#and i like knowing when i read a thing and my rating of it
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
felicitas and her general
summary: general acacius has caught your attention after being the first mortal to worship you in decades. you only face one challenge: don't get too attached.
warnings: rated g, contains spoilers for gladiator ii, follows the timeline of the movie somewhat, reader is the goddess felicitas (who is the goddess of good luck,) this fic is basically just an add on to the movie.
tags: goddess!reader x general acacius, emotional infidelity, lots of roman mythology stuff, writer is basing all her knowledge out of what she remembers from PJO and HoO, worship, complicated feelings, marcus does not cheat on lucilla physically, yearning, pining, grieving, guilt, major character death(s), stalking (kind of), a lot of obsession/dedication, angst, hurt no comfort but also hurt with comfort.
a/n: i watched gladiator ii and then was too emotionally devastated to finish this fic the way i planned. i really hope you all like this!! also, this fic is also dedicated to my dear friend @pascalssbabyy because she is my biggest cheerleader and i love her <33
wc: 7.2k (not beta read)
It was he who woke you.
A quiet sacrifice in the evening that felt like the freshest breath of air you could have, more intense than what you could have atop any mountain, near any spring. The scent of burning meat and smokey vegetables grasped at your lungs, and you almost choked on it. How long had it been since someone had offered you something so kind? Real food, not just scraps of something they didnât wish for.Â
Youâd never complain about how difficult it is to be a minor Goddess, you know that you could be a mortal, but most donât think of how Gods can fade. Itâs a physical process, one where youâd notice how your fingertips passed through things like chalices and bowls, how a spoon slid through your hand once. The clatter of gold on the table was embarrassing, even though you were alone. Nothing about being forgotten, or fading, physically hurt. It was only mentally taxing, knowing that you werenât as important as you once were, that mortals found you insignificant.
Generals used to come and offer things frequently sometime ago, but you couldnât even begin to understand how long ago that was. When youâre immortal, or supposed to be, mortal lives seem fleeting. You had taken them for granted, and regret it now, for all you have now are the empty clouds above your temple.Â
The last offering you can gather was from a young boy, who wanted to win a board game against his sister the next day. He had given you half a bun with strips of meat. Sure, it was thoughtful, but this was something rich.Â
You finish inhaling the offering, and then hear the offerer's voice. But itâs muffled, and you want to see who it is anyways, so you swipe through the clouds and create a window to see. Then you can hear him clearly.
Someone who is clearly a general kneels at your altar, which is chipped and dirty. The ashes of the food are in front of him, smoking still, and you can taste the wealth in his meal. It canât distract you from him though, he is striking.
Broad shoulders support a heavy, curly, grey, head of hair, which is bowed in honor of you. His body is widely built, sturdy for battle, and his voice is just as powerful. Youâre so focused on hearing his voice you only catch the tail end of his request.
â... Allow me to come home safely, if not for Rome, then for my wife.â
Your heart squeezes, and you swear you can feel the ichor gushing through your veins. Scarcely when a General came to give you an offering all those years ago would he mention a wife, only ever wishing for luck in the upcoming battle or war. But here, now, youâve been given a respectful request and offering. It isnât a thought in your mind to not favor him now, your eyes closing and your mouth murmuring a blessing to him. It feels intoxicating to use some of your power again, especially on someone who asked for it. It also feels intoxicating to watch this General leave.
He looks around before he goes, seeming to note how degraded your small temple has become. The statue of you that lies ahead of your altar is yellowing, and ironically, multiple fingers have broken off. The General seems displeased by this, sighing as he exits the temple.
His gait is heavy, sandaled steps weighted as he walks down them and into the torch-lit night. You find yourself looking for him even after heâs disappeared from your sight, the warmth of gratefulness hugging around you. Part of you knows better than to play around with the thought, but still you wish to know more about him.
â
It worsens when he comes back. A few times a week he returns, offering rich foods. Itâs been a month now, and you are coming back to life.
Fading didnât feel like anything, but coming back feels like so much more. The first few offerings had your body feeling alight again, like the ichor in you was flowing again, but within the last two weeks youâve gotten your fingertips back. They were tingling for a day and then the next you were able to properly grasp things again, nothing was slipping through you.
In that time you had also learned his name. A guard had come looking for him one night, and stood behind him whilst he prayed. You had found yourself smiling when he didnât interrupt himself, instead acting aggravated once he had finished. The guard had apologized for interrupting and let him know that âYour wife wishes to speak to you, General Acacius.â
Acacius.Â
You still donât know his first name, but it is enough. You can think of it when you feel lonely, when you are bored. Something to associate with the offerings, with the blessings. The fact he has been so consistent hints at a desperation, which would usually repel you from blessing him, but he is the only one who seems to recognize you. His efforts are not going to go unseen by you, not when you have so little to do.
You can feel yourself conceding to your need to know him more, but just as you begin to fight yourself again, he shows up.
Tonight heâs dressed a little nicer. Usually he arrives in a plain tunic but this one has golden trim on it, and his hair is a little more tousled. He stumbles into your altar holding something in a cloth, but heâs walking like heâs⌠drunk?Â
Acacius meanders to your altar, grabbing a torch along the way, and then empties the contents of the cloth. It produces a small dessert bun, a Libum, or honey cheesecake, and your mouth waters. So much of the food that is given to you is savory meats, masculine foods that are heavy on the senses, but this is sweet and delicate. You can, of course, eat whatever youâd like. Youâre a Goddess, and though you arenât major, you are still very fortunate.
But this feels thoughtful.
The General drops to his knees after lighting the bun ablaze, swaying slightly, and now you know he must be drunk.
âGoddess Felicitas,â he begins as normal, âI am sorry I am later than usual. Though I donât know if Goddesses sleep. I was⌠caught up in other affairs, but I made it in time.â
He is less eloquent than usual and seems particularly focused on how it is nearly past midnight.
âI brought you this though,â he gestures to the half burnt bun. âI wanted to bring you something different than meat and⌠things. I thought a dessert would be fitting for that task.â
Acacius pauses now. His thoughts are probably muddled from whatever he drank, and you find yourself smiling. Foolery has never been so endearing to you.
âYou have been listening to me, I suppose. My requests for luck in battle have been answered, as well as my safety being ensured. Your blessings have brought my wife peace of mind, something I could not previously afford to her.â
He looks so small in your temple tonight. Normally he is not so vulnerable, but his shoulders sag as he mentions his wife. Some sort of shame runs over him at the idea that he could not ease his wifeâs worries, but it makes you feel better that you could help.Â
âGoddess Felicitas, I come here tonight bearing no requests, just gratitude. Your blessings have soothed wounds I could not see, and I feel like a young soldier again. You invigor me.âÂ
Then, he leaves.Â
You watch helplessly as he stumbles back down the steps and away from your temple, and more than ever you wish to chase him. The love he has for his wife is clear, and you hold no jealousy of that, but you wish it were you. Something in you is deeply attached to this General now. He has awoken you so much more than rekindling your power as a goddess, more than releasing you from the grief that comes with fading. Yes, Acacius has made your heart beat again, your mind curious again, and you feel seen. Being worshipped is not the same as being loved, if that were true youâd have had many children by now,Â
But after so long being forgotten, this feels like what you remember being loved as.
â
You try not to interact with the other Gods for the most part. They tend to meddle in things they donât need to, and are sensitive. You are not exempt from this stereotype, but thatâs only more reason for the distance.Â
But today, you venture to meet another deity.
Morpheus is not hard to find. He is pretty stationery where he is, usually lounging on a rock or bench near his temple, or above it in the clouds. He is a bitâŚdramatic, from what you remember, but wise.Â
Today he is stretched out on a cloud above his temple, eyes shut. His pale skin stretches taut on his bones as his lean frame breathes deeply. But, he is not asleep.Â
âMorpheus,â you speak.Â
His body rolls toward your direction, eyes still shut, but a small smile on his face.
âO young goddess Felicitas, what brings you to me?â He questions.
Itâs hard not to feel embarrassed. Youâve spoken to Morpheus on very rare occasions, but heâs always been somewhat helpful, though nosy. Dreams tell a lot about people, and when heâs the one giving them to people, itâs hard to hide anything at all.
You donât want him to know of your true affection for General Acacius, just that he is⌠worthy of a visit.Â
And so you begin to describe it to Morpheus, your need to visit Acacius. He doesnât open his eyes at all, but he raises his eyebrows a lot and seems bemused at your situation. Youâre only halfway through your rambling before he raises a gangly limb and waves at your words.
âFelicitas, you think you are the only Goddess wishing to visit her admirer? You need no explanation,â he says jovially.Â
Morpheus reaches into the air and pulls 6 black berries into existence, then drops them into your open palm.
âWhen you know he is asleep, bite down on one of these and think of him,â he describes to you.
The berries smell like nothing, but a powdery residue is left on your skin as you roll them in your palm. It doesnât repel you at all.
Tonight, you will visit him and express the same gratitude he did to you.Â
â
Marcus lays next to his wife, Lucilla, with her hand in his. She fell asleep sometime ago, leaving him to lie awake by himself.
He didnât make it to her temple tonight and the guilt is festering in his body. Marcus knows that she is a Goddess, that he probably isnât a thought in her mind. He knows that he is just another whiney mortal, giving her food that isnât nearly as good as whatever Gods eat. His insignificance grows as he feeds into his guilt.Â
Stress has permeated his life for much of it, from his time as a young soldier up until now, as a General. Battles, politics, and his family, have created a breeding ground for him to be wracked with anxieties, but he stays strong. Thanks to his time in Felicitas temple, itâs been better.
Which is why failing to make it to her temple tonight is making him feel so bad.
He grabs at the linen sheets of his bed, stressing and trying to reassure himself until he falls asleep finally.
â
Being in a dream is weird. It feels much the same as it does when you disguise yourself as a mortal, the out of body experience is semi-familiar, but itâs weird because someone else is there.
Youâve been watching the General enjoy the lake in front of him for a few minutes now. He hasnât slipped into it, but just walks along the waterline. It seems like he is looking for something. Surely his dreams usually contain more action, or perhaps are memories, so you assume it may be strangely understimulating for him.
The appearance youâve chosen is one of modesty, but elegance. A seafoam green peplos hangs off your frame delicately, with golden clasps at the wrists and waist. You did your hair so it would be tucked out of your face. There is no guarantee that Acacius will recognize you like this, but you look much like your statue thatâs within your temple.
Swallowing your nerves, you shimmer yourself into visibility. The grassy field is odd beneath your feet, and you walk toward him with uncertainty in each step. Youâve never met with a mortal before, and you havenât stepped on anything earthy in a long while. His broad stature only becomes more daunting as you get closer, especially since he seems so focused.
You will have to speak first. Youâre much too quiet in this environment, and you must act fast lest he wake before you get his attention.
âGeneral Acacius,â you speak firmly, though your hands shake.Â
This is so unfamiliar to you. Youâve barely even seen his face, as heâs usually bowed at your altar. It is the first time youâll see him at an equal level, the first time youâll have brought yourself to him rather than him to you.Â
He turns quickly, an instinctual aggressiveness toward the unknown. You stand about 10 feet from him, eyes widening.
Acacius is striking. His nose is what you focus on first, strong in shape and line, but behind it are his eyes which look to you with wide acknowledgement. His hair curls around his head in greying ringlets, like a permanent laurel crowning him. The wide expanse of his back was once impressive, but now you can see the solid wall which he becomes when facing you. Nothing could push him over it seems, a man built to stand.
Your heart squeezes the way it did the first time he gave you a request, a tender rush tingling your whole body. No words come out of either of your mouths, and the General drops to one knee instantly.Â
He recognizes you.
