#i would give everything for it its my only devotion beyond anything else

[medicine-and-molly]

i’m such a slut for 1989

[himbo-aficionado]

I just think its interesting how at the very end of the story, we see Merlin walking past Avalon, the place where he sent off Arthur all those centuries ago. There are many different ways the scene could've went on to display his everlasting loyalty. It easily could've been a scene where maybe Merlin was with his wife and a kid who was named after Arthur, or he became a historian/scholar who kept the Arthurian legends alive after everything he went through or maybe even a physicist trying to build a time machine, find a loop in time to go back and fix the past.

But no.

We see him all alone, old and unequivocally miserable. No longer meddling with fate nor trying anything at all. Lost in a world beyond time that no man should live past or would even be able to comprehend. We see that he never moved on from Arthur, having somewhat a glimmer of hope deep within him. Nobody speaks about how insanely difficult it must have been to have hope especially when you have no end to your own life. As mortals, we can't even bear grief for a short period of time. Yet, Merlin lived the cursed life of an immortal, a life where he will only keep losing everyone he's ever loved. A life full of grief.

In the modern world shown, nobody even believes in magic or practises it and yet he...still believes that someday Arthur will return to him. In the past, he reiterates that he just wants Arthur to see that everything he does is for him. He tells Hunith that Arthur only likes him because he doesn't know him. We see he acknowledges that Arthur is doing acts of service because he likes him yet Merlin couldn't be satiated because he still wasn't his true self to Arthur. To be seen and known for who you truly are is to be loved, that is all he ever wanted from Arthur, even from the very beginning of their relationship.

"You never once sought any credit"

"Its not why I do it"

During the magic reveal, he said "I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.", still desperately wanting it to be known that his entire life was devoted to Arthur. There was no talk about legalising magic and whatnot between them either after that. He only kept repeating that he was born to serve Arthur. We see in real time just how much he meant when he said "There will never be another like you, Arthur." Evidently, he meant that Arthur is the Once and Future King but it also plays out for Merlin, because there never was anyone like Arthur in his life after that. To the point where he could find no purpose upon losing Arthur.

And yes he keeps saying that its his destiny to be Arthur's servant, that he grew up and learned the meaning of duty but is that really all it is? Towards the end, it was apparent that Merlin's objective was no longer for magic to be accepted in Camelot (as much as he wanted it). Ever since he found out about Arthur's Bane, it was all about keeping him alive. Even when the great dragon told him that there is nothing he could do anymore, Merlin could not accept to lose Arthur. "I can't lose him, he's my friend." It didn't matter that magic isn't legal yet in Camelot. He could not give two fucks about it anymore or else we would've seen magic in the future scene. One can assume that he completely stopped trying to find a solution. Or even lost the will to live.

What I'm trying to say is that, the final scene really is more than just an epilogue to show his loyalty, immortality and despair. If you think about it for a moment, it shows that somewhere along all the fights, snide remarks, banter, and what he and Arthur think isn't exactly a friendship, - they're stupid, don't mind that - he was in love with Arthur. And Arthur loved him in return even in the face of death as the truth came crumbling down. Its not as simple as 'falling in love' because, I don't think Merlin woke up one day and realised that he was inconveniently in love with the idiot arrogant prince who was tied to him by fate.

Their love was inevitable but it definitely stopped becoming destiny and duty a long time ago, it became a choice. "I'm happy to be your servant till the day I die". Merlin was, and I quote "putting up" with Arthur not because it was his life sentence to do so; it was because he wanted to. The worst thing of all is: Merlin chose to do it for the rest of his life.

[beyonddarkness]

Sauron Unchained

Remember when Sauron mentioned "THAT first sunrise," on the raft in the Vision? (Not THE first sunrise. The sun already existed. He's talking about THAT first sunrise, after Morgoth was defeated.)

"When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great, clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of that first sunrise, at last! I felt the light of The One again. And I knew, if ever I was to be forgiven, then I had to heal everything that I had helped ruin" (1x08).

That sunrise was a pretty big deal.

Let's review this moment Sauron describes from The Silmarillion.

(Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath.)

Before the rising of the sun Eärendil slew Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest of the dragon-host, and cast him from the sky; and he fell upon the towers of Thangorodrim, and they were broken in his ruin. Then the sun rose, and the host of the Valar prevailed, and well-nigh all the dragons were destroyed; and all the pits of Morgoth were broken and unroofed, and the might of the Valar descended into the deeps of the earth. [...]

Then Morgoth was bound.

[...] Thus an end was made of the power of Angband in the North, and the evil realm was brought to naught; and out of the deep prisons a multitude of slaves came forth beyond all hope into the light of day, and they looked upon a world that was changed.

Those slaves who emerged were not the servants of Morgoth (like Orcs, Balrogs, etc.), but rather Elves, the likes of Gwindor, who were captured, imprisoned and enslaved, sent deep into the mines to dig.

But Sauron described his experience from their perspective.

Sooo... why?

"When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great, clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of THAT first sunrise, at last! I felt the light of The One again."

Some complain:

Why did the writers make it seem like Morgoth made Sauron evil, against his will?

-----They didn't.-----

Why did they change Sauron's character from liking Morgoth because of efficiency, to loathing him?

-----They didn't.-----

Why did they make it so Sauron only allied himself with Morgoth in order to survive?

-----They didn't.-----

They didn't change anything. They didn't even have to add anything. None of this came out of the clear blue just for fun. It's not even just for the sake of making the show.

Sauron manipulated Galadriel, but he did so with the TRUTH, making it easier for her to pity him than if he flat-out lied.

["And in the stillness of that first sunrise..."]

(Meanwhile, he talks about forgiveness.)

Galadriel: "No penance could ever erase the evil you have done."

Sauron: "That is not what you believe." [...] After our victory, you said that whatever I'd done before, I could be free of it now. [...] I told you the truth! I told you that I had done evil, and you did not care! Because you knew that our past meant nothing, weighed against our future. :D"

What is this 'trauma' he allegedly experienced? Sure, he was wary of the consequences of crossing Morgoth, but I mean ... he was the guy--Morgoth's #1--his right hand Maia--his most devoted servant. He would never do anything in disobedience or rebellion. Else how would he achieve such a status?

The implication of his tale is not that he was FORCED to Morgoth's allegiance, giving him this general fear that was finally lifted when Morgoth fell.

Something happened.

He made ONE mistake.

(And since Patrick said they're not in the business of pure Easter eggs, there's a REASON they showed this.)

In Sauron's most humiliating moment, being in the jaws of Huan, Lúthien told him "that he should be stripped of his raiment of flesh, and his ghost be sent quaking back to Morgoth; and she said: 'There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower.' (The Silmarillion: Of Beren and Lúthien).

Before that, Sauron had it all. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he already had Beren (who had a price put on his head by Morgoth) IN HIS PRISON. But hearing Lúthien sing to Beren in the hour of Finrod's death, he sought great reward for bringing her to Morgoth. When his dying servant told him that Huan was there, he was like, Oh. I got this.

Things went sideways, and he had no choice but to yield to Huan, or face Morgoth's wrath... so he let them go.

As a result, Beren and Lúthien waltzed their way into Angband, stole a Silmaril (eventually) and escaped.

So, um...?

Charlie referenced what Lúthien told Sauron, when speaking about the 'clenched fist' line. His paraphrasing is quite unnerving, given that he knows what backstory we are going to see next season... and I don't know... but I would like to... and it makes me wonder.

"You can go whimpering back to your master and tell him that you've let me in. You've failed. You haven’t defended your kingdom." [...] I read from that this thing that Morgoth is so powerful and so scary, that it would've meant consequences for Sauron. - Charlie Vickers

Where exactly was Sauron after his failure? He dwelt in Taur-nu-Fuin for a while, but a lot of time passed between then and the end of the War. So...WHERE DID HE GO? Wouldn't the most devoted and powerful of all the servants of Morgoth be actively involved in the defense against the host of the Valar?? One might say things were trending upward for him...

...until Finrod, Beren, Lúthien, and Huan came along.

How long would it have taken Morgoth to find out that everything was Sauron's fault? How long would it have taken to hunt Sauron down, as he fled?

Not very long, I reckon.

[...] there must have been an element to their relationship where Morgoth was someone he feared at times, or someone that would punish him when he failed. [...] there must have been some truth in [the clenched fist] line. - Charlie Vickers

No wonder he described the end of the War as if he had been among the slaves who emerged from the deep prisons..."beyond all hope into the light of day"...reminiscing the first sunrise after the overthrow of Thangorodrim, and the great, clenched fist that released its grasp from his neck as a result.

In the Great War, he wasn't just sitting in a tree, or even in a back-up tower, watching from the side-lines.

He failed Morgoth.

Miserably.

And was punished for it.

No wonder he was missing during the War of Wrath.

"What do you know of darkness?"

[cow-with-a-fur-coat]

I wish I were like a dog. 

I wish I were like a dog. A dog that can love fully, a dog that can give itself with such devotion and ease. The foundation of this creature is loyalty, it’s renowned for its heart and soul of crystal. I wish I could give myself to someone the way I want to. I want someone to have me, I want to trust someone enough to have me. I want to love in the way a dog does, with eyes closed and throat bared without a fear to be had. I want to see the world plaintively with love for the earnest beauty in all that exists here. I want so terribly to devote myself to someone, to love so horribly in its purity, without the voice in my head saying “is this real? are they real? how long until it ends? how long until it ends? are you real? who are you? how long until it ends? and if it is to end, what is the point?” I am so wrong, I am so malformed, it is not the end that matters. I want to make someone feel loved, I want to make someone know without a doubt that they are human in all the ways the poets adore. And does a dog know that its love will die? Does a dog know that you will die? No, I don’t think it does, and if it did, I do not think it would care. A dog cares only for the love it has to share, for the fullness and trust it has to revel in, like sunbathing. I want to be warm, I want to be held and I want to hold. I want to be told I’m good, and to believe it. You’ve told me time and time again that I am good, but my claws are black at the quick and my eyes darken around the irises. I am not keen on accepting your affirmation, but I would die again and again to hear it just once more. Love, tell me I am good, and God, let me hear it. 

I want to be like a dog. 

I want to have a purpose in being. I want to be without disappointing. How a dog can lie on the floor and still be loved, how a dog can perform the most beautiful of tasks and still be loved. Love me at my mundane, I am sorry it rarely gets better than this. I want to be better, I want to run until my claws are worn down and my ribs heave, but I can’t. I have no energy to chase, and I fear the force of my own bite when I catch up to what I want so horribly. I want to be loved in the way a dog takes on the life of static to someone. I want to be background but always on the mind, to be considered but I cannot handle the guilt of being sacrificed for. I want to be carried and I want to carry. I want to bring birds to your doorstep, I want to sit with you while you watch birds in the backyard. I want to stare at the sky at your side and be unable to comprehend anything beyond how it feels to be near you. Near you and so, so far from everything else. I want to be loved like a dog, and I know this is too much to ask for. I want to be accepted at my mundane. I do not have much to me, the meat on my bones is sparse and unremarkable. Love me like you would a dog you see on a street corner. I don’t even need to be yours. Love me like a dog. 

I fear I am too much like a dog. 

What happens when I get scared? What happens when I get angry? What happens when I get sad? I feel kinship to a greyhound that is run to its final end, used up and goaded on for its perseverance, until its muscles tire and it cannot run any longer. A creature praised for its resilience suddenly becomes a burden. When it refuses to fight any longer, refuses to take hit after hit, there’s no use to it any longer. I just want to rest, I don’t want to fight, I want quiet. I can’t be resilient any longer, please don’t make me continue. I’m tired and my bones are giving out every time I hear the voices raise. Let me lie. Let me not be afraid of the dark. Let me run like a greyhound that was never praised for refusing to rest. Let me be free. For I fear what will happen when I wear down, when I feel the ache in my joints manifest into a white fire of rage. If I am a dog, I fear my teeth. If I am a dog, I fear what I will do when I am tired and scared and used up. I can run, I can run, I can chase. I want to take pliers to my gums, because I am running, and I won’t stop. I want to rest. But I am running and will keep doing so, and once I catch what I am chasing, I am terrified of the blood that will coat my fangs. I realize now that anger is just sadness with a bloody pelt. And I’ve ripped open the skin of others, and I am so terrified that I will again. If I could love like a dog I would not be this way. If I could be less like a hound and more like a dog, I would be okay. Surely now I would be put down, I would be carted off with nylon coiled around my throat like a viper and a needle in my leg like a warm embrace. I could die here, on the pavement, with my teeth lodged into someone’s wrist. I could die here, and only hope that someone would understand that I am not angry. I hate the blood and I hate my fangs and I wish my claws were long and unused. Please, love me like I were a dog, hold me while blood drips from my teeth, while I cry. This is not me, this is not my soul, this is not who I want you to have. Let me be a dog, let me be good, I beg. 

Let me be human. 

[thebrandywine]

pls keep talking about the nivanneddy d/s dynamic for days my eyes and ears are OPEN and READY

Okay, I've been ruminating on this to make a good reply. Open your eyes and ears below:

The heart of it all is trust. Leon has always had issues with trust, but he has let some people in over the years (Chris, Claire, Jill, Hunnigan, etc.)

Where his relationship with Piers differs, though, is here: Piers won't let him get away with ANYTHING.

Hunnigan gives up, Chris gets angry and storms off, Claire is rarely around, Jill has her own shit going on. Piers grabs him by the face and says, "Cut that shit out."

And Leon DOES.

Part of it is that Leon has known his inner circle for so long that he can always tell when they're unsure of something, has seen them hesitate and flounder, but Piers is a new thing. He seems unendingly confident, like he's made plans for everything and can't ever be surprised, and *that* is what Leon needs.

(There are some things that I can't mention rn because I'm going to be writing about them BUT--)

Okay, on to sexy times.

Leon loves choking on cock. It's his favorite fucking thing in the world, but it requires so so much trust. He's been hurt before, and we've seen him have a flashback/panic attack over that hurt, which is why he hasn't done it with anyone except Piers since he was with Krauser.

It makes him feel like he's being used and useful; hearing Piers grunt and moan, feeling his nails dig into Leon's scalp-- he feels like he has a purpose then.

When it comes to his hands, having them behind his back or above his head, knowing that he can't or isn't allowed to move them, is largely what sets the scene because that marks the exact moment that Piers takes control.

Leon allows himself to be taken care of; Piers positions him, directs him, does what he wants with him, and it's so nice to not have to think that it's like everything else goes away. It's just him and Piers in a locked room. He's with a man who will never hurt him unless he asks him to.

The reason he's so into it is because he never wanted to be who he is, and Piers makes him something new. Something that he can be proud of because *Piers* is proud.

He's not just a weapon. He can bring good things, too. He can be good. He is so fucking desperate to be good.

Okay onto Piers lol

He's experimented with this before to about the same extent, because he isn't really into any of the more intense stuff. He doesn't like hurting his partner. He just wants them to feel safe.

It takes him a while to really build up that rapport with Leon, to make him actually communicate, but it's so so worth it.

He wasn't lying when he said that the sex is good and Leon is hot as hell and that he loves him, but it goes so far beyond that because--

Leon is strong. He's powerful. He has borne the brunt of harm for the DSO, has stood between monsters and men for half his life, and has never wavered. He has been abused. People have tried to break him. He is a wolf with its leg caught in a bear trap, ready to snap at anyone who approaches because he only knows the pain.

To have someone like that under his hands, calm and placid and leaning into the touch, arms willingly tied behind his back as he devotes his entire self to listening to someone who he *knows* cares about him is... God.

The way Leon loses himself in it all, *allows* himself to slip into the feeling and stay there, is so gratifying and humbling. It makes Piers feel like he's untouchable, knowing that he's the only one who can grant Leon this little sliver of peace. If Leon asked him to, he would give up almost anything and do only that.

He knows that Leon is intimidated by how easily they've slipped into this, knows that Leon thinks it says something about him that he's so eager to give up control, but Piers finds that it's easy to wipe that away.

His hand on Leon's face, lips parting to allow Piers to slip his thumb inside his mouth, Leon sucking on it and staring up at him with hooded eyes, waiting so patiently and beautifully for anything that Piers will give him because he knows that Piers loves him. That Piers will always take care of him.

[1-up-chump]

Mortal kombat MK 1 roster general SFW relationship HC

Liu kang

A relationship with liu kang is a sweet one, he's the type who would never be afraid to hold your hand in public. Although before an established relationship, would get annoyed with "ooo you like them" comments from others, which yeah he likes you but also "shut up they're not my bf/gf" until he gets over himself and just goes "yeah and?"

