#the people that are bending over backwards to defend this man after all he has said and done just want to slob on his knob | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeeyee-alumni · 3 years

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Joel did not doom humanity (no matter how much the second game wants you to believe that)

To demonize Joel’s decision at the end of the first game (saving his surrogate daughter’s life) you need to bend over backwards and ignore any and all context the first game gave us with regards to who the Fireflies truly are. Because the truth of the matter is: a) they knocked Joel unconscious while he was trying to revive a young girl b) they drugged Ellie immediately to tear her body apart for their needs c) THEY DID NOT ASK ELLIE FOR PERMISSION to give her life for their cause, they didn’t even tell her she would have to die (Ellie was making plans with Joel after the giraffe scene, “Once we're done, we'll go wherever you want. Okay?”, clearly indicating she had no idea she would have to die) d) they did not let Ellie and Joel see each other to say their goodbyes e) they were about to walk Joel out into the wilderness without any of his gear/resources, which during the zombie apocalypse is a certain death sentence f) they didn’t hold up their end of the bargain (remember how Marlene promised Joel guns in return for delivering Ellie?) So even if you show them as much goodwill as possible, the Fireflies are still a bunch of assholes. If the exact opposite had happened, they let Joel go all on good terms and then he suddenly decided to turn around and murder everyone I would have called him a terrible person, but that is not what happened. As it stands, the Fireflies are shady and questionable at best. But it actually gets worse:

a) the procedure that would 100% kill Ellie had an incredibly low success rate (the doctor mentioned in his recording that every previous operation with other test subjects had failed) b) the same recording mentions cerebrospinal fluid having been extracted, meaning they were capable of performing a non-lethal spinal tab, but they’re unable to perform a non-lethal biopsy or craniotomy on Ellie? (this may seem like nit-picking, but actually further solidifies my point about how incompetent the Fireflies/Abby’s dad were/was) c) to add to their immense incompetence, mere hours after receiving Ellie they decide to IMMEDIATELY KILL THE ONLY PERSON KNOWN TO BE IMMUNE as oppose to keeping her alive for as long as possible to run every single test in existence on her. But let's paint a picture of the best case scenario, which is Jerry, the absolute legend that he is, actually manages to get a vaccine out of Ellie, what happens then? a) How are the Fireflies, who are nearly extinct at this point, supposed to MASS PRODUCE and NATIONWIDE DISTRIBUTE a vaccine? That is logistically impossible. b) More than likely, they would use the vaccine as a bargaining chip against FEDRA (granted, this is more a guess than a fact, but to believe they wouldn’t take advantage of the vaccine in the fight for political power against the government they’ve been fighting for years is beyond naïve). But let’s be even more generous: turns out the Fireflies are the most altruistic resistance group to have ever existed, they actually manage to produce and distribute the vaccine into every last corner of the country, everyone is immune. What now? a) You might be immune to spores and bites, but your immunity doesn’t help you when a clicker rips your throat out or a bloater crushes you to death, the infected can still kill you in numerous other ways. b) The faction wars going on are not gonna disappear overnight. WLF and Seraphites will continue to kill each other by the dozens every day, one could even argue that introducing a vaccine into the conflict would only cause things to escalate further. c) Numerous cannibals, hunters and bandits still roam the country, they will not abandon their practices overnight and they are arguably a much bigger threat than the infected to begin with. Just because everyone is immune does not mean that the world returns to sunshine, rainbows, and flowers. To imply that it would, means being simplistic and naive beyond reason. It should be obvious by now that Ellie’s death WOULD NOT HAVE IMPROVED ANYTHING. The chances of actually getting a vaccine are slim to none, the chances of vaccinating everyone are even more dour, and even then the overall situation would not improve much. With such bad prospects I wouldn't be willing to sacrifice my child either. (I am aware that an argument can be made that none of these factors had an impact on Joel’s decision to save Ellie, yet they’re still crucial when making a judgement about the Fireflies/Abby’s dad). To summarize: a) Abby’s dad was incompetent and a horrible person (his conversation with Abby in the second game tells us that he would not be willing to sacrifice his own child, but if it’s someone else’s it’s a-okay for him). b) The Fireflies were a malicious and incompetent terrorist group with messed up morals. c) No, Joel did not doom humanity. Subsequently, Abby’s quest for revenge was not justified because the Fireflies and her dad were never justified in their actions to begin with. And this is only solidified by the second game having to retcon the hell out of all these arguments I just painstakingly illustrated and explained in order to even attempt to have Abby’s motivation be seen as justified. Only one example being how it was clearly established in the first game that they had MULTIPLE doctors in Salt Lake City (Marlene: “The doctors tell me that the cordyceps, the growth inside her, has somehow mutated.”; Ellie: “She said that they have their own little quarantine zone. With doctors there still trying to find a cure.”). Yet in the second game we are told by

Abby that actually no, turns out her dad was the only doctor that could have developed vaccine. And it doesn't take mental gymnastics to see why the second game takes it upon itself to alter most of the context of the first one: to (retroactively!) condemn Joel. HOWEVER, a sequel doesn’t get to pick and choose which established facts from the first entry it builds upon or what it gets to retroactively declare as non-canon only to have it fit their preferred narrative. Quite frankly, that’s bad writing. A sequel, in order to be considered well-written, has to not only be a natural continuation of the events, but has to stay consistent with the characters and the world that were previously set up. And if you have to alter much of the context to make it look like Joel condemned the world, isn't that the most obvious sign that he never actually did? And all of this effort for just one goal: to justify Abby’s quest for revenge and yet it still wasn’t and here’s why: Joel killed her dad in order to PREVENT HIM FROM KILLING HIS DAUGHTER. Abby on the other hand WILFULLY SLOW TORTURED Joel for what appears to be hours, prolonging his death for as long as possible, all for her own gratification (and we won't mention how she went through with it despite Ellie's crying and pleading). And don’t even try to make the argument about Abby wanting “justice”, Joel didn’t torture her dad out of revenge or for his own gratification - this is not justice, this is simply sadistic. A man killing someone who is about to murder their child in semi-self-defense cannot be compared to someone wilfully slow torturing someone to death for their own gratification, like Jesus, I didn’t think I’d have to spell that one out. I am aware that the second game tries to do whatever it can, including retconning their own original story, to paint Ellie and (especially!) Joel as evil. And for a considerable amount of the player base this actually worked, and while I cannot find it in me to condemn them (we all experience stories differently after all), I reserve the right to reject arguments in defense of Abby such as “all people are forced to do bad things during the apocalypse” and “does context even matter?”. If the only way you can defend/justify Abby's actions is to remove all context and nuance, then your reasoning is built on quicksand.

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joucearchived · 3 years

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The Hell In Your Eyes - 3

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things.

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of violence

Word Count: 4836

Previous Chapter

Loki is annoyed.

Loki has sat through thousands of years of political dinners, exchanging thinly veiled insults under a layer of diplomacy, all while smiling through his teeth. Loki has spewed sensical nonsense, charming naive, innocent maids and sweeping young stable boys off their feet. Loki has endured Odin’s wrath — in all its horrible glory — countless times, and never once had he shed a tear, nor had a single cry escaped his lips.

The whole of Asgard had coined him the Dark Prince — and who was Loki to disappoint?

He had long since learned people saw what they expected to see.

And so as the entire realm rejoiced in his demise, as Laufey left him to die, as Odin condemned him for eternity, as Thor abandoned him, as Frigga had sided with her husband again and again and again, Loki maintained his carefully constructed front.

Yet one encounter with a mortal, and he had unraveled at her feet.

If physically kneeling before the wretched creature wasn’t enough, he knew she had seen past his mask. By the time he had regained his composure, he was sure she had seen him.

It won’t happen again.

Loki is a god, and gods do not crack. Gods maintain their image, regardless of circumstance. Gods do not show weakness, do not show vulnerability.

This is a lesson Loki knows well, a lesson etched into his skin countless times by Odin’s hand.

And yet for each time Odin reinforced this lesson, the very same lesson was burned away by Thanos a thousand more.

Loki tried, he truly did. Loki maintained his godly facade for an impressive amount of time, resisting as his body was taken apart over and over and over again. Perhaps it wasn’t as long as he thought. Loki feels as if his entire life was spent doused in agony, spent with his flesh melting off and his bones withering away.

Ultimately, a god is no match for a Titan.

But a mortal is no match for a god.

And yet, Loki has found himself at her feet — at her mercy — twice.

Even after, Loki couldn’t bring himself to summon his cruel exterior. Perhaps it had to do with the way she had waltzed into his space, all soft and defenseless, carrying that deplorable drink as if it was the elixir of eternal life (unfortunately, it tasted just as divine). Perhaps it was his body, still sated and full for the first time in months, reminding him of the food — the debt — he owes. Perhaps it was the way she held out her arm towards him, even though he could see it shaking.

Whether it was any of these things or none at all, Loki’s cool mask of indifference was rendered utterly useless at her delicate, mortal hands.

Loki hates her.

His hatred fills every fiber of his being. It’s a scalding, fiery hatred, much unlike the frozen excuse of Loki’s heart. His frost giant heritage seems to reject her very being.

Loki hates her voice, hates her hands, hates her. He hates how she makes him falter when there is no place for mistakes.

Loki’s thoughts are interrupted by Thor, who enters Loki’s quarters without an ounce of hesitation — ever the righteous, confident, arrogant bastard.

Ah, but Loki almost forgot. Thor is not the bastard — Loki is. How despicable; for really, Loki can not even call himself a bastard. Yet, ‘the Bastard Son of Odin’ has a certain charm to it. Perhaps another false title for his collection.

“Loki!” Thor booms, “Here are your clothes that Lady Angel washed. You should be grateful brother, for she offered of her own volition — ”

Is it so surprising someone would offer to help Loki without external influence?

“ — to see and visit you! You are doing well. I am happy to see you are finally making an effort to get to know all of our friends — ”

Thor is happy? For Loki, or for himself? Why must Loki, even now, strive to prove himself to Thor? Why is Loki’s worth solely dependent on Thor’s judgement?

“ — and Lady Angel is absolutely wonderful. I am delighted to see you two getting along so well! I can’t believe you finally made a friend— ”

At this, Loki’s composure cracks for the second time that day.

“What am I? A pathetic child wandering aimlessly through a school corridor? A helpless hatchling at the mercy of others — groveling for the bare minimum? Who are you to congratulate me for ‘making a friend?’ She is not a friend ,” Loki spits out. He can feel his teeth grinding against each other, his fingernails once again digging into his palms. “She is nothing more than another worthless mortal, unworthy of even breathing the same air as I, and yet you suggest I be grateful?”

Thor advances on Loki, his eyes hardening. The atmosphere is tense; unlike the typical bickering between the brothers, Loki identifies something distinctly different in the way the air vibrates. The space between the two gods crackles. “Watch yourself brother —”

Brother. The word grates upon Loki’s nerves. How can Thor so carelessly throw the word around, even knowing of its false implications — implications and lies Loki foolishly believed.

Sometimes Loki wonders if Thor does it on purpose.

“Do you hear yourself Thor? Bending yourself over backwards to defend this wasted excuse of consciousness — you are the King of Asgard. What is she? She is nothing.”

And now Loki is no longer staring at his brother, but the ceiling of his prison. His back is slammed against Stark’s hardwood floors and there is sharp ringing in his ears, likely the result of the crack in the floor right behind where his head is currently embedded.

Loki almost laughs.

Truly, it is comical — comical that even now, Thor’s first instinct is to physically threaten Loki. As if Loki doesn’t almost enjoy it.

But Loki’s laugh catches in his throat, prevented from escaping by the large hand tightening around his airway.

Thor’s hand is around Loki’s neck — a mirror of His.

A thousand years Loki has known Thor. A thousand years of childish brawls, foolhardy battles, pointless arguments. How many times has Loki betrayed Thor? Thor betrayed Loki? And yet, Loki believed he knew his brother’s character.

A thousand years Loki has known Thor, but never once has he thought Thor to be cruel.

Oh how wrong he is.

Thor’s hands are gripping Loki’s neck and for the life of him Loki can’t breathe. He tries to draw air into his lungs — lungs that are screaming with a familiar ache — and fails. Phantom pains flicker across his entire body and somehow, in the second before his vision goes black, Loki manages to croak out a strangled wheeze of a laugh.

Loki is once again strapped upon a bed of coals, once again stabbed with blades of flame, once again torched with fire so hot he freezes. Loki remembers the only other time he begged — begged and pleaded for the sweet mercy of death, all while knowing death was a pleasure he was never to be granted.

Loki is once again kneeling — boneless — at the feet of a Titan, looking up into a face promising endless pain, a face painted with the patience of a thousand moons and splattered with the ruined blood of a Frost Giant.

Loki did not know that a Frost Giant’s blood could boil.

Ah, but the Mad Titan knew, and he ensured Loki would never forget.

Loki recalls the moment he let go — an eerie echo of his fall from grace, his fall from the Bifrost. And he remembers the horribly invasive power of the scepter, along with the blessed relief and utter disregard for self preservation that followed.

And it is this — the relief — that plagues Loki. He does not fool himself; Loki may be the God of Lies, but he has no reason to lie to himself . It is not the destruction of New York nor the deaths at his hand that weigh upon his shattered mind. No, it is the fact that Loki found solace in his actions.

Make no mistake — Loki does not rejoice in his crime, but nor could he say he regrets it.

For if Loki were given the choice, he could not — would not — choose to spare Midgard at the cost of his own sanity.

(But Loki was never given a choice.)

Alas, Loki is already insane.

The Mad Titan has taken so much from Loki.

Physically, Loki has long since disregarded his own body. He remembers the beginning of his torture, when he still held the title of 'Prince of Asgard,' when he spoke with arrogance and oozed of indignantion. Oh how naive he had been. When the first whips had landed across his skin, Loki's thoughts could never have anticipated what the coming months would entail. Loki did not once stop to consider how he would escape the clutches of his captor — oh the confidence he held! — but instead lamented the scars he would surely have to bear. Dimly, Loki recalls worrying over his marred skin, irritated at the blemishes he would surely have to cover when taking future lovers.

Loki scoffs.