âGoddess Felicitas,â he rushes out in a breath. His chest is heaving as he bows his head and no, no this isnât how you want this.
Your feet are moving before you can focus on your anxiety, bringing you so close to him that you can kneel too. Maybe a goddess should not kneel before a mortal general, but you are just on your knees rather than putting yourself below him. Your peplos billows a little as air rushes through it when you hit the grass.
He is above you like this, and you tilt your head to see his face again. His strong brow is furrowed, eyes squeezed shut like he is afraid of you.Â
âAcacius,â you say softly, âI am not here for⌠for ill reason. Please relax yourself.â
You lean back as he relaxes, head tipping upwards as he kneels in front of you as well. Now you can meet his eyes, see the crinkles that are beside them, and really take him in.
An energy of anxiety is shared wordlessly, with him stiff from the sight of a literal goddess, and you with the fear of⌠something.Â
The identity of your anxieties isnât something that you can figure out. Maybe itâs too much to see such a handsome mortal, or maybe itâs that youâre going to thank him for his offerings so personally. Maybe itâs humiliation from this act. What would other Gods think of this? Is it not degrading to become so attached to a mortal? Are you no better than Zeus or Hermes, the gods who interact too intimately with mortals?Â
The sound of his labored breathing alerts you, calls your attention back to the present moment.Â
âI wanted to thank you,â you admit meekly, âfor your offerings. You have been very generous and⌠devoted.â
His eyes are shifty, and you can see the terror in him still. You donât want him to fear you, but you can understand why. Visits from Gods or other deities can mean trouble, but you arenât significant like that.
âGeneral Acacius you are the first mortal who has acknowledged me in a long time,â you offer a vulnerability, perhaps trying to soothe him.
It feels so backwards for you to be kneeling in front of him, speaking. He has done so in front of your altar for many weeks now, but now the spots are switched, yet you are still in power. You avert your gaze as you speak up, wanting to request something of him.
âYouâve been so generous to me, General, I was hoping to know more about you.â
And now, rather than scared, he seems suspicious.Â
âTo know me?â He clarifies.Â
You nod.
âI only know your last name. I think I could offer more luck and splendor if we were more⌠personal.âÂ
Gods that felt awful to say. Youâre no better than the whorish brutes on their thrones, offering petty glories for intimacy. Everything feels flirtatious but thatâs not what youâre looking for. Acacius has a wife he clearly loves, you would never want to interrupt that.Â
He seems to hesitate, but he knows he cannot refuse you. So far your blessings have brought ease to his life, he wouldnât want to lose that.
âThen⌠yes, I suppose I can offer myself if it would please you.â He responds stoically.Â
And it does please you, to know his name. Marcus Acacius, the one who woke you, the one who has saved you from being a fragmented memory within the temples.Â
Marcus Acacius, who you are too fond of.
â
You visit him 3 more times. In an attempt to space out the usage of the berries Morpheus gave you, you only visit him once a week. The bleak tasting berries are sour on your tongue, a rotten sour which lingers once you wake up, but itâs worth it.
The two of you have grown closer, with Marcus opening up more. He tells you about the stresses in his life, how much anxiety is buried in him. But, heâs confident for the sake of his wife. Youâve learned that her name is Lucilla, and much more about her. Marcus talks about her a lot, in passing or retelling something she told him. In the small amount of time youâve gotten to know him, youâve gotten to know her as well.
It burns you with a strange warmth, a desire and envy which makes your stomach growl. You are hungry for him to admire you in the same way, to speak of you, but doesnât he already? Shame grips your throat when you think of it. You are a Goddess who he sacrifices to, who he wishes to have blessings from. What more do you need? A mortal couldn't offer you what another deity could.Â
After the fourth meeting, you found yourself lonely. Lazing back in the clouds above your temple, you woke with a deep hunger. Marcus is beautiful, an admirable man, and he loves passionately. You are already being such a glutton for even speaking with him, meeting with him repeatedly, so why must you yearn for him too?Â
Worship isnât enough, you want what you will never let yourself to have.
Nothing hints that he might feel similarly. His starry gaze which lands on you is not due to your beauty, your personality, or anything more. You have blessed him, and that is why his eyes glitter. Goddess status has never made you feel so low and isolated. Still, you are happy to help him achieve what he wishes, even as it cripples your heart.
Tonight you plan on visiting him. That fourth visit was a week and a half ago, he may be wondering where you are. He still comes to your altar each night, but the prayers are less personal. Marcus saves his stories and ramblings for when the two of you are in the field, or near the lake, when the two of you are really alone.
â
You bite into the berry at around midnight. Its tangy yet death-tasting juice floods your mouth, clinging to the crevices between your teeth and staining your gums. Closing your eyes, you think of Marcus, and his curls, and his eyes, and his nose, and his strong hands.
And then you are there, and he is waiting.Â
It seems like his subconsciousness has picked to be at the lake today, and heâs sat in the sand at the edge of the water. You walk over to him, but notice how⌠down he appears to be.
âShe is not happy with me,â Marcus confesses before you even sit down.
You stand a few feet back from him, looking at how his curls fall around his bowed head.
âLucilla?â You ask softly.
He nods.
A wicked feeling begins to steep in your heart. She is upset with him, he is in need of you for something more than a blessing.Â
And so you listen.Â
Itâs one of the longer meetings the two of you have had. Marcus doesnât cry, but he seems truly upset. Heâs been called to go off somewhere far again, to fight and kill. Reassurances that you will protect him as best you can only soothe him so much.Â
He doesn't care if he dies, he cares that his beloved is distraught over this.Â
The more the two of you talk, the closer you get. There are marks on the sand from where you originally sat, but now you kneel in front of him, with creased brows and worried eyes. This isnât something you can fix, you arenât familiar with love and its intricacies.Â
His knees were tucked closer to his chest before, but theyâve loosened now and his fists rest atop them, clenching. Frustration sits on his face like a mask, one you wish to take off him.
Touching is not⌠something either of you partake in. Sometimes your shoulders will brush when you sit together, but nothing more has ever been initiated.Â
That is why it doesnât surprise you when he flinches as your hand reaches out to rest on top of his right clenched fist.Â
âMarcus,â you say softly, wanting to offer comfort, but he cuts you off.
âDonât,â he replies swiftly.
At first it hurts, watching as he waves off your hand from his own, but then you look at his face rather than where your hands were joined. The frustrated look on his face is gone, replaced with something worse, something guilty. His eyes arenât glittering at you like usual, nor are they hardened with anger.
Theyâre soft pools of conflict that mirror your own.
It doesnât soothe your burn, satiate your envy. You can see in his eyes that maybe you arenât alone in these feelings of admiration, of want, but maybe this is not what you want.
Maybe you want a different universe, one where he doesnât have to be a mortal and you, a Goddess. So you wouldnât have to worry about him dying, and have this friendship survive off death flavored berries. Maybe you want a universe where he isnât married, where he could be yours and you wouldnât feel like a spectator to his heart.
Maybe you want that, but you wonât get it.
Instead the flames of jealousy die in your chest and are replaced with tumors of guilt. Your whole body feels bloated, embarrassed, and ugly.Â
The pair of you stare at each other, a stupid realization between the both of you as you realize that your secrets have been spilled, even though itâs the same one.
His eyes donât move from yours, so you move from his.
The sandy edge of the lake does not look so bright now, even though there are no clouds in Marcusâs dream.Â
âWhen do you leave?â You ask softly.Â
You will not follow him into whatever battle heâll win. Donât embarrass yourself, Goddess.
He tells you two weeks. You say youâll see him before then.
Then you wake on a cloud again, with a cavity of guilt in your chest.
â
Marcus wakes alone.Â
Lucilla had not wanted to sleep with him that night, choosing to stay elsewhere. She didnât tell him where, she left in a quiet flurry of tears and anguish.
Itâs easier for him to feel guilt over his Goddess than it is to hurt his beloved, even if it is the same.
In a moment of frustration he grasps at the sheets, turning over and biting at his pillow. The bed is so cold, and the room smells like stale air even though the window is open, the night breezy.Â
He knows she is beautiful because she is a Goddess. All Goddesses are beautiful, ethereal beings that mortals cannot even comprehend at times. Marcus knows he is lucky to even perceive her, for her to have chosen to visit him.
Yet through all her blessings, he feels cursed.
A plague of emotional infidelity is crawling through his body, sticking to his bones and making him stiff. Everything he does has felt flat for so long, from pretending he is grateful to the Emperors, to now pretending nothing is wrong in his marriage. Heâs scared, and exhausted.
Marcus rubs a hand over his face after rolling over and sitting up in bed, groaning into his palm.Â
At first he tried to blame her for it. What would a Goddess want from a successful General other than a demigod hero son? What could truly be so special about him? He assumed she was manipulating him, using some sort of power to morph his heart, but now he knows it is not true.
If she had wanted to, she would have had him by now, and he knows this. If she had wanted to, her hand would have stayed where it was tonight, and pushed him further. It isnât unlike the Gods to force themselves on a mortal, but she didnât.
Instead, his hand feels hot where hers rested, and his mind is spinning.Â
Marcus doesnât fall asleep again, afraid that heâll see her.Â
â
You wait for a full two weeks before you visit him again. He had been coming to your temple less, and you had assumed he was busy with preparations for the coming battle.Â
The stubbornness you felt that night has not left you. At first you did not leave your temple in fear that you would grow attached, now you remain there because you have grown attached.Â
âEnough is enough,â you had thought to yourself.Â
But it is hard not to miss him, and his soothing prayers. The way his offerings tasted of smoke and sweet, and how heâd always burn such a large portion. Marcus never gave you scraps, he seemed to refuse to.Â
However, you can only distance yourself so far.Â
It is quiet when you approach him. He is sitting in the field this time, the lake a distant glitter in your eyes. He does not face you, but his head isnât bowed like before.
âMarcus,â you greet, your voice muted.
He raises his head, turning over his shoulder and nodding, as if to direct you to come closer, and so you do.
Tonightâs visit isnât vulnerable, or even pleasant. Marcus seems so distant as he dryly tells you about how heâs preparing, and his wishes to return safely. His eyes barely meet your own as he talks, and he continuously twists the ring on his finger.
It grows tiring, watching him ramble about politics you could care less about, listening to him say things that have nothing to do with him. Heâs so far from the friend you thought you had made. When the air between you goes quiet, you donât fill it for a while. You listen to the sound of the wind in the grass as his eyes still will not meet yours. Itâs breaking you apart.
This is the last night youâre able to visit him, unless you visit Morpheus again. You will not waste it like this.
âWhat is ailing you, General?â You ask, deciding to prod more than you usually do.
To your surprise, he scoffs in light laughter.
âYou,â he responds quietly.
His words donât hurt, at least not yet. You have the option to walk away now, wake yourself and leave him with his final blessings, but of course you donât.
âMe?â You ask, âwhat have I done?â
Marcus rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head to look into the everblue sky above the both of you.
âYou have made my life difficult, Goddess.â
Difficult? You have made his life difficult?
You have half a mind to tear him to pieces, curse him with something awful like snakes for toes, or spoons for teeth. After all that youâve done for him, all the safety youâve provided, he is telling you that you make things difficult? How dare he? Be outraged, Goddess, for he disrespects the holy luck which you bestowed to him.
Thatâs what you should think, thatâs how most of you should feel.
But instead you feel small, and hurt. Yes, he is disrespecting all that youâve given, but also you feel like a failure. Your physical existence is because of him, because he did not let you fade. All you wanted to do was make his life easier, help him to have an eased mind and a safer life.
But instead, heâs telling you youâre difficult.
