry and grab the first box of cereal you see, pop it open and plunge your hand inside.
You scoop a bit into your mouth but just as you begin to crunch, your mouth falters at the sight of Loki sitting on one of your island stools where he clearly wasn't before, a gentle smile to compliment the knowing sharpness in his eyes.
“You heard us, didn’t you?”
You try not to react to his question, because it’s not a question. Just confirmation of what he clearly already guessed.
“You’re not really here, are you?” You finish chewing, taking more cereal into your mouth after you swallow.
You’re starving. You should have bought some burgers at that diner to reheat and eat tonight and tomorrow.
“No,” Loki confirms. “I'm...checking in. Thor doesn’t know. He’s pretty oblivious, actually. Other things on his mind.”
“Like pregnant ex-girlfriends whose baby will have a stronger claim over the Asgardian throne than mine?”
There’s a bitterness in your voice but you don’t feel sorry for it. You’re not going to hide how hurt you are.
Loki’s face finally breaks as he realizes what you mean. He gives you a small startled blink before he’s got control of his expression again.
“Don’t tell him, Loki.”
“He deserves to know.”
“Does he?” you demand, voice rising in your anger. “And I don’t deserve to know about Jane being pregnant?”
“He would have told you,” Loki assures you.
“When?” You demand, eyes stinging. “When he needed my signature on the annulment papers?”
“He’s not decided on anything yet.”
“Oh, my god! As if that even fucking matters!” you get up, throwing the box of cereal into the garbage.
They’re stale.
“The point is he thinks it’s a good idea. I married him. I thought he welcomed me into his family. I thought I belonged with him, and you and Hilde and Heimdall, but I’m just some fucking guest after all, aren’t I?”
“You’re overreacting,” Loki chastises you.
You pick up a nearby mug and chuck it at him. It goes through him and breaks against the wall behind him.
“Don’t tell me that I’m overreacting when my husband is thinking about legally erasing all traces of our marriage!
"I trusted him," you reach up and jab at your own chest somewhat painfully.
"I thought what we had was worth keeping and protecting. I was already making plans to move Jane and her baby into the palace so that our kids could grow up together, as a family but he doesn’t want that.
“He doesn’t want me in his life if he’s already got another heir lined up so why should I tell him? If he doesn’t want me without this baby then he has no right wanting me with it!”
Loki lets you shout, he lets you break down. He doesn’t judge you for it either, but he reads into it. Too much, and you hate him for it.
You don't want to be reasonable. This doesn't feel like the time for reason. You're shattered.
“He loves you, Y/N. His choice is made-”
“For the child, yes. I get that. That doesn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe I shouldn’t be angry for him doing right by his baby when I’m carrying one of my own, but I am angry. It hurts to know that in moments he was able to make the choice to end our marriage.
“He’s my husband and I am his wife. Does that seriously mean nothing?”
Loki shakes his head, “I’ve already told you that he hasn’t decided anything, yet.”
“You don’t get it, and I don’t know that you can understand what even considering the option of annulment means for us as a couple.”
Loki sighs, “I want you to listen to me very clearly, Y/N. I say this with as much love as a brother can feel for his sister. You need to understand and you need to accept that you and Thor are not a normal couple. Thor is, first and foremost, a king.
“He is beholden to his people and he needs to ensure our position on this planet because we don’t have a home anymore. We are refugees and this is our home now. It is Thor’s job to protect that on behalf of all of us by any means necessary. Choices like these are the reason that my brother resisted the throne for so long.
“As a King, all of the love in the world cannot keep him from making the choices that will benefit our people, even if the choice should hurt him in the process.”
You’re shaking with tears as Loki speaks, shaking your head as you press your hand against your tummy. Your thoughts are full of the baby growing within you and the helpless feeling that presses down on you.
“That’s why this baby changes things, Y/N. You must tell him that you’re pregnant if you are going to keep him for yourself. If you want your marriage to survive this, you can’t keep this from him.”
Shaking your head, you turn away from him to fill a small glass with water and take a small drink.
Yes, you need to tell Thor that you’re pregnant. As wounded as your pride is, you can’t keep him in the dark forever.
“My Queen?” Loki urges you, calling you by your title probably to remind you that like Thor, you have obligations even if you don’t like or want them.
“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll tell him, but not yet. Just give me this week, Loki. Please.”
When you turn to look at him again, he’s softer with his gaze.
“You’re going to let him suffer for his idea of the annulment,” he guesses.
“No,” you shake your head. “This isn’t for Thor. This is for me. Just because I understand the reason he thought of an annulment doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt anymore.
“If I saw him right now, I couldn’t even talk to him, Loki. He might have betrayed me for good reasons, but he’s still betrayed me. He still accepted, even for a few moments, that giving me up was the best thing he could do.