Loki does not recognize the man who spent time thinking of lovers. Or of his physical appearance. Or of his interests. Or of any other insignificant pleasure that ultimately contributes to the annihilation of a soul.

(Even now, Loki carries with him an irrational fear of physical touch — a seed planted by the Mad Titan that Loki cannot gouge out, not even if he tore open his very being.)

In fact, Loki wondered if his corporeal form had even existed anymore. But most of all, more than the ruination of his physical form, Loki mourns the damnation of his mind.

Ultimately, the Mad Titan did triumph over Loki. For no matter how many times Loki escapes, fakes his death, runs away, he can never evade the visions that haunt his mind, the voices that infect his thoughts, the termites eating away at what remains of Loki’s sanity.

(If Loki were given a choice, he would have chosen death again and again and again.)

Alas, Loki was not — is not — given a choice, for suddenly he is not lying on a bed of coals, but on his apartment floor again. Thor has since removed his hand from Loki’s neck and Loki half wishes Thor just kept it there. Just kept on squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until Loki died on that bed of coals.

Loki wonders, if he were to die at Thor’s hand, would his brother feel remorse? Or perhaps, more realistically, relief?

Unfortunately, Loki is not dead, and Thor is gazing at him, concern evident in his gaze. As if Thor wasn’t the one who put Loki in this condition — wasn’t the one who greedily snatched all of Odin’s affection, wasn’t the one who pushed Loki out of favor, wasn’t the one who led his brainless minions in a brash suicide mission, as if Thor wasn’t the one who stared Loki in the eye as Loki let go into the abyss.

As if Thor wasn’t the first domino in a long ripple effect that eventually drowned Loki in his sins.

Thor was the smooth pebble that young children skipped over lakes, just barely skimming the surface of a tempting downfall — nevertheless gracefully leaping unscathed across the reflective waters. Yet Loki was the jagged, unskippable rock, destined to fall through the air and fall through the water with no hesitation. Loki has long since come to terms with this simple fact.

No longer does Loki resent his brother, for he understands: light can only shine in the presence of darkness. And if Loki is condemned to darkness — so be it.

Loki does not resent his brother, but oftentimes Loki despises his lightness . What some might say is endearing — the inability for Thor to give up — is just a burden. Even now, Thor still thinks he can change Loki, can fix him. Thor still thinks that by vouching for Loki and providing Loki a place to live and surrounding Loki with Thor’s friends that he can mend Loki’s broken soul and bring back the brother he once had. Thor is still in denial — he refuses to grasp the very simple concept that Thor’s brother — the Second Prince of Asgard, God of Lighthearted Mischief — is long dead. And so Thor continues to try. But light yelling into the darkness does not change it.

And even now, with Thor looming above Loki, Loki does not resent his brother.

But Loki resents Thor’s very being — the core of who Thor is. Thor is a duality; one of naivety and compassion, yet tainted — or perhaps embellished — with a smidge of cruelty and arrogance.

And as Thor is speaking to Loki, mouth forming words Loki is too tired to hear, Loki simply lies on the floor, limbs relaxed around him, throat sore, and does the only thing he can do when feeling so utterly empty.

Loki laughs.

______________________________

Midgard is rather charming in some regards.

Loki will eventually have to investigate the laundry process, for he has just now made the curious discovery that freshly dried clothes are warm . He suspects they were warmer right after they were dried, but he can still feel the presence of the heat, lingering within the very fabric of his garments. He wonders just how much they were heated up to — would it have burnt his frozen hands at the peak of its fiery glory?

No, Loki’s hands are too well accustomed to fire now.

But he doubts that her hands are. He envisions Angel pulling his clothes out of the dryer, her hands touching the same clothes that he has worn, that he will wear, that he is currently touching.

Yet is it entirely possible Loki is standing around, imagining a scene that never played out, for it was not Angel who brought Loki’s laundry back to him, but his dearest brother. Looking at his pile of clothes again, Loki takes in the telltale signs of Thor. The messily folded shirts stare back at Loki, mocking him.

He wonders if she ever even did any part of his laundry. Perhaps she only offered it as a way to ease the uncomfortable tension that had arisen earlier. Or rather, (and his stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought) she lugged his laundry basket downstairs and dumped it straight into Thor’s arms.

Why else would she refuse his help to accompany her?

A twinge of something rises up within Loki as he realizes she accepted Thor’s offer to bring his clothes back. Or, much more likely, she had pushed the task onto Thor in a desperate attempt to avoid encountering him again.

Not that Loki could blame her.

And yet the uncomfortable sensation within Loki only grows, and he realizes that he feels something akin to disappointment. Loki cannot allow himself to feel disappointment. He had long since learned not to expect anything from anyone — or perhaps, much more cynically, to only depend on — to trust — himself.

Trust, Loki knows, is a fickle concept the naive embrace. Trust itself is ill fated, the certainty of an inevitable betrayal the same as the certainty that one day everyone living on this cursed realm will perish.

Loki hates Angel. He hates how she pretends to care for him, hates how she imitates Thor, hates how she always finds a way to break him, and Loki hates how Angel makes him feel.

Loki's silent anger boils inside of him — like the steady countdown of a ticking bomb — manifesting itself out of him as the laundry basket is violently launched across the room.

He hates how he feels absolutely no satisfaction at the way the freshly clean clothes scatter across the floor, hates how he lost control, and hates how the damned mortal forces him to feel emotions he does not want to feel .

Sometimes all Loki can do is hate.

______________________________

The heat from the clothes have long since seeped into the floor.

The sun is just now setting, dousing Loki’s room in a fiery glow. Warm light spills across Loki’s bookshelves, his impeccably made bed, the clothes strewn around his floor. Loki sits on the ground, bare of his illusions, allowing himself to just be .

Staring across the room, he notices tendrils of light carefully curling around the air, miniscule particles of dust dancing in the golden glow. This is a gold Loki enjoys. Unlike the brash, loud character of Thor’s gold — of Asgard’s gold, this is a much softer, gentle color. The comforting hue reminds Loki of his mother, and against his will, he feels a wall of despair beginning to build within his chest.

For a second, Loki loses himself as the wall crashes over him. He drops his head, allowing his hair to dangle in front of his face, obscuring his view of the floating particles. He feels like a child — wants nothing more in this moment than to run to Frigga, for her floral scent to fill his senses as she envelopes him in her arms. What Loki wouldn’t give to have Frigga’s delicate fingers comb through his hair just once more, for her soft lips against his forehead, murmuring words of comfort.

But he can’t have that. Instead, here he is, sitting on the floor of a glorified prison in the midst of a community of people who hate him, with nothing but Thor to act as his buffer.

Looking up, Loki gazes at the honeyed light as it glides over a particular heap of clothing. He watches, mesmerized, as the light gently moves, unhurriedly bathing each corner of the fabric in its rich glow.

If he were still on Asgard, Loki would most likely have been reading, thoroughly immersed in some story or another. The sun would have showered his pages in its quiet glow, lighting the words aflame. He would have taken a stroll in his mother’s gardens, breathing in the sweet scent of her flowers as he sat in his favorite hidden alcove. He would have taken out his book and continued to read, read until the golden hue of the sun was replaced by the tender shine of the moon. Only then would Loki return, serenely walking back to his chambers, stopping only to retrieve a cup of tea, and resume his reading on his balcony.

Loki wants that.

Loki wants an afternoon to himself, with no worries plaguing his mind.

Loki wants to be able to read, and to do so in an environment which permits him to let his guard down.

Loki wants to sit outside, surrounded by flowers, and watch as the sun transitions into the moon.

Loki wants to indulge in a hot cup of tea as he watches the moonlight spills across the pages of his book.

Loki wants so many things — and he can’t have any of them.

Standing up, Loki decides he has spent enough time reminiscing over what he cannot have today. He feels sticky and hot and cold and hungry and all he wants right now , is a long shower.

And so Loki walks over to the same pile of clothes, now dull and abandoned by the sun, gazing disapprovingly downwards. Thor is truly an imbecile, for he has not even managed to separate their clothes correctly. Loki is currently staring at a dark green sweatshirt, one he knows for a fact he has never seen before. Tiredly, he tosses it upon his bed and scoops up a clean change of clothes, then turns around and trodds slowly into the bathroom.

______________________________

Water droplets rain all around Loki, swiftly sliding down his body.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy showering — it reminds him too much of another substance: denser, stickier, and much more red, trickling down his skin. Loki much prefers baths. Baths, however, render their subject very much vulnerable, and Loki does not fancy risking any more vulnerability than strictly necessary.

So Loki is standing in the shower, unabashedly soaking up the shallow warmth the water provides. Surely if Thor could see him, his brother would lecture Loki on wasting Midgard’s precious resources. But, Loki reasons, if Stark truly possesses the excess of wealth he boasts of, Loki’s water usage will not be of much concern to the man. And so this is a luxury Loki will grant himself.

The shower is one place where Loki feels the safest, where he allows his thoughts to wander and drift into otherwise forbidden territories. Today especially has been challenging, and even his muscles seem to ache, the fibers pulling away from each other, trying to rip Loki apart from the inside out. His mind is exhausted, filled with swirling thoughts of Frigga and Angel and Thor, with the occasional Odin and Titan intruding whenever a particular body part cries out.

And as Loki gazes down at his body, the disfigured canvas of scars stare back at him and he attempts to soothe away the countless aches. No matter how much time has passed and how much magic Loki pours into himself, the pains never seem to retreat. Rationally, Loki knows it doesn’t make sense. He knows his magic is fully capable of healing himself, knows that by all accounts he is healed.

But Loki also knows he does not imagine the sharp pains coursing through his veins.

He is fighting himself — the part of himself that does not want the pain to stop. Because all Loki knows is pain, and he fears the absence of pain almost as much as he dreads its glorious presence.

Loki raises his head, allowing for the stream of water to bruise his face. And if Loki’s closed eyes leak the occasional tear, no one would know.

______________________________

Loki’s self destructive spiraling is abruptly cut short by three succinct knocks from his bedroom door. Still soaking in the shower, Loki debates whether or not to answer; after all, he truly has no desire to see his brother again today. Or preferably, ever again. Unfortunately, Loki is all too aware that if he does not answer the door to let Thor in, Thor will simply let himself in. And if there’s anything worse than seeing Thor, it will be seeing a displeased Thor while Loki stands nude and wet.

Reluctantly, Loki turns off his shower, changes into his freshly washed ‘sweatpants’, and leisurely walks towards the door. He is honestly surprised Thor hasn’t invited himself in yet. He is more surprised when he finally opens the door and is promptly met with — not Thor’s brutish face, but the goddamned mortal.

She stands there, in front of his door, barely out of arm's reach. Loki can’t help but drink her in. He notices her hair, laying loosely around her face, framing her profile. She’s sporting a sweater, much too warm for the present weather. Its collar is stretched out over years of use, teasing his eyes with a fraction of her collarbones peaking through. Her legs are barely covered by absurdly short shorts, and Loki feels the back of his ears heating up. Hurriedly, he averts his eyes, falling down to her feet, once again hugged by soft looking socks — mismatched.

His scrutinization is interrupted by her voice; so soft.

“Hey! Sorry if I interrupted you. I heard you were in the shower but I was going around taking everyone’s dinner orders. We’re getting Chinese.” She tilts her head to the side, lifting her chin ever-so-slightly, distractedly exposing the tantalizing skin of her neck. She swallows, and Loki’s eyes discreetly follow the bob of her throat. “I was just wondering if you wanted anything?”

It takes a moment for Loki to register her question and another for him to process it. She is going to order dinner? For him? And she is asking him for his preference? Loki has not had the privilege of preferring anything in a long, long time. Damn this mortal.

“I am not familiar with this particular cuisine, nor Midgard’s in particular.”

She meets his eyes then, and only after does it occur to him that her eyes had been previously glued to his abdomen. His abdomen, he realizes which has been bare this entire interaction. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He forces himself to roll his eyes, running a hand through his still dripping hair to hide the scarlet his ears have surely become. “I am saying that I do not have a preference, woman.”

She lifts her shoulders briefly in a gesture Loki has come to associate with Midgard’s daftness and promptly moves closer to him. Instinctively, Loki takes a step back, then curses himself for doing so. He truly must be losing it, backing away from a defenseless mortal. But she doesn’t push further, instead tilting her head at that angle again, asking him another question.

“Can I come in?”

Loki hesitates. He doesn’t understand her motives, doesn’t know if this is a trick the Avengers have set up or perhaps a test designed by his brother. All he knows is that Angel is staring at him with her eyes wide and innocent and completely devoid of deceit.

Angel must carry magic or Loki must be possessed by the Mind Stone again, for against his will, Loki steps to the side, allowing her to brush past him. The sleeve of her sweater comes into contact with Loki’s stomach, and he jerks away.

Awkwardly, Loki closes his door and turns to face the mortal, noting how hilariously out of place she looks, standing in the midst of Loki’s domain. With a wave of his hand, the previously scattered articles of clothing fly onto his bed, meticulously folding themselves. Angel’s surprised, quiet gasp does not escape his notice. She walks towards his bed, small hand landing on Thor’s sweatshirt.

“Take that when you leave.” Loki internally bristles at his own tone, noticing how Angel’s shoulders locked up when he spoke and did not relax when he stopped. “Please,” he adds.

To his surprise (again), Angel approaches him, sweater in hand. “Why?”

At this, Loki is caught off guard. Without warning, he is overwhelmed by distaste. His patience has been tested over and over again, and he does not have even a drop more to deal with this mortal’s incompetence. His hatred for her rushes back, multiplied a thousandfold. Who does she think she is and why will she not leave Loki alone? Why must she cut short his relaxation, intrude upon his personal space, inquire after him when he knows — he knows — she does so unwillingly? Why is she holding up Thor’s goddamned sweater, pretending not to know why Loki hates it so? As if she doesn’t know it belongs to Thor.

In fact, Loki is positive she is intimately aware of whom it belongs to, undoubtedly so. He hates Angel, hates her for reluctantly offering her help, hates her for her smoothies, hates her for asking him about his preferences. Briefly, he envisions snapping her neck. Effortlessly. But the image makes him recoil, bringing about not satisfaction, but horror.