It feels like your body is shrinking in the white peplos youâve worn, the sheer fabrics swallowing you. Shame is flooding in the form of tears behind your eyes, wetting your orbs with an unexpected outburst of emotion.
âI am sorry,â you manage weakly.
Marcus does not look at you while you cry, and you want to believe it is because he cares too much to watch, but you cannot verify that.
The wind picks up again, but it does nothing to hide the soft cries you canât hold back. Once you were a fading Goddess, now you are just a failing one.
There is no luck involved with love.
Eventually he speaks again, with his head turned away from you.
âI am sorry too,â he says. Thereâs a finality in his tone that makes you ache.
So much is said in such little words. He is sorry to you, for you, and with you. A sorrow is shared between the two of you, knowing that your hearts ache for one another as they are worlds apart yet on earth together.Â
This last berry was only supposed to mark the end of your visits, not the end of everything. It feels like this is all there is for the two of you, since itâs too complicated to continue on like this.
Thatâs why he doesnât move away when you move closer and rest your head on his shoulder as tears leak down your cheeks, or at least thatâs what youâll believe.Â
â
Time moves weirdly when youâre immortal, but it all happens so quickly.
Marcus stopped coming to offer things for you, and so you were blessing him less. Admittedly you had kept an eye on him, but not a keen one. It didnât feel right, not when you and him werenât⌠friends anymore.
But this feels too soon, too fast, too unfamiliar. Has your sadness caused you to be blind?
You watch as a man kneels in front of Marcus, panting and bloody with a sword beside him on the ground.
The only reason you are here was because you had felt the roar of a crowd all the way at your own temple, a wide distance away. It had drawn you in, and instead you had found this.
That roaring which you had heard crescendos to a new height around you as you shimmer into existence, cloaking yourself to the mortal eyes in the stands of the coliseum, but existing enough to touch him.
Arrows stick out of his front, more crushed beneath his back, as he is slumped on the white, gravel, ground. His hair is curled with tacky blood streaking through it, and he is so, so, still.
You drag your hand across his forehead, feeling the remaining heat, and in the echo of the crowd you begin to sob.Â
Everything around you is moving, changing, fighting, and screaming, but you sit invisible in the center of the coliseum, running your hands over the now dead General Acacius. There is nothing you can do to bring him back, to ease Lucilla, to save him and apologize. He is dead beneath your fingers, with arrows lodged deep in his irreparable, mortal, flesh.Â
You were supposed to keep him safe.
Hot tears run down your cheeks as you keep grasping at his armor, unable to move him or yourself. The last visit felt official, but this feels final. There is nothing more for you here, no friendship in a corpse.
Thoughts are running through your mind at the rate that your breath is puffing from your chest. The question of where he will end up in the afterlife is overwhelming you, and the chance for him to go to Elysium feels reasonable. Itâs where he should be, where he deserves to go, especially after all he had done for Rome. You donât even care why heâs here, or why he seems to have been brutally killed, but after the time you spent with him, Elysium seems right for him.
â
Itâs where he should be. Elysium is where he should be.
And itâs where you find him.
His place there is somewhat similar to his and Lucillaâs home back in the mortal world, with lush greenery and airy drapes that flutter in various colours. It seems like he has left space for Lucilla here too, with space left in the chests for her things, and a permanently made half of the bed.
Elysium offers a true celebration of life for heroes, demigodly or not, and youâre sure Marcus has been enjoying that. Anything that he had been shackled to in his mortal life was gone now, and it seems that all he would have to miss is his wife.Â
Most of your time is spent there, in his afterlife home. You peer from behind curtains when he comes back, hidden in drapes and keeping yourself small.Â
He is already dead, but after the last time you abandoned him, you cannot bear to leave him alone again.
The vision of him, bloodied and murdered on the coliseum floor, flickers into your mind every time you see him lying in his bed. Itâs an obsession to be near him, to be looking after him. Pluto might not even know youâre down here anymore, but what does it matter?
Marcus Acacius was the last living mortal to worship you. In the underworld, you are beginning to fade. Your fingers are slipping from you again, which is making it easier to lurk near him, but it is a painful process.
You want to speak to him. No longer do you yearn for his love, not after being in his home and seeing how dedicated his heart truly is to Lucilla, but you yearn to speak to him again. A panicked emotion runs through you at the thought of fading alone, of being entirely forgotten.Â
It didnât matter before he died, fading was just something bound to happen, but now itâs more. Is he forgetting you?
â
Youâve lost most of your arms by the time you work up the courage to speak up. Lucilla arrived sometime ago, joining Marcus in the afterlife. Watching them together brought some warmth to you, some kind of happiness that you couldnât have for yourself, but seeing it for him was enough.
You sit on the terrace of their home, invisible to their eyes, and somewhat to your own. From the tips of your fingers to just below your elbows, you are a specter. Grey shadow fills where your limbs used to be, and they pass through all objects. You couldnât tap his shoulder if you tried.
Oftentimes you sit, hidden, and ponder by yourself about more than Marcus. There were so many things you were adamant about when he was alive, and you regret it all now. Your determination to avoid your feelings, or at least not show them, and your need to not become attached⌠it bites at you now, a stinging, grieving, venom, that wonât leave. Your status as a Goddess blinded you to how tender that friendship could have been, and now you sit as a ghost spectator to his afterlife, obsessed with a mortal as a fading immortal.Â
The tips of your fingers pass through the glass you try to grab as you think of this on the terrace. Youâre glad that youâre such a minor deity, so at least you do not have to feel so humiliated about fading. A smile has just graced your face as you feel blessed for being so unimportant you can essentially stalk this mortal, when suddenly his voice cuts through the humid air of the space.
âFelicitas?â Marcusâ voice asks.
Itâs so hesitant that you think youâre imagining it. You thought you had their home to yourself right now, thinking they had gone to do⌠whatever souls do in Elysium, but when you turn your face, he is there.
Marcus has not worn fancy clothing in a long while now, and right now is no different. He stands before you in a plain looking tunic, which just graces his knees. To see him at ease has been so nice, but he looks distressed at your sudden appearance.
You cannot find your voice as you awkwardly stand up, trying to think quickly. There is no good way to explain what youâre doing here, hidden away in him and his wifeâs home. You could just vanish into thin air, but that feels wrong. He has seen you already, any attempts at pretending you arenât here would be ridiculous.
His eyes scroll from your face down to your arms, and the smoking shadows that used to be there. Concern pinches onto his face with knitted brows and pressed together lips.
Something in you wants him to turn away, so you donât have to think about why he is worried for you, even after all the trouble you caused, but he doesnât.
His sandaled steps are heavy as he comes to you, reaching for your hands but finding the gesture fruitless as his own slip right through yours.
âDulcissima,â he speaks weakly, shock woven in his words.
You had told him about fading a little while ago, when the two of you were in that field. Now it seems the severity of it has hit him.
What is hitting you is the name. Dulcissima, or sweetest. How long had it been since you had been referred to so fondly? All at once you are being remembered, recognized, and shown some affection. It feels like too much and tears are falling out of your control.
âIâm sorry,â you manage, âI was supposed toâ to keep you safe.â
Marcus is shaking his head already, refusing your apology.
âNo, no. You did keep me safe, you did. I pushed you away, I couldnât control myself and I caused this,â he argues.Â
It does not comfort you that you both blame yourselves. You wish to reach out to him and touch his face like you should have when he was warm and alive. You want to know if he is cold now, and itâs as if he hears you.
Marcus places a hand on your cheek, a softness in his eyes and hold that says that he missed you.
âI saw you,â he claims, âwhen I was on the ground. You were the last thing I saw.â
Somewhere between life and death for mortals, there are moments of godly clarity. Some see the light, others see their families and memories, but in that tiny glimpse of time, some see Gods.Â
He was able to see you as you knelt over him, sobbing as you were cloaked to any mortal's naked eye. You were the last thing he saw, and the last thing he truly regretted.Â
All you can do is stiltedly nod at him, feeling like you were in trouble even though it seems heâs not upset.
For a moment, his eyes flick away, contemplative, but then he meets your gaze again.
âI told Lucilla of you, before I died. Notâ not of my feelings which I struggled with, but that you were a close friend, a blessing in many ways.â
A blessing in many ways.
Another choked sob is wracked from your chest, your bottom lip curling out embarrassingly as your face contorts. He almost coos at you, the thumb on your cheek rubbing away your tears.
âGoddess, I have missed you,â he admits.Â
Stupid nods are all you can offer, your voice imprisoned in your ever tightening throat which cries. When he was alive he was never this tender, too confused and insecure to ever touch you, but it seems he has been regretting things too.
âFelicitas,â he says quietly, âdo you come here for ill reason?â
You shake your head this time, rather than nodding. You have no reason to be here, other than the fact that guilt has taken over your mind and heart since he died.
âThen relax, dulcissima. I have an offering for you.â
Marcus relaxes his stature, eyes still gazing over you. He looks at your fading palms and you watch him swallow nervously.
âI will worship you again, lending you offerings here, and all I ask in return is for our friendship again.â
Itâs the opposite of how you met, almost completely, but itâs everything you need. You will not fade, he will not struggle in marriage, and you will have one another again.Â
Again, you are nodding stupidly, but soon youâre embraced by him and nodding into his chest. His hands grasp at your back as he tells you how much he missed you in his final weeks, how he regrets losing you entirely, how he requires you as a friend.Â
You are satiated in his arms as he comforts you, awakening you again there on the terrace. Unbeknownst to you, Marcus has let tears slip down too as he holds you close.Â
âYou will keep me safe here?â he asks jokingly.
It makes you smile, the idea of offering luck to a man who already died.
âYes, General. I will keep you safe here, from all the horrifying glory and splendor,â you assure.
The two of you laugh, breaking the embrace but staying close. A passionate connection is still between the two of you, but in a different way now. Maybe when he was alive it was romantic because it is all you could think of, but through his death the two of you have come to understand it more.Â
You require one another in a unique way, and leaning on one another does not have to be intimate the way he is with his wife. Marcus does need you, just as you need him, and now that you are both immortal in a way, you will never be separated again.
please leave a comment, like, reblog, askbox, or ANYTHING. i'd love to hear thoughts on this <33
tags (people who seemed excited for this) (sorry if these dont work)
@pascalssbabyy , @moonshapedflan , @gossipgirl-03 , @kyloispunk , @frannyzooey , @coocoolahh , @bug-boy32 , @honeymarvel , @magicalmorg , @1deakybass , @tuquoquebrute , @harryshousewhore , @teeagain, @chewie-bars , @vampyyweek , @queenslandlover-93 , @amijenn , @aquanatalie
#pedro pascal#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#gladiator ii spoilers#gladiator 2 spoilers#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius x you#marcus acacius#general acacius#general acacius x reader#lucilla x marcus#i just realized idk lucillas last name oops#pedroverse#ellie writes
196 notes
¡
View notes
Note
Could you write a (young)Silco/Disabled Reader, who for the most part is able to walk just fine with the help of a brace but on bad days theyâll bring out the cane and on really bad days a wheelchair but is still insistent on trying to do things no matter how much they shouldnât?
I tried to be as sensitive as I could towards reader's disability. I hope it comes across sincere and that I haven't committed any faux pas. If I have, please let me know in the comments and I will happily revise. Like young Silco in this fic, I will quickly apologize and learn if given the opportunity.
A Voice Like Yours
Masterlist | AO3 link
Rating: Mature
Tags: gn!reader x silco; disabled reader; Silco; Felicia; Connol; Vander; Benzo; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort;
Word count: 3.5k
Beta reader: @juniper-sunny
You would've liked to get to the market sooner, but getting out of bed was particularly hard today. Typically, you're able to handle just fine with only your brace. And when that doesn't work, your cane will usually suffice. But with rough sleep last night and a flare-up this morning, you opt for using your chair today to get to the market. Just until you can get your bearings again.