Liu kang would give meaningful gifts, something he knows you would like but also use. But obsesses a little bit over it being your "favorite color"

If you're not "kombat ready" liu kang would at least want you to know how to defend yourself bc he knows he can't always be there to protect you (but by the elder gods he will always try anyways)

Johnny cage

Mr Hollywood himself takes absolute pride and joy in your relationship, Johnny may be a funny cocky man but he is 100% loyal to a fault and will go above and beyond for you. No price is too high for his sweetheart, the financial kind or the life risking kind. And contrary to what some might think, Johnny prefers more privacy between you two bc paparazzi is a bitch and a half, but also his love is something thats for you and nothing to prove to anyone else.

Johnny gives all the "klassic" romantic gifts, flowers, chocolates, teddy bears dressed up as scorpion. The amount of cheese this man gives off when it comes to love is astounding, but Johnny is just too charming to completely say "no" to when he's trying to woo you.

Despite the glamour and dramatic cinematic esque romance, Johnny would literally die for you no questions asked "Kombat ready" or not. But if you can kick some ass he wouldn't mind being "damsel in distress" for a moment even if it might hurt his pride a little (who knows, Johnny might find it kinda hot)

Raiden

Raiden's affection for you in private vs public is like night and day, but one thing no one can deny, you make him so much happier. He's more reserved in public but he's not going to deny you a kiss to the hand or a flirty, playful wink that's so quick you might miss it. But in private he's so much more relaxed around you, expect like, a lot of kisses and cuddling. Raiden might be a little touch starved, but even then he always asks for consent even if you already agreed to it before. He's also sassy as hell (raiden absolutely has personality and a sense of humor and just bc nrs forgot doesn't mean I did too)

Raiden is more of an "acts of service" type than a gift giver. But if he does give a gift it's either practical like clothing or maybe a little treat, or something very sentimental like a protective charm, something to give you peace of mind and to remind you he's always there for you even if not physically.

Raiden is definitely making sure you can handle yourself to some degree however capable you can be. If you are very willing to be "kombat ready" be prepared for some pretty intense training, but raiden is fair and won't push you unnecessarily anymore than you can handle

Scorpion/hanzo hasashi

Baby is so fucking protective of you its no joke, has the energy of a big looming dog if someone so much as look at you the wrong way. Very circumstantial with showing affection publicly, only comfortable when it's around people he knows wouldn't lay a finger on you. In private he is the biggest sweetheart, very very touchy and cuddly, and not afraid to show just how much he loves you and how much you mean everything to him.

Hanzo isn't much for gift giving, rather doing things for you more than anything. However he gives small but very thoughtful gifts, be it your favorite treat or a beautiful piece of jewelry that you once eyed like a week ago. He sees the little things that you like and takes note to give it to you, especially if it makes you smile, your smile gives him life.

Do i even need to tell you how devoted this man is? The man literally went through all manners of literal hell for his family before, the same applies to you. Only this time he will be better to not let rage blind him, should the worst happen. But by the elder gods whoever hurt you will pay dearly

Sub-zero/Bi-han

(Listen i know thats his noob-saibot form but i couldn't find a better gif of him)

Like hanzo, very devoted and passionate but less intense about it. It's cheesy as hell but you warm his heart, he might not like being overly affectionate with you on the account someone might "attack his soft spot" but regardless he still loves you no matter what, his actions will always say otherwise even if he's being "cold"

He's traditional with the gifts, flowers, hand written notes, and on rarer occasions he might give you a frozen treat. His letters however is where he can pour his heart out comfortably, where verbal words fail him, written poetry tells you just how soft you make him

Bi-han might be distant with you, at least to outsiders. But you know better, you know he'd do anything for you when it comes down to it. Perhaps even challenge his other loyalties if it comes to it

Sonya blade

Sonya is a bit awkward with affection, she's not the touchy feely type but she does love to sneak kisses when no one is looking or paying attention. She does love and care for you but she shows it a bit differently

Acts of service all the way, sonya would rather do something for you or with you. Not really the material type at all, but not to say she wouldn't give practical gifts like clothes or an item you would use often. However sonya would give you flowers on a very special occasion, sunflowers. Roses are usually the "klassic" but she thinks sunflowers are prettier anyways

Sonya cares so much she absolutely would die and kill for you. She'd probably also make sure you're "kombat ready" too, as much as you can as she knows she won't always be there to protect you, but by fuckin elder gods she'll try anyways

Kano

Kano is a stinky bastard, the obvious being said, it's no secret you're his soft spot. And kano makes sure to dial up the "big macho man tough guy" to 11, just to make sure no one even thinks about using you against him. Which may include kano being mean to you in public on purpose to keep up certain reputations. But in private? Like a whole new man, he's rough around the edges but he genuinely tries to be considerate. Super touchy and handsy, there's no inch of you he hasn't laid his hands on and thats not even in a raunchy way, he just likes holding you.

Kano is definitely the type to get you anything you want, but mostly gives you some nice (totally stolen black market) jewelry. You can have literally anything as long as you don't ask where kano got it (bc the answer is always something illegal probably)

Kano will never give you up without a fight and by elder gods he's gonna put up a fight because no one is gonna touch you except him. And perhaps fighting because of you he has some shred of honor. Although he wouldn't mind you defending yourself at all, hell that makes his life a lot easier

Shang tsung

Shang tsung isn't afraid to show affection, however in public it feels more like a display of "look at my pretty little toy" than something closer to a legit relationship, but that's only because shang knows better than to ever let anyone know the truth that you have his heart and soul. In private he is sensual, he's intense, passionate and all consuming. Shang is very vocal about showing his love to you in private and he will always remind you that not only your soul belongs to him, but his belongs to you. A rare gift you shouldn't take lightly.

Speaking of gifts, they are the most extravagant and expensive things. But shang pays attention, he knows exactly what you want when you want before you even know what it is that you want. Basically shang tsung's gifts are flawless and he will settle for nothing less.

Shang tsung may not seem like it to others (for obvious reasons) but he would quite literally raise hell if anything bad were to happen to you to a point he'd put his own ambitions on hold if it ment you'd be safe. Which is very significant for a man like him, consider yourself the most lucky (or unlucky depending on who you ask) person in the whole universe to ever had won his heart

Reptile/syzoth

Everyone is shocked to see syzoth take a lover, but for syzoth this is very much a big deal. Therefore he protects you fiercely, the one person to show him not only the respect he deserves, but also kindness. His race never truly had this sort of show of affection, they were lizard folk so they're detached from those sorts of bonds. However this doesn't mean syzoth can't feel love, he actually loves how warm you are. And as such will cuddle you to a point you might get annoyed bc good luck trying to get this big lizard off of you.

Food is a big gift you're gonna get, it's going to be a lot of raw meat so definitely tell him what you actually can and like to eat. Syzoth tries his best to give you things he thinks you'll like, so if you don't actually tell him what you like he'll give you shiny things and flowers (that are mostly weeds)

Syzoth absolutely defends you to the death and no one is gonna keep a limb if they dare hurt you. Although you might have to watch out bc syzoth might attack anyone else around even if they weren't involved in hurting you. You'll have to calm him down

Goro

Goro is the type to pick you up and go "look at my lover they are amazing" if the shokan prince takes a lover he's gonna show them off like a prize. But make no mistake he loves you and someone's gonna have to have some balls to disrespect you in front of goro.

Goro will make sure you have everything you ever need or want, although he's not much of the spoiling type, he might just make an exception if you bat your eyes at him and "put on your charm" so to speak. Depending on his mood goro might give you something no problem, but he might be either cheeky or moody and you'll probably have to literally fight him for that so, don't even try if you know you can't beat him in a fight.

It's a bad idea to hurt goro's beloved so rest assured that goro is gonna tear the limbs clean off whoever so much as dare threatens your life. And then proceed to beat them to death with their own limbs with one pair of arms, while holding you close with the other

[mrsalwayswrite]

The Arrangement (Ivar x reader x Hvitserk)

Oh boy, so I don’t normally write smut but this idea came to me and would not let me write anything else. So here we are, friends. (I’m honestly so nervous to post this.)

A huge shout out to @geekandbooknerd for beta-reading this for me and listening to my ranting. You are the best, you beautiful person!

Warnings: SMUT, some feels, Ivar being Ivar 

Words: 5200

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

 The fierce, blue eyes of Kattegat's king surveyed the Great Hall, full of people as they ate the evening meal.  Jovial conversations, yells for more ale, the pop and crackle of the large fire, even the fist fight that broke out…. none of it attracted his attention. No, instead his clever mind wrestled with one simple problem. Something he was certain no other man ever had to worry about. This problem had lately been at the forefront of his mind, slithering through his thoughts like vipers, distracting him from his duties. Weeks now he mentally wrestled with seeking a solution. Wracking his brain as what to do. He even considered going to the Seer, but quickly rejected that idea. The Seer only ever spoke in riddles and it would only further muddle his already troubled mind. He cursed the gods with his lack of a solution, for putting him in this predicament. 

 But this morning as he lay in bed, willing the pain in his legs to diminish, a solution came to mind. It was so simple, something he should have considered long ago…. but one that required trust. Something which admittedly was not his strongest suit. But for this solution to work, to gain what he yearned for, he must trust. There was no other way. It was like the gods came to him, spoke into his mind during his slumber, explaining what he must do. Though he trusted no one completely, there was one who he could trust with this solution. And the rewards…. oh, the rewards would be well worth it. 

 Besides, it could be fun. 

He observed where his brother sat at a nearby table, talking and laughing with some of their warriors. A broad grin lit up his face as he freely drank and shared stories. Although Hvitserk seemed to be fully invested in the conversation around him, from where Ivar reclined on his throne, he could see the way his brother's gaze darted frequently to another table nearby. Quick looks, never lingering, almost indiscernible from how his gaze shifted to his companions around him. But Ivar could see it. Many times he had witnessed his brother's secret looks. Now was the time to test it. 

 With a sharp order, Ivar sent a nearby thrall to summon the other Ragnarsson. Hvitserk glanced at Ivar with a confused expression before giving a single nod. As he rose from his spot at the tables, Ivar had a nearby thrall fill up his ale horn, eyes shifting from his brother to the one who continued to unknowingly entice the elder Ragnarsson. When Hvitserk stood at the bottom of the dais, leading up to the thrones, Ivar waved his hand, signaling for his brother to sit on the throne next to him. The Queen's throne. Your throne. 

 Surprise flashed across the face of the flaxen-haired Ragnarsson, eyes darting between the two thrones for a moment in surprise. Ivar wondered if thoughts of their beautiful mother crossed his brother's mind as he saw the throne as often as they did his own. After a second, Hvitserk shrugged and seated himself on the other throne. Silence persisted as they nursed their ales. 

 Looking over the crowd, Ivar returned his gaze to the one person who, beside his mother, he was most devoted to. You were smiling in a way that made his heart clench and his lips twitch, wanting to mirror your joy. He never understood your need to mingle with others during meals instead of remaining on your throne. At times, jealousy reared its head in his mind, but you always returned to his side, to his bed, sharing the latest gossip you heard or a particularly funny story. He would grumble but never admit how he enjoyed listening to you, or how he used that gossip to his benefit. 

 Now you sat with a few women he recognized as wives to wealthy traders in Kattegat. A baby lay in your arms as you spoke with enthusiasm to one of the women. With the light from the flames dancing across your face and the joy radiating from you as you cooed at the baby in your arms, Ivar knew there was no one as beautiful as you. Even more so than his mother. Every day he still found himself in awe that you chose him, you agreed to be his wife, that you loved him. It was enough to make him feel invincible. To conquer the world and lay it at your feet as an offering. 

 Without moving his head, Ivar peeked over at his brother, unsurprised to see him staring in the same direction. The horn of ale at his lips helped mask where his lingering gaze lay, but Ivar could see. He knew. 

 "I see how you look at her." Ivar said nonchalantly. 

 "Who?" Hvitserk questioned, eyes pretending to roam over the Great Hall. 

 Ivar smirked, fingers lightly tapping on the armrest of his throne. "My queen…. y/n."

 "She is a beautiful woman. Is it wrong now to admire someone so clearly blessed by Freyja?"

 "Ah, but I see your mind. You want to do more than admire, dear brother."

 Hvitserk shifted uncomfortably, head snapping to the side to eye his younger brother warily. "What is this, Ivar?"

 The young king leaned back, smirk still in place. After a tense moment of watching Hvitserk squirm, he dropped his voice so he knew only his brother could hear him. "I have a proposition for you."

 "What?"

 "I need your help with a…. sensitive matter."

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson scoffed. "Is this Ivar the Boneless actually asking for help?" 

 "Will you help me or not?" He sharply retorted, trying to force down the rising anger that bubbled under his skin. 

 "Of course." He said with a sigh. "What is it?"

 Ivar pushed off his throne, tossing back the rest of his ale and handing his horn off to a nearby thrall. "Come. We will discuss this in my bedroom." 

 He did not wait for his brother, already leaning on his crutch as he walked down the steps and down the corridor to the royal rooms. He hoped his plan worked. He needed it to work. Even if it meant trusting his brother with what was most precious to him. 

 *****

 Your steps were sure as you left the Great Hall and walked down the corridor to your bedroom. You had seen Ivar and Hvitserk leave the evening meal some time ago, but assumed they went to discuss important matters somewhere quiet. So, you stayed to talk with your friends, something you cherished. It was important to you that even though you were their queen, they could be comfortable in your presence and feel free to speak to you. Plus, you enjoyed the juicy gossip passed around. 

 One of the guards opened the bedroom door for you. You nodded a brief thanks and walked in…. only for your feet to stutter to a stop after you entered. Surprise flooded you to see your husband and his older brother both in your bedroom. Ivar reclined on his favorite, wide chair near the lit fireplace but what was most perplexing was how Hvitserk sat on the end of your bed, elbows on his knees with a guarded expression. 

 "My wife will not be needing your assistance tonight." Ivar stated to the thrall who had followed you into the room. "You may leave us….and inform the guards we do not wish to be disturbed for any reason."

 The thrall glanced over to you, since she was yours. The routine of helping you undress and prepare for bed, a regular occurrence most nights. At your murmured acceptance, she nodded her head and left, closing the door behind her. 

 "Is everything alright, Ivar? Have you heard something from your spies?" You quickly asked once the three of you were alone. Worry gnawed in your stomach. He had confessed to you late one night that there was a nearby earl he thought might try to attack and overtake Kattegat. 

 "Come here, my love." He held his leather-clad hand out for you to take, something you did without question. He guided you to stand between his open, brace-covered legs. With his other hand, he tapped his lips, a cheeky glint in his eyes. You giggled but obliged, pressing a sweet and tender kiss to his mouth in response to his wordless demand.

 His hands on your hips, he looked up at you with devotion in those piercing blue eyes. A sight that made your heart melt every time without him even having to say a word. 

 "What is going on?"

 "You know I love you, yes?" He softly questioned, still staring up at you like you were the moon and stars. 

 You cupped his cheek, his sideburns tickling your fingers. "Of course. And I love you."

 "Mmmm…. the gods have given me wisdom as how to solve our problem."

 "Our problem?" Your brows furrowed, confused by what he was talking about. 

 He pointedly looked at your belly then back up at you. 

 Then it hit you, and your heart broke a little at the heartache in his gaze. "Oh, Ivar, I told you…."

 "It's been a year, y/n." He interrupted, the grief slipping into his voice, even as he struggled to hide it. "We've been trying for a year and there is nothing to show for it. I never thought I could pleasure a woman until you came along and I hoped…. I hoped I could give you a child. Our child. But it seems the gods still will not grant me that ability. I need an heir, and I want to see you grow round with a child. I want a family with you. Something I never dreamed of before."

 Realization dawned on you as to why Hvitserk was in your bedroom. Eyes wide, you peeked over your shoulder at the other Ragnarsson, who was staring at the ground between his feet, then looked back at your husband. 

 "Ivar…."

 "Hvitty has agreed. He will be my cock and plant a baby in you in my name."

 This time you fully turned around to stare at the flaxen-haired brother. "Hvitserk, are you sure you want to do this?" 

 Gods, this sounded like something your husband would force his brother to do. Actually, you were beyond astounded that Ivar would even let another man touch you. Before your thoughts could follow that trail, Ivar's voice brought you back. 

 He chuckled darkly, an edge to his tone like he was confessing someone else's secret. "My brother can barely keep his eyes off you whenever you are around….and when I told him my idea, he agreed without hesitation."