His fists clench, his broken fingernails once again digging into bruised skin. It costs Loki an immeasurable amount of self control not to simply throw her out, hurl her from his quarters. Instead, he snaps at her.

“Girl, do not test my patience. I am warning you, it has been a very long day and if you do not exit extremely promptly, it will not end well for one of us.”

Loki hates the way her shoulders tense up again, hates the way she physically flinches away at his dismissal.

Loki hates how though he can sense her increasing heartbeat, her nervousness, Angel still looks him in the eye and informs him, in a terrified voice coated with forced calm, “I’m sorry to hear that Loki. I added this sweater into your laundry after it was done, but I should have known it would not have been welcome.”

Loki hates how she then drops her eyes, staring intently at her mismatched socks.

“I’ll just leave your dinner outside.”

Loki hates how she leaves, her hands gripping Thor’s — his — sweatshirt tightly, footsteps moving at a much brisker pace.

Loki hates how Angel closed off, how he closed her off.

Loki hates how Angel clearly did do his laundry.

Loki hates how Angel thought of him, giving him an extra sweatshirt, offering him a choice for dinner.

Loki hates Angel more than he hates Thor, more than he hates Odin.

Loki hates Angel more than he hates the Mad Titan.

The only person Loki hates more than Angel is himself.

Fuck.

______________________________

We don't even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.

- Charles Bukowski

______________________________

Previous Chapter

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

#Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #the hell in your eyes #thiye #loki x you #friends to enemies to lovers #reader insert #loki fic #jouce writes

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damn-stark · 3 years

Text

La vie en rose pt.2

Pietro Maximoff x reader

Requested by anon “I think this is a good idea. So Pietro didn’t die in Age Of Ultron but dies in endgame so afterwards reader has same powers as wanda btw makes her own reality sorta like wandavision and they live in the town together and it’s basically just wandavision plot and jimmy woo and darcy are trying to get in meanwhile. I really hope this isn’t to long for you! Maybe you could do 2 parts if you’d like that? I just had this idea for a while thanks! 🤍”

Warning- Angst, sadness and fluff

———-

“We can get married.”

“Huh?”

Pietro turns his head to meet your bewildered expression and he smirks and leans closer to talk in a softer voice so others around wouldn’t hear. “Think about it, we’ve known each other ever since we got our powers and we’ve been together since we joined the Avengers, it’s been long a time and we’ve gone through a lot. We should just get married.”

You narrow your gaze on him and try to hold back from getting lost in those deep blue eyes of his as you try to comprehend what he was proposing, as you tried to figure out if this was some joke, because the way he just said it out of the blue seemed like it.

“And,” Pietro continues nonchalantly as he looks at the horizon ahead, “we can get married in Las Vegas, just like this couple did in one of Wandas sitcoms. It seems like a lot of fun.”

“Hmm,” you nod slowly and tear your gaze away from him, feeling your mind spin with many different thoughts; one of the main ones being that this man couldn’t be serious. “And you want to do this while we’re on the run?”

“Yes,” Pietro nods as he pops a grape into his mouth, “I mean do you have a better idea? I don’t see ourselves being free people anytime soon.”

Yeah, right. You look down at your hands and delicately begin to twist the silver bracelet around your wrist, feeling a wave of sadness wash over you.

Was this really going to be your life? Running away and hiding? Not being able to have a stable home, or a taste of a normal life anymore? All because you didn’t want people controlling what you can’t, or can do with your own abilities?

It was stupid and unfair.

“Do you really think we’ll always be on the run?”

Pietro looks at you again and puts the fruit cup that he had in his hand down, turning more serious than he was expressing himself before. “Not always, there will come a time when we’ll be free again, where we won’t have to hide. The world—or should I say universe is a messed up place, the people will need our help again and we’ll be there to save them, that’s when we’ll be free.” Pietro wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him. “So don’t worry your pretty head about that.”

You lift your gaze to meet his and you can’t contain the soft smile that spreads on your lips, he kisses the side of your head and his smile turns into a mischievous smirk again. “So about my plan, what do you say?”

Once again you narrow your gaze on him and drop your smile, pushing him aside and twisting your body to land on the pier and begin to walk back to the others, hearing Pietro follow quickly behind you and continue insisting on his “plan”. Which you just turned down, “no.”

“No, what? You won’t get married to me? Why? Do you not love me?”

You shove your hands in your (his) hoodie pocket and watch the perplexity in his eyes as he tried to solve what you had said.

It was an amusing sight, seeing him so lost, it made you want to let him figure it out on his own, but you couldn’t stand it. Instead you did a little jog to get in front of him and continue to walk backwards as you explain yourself in a relatively joking manner, perfectly copying his accent and his expression. “We can get married. Just like those people on tv. I won’t give my girlfriend that I love with all my heart a good proposal, I’ll just throw it at her all nonchalantly and not have a hint of romance behind it.”

“What are you talking about? It was romantic.” He plays along, mocking your own accent. “You're wearing my sweater and we’re on this pier that overlooks the ocean. It’s plenty romantic.”

You grin and go back to using your normal voice before shrugging and commenting, “no ring?”

Pietro narrows his gaze on you and his smirk widens as he digs his hand in his pants pocket to pull out a small simple, yet beautiful ring. “Oh this? I didn’t think you’d want it, so I didn’t offer it to you.”

“Aha, I see what you’re doing.”

Pietro shoots you a flashy smile and expresses a cocky expression, “you thought I forgot didn’t you, my little witch? Like I could ever. Plus Wanda and Natasha would’ve killed me if I did.”

You turn around and fall back to his side, grinning like a love struck idiot and hooking your arm around his while he continued. “So what do you say? Yes?”

——

“What do you two want?” You ask in a threatening voice as you block their path and stay glued at the entrance of your home.

“We just want to talk,” Agent Woo explained, “to you about what you’re doing here—”

“I’m not doing anything,” you defend yourself. “I’m not causing anyone any trouble, I’m here living my life in peace.”

“That’s what you want to believe, but what you’re doing here is wrong, y/n. You’re holding people hostage—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply as you tighten your grip around the doorknob and feel faint sparks of your magic emerging from your hands. “These people here are fine, they’re in peace, they’re living the lives they want. I am not causing them any type of pain. So if you both may please leave my property that will be great.” You narrow your gaze on them and feel the doorknob under your hand bend as your grip around it tightens when you try to push the door forward to close it. Finding that before you could shut it, Doctor Darcy stopped it and shoved it back to continue with this talk and look at you with a more serious look.

“You know after knowing what you went through, after finding out your history with Pietro, I understand why you’re doing this, keeping up with this facade. But it’s not right, all the people you’re keeping here are in pain—”

“I’m warning you,” you spat out, “stop before I actually try to hurt someone.”

“What’s going on here?”

You look over your shoulder at the sound of a new voice and see Wanda with an upset look already painted on her face. Pietro not understanding what was happening comes up behind you and begins to investigate for his sister. “What do you two want?”

“We just need to talk to your wife and sister,” Agent Woo answers, lifting the badge on his chest and showing it to Pietro. “I’m FBI. We just have a couple things we need to go over.”

Pietros hand on your shoulder tightens and the curiosity that he contained was gone, he doesn’t ask for an explanation from you, nor his sister and just instantly gets on your defense. “Well she has no right to talk to you if she doesn’t want to, neither of them have done anything wrong.”

“You may not see it, but they are. This, you it’s all—”

“That’s enough,” Wanda cuts him off while she joins Pietro and you by the front door, “I’ll tell you two this just once. Leave before I force you to leave.”

Agent Woo scoffs, “I came here to do my job, and I won’t leave until I see it through.”

“Fine,” you deadpan while you let the doorknob go and open the door wider. “I’ve had enough. I’m giving you five minutes to talk.”

Doctor Darcy blinks and raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, okay, unexpected.”

They try to come in, but you step up and block their path. “No. Not here. Outside.”

From the corner of your eye you see Wanda take a step after you, but before she could take another one, you look back and offer her an assuring look. “It’s okay, I’ve got this, wait for me here.”

“Are you sure?” She probes with concern.

You nod and smile, “I’m sure.” You look to Pietro and share a short lingering gaze that contains unspoken words. You knew he was itching to follow, but he trusted you more than anything and stayed behind with his sister while you walked with the two unexpected and unwelcome visitors.

“How did you get here? Inside?” You ask them once you’re at a good distance from your home.

“It’s a long story so we won’t bother.” Doctor Darcy replies, “all we will explain is that we know you’re not a bad person, y/n, we know you don’t want to hurt these people, moving on and accepting what happened is normal—”

“I’m not hurting them,” you repeat in a grumble, “they’re at peace, Wanda assured that.”

“You may think that but they feel your pain, your grief,” Agent Woo explains making you grow stiff and stop dead in your tracks to look at them with a narrowed and puzzled gaze. Something sparks in your brain, but you can’t and won’t comprehend what he really meant, you look down at your ring around your finger and sigh, clenching your fist and turning cold.

“Have either of you ever had a dream?” You interject as you look up at them with that same cold glare.

“I mean yes,” Doctor Darcy chuckles, “everyone does. But I don’t understand why you’re saying this because it doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re talking about.”

You tilt your head slightly and feel your lips tug into a mischievous smile, “I can help achieve those dreams, you could live here and live the life you’ve always wanted, you’ll be happy, at peace. Just like these people, Wanda and I.”

“No. It’s not right.” Agent Woo protested as he took one cautious step towards you. “Understand before someone else forces you to understand.”

You sigh and clench your fists tighter. “Is that a threat?”

“No. But if you don’t stop this it might as well will be. You don’t understand what we’re going through so they don’t see you as the villain, so they don’t come attack you, or throw you in jail. And you wouldn’t want to share a cell with your father now would you?”

You scoff, “I’m not the villain of this story, I was never the villain of this story! But people don’t understand that! For as long as I had my powers I’ve fought against people like Hayward, people who try to keep me under lock and key, who try to cast me out and kill me!” You exclaim, feeling your power re-emerge from your hand and engulf your whole hand, causing a yellow hue to bask your face and your eyes. “You don’t understand, none of you have ever understood! All I’m trying to do is save the people I love and keep them safe, just like my father was before people like you took him away because he was a “threat”.”

“Your father killed—”

“No!” You growl sharply, “my father didn’t kill anyone, his actions were a by-product of what Stark weapons did, our family died because of his inventions. My father was never the villain, just like I’m not.” You raise both of your hands and elegantly wave your hand to change back to your suit, lifting yourself off the ground and looking down at them this time seeing the fear in their eyes and ignoring it. “I gave you a chance, now I’m giving you a warning, leave and don’t come again because if any of you do, I’ll become the villain you want me to be.”

Using your powers, you lift them both off the ground with ease and swiftly throw them out of town with no remorse, watching them fly out until you couldn’t see the hue of your powers anymore to gently land back on the ground, changing back to the same dress Pietro gave you with a flick of your wrist and quietly returning home. Stopping however at the entrance of your front door to look down at your silver bracelet and stroking the design engraved on it gently with the pad of your thumb. You let out a shaky sigh and feel your eyesight blur with the tears that were quick to emerge.

You swallow back the thick lump that formed in your throat though and kept yourself from giving in to such actions. Instead you draw in a deep breath and slowly exhale it out to open the door and greet Pietro with an assuring smile. When he saw you, he rushed to you and instantly as you predicted began to ask about the mysterious visitors. “What wrong, what did they want?”

“Just questions about my father,” you reassure him, discreetly using your powers to freeze him and join Wanda in the dining room with a gloomier expression set on your face.

“Let me guess, they want to get to you to make me stop this? To threaten you?” Wanda suggests in a bitter tone, whilst she takes a seat on the couch and rests her head in her hands. “This is not the first time they’ve tried to stop us, tried to kill us; first that woman and then they shot that missile.”

Slowly you join her on the couch and express a deep sigh. “We don’t want anything from them, we’re not threatening them, I don’t understand why they can’t leave us alone.”

“Because they’re afraid,” Wanda points out what you already knew but didn’t want to admit. “But this is our home, y/n, we can’t let them scare us, or let them take advantage of us. We have to protect our home.”

You meet her gaze and smile, “you’re right, they can’t take this from us. Not this.”

Wanda stands up and you don’t falter behind, standing up a couple seconds later and feeling more confident than before, feeling inspired and strong. Even more so with her words. “We’re going to fight for our home and our families.”

A smirk tugs on your lips and you offer her a nod, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, y/n,” Wanda smiles at you before she heads to the door, looking back at you and smiling wider, “you look beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you.”

With one last smile, Wanda finally heads back to her own home and you’re left in the center of your living room, alone, watching Pietro's frozen figure, for some reason not instantly letting him go. Instead just taking in the silence and recalling what those two from before had told you.

Were they really in pain? All these people? Wanda said they weren’t and you trusted her more than you trusted them.

Yet why were you so bothered and confused.

What were you even doing?

You glance back at your wrist and then turn back to Pietro, releasing another sigh before going to him and releasing him from the frozen state he was in, also erasing the memory of what had just happened, only letting him remember what was happening before you got interrupted.

“Right,” Pietro speaks up happily, “so where were we?”

“Our date,” you remind him with a beaming grin, extending your hand out to him so he would gladly take it and pull you back to the table.

“So I was thinking,” Pietro begins mischievously, “we should have a kid of our own.”

“Huh?”

“Just think about it, we could give Billy and Tommy a cousin and a play date.”

You lick your lips and set down your utensils that you had just picked up. “You want a child? I thought you wanted to live life in the fast lane? Live life like if we were always in a vacation?”

Pietro shrugs, “we can do that with a kid. A little girl? We’re not on the run anymore, y/n, we have a nice home, it’s what you wanted no? I think we’re ready.”

A grin spreads on your lips and you feel an excitement wash over you and erase the stress you had gone under. You pick up your utensils again and take a bite out of your food that until this moment had been left untouched, leaving him in a small, tense waiting period until you swallowed and gave him your answer. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Good,” Pietro nodded, taking a bite out of his food and then continuing quite impatiently, “but don’t think about it too long.”

You chuckle and roll your eyes. “Fine. I’ll give you my answer by tomorrow.”