With your later arrival, you're unable to beat the morning rush, sandwiched between what seems like every citizen of the Undercity. Most give you a wide berth, but others shove past you unceremoniously. You're used to it by now, but your fatigue plasters a permanent scowl on your face as you try to find your usual vendors.
As you make your way through your shopping list, the bag sitting on your lap getting slightly heavier with each new stall you visit, you feel a bit better. (You used to keep your bag slung over the back of your chair, but stopped when some asshole stole it.)
You're on the last item on your list when you get settled in front of one wooden stall and make small talk with the shopkeep. He greets you by name and grabs your usual order, setting it down on the counter before turning his back to fix something. You try to reach for your purchase, but it's just a touch too far. You're about to move your chair closer when a stranger waltzes up and plucks the bag off the counter.
âHey! That's mine!â you protest, rolling closer to him.
âI know,â he replies, handing it to you. âI was just getting it for you.â
You snatch it and shove it into your canvas bag, still frowning at the tall, slender man with long raven hair.Â
âI'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own.â You grab your wheels and in one fluid, practiced motion, reposition your chair away from him. You start to leave, but pause, looking over your shoulder. âI don't need your help.â
Out of your periphery, you see him raise both hands in surrender, but from this angle, you can't tell if his expression is sincere or sarcastic. You try to shake it off, ready to go back home and wash your hands of the interaction.Â
The Undercity is supposed to be the city of self-reliance.
So why does everyone still treat you like a child?
The following day fares better. You bring your cane (just in case) for your shift at the shop, settling into your stool at the cash register. You're reading a book during the slower hours when a customer comes in and sets a stack of papers down onto the counter. Your eyebrows furrow at the flyers and you lift your eyes to see a familiar face.
âIf it's alright, I'd like to add these to your bulletin board,â the man from yesterday says, not even looking at you. He leans on the counter, looking out the large windows to the street. âGot a meeting coming up and want to get the word out.â
Finally, he turns to you.
You watch as his face cycles from apathy to confusion to recognition. His eyes dart down to your stool and the surrounding area, seemingly looking for your wheelchair. When he comes up empty, he looks back up to your face, head tilting to the side.
âI didn't need it today,â you preemptively answer. âNot that I owe you an explanation.â
âRight, right, sorry,â he's quick to apologize. âI didn't mean to insinuateââ
âThat I'm faking?â
âNo! Never!â he says, hands coming up in surrender, again. His shoulders sag forward slightly and he runs his fingers through his hair, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. âI'm sorry, can we start again?â
He puts his hand out. You eye it warily.
âHi, I'm Silco.â
Your lips thin, but you take his hand.
âHi, Silco.â You give him your name.
âI would like to put these up on your bulletin board,â he says, nodding to the corkboard behind you.
You put your hand out.
âOnly two,â you instruct. âOne here and the one in the back.â
He starts to hand you the flyers, but then pulls back.
âI can put up the one out back,â he offers.
âIt's fine,â you say, insisting with a gesture of your hand. âI can do it.â
Silco looks at your hand then up to your face, understanding slowly spreading across his features. He nods, mostly to himself, as he hands you the papers.
âOf course.â
You take one flyer and a thumbtack from the corner of the board, stabbing it in place with a bit more force than necessary.
âYou should come,â Silco says from behind you. âWe could use a voice like yours in the Children.â
You turn back to him, eyebrows furrowed.
âJust think about it,â he says softly, gathering the pile of papers. With a small, almost apologetic, smile, he leaves.
You lift the remaining flyer, scanning it.
Children of ZaunÂ
Town Hall
WednesdayÂ
4pm
The Last DropÂ
âHey, Monte?â you call out. âIf it's okay, I think I'm gonna head out a little early.â
Your boss peeks his head out from one of the aisles, his glasses slightly crooked on his nose.
âThat's fine,â he reassures you, calling your name. âWe're pretty slow today; I can take it from here.â
You take your cane from behind the counter, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.
âThanks! I'll see you tomorrow!â
You make your way to The Last Drop, having spent a couple days wrestling internally about whether or not to go. You had heard of the Children of Zaun, but not really given them much thought. From what you'd heard, they were a ragtag group of misfits posing as rebels, claiming to want independence from Piltover. You had rolled your eyes in disbelief at the notion. Besides, you have plenty of your own concerns to worry about; it's not as if you have time to take up some righteous cause.
But Silco's words ring in your ear, propelling you forward.
âWe could use a voice like yours in the Children.â
What did he mean by that? âLike yoursââwhatâs that supposed to mean? So they want some sort of token disabled person on their crew to make them look better or something?
But the sincere remorse on his face and the softness of his tone told you otherwise.Â
Maybe he meant it.
Maybe he does actually want to hear what you might have to say.
So you walk up to The Last Drop, hand clutching your cane, holding it less like a walking stick and more like a blunt force weapon (which it has had to be, on occasion). Taking a deep breath, you pull your shoulders back, and push open the door.
You're by no means early, but there's no way this is the entire gang. You can count on exactly one hand the number of people that showed up. There's Silco, standing with his back to you, what looks to be a couple sharing a table, and then two larger men standing by the bar. You're immediately filled with regret and start to turn back around, until you hear someone call your name.
âYou came!â Silco says, more excitement in his voice than you'd expect. âHey, this is who I told you about.â
Four pairs of eyes turn to you and you feel rooted on the spot.
You shoot Silco a look.
He told them about you? What could he possibly have said?
He gestures you forward, leading you to the couple at the table. You take one of the empty seats and Silco sits in the one next to you. He leans forward, one forearm barred along the wooden surface as he addresses the couple.
âI told you we were missing something,â he starts. âThat thisââ he gestures to the group, forefinger pointed and moving in a circle, âwasn't enough.â
That same forefinger comes down, tapping incessantly on the table.
âIf we're to be the voice of Zaun, we need to make sure that everyone has a spot at the table.â
The woman glances at you before turning back to Silco, nodding slightly as she speaks.
âOkayâŚâ she nods a little more, as if the thought is taking root in her head. âYeah. That makes sense.â She turns toward you. âMy name is Felicia and this is Connol,â she says, leaning her head toward the man next to her.Â
âFelicia. Connol. Nice to meet you.â
You shake hands with both of them.
âWould you like a drink?â
You pull your lips through your teeth and Felicia is quick to reassure you.
âDon't worry; it's on the house.â She straightens up, calling out to the large man behind the bar. âVander! Some beer!â
âGet it yourself!â he calls back.
âFuck you,â she laughs.
âOy,â the other man says, bringing a tray over. âWatch yer language âround the new recruit.â
Felicia laughs.
âTheyâre an adult, Benzo; they can handle it.â
You look back at her and she offers you a smirk. You take the free mug of beer and Silco raises his up in toast.
âTo the Children of Zaun.â
Felicia and Connol mirror the movement.
âThe Children of Zaun!â
You lift your glass and say the words, though you don't take them to heart just yet. But as you bring the mug to your lips, you can't help the small smile from creeping onto your face.
Every Wednesday, you leave the shop to go to the bar. And every Wednesday, you become a little more smitten.
With the cause.
With the man that introduced you to it.
The more you get to know Silco, the more you realize your first impression of him wasn't a good representation of the man he is.Â
Or, perhaps, maybe it was the perfect representation.
A man who only wants to help, eager to uplift those around him. So excited to do so that he steps on a few toes in the process. He's stumbling and clumsy with his help, but he's quick to apologize and quick to learn.Â
It doesn't take long for you to realizeâheâs that way with everyone. It wasn't just you and it wasn't just because you're disabled. He's always on alert for if someone could use a hand, always first to arrive when someone asks for assistance. That's just who he is.
And if this is one of the rebels trying to uplift the Undercity, the Nation of Zaun is in good hands.
Silco is keeping you company at the shop, following you around as you restock some items. He carries a crate of goods while you arrange them on displays, your discerning eye careful to make them look as appealing as possible.
You drop one of the small boxes and Silco is quick to bend down to grab it.
âSilco,â you warn, âWhat'd I say about helping without being asked?â
âSorry, right,â he says, straightening up to let you retrieve it. âForce of habit.â
You grin up at him, chuckling. âI'm just fucking with you.â
With some assistance from him, you get out of your wheelchair and resume your place at the cash register. Silco takes the opportunity to sit in your chair, long fingers fiddling with the wheels. You laugh as he tries to maneuver the chair around the front of the shop.
âHave you learned any tricks on this thing?â he asks, trying to lean back and balance it so that his feet lift off the ground.
âIt's a wheelchair, not a skateboard, you jackass.â
âThat's a ânoâ then,â he says, smirking. But the smirk is wiped clean off his face when the chair tumbles backwards, sending him crashing to the floor.
You let out a bark of a laugh at that, laughing even harder when he starts to groan.
âServes you right!â You grab your cane, gingerly getting off the stool to help him back up. âIf you broke my chair, I swear to Janna⌠Do you know how hard these are to get? I had to pay so much coin for it.âÂ
You point your cane at him threateningly, but he wraps his fingers around it and tugs, pulling you forward. A startled squeak at your throat, you fall on top of him, catching yourself just in time so you don't headbutt him.
âSilcoââ
âNow we're both down here,â he teases, smirking.
âWonderful,â you say with a roll of your eyes. âWhat a masterful plan.â
Something sparks behind Silco's ocean green eyes, something playful, mischievous.
âI'll say it is.â
And with that, he lifts his head, closing the distance between your lips. Your eyebrows lift and your eyes flutter closed, savoring the warmth of his mouth against yours. His hand comes up to tenderly cradle your face and you lean into the kiss, pressing your chest to his so you're flush with him. You don't know how much time has passed, but as you kiss him, you feel as light as a cloud, untilâ
âHey!â
You straighten up, face red with blush.
âI don't pay you to swap spit with the customers,â Monte says, but there's no bite to his words. âGet up before someone trips on you.â
You laugh, pressing your forehead to Silco's.Â
âHere.â You push yourself up, offering him a hand. âLet me help you.â
Itâs been a while since youâve had a friend group like this. Ever since the accident that caused your disability, no one seems to have the patience to deal with your rougher days, as if youâre holding them back.
Itâs hard to not internalize that feeling.
But with Silco and the rest of the Children of Zaun, you feel different. Whereas before, it felt like your mere presence was a burden, you feel seen and appreciated. You feel heard.
When you tell Vander that the bathroom stalls are too tiny for your chair, he knocks the dividers down to make room.
When you lament about the small step outside the front door, Benzo throws together a small wooden ramp.Â
More and more, The Last Drop feels like home, though going to the basement or the upstairs office still eludes you. Itâs not that you canât. Itâs more that youâre worried that youâll have to ask for help to get you back on the ground floor should you get stuck in either place. But, thereâs never really been any reason for you to visit either floor, so youâre content to stay in the main bar area, occasionally ducking into the back room when the crowd gets a little too loud.
Itâs on one such trip to the storage room that Silco finds you, huddled on the floor, your cane propped up next to you. Your knees are pulled up to your chest and your palms pressed flat against your ears, trying in vain to drown out the sounds of the bar. You had made the mistake of visiting during peak hours and didnât have the energy to go all the way back home. You thought you could power through it until the customers dwindled, but it became too much. So, you retreated to the back room, holding back tears.
âWe have one more!â Silco calls over his shoulder as he opens the door, talking to Vander who tends the bar. âAfter this, weâll need to get more.â
He turns over his shoulder to see you on the floor. Immediately, his voice lowers and he crouches down to get eye level, your name a reassuring coo on his throat.