 You witnessed an adorable blush rise to Hvitserk's cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled under his breath. For a moment he looked like a young boy again, caught staring at his latest crush. It was so innocent and precious. Yet with the rumors you heard from some of the women of Kattegat, you knew he was far from innocent. There had been a handful of times you secretly noticed the Ragnarsson's heated gaze on you, but your mind played it off, thinking he must have truly been looking at someone else or he was just admiring your dress. Now your mind flipped through those memories with a different lens. 

 After giving your husband's hands a quick squeeze, you stepped out of his embrace. Heart hammering away in your chest, you watched the elder brother with a new understanding as you approached. This time you did not miss the way his eyes raked over your form or how he licked his lips almost in anticipation. The shiver that rolled down your spine startled you, but not unpleasantly so. 

 Almost in a mirror image, you stood between Hvitserk's legs, his hands automatically landing on your hips, just like how you stood with Ivar; but the way his hands felt unbound by leather and almost hesitant to touch you, was a reminder this was not your husband. After a moment, you cupped his face, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours with such naked want in them, heat coursed through you.  

 "Are you sure, Hvitty?" You whispered.   

 "I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about laying with you." He confessed, a naughty smirk teasing his lips. His voice stayed low as you two traded secrets. "Are you alright with this…. arrangement? I know you love my brother, and I don't want to ruin that. Not for either one of you."

 You continued to stroke his cheek as you pondered his question. There was no doubt that you loved Ivar with all your heart. He was the love of your life and you knew you were his. Hvitserk easily was the brother you always wished for. You enjoyed his flirtatious teasing, especially when it made the jealous side of your husband come out because the sex after that was always mind-blowing. The blond was someone you trusted wholeheartedly. Your life was perfect, you were happier than you ever thought you would be. But there was one thing you always imagined, one thing you silently yearned for. So it was with that in mind, your answer, your decision was an easy one to make. 

 "I want a baby."

 His smirk grew, "I'll try my best to help with that."

 You laughed. "Oh, so gracious of you."

 He winked cheekily, taking one of your hands to kiss your palm slowly. 

 You shifted to meet your husband's cool gaze, with Hvitserk's hands gently kneading your hips. "Ivar, you are certain this is what you want? This won't cause jealousy between you and your brother?"

 Ivar scoffed. "Why would it?"

 "You threatened last month to gouge a trader's eyes out for staring at y/n too long." Hvitserk deadpanned. In the next second, he leaned over to lay a kiss on your hip meanwhile, his hand shifted to grab a handful of your ass cheek. You squeaked, surprised by the bold move in front of Ivar. As you tried to wriggle away, he only chuckled and pulled you to sit directly on his lap. It should not surprise you anymore how strong Hvitserk was, but somehow it always managed to catch you off guard. Though your mind certainly took notice of the bulge in his pants underneath you. 

 "He was talking only to her breasts. He is lucky I did not take at least one eye for his disrespect." Ivar leaned back in his seat. "You agree to this, my love?"

 "I do." You answered. 

 "Excellent. Come here for a moment." He beckoned you to him once again. 

 Hvitserk released you, not before palming your ass as you stood up. You swatted at his hands, but the smile on your lips let him know you were not truly upset. 

 That smile only grew as you glided over to your husband. For all of his anger and wrath, none of it ever touched you. Instead he treated you delicately, reverently. As if you were a dream and with one wrong move, you would vanish. Or a goddess he vowed to continuously worship. You thrived under his tender touches, drawing you further and further into the ocean of his profound love. 

 He guided you to stand between his legs again and for a brief moment you felt like a ball the brothers were taking turns passing back and forth. You dashed the thought away before it made you giggle. 

 "I have one condition for our arrangement." Ivar said, intently watching your face. His finger traced the edges of your lips, as if to memorize them. "Only I own your mouth. I was your first kiss. So as I live and breathe, only I get the pleasure of your kisses. Hvitserk can kiss and touch you anywhere else but there. Agreed?"

 You nodded mutely. The growing desire in his eyes caused your womb to clench and fire to begin warming your veins. 

 "Brother?"

 "Agreed." Hvitserk said from his perch on the bed behind you, his voice sounding a bit gruffer than a minute ago. 

 Ivar turned those piercing, passionate eyes back to you. "My love…." He placed a kiss to the valley between your breasts, allowing his face to linger there a moment. You carded your fingers through his loosened hair, feeling his hands gently holding your hips. When he looked up, gone was the sweet, loving devotion in his eyes, replaced with something wicked. "Shall we teach Hvitty what you like first?"

 "What do you have in mind?"

 "Take off your dress."

 "I need help with the laces." You reminded him as he was the one to demand your thrall leave earlier. 

 "Ah, you are right. Go to Hvitserk, he will help."

 Obediently, you walked the few steps back to the elder Ragnarsson wondering what game your husband was playing, but you could not deny the excitement thrumming in your veins. Without a word, you turned around to allow him access to the lacing on the back of your dress. You thought he would hesitate or his fingers would tremble knowing your husband was watching on. Instead they deftly plucked and tugged at the laces like he had done this many times. Once your back was exposed, his hand traced down your spine, causing you to shiver under the sensual touch. 

 Holding the front of the dress to your chest, you made your way back over to Ivar. Standing in front of him, his hands claimed your fingers from holding your dress to entwine with his own. Immediately, your dress slipped down your body to pool at your feet, leaving you completely bare before the two Ragnarssons. 

 Ivar's hands landed on your hips but instead of pulling you to straddle him, like you expected, he slowly spun you around and had you sit on his lap, facing his brother. What met your gaze was the wolfish look of Hvitserk, staring at you like you were something he wanted to devour. Ivar's hands slide up from your hips to cup your breasts as if offering them to his brother. 

 "Look at you, my goddess, my wife." Ivar whispered against your skin as he left hot, open-mouth kisses along the column of your throat. You could not help but whimper, your body so in tune with his. He barely had to touch you before your body begged for him to fill you. A dampness already coated your core. Without taking his eyes off of you, his hands fondling you in the way that made you breathless, he addressed his brother. "Is she not perfect, Hvitty? A goddess begging to be worshiped."

 "Gods, yes. Perfect."

 Normally you would be embarrassed by the praises. Now though, you felt like a lamb being toyed with by two wolves. Trapped by the lustful gaze of one and the feverish touches of the other. 

 Ivar's hands continued to fondle and pluck at your nipples, causing your head to fall back onto his shoulder. "That's right, you love these perfect breasts being played with, don't you?"

 "Ivar…." His name was a needy whine coming off your tongue.

 "Yes, my love. So sensitive. Just imagine it's Hvitty's mouth on them." 

 An unexpected, wanton moan escaped you at the thought. Your hips started rolling against your husband's lap, desperate for friction. 

 "Open your eyes." Ivar whispered into your ear. "Look at Hvitty."

 You obeyed even though your body demanded to close your eyes and wallow in the pleasure Ivar could induce in you. As your gaze locked with the elder Ragnarsson, you felt one of Ivar's hands skim down your stomach to part your legs, exposing your core. 

 Instinctively, you started to close your legs only for Ivar to tsk and bite the junction of your neck and shoulder. "Don't be shy. Let him see that sweet pussy." 

 Your legs fell back open, allowing his hand free reign to touch you where you most needed it. Your body automatically arched into his hand, silently begging for more. Sweat already began to dampen you as the heat burned hotter under your skin. 

 "I swear Valhalla is between her legs, brother."

 Hvitserk spoke up, his voice coming out rough and husky. "Touch her, Ivar."

 "You hear that, y/n?" Your husband teased, licking a stripe up the column of your throat. "Should I touch you?"

 "Please." You begged, too far along to care how needy you sounded. 

 He chuckled darkly, his hand dipped to your core, cupping and teasing you. You tensed as his skilled fingers played with your folds and clit but never entering you. He could tease you for hours, leave you on the brink as you begged for relief. It was a favorite game of his. You started to grind against him, your blood boiling with desire and the need for relief. 

 Somehow, he always knew when you were close, as if it was a sixth sense. 

 "She is close, Hvitty. Her pussy is weeping to be filled." He squeezed your breast, causing you to loudly moan.

"Do you want my fingers or my cock, my queen?"

 "I want you, beloved." You answered in a breathy sigh. 

 His teasing ceased, almost making you whine. Gently, he cupped your chin, turning your head to gaze lovingly into your eyes. It always seemed to astound him that you desired him, not just physically but as a person, as a friend, as a lover and a soul mate. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, pouring in all of his devotion in a way you understood since words always failed him. 

 Slowly you rose to your feet but instead of walking away, you turned to face him. This was a dance the two of you had done before. Knowing what he wanted, you straddled his lap without fear of the wide chair breaking under your combined weight. This was not the first time you had made love on this particular chair by the fire. 

 Still gazing at you in awe and adoration, Ivar cupped your breasts. His thumbs teased your nipples. A low moan fell from your lips as your head tipped back. His mouth then descended on your chest, first leaving small kisses before taking one of your peaked nipples into his mouth. 

 "Ivar…." You groaned. "Yes, yes."

 In an action well practiced, you were already reaching between your bodies to fumble with the laces of his pants. Without hesitation, you sank down onto him, being filled in the best way possible. Your lips sought out his, drawing pleasure from his mouth just as much as his cock. Your tongues swirled as your hips rolled. It was delirium. This pleasure he could bring out of you. It was all-consuming. No matter how much he teased, he was always gentle and reverent when it came to worshipping you. A slow, sweet burn that sunk into every fiber of your body, called forth your very soul to dance with his, just as much as your bodies writhed together. 

 You unlocked your mouth, throwing your head back with a loud moan as your pace increased, riding his cock, seeking your peak. His growls and words of praise only spurred you on. 

 Finally it came, crashing over you, eliciting a cry of Ivar's name loud enough the guards outside the door probably heard. Three more quick thrusts and you could feel Ivar spill his empty seed inside you. His head dropped onto your chest, both of you panting and sweaty. 

 "You're mine." He murmured against your skin as if reminding himself or branding the words into your naked skin. "You're my goddess, my queen, mine."

 "Always." You whispered back. 

 After both of you came down from your erotic high, Ivar leaned up, pressing a toe-curling kiss to your already swollen lips. 

 "She's ready for you, brother." He loudly announced. 

 It was then you remembered Hvitserk in the room. So caught up in making love with your husband, you had momentarily forgotten what was to happen. You stared down at your husband, silently asking him if he was sure. 

 Ivar rolled his eyes but caressed your cheek with his calloused fingers. "It's alright. Besides, if you don't go take care of him, he'll probably blow his load in his pants soon."

 You smiled, kissing him once more before carefully rising off his lap. As you turned to look at the flaxen-haired warrior, never before had you felt the seductress until now. With your husband's seed spilling down your thigh, you slowly walked the few paces to stand in front Hvitserk. With each step closer, his ravenous gaze devoured your nakedness; a predatory look that made your thighs clench and put a quiver in your belly. 

 "How do you want me?" You softly asked, standing before him. 

 He swallowed thickly, fists clenching and releasing before he cleared his throat and answered hoarsely. "Lie down on your back."

 Embracing the inner seductress in you, you crawled across your bed, giving your husband and his brother a spectacular view of your ass. Nerves aflutter, you laid down on your large marital bed. Yet you could feel the longing ache between your legs growing the more you thought about what was to come. 

 Soon, Hvitserk hovered above you, completely naked. Although you loved your husband and his body, the sight of Hvitserk in all his glory made your mouth water and core clench in anticipation.  

 "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He confessed, barely above a whisper. "Gods…." His mouth landed on your neck, lavishing his affections using both teeth and tongue. Sweeping downward, his ministrations continued, drawing soft cries from you as he equally used his mouth and hands to caress all the curves of your body. Each touch, each caress, each bite and lick, all felt like he was trying to get himself drunk on the feel of your soft skin, your scent and the sounds of pleasure coming from you. 

 It did not take long for you to begin writhing underneath him, clawing at his back, utterly at his mercy. This desire he invoked in you was molten and drugging. Your eyelids fluttered closed as you fought to remember to breathe. 

 Pulling back slightly, he lined himself up. Then instead of gradually easing into you, he slammed into you until he was fully sheathed in your womanhood. A cry left your mouth at the same time as he groaned. You expected pain but instead your body readily welcomed the intrusion, hot and wet, waiting for him. 

 He pressed his forehead to yours, remaining frozen, giving you both time to adjust. "Gods…. this is Valhalla." He whispered with a touch of awe in his voice. 

 You rolled your hips; your body begging for more, for release, for him to bring you to new heights. "Hvitty…."

 "Say my name." He grunted, a slow thrust accompanying it. 

 "Hvitserk." 

 "Again." This thrust was a little faster and harder. 

 "Hvitserk."

 "Say it." 

 His name rolled off your tongue in a gasp as he slammed into you, stars appearing in your vision. "Hvitserk."

 As a key unlocking, your fervid gasp seemed to unleash him. In the next moment, he began thrusting with abandon, almost animalistic in his pleasurable fury. He grabbed your hips, lifting them off the bed to begin pounding into you like a man possessed. 

 Never before had Ivar done anything like this and to your surprise…. you liked it. A lot. 

 Your hands clawed at the bed, desperate for something to hold onto. Cries of pleasure flowed freely from you. An inferno lived inside of you, threatening to burn you with ecstasy. Sluggishly you opened your eyes to be met with the sight of Hvitserk cradled between your thighs, sweat glistening on his flushed skin as he rocked into you, sending jolts of electricity each time. Those brown eyes stared down at you like he wanted to own your body and soul.

 With a silent scream, your peak overwhelmed you. Your eyes slammed shut as your back arched, delicious waves of pleasure making your mind cease to function. 

 Hvitserk followed quickly, a growl splitting the air between you as his thrusts stuttered to an end and his seed filled your womb. He all but collapsed on top of you after, both for you sweaty and sated. 

 "Did I hurt you?" He asked, his voice raspy and content. His head laid on your chest, his body seeming to be the only thing to keep you from floating away on waves of bliss. 

 "No." You mumbled languishly, too pleasure-drunk to say more. 

 He tipped his head to look at you, a lazy smirk on his face. "I really want to kiss you."

 "You know the one rule." You reminded him, brushing a hand over his frazzled braids. 

 He hummed, then with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he leaned forward and licked your lips. At first you just stared as he grinned at you, but giggles soon fell from your mouth. 

 "Hvitserk! What did I say?" Ivar demanded, walking over to sit on the opposite side of the bed. 

 Hvitserk rolled his head to look at his brother, but kept it on your naked chest. "I didn't kiss her. You never said anything about not licking her lips."

 Ivar rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, as he unstrapped his braces and flopped onto the bed. His hand reached out for you, possessively tugging you out from underneath his brother and into his side. Not that you minded. You immediately curled against him, your eyelids straining to stay open. 

 "I'm alright." You answered the question you could see lingering in his eyes. "Just sleepy now."

 He smiled fondly down at you, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead. Sleep called to you as you lay in your husband's arms. So wonderfully relaxed, your muscles were loose and your womanhood ached in the best way from the lasting effects of your pleasure. 

 The sound of movement made you tip your head to the side, only to see Hvitserk getting off the bed and reaching for his clothes. 

 "Where are you going?" You asked, your voice lethargic as if already infused by sleep. 

 Those brown eyes jumped from you to your husband and back. "I figured Ivar would want me to leave now so you two can go to sleep."

 "Stay, Hvitty. The hour is late." Ivar replied, running a hand up and down your bare back. "Besides I plan on this arrangement until y/n is with child. You can stay with us."

 With a tilt of his head, the brothers regarded each other for a long moment before Hvitserk chuckled, tossing his tunic back to the ground and crawling into bed in just his pants. 

 "Thank the gods. This bed is ridiculously comfortable."

 You smiled, rolling over so your back was pressed to Ivar's chest, snuggling closer to him. His arm settled around your waist comfortably as he placed a kiss on the back of your neck. Snaking a hand over the covers, you reach over and entwine the elder brother's fingers with yours. Hvitserk startled initially but quickly brought your hand to his lips, a brief kiss on your knuckles, then laid it back on the bed, keeping your fingers entangled. 

 Sleep found you within minutes, tucked between the two Ragnarssons, one being your husband and the other who would give you a child. 

 Your last thought was wondering if Fate would allow this arrangement to work….and maybe continue. 

[spookysmujer]

Piensa En Mi, O. Diaz

Summary: The relationship with you and Oscars suddenly ends after he gets locked up. Now it’s 4 years later..

warnings: HELLA angst, heartbreak 

word count: 1.9K

a/n: I had an itch to write today, thank you for requesting babes! Sorry it took this long to get done. I hope everyone is doing okay these days. PSA: Stop the hate against Asians! Speak up for our brothers and sisters, please. I love you all! Please consider: following, heart/comment/reblog my content! Thank you <)

Requested by @boujee-bitches!