“Morning?” He finished for you.

“Mhmm, maybe.”

Pietro groans, “fine, fine.” He takes another bite of his food and just as you saw he was going to add something else, another knock sounds on your door. “Who could that be at this time?”

You shrug and this time feel yourself turn more nervous that you had gotten before. You hesitate to answer, but when you see Pietro move to open the door you get up faster. “I’ll open it.”

Before he could argue against it, you head to the door and swing it open, freezing completely at who was standing out the door this time.

He was familiar yet unfamiliar. He had the same white hair but that’s about it, his face was different and his body was built different. You should’ve been confused at his sudden appearance, but it just automatically made sense.

“Pietro?”

Said man out the door smiles and waves, “hello, little witch, you’re not going to let me in?”

#marvel #avengers #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff x y/n #Pietro Maximoff imagines #quicksilver #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #avengers fanfiction #avengerimagines #wandavision #doctor darcy lewis #agent woo #le vie en rose

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wildingrose · 3 years

Text

intrigued police

dark alley help part 6

part 5: diamond in the rough | part 7: refusal

word count: 1.9k

》 mild violence, riding

- ✿ -

You texted Raymond that you were waiting in the lobby of his hotel.

"Y/N?"

You spun around and found the man that you dreaded to see and were ready to run out the door if it weren't for Taeyong beside you, holding your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Hey Raymond," you greeted without much interest.

He glanced over to the man beside you. "Who's he?" he asked, almost snarling in disgust for someone other than him to be holding your hand.

"This is Taeyong. He’s going to take your place soon. Wait, what am I saying? He already did!"

Raymond didn't see that coming and was utterly shocked. "What?"

Meanwhile, Taeyong was amused by the way you introduced him to your... former future prospect.

"Okay then, Taeyoung-"

"It's Tae-YONG," you corrected with a glare.

He disregarded it and continued. "What do you do?"

Taeyong had been warned of this and kept his mouth shut. Instead, you spoke up. "That's none of your business."

"Yes, it is. Clearly, you're replacing me with him, so I need to know what he has that I don't."

You scoffed. "Something really big."

Raymond gaped. "You slept with him?"

Taeyong's eyes widened from the directness, yet you coolly retorted back with, "I meant heart but sure. We can consider that too even though I haven't seen yours."

Raymond laughed, almost sinister. "I thought I was the one doing you a favour to let you take the spot that other girls would die to have. Your mother really..." he muttered the last part real quiet, and something snapped in you with rage.

"I dare you to say that thing about my mom."

He rolled his eyes. "Your mom is the desperate one to have you married off to me. And look at you, next to another guy while standing in front of the one you're supposed to be with. Both mom and daughter are such..." he trailed of shaking his head in disgust.

Your blood boiled, knowing exactly what he was going to say but didn't want the filthy words to taint his mouth. You'd bear with it if it was only you, but if your mother was getting dragged into this, you weren't going to stand it.

"You fucking asshole! Don't you fucking say that about my mom!" you shouted.

He didn't listen to you, liking that he got you triggered and added, "There's that term. What's it called? Ah yes! Motherfucker. I can just imagine your mom-"

You didn't let him finish. In a blink of an eye, you slapped him hard. His head snapped to the side, fingers coming up to touch the stinging cheek. His eyes locked on you in shock as you fumed furiously.

Raymond clenched his teeth with seething anger. "I let it go when you called me an asshole, but this? You're such a slut- no, whore. Go have fun with your new-"

A yelp of pain came out of his mouth when Taeyong had enough of the shit he was witnessing, especially when Raymond called you names. Names that he couldn't fathom you being labeled as. You were an angel, his doll that did nothing wrong.

How dare he had the nerve to? Taeyong thought.

He couldn't stop himself from getting involved when you had strictly warned him from doing so. And so he yanked Raymond by the hair, hard, bending him backward till his arms were flaying around for something to grip onto. "Let me go, dude!"

Taeyong did, letting him go immediately and caused Raymond to fall to the ground. Humiliation burned throughout his body and he got to his feet right away to make an attack. But Taeyong's fists were ready to leave a nasty mark on his face. Taeyong swung it hard right in the center, making Raymond's head bumped backward and he screamed in pain as he clutched onto his nose.

Your hands covered your mouth in shock and fear. It wasn't because Taeyong had butted in for you and hit the jerk.

But for what Raymond was going to do next.

The constable on duty strolled in unhurriedly. "Kids these days always get into fights," he muttered under his breath. He sat down at his desk and finally looked up to the three people sitting across with you in the middle. Taeyong crossed his arms and was looking elsewhere while Raymond hissed, holding onto his broken nose.

The officer gasped. "Taeyong?"

Taeyong met his surprised eyes and mirrored it.

You frowned and asked, "You know Taeyong?"

He nodded. "I sometimes help out with the construction crew to manage the traffic so he's a familiar face. It's nice to see you, boy. But I wasn't expecting it to be like this."

Your heartrate picked up and warily glanced at Raymond. He looked like he was too much in pain to pick up on Taeyong's identity.

"Who are you two? Are you together?" The officer inquired when shifting his eyes onto you and the asshole.

You rolled your eyes. "No, thankfully. I'm with Taeyong. He was only defending me after this..." You sent Raymond a scowl. "...one attacked me. So please don't arrest Taeyong. If anything, it's him," you said, pointing to the injured one.

A smile tugged at Taeyong's lips, seeing you defend him. The officer raised his eyebrows, intrigued that Taeyong had a girl on his side and stood up for you.

Raymond snapped out of his pain and spoke up. "She's lying! I didn't even touch her! Plus, I'm the one needing medical attention!"

"Shut up! Just take the blame and end this. You have the money anyway for treatment," you argued.

"Have you always been this rude?"

"Now that I have an excuse to get you out of my life, yes."

Raymond huffed in annoyance. "I can do anything for you, buy you anything that you want, and this is how you treat me?"

Taeyong stiffened upon hearing the words. He couldn't do that for you. He couldn't buy you anything that you'd ask for. He didn't have the kind of money Raymond did.

Though that didn't affect you and replied, "Then, why don't you go get yourself a sugar baby?"

The officer stifled back a laugh as Taeyong was stunned by your response, touching his heart. He butted in once again and muttered, "While I might not have all the money, I definitely have the strength to snap your neck easily."

Raymond gasped loudly and shouted, "Arrest him, officer! He's threatening me right in front of you!"

The officer tutted calmly. "Nah, I would never on Taeyong."

"What? You're abusing your power to save someone you know? I'll get you fired!" All his yelling was hurting your head and you rubbed your temple in circles.

The officer clasped his hands on the table. "No, I'm not. I know that no matter how strong Taeyong is, he would never use violence under any circumstance, even if a fight breaks out onsite. Him using it on you shows that you were being extremely rude to this young lady and he had to intervene. This is my reasoning for not arresting him. You all are dismissed."

Stepping out of the station, Raymond started laughing hysterically. Your hands wrapped around Taeyong's bicep and gave him a silent signal to not say a word, to which he nodded.

Raymond pulled his phone out and began typing something on the phone. "Your mom is going to be so shocked to hear that her future son-in-law is a laborer."

Your heart got caught in your throat. So he did hear it. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I texted her. Think of it as payback for what he did," he sent you a wink. "May you have all the bad luck trying to get her permission, Taeyoung." With that, he walked to his car and drove away.

Taeyong felt your hands squeeze on his arm. You did your best to stay composed, reminding yourself of the plan that you had in mind. If that went well, then there was nothing else to worry about. Even if your mother knew about Taeyong's work.

"Y/N?" he called for you softly, placing a hand over yours.

The touch brought you to meet his worried gaze and gave your best 'don't worry' smile. "It'll be okay."

He let out a long sigh. "This happened cause of me. Sorry," he mumbled.

Your shook your head. "She would have found out eventually." Your phone began ringing and learned that it was from none other than the one you'd expect. You ignored it and said, "Let's go home."

Taeyong hummed. "I'll drop you off and come later."

Chuckling, you clarified, "I mean our home."

Taeyong's heart stopped beating before going completely erratic. Our home, he thought. He absolutely adored that.

You watched him quietly close the door behind him and take off his shoes. Taeyong hadn't uttered a single word on the way back to his place, making you worried when he refused to make eye contact with you. "Tae?" He finally did, meeting your concerned look. "What's wrong?"

He shifted his gaze to the floor and still kept quiet.

You huffed and mischievously narrowed your eyes on him, "Where's the confident stranger I asked help for the first time?"

That brought a very subtle tug at his lips. Success!

You cupped his face and lifted it, making him meet your eyes again. "Seeing you like this makes me sad," you said with a pout which made him chuckle softly. "Remember our deal in the car?"

That seemed to excite him as his eyes darkened rapidly. He licked his lips with half lidded eyes and asked, "Really?"

You nodded with a tender smile, glad to see him back to the version of Taeyong you were used to.

With quick feet, he led you by the hand into the bedroom and sat comfortably on the sheets, pulling you to sit on top of his lap. A loud gasp left your mouth when he flushed his face against the skin above your covered breasts, his hot breath fanning over your chest and your shoulders shook as a shiver crawled up your spine. You were confused with what he wanted in this position until he started grinding up into you, going slow and steady until his pants grew super tight and your core began to throb. You mirrored his action, grinding down onto the hard tent and a beautiful moan fell from his lips.

Taeyong's hands came to your hips and lifted you off briefly, enough to unbutton his pants and pull out his dick. He shoved your panties aside and slowly pushed in while you helped simultaneously by sinking down.

"Fuck, doll, so pretty." His brows were furrowed as he concentrated on the feeling of being enveloped by your paradise.

You set a pace, steadying yourself with hands on his shoulder as you bounced on his cock. He rolled his hips up to meet you perfectly and you cried out quietly at how heavenly he felt deep in your womanhood. You mewled when he tugged one strap of your dress over your shoulder, letting it fall and expose your breast to the air. His mouth attached to suck on your nipple, your hands coming around to hold his head close to your chest.

When he got close, his pace slowed before stopping altogether and came hard into you, your pace not slowing to draw out his release and shortly after, you came.

tag list: @cosmiclatte28 @mel-yjh @johnnysuhisnotmyproblem @kttyongie @chantellsievert

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #taeyong smut #taeyong x reader #taeyong imagines #taeyong scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

Text

12 Anti LO Asks

1. its victim blaming of hades to tell minthe its HER fault she "couldnt get over him". like? you lied to her! youre the one who blurred the lines to date her! you were just as toxic to her if not more so by controlling where she lives and her job, all while never defending her to your cruel family! you had all the power over her while she had nothing! you dumped her for a 19 year old and dont care she crippled minthe! i wont excuse minthe's actions, but hades is ultimately the worse of the two IMO

2. you know why fans claimed "Minthe should've reacted better"? since the first episode Rachel has been drilling into their heads Minthe is an irredeemable monster, and her not bending over backwards to H/P means she deserves the absolute worst. Minthe reacting how anyone logically would doesn't matter when LO is designed to coddle H/P, and anyone against them must suffer for it, even if the victim to H/P's actions. they never wanted her to be "redeemed", they want her head on a silver platter.

3. i know this is not what she intended bc the only characterization rachel has of hxp is "the best over everything" but uh, does she know having hades control all the petroleum and gasses and whatever else is actively destroying the planet, right? like hes helping the very thing persephone draws her power from and what she's connected to be destroyed to appease hes need for wealth and power. its kinda gross hes being romanticized while he commits horrible acts like this for his bank account.

4. its not impossible to go opposite in their original myth personalities and still have it work. like in hades game, sisyphus is one of the most likable characters, achilles is gentle and kind, ares is calm and rational, etc, but it makes sense within the context of the story. LO in comparison goes "all these loving mothers are evil because i said so! this beloved god is now evil because i said so! minthe is evil because i said so!" and that's about it in terms of logic to these wild changes.

5. I can kinda get behind anon's theory about the flower nymphs looking like P to help her be undetected, the problem is there are also unrelated women in comic who are bright pink and look just like her, with hades even confusing them for her! if i had to bet the only reason they look like that is because rachel just wanted daphne to look like her to hammer home apollo is "obsessed" with P and to fake them as her "real family" over demeter. also just laziness in designing characters in general.

6. its weird hades and persephone are well aware what they're doing is bad even openly admitting it and yet the narrative is so hellbent on excusing their bad actions?? like hades being the major toxic factor in his relationship to minthe, persephone killing people, or hades wanting to bone an eternal 19 year old? like rachel you know thats not how character growth works, right? you cant show they have horrible flaws and leave them to never grow and learn from it, that's not good writing at all.

7. what i also dont get is the hierarchy makes no sense? like zeus is framed as the top god, but that would mean hades cant be the most important man ever so rachel also made him equal rank with zeus (and i guess poseidon too) so?? how does zeus have all that power over them then if theyre all equal? is it because zeus swallowed metis? also how are the fertility goddess so powerful and rare yet so easily taken down? how are they overpowered and super weak at the same time? i just dont get it.

8. Re reading chapter 144 and other anon is right we do see the pomegranate pin on Hades outfit (so Hades gifts it to her)

But also some things to note

During the makeout session persy begins to disappear in butterfly form and hades is like "no don't leave!" And he grabs her, preventing her from leaving. Which is..kinda Ick considering they were on their way to having (public) sex and he doesn't want her to leave which seems like he's not really respecting her boundaries? (because if she does he'll "be lonely")

The pomegranate pin is Hades' to begin with so technically one of Persephones symbols is not hers (yes I know in the original myth she ate it in the underworld / was forced to eat it but still its supposed to be her symbol)

Hades notes that he "doesn't want to overstep his boundaries as host" because Persephone is a guest (too late for that)

Persephones main concern (after what a week or 2?) after being raped is when Hades wants to stop her reaction is "dont you want me anymore?"

Girl you aren't even dating ...??

Persy's literal one and only concern is that she thinks if she doesnt sleep with Hades right then or when/if he wants to that "she wont be able to give him what hes used to" ... Which is reinforcing that she went to therapy to get "over being blocked" in regards to having sex

Although Hades does mention that she shouldn't feel like she needs to please him and that a kiss can just be a kiss which would be nice

(And yet his thinking of marrying her amd he's known her for 2, 3 weeks? ... And he says "the beginning of a new relationship is exciting and scary" so hes basically indicating thay their dating at this point, I think?)