âHey⌠are you okay?â
You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut.
âOkay, just⌠give me a second.â
You hear him pick up a crate of bottles. The door swings open, letting in the raucous noise from outside. You let out a whimper as the door swings closed. After a few tense minutes, the door opens again and you hear footsteps approaching you.
âHey, Iâm back,â Silco coos. Thereâs shuffling as he moves to sit next to you. âWhat do you need?â
Itâs a sentence you practically trained him to ask. With his tendency to charge forward offering the help he thinks you need, you managed to finally get him to learn to ask you first.Â
Itâs a small gesture, but at this moment, itâs everything.
âI needâŚâ Your breath is shaky, your eyes holding back tears. âI need quiet. Andâ And itâs too far to walk home.â
Silco shifts, moving to crouch in front of you, hands on either of your shoulders. He squeezes them and you look up to see a tender expression on his face. Not pity or condescension. Concern. Sincere, genuine concern.
âItâs much quieter upstairs in the office,â he offers. âDo you think you can make it?â
Your lips tighten. Itâs hard to think with so much noise; you can barely hear your own thoughts. It doesnât help that you can feel a flare up coming on, pain shooting through your legs.
âI⌠I donât know.â
You watch Silco chew on the inside of his mouth, thinking.Â
âI could⌠carry you.â
You shoot a look at him, equal parts indignation and humiliation.
âI know, I know. Itâs not ideal.â He looks around the storage room as if heâll find an alternative answer. âBut the sooner we get you out of here, the sooner you can feel better.â
You bite down on your bottom lip, wrestling internally. The sting behind your eyes is threatening to push past your defenses. Finally, wordlessly, you nod.
âOkay,â he says, tone firm.Â
His ocean green eyes dart around your body, trying to figure out how best to pick you up that keeps your dignity intact. But before he can reach a decision, youâre wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him to yourself, holding him in a tight embrace.
âOh! HeyâŚâ He melts into the hug, bringing both arms around your back, squeezing you gently. âItâs okay.â He rubs your back with one hand, palm warm against your shirt. âItâs okay. We all need help sometimes.â
âI did too much today,â you say into the crook of his neck, tears escaping your eyes. âI shouldâve stayed home.â
âShhhhâŚâ he shushes, shifting his arms as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you along.Â
You manage to get to your feet, but your legs feel wobbly and unstable under your weight.
âHere, let meâŚâ Silco bends down and hangs your cane over the crook of his elbow before bringing one arm behind your knees. âOn three. One⌠two⌠three.â
You lift your legs up and he scoops you up in his arms, straightening to a stand. Instinctively, you wrap both your arms around his neck, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.
âI got you,â he coos. âIâve got you.â He takes one final look around the room before pushing the door open with his back. âWeâll go behind the bar; no one will even know.â
You nod, tears flowing in earnest now to stain Silcoâs shirt.
You press one ear to the crook of his neck, trying to dampen the loud voices of the bar patrons. At that, Silco walks a little faster, making his way up the staircase. In his haste, he drops your cane on the landing.
âShit! Sorry, Iâll go back for it,â he says, continuing forward.
After opening the door and carefully depositing you onto the plush red cushions of the couch, he darts out the door, returning with your cane in hand. He sets it on the coffee table in front of you before sitting next to you.
âThere.â He rubs your hip as you lay on your side. âIs that better?â
You nod, reorienting yourself to rest your head on his lap. Silco settles on the couch, bringing one hand to your head, smoothing down your hair in soft reassuring strokes. His other hand grazes your cheek, wiping away your tears.
Itâs finally quiet.
Your legs still ache, but itâs not as bad as it was before. You can feel the rise and fall of Silcoâs chest against your back, his breathing a calming rhythm.
âThank you, Silco,â you whisper.
âOf course,â he whispers back.
After a moment, he shifts, bending down to bring his lips to your temple. You smile at the touch, feeling warmth settle behind your ribs.
âIâm sorryââ
âDonât,â he cuts you off. âIâve never heard you apologize before and I donât want to hear it now.â
The firmness in his voice has you turning your face to look up at him. Thereâs a resoluteness in his expression, a confidence you typically see reserved for Children of Zaun meetings. He looks off into the distance, as if seeing something thatâs not there. A vision. A promise.
âYou have nothing to apologize for,â he continues. His chin dips and his ocean green eyes find yours. His eyebrows lift and his lips curl into a soft smile, full of pride and affection. âYouâre perfect.â
Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @sirenofzaun @blissfulip @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @mrsdelirium @witheringblooddemon
Join my taglist!
#silcoitus#silcoitus writing#arcane silco#silco#silco x you#silco x reader#silco fanfic#x reader#reader x character#reader insert#canon x self insert#canon x reader#arcane#arcane fanfic#arcane x reader
186 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Viktor x Reader Headcanons
Pronouns for reader: Gender neutral, AFAB undertones if you squint
Relationship type: Platonic to Romantic
General Idea: Some silly little headcanons I have for Viktor because he's still my silly little princess. Even after the whole glorious evolution thing.
Content Warnings: S1 Viktor, no S2 spoilers, But there as little bit of s2 viktor's mindset, I'm projecting a little bit (a lot) but it's fine.
~â~
I honestly see Viktor as asexual with light aromantic undertones (kinda like demiromantic, I guess??). He rarely ever developes romantic feelings. Like its a once in a blue moon thing.
Like... he has to know you for YEARS before something in his head is like "Oh... hey they kinda cute?"
However, when he DOES develop feelings that go beyond friendship, Viktor HEAVILY struggles with coming to terms with them. Not in like a "I don't DO feelings" type way, but more in a "Well... no... it could be this" type of way.
Oh, his heart rate speeds up a little bit when you two accidently brush hands? It must just be his nerves.
When he does realize that he has feelings for someone, it's kind of like that scene in Gravity Falls where Dipper is like "It's not like I stay awake at night thinking about Wendy" and it cuts to him laying awake thinking about Wendy XD
If he likes someone romantically, he talks about them a lot. Like as if trying to bring them up as much as he can. Like "Oh (Y/N) mentioned something about that book, said they really liked it" Or "(Y/N) actually said something similar about that topic" If he could yap about you for hours, he probably would.
Even if you're being PAINFULLY obvious about your romantic feelings towards Viktor, he will firmly believe you're just being friendly.
Why he does it is a mix between two things: one is that he's just not awesome with people. And second is that he firmly believes someone like you could never love someone like him back.
One night, Viktor had been constantly working without break, so you practically dragged him to his room by his ear and forced him to get some rest.
Viktor has a strong habit of having his workspace FILLED with old mugs, sometimes days old. He doesn't really mean to, just too wrapped up in Hextech to really notice.
He also struggles with meals too. Just like above, because he literally just gets too wrapped up in his work.
If Viktor actually confesses feelings, it's such an interesting experience. Because he doesn't just flat out say "Hey I have feelings for you". He stumbles over his words and rambles about something random in the middle of it. So you gotta help him out a little bit.
Viktor's love language is quality time. He'll make sure his seat is next to you when it can, he always yaps about what he's uncovered about Hextech.
Speaking of Hextech, if you just sit there and watch him work? He'd about die of happiness on the spot. If you, someone he really loved, took an interest to something he truly loved DOING? Perfect.
He used to get really flustered about physical affection. Like you held his hand one time and he about combusted. He was red in the face for hours. He got better with it overtime, of course. But for the first few months, he was pretty much bright red the whole time.
Dates are rare, neither of you have the time for it. But when you two do have dates of some kind, they're mostly stay at home type things.
You know that thing kids do? Like playing their own separate things together? Parallel play, I think it's called? Yeah you two do that a lot.
Viktor will be reading some papers and you'll be reading a book, your feet in his lap.
Speaking of, Viktor is such a reader omg He doesn't read a lot anymore due to his constant workload, but when he does, he reads a lot of like... old books. The ones with yellowing pages and smell nice? Yeah... those ones!
If you two slept in the same bed, he'd be all like... giggly and nervous the first few times. Just like affection, he'd get used to it. But it's still cute.
When you two are cuddling, run your fingers in his hair. He'll melt right into you regardless of the situation. It's like an instant relax button for him.
Him laying his head on your chest, and you running your fingers through his hair? Something about it just... works. It calms him down a lot and makes him feel at peace.
His favorite place to kiss is the crook of your neck. Especially if you're around his height (he's like... between 5'7 and 5'10. I don't remember exactly).
Or your temples. It's simple, it doesn't attract a lot of attention. And let's be real, it's underrated as hell.
He's not big on PDA, but he'll hold your hand in public. He likes holding onto just one of your fingers, like your pinkie or something like that. It, just like temple kisses, is simple and discreet.
He doesn't often say "I love you". He feels bad about it, but you don't mind. He often says I love you without saying it. Things like holding you while you sleep, kissing your forehead as you two read in each other's arms, weaving your fingers with his while he works.
He gets self-conscious a lot. He thinks you could do a lot better than him and that he's not perfect.
Please kiss this poor boy all over and tell him he's perfect as is đđ
~â~
A/N:The Arcane brainrot has gotten to me... This is how I'm coping with the finale. But I've wanted to write Viktor or Sevika stuff for a HOT minute now. I've been in the Arcane fandom for YEARS (a fanfic writer even longer) but this is my first Arcane fic... wild XD
For more fics: my masterlist!
~Squeed
#hyperfixation#fanfic#fanfiction#arcane x y/n#arcane x you#arcane#arcane league of legends#viktor x you#viktor fluff#viktor x reader#viktor arcane#viktor#viktor league of legends#viktor lol#viktor fanfic#headcanons#arcane headcanon#viktor headcanons
148 notes
¡
View notes
Text
maybe it's a little too early (to know if this is gonna work) | Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson, 5.2k, M
@poolverine-week: Day 6 â Sharing Clothes
Summary: Five times Wade steals wears Logan's clothes, and one time Logan wears Wade's suit. Rated for allusions to sex, but nothing explicit. Takes place some time after the movieâs events; assume Logan and Wade are back-up X-Men. Read on Ao3
A/N: Thank you to B @broosepayne for helping out with random details + thank you to @fuckselfloveihatemyself for suggesting "impersonation" for the final scene. Shout out to the Manga Hoes server for listening to me bitch about finishing this fic lol. Un-beta'd and I apologize /o\ Title from You Look Good In My Shirt by Keith Urbanâjust be grateful I didn't give this fic the exact same name lmaooo
â¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đ
[ Wardrobe Status: Nothing / Wearing Wadeâs Clothes ]
The first morning he wakes up in Wadeâs timelineâhis new universeâLogan has on nothing but a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of highlighter pink Hello Kitty boxers. He desperately needs something to wear aside from what are basically undergarments because he came into this world with nothing but his X-Men suit.
Or whatâs left of it anyway.
Which is why, once he finally gets up from the pull-out bed, he sees Wade trying on the jacket that the TVA gave him after they destroyed the Time Ripper. Wade is in front of the only full-size mirror in the apartment, twisting his body every which way to inspect the jacket.
Then, he catches Loganâs reflection in the mirror.
âMorning, peanut!â he greets, turning around to face him with a smile. âIâm trying this on to see how it fits on me.â
âUh, yeah. I see that,â Logan says with brows furrowed. âWhy?â
âI was thinking about grabbing you some clothes but need a reference for your size.â
âBub, that jacket is too big even for me.â
â...okay, yeah,â Wade eventually concedes, âbut itâs the only thing you own that isnât shredded to pieces from the Time Ripper.â
Unfortunately, the moron has a point. As it is, the boxers Wade loaned him are a bit tight on his waist, and the collar of the shirt is snug on his neck, but itâs not like Loganâs in any position to complain.