(gif belongs to @merakiaes)

You can remember the day you realized just how much you were in love with Oscar Diaz. It was a few months into dating, he had been in and out of town on Santo business, and yet still was able to check in with you. He even sent you doordash multiple times. And in that one moment, as the doordash driver stood at your door, carrying a bag of your favorite pastrami sub, you truly felt your heart bleed for Oscar. The feelings entirely mutual with him. You can remember that exact moment you felt it, just as you remember the moment your heart had been ripped away. 

The consequence of having such a pristine memory is the ability to remember not only the good days but the hurtful ones as well. Now, after years of being with Oscar, he’s gone. Things had been going so well with the Santos and moving up in the ranks for him. Then in a matter of seconds, all that changed. The moment those handcuffs linked his wrists together behind his back as he was  whisked away in the back of the patrol car was the day everything changed.

Change. 

They always say that change is a good thing. But whoever they are, they were wrong. Change is malicious, it’s life-consuming and does nothing but harm. In the beginning you were confident everything would be okay. Nothing could break this man, he has been through the highest highs and the lowest lows. He has endured things as a young child that no child should. Even when the judge has sentenced him to 8 years, the look he gave you said: It’ll be okay, mamas.

For the first few months, things were good. The money he would send to you, you’d put on his books regardless of his wishes for you not to do so. The phone calls that didn’t last nearly as long as you wanted it to. And the letters, even if you talked on the phone and visited him often, Oscar still wrote you letters, and he always drew something for you. 

But it began to get difficult. When school started up in the fall, your full-time job and now taking care of his younger brother, you started to miss calls, needed to reschedule visits. And when you would answer, Oscar would give you the cold shoulder. He realized that you were beating yourself up for trying to juggle everything. He hated himself for making you so stressed just to make it to him. So on a surprise call that you weren’t expecting, he broke it to you that dating while he is incarcerated is foolish of you. It’s a waste of your time. Please take care of yourself and Cesar, we’ll see where we are when I’m out. But for now, it’ll be just me.

That day replays in your mind. No more calls, rejected visits, ghost letters. It felt like he died, though you would have been notified of it if that was the case. But that was 4 years ago, everything had changed and according to Cesar, it’s about to change again.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You ask, after holding your breath. Spooky gets out tomorrow. 

Cesar shovels the rest of his cereal in his mouth and gulps down the remaining milk, rushing around the kitchen and gathering his school things, “Oscar. He gets out tomorrow. His sentence reduced to half the time, remember the hearing they had last week?”

Whenever Cesar would talk about his older brother, you would tune it out. Oscar breaking up with you over the phone without a thorough reason, then dropping you as a person all together really broke you beyond repair. But you had no choice but dust off your shoulders and keep going. 

You hum and nod, packing your lunch.Without saying anything else, you head back to your room to get your things ready for work. As you pass by the room that Cesar had taken residency in, you notice the packed bags. “Cesar!” 

But by the time you make it back to the kitchen, he has already left out the door. Was he about to leave? Did he want out now that Oscar will be out? Though the idea was to care for Cesar while his brother was locked up, to know he is already ready to up and leave, hurts you. But you shake it off, Oscar is coming home, shit. 

Your day goes by painstakingly slow. All you could think about is how it would go when you’d see him again, how will you feel? What about him, what will he feel?

“Y/N, did you hear me?” Cesars voice sounds from across the table, the two of you enjoying some take-out. The day has gone from slower than a sloth to as quick as sonic the hedgehog.

He stares at you, waiting for you to respond. “Now that Oscar is getting out, it’s time for you to head on back home. Yeah, I heard you. Just sucks is all, I feel like my daily routine will be all messed up.” You joke to which he grins at. 

The next day comes by in a blink of an eye. Here you are leaning against your car that is parked in front of Oscars house. You can’t bring yourself to walk up those stairs and face him. But he hasn’t exited the house yet, you wonder if he even will. After Cesar gets the last bag is when you hear the front door. He makes his way towards you, your breath getting stuck in your airways. 

Cesar hugs you and thanks you again, you squeeze him and ask that he doesn’t be a stranger. Then there stood, you and Oscar. He stares at you for a long moment, studying you. It’s been nearly 4 years since he’s seen you. You are the same with little differences here and there, “You finally pierced your nose.” He points out. 

You purse your lips and nod, scoffing and looking him in the eyes, “Almost 1,300 days of not talking to me and seeing me…. And my nose ring is the first thing you say to me?” 

It wasn’t the plan to argue, you wanted to ask him to be kind to Cesar and take care of him then be on your merry way. But being in his physical presence now, it’s made your blood boil. How could he stand there like nothing had happened between you? The history you two have was an epic love and heartbreak but by the look on his face, it’s as if you are a stranger in passing. 

He licks his bottom lip and digs his hands into his shorts pockets, “What you want me to say? I said all I needed to that day on the phone.”

Your arms uncross from over your chest and your mouth falls slightly open. But before you can let out the rage that’s been building up continuously over the years, “I miss you, querida.” He watches your face contort to confusion then back to anger. He nearly smiles to see that you are still the hot head you’ve always been.

The words weren’t coming out as you wanted them to. All you could do was stomp past him to leave but he grabs your upper arm to stop you. You look down to where his hand wraps around your arm then up to his eyes, the look you give him is loud enough for him to let go.

“Can you just listen to me? You think I wanted to break things off? That it didn’t hurt me just as much as it hurt you?” Oscar begins, standing directly in front of you and slightly craning his head down. “I fucking hated that I did that to you, mami. The last thing I want in this world is not being with you, to cause you pain and to have done that when I was locked up? I hated it. Every single day. But I needed to do it because all I was doing was holding you back. I couldn’t bare knowing that I was making your life hard.”

An eruption of laughter sounds from you, you hold your stomach and one hand clamped over your mouth, hunching over from how hilarious you find his last sentence. Though anyone else hearing it wouldn’t really laugh, seeing as it wasn’t a funny statement. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. But do you hear yourself? You thought breaking up would be better. I don’t know if there was ever a time during our relationship prior that I made you feel I couldn’t handle something like you being locked up, I am terribly sorry if I had but I thought I proved to you that I was more than in love with you, I was hopelessly devoted to you, I was willing to endure it all, every call or visit. I was ready to work hard to make sure you could make tienda… but what did I do or what did I say to make you think otherwise?”

Oscar feels the chains on his heart tighten with every word you say. He doesn’t know what hurts him more, the break-up or now knowing how worthless it made you feel. He knows you are an understanding person, but his intentions didn’t settle as he hoped it would. 

It takes all his might to resist pulling you into a hug, With how you reacted to his touch just moments ago, he knows a hug would only result in profanities being spewed out. As if a hug could magically glue the pieces back together and fix it all. “You didn’t do shit wrong, Y/N. You were the epitome of a down ass girl. But all I could see was the tiredness in your face when you would visit me because you were playing mother to Cesar meanwhile trying to juggle everything else. Trying to make sure you would always come to see me… so I thought ending everything would be better, I thought you would be better off.”

The rage and ache in your heart fights against each other. He is saying one thing but to you its processing as nothing but an excuse. You want to yell and thrash your fists against his chest so he can feel just a sliver of what you went through. 

“I was better off with you. It didn’t matter to me what we were going through Oscar… If it was something joyous or something scrutinizing, as long it was with you and we were together, I wanted it all with you. I was ready to go through this journey with you. But you just gave up on us like that.” You snap your fingers and blink away the tears that had begun pooling for sometime now. His shoulders cave in and he dips his head down, unable to keep his eyes locked onto yours. 

“Give me a chance to prove that I haven’t given up on you or us.”

You wanted to laugh again. To point and scream how silly he sounds and to catch the circus act before they leave town but the way he says it is the reason you didn’t. How low his voice is, how soft his eyes are and his walls had dropped to below sea level is what made you stand so incredibly still.

Do you take the chance? Should push aside all the vines and roots that have grown over the chest labeled: Oscar, to let him in again? 

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @princesstiffxoxo @firebenderwolf @mbaku-babygirl​ @chellybear98 @multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-wanna-live-gc @roury66 @lillict @tinylumpiaa @prettymya3 @starrynite7114 @aneitii @b3mybunnybaby  @angelxfics  @spookysbabymama @kkim120 @ladylj @vayagrxce @irenne-stans @boujee-bitches @blessedboo @lidumiw @morenokatt @gltrpzy (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Long Con Part Thirteen

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader   Rating: T   Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 💕 Warnings: Angst and fluff...Kinda in equal measures I think? Summary: “So...How can I aid the bureau today, Agent Pike?” 

The way you saw it, there were two potential reasons that Marcus had texted: 

Something of yours had accidentally wound up in his suitcase

He had gotten caught up with the progress made on the Leda and the Swan case at work

You could be worrying needlessly, you told yourself as you paced around your living room. It was also entirely possible that you’d forgotten something at his parents’ place—that last morning in Austin had been kind of a blur. The two of you had spent way too long in bed and had to rush through your packing. 

But knowing Marcus—knowing his devotion to his work—

You were jolted from your thoughts by a knock on the door to it. You took a deep breath as you walked over, steeling yourself before you opened it. 

Seeing him shouldn’t have made relief wash over you the way it did. It was no different, really, than any other time that he’d showed up to your office asking for your help with a case. But… Well, now you knew what it was like to be in the man’s arms. You knew what it was to wake up with him. You forced yourself to push those thoughts away, taking a step back and nodding him in. He muttered his thanks, stepping past you. You shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, watching him look around. “I’ll be honest, this is… Not how I imagined your apartment,” He admitted, turning back to look at you. “You spend a lot of time imagining my apartment?” “It’s crossed my mind,” He nodded, smiling a bit and tucking his hands into his pockets. You folded your arms across your chest, watching him warily. “So...How can I aid the bureau today, Agent Pike?”  “Well, apparently you don’t need to aid the bureau today because you aided us on Thursday.” Your stomach swooped with unease, but you held his gaze steadily, nodding a little bit. 

“I didn’t wanna hold the case up,” You admitted, “So I called in what I found as soon as I found it.” “Why didn’t you tell me then?” “You didn’t ask.” Marcus’ face grew stern then, and you averted your eyes to the floor. “You asked them not to tell me who called the tip in until I got back here,” He argued. “Look,” You shook your head, “I didn’t wanna just—drop it on you. It was late when I found it, then that whole Kimberly thing happened, and the tip is unconfirmed anyway—” “It’s confirmed.” You shut up then, jaw clenching and hands curling into fists. You felt sick, a little lightheaded all of the sudden. You swallowed thickly, nodded once before you went on, “Anyway,” You repeated quietly, “We only had a couple days left with your family. I figured that would give the team enough time to authenticate the work without having it hanging it over your head.” “So you just held it in?” Marcus asked, voice thick with disbelief, “What about everything you said about trusting me?” His indignance was like a punch, and it hurt. You found it a wonder that you could feel anything beyond the anxiety that had burrowed its way into your chest. It pushed you up from where you were slouching and shook your head hurriedly, panicked. “I do trust you!” You insisted, “If I didn’t, I would’ve called the tip in anonymously—If you’d asked to see my notes while we were in Austin, I would’ve shown you, Marcus, I swear.” You stopped yourself, taking in a deep, shaky breath. You didn’t know what else you could say to convince him; he knew how well you could lie, how quickly. Why should he trust you now? Marcus quiet for a moment, eyes searching your face.

“Beyond… Beyond the trust,” he said softly, “You shouldn’t have let this sit with you in silence. Are you alright?” You considered lying. You could’ve gotten away with it— you were good at it. But looking at Marcus just then, you really, really didn’t want to. You leaned back against the door again, lowering your eyes back to your floor as tears began to flood them. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears away before you opened them again, shaking your head. The words stuck briefly in your throat before you admitted, “I don’t know.” You heard Marcus’ footsteps, saw his shoes come into your field of vision after a few seconds. And when his hands reached out for you, you went, and you went willingly. You unfolded your arms and crashed into his chest with such force that Marcus was unsteady for a few seconds. Once he’d readjusted, he curled an arm around your middle and rested his other hand on the back of your neck, nuzzling against your the side of your head. “You should’ve told me,” He murmured, “You should’ve told me right away.” “I’m sorry—” “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart, I just hate to see you hurting.” You shook with his reassurance, fisting your hands in the fabric of his suit jacket. 

-- “...Don’t you have to go back to work?” You mumbled. You didn’t want him to leave, of course, but you didn’t want to keep him from it. “I told them I was coming to ask you a few questions,” Marcus said softly, “They’ll figure we’re going over details about… Your family.” You nodded, looking down at Marcus’ hand where you’d been smoothing your fingertips along his palm and fingers. Once you’d calmed down a bit, the two of you had settled down on your couch. Marcus had drawn you back against his chest, and you’d settled in, happy to take the soothing touches offered to you. The two of you had taken your time, spoken about next steps. An APB had been issued for your grandmother. She’d been paroled in Minnesota, had missed her check-in quite a while ago. “Is there any chance she’s left the country?” He asked gently. You frowned, uncertain, “She had contacts all over the place— the fact that the painting was even found in Orléans… I don’t know when she would’ve gone, or if she even put the damn thing there herself.” “You said you went, once.” “I was young. Can’t even remember how long we were there, for what… It was before I knew what she did. I mean, knew she was an artist, but I didn’t...Know. We stayed with friends of hers, I think...Hang on,” You carefully pulled yourself out of Marcus’ arms, standing and walking away from him. You plopped yourself down in front of one of your bookshelves, rifling through the bottom shelf for a few journals. “What are you looking for?” Marcus asked, sitting up. “I journaled when I was a kid,” You told him, pulling out a few, “I wasn’t always consistent about it, but—I kept all of ‘em. Maybe I can find a name.” Marcus’ cell phone rang and he grumbled an apology. You waved him off lightly, excusing it as you pulled out a couple of the older, more fragile journals. You hardly noted Marcus’ conversation behind you. “I have to go—Let me know if you find anything?” Marcus said. “Sure.” “You gonna be okay?... Hey,” Marcus urged softly when you didn’t answer. You glanced up at him as he crouched down beside you. “Hm?” “Are you gonna be okay, looking through this stuff?” “...Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. And here I was afraid I’d have nothing to talk to my therapist about this week,” You flashed him a bright smile. He tipped his head to the side, brow furrowing a little, and you reached up, cupping his cheek. “It’ll be fine,” You reassured him again, “Go, do what you need to do. I’ll call you if I find anything.” “Okay. And—You can call me for other reasons, you know, if you just...Wanna talk, or grab food. Anything.” You smiled a little bit, genuinely, patting his cheek. “I know,” You murmured, “Now quit stalling and be careful.” Marcus smiled, leaning in and kissing your forehead gently. You watched him go before you turned back to your journals, taking a deep breath. This was going to suck just as badly as it had when you were younger… But you didn’t feel totally alone this time. Someone had your back, and for more than the purposes of closing the case. Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​​​ ; @spideysimpossiblegirl​​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​​ ; @elen-aranel​​​ ; @yespolkadotkitty​​​ ; @artsymaddie​​​ ; @phoenixhalliwell​​​ ; @lunaserenade​​​ ; @winniedaboo​​​  ; @empress-palpat1ne ; @randomness501​​​ ; @nutmeg-20​​​ ; @leonieb​​​ ; @the-feckless-wonder​​​ ; @lou-la-lou​​​ ; @captain-jebi​​ ; @supernaturalgirl  ; @naturenebula21​​​ ; @evelynseventyr​​​ ; @giselatropicana​​​ ; @heatherbel​​​ ; @marydjarin​​​ ; @annathewitch​​​ ; @absurdthirst​​​ ; @hnt-escape​​​ ; @writingletterstothefire​​​ ; @misswriter​​​ ; @bison-writes​​​ ; @xx-small-town-witch-xx​​​ ; @ajeff855​​​ ; @hellovanessax​​​​ ; @drinkingwhileblogging​​​​ ; @meanperegrine​​​​ ; @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​​​​ ; @autumnleaves1991-blog​​​ ; @mentally-dating-din-djarin​​​​ ; @frenchyjuju​​​ ; @writerdee1701​​​ ; @ew-erin​​​ ; @xoxo-callie​​​ ; @peoniarose​

[yanderemommabean]

Eraserdust either first meeting or first kidnapping, if that's alright? Your writing is amazing and I think its really neat!

“Kidnapping me won’t get you what you want” Aizawa’s deep voice rumbled, doing his best to stay calm and collected. The villain - whomever they may be - must’ve done their research and attacked while he was asleep. Usually he’s always on his guard, alert and aware. He can’t believe he got caught like this, so easily, literally prey lying in wait for a predator he wasn’t even aware was around.