And later the nymphs in the store are like "do you wanna be the dominatrix of the bedroom?? Buy this lingerie!" And persy does. So??

Meanwhile Demeter is very worried for her daughter who is busy sitting in Hades lap in a pool.

9. Can we talk about how anons are making fucking flow charts for the LO Timeline cause it's so ridiculously jumbled?

10. im not even against rushed relationships, ive known actual couples who met and were married all within the same year and it worked out great, the difference though is these were people who had their own lives and previous relationships. the issue with LO is RS designed it so Persephone can NEVER have relationships or a life outside of Hades, and if they did get married offscreen, it's framing their marriage in a toxic and unbalanced light. That's not a romance, it's a disaster waiting to happen.

11. i feel like there's a difference between drawing an interesting hooked/aquiline nose versus whatever the hell RS puts on Hades' face. It honestly looks like he's in between morphing into a bird half the time since it just looks like a beak over an actual facial feature.

12. are there shareholders or a board of advisors or something at underworld corp? because if there is id say they have more than enough reason to kick hades out and strip him of his titles/shares because of all the shit he's caused by being guided by his broken pp over thinking with his head. liking dating TWO employees? and getting one of them phsyically crippled by the other bc he can't be honest with either of them and she's a walking time bomb? he's a walking HR nightmare.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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omegafrisk · 3 years

Text

so i have some criticisms of berdly

ok so i wanna get my thoughts on berdly out in public because the way people have started talking about him after chapter 2 is making me very uncomfortable. apologies for the length of this!

a lot of people have warmed to berdly after chapter 2, but personally i have nothing but criticism for his writing. from his introduction he's been coded like a baby misogynist dudebro. every part of how he talks echoes that subculture. i can't even call it parody because that's literally how these people are.

i've seen people say it's wrong to call him a misogynist or transphobe because he doesn't overtly speak that way in the text, but i seriously object to that. he's a fictional character; toby fox doesn't write microaggressions. he's artificially sanitised because he's not real while otherwise word-for-word echoing the sentiments of real bigots. a man who, let's be honest with ourselves, was likely intended by the author to be cis calling himself superior to everyone is kind of inherently going to fall into misogyny and transphobia. yes, berdly is a child, but so are the people around him and around real people like that who are hurt by his beliefs and actions.

being a child, berdly is of course capable of growth, but he isn't even given the opportunity to do that. he's the butt of every joke and humiliated a bunch, but noelle never gets a chance to properly stand up to him. yeah, she chokes him out for saying he has a crush on susie, but she doesn't get to confront him for how cruel he's been to her or to others in the same way she gets to confront the queen as a standin for her mother.

berdly is right back to his old self once the chapter ends with minimal growth because he spent the chapter learning almost nothing. not even queen tells him off, we just get the running gag (which is hilarious, don't get me wrong) of her avoiding him. of course there's still the opportunity for growth in future chapters, but i think that's extremely poor pacing on toby's part when he's introduced an actual bigot into his story.

berdly is far from the only example of toby poorly representing real-world harm in this chapter. just look at him bending over backwards to defend hometown's police and defang king spades with a "haha, he wasn't THAT bad see everyone? he's funny and he was totally bluffing! queen likes him she's cool!" and, of course, acting like being imprisoned has made king spades way better. these are all completely unnecessary narrative decisions.

because that's the thing about berdly - he didn't HAVE to be like this. his narrative role of being a bit of a jerk who's tied up in noelle's backstory could easily be filled without touching on that. you can be a stuck up prick without echoing real bigoted sentiments.

a character can be a bad person while still being a good character, but i absolutely object to the idea that berdly can be counted as that. he's just unpleasant. quite frankly, i find the fact that so many people like him suddenly because he's kind of sort of trying a bit and might possibly try more in the future disturbingly similar to how people treat real bigoted men when they show the slightest sign of any kind of improvement, too. remember that post that went around about that incel who started healing from depression after learning to take care of shrimp, who called his uncle a homophobic slur in the post and never mentioned no longer viewing women as inferior...?

i guess my point is that sometimes you have to look outside a text to understand a character. or, really, all the time. characters exist in the context of how they reflect the real world. writers you like a lot can do things poorly. #ReplaceBerdlyWithAnOC20k21

#draws an anti-discourse circle on the floor around myself #please be normal about criticism utdr fandom please please pl #edited this post cause i called him a baby incel but it wasn't quite correct

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

Good as Gold pt. 1

[part 2] [prostitute!Jaskier masterpost]

It hasn't been long since Geralt left Kaer Morhen for the spring, but he's been travelling non-stop since. He usually does after having been cooped up for months, but this year he's been unusually restless, even for this time of year. But he's beginning to feel the effects of taking contracts for weeks straight without stopping. Truthfully, he should have made his way to town days ago - maybe longer - because the itch under his skin remains despite the exhaustion creeping up into its place. So town is where he heads and Hagge is the closest town to where he is.

It's not his favourite city, but there are many that are worse and most people here don't bat an eye at a Witcher in town anymore. Which is a good thing for him, especially tonight. All he wants is a warm bed and something decent to eat, maybe a bath. And he's intrigued to find a brothel on his way to the bathhouse. It hadn’t been part of his plan for the evening, but once he passes by, the thought of good company sticks in his mind.

He hasn't had any sort of relief since before he headed up to the keep last autumn and thinking about it, it would do him well to feel the touch of someone other than himself. Either way, no one will take him for any amount of coin looking and smelling the way he does now; bathing in rivers and lakes may be enough for a lone traveller on the road, but not for cities and not for civilized company.

Geralt pays extra for oils at the bathhouse so he can be somewhat presentable and he lingers in the hot water longer than he usually would. His aches and pains are soothed by the heat, but the itch under his skin remains, sharpened by the heat of the water and the calming scents of the oils. But bathing is one of the few things Geralt allows himself to enjoy and he takes his time despite his body's insistence that he needs to move on.

Once he's sufficiently clean and relaxed, if not settled, Geralt makes his way from the bathhouse to the brothel. He tethers Roach to a fence at the side of the building and pushes the door open, ignoring the insistent buzz under his skin. He's used to not getting his hopes up; many places won't let a Witcher through their doors, never mind let them spend time alone with their women, but tonight he's trying not to think about it. He wants this; his body needs this and if he’s turned away, it will just be another night getting off alone in his room at the inn. If the inn will take him.

As soon as he walks in, he spots a man at one side of the room; he's tall and fit in a pair of pale blue trousers and boots all the way up to his thighs. Geralt's eyes roam over him before he pulls himself away. He's talking to someone else anyway, and on the rare occasions when men will service other men, none of them are interested in him. So Geralt doesn't even try anymore. Even if he did, the man looks expensive and Geralt isn't exactly drowning in wealth. He makes his way over to the madam but as soon as she spots him, her expression turns sour.

"There's no one here for you," she says before he can so much as open his mouth.

Geralt can feel eyes on him and he isn’t sure if the bouncers are watching for any sign of a confrontation or if the others in attendance are interested purely because he’s a Witcher. It doesn’t matter either way and Geralt doesn’t press the matter. It’s not like it’s the first time and he would never entertain the idea of being with someone who doesn't want him - whether it's their job or not.

He thanks her anyway and he’s about to turn away when the click of bootheels catches his attention, approaching from behind. A gentle hand curls around his bicep and Geralt forces back the urge to spin around and defend himself. He’s safe here, even the bouncers won’t try to harm him unless he resists. And bouncers don’t touch so softly.

Geralt turns slowly, coming face-to-face with the bright-eyed man with bows on his trousers. Up close, he’s even more beautiful, eyes shining even in the dim light and his own scent of citrus and cloves is overwhelming, masking the scent of liquor and sex. Geralt’s cock takes that particular moment to remind him that he hasn’t had sex in months and Geralt does his best to ignore it.

“Oh, come on Lorelei,” the man says, keeping his eyes on Geralt’s, “you’re not going to turn him away.” It’s a statement, not a question and he says it with a seductive smirk, his gaze drifting slowly down Geralt’s body. The hand around his arm squeezes and the man looks up to him again.

“I saw you looking,” he says, “and I’d be more than happy to spend the evening between those thighs.” He slides both hands down, running up the front of Geralt’s thighs to punctuate the claim and grins up at him. Geralt’s mind shuts down and his cock takes over, twitching against the front of his trousers.

It's a ploy he knows. All the women he's been with are the same, but there's a look in this man's eyes that's more than just forced enthusiasm and Geralt wants to see how far he'll take it. At any rate, the man isn't disgusted by him and that's hard to find sometimes.

"You're responsible for yourself then, Julian," the madam huffs and turns in the opposite direction and Geralt casts a look in her direction as she goes. Interesting dynamic, for him to be able to be so commanding, he must be highly sought-after. And Geralt can understand why with those eyes and that voice, talking his way into anyone’s bed.

"Jaskier, if you please," he says before turning back to Geralt. "Don't worry about her, darling, she'll forgive me. Now, why don't we head upstairs and see what I can do for you, hm?" Geralt is weak when it comes to beautiful young men, weaker still when they show interest in him the way Jaskier does. Geralt agrees despite his better sense and allows Jaskier to take him by the hand and lead him through the room and upstairs.

When the door is closed, Jaskier turns to look at him and Geralt isn't sure what to do with the attention. In the past, the prostitutes Geralt has seen are quick to get him into bed and get to it, Jaskier seems less enthusiastic about the sex and more about Geralt himself. Which is unusual, but not unwelcome.

"They usually let you talk to them like that?" he asks, curiosity winning out over good sense. He's never seen a whore quite like Jaskier and a part of him wants to know more.

"I pretty much have free reign," he says simply, and Geralt lifts an eyebrow in response. "I'm very good at what I do. Now, you know my name, what can I call you, gorgeous?"

"Geralt."

"Hmm," Jaskier hums, "I like that." His hands press against his chest and Geralt immediately wants to press into the touch. It's been a long time since anyone has touched him without anger or fear and the boldness of it sends a shiver up his spine.

"You're not afraid of me?" he asks and Jaskier huffs a little laugh.

"Should I be?"

"You don't get many Witchers through here, do you?"

"You're my first," Jaskier confirms, "but enough of that, let's get you out of these clothes." He gets his hands on Geralt's belt, keeping his eyes on Geralt's as he gets it undone.

There's no fear there, and Geralt doesn't realize how much he's relaxed because of it until Jaskier's hands find his bare skin, tugging his shirt up and grazing his stomach as he goes. He's intrigued by Jaskier's boldness, his utter lack of hesitation in his presence because he doesn't remember the last time someone was this forward and confident with him. And when he shuts his eyes and tips forward, inhaling his scent, there's no hesitancy, only excitement and an underlying spice of arousal that has a wave of heat rolling up the back of his neck. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted to be wanted by someone.

It's such a basic desire that he's never considered achieving, something he's repressed for so long that when Jaskier's body presses against his own, Geralt can't help the rumbling groan that bubbles up from his chest. His shirt is pulled up over his head and Jaskier's hands find his chest again, running over his bare skin with an enthusiastic hum.

"Gods, look at you," he breathes. His fingers press into every dip, running reverently over his chest and down his stomach. "Stunning."

Geralt shudders as Jaskier's hands move down over his hips, but they settle on his waist, gently pushing to get Geralt to walk backwards. He lets himself be guided back toward the bed and sits when he's directed to, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as he kneels between his feet. He tugs Geralt's boots off gently, setting them to the side before running his hands all the way up his legs.

Jaskier reaches up with one hand, turning Geralt's medallion between his fingers. He considers it for a moment then lets it drop back into place, happy apparently, to let him keep it on. He looks up at Geralt and Geralt meets his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing.

Jaskier rises to his feet, lifting Geralt's chin with two fingers, looking down on him and Geralt takes one look at the soft arousal in his eyes and finds himself eager to please, even if he's the one paying here. Soft fingers brush up the column of his throat and as Jaskier pulls away, Geralt's mouth goes dry.

He makes a show of getting undressed, bending low to remove his boots before pushing his trousers to the ground sauntering away toward the cabinet on the other side of the room. He continually casts looks over his shoulder, watching the way Geralt watches him as though he enjoys being on display. When he returns, he's got a delicate glass bottle in one hand and when Geralt catches sight of it, Jaskier smiles.

He presses in between Geralt's thighs, looping his arms casually around his neck and Geralt feels the last of the tension leave his body. It should be worrying for him to be so comfortable with a man who is really only here because Geralt is paying him for it. But he can feel Jaskier's cock press against his stomach and that, at least, is hard to fake. Though his experience with male prostitutes is scant, Geralt has had partners who couldn't perform due to fear or disgust or whatever else - Jaskier is a pleasant change of pace.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, leaning forward to breathe against Geralt's ear.

"Mm. Anything you don’t do?" Geralt asks and he's surprised to find his voice rougher, scratchy in his throat.

"Not a lot if you pay enough, but if you want to get kinky, it’s gonna cost you. And I won’t do anything without discussing it first.”Jaskier leans back and looks at him, "and no kissing on the mouth. Other than that, I'm all yours. What do you want?"

"Fuck," Geralt mutters, hands clenching in the sheets at his sides. "I want your mouth, your hands, your ass- anything. I don't care." Jaskier's eyes light up and he pushes Geralt back against the bed before sliding off his lap and settling back between his knees.

“Easy to please,” he hums, “I like that.”

He gets Geralt's trousers open with quick precision, pushing them out of the way of his cock. The scent of lust spikes as Jaskier takes hold of him and Geralt groans despite himself, clenching his fists around the sheet. It's been far too long since anyone has touched him and as Jaskier's fingers slip up to play with the head, Geralt nearly growls his impatience.

"It's true then, what they say about Witchers," Jaskier smirks, crouching down so his mouth hovers just above Geralt's cock, hot breath maddening as it rolls over him.

"And what do they say?" he grits out.

"That you've all got massive cocks."