âI have to swing by Target to grab supplies for Dogpool anyway,â Wade continues before making kissy faces at the dog in question. âWe need to get you some treats, huh, little missy? Yeah! And then weâll get honey badger some clothes that actually fit him!â
And, well, itâs not like Logan is keen on stepping outside of this apartment in the brightest colour heâs ever worn in his over 200-year existence. Itâs also not like he even has the funds to buy himself a hotdog from the street vendor around the corner, much less purchase anything for a new wardrobe. So if Wade wants to go out and buy some clothes for him, Logan isnât going to stop him.
He grunts his assent as he makes his way to the kitchen, muttering a gruff Fine as he starts on a cup of coffee.
Later, when Wade leaves for Target, Logan grabs the now tossed aside TVA jacket.
If he happens to take a sniff of it once Wadeâs out the door (inhaling the scent of cloyingly sweet body wash, hot sauce, and something Logan is fast recognizing as Wade), itâs simply because he wants to know whether it already stinks after yesterdayâs events.
â¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đ
[ Wardrobe Status: One Load of Staples ]
Luckily for Logan, Peter and Dopinder volunteered to help Wade clothes shop when he went to Target. Apparently, Wade wanted to buy all sorts of brightly coloured cutesy shitâlike much of his own clothing, allegedly so the two of them could matchâbut Peter and Dopinder manage to rein him in and grab a few staples. T-shirts, jeans, sweatpants, boxers, socks, and a pair of shoes thatâll fall apart in about a month if Logan has to guess.
Itâs enough for him to survive on until he can buy more clothes, and enough to produce a load of laundry once the day arrives. Luckily, the apartment has a washer-dryer combo in the unit, so he finishes the single, meagre load of clothes he owns in no time. Heâs bringing them to the bedroom to put away when he finds Wade already inside, standing there in nothing but the smallest pair of tighty-whities Loganâs ever seen on a man.
âWhat the fuck,â is all he can say.
âHey, honey badger!â Wade greets, normal as ever, as if heâs not exposing miles of skin and taut muscle that Logan would love toâ
He messily dumps his clothes onto the bed, scowling at Wade.
âWhy the fuck are you naked?â he demands.
âOh, please, Iâm hiding all the goods,â Wade brushes him off. He turns back to the heap of clothes on the hamper, presumably to find something that doesnât smell like wet dog or weeks old nastiness.
Shit. The damn briefs arenât even large enough to completely cover Wadeâs ass, and Logan can see a hint of cheeks peeking through.
âFuckinâ hell.â Logan rolls his eyes, hoping that his frown hides the conflict inside him.
With a smirk that can only spell trouble, Wade faces him again to thumb at the waistband of his underwear. âWould you rather I take them off?â
Logan snarls, averting his gaze to the small mound of clothes he has to put away. He angrily starts folding things, breath coming out in huffs that he hopes convey annoyance.
âJeez, who pissed in your coffee this morning, kitty cat?â Wade complains, letting go of the waistband. âItâs not like Iâm rubbing one out in front of you.â
âShut the fuck up, bub,â Logan spits, throwing down another folded shirt.
The problemâlike most thingsâis because of Wade.
Itâs hard enough to share any amount of space with him, much less sleep in the same bed together every night, and Loganâs only a man. He might be too proud to admit it out loud (especially to a blabber mouth like Wade), but god fucking damnit somehow the fuckerâs gotten under his skin. He makes Logan crave for more than innocently spooning in the early hours of the morning, want more than stolen glances when he thinks Wade isnât looking.
It doesnât help that Wade flirts with him constantly. People used to chastise Logan for how aggressively he pursued Jean back in the day. Now, he knows itâs nothing compared to the constant boner Wade has towards anything that speaks to him.
Logan needs to stop this train of thoughtâthinking about Wadeâs boner is only going encourage his own.
âSo, why are you naked?â he asks, probably angrier than acceptable for a conversation like this but, fuck, does Wade bring out the asshole in him.
âTechnically, Iâm notââ
âFine, almost naked, you annoying prick.â
He looks up to find Wade with narrowed eyes, shooting him a dubious look that can only say, Are you serious?
âObviooouslyyy,â he drawls out, rifling through the hamper again, âI thought I had more clothes left.â
Logan looks at the mountain Wadeâs digging through. âWait, youâre completely out of clean clothes? How the fuck did that happen?â
âI donât know!â Wade throws his hands up in exasperation. âAsk the author!â
âI have no idea what that means,â he admits. âAnyway, why are you only in underwear?â
âWhat? You want me to steal some of Blind Alâs shit?â Wade pauses then, clearly mulling it over. âActually, now that I think about it, her tracksuits would look great on me. Theyâd fit like baby clothes on a high schooler but it could be like a Y2K revival. Juicy Couture Ă la Wade. Iâd smell like mothballs and old lady all day but itâd be worth it, I think!â He ends the rambling with a toothy grin.
Logan doesnât dignify that with a response. He scrubs a hand over his face with a sigh.
âJust... put on some damn clothes, bub.â
âFine.â
Wadeâprobably in an attempt to piss him the fuck off, as usualâstares at him with a piercing gaze, maintaining eye contact with Logan as he grabs a white t-shirt from the folded pile and slides it on.
Logan just glares at him, jaw clenching tight.
The worst part is that heâs not even mad that Wadeâs grabbing shit that he just folded. For some fucking reason, thereâs a small but very loud part of Logan deeply satisfied to see Wade in his clothes again. He hasnât worn anything of Loganâs since trying on the TVA jacket that first day home, but seeing him in one of Loganâs tees is apparently doing something for him.
Wade spins in place, and Logan notices that the hem of the t-shirt barely covers Wadeâs crotch, skims the peak of Wadeâs pert ass. Once he faces Logan again, he pinches the sides of the shirt like heâs holding a skirt, dipping into a small curtsy.
âIs that better, oh, prudent majesty?â he taunts.
Logan finally snaps.
Before heâs even conscious of it, heâs striding over to where Wade is still staring at him, his expression turning confused though still playful.
âWoah, big boy, I didnât think youâd be that pissedââ
Logan grabs his face and cuts him off with a kiss, Wade making a surprised noise against his mouth before finally kissing back. Even though Logan is leading, Wade still gives as good as gets, his tongue darting into the cavern of Loganâs mouth when he gasps for air. Heâs not sure how long they suck face for, but when Logan finally pulls away, a satisfied noise rumbles through his chest at Wadeâs stunned but amused face.
âFinally got you to shut up,â Logan teases, words coming out shallow and thin.
âOh, itâll take a lot more than that, old man,â Wade quips back, and another purr builds in Loganâs chest when he hears the gravel in Wadeâs voice. Wade throws his arms over Loganâs shoulders and crashes their lips together again.
Neither of their laundry gets finished for a long while after that, both of them too caught up in seeking pleasure from each other. Most of Loganâs freshly laundered clothes lie wrinkled on the bed for hours until he remembers to put them away. Wade doesnât even start on his own laundry until Logan tells him that Althea would definitely kick his ass if he wore her stuff.
But he continues wearing Loganâs shirt until his own clothes are finally clean, so Logan canât complain at all.
â¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đ
[ Wardrobe Status: Half Complete + A New Suit ]
Theyâre suiting up for an X-Men mission when Wade snatches the Wolverine cowl before Logan can put it on. Heâs still in the middle of zipping up when he spots Wade grabbing it out of the corner of his eye, and he doesnât even need to turn around to know that the dipshitâs already wearing it.
âGive it back,â he says absentmindedly, buckling in the last straps of his suit.
He turns around and shoots Wade a flat look, correct in his assumption that Wade put it on. Typical Wade, heâs wearing his Deadpool mask underneath the Wolverine cowl.
âHow do I look?â Wade asks, voice lilting with anticipation.
He looks like someone threw up primary colours on his head and decided to call it a mask.
âYou look like someone threw up primary colours on your head and decided to call it a mask.â
Wade gasps, clearly offended. âRude!â
Logan rolls his eyes. âJust hand me my fuckinâ cowl, bub.â
âMmmmm, no.â
He never makes shit easy. Logan can only sigh.
âWade, we gotta leave for the mission brief,â Logan reminds him. Theyâre about to leave on time for once, and that never happens. âGimme my goddamn cowl.â
Wade ignores him, as he often does, sauntering over to Logan with a sway in his hips, and Logan quirks a brow at him. He knows what that walk means, and suddenly heading to the X-Mansion for a mission is becoming the last thing on his mind.
Wade drapes his arms over Loganâs shoulders, and Logan automatically places his hands on Wadeâs hips. Even beneath both masks, Logan can tell that Wade is waggling his non-existent eyebrows at him once theyâre pressed close together. âWanna inspect the wind resistance on these blowjob handles yourself, peanut?â
Logan snorts. âNo, because I donât wanna see my own mask sucking my dick.â
âAww,â Wade whines, and Logan can hear the pout in his voice even if he canât see it, âyouâre no fun!â
ââSides,â Logan murmurs in his ear, low and sultry, as he pulls Wade closer, âI like seeing your face when weâre together, bub.â
He moves a hand from Wadeâs waist to slightly lift his Deadpool mask at the collar. He then ducks his face into the curve where Wadeâs neck meets shoulder, mouthing at the now exposed skin there. He smirks when he feels the catch in Wadeâs throat.
âI thought we had to leave for the mission brief?â Wade mocks, but it comes out breathy and very pleased by the turn of events.
Logan hums mischievously, nipping at Wadeâs neck. âDonât give a shit anymore.â
âCool cool cool,â Wade babbles, body pressing against Loganâs, all hot and eager. âI justâoh, fuck, honey badgerâI was just thinkingââ
âIf yer thinking, then I ainât doinâ this right,â he grumbles, words starting to slur together because thereâs something else heâd much rather be doing with his mouth. The hand he still has on Wadeâs waist travels to his crotch. Wade bucks his hips into Loganâs open palm with a husky groan, already half-hard.
âYouâre doing everything so, so right,â Wade gasps, hips rutting into his grip. âItâs justânghâyou better be the one taking off this suit, because I did not spend five whole minutes and half a thing of baby powder squeezing my ass into it just toâoh, shit!âstrip it off again.â
With a final lick to his pulse point, Logan pulls away just enough to look at Wade. He smirks at the way Wade is panting, puffs of breath hitting his face in needy bursts despite the fabric covering Wadeâs mouth.
âI gotta take off your clothes?â he confirms. Wade nods jerkily. âSânot a problem with me.â
And he drops to his knees, unbuckling Wadeâs utility belt to do just that.
They do eventually get to the X-Mansionâjust 30 minutes late, and they completely miss the briefing. Colossus looks at both of them in disappointment when he relays the abridged version of the mission objectives while they fly to their destination on the X-Jet. Frankly, Logan only half listens to the giant, completely unapologetic in his lack of focus. Being distracted is well worth it as he mulls over the events of the past hour.
Because Logan discovers that, while he might not get off on seeing his own cowl blowing him, he doesnât mind when heâs on his knees looking up to see it thrown back in pleasure.
At least as long as Wadeâs the one wearing it.
â¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đ
[ Wardrobe Status: Signature Items Acquired ]
The next time they leave together, itâs to meet Vanessa and Dermot for bowling. Loganâs ready before Wade is, waiting in the living room because apparently how long it takes Wade to decide on an outfit completely depends on how heâs feeling.
Thankfully, today isnât too awful. Heâd only worn the Deadpool mask in the morning because he, quote, âfelt like skewered chicken intestines,â and nearly cancelled on bowling altogether. But after an orgasm from Logan and cuddling from Mary Puppins, his mood had turned around.