All he heard was heavy breathing, and tried to pinpoint where exactly it was coming from. He knew he was tied by his wrists, to one point, most likely the top of a bedpost. He was on his back, from what he can tell he wasn’t injured, and of course he was blindfolded. The typical, cliche, go-to’s for a kidnapping. “You can do whatever you plan to me, but it won’t be worth it. They won’t succumb to your demands”. 

The heavy breathing became louder, right next to his ear. It sounded hesitant, like the villain was debating something. Shouta stills his breath, waiting for any type of response, any type of action that would end this terrifying (and bordering on awkward) silence. Gently, fingers trace down his neck, causing him to jump at the cold contact. 

“You’re beautiful” A gravelly voice murmured, the fingers roaming up to cup his face, gently caressing his jaw as he grimaced. “You’re absolutely breathtaking”. The voice was male, so Shouta at least had something to go off of if he managed to get out of here. Beautiful? God was this some sick game? Was he a serial killer who liked to torture his victims? A pile of questions and no shovel. 

He cranes his neck, turning away from the fingers clenching on his cheeks to spit out a response. “What is this? What do you want?” Shouta demanded answers, but was met with a soft, amused chuckle. “I already have it. You, tied up and in my bed. I gotta say, it was such a pain getting you here. You’re so cool, but so tough to figure out with your lifestyle. You really need to have a schedule better than what you’ve got”. 

Scrunching his nose, the black haired man scoffs “You’re a crazed fan? A stalker who’s love is horribly misplaced? You’re out of your mind to think this would make me like you in the /slightest/”. A fanboy? He was kidnapped by some common stalker? Damn he’s really off of his game. “You need to let me go. Now”. 

It goes quiet again, no doubt because he upset his captor by ruining his illusion. There’s a rustling sound, and the blindfold on his eyes is removed, the dim lighting of the room making his eyes struggle to adjust. Around him was a simple night stand, a ceiling light, carpeted flooring, the king sized bed he was laying on, and most important- The most wanted villain in the world. Deep, burning red eyes stare into his own with a look of confidence, arrogance, as if he had the upper hand. 

Because he did. Shouta could only use his quirk to protect from his decay, but not from any other methods. Stabbing, choking, smothering, shooting- the list goes on. He’s vulnerable and Tomura Shigaraki knows it. “I don’t need to do anything but take care of you. You’re the only true, worthwhile hero and you’re...ugh you’re so neglected” he growled at the end, shifting to sit on top of Shouta’s legs. He bares his teeth in a snarl as he continues his rant, piercing eyes never leaving Shouta’s gaze. “You’re the only hero who does it for the good of the world, the good of the people. Staying away from the limelight, helping no matter what...risking your very life for people who don’t deserve it”. 

Was that...Praise? He was being praised and admired because he prefers to stay away from the media and does the bare minimum of what every hero should do? How something that basic and boring is reason enough to kidnap is beyond comprehension. He grunts when Tomura sits right on his hips, his body pressing right on his cock, causing blood to both rush to his cheeks and to the sexual organ. “You can’t keep me here. People will-ngh...Find me. You’ll be thrown in jail for this and everything else you’ve done”. 

Tomura sighs with a smile, running his cold hands up the hero's shirt to feel his sculpted muscles, biting his lip again as he slowly rocks his hips. “There you go again. So amazing. Worrying about what will happen to me, what trouble I could get into. You’re such a golden level hero.” The blue haired villain hikes the shirt up over Shouta’s chest, exposing more of him as he tries to tug the restraints holding him to the bedpost. “S-Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing!” he hissed, trying to not think of the pressure being added to his ever growing bulge.

A wet kiss on his neck sends tremors of fear down his spine, making his stomach churn. He’s only capable of staring at Tomura as the weight of the situation sinks in. He’s stuck like this. He is at the mercy of a psychopathic, murderous villain, who is so infatuated and obsessed that he managed to kidnap him. No matter what he says, what he tries to reason, it won’t matter. Shigaraki wanted him, and finally got his blood covered hands on him.

“Shh, shh shh...I know what you need. Let me give it to you. Let me be your stress toy, use me until you’re satisfied”. The villain's mouth seals over Shoutas with unrelenting passion, his hips grinding harder against the straining cock underneath him as his hands squeeze, pinch, and caress every inch they can get ahold of. The harder Shouta resisted, the more amused Tomura became, as if he saw him as a shy, inexperienced lover rather than a kidnap victim who’s nearly double his age. 

“Hmph, you’re so cute when you try and deny the pleasure you deserve”. Tomura sucked a nipple into his mouth while his other hand massaged his hip, loving the warmth growing under his ministrations. Shouta made a weak moan, trying to suppress the fact he was being pleasantly - however forcefully- stimulated. Shigaraki pulled off with a wet pop, eyes half lidded as he drinks in the flustered, aroused sight of his beloved hero. 

“Oh I’m going to absolutely spoil you. I’m gonna make you see how much love and devotion you’ve been starved of all these years”.

(-Mommabean, leave a like if you liked! Or tell me in the inbox/comments! ) 

[imaginedxlan]

loverboy (neville longbottom)

a/n: i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again, i am a SIMP for neville longbottom. also yall...  one away from 1k, how’d that happen? you guys rock my socks and i love you the absolutely most! sorry this one is kind of short i just liked the concept.

you’ve been friends with neville longbottom since first year. becoming comfortable with the shy boy and his frog over the years, you began calling him a nickname that makes him wish you would see him as anything other than your best friend.

warnings: zero baby just pure fluff

neville doesn’t open up to just anyone. after years of being shut down in every conversation, left out of nearly every house activity, he’s built a wall to protect himself from the people of hogwarts who constantly make him feel less than. you’re one of the lucky ones. you’ve seen beyond his high walls, he’s opened up to you about his parents, his insecurities and eventually pulled him out of his shell to talk about girls with you.

the nickname started when he told you about his small crush on luna lovegood. he seemed so entranced by her, he kissed the ground he walked on. once you caught on to his pining, you’ve called him loverboy ever since. it’s not to be mean or tease him, you actually admired how much he devoted his time to thinking about her.

what you didn’t know, however, is that it was never luna lovegood he was talking about. when he would describe his feelings for luna her name was only a placeholder for yours. he’d loved you since the moment he laid eyes on you, thinking even your crooked teeth, frizzy haired eleven year old self was the most beautiful creature he’d ever see.

“good morning loverboy,” you call sweetly as you sit next to the dark haired boy in potions class. you never found this class particularly interesting, but being able to sit next to neville made it at least slightly more fun. his heart aches at the nickname, trying to conceal the blush that is creeping on his cheeks. “sleep well?”

“hardly,” he replies, still keeping up his façade. “harry talks in his sleep all through the night. keeps me and trevor awake for hours.”

you smile at the mention of his beloved frog. “oh my dear trevor! how is my favorite amphibian?”

neville can’t contain his smile or his heart that hammering in his chest. you’re the only person who’s ever shown interest in the things he likes, the things he goes on and on about for hours. you’ve never once stopped him from going off on a tangent about his mimbulus mimbletonia or how he’s lost trevor for the tenth time that week. you’ve never rolled your eyes when he comes to sit with you in the library. you’ve never shied away from sitting next to him in herbology though many students find his chiming in rather annoying.

“he’s good,” he replies, trying to stop himself from gazing at you for too long. “i think he misses you.”

you laugh at his response, you really do love that frog. “you better make sure i’m not replaced as trevor’s favorite girl when you finally make a move on luna,” you tease but his heart drops. he knows it’s only a joke but he can’t imagine loving anyone other than you. “if i’m losing one of my loverboys i don’t think my heart could take losing the other as well.”

except you could never lose him. he can’t think of a time when his heart would belong to anyone else. he couldn’t say the same for you. as much as he wants to be around you and knows the nickname isn’t meant to make him sad, it only reminds him of the fact that he’ll never truly be your loverboy. the time will come when you go for a weasley or maybe even that ravenclaw boy you’ve talked about in defends against the dark arts with you and neville isn’t quite sure his heart will survive it.

as professor snape opened his book at the front of the class, the class quieted down. veritaserum. you had heard about the potion, mostly from the weasley twins slipping it in their younger brother’s drink once or twice, but you’d never used it. neville begins to fidget nervously beside you, and you think you know why. privacy has always been very important to the boy and something forcing him to talk about his deepest darkest fears or worse, his parents, is probably eating away at him.

you’re wrong. he’s so nervous because he’s afraid he’ll slip up if he takes it and someone will accidentally ask him about you. he won’t be able to keep his secret anymore.

“s’alright nev,” you whisper to him, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it slightly. an act of intended comfort made him nauseous. “i won’t let anyone pull any secrets from my loverboy, promise.”

you give him a sweet smile which only makes his heart race more. you’re so beautiful, even without the potion he could’ve let that thought slip to you if he wasn’t too careful. as class goes on, he thanks his lucky stars he isn’t chosen for the demonstration. watching you brew the potion to perfection surely would have made it difficult for him to keep back all the feelings he has for you.

later in the evening, however, he did not get so lucky. the twins somehow convinced seamus and dean to slip a few drops of the potion they’d learned to make that morning into neville’s pumpkin juice at dinner. you didn’t notice or surely you would have taken it from them and scolded them for picking on the boy, but you were to engrossed in a conversation with hermione to catch it. neville almost immediately realizes what’s happened when seamus begins asking him questions.

“how your feeling, longbottom?”

“tired, honestly kind of sweaty, really think i need a shower after dinner,” he says before he can stop himself, he smacks his hand to him mouth and his cheeks go red. dean and seamus burst out laughing making all of you turn to the three of them.

“sweaty? why would you possibly be sweaty neville?” dean continues the interrogation.

“been nervous all day, especially in potions. couldn’t get my mind off the stupid veritaserum and if anyone would ask me about y/n,” neville replies with his cheeks turning more red by the minute. you now had your full attention in the boy and he couldn’t stop the word vomit spilling from his lips. “you should have seen her, she brewed the potion perfectly. she’s so smart. godric and beautiful, i-”

you immediately stop him by smacking your own hand to his mouth. “merlin’s sake what did the two of you do?”

dean and seamus have a cheeky grin spread across their lips. “fred and george gave us veritaserum to put in his juice, didn’t think this would happen.”

without a second thought you pull your best friend from the table and out of the great hall to spare him of any more embarrassment he would have to endure. neville follows you blindly, grateful that you didn’t sit there and start laughing at him. when you get to the common room it’s empty, everyone being at dinner. you pull him to sit on the couch in front of the fireplace, he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you look in the glowing flame.

“are you okay?” you ask, pulling your hand from his to look into his eyes. “i’m sorry they did that nev, you didn’t deserve that.”

“i’m more than okay,” he replies with a lazy grin on his face before switching back to his stone cold face full of nerves. “i like it when we’re by ourselves, wish it happened more often.”

“what do you mean, loverboy?”

“i wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he snaps but immediately regrets his tone. “not if you don’t mean it.”

“what are you on about? i mean it.”

“not in the way i want you to mean it...”

you’re trying to wrap you’re mind around what’s happening. sure you and neville have always been close and you compliment eachother here and there but this is different. you don’t want to take advantage of him, not when he’ll tell you everything you want to know while you can sit back and enjoy the show. you swiftly get up and tell him you’ll be right back. he sits on the couch confused as he watches you run out of the room. you make it to the great hall and everyone is looking at you as if you’ve gotten answers out of him that they’d want to know but you ignore him. you lift the tainted cup that neville had drank out of just minutes ago and take a swig.

“y/n!” hermione shrieks and you swallow the liquid. “what do you think you’re doing!”

“getting answers.” you say simply before running out of the room. you don’t feel any different, maybe it hadn’t worked. once you reach the common room again neville is exactly where you left him. “back.”

“what’d you do?”

“i drank the veritserum too,” you tell him and his eyes go wide. “this is going to be a fair conversation.”

neville swallows the lump in his throat at the thought of the two of you being completely honest with each other. he’s partly afraid the truth he’s about to hear is that you only want to be his friend, or that him confessing his feeling for you will only push you away. but there’s another part of him that’s hopeful, you took the veritaserum so this would be “fair,” that has to mean something.

“what were you doing to say when i stopped you earlier?” you ask him. “you said ‘i’ but i stopped you.”

he tries his best to push down the answer but it keeps making its way up his throat. “i was going to say i couldn’t keep my eyes off you all class.”

blush creeps onto your cheeks but you’re not certain why. you noticed him looking at you in potions but you assumed he was trying to understand how to make the potion.

“you’re turn.”

he thinks for a while, unsure of what he should ask you. “do you like matthew, the boy you talk about in ravenclaw, like like him?”

“i like him as a friend, nothing else,” you say back, your heart beginning to race. “do you like luna?”

“i never did, i like someone else.” he answers. you wish it was your turn again, you want to ask him who, part of you knows he’s going to say you given what you’ve learned this evening. you reach out to hold his hand and his touch makes your skin burn. “have you ever thought of us as more than friends?”

you want to say yes, you know it the answer he wants to hear, but it’s not the truth. you can’t lie to him even if you wanted to. before this moment, you only thought of him as a friend. not because you dislike him or think he’s unattractive, it’s just all he’s ever been to you. you take a deep breath and turn your eyes down to the floor.

“honestly, no,” you say back, neville swears he can hear his heart break within him rib cage. his heart burns at your response. he’s gotten his answer. “when did you start to think of me as more than a friend.”

he never came out and said he had feelings for you, but you’ve connected the dots. everything he’s answered, all the questions he’s asked points to him looking at you as more than just his friend. you’re not sure how to feel about it.

“first year, the minute you spoke to me i couldn’t help but think you were the most beautiful girl i’d ever seen, i still do, ” his words make your heart burst. you turn your head to meet his eyes again. they’re burning into you’re gaze. “what is it about me that’s made you only think of me as a friend, do you think i’m ugly?”

“godric no!” you say a bit too quickly for your own liking. “i never thought of you that way because that’s all we ever were neville, friends. i noticed how handsome you were last year, the long hair suited you, but i think you look nice any way you are. i had a dream about you at the christmas last year, i think that’s when i noticed how handsome you were. i guess i just never entertained the thought because you never gave me the impression you wanted anything more than this.”

he feels less shattered, less like you just ripped his heart out with your bare hands. hearing that you think he’s handsome sent butterflies to stomach. he’s quiet and so are you.

“do you want to stop?”

“no, i have another question,” he replies, pulling his hands from yours and backing away from you. you miss his touch already. maybe you did like him a little more than you thought. he braces himself for what’s about to come out of his mouth, for your reaction to what’s about to come out of his mouth. “if i asked to kiss you would you say no?”

“no.” you tell him quietly, if you thought your heart couldn’t pound any faster, it did. it feels like it’s about to jump from your chest. “do you want to kiss me?”

“merlin yes,” he almost whispers. he doesn’t move from his spot, eyes avoiding yours at all costs. always being the braver of the two of you, you take matters into your own hands. you pull yourself closer to him and rest your hand upon his cheek, forcing him to make eye contact with you again. you suck in a breath, the closest the two of you had ever been. “i’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“i know.”

you lean forward only a few centimeters until your lips are barely touching. you hesitate only because you know after this moment you can’t go back to being just friends again, this is going to change everything. even so, there’s like a magnetic pull between you too, you’re craving the feeling of his lips against yours.

while still deep in your thought and hesitations, your eyes drilled shut as you try and decide what to do, you feel his lips press against yours and you melt. it’s better than either of you could have imagined. while neville had be dreaming of this moment for six years, you had only just begun thinking about him in this way minutes ago. you place your free hand on the side of his neck and he places his on the small of your back, pulling you closer into him. You move yourself so that your sat on top of his thighs, attempting to expel any space between the two of you. his hands rest on your hips just before you pull away from him to catch your breath. his eyes flicker between yours, looking for an answer to what you’re feeling.

“i’m sorry,” he says sheepishly, thinking the worst. “do you want to stop? we can pretend this never happened.”

“i never want to stop.”

you connect your lips with his again, slinging your arms around his neck to feel the closeness again. you know he’s never done anything like this before, he’s probably nervous out of his mind, so you attempt to ease his worries by guiding his actions. in just the few minutes you’ve spent with your lips on his, you’ve because obsessed with the feeling. you can hear how heavily he’s breathing as his hand moves from your side to be entangled in your hair. you can’t help but smile, this moment is pure bliss.

you eventually pull away from each other, you decide it’s best to keep this night to just his first kiss. you lean forward and plant a soft kiss to the side of his neck before burying your face in the soft skin. eventually his breath evens out, and he moves his arms to wrap around you.