"Never fucked a Witcher," Geralt mumbles, "wouldn't know." Jaskier hums thoughtfully and wraps his mouth around Geralt's cock and that's the end of that.

Jaskier's mouth is hot and slick around him and Geralt's eyes drop shut at the rush of pleasure. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he keeps them fisted in the sheet, hoping it doesn't tear under the strain. And Jaskier pushes further between his thighs and takes Geralt's cock deeper than anyone has managed in the past and Geralt's not sure his hand alone will ever be good enough again.

When he draws back, he looks up with wide, dark eyes and Geralt's breath catches. He's still surprised that Jaskier is so enthusiastic about being with him and he looks so incredibly beautiful, which is an odd thing to think about someone with a cock in their mouth.

"You can touch me," Jaskier breathes, smiling softly at him, "I want you to."

Geralt reaches out, tentatively sliding his fingers into Jaskier's hair and he finds he likes the feeling of his hair between his fingers. Jaskier presses into the touch and sighs softly as he ducks back down and takes Geralt's cock back into his mouth. He sucks him down hard and Geralt's fingers tighten in his hair, gripping tight to keep from thrusting into Jaskier’s mouth. He shuts his eyes and leans back on one arm, letting his fingers trail across Jaskier's skull.

He'd be happy to come just like this; his cock presses against the back of Jaskier's throat and there isn't so much as a note of hesitation in him. If anything, Jaskier pushes harder, flicking his tongue against the head of Geralt's cock when he slides up and taking him down again in one quick motion that has Geralt breathless.

And he curses himself for not coming to town sooner, regrets his stubborn decision not to bring himself off on the way here because now he's too sensitive and this won’t last as long as he wants it to. If it hadn't been so long since the last time he'd come, he would have been happy to have Jaskier's mouth around him for as long as he'd allow, but already he can feel himself tensing up. Evidently, Jaskier notices too, because he runs his tongue along the underside of his cock and pulls off, wrapping one hand around the base of him.

"You're sensitive," he hums and the delight in his voice is unmistakable. "When was the last time?"

"Don't know," Geralt mumbles. His mind is foggy, eyes nearly shut as he looks down at Jaskier. He could probably figure it out, but it doesn't seem important enough right now.

"Well," Jaskier rises up, resting his elbows on Geralt's knees. From this angle, Geralt has a clear view of all of him and he can't tear his eyes from Jaskier's cock, already slick and fully hard. He wants so badly to touch him, but he doesn't know if that's part of the deal. Jaskier had said anything, but Geralt has had too many bad experiences to risk it.

"As much as I'd love to make you come with my mouth, I had some other ideas." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt finds himself agreeing to whatever it is Jaskier wants to do to him. Whatever it is, it can't be bad.

Jaskier asks him to lie in the center of the bed and Geralt complies, letting himself be stripped of the rest of his clothes before Jaskier grabs the little glass bottle and returns to him. He climbs up over him, straddling his hips with both hands planted on Geralt's hips. He opens the bottle and slicks Geralt's cock, taking care to touch every inch of him, both hands wrapped around his girth. It feels amazing but the sensation only lasts a minute before Jaskier is shuffling forward again and leaning over him.

He takes one of Geralt's hands, reaching around behind himself and pressing Geralt's fingers between his cheeks. Instead of skin, Geralt touches something hard and solid. Frowning, he ducks his head, but Jaskier is preoccupied, running his fingers through Geralt's chest hair and kissing along his shoulders.

"Pull it out," he breathes and Geralt nods before doing just that. There’s some resistance and Jaskier moans into his chest, but once he moves past that, the toy slips out easily.

It looks like glass, black and solid and tapered at one end. He doesn't have much time to inspect it though before Jaskier is taking it back from him and setting it on the table next to the bed. He takes the oil again, slicking his own fingers up and Geralt inhales sharply as Jaskier pushes three fingers into himself.

"What is it?" he asks and Jaskier doesn't even acknowledge his lack of knowledge, just presses his nose under Geralt's jaw and groans.

"Keeps me ready," he breathes, "so you don't have to wait." And with that, he withdraws his fingers, readjusts his position and pushes back onto Geralt's cock.

Geralt's hands fly to his hips as Jaskier sinks down on him, fingertips digging into Jaskier's skin. Most women aren't so enthusiastic about taking him like this and Jaskier is tight around him. Geralt isn't an idiot, nor is he oblivious; he knows he's big and he knows that's a deterrent for a lot of people, but Jaskier seems determined to take as much of him as he can. And he does it with grace and without much trouble which sends a weird little thrill through Geralt's core.

Jaskier shifts, rolling his hips forward experimentally and Geralt's head drops back against the pillow. Jaskier is tight around him, pushing Geralt deeper into him and pressing his hands into his skin. He reaches out, slipping his hands around Geralt's and for a second it's too much and Geralt's eyes flash open. But Jaskier takes his hands and places them on his own hips, holding them against him until Geralt's fingers grip his skin.

"I love your hands," he breathes, "fuck, Geralt, touch me."

He knows it's a ploy, that Jaskier is a whore and his tools are his words; the more you pull a client in, the more likely they are to come back. But Geralt can't help falling for it if only just a little. He likes to think that he could do anything to make this good for Jaskier, too.

He rolls his hips and Jaskier groans above him, pushing his hands up and brushing his thumbs over Geralt's nipples. It sends a spark of lust straight down to his cock and he groans as he pulls Jaskier down against him. He gets a startled moan in surprise but Jaskier is nothing if not enthusiastic and when he clenches around him, Geralt goes all but limp beneath him. He won't last long like this, but even spending five minutes with Jaskier is long enough to make the absurd amount of coin he's spending on him worth it.

But Geralt isn't uncaring as some might suggest; he'd never leave a partner unsatisfied and he'll make Jaskier come even if he can’t make him come first. He slides his hands tentatively down Jaskier's thighs; he's still a little unsure about touching and he's been told off for it in the past, but Jaskier seems to welcome it, and when he doesn't get told no, Geralt continues. He wraps a hand around Jaskier's cock, slipping up slowly to the head and squeezing gently.

He keeps his eyes on Jaskier's face, watching the flutter of his eyelids and the way his mouth drops open in a little 'o' when Geralt's thumb sweeps over the head.

"Fuck," Jaskier grunts and he thrusts into Geralt's fist. The sight of his face pinched in pleasure and his lip trapped between his teeth is all the encouragement Geralt needs.

He needs this and Jaskier is here for him to take his own pleasure, but Geralt has always been better at giving than taking, even when he's aching for it. It's nothing for him to gather Jaskier into his arms and flip him onto his back and the surprised smile he gets when he looks down at him is enough to know he hasn't overstepped. If anything, Jaskier's breath comes a little quicker, the scent of his arousal stronger. And that's what really gets to him. Jaskier isn't just good at what he does, but he's genuinely enjoying this; so many whores see Geralt and get things over with as quickly as possible - Jaskier is the opposite.

Geralt drapes himself over him, resting his head on the cushion above Jaskier's head. He thrusts hard, keeping a steady rhythm and he's so lost in his own pleasure that he barely understands the words spilling from Jaskier's lips. He shoves a hand between them, propping himself up on his other arm, and wraps around Jaskier's cock.

"Yes," Jaskier grunts, "fuck me- fuck, those hands. And your cock, I know they say Witchers are big, but this is ridiculous," he huffs a strained laugh. "You’re fucking incredible- how does it feel darling, filling me up like that? Do you want to come like this?" he asks and Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and groans against Jaskier's shoulder.

He gives a quick sharp thrust of his hips, measuring his own restraint and as Jaskier lets out a tiny gasp, fingers Geralt didn't realize were in his hair tug on it. Heat sears through his body and Geralt's cock jerks inside him.

"You like that?" he asks, knowing full well Jaskier won't tell him anything but yes. The little mmhm that slips from his lips isn't as enthusiastic a response as Geralt was expecting, but he seems genuine about it and Geralt does it again, angling his hips and thrusting hard again. But he doesn't stop this time, taking Jaskier's cock in his hand again and stroking him in time with his motions.

And Jaskier babbles under him like he's never been fucked before. Which is an achievement considering the way he takes Geralt's cock like he was born for it.

"Geralt," he groans and for the first time, he sounds like he's not in control. "I'm gonna come-" Good, Geralt thinks, because Jaskier is hot and tight around him and he's so close he just wants to let go.

Jaskier whines as Geralt squeezes around his cock, rocks himself back onto Geralt's cock and then he's coming. His hands tangle in Geralt's hair, tugging with every thrust and when he looks up at him, his eyes are dark and glossy, his bottom lip swollen between his teeth. He whines again as Geralt's hand slips from his cock and Geralt leans over him, pulling one of Jaskier's thighs up over his hip as he pushes into him again.

"Gonna come in me?" Jaskier huffs and he's breathless, voice rough and Geralt just grunts before letting go. He buries himself deep, hips jerking unevenly as he comes and Jaskier's hands slip down to his ass, encouraging him.

Once the rush is over, he pulls out and rolls off of Jaskier, draping his arm over his eyes. He should want to leave immediately; he didn't come here to chat, after all, but he has nowhere better to be and Jaskier hums thoughtfully as he settles into the bed.

"You're welcome to the room," he says, "I'll stay with Astrid for the night."

"Stay," Geralt mumbles, "not about to kick you out of your own room."

"Wouldn't mind."

Geralt hums softly and as long as he lives, he'll never be able to figure out why he looks up at Jaskier and says, "I'd like the company. Been a long time since I shared a bed with anyone." It's true but that doesn't make it any less odd. As a rule, he doesn't share his feelings, least of all those about his personal life and here he is asking a whore to sleep with him because he's lonely.

But if Jaskier finds the request odd, he doesn't show it. He offers Geralt a soft smile and goes about cleaning up before sliding into bed next to him. And it's nothing, Geralt tells himself, that Jaskier presses up close and shuts his eyes. This is his job; Geralt is his client and that means doing anything he can to make him happy so he comes back. But Jaskier is soft and warm and it has been a long time since Geralt has had a bedmate, so he doesn't think too much of it. But then he speaks.

"What's it like?" Jaskier asks and Geralt cracks an eye at him.

"What's what like?"

"Being a witcher."

"Don't have anything to compare it to."

"Is it always lonely?"

"Mostly."

"Why do you do it?"

"Didn't really have a choice."

"Sounds awful," Jaskier frowns.

"It's not all bad." That's not entirely true, but Geralt is feeling particularly good right now and he's willing to be positive about it.

"Tell me some of the good things? I'd hate to think I'm sending you back into the world only to suffer."

Geralt huffs a laugh, turning to look at Jaskier. His eyes are still shut and he looks perhaps more beautiful like this than before. Geralt has no reason to keep these things from him and no one better for conversation, so he entertains him. And when he gets a reply, Jaskier asks for more. He keeps asking until Geralt's replies become slower, more drawn out. His eyes are heavy and his mind slows with the desire to sleep. Next to him, Jaskier hums and curls closer.

"Sleep," he whispers, "you've indulged me long enough."

Geralt hums and settles into the bed. When he slips a tentative arm around Jaskier's waist, the man just hums and shifts to make space for him. His breath is steady against Geralt's neck and Geralt focuses on that, the soft rise and fall, and shuts lets all other worries slip away. He finds, disappointingly, that he very much likes falling asleep with a warm body next to him.

#this got so much longer than intended #oops #BUT #part one is done!#prostitute!jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #rex writes #I will eventually have this on ao3 also #but I need a title #and surprise!#i don't have one yet #good as gold

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crossdressingdeath · 3 years

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Why are people bias against JFM? Madame Yu is a woman, she is strong, yes. But at the end of the day both are at fault for their children's upbringing. Putting all the fault on JFM is unfair because in the case where Madame Yu is constantly slandering his image by constantly reproaching him of being unfaithful, it is tiresome to deal with someone who just won't listen to you. It's like talking to a wall. Of course JFM will walk away. He prefers to avoid accidentally snapping at his wife in anger, or frustration. Him walking away is him being considerate enough to not agitate his wife further in front of their kids.

In the manghua, in the scene after the cave, he asks Madame Yu to speak about the matter of his supposed love for Wei Wuxian's mother in private. He tries to be considerate to his son. He doesn't want Jiang Cheng to hear his mother insinuate he favours Wei Wuxian because of his rumoured love for his mother.

People love Madame Yu and might be bias because she is strong and fearless, a rare representation in the books from what I've noticed, but they should see that it is not entirely JFM's fault that Jiang Cheng turned out this way. If we look at every husbands, we can see that JFM is actually decent, even better than everyone else. Particularly if we compare him to Jin Guangshan who mind you cheats left and right.

If we were to try and apply their personality in real life, who would you really prefer to have as a friend or partner? Madame Yu who is according to fans, a tsundere but I don't think the author confirmed this fact? Someone with whom you have to walk on eggshells with becauss she will criticize you for every single thing that you do? Trust me I live with someons like that and I can tell you it's not easy. Or with someone like JFM? Someone who is passive to a fault, yes, but who won't dishonour you by slandering your name constantly? Someone who will only criticize you when only when you deserve it? I believe that if circumstances were different, about his marriage and his partner, JFM wouldn't be that terrible as a father. He gets along well with people who have a similar personality to him and we can't blame him for that because it would be hypocritical since according to fans who defend Madame Yu's character, we are supposed to accept her as she is. Living with someone like Madame Yu is not easy and I can understand why JFM would be avoiding her. He is trying to make himself as small as he can to avoid getting scolded and reproached at. I feel for him in that way because I try to avoid conflicts in general with people like Madame Yu because it is exhausting and has a tendency to set off my anxiety.

So if we are to start blaming people left and right, completely ignoring that while parents can influence your personality, children don't always turn out to be as abusive as them because they generally want to avoid recreating that pattern (Jiang Cheng could have changed himself. No one told him to be like his mother. He was old enough when he went to Gusu to have healthy interactions with others. You are right to blame the parents but also let's keep in mind that not every child who was born into a family where the father was an alcoholic will become one as well. It is all up to the individual to in the end change the pattern. Sometimes they need help to change and that's okay. Because they know they need to change.)