“And maybe it’s because he’s the-the first person that I’ve ever loved, and maybe I’m still looking at our very arranged marriage with some girl’s view of romance but I can’t separate his duty from my hurt and I-I don’t know that I can ever forgive him.”
"I suppose that's fair," Loki sighs. “I won’t say anything, I promise. But I’m going to make sure that he’s here on Friday. From there, it’s your duty as mother to a future prince or princess of Asgard to tell Thor about your pregnancy.”
You move to sit next to him, giving the bits and pieces of the mug you’d thrown at him a look as you settle.
“I’m sorry I threw a cup at your head.".
Loki smirks, “Would you believe me when I tell you that it’s happened before?”
You almost smile, “Yes. I believe it.”
Loki chuckles but you can't return the sentiment. For you, the world is still ending.
“Can you do me a favor, sister?” Loki asks, his term of endearment warms you a little.
Even if Thor found it easily to cast you off, you’re happy that Loki sees you so permanently a part of his family.
“Something tells me I’m not going to be happy about it, but sure.”
“Turn on your phone,” he glances at the phone sitting at the center of the island only inches away from you where you’d left it to avoid temptation. “Thor won’t shut up about how you’re not replying. If you really want to cherish some time alone, it would be better if you answered him. If he’s worried, he can get here within the hour. I don't suppose you want that."
"No," you shudder..
"Oh, and make sure you use your black card. He’ll be checking to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself.”
You roll your eyes, the rift between you and Thor already so big you can’t see a way to fix it.
“This contradiction of Thor loving me so much he’s worried to death and his ability to decide on annulling our marriage is hard to swallow. What’s he going to do when we’re not married anymore and I’m living here and he’s married to Jane?”
“That will never happen, Y/N seeing as you’re going to tell him that you’re pregnant and he won’t go through with an annulment.” Loki insists.
“What if he does?” you wonder. “Jane’s baby was conceived first. They’ll be heir to the throne. Not mine. What if Thor decides that an annulment is still the best course of action?”
“Then I think I’ll have to reconsider my pledge to serve him as my King. But he won’t go through with it, I promise you. Trust me. I know him. Thor is too soft hearted to hurt you like that.”
“He already hurt me, Loki. It’s just the finality of a follow through that I’m waiting for.”
“You’re so eager to be abandoned,” Loki observes, frustrated with you.
“It just feels like I already have been. I’m sorry if that bothers you, but I can’t help how I feel. Haven’t you ever thought you belonged somewhere only to find out that you’re not as accepted as you thought?”
Loki thinks for a moment, his silence heavy with memory, “I have.”
“And how long did it take you to get over it?”
Loki grins, meeting your eyes with a bit of resignation.
“A long time,” he admits.
“And mine just happened today. You expect me to be over it already? Get bent, Loki.”
Loki chuckles.
“You have a point. I’m sorry, I’ve been looking at this through the lens of being my brother’s advisor. I’ll try and do better.”
His promise is genuine and it makes you feel better that you have at least one person on your side.
“Thank you, Loki,” you sigh. “I know this isn’t an easy spot for you to be in, between me and Thor. I appreciate you coming to check on me.”
“It’s my pleasure. Thor might not have noticed the way you refused to touch him when you left today but I was instantly sure that you’d heard everything. Does it bother you that he slept with her and you on the same day?”
“Not as much as I thought it would,” you admit. “Even without him explicitly saying it, I knew that he’d been with her. I knew that it was likely that he’d slept with her. They were in love. Maybe him more than her, but they didn’t break up because they wanted to. They broke up because he needed to get married and Jane wasn’t ready to do that.
“If Thor had made more of an attempt to delay our wedding, maybe Jane would have come to him sooner with her news and Thor and I would never have gotten married. I wouldn’t be pregnant, and this would all be much less messy.”
“I’m glad he didn’t wait. I’d rather have you as a sister than Jane. She’s nice but you’re much better suited to be Queen.”
“Until my King pisses me off and I run off for a week,” you tease.
“This is an exceptional situation,” Loki nods. “I don’t think if anyone else were in your shoes, they would be any less hurt than you by the news of Jane’s baby. If she is pregnant.”
You look at him, interest piqued.
“You said something like that before, that Jane should get tested to make sure she’s pregnant. What makes you think she might not be?”
“Nothing in particular. She might be. I just really don’t want her to be. I like you for Thor, Y/N. As far as I’m concerned, you’re Asgardian now.”
“I wish Thor thought like you do.”