“what happens now?” he asks, hoping the veritaserum can give him some sort of clear view into your brain.

“i don’t know,” you reply, it’s honest, you have no idea what happens from here on out. “what do you want to happen?”

“i want to kiss you like that a million more times,” he breathes out which makes you laugh into his neck. looks like ther veritaserum hasn’t worn off just yet. “can we just sit here for a minute so we don’t have to think about what’s gonna come?”

“you read my mind, loverboy.”

[mittensmorgul]

it’s a bummer to see you can’t enjoy the ending. I hope someday you can come around it it. It wasn’t perfect but it didn’t nuke its integrity. i think the heart of the show really shines through and it’s a shame that it’s not being appreciated bc there’s so much shipping drama 😣

Hi there!

I... first of, I really need people to understand this... the travesty of the finale for me has almost nothing to do with “shipping drama.”

Yes, I see the wild conspiracy theories flying around, and I’m honestly concerned for some of those folks and hope they can find a way to make peace with this in whatever way they can, because we aren’t likely to ever get a better answer than that this is legitimately the ending that Dabb thought was best, despite years of us seeing the best of his writing choices and guiding Sam, Dean, and Cas to grow past the roles that Chuck would’ve forced them to fulfill, and that at the end it fell flat because he couldn’t actually come up with a better ending than “this was always their destiny, free will is a lie, and these characters had nothing outside of the revenge quest they’d been raised for since birth and manipulated into over and over for the entertainment of a vengeful god.”

I can see how “surface level” viewers would feel that this one basic narrative point was satisfying, that Sam and Dean had grown beyond their own hopeless cycle of self-sacrifice that had driven the narrative for so many years. The fact that they both acknowledged that they should allow their stories to end in that way was satisfying... but only in the shallowest and most detached read of the narrative. Like, is this really the ONLY thing these two characters learned in the last 15 years? If so, that is BEYOND depressing af.

And even THAT message lost all narrative weight when the two of them were once again reunited in death, as if nothing else had ever mattered in their lives. As if neither of them had ever outgrown the codependency that had driven so many of those previous self-sacrifices and refusals to let go of each other even in death.

So yeah, in the absolute most basic sense, I suppose I can see how casual viewers or people who aren’t actually invested in these characters could find that at least narratively coming back to a starting point.

But narratives don’t actually work that way, and that’s not the point of watching fifteen years of story develop in between.

This story wasn’t JUST about Sam and Dean needing to accept that death might be okay actually.

This story was also about free will, fighting for humanity as a whole but also their OWN humanity and self-identities. In Dean’s case, the absolutely transformative growth from feeling like nothing but a hammer, a killer, a tool to be used. And then less than an episode and a half later, after finally accepting that truth into his heart and using it to defeat the original creator and reclaim the story of his own life for himself... he gets pied in the face after flippantly talking about his destiny and having no choice, and then three scenes later he literally dies impaled on a great big nail... like a hammer...

So I would kindly ask folks who feel satisfied by that shallowest possible takeaway of this episode, and maybe invite folks to look just under that surface. Try to understand why loads of us will NEVER feel satisfied with this ending, and why it truly does feel like the most hopeless version of the story. Like even in defeating Chuck, they could never be allowed to own their own stories and what happened to them after that point was just a twisted version of the “destiny” that drove Chuck’s entire plotline for them anyway.

Please understand where we’re seeing this as horrifically painful irony rather than some beautiful circular narrative about letting go.

For a lot of us, the shipping stuff would’ve been the cherry on top of the sundae. We would’ve been happy with a scoop of plain vanilla, though. We would’ve been happy for anything that honored the journey to freedom, and the choice at any sort of a different life of their own making than literally falling back on a nail fighting off one of John’s unresolved hunts and a vampire who had literally never been named in canon before, yet who Dean instantly recognized somehow... 

but sure, for those of us who felt that “the heart of the show” was all the stuff that the finale actually erased-- that “family don’t end in blood,” and that this was actually not a show about just two brothers but the love of their found family and coming to terms with the choices they actually HAD made for themselves versus the narrative that Chuck kept centering them in DESPITE what they would choose for themselves, the finale basically told us no, everything you ever found of value in this story actually meant nothing. It told us that Chuck’s story for them was their only truth in the end, and their only freedom was to be found in death.

Please, I am begging people, stop trying to gaslight us that this was some beautiful ending. Maybe think for a second that “your read” of the narrative that allows you to find peace with the ending is not what we saw and loved about this story for the 326 episodes leading up to this finale.

And please try to understand that we were not wrong to see the entire narrative through this lens. Because we were literally validated IN CANON, and told that we understood the depth of the story and the characters just fine, actually. There’s literally ONE episode of the entire series that burns it all down in a bewildering pile of wtf. And that’s #327. That throws that entire read out the window to well actually us all back into Chuck’s literal ending... This was literally the ending Chuck wanted to force them to enact for him, and it’s what ended up happening even after they defeated him-- the ultimate Big Bad of the entire series should’ve been defeated, but instead he pulled off one final victory over the entire story.

Becky: No. You can't-- Chuck: I did. Becky: Y- This is just an ending. Chuck: Yeah. I don't know how I'm gonna get there, but I know where I'm goin'. Becky: B-But it's so... dark. Chuck: But great, right? I can see it now -- "Supernatural: The End". And the cover is just a gravestone that says "Winchester". The fans are gonna love it. Well? Becky: It's awful! Horrible. It's hopeless. You can't do this to the fans. What you did to Dean? What you did to Sam? Chuck: There, see? It's making you feel something. That's good, right?

and

Dean: Well, what now? You're not gonna dust us. Chuck: Oh, yeah? Why not? Dean: Because you're holding out. For your big finish. Yeah, we know about your galaxy-brained idea, how you think this story is gonna go. Sam got a little look into your draft folder. Chuck: Sam's visions -- they weren't drafts. They were memories. My memories. Other Sams and other Deans in other worlds. But guess what. Just like you, they didn't think they'd do it, either. But they did. And you will, too. Dean: No. Not this Sam. And not this Dean. So you go back to Earth 2 and play with your other toys. Because we will never give you the ending that you want. Chuck: We'll see.

And even in DEFEAT Chuck thought he understood these characters, thought that having rendered him powerless they would finally take their revenge and kill him, but they didn’t, because he never actually understood these characters at all. And the story he tried to force them into from day one was never about THEM, it was about HIM. 

And then Dean gets like two whole days of freedom and choice and is apparently incapable of making any of the choices that don’t throw him immediately back into Chuck’s favorite story. Like none of that resolution in the previous episode meant anything at all. He even SAYS it in the finale:

Dean: Yeah, no. I think about 'em, too. You know what? That pain's not gonna go away. Right? But if we don't keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing.

And then two scenes later the show gives us the Nelson Muntz HA HA and Dean is no longer living, and Sam is left to carry on as a shell of himself and wander off into Blurry Wife Land to devote any even remotely content moment of the rest of his years to raising a  Replacement Dean to fill the void, and is never able to pick up the pen to write anything better of his own life than Chuck would’ve dealt him in the first place.

So I’m glad that top-layer takeaway is sustaining and enough for you. It wasn’t, and will never be enough for the rest of us.

What was actually real in all of this? We were.

Until we weren’t.

And that’s honestly a shit message to be pushing on people in the wake of it all. So please stop.

I should actually thank you for the kind intent with which your message is phrased, but that doesn’t make it feel less hilariously awful. Though I chose this one to reply to as the least insulting of all the messages currently in my inbox on this subject. So thanks for that, at least.

[cosmicjoke]

Levi the Reluctant Hero

I wrote a post last night about one of Levi’s short stories from Vol. 1, in which he dreams of all his comrades dressed in fine clothing, living the high life of the MP’s, and he thinks, at first, how wrong they all look dressed like that, before Hange, in his dream, asks “But it’s better than this, right?”, before they all fall to the ground and begin to bleed out, and Levi then wakes, and tries to convince himself that all he has to do is protect them, and defend the choice they’ve made to live the life of a Scout.  My post went into discussing the conflict between Levi’s desire to protect the lives of his friends and comrades, to keep them safe, and his own duty as a Scout to fight for humanity, and accept the many losses necessary among their number to make the Survey Corps’ goal a reality.

Well, it got me thinking more of the subject of that conflict within Levi, and in particular, about how that struggle was further impacted by his discovery of Erwin’s true motivations.

What’s interesting to note about Levi is that, as far as we know, he is the ONLY member of the SC who was pressed into service, whereas everyone else there is a volunteer, willingly signing up out of their own volition.  Levi ends up staying with the SC after Erwin convinces him that his strength and skill are needed by humanity in order to win the war against the Titans, in order for humanity to achieve its freedom and salvation.  And more to the point, Levi ends up becoming incredibly loyal towards Erwin, and trusting of Erwin’s judgment, always following his orders dutifully, even when he himself feels dubious as to his plans and course of action.  Levi follows Erwin with such devoted dedication because he genuinely believes that all of Erwin’s great vision and tactical genius is being implemented for the greater good of all humanity, because he believes Erwin can see a path toward succeeding in that goal that Levi himself, and no one else either, is capable of seeing.  

We see, more than once, Levi express his discomfort or dislike of Erwin’s plans, most particularly when it involves endangering the lives of the SC members.  Like, for example, in Trost, when we see Levi’s hands literally shaking out of anxiety and dismay at the battle that breaks out there, and his inability to join in the fight, or before that, during the battle with the Female Titan in the forest, first when Levi snapped at Erwin for trying to give him the credit for their success in trapping her, and then later, when Levi wishes to go find his squad, and Erwin stops him from going.  But still, Levi yields to Erwin’s commands and tells him he’ll “trust his judgment”.  

How this relates to my post from last night is in the fact that Levi follows Erwin’s orders, even when it means the deaths of his comrades is more than just a possibility, but even a certainty, and how that choice to follow Erwin is particularly remarkable, because it goes against every instinct and desire Levi himself has.  Levi’s first and foremost wish, during every battle we see him in, is to protect the lives of his comrades.  He goes so far as to order them, both in Shinganshina and later in Liberio to “not die” and “survive”, as if he simply won’t accept anything less than them making it out alive.  In Shinganshina, Levi took the bulk of the burden onto himself while trying to protect the horses from the numerous smaller titans because the other Scouts with him were new recruits and inexperienced, and he wanted to save them from having to engage with titans as much as he possibly could.  And when the Beast Titan began throwing boulders at them, Levi’s first action was to try and rally everyone to scale the wall and get to the other side, where he believed they would find safety.  There’s plenty of other examples throughout the manga in which Levi does all he can to save the life of not only his comrades, but even total strangers.  My point is, to Levi, the most important thing of all is the lives of people.  He places the most value, the most worth, on people’s lives, and in his view, protecting those lives is what matters most, and what he, personally, can do best.

And so, it is no doubt particularly difficult for him to put that instinct and priority and desire aside when Erwin orders him to, in order to execute his plans.  Like, again, in the battle with the Female Titan, when Levi has to hold himself back from intervening with the soldiers engaging her while he and his squad lead her into Erwin’s trap, or again in Trost, or again in Shinganshina, etc...  Levi is only able to put aside his own instincts and desires to follow Erwin because he believes wholeheartedly in Erwin’s own, altruistic goal, that is, the salvation of humanity.  Erwin himself convinced Levi of this during the climactic moment of “No Regrets”, when he gives Levi his speech about only being able to defeat the Titans and free humanity from their terror by riding out beyond the walls and fighting back, by discovering where they come from and thus, discovering their weaknesses.  He convinces Levi that this is a worthy goal, a noble goal, worth sacrificing their lives for and, if he lends his strength to the SC, he can help make this dream a reality, and that Erwin himself possesses a special scope of vision which he will apply with total dedication to also making this dream a reality.

It’s this belief in Erwin, and in Erwin’s speech, that leads Levi to follow him so loyally.  

What’s really prevalent here is that Erwin convinces Levi specifically that to sacrifices ones life for the cause of the SC is a worthy and meaningful sacrifice.  Before Erwin begins his speech, Levi is grief stricken over the loss of Furlan and Isabel, and after Erwin reveals how he used all of them in his plans to incriminate Lovof, Levi says to him, in clear anguish, “It wasn’t worth throwing away their lives!  They were nothing but pawns in your worthless game.”  He thinks Erwin’s used and sacrificed the lives of his friends for something as stupid and meaningless as catching a white collar criminal.  And then Erwin goes into his speech about freeing humanity, and essentially convinces Levi that his friends didn’t die for a “worthless game”, but for the greater good, for the salvation and freedom and dreams of all humanity, and this is what gets Levi to accept Erwin’s offer and stay.  This belief that he, and all of them, are fighting and sacrificing themselves for a better and safer world, in which people can live without fear or constriction, in which people’s lives themselves will be bettered.  It’s this belief that allows Levi to accept the loss of lives within the ranks of his comrades, even as he wishes desperately that he could protect them all.  He trusts Erwin is doing the right thing, because he believes in Erwin’s own goodness, and believes Erwin, like him, just wants to help people.

One of the things Levi struggles with most throughout the story, I think, and in particular, during the final arc, is the belief that all they’ve been fighting for is actually worth the loss of life they’ve all experienced.  I think this was always a struggle for Levi, because I think it was always hard for Levi to even believe in the possibility of a better, safer, happier world, because he himself came from a world of such desperate struggle and hardship.  But he believed in Erwin, and that gave Levi the strength to trust in its possibility, and to dedicate himself to the cause, even as he suffered immensely with each lost comrade.

And then he learns the truth about Erwin, which is that he hasn’t been fighting for humanity’s salvation, and his plans, which relied on the heavy sacrifices of their comrades, weren’t devised with the goal of humanity’s freedom at their core.  Instead, Erwin has been fighting and sacrificing the lives of his comrades for a personal goal, both of getting revenge for his father by discovering the existence of humanity beyond the walls and proving him right in the process, and, I think, for the sake of knowledge itself, wanting to simply know.  

This realization, for Levi, must have been utterly devastating, because suddenly it’s like everything he accused Erwin of before, while holding his blade to his throat and telling him that the lives of his friends weren’t worth his “worthless game” has come true.  Beyond that even, the lives of every one of Levi’s comrades that he allowed to be sacrificed per Erwin’s orders, has suddenly lost it’s purpose.  Suddenly, all those lives that Levi held himself back from protecting because they needed to be sacrificed to achieve the higher goal of humanity’s salvation, has been rendered meaningless, their death’s rendered pointless.  And as is demonstrated again and again throughout the story, nothing is more horrific to Levi than a meaningless death, a pointless loss of life.  

So here we see Levi’s true sense of betrayal, when he discovers Erwin’s true motivation.  It’s not just that Erwin lied to him, it’s that Erwin convinced Levi that the goal of the Survey Corps, the salvation of humanity, was worth the sacrifice of his fellow soldiers lives, and now Levi discovers that none of those lives were sacrificed for any such noble cause, but rather a petty and selfish one, and that Levi himself helped facilitate those deaths by choosing to follow a man with loyal dedication because he believed in him and his vision so completely.  The sense of guilt Levi must have felt, himself, upon discovering Erwin’s true motives, must have been overwhelming.  

Further, it must have reignited Levi’s own struggle with believing the sacrifices of his fellow soldiers lives were worth it, even IF the goal was the salvation of humanity.  He trusted in Erwin’s words, but it turned out Erwin lied about his true goal, and this in turn must have also caused Levi to doubt whether what Erwin said about the worth of sacrificing their lives for humanity’s freedom was even true.  Whether it was really the right decision for any of them, to have given up on all their dreams and hopes, and to put their lives on the line, in the first place, even if they’d been fighting for something as noble, but also as distant, as a better world.  

This struggle and conflict in Levi is never more evident than during the final arc of SnK, in which he openly wears an expression of heartbreaking grief and despair, as he has to watch more and more of his comrades lose their lives, and indeed, all of humanity lose their lives.  

It all truly goes against everything Levi believes in, which is that people’s lives have value, and are worth something, and that they deserve to be preserved, and yet he’s put into a position again and again of having to watch people’s lives be snuffed out, whether by choice, in the case of his comrades sacrificing themselves for a greater good, or not by choice, people being killed just due to the circumstances of war.  

I said in my post from last night that if it were up to Levi, I don’t think he would ever choose to place the people he cares about in harms way.  I think he would do everything in his power to keep them out of combat situations, or any situation which could endanger their lives, and he would want them to simply just live long and happy and safe lives, in which they get to realize their hopes and dreams.  But because it isn’t up to Levi, because the people he is close to and cares about have THEMSELVES chosen this path of self-sacrifice, he instead does the only thing he can, which is to try and protect them and keep them alive.  This is one of the reasons Levi takes action, takes initiative more quickly than anyone else, why he never hesitates.  Because if it means defending the lives of his friends and comrades, he’ll do whatever it takes, including bloodying his own hands, without thought spared for himself or the toll of it on him.