All of which means that Wade is now in a mad dash pulling an outfit together. Logan knows better than to try and help him or force him to hurry up, so heâs left on the couch quietly grumbling to Mary about how he thinks Wade looks good in basically everything he wears.
Heâs proven absolutely right when Wade finally steps out of the bedroom. Logan barely registers the full outfit because heâs completely focused on one item.
âHow do I look?â Wade asks with a sly grin, walking over to the mirror to inspect himself. He twirls in front of his reflection while smoothing down the leather of the jacket heâs wearing.
Loganâs jacket.
Heâs unable to put words together with the way his brain is currently short-circuiting. He grunts in response anyway, knowing that Wade will keep talking even if he doesnât reply verbally.
Heâs proven right yet again because Wade continues without missing a beat. âYou think I should switch styles? Give yours back and get my own? Jackets arenât really my thing though... Oh! What if I got a cape instead? Itâd help for âno capesâ AUs to actually shed a cape, huh? Has there ever been a DP with a cape? I donât remember seeing one when we fought the Corps.â
He hums a contemplative sound as Logan stands up from the couch, making his way over to Wade.
âMaybe I need to test trial this,â he continues to ramble, âmaybe I can borrow Cableâs shawl-cape thing!â
Even Logan is surprised when he immediately interrupts Wadeâs babbling with a stern: âNo.â
Wadeâs eyes snap to his, confused by the sudden harshness and increased volume in his tone. He makes a questioning noise and shoots Logan a displeased look.
Remembering that Wade will only ramp up how annoying he is if Logan bosses him around, he shakes his head and tries again. âI mean, justâyou can, uh, keep mine.â
He clears his throat, eyes darting away to take in how the jacket fits on Wade. Itâs a little loose on him, a little too broad because Loganâs chest is a bit wider than his, but it sits well on his frame nonetheless. After awkwardly patting Wade on the shoulder, Loganâs hand slides to Wadeâs bicep, then down to cuff where Logan thumbs at the leather there. His fingers bump Wadeâs hand and he feels electrified by the touch.
When their eyes meet again, Loganâs relieved to find Wadeâs face as red as his own cheeks feel. Heâs not entirely sure who leans in first but their lips meet halfway. The kiss isnât demanding or dirty, neither of them trying to turn it into something that would lead to sex for once. Itâs different from when they usually make out, just soft and lingering, and Wade gasps when Loganâs tongue gently licks at the seam of his lips.
At some point, they wrap their arms around each other, because when they finally part for air Wadeâs cupping Loganâs jaw and his hands are on the small of Wadeâs back.
He eventually grumbles out, âKeep it, it suits you.â
âOh.â
It takes a moment for Wade to shake the dazed look off his face, but he recovers by flashing Logan a knowing grin. Logan rolls his eyes fondly.
Of course, the little shit did it on purpose. He shouldâve known the moment Wade stepped out with that giant smile.
Afterwards, when they finally meet with Vanessa and Dermot at the bowling alley, Vanessaâs smirk and raised eyebrow are well worth it because Wade keeps the jacket on.
â¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đ
[ Wardrobe Status: Full Closet ]
Loganâs been gone for almost a month because of an extended X-Men mission. Between stakeouts, recon, strategizing, and actually nabbing the bad guy, itâs the longest heâs been away since Wade and Altheaâs apartment became his home.
He walks in and unceremoniously dumps his duffle bag and the rest of shit by his shoes, throwing his keys on the sidetable by the door. Despite it being well into the afternoon, the apartment is surprisingly quiet. He figures Althea is out for âbingoâ (likely a coke exchange) but Wade and Mary Puppinsâ lack of noise makes him suspicious.
Until he hears the snoring.
He pads over to the pull-out bed to find Wade and Mary napping together. Wadeâs curled around her, snoring with his face buried in her very sparse amount of fur, and Maryâs tongue sticks out as she huffs out quiet, little snuffles of her own.
But what catches Loganâs attention is Wade wearing one of his flannels.
Itâs one of the thickest he owns, made for colder weather and blistery autumn breezes, a dusty yellow and blue with snap buttons. Itâs large on himâlike everything else Logan owns whenever Wade wears his clothesâbut this particular flannel is loose on Logan, so the fabric almost drowns Wade in a pattern of faded checks.
And like every time the moron steals his crap to wear, Loganâs stomach flips in a way he can no longer ignore.
Heâs not sure if theyâre exclusive or not. They fall into bed together as easily as they fight side-by-side on missions. But itâs impossible for Logan to tell if Wade is serious about half the flirtations streaming out of his mouth when the idiotâs easy affection gets directed at anyone that looks at him twice.
And as much as heâs loathe to admit it, Logan wants so much more than that. He wants Wadeâs lingering looks to mean something other than platonic nothings. He wants the softer kisses they share to be more than a break from sex. He wants Wade to need him the way Logan needs him. Hell, he wants Wade to annoy him in ways that Wade would never bother anyone else, because at least then Logan would know that he means something different to the motherfucker, something more than a roommate he hooks up with.
He wants just Wade, all of him, full stop.
He gingerly sits on the mattress, trying not to jostle the two napping Deadpools too much with his weight, and he reaches over to gently stroke Wadeâs cheek with a thumb. Feeling emboldened when Wade doesnât stir, he leans down to press his lips onto Wadeâs forehead.
âWell, gâmorning to yâtoo, honey badger,â Wade slurs at him, voice thick with sleep.
Logan abruptly jerks away, eyes wide, and the movement is enough to jostle Mary Puppins from her slumber. She hops off to nap in her own bed after a grumpy growl, leaving Wade alone on the mattress. He attempts to swallow the sudden lump in his throat before clearing it with a cough.
âSâfour in the afternoon,â Logan mumbles. Pinching his lips into a flat line, he awkwardly sits next to Wade rustling around in the sheets. His eyes catch the flannel falling open to reveal that Wade is also wearing one of his tank tops.
Logan takes a deep, stuttering breath.
Eyes still closed, Wade blindly flaps his hand around until finding purchase on Loganâs shirt. He tugs Logan back down, and Logan curls over to kiss him softly.
âWelcome home, peanut,â Wade breathes onto his lips. âMissed you.â
He touches his nose to Wadeâs. âMissed ya too, bub.â
Wadeâs face splits into a slow, easy grin, pulling Logan into laying down. Logan follows him without a thought, gathering Wade into his arms.
âYouâre wearinâ my clothes again,â he whispers.
Wade hums, nuzzling into his chest. âSâcold, and it smells like you.â
A pleased purr escapes Logan before he has a chance to stop it, and Wade giggles at him, kissing his collarbone before falling right back to sleep.
They donât talk about what they are after that, but itâs at that moment when Logan finally realizes that maybe, somehow, Wade feels the same way about him too.
â¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đâ¤ď¸đ
[ Wardrobe Status: Wearing Wadeâs Clothes (Again) ]
The TVA brings them in because they need help with some lady going after Deadpool variants. It would be a fruitless endeavour since Deadpools canât die (well, except Nicepool) if it werenât for the fact that the fucker apparently stole a weapon that disintegrates things to oblivion.
âShouldnât the law of physics stop that from happening?â Wade asks, gesturing at the screen when B-15 presents the mission to them. ââMatter canât be created or destroyedâ or something like that?â
âThatâs energy, idiot,â Logan corrects him.
Wade just shrugs. âHey, donât blame me for failing physics twice!â
He turns to Wade with a confused grimace. âWho else would I blame then?â
âThe teachers, duh!â
âAnyway,â B-15 interrupts, hitting a button to show another slide, âthis variantâs got a fascination for destroying the indestructible, but sheâs going after Deadpools because she has tritanopia, or blue-yellow colour blindness. She can see shades of red the easiest, hence, sticking with Deadpools as her target.â
âThatâs so stupid,â Wade says and Logan can only agree. âThere are, like, dozens immortal superheroes in red and she chooses liâl ole me? Seems like the writer copping out of coming up with a better plot, I-M-O.â
âWe also believe Mary was double-crossed by the Deadpool in her timeline, giving further motive to go after his variants.â
âHmph! Now isnât that just convenient?â He crosses his arms. âWait, âMaryâ?â
âYes.â B-15 shows another slide, this one a close-up of the womanâMaryâsâface. âSheâs a Typhoid Mary variant. Have either of you encountered her before?â
âNot in my world,â Logan answers.
âI admittedly did not keep up with Netflixâs Daredevil long enough to meet Bloody Mary, no,â Wade says.
B-15 presents them with further details: Typhoid Maryâs known abilities and weaknesses; how she has dissociative identity disorder on top of her colour blindness; how she managed to acquire the worst weapon available from the arms dealers she was supposed to take down; how her alter apparently took over and decided to go after invincible mutants until she finally got even with her worldâs Deadpool. The TVA did try to intervene, but she ended up killing every agent that went after her before stealing one of their TemPads and consequently going on her multiversal manhunt. B-15 makes it absolutely clear how imperative it is that they do not kill Mary or destroy the weapon so the TVA can keep them both under tabs.
Then, she reveals the TVAâs plan to capture her: They want Logan to pose as a Deadpool variant in the timeline they believe sheâs going to strike next. Typhoid Maryâs current M.O. doesnât account for superstrength so he should be able to break out of anything she traps him in. Meanwhile, Wade will be in the shadows, using a tranquillizer gun to incapacitate her once sheâs busy with Logan.
Logan groans internally while Wade claps his hands in delight.
âOoh!â he practically squeals, patting Logan on the shoulder with unrestrained excitement. âFinally, itâs my turn on the other side of this trope!â
B-15 shakes her head and sends them on their way.
The suit the TVA provides him fits perfectly, and he notes Wadeâs heated, lingering gaze on him once he steps out of the dressing room. Luckily, another agent gets them through a portal before Wade starts on a tirade that would no doubt be filled with inappropriate innuendoes about Logan.
The mission is executed almost laughably easy. Typhoid Maryâs telekinetic and telepathic abilities are so low-level Loganâs shocked that the others she went after were able to be taken down so quickly.
(âPlot armour, peanut,â Wade said when Logan had asked B-15 about this. âShe needed to last long enough to meet us!â As usual, Logan had chosen to ignore him.)
Like the TVA discovered, she lures Deadpools by spreading rumours he canât ignore, adding a honeypot stash filled with weapons he loves. Geared up in Wadeâs suit, Logan âfalls�� for her trap: entering an abandoned warehouse meant to shelter an upcoming gang targeting Deadpool, but secretly only houses her. Once Logan finds the crate of weapons meant to entice Wade, Typhoid Mary wastes no time in capturing him. She points a giant ray-gun of sorts at his face after wrapping him in the warehouseâs chains with her telekinesis.
He feels the faintest compulsion to stay still, which is probably her telepathy trying to subdue him. But sheâs nowhere near the level of other telepaths Loganâs encountered, like Jean or Cassandra Nova, and the compulsion is easy to ignore. The chains are slightly harder to deal with in comparison, but heâs certain he can get out of them without too much trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Wade moving into place.
During Loganâs silent assessment of the situation, Typhoid Mary apparently began monologuing. He doesnât let her get a chance to finish though, breaking out of the bonds around his torso with sheer force and grunting at the exertion. He slices the chains around his ankles with his claws, the metal cutting like butter against the adamantium.
âWhat?!â she screams. âA Wolverine-Deadpool variant? How?!â
Logan doesnât even open his mouth for a reply because Wade shoots a tranq dart in her neck. She falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
âWooh! No scope oneshot K/O, baby!â he hollers, skipping over to pick up the weapon Typhoid Mary dropped. âGod, Iâd love to take this home with us,â he bemoans as he assesses it, âI can finally stick it to Cable and show off my own badass, futuristic gun!â
âThat wonât be necessary,â B-15 announces, suddenly next to them. A group of armed TVA agents begin to file in from the portal behind her, a few of them attempting to grab the weapon from Wade while others lift Typhoid Mary away for custody.