“He does think it, Y/N. He’s just thrown off balance right now. Give him a little time and tell him about your child. His child, and it will clear up his mind. His judgement is compromised by the fact that he has an heir from the woman he once loved and the woman he now loves has had no luck in conceiving one. Or so he thinks.”
“I already told you that I’ll tell him, Loki. I just want some time.” you sigh.
“I know. We’re talking in circles. I’ll go, let you get some rest.”
You turn to watch him, slowly he begins to dissolve into slow moving golden swirls mixed with a tinge of green.
“Oh, and check your fridge again. I’ve left you a present.”
Just as quickly as he’d shown up, he’s gone.
With a heavy heart you remember the favor he asked of you and turn on your phone.
Twenty texts chime in and you quickly scroll through them.
They’re all from Thor, save for two from Hilde.
Hilde: Thanks. Be careful.
Hilde: Snitch!
All of Thor’s are variations of the same message.
Thor: Please reply, cherub.
Thor: Are you asleep?
Thor: I’m sorry if I’m waking you up.
Thor: Are you home yet?
Thor: Are you safe?
It isn’t until the last few messages that his frenzy of worry seems to change. More resigned to your lack of response. Probably believing that you are actually asleep.
Thor: I miss you already, cherub. I can’t tell you how strange it is to lay in our bed without you.
Thor: I don’t think there’s been a night since we married aside from my visit to the outposts that I have not had your perfect body pressed to mine.
Thor: My heart aches without you.
Thor: My body craves in your absence.
Thor: My soul is empty. You are my very essence now, my sweet cherub.
Thor: I hope you’re not very ill. I could not stand to lose you.
You sob, reading his texts through paints a drastic contrast between his deep voice crying for annulment and the loving, doting, sweet husband who sent you these messages.
His text voice is also so different from the way he talks. You can hear the way he might have talked to you if he hadn’t spent so much time with the Avengers and other humans here on Earth. Jane probably heard him speak like this out loud when they first met.
She’d been his first contact with this planet.
Wiping at your tears, you clutch the phone to your chest for a moment before focusing your blurry eyes on the screen again to keep reading.
Thor: I’ve never known how essential you are to my life until this moment. I need you at my side. I am most certain of it now.
Thor: I would give my life for you. I will keep you close from now on. I don’t know if I can last a week without you, my love. Don’t hate me if I come to you tomorrow.
Thor: Loki has just told me that he’s come to see that you’ve settled into your home safely. I really need him to teach me that trick. He says you need rest and that you already have a doctor coming by in the morning.
Thor: Please tell me what they say once they’ve seen you.
Thor: Loki keeps yelling at me to let you sleep.
Thor: Goodnight, cherub. I love you. More than my life.
Thor: Please text me in the morning.
Thor: It’s Loki. I’ve taken his phone. I’ll make sure he leaves you alone for the full week. Thank you for turning your phone on.
Y/N: I’m fine, Thor. Just very tired.
And because it’s true and if you don’t say it, he’ll get suspicious:
Y/N: I love you, too.
You sniffle and lock your phone.
“Jerk,” you grieve, and move to the fridge.
Opening it again, you’re surprised to find it fully stocked this time with all of your favorite foods and treats.
Loki is seriously the best brother-in-law in the universe.
#king!thor x reader#thor x reader#royal au#arranged marriage au#a wife for thor#king!thor x reader fic#king!thor x reader fanfic#king!thor x reader fanfiction#king!thor x you#thor x reader fanfiction#thor x reader fanfic#thor x reader fic#thor x you#marvel au#marvel fanfiction#a wife for thor pt18#loki#loki laufeyson
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A confusing clusterfuck of thoughts re: Jonsa
Or: why the fuck are Jon and Sansa so compatible if they're not canon, huh?
He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. - Bran III AGOT
So....Jon is going to lose memory of all warmth? I'm going to separate the changes brought about in post-resurrection!Jon here as changes caused by death and changes caused by Ghost. This post is only speculating about the changes caused by death i.e. loss of memory of all warmth.
More foreshadowing for that-
Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. - Jon III AGOT
"It was. The fort is in a sorry state, admittedly. You will restore it as best you can..." ... You'll sleep on stone, too exhausted to complain or plot, and soon you'll forget what it was like to be warm, but you might remember what it was to be a man. - Jon II ADWD
So, I did a word search for warm and memory and I found some interesting stuff. Read under the cut.
1. Home
Jon- warmth and memory of home
The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon II AGOT (thinking about Arya)
The weariness came on him suddenly... So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man's body. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black... - Jon III AGOT
...Iron Emmett was still urging on his charges in the yard. The song of steel on steel woke a hunger in Jon. It reminded him of warmer, simpler days, when he had been a boy at Winterfell matching blades with Robb under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Ser Rodrik too had fallen, slain by Theon Turncloak... All my memories are poisoned. - Jon VI ADWD
The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it.-Jon XII ASOS
So, these are the memories of warmth he'll lose? This warmth, that he associates with Winterfell (and the Starks), is the first memory of warmth Jon has.