But of course, his dedication to that runs into direct conflict with his dedication to Erwin and the goal of the SC, which is to achieve humanity’s freedom, and Levi often is forced to choose between the two, often having to give up on his personal desire to save individual lives in order to achieve the higher cause of saving the human race.

Thinking about this in the context of Levi’s discovery about Erwin especially hurts, because it really underlines just how deep a sense of betrayal it had to have caused in Levi, to know he’s set aside his own need and want to help people, and allowed so many of his comrades to die for a cause which he now knows wasn’t, in fact, worth it.  

Of course, Erwin then gives up his selfish dream and rededicates himself to the higher goal of humanity’s salvation, and that allows Levi to continue fighting at his side and to follow his orders.  But it throws Levi’s feelings about Erwin’s and the other Scouts charge at the Beast Titan into greater relief, because he’s just gone through a period of extreme doubt and turmoil as to the meaning, as to the point of all the lives he’s had to see sacrificed during his years in the SC, and now, here, again, he’s having to allow more lives still to be given, unable to intervene or protect them because it’s necessary in order to keep the hope for humanity alive.  

We see how hard Levi takes every death of every soldier both under his command and not, throughout the story.  We see it with his own squad after he discovers their bodies in the forest, we see it with Niffa, after Kenny kills her, we see it with the soldiers in Shinganshina, and Erwin, we see it with his men in the forest after Zeke turns them into Titans, we see it with Hange, etc...  He takes all of their deaths so deeply to heart, because Levi is such a deeply caring and compassionate man, who sees great value in the lives of all people.  And honestly, that makes his willingness to fight for and defend their dreams and choices, even when those dreams and choices endanger their very lives, all the more remarkable, precisely because it’s so hard for him, precisely because he doesn’t WANT to let them sacrifice themselves, he wants to protect them.  Precisely because, each time one of them loses their lives, it takes something vital out of Levi himself.  He suffers the weight of their loss at his core.  It HURTS him.  To support their choices, their dreams and ambitions and goals, Levi is then an active participant in causing himself pain, and yet still, he does it, and that really is the definition of a selfless hero.  He knows the price he’ll have to pay, the toll on himself for putting aside his own desire to protect and save all of them, and he does it anyway, for them, and for humanity.  

But as determinedly as Levi tries never to regret his choices, I think it’s clear he struggles immensely with doing so, because he’s never certain as to whether any of it is worth it.  He wants so much to protect the lives of those he loves and cares for, and wants so much, also, to fight for and help them realize their dreams.  He went to the surface with Furlan and Isabel exactly for this reason, because their dream was to live up above, all while going against his own wish to simply stay in the Underground and take care of them.  And he ended up losing them because of it, the same as he ended up losing so many other friends and comrades, because of fighting for their dream of a world free from Titans.  

This constant conflict, this constant pull back and forth within Levi, between wanting to protect and preserve the lives of those he cares for, and wanting to support and defend and fight for their dreams, is an aspect of his character which is, I think, deeply tragic.  

It’s like he can’t win for losing.  

[ithinkthereforeidread]

the collected poems of todd anderson

christmas day of 1959.

ao3 link here

He knew this day would come. He’s been dreading it, sure, he’d never really enjoyed Christmas much beforehand, his multiple unopened desk sets epitomised such. At his house, fires weren’t warm, hugs were stiff and silence was punctured by the sounds of laughing children in the house next door. It’d always been this way for the Anderson family. Todd grew to accept it.

But this year was supposed to be different.

He was supposed to spend his Christmas at Welton, with all the Dead Poets.

 Usually, the boys would go home to their families for Christmas, but through the efforts of Neil he assembled a complex string of falsities about a gargantuan Latin group project that all the Dead Poets needed to finish.

“Serious business, I care about my education father, why else would have you sent me here?” said Neil over the phone, holding his index finger to his mouth to silence Todd from his chuckling, although all Todd really saw was the wide grin that hid behind it, and the way Neil’s eyes crinkled up all the way, a complete oxymoronic action when Neil was usually on the phone to his father. Todd stifles back laughter and Neil smacks him lightly, only causing him to laugh more.

“Well, that was quicker AND easier than I expected...” Neil states after placing the phone back on it’s cradle and ending the call. “But hey!” Neil squeaks, “We’re all spending Christmas together! The biggest concern was just getting my father to agree, everyone else’s parents seemed fine with it.”

Todd and Neil start to walk, side by side, Neil bumps him playfully. “I’m so glad you told me, Todd.” Neil turns his head and looks towards the shorter boy. “My Christmases at home aren’t that great either, I’ve always wanted to spend them here, but I could never work up the courage to ask my father, ask Charlie, in our first year he almost called up my father himself. It was hilarious, he had to look up at the phone, he was so short.”

“You and Charlie have been friends for ages then?” Todd queries “Oh yeah, we met in our last year of preparatory school, he was a pretty mischievous kid, obviously not much has changed.” Neil laughs, “he was just always so confident and sure of himself… I always wanted to be like that, nothing ever got to him.”

“Has that changed?” Todd’s questions were always short and straight to the point. Startling upfrontness in the most unexpected of moments. It was something Todd was known for.

“Not really… I mean, I try to get him to open up… he just isn’t an emotions type of person, I think?” Neil scratches the back of his head. “During our 9th year he went through something really big and not great, but he didn’t tell me a single word about it. To this day I have no idea wahat happened. I tried asking but it didn’t lead anywhere… all I know is some kid had been expelled but it didn’t look like him and Charlie fought or anything because they spent so much time together ....” Neil trails off.

“You know people stare at us sometimes.” Todd blankly states, an unconscious switch being flicked immediately. “When we’re walking to classes, when we go into our dorm, when we exchange smiles in classes… They bump their friends with their shoulders and snicker under their breaths… Have you noticed that Neil?”

Neil’s walking pace slows slightly, “Uh… no, I-uh I didn’t… Do they think we’re-“ “-Maybe.” Todd interrupts before Neil can say The Word. “Bu-but we aren’t, I mean, you were talking about that girl from-“ “-Yeah! Ginny, from the play, wow, I mean, she’s just great.” “Yeah, I’m sure she is.”

God.

This got awkward.

Nice one Todd.

Did it again.

~~

Ink splatters dried on the paper he cradled so delicately, he stares at the contents once more.

“what wouldn't i give to love myself as feverishly as I love you? what is the opposite of amnesia? that is what you are. sometimes i cant find my way around my memories. i have to take detours… i think you were the best one.

little fragments of joy pepper my vacancy i didn't know that i should want to be hopeful or that being hopeful meant giving up some intrinsic part of me.

last night i had a dream that we were breathing underwater flying high in the sky, arms outstretched, laughing, smiling, hugging, bodies pressed onto one another. it didn’t last long. piece by wretched, fragile piece i throw out every hated qualm of thee your impenetrable stare fixed onto me

i have hoped for love that is beyond you being caught by me or me trying to slip through the cracks. they read me, you, us, with their glacial eyes and think they know but they don't

and it seems neither do we.”

“Wow, Todd. This is so… different. But good! It’s just, I’ve never seen anything like this in our English class, in the poems we’ve studied… I just… wow.” Neil looks up at Todd, eyes so soft, Neil knows how big of a deal this is to Todd. He doesn’t just share his work with anyone.

“I-I’m glad you liked it.” Todd smiles, it’s almost as if he’s had to completely remove himself from himself in order to let Neil observe and compliment this part of him, he takes the page out of Neil’s hands and places it in his book. “What-er, who was it about?” Neil gingerly queries. “I- uh, well.” Todd’s heating up now, he should’ve expected Neil to ask him this question. Dammit. Why was he so stupid for letting him read it. “Well, I-I don’t think you necessarily have to go through something to write a-about it, it-it’s fiction for a reason.”

Neil’s lips downturn slightly, “I guess, but everything that we produce in art- whether that be acting, or poetry writing, painting- whatever… it… subconsciously shows something that you might not necessarily want to show or see, right? Like how Keating got us the other day to choose a poem we liked and recite it… It tells you so much about a person. When Charlie was reading his poem… wasn't all you could think about was how bleak it was?” Neil continues, “The academically and poetically rigorous selection made by Cameron or Knox’s complete devotion and enamoration with the simplest emotion of the human being, love? We hide these parts of ourselves, maybe we view them as flaws and faults of our cognitive machine, but art reveals them all.” Neil delivered a love poem to the class himself. He takes a big breath and lets the words he just spoke sit in the air of their dorm for a while.

“Into the meadows dawn..” Todd clicks his fingers, a vague ritual to jog his memory. “flashes my faun.” Todd recites “O Hunter, snare me his shadow… O Nightingale catch me his strain. Else moonstruck with music and madness, I track him in vain” all they’re doing is staring at each other.

“You- you remembered my poem?” Neil questions. “Yeah- I went to the library after you said it- wanted to see if there was more… Oscar Wilde…” “Yeah.” “I notice them staring now that you mentioned it.” Neil breaks the trajectory of the conversation, “God, they’re all so stupid, it’s as if Judy Garland and President Eisenhower just strutted into the school, arms interlocked!” Todd chuckles. Then more silence.

“Has anything changed, Neil?” “What do you mean?” “Between us. What this is. Our comradely bond, as Keating puts it.” Todd chuckles, “ Our co-dependence, attachment at the hip.”

More silence…

“I-I think…” Neil finally states, “that it was never anything it wasn’t already… perhaps we ignored it, suppressed the feeling… but… it was always there.”