Sorry for my long post but that's how I see Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu. It's very tragic that it turned out this way, but Madame Yu maybe shouldn't have pushed the engagement so much on her side too. JFM knew they weren't compatible but she wanted to marry him (honestly though...who wouldn't when you see all the other clan leaders at this time? Nie Mingjue is younger than JFM and Jin Guangshan and Wen Ruohan I think. So he wouldn't be their classmate.) JFM realistically when you meet everyone else, is the best choice as husband. It's really just seeing who is the least terrible of all of them.

First off yeah, NMJ is the next generation down from JFM and YZY; they would’ve gone to school with his father, who died when NMJ was young. YZY maybe could have married his father, but... well, she didn’t. And JFM very much did not want to marry YZY; her family forced him into it, and he only gave in when CSSR and WCZ (who were likely his only support) left the sect.

Yeah, it really is this Thing where people are like “Oh, JFM was so horrible to JC!” when... his only real fault was not stopping YZY. He doesn’t even avoid her! She avoids him! She hangs out in her pavilion refusing to do her job as the sect leader’s wife! The most he does to her is try to stop her from using her children and JFM’s head disciple as weapons in her pointless, petty war against the man she forced to marry her! And even then he’s not trying all that hard; I mean, she’s still permitted to whip WWX for complete non-offences. JFM could put YZY in seclusion permanently or just divorce her outright; instead all he requests is that she not be blatantly cruel and petty in front of him, and apparently even that’s too much for her. Also like. she didn’t have to marry a great sect leader, now did she? There are loads of minor sects; she’s from one of them. But no, only one of the most powerful men in the world would be enough for her, and the fact that they were entirely incompatible was unimportant.

Basically JFM was distant, sure, but wasn’t actually a bad father or husband. It’s just that 1. YZY made everyone miserable and JFM didn’t stop her so apparently it’s his fault and 2. the bare minimum requirement of “don’t be horrible to literally everyone including children in front of me” is apparently way too much to ask of YZY so that cruel demand is tantamount to abuse. It’s a lot of bullshit caused by people bending over backwards to find excuses for the woman who whips a child because she hated his mother, essentially.

#mdzs #lotus mom #jiang fengmian #anon #asks

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marrys-dream-world · 3 years

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About Chloe, anon doesn't think her fans are EVER going to acknowledge how mean she actually is, and there's a reason for that: Tumblr "Woke" culture is based on Karl Marx's "conflict theory", where all conflict is between The Oppressors (men, white people, adults, etc.) and The Oppressed (women, black people, kids, etc.). Here's the key: both teenagers and girls are classified as Oppressed, so Tumblr fandoms can't allow teenagers to actually be monsters, because The Oppressed Can Never Be Evil.

Hi, anon, I let this ask stew a little cause I wanted to think about it a bit.

Sooo… I see your point, I really do, but I kinda do disagree with you. I don’t think the fandom immediately latches on “the oppressed” and become character apologists. Lila is a woc and the fandom loves to write fanfic of her completely humiliated and ruined for the rest of her life. Sure, she’s a villain and all, it’s just that people go a little too far (in my opinion) and her being a teenage girl of color doesn’t stop anyone. (Hell, Kagami is awesome and she still gets an incredible amount of hate for… *checks notes* being 14 and liking a boy). Your theory is just too simple, I think it’s something else: people like a character and, because of purity culture, they think they can’t stan a character without them being Completely Good™.

I was in the ML fandom in 2016 and there just weren’t Chloé apologists around (if there were, they were few because I didn’t see any and I was on tumblr and AO3 a lot). Sure, people liked Chloé back then and some were very invested in writing redemption arcs for her in fics. However, they rarely set aside the things she did or even that she deserved an arc like that. We were already aware something was going on with Chloé’s mom and a lot were sympathetic, we just didn’t let the things she did go. When I came back to the fandom in the beginning of season 4 (I had only heavily participated in the fandom during season 1 and a few episodes of season 2), I was surprised at her fans saying she was robbed of a redemption arc.

I can only guess that Chloé got sympathizers after we met her mother and started her redemption arc and that’s fair enough. The problem is: Chloé got a little better, but she was still mean and arrogant and seemed to sincerely believe that she deserved to use the bee miraculous. Most of her development didn’t seem to stick around and yeah, we could say that’s because the show is inconsistent. Still, it doesn’t seem so. Chloé’s arc is still going on, only stronger than ever (without the Queen Bee crutch), and Season 4 proved it (Queen Banana is right there). So saying that her arc was ruined and that she wasn’t that bad is flat out lying.

Anon, I'm sure you said it in your complementary ask (that’ll answer separately bc I want to talk about fanworks too) because you KNEW that I would bring it up, but I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna talk about B/akugou. He’s the epitome of privilege in the world of b/nha. He has a great quirk that allowed him to get away with everything he did with Izuku, he’s a man and he’s seemingly wealthy. Yet, a lot of the fandom still bends over backwards to defend him and leave his victim to rot (or say stuff like “I/zuku is a K/acchan stan :3”, like, Fuyumi isn’t angry with End*avor and we can still be angry for her but not with B/akugou for I/zuku? And it’s like they don’t know how trauma works smh). They act like 10 years of bullying is not that serious. I’ve seen a baku///deku fan that said B/akugou’s suicide baiting I/zuku in the first chapter wasn’t a big deal because they didn’t have a real bully/victim relationship. I wish I could unsee that.

(Yes, I’m aware of what’s happening in the manga and I still think his arc sucks <3. Nobody come in my inbox with B/akugou defenses)

Chloé is just like that. She’s really privileged in the world of ML, like B/akugou is in the world of b/nha. So I don’t think it’s a problem of the fandom defending who they see as the oppressed, they’ll cherry pick what they like most and defend anyways. It’s just a thing that happens and it’s not exclusive to any media. Watch any kpop fandom react when they faves get accused of bullying, suddenly the victim is an attention-seeker wh*re. In book fandom too, one my friend recommended me has the male romantic interest torture the protagonist on screen and the fandom is completely in love with him.

Bottom line: the fans will just defend who they like best, they don’t have a formula for who they choose.

(This post isn’t anti-Chloé bc I like her character and her place in the narrative, some fans just piss me off, specifically. This is anti-b/akugou though. Chloé’s ongoing redemption arc >>>>>> B/akugou's redemption arc. Maybe I’ll explain this someday, I don’t know.)

#thanks for this ask anon i LOVED the opportunity to rant about this #probably will some more someday #feel free to ask anything else about this idk #ml fandom critical #anti bakugou #miraculous ladybug #marry answers

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otp-armada · 4 years

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If Jason wanted to convince me that Lxa was the love of Clarke's life, he wouldn't have killed her off, effectively cutting their love story permanently, with 4.5 seasons left of the show. Their arc, starting with their introduction in 2x07 and concluding with L's death in 3x07, is 17 episodes long, accounting for 17% of the entire narrative. If I generously add 3x16 to the count, an episode in which L is already dead in the corporeal world Clarke is trying to return to, it's a whopping, grand total of 18%. An 18% congruous with Clarke's intense connection to Bellamy and vice versa, which even A.lycia confirmed as romantic. Feelings romantic enough to spur the formation of a love triangle. An 18% ignoring Clarke's ultimate choice to go back to her people when L wanted her to stay.

CL is a chapter in the story begun and wrapped up in the first half of the narrative. And that's omitting further illumination on the finer details making CL so problematic for Clarke. Do you expect me to believe it was coincidental for CL to occur at a time when Clarke was spiraling down a dark path, commencing with Finn's death? Who played a hand in forcing Clarke's own hand, with Finn, and TonDC, and Mount Weather? Whose example inspired her to ensnare herself in armor and warpaint to be strong enough to save her people? Whose behavior did she emulate in the pushing away of support from her people? Who gave her a place to continue hiding from Bellamy, her mom, and her friends? A place to be someone other than Clarke Griffin? In lieu of facing her fears like the heroine she is? The purpose of CL wasn't to provide Clarke with a magnificent, fairy tale romance gone tragically wrong. I believe Jason's intent with the relationship aimed to further damage Clarke's psyche after L's death, to solidify the belief that her love is not only deadly to its recipients but renders her too weak to do what must be done for survival.

After 3x16, CL is an often superfluous namedrop or two per season for Clarke to briefly react to before carrying on with the plot. Season 5 aside, most of these references are needless enough to be able to interpret them as attempts at reparations for the L/CL fandom's benefit -and their views- without altering the course of the story. Crazy me for thinking it's not enough to constitute an ongoing love story. Crazy me for not thinking this was on par with interactions between living characters. Crazy me for thinking it doesn't befit a love story for the protagonist.

This sliver of the story is what Jason and the CLs would have us unquestionably believe is the pervasive love story of The 100's seven seasons?

Despite his lie and the constant gaslighting from the pineapple CLs, some of us know how to decipher what a temporary love interest is. Lxa? I think you know where I'm heading with this.

I'll acknowledge my admittedly negative appraisal of CL as someone who recognizes its value to the LGBT+ community and treats it as valid while not caring for L/CL on a narrative level. I felt, when swayed by L's influence, Clarke became the antithesis of what I found admirable about her. I resented Clarke's acquiescence of her power to the commander. I wanted nothing more than to remove the wedge L had driven between Clarke and Bellamy.

Let me try to give L/CL the benefit of the doubt for a minute. I don't hold L as responsible for Clarke's choices, but I recognize the prominent role she played in their upbringing. The push and pull was an intriguing aspect of their dynamic, as was the chance to meet a manifestation of who Clarke might have been if she was all head, no heart. Her fall from grace was arguably necessary for her to be a fully-rounded character, not a Mary Sue. It wouldn't be realistic for the protagonist of a tragic story about a brutal world to be a pure cinnamon roll. When forgiveness is an innate theme with Clarke, it would be my bias at work if I was content with her applying it to everyone but Lxa. Clarke saw enough commonalities between her and L to identify with the latter. When she extended forgiveness to L, I believe it was her way of taking the first step on the path to making peace with herself by proxy. None of this means I wanted them paired up. At best, I made my peace with seeing the relationship through to its eventual end. In time for L's death, ironically. My passivity about them notwithstanding, my conclusions are, however, supported by canon.

If I may submit a Doylist reason for romantic CL? Jason knew he had a massive subfandom itching to see them coupled, thereby boosting ratings and generating media buzz. A Watsonian reason? Without relevance, I think L would have been another Anya to Clarke. Grapple shortly with the unfair taking of a life right as they choose to steer towards unity, melancholy giving way to the inconvenience of the loss of a potential, powerful political ally. Romance ensured her arc with L would have the designated impact on Clarke's character moving forward in the next act.

For a show not about relationships, Jason has routinely used romantic love as a shorthand for character and dynamic development. It's happened with so many hastily strung together pairings. And when it does, everyone and their mother bends over backward to defend the relationship. It's romantic because it just is. Didn't you see the kissing? Romantic.

No, The 100 at its core is not about relationships, romantic and otherwise. But stack the number of fans invested exclusively by the action against those of us appreciating a strong plot but are emotionally attached to the characters and dynamics. Who do we think wins? Jason can cry all he wants over an audience refusing to be dazzled solely by his flashy sci-fi.

Funnily enough, "not about relationships'' is only ever applied to Bellarke. Bellarke, a relationship so consistently significant, it's the central dynamic of the show. The backbone on which the story is predicated. Only with Bellarke does it become super imperative to represent male-female platonic relationships. As if Bellarke is the end all, be all of platonic friendship representation on this show. In every single television show in the history of television shows.

Where was this advocacy when B/echo was foisted upon on us after one scene between them where he didn't outright hate Echo? When one interaction before that, he nearly choked the life out of her. If male-female friendship on TV is so sparse, why didn't B/ravens celebrate the familial relationship between Bellamy and Raven? Isn't the fact that they interpret Clarke as abusive to Bellamy all the more reason to praise his oh-so-healthy friendship with Raven as friendship? They might be the one group of shippers at the least liberty to use this argument against Bellarke, lest they want to hear the cacophony of our fandom's laughter at the sheer hypocrisy of the joke. Instead, they've held on with an iron grip to the one sex scene from practically three lifetimes ago when the characters were distracting themselves from their feelings on OTHER people? They've recalled this as "proof" of romance while silent on (or misconstruing) the 99% of narrative wherein they were platonic and the 100% of the time they were canonically non-romantic.

Bellarke is only non-romantic if you believe love stories are told in the space of time it takes for Characters A & B to make out and screw each other onscreen, a timespan amounting to less than the intermission of a quick bathroom break. If it sounds ridiculous, it's because it is. And yet, some can't wrap their heads around the idea that maybe, just maybe, a well-written love story in its entirety is denoted by more than two insubstantial markers and unreliable qualifiers. B/raven had sex, and the deed didn't fashion them into a romance. Jasper and Maya kissed but didn't have sex. Were they half a romantic relationship? Bellarke is paralleled to romantic couples all the time, but it counts for nothing in the eyes of their rival-ship fandom adversaries. Take ship wars out of it by considering Mackson. Like B/echo, the show informed us that Mackson became a couple post-Praimfaya, offscreen, via a kiss. Does anyone fancy them an epic love story with their whisper of a buildup? Since a kiss is all it takes, as dictated by fandom parameters, we should.

If Characters A & B are ensconced in a romantic storyline, then by definition, their relationship is neither non-romantic nor fanon. "Platonic" rings hollow as a descriptor for feelings canonically not so.

If the rest of the fandom doesn't want to take our word for granted, Bob confirmed Bellarke as romantic. Is he as delusional as we are? Bob is not a shipper, but he knows what he was told to perform and how. Why do the pineapples twist themselves in knots to discredit his word? If they are so assured by Jason's word-of-god affirmation, then what credibility does it bear to have Bellarke validated by someone other than the one in charge? They're so quick to aggressively repudiate any statement less than "CL is everything. Nothing else exists. CL is the only fictional love story in The 100, nay, the WORLD. CL is the single greatest man-made invention since the advent of the wheel."

We've all seen a show with a romantic relationship between the leads at the core of the story. We all know the definition of slowburn. We can pinpoint the tropes used to convey romantic feelings. We know conflict is how stories are told. We know when interferences are meant to separate them. We know when obstacles are overcome, they're stronger for it. We know that's why the hurdles exist. We know those impediments often take the shape of interim, third-party love interests. We know what love triangles are. We know pining and longing.