Dany- memory of home
The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind... and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.
"… the dragon …" - Daenerys IX AGOT
Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? - Daenerys VI AGOT
..."What shall we talk of?"
"Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world."
Missandei did her best. She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire. - Daenerys VIII ADWD
Dany's idea of 'home' changes over the course of the books. In the beginning she uses home for Illyrio's house, or the house with the red door. She very clearly doesn't think of Westeros as her home. After Viserys's death however, there's a sudden shift. Now, Westeros is her long lost home that she must return to someday. It's jarring. Interestingly enough, she pretty clearly rejects the idea of Dothraki khalasars as home, and the only time she calls Meereen home is in her last chapter of ADWD where she's trying to convince herself to return there. But we know that she ultimately rejects that too, in the same chapter.
Sansa- memory of home
Snow was falling on the Eyrie.
Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? Already the snowfall lay thick... The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the long summer of her childhood. - Sansa VII ASOS
Last of all came the Royces, Lord Nestor and Bronze Yohn... Though his hair was grey and his face lined, Lord Yohn still looked as though he could break most younger men like twigs in those huge gnarled hands. His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. - Alayne I AFFC
She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend... She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell... - Sansa II ACOK
Arya coz why not
"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you …" - Arya II AGOT
Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC
Again, all this (and much more) is stuff that reminds Sansa (and Arya) of home. This is, presumably, shit that Jon is gonna forget. Or maybe he'll retain the memories and only lose the emotions (warmth) associated with it?
2. Suitors or romantic/sexual partners (+Ben Plumm)
Jon
Many a night he lay with Ygritte warm beside him,... - Jon V ASOS
So, Ygritte becomes his second memory of warmth.
When he turned he saw Ygritte.
...cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said.
"Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's.
Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. - Jon VI ADWD
AT NIGHT ALL ROBES ARE GREY...yea I know, this is a well established connection between the Girl in Grey and Ygritte. Since Jon associates Ygritte with warmth so strongly, I think it's safe to assume that the Girl in Grey might play a role in warming him too (hehe).
… one hears queer talk of dragons."
"Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit."
"My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons." - Jon IX ADWD
Yikes.
Dany
"If my queen commands," he (Jorah) said, curt and cold.
Dany was warm enough for both of them. "She does," she said. "She commands...
When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon. - Daenerys IV ASOS
So, here the warmth is because of anger (woken the dragon).
Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. He was warm in Qarth as well, she recalled, until the day he had no more use for me. She rose to her feet. "Come," she said, and Xaro followed her through the pillars... - Daenerys III ADWD
She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted... Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust?- Daenerys VI ADWD
This is twice that Dany associates warmth with people who use/betray her.
"You're hurt," she gasped.
"This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. - Daenerys VI ADWD
Dawn always came too soon.
...If only she had the power, she would have made their nights go on forever, but the best that she could do was stay awake to try and savor every last sweet moment before daybreak turned them into no more than fading memories....
Dany wrapped her arms around her captain and pressed herself against his back. She drank in the scent of him, savoring the warmth of his flesh, the feel of his skin against her own. Remember, she told herself. Remember how he felt. - Daenerys VII ADWD
Ok, I forgot how smitten Dany was with Daario. It would be cute if Daario wasn't so horrifying. Girl has some seriously questionable taste.
Interestingly, the phrase 'fading memory' is used four times in the text (as far as I can find) and three of those times are in Daenerys's POV. One is in the above quote, where she's commanding herself to remember her time with Daario before her marriage to Hizdahr, and the other time is while thinking about the red door. Both these are memories that are important to her, that connect her to the hopeful/little/not-dark girl she once was.
Sansa
Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. - Tyrion VIII ASOS
"I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her." - Sansa VII ASOS
"Alayne." Her aunt's singer stood over her. "Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you." - Sansa VI ASOS
You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands." - Sansa VII ASOS
Yea no. Sansa has not had a good experience with people offering to warm her (unfreeze her? melt her?)
Looks like in TWOW there's going to be two people in desperate need of some warming.
It's pretty neat actually. Jon associates memories of warmth with two things primarily: Winterfell/the Starks, and Ygritte. Sansa is both a Stark, and a much (much) improved Ygritte.
Sansa's iciness-wall-armour is a form of protection that she employs against predatory men. The only person who can melt her frozen heart...is someone who is not predatory. Someone who cares for her. Jon.
It fits perfectly. They fit perfectly.
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