“For me, at least.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

~~~

The wind pierced Todd’s skin in tiny microscopic ways, embedding itself under the protection of his coat and completely evading the rest of his physical form, though perhaps the wind wasn’t the cause of the spine-curdling ache he felt, but simply an additional symptom.

Bells rang, green and red Christmas themed paraphernalia adorned the streets he’d previously been driving through, staring out the window at lights and snow that trickled onto an already naturally bleached layer of the ground. His footprints leave indents and obtain a slippery consistency to the outer sole and toe cap. He treads more carefully.

His hands clutch the leather cover of the journal he is hiding underneath his jacket, minimising any further damage that may soon come its way, finally, through minutes of soul-searching and carefully treading through stones and flowers, he makes his way to Neil.

He looks at him with a certain sense of fragility, his stone head protruding from the ground and covered in snow. Todd wipes some away to see the carvings made into him. His full name. Aged 17. Dutiful son of Tom and Susan Perry.

The newness of it all sends a pang to Todd’s stomach as he looks at the other stones weathered with age and the constant bombardment of the elements. That’ll be Neil one day. Flowers not fresh and carvings unreadable. Forgotten to the world and all its inhabitants, rotting in satin lining and cherry oak wood. Todd stifles back a sob and covers his mouth, forcing himself to get it together for just this moment.

“Merry Christmas Neil.” Todd whispers, the words can barely come out. “You-you’re not here physically but you’re here with me, and Charlie, and-and all the other Dead Poets.” he continues, “though- though Charlie isn’t here technically either. He left. Had to. He’s not graduating, at least he’s not at Welton” Todd looks down, brushes his emerging tears away with his shoulder

“I just wanted to come here and give you your gift, I’ve had it in the making for a while now, you’ve seen some of it already. I wish I could’ve given it to you earlier… if I had known this would happen.” he pulls out the journal, and opens it up.

“Here, I’ll read you some.” Todd, though already cold and miserable, situates himself next to Neil’s cold headstone and leans his head on it, opening the journal's contents to its first page.

“Dear Neil,” Todd’s starts, but adds an offside, “It’s dated on the 7th of a while back, my-my birthday.”

“I hope this book finds you well,” Todd’s breath hitches, “especially considering that I’m probably too anxious to deliver it to you. What you’ll see here is what we spoke about the night we first kissed. About freeing ourselves from any subconscious fear or dichotomous dread of both working with and against the grain or being liked or disliked. The people I look up to the most are inspirationally unpopular. So, here’s a suite of poems by yours truly. Hopefully you’ll find your own meaning and reverence in the words my brain has conjured up, words mostly pertaining to you. Every inch of your being alive has me transfixed and enamoured, and I’m truly gobsmacked on the good deed I must’ve committed to have deserved having you in my life.” Todd’s face is red and stuffy from the cold and his breathing is short and punctured.

“You’re sleeping right near me at this moment, and as a sweaty toothed madman once said. We were together. I forgot the rest. Consider this journal a detachable limb of my own self, something you can always carry around and know that I am with you, always. You can suck the life force, the bone marrow out of the words I have written in here and I would applaud and encourage you to do so. Without you, I have no idea where I’d be right now. I owe you so much Neil, you’ve taught me that sometimes the world can be good. That a person’s smile can brighten an entire room. A performance perfectly acted can be a person’s ultimate achievement and their triumph. You are the word phenomenal incarnate Neil, I hope my words do you some sort of justice.

You deserve the world, Neil. I’m brainstorming ways to give it to you.

With love, Todd.”

——————————————————————————

i hope you guys enjoyed!! its fucking brutal honestly but needed some angst and tragedy in my fictional life to reflect my own.

just a preface that some of the poem todd read's is borrowed from pete wentz old emo livejournal posts because i need to somehow tie my two big interests together and MAN does that man write some gay ass shit. hope your heart doesnt hurt too much <3

creds to @neilscrown on tiktok for posting the headcanon "Todd definitely bought Neil a Christmas present and he never got the chance to give it to him so he would sit in his once shared room and stare at it" it tore my HEART OUT and inspired this rambling

[robininthelabyrinth]

Unfettered (aka NHS goes feral) - part 3 - previous parts: on ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2

-

Lan Xichen had the strangest feeling that something was going to happen.

He wouldn’t pretend that he had a touch of foresight – life had shown him the hard way how completely he lacked any sorts of skill in that direction– and there was nothing altogether unusual about anything that had happened in the past few days of the war. Lan Xichen was helping with so much more now than he had during the Sunshot Campaign, when he’d been able to be a little above it all as a mere courtier or a single but powerful scouting force, thanks in large part to his sect’s then-existing weakness and Nie Mingjue’s utter brilliance. Nowadays he had to deal with the endless drudgery of war administration: the clean-up before and after battles, the mechanics of feeding and supplying all the cultivators in their front lines, planning their next move and the next after that…

Nie Huaisang had received a message and stormed out, looking annoyed, but that wasn’t new, either.

There were many demands on his time, after all. Nie Huaisang might not have much experience at war on a personal basis, having largely (and willingly) been sidelined during the Sunshot Campaign, but he was a sharp study and an excellent judge of people. He managed their generals – selected for merit without any attention to what sect they were from, if any – with an iron fist that rivaled his control over his own disciples, and on top of the war there was also his extensive network of spies, his constant scrutiny of their supply lines, his supervision of internecine disputes between the sects…

The divisions between us will be the first place Jin Guangshan strikes, he had said – snarled, rather – at the last meeting between sect leaders, taking to task men twice his age without so much as the blink of an eye. I want this petty bullshit between you resolved, now, and I don’t care how many generations you’ve been fighting over it. If you don’t fix it, I’ll fix it for you, and I assure you that neither of you want that.

They’d resolved it.

After all, Nie Huaisang was right: no one wanted him to step in.  

It was a little ironic, Lan Xichen thought. The entire war had started because of Jin Guangshan’s lust for power, his desire to be called Chief Cultivator – a term Nie Huaisang denounced, as Nie Mingjue had before him – and now it was Nie Huaisang to whom the cultivation world deferred without question.

People were afraid of him.

It still seemed a little ridiculous to Lan Xichen, as if at any moment someone would step in and say that it was all a joke that they’d all been taken in by. That Nie Huaisang was still the excitable little roly-poly puppy he’d always been, Lan Xichen’s good friend’s little brother: stubborn and cute and smarter than he pretended to be, interested in nothing but his art and his fans and his clothing, lazy and indolent and unabashedly happy in a way that had brightened Lan Xichen’s day to see, every time.

He wasn’t, though. And it was Lan Xichen that had helped make him into what he was now.

During his travels, he’d heard cultivators in the field referring to Nie Huaisang as the Pallbearer, obliquely calling him the virtuous mourner as if he were a death-god whose name should not be directly uttered lest it draw his attention – it wasn’t anything Nie Huaisang had accepted as a personal title, utterly inauspicious as it was, but if he didn’t take one soon, he’d be stuck with it. If he wasn’t already.

People were simply uncomfortable calling him Nie-er-gongzi the way they had before, and Lan Xichen didn’t blame them one bit – the Nie-er-gongzi of the past was unrecognizable in the man of today.

But neither could he blame Nie Huaisang for refusing the title of Sect Leader Nie as long as his brother still had a single spark of life in his body.

Nie Mingjue…

Lan Xichen missed him terribly.

He knew he didn’t have the right to – Nie Huaisang had made that clear enough – but he did. He missed his old friend, with his confidence and his kindness and his goodness. He missed having a confidant who esteemed him and who trusted him, who shared everything with him without a moment’s hesitation, who always tried his best and honored those who did the same.

He’d once, and only once, caught a brief glimpse of Nie Mingjue after everything had happened: he’d been in bed, pale as death, face quiet and slack and peaceful in a way it never was, with doctors surrounding him. At the time, they were working furiously to save his life as Nie Huaisang paced furiously outside the door, refusing food and only drinking enough water to replenish the tears that streamed endlessly down his face.

That had been early on, before they’d realized Nie Mingjue had lapsed into a deep coma from which there was no telling when or if he would awake and, even if he did, in what state he would be left in. That had been before Nie Huaisang had banned Lan Xichen from the Unclean Realm…banned everyone, really, hosting them anywhere else he could rather than allow them anywhere near his brother when he was vulnerable.

Before he’d slowly started giving up hope. Before they all had.

It’d been years, after all. Surely if Nie Mingjue’s indomitable strength could heal him, it would have done so by now?

Of course, even if Nie Mingjue did eventually wake up, it wasn’t as if Lan Xichen would get his friend back the way it had once been. Nie Mingjue had always been righteous to the point of rigidity, willing to make the hard choices to punish those who had done wrong no matter their identity, and Lan Xichen had failed him so thoroughly, so completely…

Guiltily, too, he knew that if Nie Mingjue woke up, he’d undoubtedly step up as general once more, coordinating everything the way he had during the Sunshot Campaign – and that meant they wouldn’t need to rely on Lan Xichen’s assistance anymore.

Nie Huaisang had made that clear, too.

Whoever had raised his ire by sending him that message that had pulled him away from their work together…well, they’d better have a very good excuse. Nie Huaisang hated to be interrupted, his temper as short as anyone in his family’s had ever been, and his tongue was more poisonous than Jiang Cheng’s.

Lan Xichen would know, being its most frequent target.

Nie Huaisang had never forgiven Lan Xichen in his part in preserving Jin Guangyao’s life, and lacking the actual assassin to rend to bits, he had grimly decided to make do with the accomplice. He needled Lan Xichen at every instance, taunting him with his failures and deficiencies, making nasty jibes and underhanded remarks that cut deep – and Lan Xichen deserved every single one of them.

Back then, it had been Lan Xichen who had hesitated, refusing to believe the truth. Refusing to believe that his then (and, perhaps, still) beloved A-Yao could ever do such terrible things of which he had been accused, either at his time in the Nightless City or the assassination of Nie Mingjue – he had pushed back, prevaricated, insisted on investigating more, finding out more…in the end the truth had come out in all its ugly wretched filthy glory and the only thing his foot-dragging and indecisiveness that he’d pretended was a devotion to justice had gotten him was Nie Huaisang’s endless disdain.

The worst of it, though, wasn’t the humiliation or the insults, nor his feelings of failure and guilt.

No, it was the way his foolish heart raced at how Nie Huaisang looked now, with all restraint a distant memory – the sharp Nie features on his delicate face turning from blurred to clear as the childhood fat on his cheeks melted away; the intelligence that flashed in his eyes, now unhidden by any pretense or indifference; the utter brilliance in the casual way he rattled off orders, effortlessly taking command without permitting any backtalk; the way he moved, a mixture of the martial general and a dancer’s grace; the way everything about him perfectly fit to Lan Xichen’s taste –

He really was a fool.

He had a crush on you for years, Lan Xichen reminded himself. Nie Mingjue even told you about it, he’d even approved of it back then if only you were interested, and yet you pretended you knew nothing. But now, now when he hates you, despises you, sees you as little better than a worm to crush beneath his heel, now is when you finally choose to see what’s always been there?

He hadn’t said anything to Nie Huaisang about it, of course. There wasn’t any point when Nie Huaisang already thought of him in the worst possible terms – weakling, willfully blind, murderer – and he could easily imagine how it might go, if he ever tried anything.

(“I heard some soldiers say that I resemble Jin Guangyao,” Nie Huaisang had mused one day, his hands locked behind his back as he looked down at their troops training in the field. His voice was cold as ice and sharp as a blade. “Though there’s some disagreement as to whether it’s my face or the devious turns of my mind that bring up the comparison. I thought I’d ask you, Zewu-jun, you being the expert and all – am I a good replacement? A suitable stand-in? If I smile at you enough times, will you do whatever I say without question, the way you did for him?”

I would already do anything for you, Lan Xichen had thought at the time, full of sorrow. In a way that goes well beyond what I felt for him. But even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?)

No, it was clear enough to Lan Xichen that his father’s blood ran strong in him, dooming him to only love where he was not loved in return, and to finally realize the strength of that love only when it was too late.  At least it seemed that Lan Wangji had escaped that fate with Wei Wuxian, their earlier misunderstandings aside.

A moment later, as if summoned by his thoughts, the man himself appeared.

“Oh, Zewu-jun, there you are! Have you seen Nie-xiong?” Wei Wuxian asked, popping his head in through the door. Lan Wangji was a few steps behind him, waiting patiently as he always did – he was always patient with Wei Wuxian, gentle in a manner that reminded Lan Xichen of the way he sometimes cared for the wild rabbits back at the Cloud Recesses.

They hadn’t spoken much, of late. Lan Wangji had understood Lan Xichen’s weakness and had not held it against him, but that didn’t mean Lan Xichen had forgiven himself, nor did it lessen the sting of shame he felt over events he felt must have lost him the respect of his younger brother, no matter how Lan Wangji denied it – it was easier to focus on matters of war.

“He was called away suddenly, I’m afraid,” Lan Xichen said. “He left a few shichen ago, but he said he’d be back in time for dinner.”

“Dinner has already passed,” Lan Wangji said, his voice neutral – an obvious reprimand for Lan Xichen for having not noticed, shaded with concern over the way Lan Xichen didn’t always eat the way he should. He wouldn’t be hurt by it, he practiced inedia the way they all did, of course, but that didn’t mean he should miss meals if he didn’t have to. “He has not yet returned?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. But if it’s that late, he should be back soon. Do you need him for something urgent?”

“As urgent as anything else in this war,” Wei Wuxian said with a shrug. “If you see him, let us know.”

“Why do you assume I’ll see him first?” Lan Xichen asked, a little amused, but Wei Wuxian blinked at him as if he’d said something foolish.

“He always comes to you first,” he said. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

Lan Xichen’s breath caught briefly – no, he hadn’t noticed, and his mind immediately started to race, his heart growing warm…but no. He only was being foolish again. As the army’s courier, its administrator, Lan Xichen was the obvious person for Nie Huaisang to contact if he wanted to get his plans spread out to everyone as soon as possible.

There didn’t have to be anything more to it than that.

“So when he arrives, if you could just tell him –”

“No need,” Lan Wangji interrupted. “He is approaching.”

A few moments later, and it was clear from the footsteps that Lan Wangji was right, as always – when Lan Wangji was younger, Lan Xichen used to tease him about having the ears of a bat, capable of detecting everything, and sometimes he really thought it might be true.

They waited, and the door opened, and Lan Xichen instinctively turned away as Nie Huaisang let himself in, not wanting to see those hard eyes turn even harder, the instinctive sneer that rose to Nie Huaisang’s lips at the sight of him that it always took him an extra moment to suppress.

“Nie-xiong?” Wei Wuxian asked, his voice rising a register in his shock. “What happened?”

Lan Xichen turned back at once, suddenly cold all over in terror. Had Nie Huaisang been injured? Some ambush, some attack, or worst of all a garrote made of guqin string the way he’d so foolishly taught A-Yao – but no, when he examined him with his eyes, Nie Huaisang looked hale as always, but for the redness and swelling around his eyes.

He looked for all the world as if he’d been –

Crying?

And yet Lan Xichen knew that Nie Huaisang hadn’t wept in years. One could probably accurately say that Nie Huaisang hadn’t had any expression in years, nothing that wasn’t a sneer or a grimace, maybe at best a smirk. What could have caused him to do so now…?

Nie Huaisang shook his head and unexpectedly – smiled.

A real true smile, his eyes curving into crescents and wrinkling at the corners, his cheeks glowing pink and his teeth flashing just like when he was younger and more innocent and smiled like that all the time. A smile of the sort that Lan Xichen hadn’t appreciated when he had it, the sort he’d thought was lost forever.

Lan Xichen’s heart stopped in his chest.

He wished he could stop this moment, too, to keep it with him for the rest of time.

“It’s da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, beaming. “He woke up.”

Oh, Lan Xichen thought. Oh.

Oh no.

[kewltie]

thinking of bkdk in their late 40s when all their friends have already settled down with a family, izuku muses a lil forlornly how he would like to have someone to come home and katsuki just stares him dead in the eyes and says, "marry me then. i wont let you be lonely in that empty apartment."

the thing is bkdk are super successful heroes, they're the ranking no.1 and 2 and everyone knows their name but because izuku put so much effort into his career he never give himself the chance to meet someone and fall in love because the next things he know he's already 48 yrs old and still very single. as soon as he got right out of UA he had put himself right to work and hasn't truly stop since so izuku feels like he misses out on his youth, the flutter of first love, and now he feels like it's too late to grasp that chance again because he's too old to be stumbling around at love BUT here is katsuki suddenly telling izuku to marry him as though that would solve everything, solve izuku's worries and fears that he'll never experience love the way his friends had or knows what it feels to come home to a waiting arms that will comfort him after a hard day at work.

izuku first tries to laugh it off because katsuki cant be serious right?? but katsuki doesn't crack a single smile. "Do i look like im the type to joke about this kind shit to you?" he asks, voice steady and true. it is then that izuku realizes katsuki had meant every word he said.

but izuku still cant wrap his head around why would katsuki want to marry him of all things?? it is because they're both bachelor and wretchedly alone standing at the very top of their career where nobody can touch or hope to nobody can understand them like they do to each other?? izuku thinks that's a very dry reason to marry someone for the sake of convenience and not love at all because even though he'd devoted all his time to saving the world and helping ppl and HE'S OLD NOW but he still earnestly yearn to fall in love the ways all his friends had.

"If you needed company, we don't have to marry each other. I'm here for you always, you know that," izuku offers instead. "We're partners."

katsuki is silent briefly, then, he says, "You think i want to marry because you're convenience?"

Izuku blinks. "is that not it?"

"No," he says, all grave and serious, and for a moment izuku is breathless with realization.

"Oh," izuku replies, looking down at the table like it has all the answer in the world. "how long?"

"Since our third year at UA."

izuku jerks his head up, eyes wide with shock.

"what—I, wait, you can't mean that right?" he shakes his head as he flounders for the right words. they're both almost hitting their 50s now, so if it started in their third year then it would be 30 years of katsuki waiting for him, of pining over izuku and all that time was lost because of it.

katsuki press his lips into a thin line. "I have never lie to you."

"I—I'm not—" izuku flushes, because this wasn't anything he had plan for. who would anyway? no one would ever believe that katsuki has been in love with him for almost 30 years and izuku only found out about it now. even though katsuki has revealed the secret he has been hiding for 3 decades, izuku has no answer for him. he didn't notice katsuki's feelings for this long not because he chose to willfully ignore it but because he has never thought of katsuki in that light and that is the sad truth of it all. katsuki must have realizes that too because he doesn't press for more from izuku.

"i'm sorry," izuku says, mind racing to come up with a proper reply to katsuki's feelings because he deserves that much. "it's not you—"

Katsuki scowls. "shut the fuck up, don't even start that with me."

izuku quickly shuts his mouth, floundering for another reply that with save both of their feelings.

"Six months," katsuki says instead, eyes firm and never once dull since izuku has known him. "give me six months to convince you and if it doesn't work out we can get divorce then."

"you still want to marry me?!" izuku asks in disbelief. "shouldn't we like date first at least? isn't that how normal relationship work?!"

katsuki roll his eyes. "we co-own an agency, you have your toothbrush at my house, and we spent 18hrs out of 24 together almost everyday. our friends joke about us being a married to each other as much as to our work, we're each other's first emergency contact if something were to happen," he continues, straightforward like he's listing their grocery for today, "and i cant ever imagine wanting anyone more than i ever want you."

throughout this strange turn in their conversation, izuku realizes not once has he ever heard katsuki said he loves him but the way katsuki had revealed his unwavering devotion that lasts 3 decades and the dry, bluntness in which he spoken of wanting izuku, it's heavy. this hefty thing that katsuki has carried with him for nearly 3 decades, and in those years what izuku thought katsuki was just disinterest in any romantic connection because not once had izuku seen him look at another person, but it's because he has eyes only for izuku and nobody else.

izuku should have known never to expect anything less then 120% with katsuki because if there's anything that means something to katsuki, he would give it all and then some. it's humbling really, to be loved so fiercely and with such devotion that 3 decades is worth every second of it but izuku doesn't know if he's worth it especially when he's hesitant about his own murky feelings. he loves katsuki undoubtedly. they're partners in more way then one, but he doesn't know if he can love katsuki the way he deserves to be love in return, to return that same level of intensity.

"and what if the six months went by and there's nothing show for it?" izuku mumbles, hands clasp together under the table. i dont want to ruin this friendship of ours, he doesn't say. "what if you get bored with me and realized this isn't something you want now. what happen then?"

"you're stuck with me for life even if we get a divorce. i won't let you ever get rid of me either way," katsuki says, lips twitching with the slightest hint of amusement. "and if you're worry about me getting bored of you, don't. i fucking wont." It’s firm, assured, and completely sincere.

izuku thinks anybody with a half a brain at all would see this admirable man right in front of them with his unwavering affection and devotion that he had nurtured for 3 decades would be half way in love already, but izuku neither race or skip a beat; it remains dull and unmoved. maybe he's really too old to love like this. maybe, it's not that he's too busy to ever search for it like everyone else but because he has all the love for everyone but none ever hold a special place in his heart. for all of katsuki's sharp edges, his feelings burn ever so brightly while izuku has since been numb to his own emotions. to give too much to the world, to his job that he has never let himself fall freely and unconditionally. it's terrifying.

"what if i hurt you instead?" he says, quiet and severe. "what if in the end i couldn't return what you've given me?"

katsuki doesn't answer right away. the air around them tenses, threatening to suffocate them in the waiting silence. then a hand grab his and draws it toward katsuki's chest. "don't fucking underestimate me, idiot. i can and will make you fall in love with me in 6 months. 6 months is more than enough to make you realize what a fucking dumbass you have been the entire time for not taking notice of me while i have been looking at you for almost half of our life," he says with the cocky assurance that propelled him to the no. 2 position and beyond.

for the first time since this exchange had started and taken a strange, strange turn that left him his world shaken to its core, izuku's heart feels lighten. He stifles a giggle. "i still think we should date at least. marriage is maybe jumping the gun a little too soon."

"No." Katsuki's eyes narrow, and he squeezes izuku's hand firmly. "i'm not giving you any chance to escape from this. we can do all the dumb dating things you could ever want but we're getting marry first."

izuku tries to draw his hand back but katsuki remains undeterred. "Kacchan, please," he says. half begging for his hand back and half pleading against his insane idea. who in their right mind would ever marry first then date each other?! That's just not how it work! yet, katsuki is an unmovable fortress against increasing izuku's distress.

"deku," he says, thumb running across izuku's knuckles in a soothing circle, "give me this chance. let me prove it to you that i can do it. take this leap of faith with me and i won't disappoint you. trust me with your heart like you trust me with your life and i promise i will keep it safe."

izuku draws out a long, lingering breath that leaves his head heady with a dawning realization. "o-okay," he finally acquiesces, shaken with the knowledge that his heart suddenly doesn't feel safe at all for the first time in a long time in the hands of the man in front of him. bakugou katsuki is dangerous, but to the tender beat of his heart.

Katsuki's lips stretch upward into a small, precious smile that rarely see the light of day, leaving izuku breathless just for a moment. "we'll go get the marriage license tomorrow."

"tomorrow?!" izuku shrieks.

maybe he has been wrong all along, maybe you're never too old fall in love and experience it for the first time and that sometimes the things that matter the most to you are always worth the wait even if take 3 decades and katsuki always been more patient then people give him credits for.