Jason wasn't revolutionary in his structure of Bellarke. He wasn't sly. Jason modeled them no differently than most other shows do with their main romances. Subtler and slower, sure. Sometimes not subtle at all. There's no subtlety in having Clarke viscerally react to multiple shots of Bellamy with his girlfriend. No subtlety in him prioritizing her life over the others in Sanctum's clutches. In her prioritizing his life above all the other lives she was sure would perish if he opened the bunker door. There is no subtlety in Bellamy poisoning his sister to stave off Clarke's impending execution. In her relinquishing 50 Arkadian lives for him after it killed her to choose only 100 to preserve. In her sending the daughter Clarke was hellbent to protect, into the trenches to save him. In him marching across enemy lines to rescue her. In her surrender to her kidnapper to march to potential death, to prevent Bellamy's immediate one. No subtlety in Josie's callouts. No subtlety in Lxa's successful use of his name to convince Clarke to let a bomb drop on an unsuspecting village. Bet every dollar you have that the list goes on and on.

There are a lot of layers to what this show was. It was a tragedy, with hope for light at the end of the tunnel. It was, first and foremost, a post-apocalyptic sci-fi survival drama. Within this overarch is the story of how the union of Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake saves humanity, ushering in an age of peace. In this regard, their relationship transcended romance. But with the two of them growing exponentially more intimate each season, pulled apart by obstacles only to draw closer once again, theirs was a love story. A romantic opus, the crescendo timed in such a way that the resolution of this storyline -the moment they get together- would align with the resolution of the main plot. Tying Bellarke to the completion of this tale made them more meaningful than any other relationship on this show, not less.

Whereas the trend with every other pair was to chronicle whether they survived this hostile world intact or succumbed to it, Bellarke was a slowburn. A unique appellation for the couples on this show, but not disqualifying them from romantic acknowledgment.

Framing Bellarke in this manner was 100% Jason's choice. If he wanted the audience to treat them as platonic, he should have made it clear within the narrative itself, not through vague, word-of-god dispatches. A mishandled 180-degree swerve at the clutch as a consequence of extra-textual factors doesn't negate the 84% of the story prior. It's just bad writing to not follow through. And Jason's poor, nearsighted decisions ruined a hell of a lot more than a Bellarke endgame.

The problem is, when Bellarke is legitimized, the pineapples are yanked out of their fantasies where they get to pretend the quoted exaggerations above are real. Here I'm embellishing, but some of them have deeply ingrained their identities in CL to the degree where hyperbole is rechristened to incontestable facts. An endorsement for Bellarke is an obtrusive reminder of the not all-encompassing reception of their ship. A lack of positive sentiment is an attack on their OTP, elevated to an attack on their identity. Before long, it ascends to an alleged offense to their right to exist. The perpetrators of this evil against humanity are the enemy, and they must attack in kind, in defense of themselves.

Truthfully, I think it's sad, the connotation of human happiness wholly dependent on the outcome of a fictional liaison already terminated years ago. I'm not unaware of the marginalization of minorities, of the LGBT+ community, in media. I haven't buried my head in the sand to pretend there aren't horrible crimes committed against them. I don't pretend prejudice isn't rampant. When defense and education devolve into hatred and libel for asinine reasons, though, the line has been crossed. You don't get a free pass to hurt someone with your words over a damn ship war. No matter how hard you try to dress it up as righteous social justice, I assure you, you're woefully transparent.

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itsmoonpeaches · 3 years

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The Ocean Meets the Sky

Chapter 4: Reversal

Please note: Every prompt for this Kataang Week connects into an over-arching story.

Prompt: Role Swap

Story summary: After his battle with Fire Lord Ozai, something lingers within Aang's spirit. Katara is the one that pulls the seams back together. No matter what, Aang and Katara find each other.

Chapter summary: No one had yet noticed what was happening, how the air seemed to thicken and crackle with something visceral all at once. Katara could feel the power underneath his stare, roaring against her body. Whatever it was, it was waking from a sleep that thundered and threatened. She should have been used to the kind of power Aang possessed as the Avatar, but this time it was different.

Or, Katara makes a choice.

Written for @kataang-week

Read on ao3 or ffn.

---

First, her gaze was locked on his eerie one. The vice grip around her hand was starting to cut off her circulation. The blood pumping in her veins stuttered there, pulsating on the oxygen that was left. Like a river’s mouth about to burst into the ocean.

No one had yet noticed what was happening, how the air seemed to thicken and crackle with something visceral all at once. Katara could feel the power underneath his stare, roaring against her body. Whatever it was, it was waking from a sleep that thundered and threatened. She should have been used to the kind of power Aang possessed as the Avatar, but this time it was different.

This time, she sensed the anger of someone else.

Katara could not react fast enough when the explosion of pure unadulterated energy burst forth. She along with the crowd shouted in shock when they were blasted away. She skidded to a stop only when she was forced to. Her back slammed into a pillar on the other side of the courtyard. She stumbled to her hands and knees. Her head ached, and she was sure that she was bruised, if not a little concussed.

When she looked up, she saw Aang at the center of a perfect circle with fallen people around it. All of them were groaning, and many had already sprinted off to call for help.

The ground was cracked, more lines spreading out from the middle like branches on a leafless tree. The sky above had turned dark with looming storm clouds above them, a contrast to the hopeful clear blue that it had been mere minutes ago. There was no sun in sight, and the gloom appeared to stretch on for miles.

It was cool, dank. Katara felt the joy seep away from her body almost as if someone had squeezed it from her until it dribbled into an abyss. Her mind was full of negative thoughts and emotions. She could only think of destruction, of unfairness, of the way that there were children who would come to a home devoid of life even after the war was ended.

She thought of her mother, of Yue, of Jet. Of Aang falling from a pillar of light, smoke trailing from his back after lighting had arched through him. All of them coming to crash together and against her like a boat sailing upon harsh waves only to break upon the jutting rocks.

Someone grabbed for the crook of her elbow and yanked her upward so that she was standing up. It was Sokka, still wobbling against his crutch which he had somehow managed to hold onto. He turned to her, worry and fear in his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Why is Aang in the Avatar State?”

Before she could respond, it was Zuko who broke the silence. “Everyone get out of here!” he yelled the command. He was near the stairs, crown askew atop his head.

A switch seemed to click and there was sudden movement. Everyone who attended the coronation ran away from the center, some into the palace, and others toward the streets of the capital. Katara saw her father give her and Sokka a meaningful look from nearby. He had been forced aside by the explosion and ended up somewhere near Sokka. An understanding passed between the three of them before he departed with the others.

Aang remained standing there, unmoving in the middle of it all. His robes were flitting upward with an invisible force. Wisps of air filtered around him, as if in a warning that it would all detonate again.

It was just enough time for Katara to realize that she, Sokka, and Zuko were not the only ones that remained behind. Toph and Suki stayed too, and the friends began to converge to where Zuko stood at the front in a kind of unspoken agreement.

It was them, always. Even when it was most difficult.

The air rumbled, shaking the pebbles and bits of debris that was caused from the initial burst.

“Everyone brace for impact!” screamed Toph who had widened into a horse stance. “I don’t think I can do much for this one!”

Sure enough, all she could do was erect a large enough stone barrier that blocked most of the waves of debris from hitting them, but it did not stop them all from toppling backward onto the palace steps over each other. Toph did not lower the shield.

“What the heck is going on?! Did someone attack us?” she bellowed with effort. The courtyard shook with wind again. “Is Twinkle Toes going to get his butt over here and help us out or what?”

It was then that dread pooled into Katara’s stomach. She whipped around to face Toph, a wild and frantic emotion rising into her throat. “That is Aang!” she hissed. “He’s the one who attacked us!”

Toph’s eyebrows furrowed together. “That doesn’t make any sense! Aang isn’t anywhere near us!”

It was Suki who looked terrified next. Her fans were clutched at her sides, and she looked ready for battle in her Kyoshi Warrior uniform. “If that isn’t Aang,” she started, “then—”

“Then he’s in trouble,” Zuko finished. He had a determined expression on his face. “Whatever this is—”

But he did not have enough time to finish his sentence. The rock shield that Toph worked so hard to keep steady was ripped apart down the middle with a slice of air alone. She could do nothing to hold it together and grunted as she was pushed back. They were lucky that they were not torn to pieces.

Before them, Aang stood, glowing purple eyes and all. A stark crimson pattern with complicated lines and curls beamed through his skin from his shoulders to his midsection and showed even through his clothes. There was an orange diamond burning through where Aang’s heart was.

A tornado of twisting wind rested casually in one of his hands. It was storm-like and menacing, and not at all like Aang.

He laughed in a deep, unfamiliar way. As if he were mocking them. “It was almost too easy to take this body from Raava, especially when her newest incarnation was so weak,” he said. It was a voice Katara did not recognize. It sounded like the voice of nightfall itself. “That boy was a typical human…pathetic to a fault. It was his stupid choice really that led to this…trying to bend another one’s energy. No one has done that in eons, not since before the age of the spirits.”

Katara tamped down her fear. “Who are you and what have you done with Aang?” she demanded.

Aang’s form glared at her. The tornado in his hand dissipated, but there was still a power that radiated from him that kept them all stock-still. His mouth twisted into a smirk. He walked forward and stopped close to Katara. Too close. He leaned so that he was observing her.

Katara opened her sealskin pouch, and she commanded a tendril of water to hover in front of her. It separated them, if only in an infinitesimal amount.

“I’ve simply switched places with him, girl,” he said. “He has taken my place in the prison that his original incarnation trapped me in. He had a moment of weakness in battle you see…when he was facing that Fire Lord. It was a mere second when his energy was entwined with Ozai’s, but a mere second was enough.” He let out a spiteful laugh. “You have to be careful when your energy touches such a wicked man’s, you see, because even one mere second of thinking that you want a little more justice for what your enemies did to your people—when they wiped their blood across the face of the earth—and even the spirit of light can be stolen by the spirit of darkness and chaos.”

He tilted his head, and the world shifted. “Now,” the spirit said, “Where was I?” He leered. “Oh.”

A gale blasted them back again and they screamed. The walls of the foyer began to fracture. Katara barely held her own. She had to bend the water back to her side lest it spill across the tiles.

The spirit sauntered toward them again as they struggled to stand. His hands were clasped behind his back. “It’s a pity that I couldn’t take the power of the other elements from Raava, but no matter,” he spoke. He raised his hands. “I can still remake this world in my era.”

A ball of swirling air surrounded him. He laughed as he rose, shooting his arms outward, collecting rubble and wreckage. He spit it out everywhere he could.

Toph and Katara tried to defend them while Zuko shot out flames to disintegrate what he could. Suki held Sokka up, cutting her fan out to slash the air that ravaged them.

“What do we do now?!” screamed Sokka, blocking dirt from his eyes with his arm. “We can’t even attack him!”

It was impossible to find an opening. Katara tried everything she could from icicles to water whips, but there was nothing that could distract or deter the spirit.

All she could see was the form of the person she loved, so far out of reach.

She saw Aang as he was, vengeful and shuddering and different. Katara reached out to him, arm stretching across the expanse. “Please, Aang,” she shouted to him with conviction, “This isn’t you!”

The Avatar turned his attention toward her with a knowing, menacing voice, and said, “But it is.”

His hand cut across the space and a gust came rushing toward them. Toph broke it with another boulder.

Katara trembled, lost in herself, not knowing what to do. The others were whispering plans behind her, plans that she knew would go nowhere. She could not stop looking at what used to be Aang, how he was drifting further and further away from her, tearing up the palace and going toward the city.

She had to stop him.

She had to get him back.

Without thinking, she dashed out into the open. She heard Sokka call for her, but she ignored him and the call of her friends. She halted just under the swirling ball of air, just as it was about to escape into the rest of the world.

She knocked her head back until she was looking at soles of Aang’s shoes. “I’ll make you a trade,” she belted, "My soul for Aang's!"

Aang’s possessed body jolted, lowering just in front of her. His feet still hovered a meter above the ground. He looked down at her. His eyes were bright and frightening, and he grinned.

It looked wrong.

“All you need is a body, right?” she asked. She did not stop quivering. “Take mine. Give Aang back. I’ll take his place.”

“Katara, no!” she heard her friends protest, but she would not dare answer them.

“And what do I get out of this, little girl?” asked the spirit, unfazed.

“Your freedom, my bending, and the chaos you want,” she said. She spoke in half-truths, in promising lies. “If you live as me, no one will suspect you. You can hide in plain sight. If you’re Aang, there’ll be too much attention on you. It’s better to cause destruction when no one suspects anything.”

The spirit laughed the same guttural, horrible laugh as before. He did not hesitate when he floated closer to her. The air around him dispelled, and he alighted on the ground.

He grasped her forearm, and she grasped his. His nails dug into her skin, biting into the scratches already there, and blood beaded along the surface. She tried not to show how scared she was. She knew, above all else, who she was doing this for and why.

She would not lose him. Never again.

“We have a deal,” said the spirit. “I can assure you that I need no assistance nor strategies from you, but I have never seen such naïve foolishness at the cost of someone else in all the eons of my life.” His glowing eyes lowered to meet hers. “If there is something chaos does love, it is a good tragedy,” he finished.

When he let go, it was as if all her energy left her at once. Her vision blurred, and she was taken over by colors and night beating in tandem with each other. She gasped as she rushed through them.

Abruptly, she appeared in a field of tall, emerald grass. She was wearing an indigo dress that reached her ankles, just above a pair of soft boots.

There were white cumulous clouds that covered the sky in mountains and eddies. She stood at the crest of a hill of some sort, looking out over a piece of land with a forest of trees and the shore of the sea.

“Want to go inside?” someone asked her. It was a pleasant tenor.

She looked up to see an eclipsed figure of a tall man that strolled toward her, the sun a large disc at his back. A ray of sunlight obscured his features. He held out a pale hand to her, palm open and inviting, waiting for her.

“It’s been a long day,” he said.

Katara’s fingers curved around his, and she let herself be led away.

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