The aftermath of the mission would be just as easy if isnât for Wade bitching about giving up the gun. After B-15 debriefs them, she and Logan spend entirely too long demanding that Wade hand it to her.
âIâll give it back if we can keep this suit for pookie here,â Wade eventually offers, pointing at Logan.
âWhat?â Logan asks. The suitâs not bad but he has no reason to wear it again once he takes it off. âWhyâ?â
âDeal,â B-15 immediately agrees.
Wade begrudgingly relinquishes the gun, giving it a flying kiss goodbye before taking Loganâs hand. B-15 opens a portal to their apartment and guides them through. âThanks for the help, gentlemen!â she says, waving a hand at them. They both wave back, and the portal closes.
Logan looks down at the Deadpool suit heâs still wearing. âWhy the hell did you wantâmmph!â
His lips are suddenly bombarded with hot kisses, and he growls when Wade opens his mouth his tongue. He didnât even notice that Wade took off his mask.
âGod, you look so fucking good in my colours,â Wade moans, hands roaming all over Loganâs body. âIs this how you feel whenever I wear your things?â Logan makes a noise of assent, too busy mouthing at Wadeâs jaw to give a proper answer. âFuck, thatâs hot.â
Logan starts moving them towards the bedâChrist, he hopes Althea is gone because thereâs no way heâs stopping what Wadeâs started. His cock is already taking interest, and only gets harder when Logan bumps his hips into Wadeâs. They tumble onto the pull-out in a feverish heat with Logan straddling Wadeâs thighs.
Heâs licking at Wadeâs pulse when the dumbass gasps, âOh my god, Iâm gonna fuck a variant of myself.â
Used to Wadeâs non-stop yammering even during sex, Logan mindlessly replies, ââS still me, bub, I ainât a variant of you.â Foolishly, he adds, âBesides, thatâd be weird.â
âWhat? Why?â
With Wade groping his ass, Logan actually has to pause getting his hands under Wadeâs suit to think about an answer.
He finally lands on: âItâd be like fucking your own clone.â
Wade actually stops everything heâs doingâhands no longer kneading his cheeks, mouth pulling away from him. Logan groans, knowing his brought this on himself, and dips his forehead to rest on Wadeâs shoulder.
âWhat? You wouldnât?â
âNo, because thatâs weird.â
âIâd fuck my clone.â
âCourse you would.â
âT-B-H, Iâm so pro-clone fucking Iâd just have an orgy with all of them. Whoâd be better to fuck me than me, right?â
This, by far, is one ofâif not theâstupidest conversation Loganâs ever had with a person. Somehow, his dick doesnât flag, and heâs still irrevocably fond of Wadeâs random chatter. He kisses Wade before he can start on another tangent, cupping his perfect idiotâs face softly.
âShut the fuck up,â he says, but knowing the smile heâs got on, Wade isnât going to listen to him.
Wadeâs answering smirk is a challenge. âMake me, peanut.â
ââââââââââââââ
(More notes on Ao3.)
#poolverine week 2024#poolverine week#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool & wolverine#dp&w#deadpool#wolverine#poolverine#peanutbub#deadclaws#wolverpool#wade wilson#logan howlett#hunter b-15#judge b-15#jercy attempts words#fanfic#.i swear i wanted to post this on time for day 6 but time is a construct that i do not follow (ie: i messed up my dates lsdfjjlfsdjlkdfs)#.oh well better late than pregnâi mean never LMFAO
50 notes
¡
View notes
Note
Feel free to ignore but I just have to get this out. I know this sounds mean but I´m happy that
a) Tim and Oliver lurk in fandom like no other and are seeing what people say about them and
b) Oliver had months of reprieve from the deranged people that make his following because they were turning all their guns on Lou. In fact he gained popularity because they convinced themselves (with his help, I add) that he is their champion and actually wants Buddie to happen. What does he think will happen now, when in a couple of weeks Buddie still has not happend? There is no Tommy standing in the way anymore and we will go right back to accusations of baiting and of people calling him fat and bald and almost too ugly for Eddie (yes, that happend). And when this happens and he has another whiny outburst on SM I will laugh until I fall over.
They droped the ball with every other LI before because they were to chicken shit to even try putting a stop to the endless harrassment. I think Megan West was the most egregious example of just leaving someone hanging and even encouraging the shit that went on online. They had a chance here, for the first time, to try to get out of this toxic Buddie brew they are in. If nothing else the way the relationship with Tommy was received, the way it garnered press by outlets other than glorified fan blogs like "Fangirlish" and gained them a new audience and the move to ABC all presented an opportunity to combat the toxicity by simply taking the fandom monopoly away from the crazies. But they just did not have the balls and now look at their pathetic attempts to make Brad happen on their IG. Engagement is low and what it there is the usual idiots screaming for Buddie and nothing else.
I hope it was worth it. I don´t see the show getting a 10th season, maybe not even a 9th. The spin off will be cheaper to produce, Peter talked about quitting before and the ratings trend downwards since S6. Not to mention the writing is absolute shit since Tim is back.
Maybe Oliver hopes that Callum Blue is the kind of guy that can get him a job after 911 gets canceled and is worth sucking up to. Last time I checked he couldn´t even get cast on a Hallmark movie so why not try, right? Buddie fans will not follow him either way, I hope he knows that.
Hey, hon. Thanks for the ask. Sorry I haven't posted this or replied before now. I haven't logged into my computer in a few days, have just been doing everything on my phone, and I didn't want to try to reply to this on my phone, that would takes ages.
I've been in the 911 fandom since two months after the last episode of season 1 aired. Oliver and 911 shot themselves in the foot by not shooting this Bvddie bullshit down from the very beginning. They've spent years leading Bvddie fans on, purposely having scenes with Buck and Eddie that cause the lunatics to see things that aren't there, because it gives the show more engagement.
Oliver and 911 know that Bvddie fans will never stop watching the show because they're so sure that at some point, 911 and Oliver will give in and make Bvddie canon because 'it's what they deserve'. At least, that's the bullshit I've read a lot of on Twitter and other places. What Bvddie fans don't understand, is they aren't owed shit.
I learned this the hard way when I was in the 100 fandom. I, and many other Bellarke fans thought that since we were loyal fans of the show, we'd be rewarded by getting Bellarke eventually. But just like Bvddie is never going to happen, Bellarke never happened. The writers and show runners had no interest in going there. They just liked to bait fans. Just like 911 does, with Buck and Eddie.
I personally feel like Oliver was relieved that all the hate was getting thrown at Lou and not himself, and he got a break from those assholes for a few months. But now that Lou and Tommy are gone, they're just going to go back to harassing him because Bvddie isn't canon and never will be, and those dumbasses can't cope.
Oliver knows that if he ever truly tells the Bvddie fans that it's never going to happen, he'll lose a large majority of his fan base. So, he just doesn't say anything. He encourages their twisted thinking and doesn't put them in their place when they're being assholes. Neither does Tim, so it's a monster of their own making. (The Bvddie fandom)
I can't speak on anything to do with the actresses of the other LI's. For many years since I started watching the show, I didn't interact with other fans much. The only time I did, was when I wrote fanfiction when I was a Bvddie shipper for 2 years, but after I found out what a bunch of toxic assholes they were, I ditched that fandom and am so glad I did.
Yeah, I check out the 911 IG page every few days because that's all I can stand. I can't look at it daily. All the Bvddie bullshit on every post claiming 'Bvddie canon, season 8!' It makes me roll my eyes so hard it hurts. Also, the way those idiots talk, like Buck and Tommy weren't in a relationship, like Buck is Eddie's one true love, and the other father of Chris.. God, I can't help but tell them how stupid they are for believing that. Especially since Ryan said in an interview that Chis has only one dad, and Buck sure as fuck ain't it.
The show will be lucky if it gets a season 9. This season is just not good, and I mean that honestly. Putting aside the BuckTommy of it all, it's crap. They focused too much on that Brad character which was a fucking waste of screen time. They traumatized Henren and their kids, had a plot that ended like within 5 minutes with Ortiz, had a decent start for Gerrard being a bad guy and dropped him for BRAD! Who the fuck cares about fucking Brad? No one.
When it comes to the IG posts, the first few days and maybe weeks after the BT breakup, both fans and GA made their feelings about the out of the blue breakup known, but after fighting the stupid Bvddie fans in the comments for a few days, most people backed off. I've gotten messages from people on IG who are BT and GA fans, who said that just like a lot of my comments on the IG page, their comments were removed for supporting BT, and for dishing out some of the bs that the Bvddie's have been doing for years. Which once again shows that the people who man the 911 IG page, are catering to the most toxic assholes in the fandom. Every fucking post on the 911 IG has bullshit about Bvddie going canon, but people who talk about BT, or who even dare to criticize, in a nice way even, who criticize the plots being cut off, making no sense, the characters doing things that are out of character, they get deleted. But yet the lunatic's comments remain on the posts. IF the show gets renewed for season 9, I'm betting it will be the last. This season so far has just been a shitshow. In terms of the writing for the show, and in terms of the Bvddie fans taking being complete assholes, to the highest degree imaginable. I don't give a shit about Brad the character or his actor. I hate the character, he fucking annoys me. I didn't find any of this plot funny, just irritating and I want him gone. The mains were pushed to the background this season for Brad, some dumbass that's not some great character, but some idiot.
Also, Oliver is like a child. He only cares about praise and ass kissers. He says what will cause him to look good. I remember there was one time a few years ago, where he had some contact with a Bvddie fan and when the fan said that he was a dick for leading people on about Bvddie if it's not going to happen, he snapped back and said that he was just an actor doing this job and to stop being so mean to him.
In my opinion, he's a fucking moron who did it to himself. Him and Tim. As I said above, they could've gotten the assholes under control or even gotten rid of them from the start by being honest and just saying their stupid Bvddie is never going to happen. But no, they're too worried about ratings dropping, so they throw in Bvddie scenes every now and then to keep baiting those fans and they eat it all up.
Every time Buck and Eddie share a scene, those idiot's are all, "It's happening! Bvddie canon, y'all!" And then nothing ever happens, and those assholes get mad at being baited once again. It's been 7 1/2 seasons. If Bvddie were ever going to go canon, it would've happened by now.
34 notes
¡
View notes
Text
In the Still of the Night, ch 3
Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.
But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.
Rating:Â E for Explicit 18+ Word Count:Â 8.8k Warnings:Â *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Flirting, still a little awkwardness, blindfold, sensory deprivation, foreplay, oral sex (female receiving). Summary:Â Your day out with Zach gets more intense at every turn. Notes:Â Hopefully you're all enjoying the prolonged date as much as we -- and they -- are! (As always, chapter gifs are for the vibes, not to physically describe the characters.)
Ch 1 ~ Ch 2
It isn't hard for anyone who sees you during the rest of the day to spot the dreamy couple out on a date. The older woman who shows you to your table at the restaurant Zach picked out for dinner gives you a wink in agreement that he's an absolute cutie pie and comes back a few minutes later with two glasses of wine and a candle for your table despite none of the others having one set out.
He had chosen a restaurant that was more local than tourist and had been thrilled when there was no formal dress code. Eager to sit down with you after so much walking and talk about more of anything and everything that has been the topics of the day. âSo how did you start out singing?â He asks curiously.
âMy elementary school had a chorus.â It might be the first time in hours you havenât been holding hands, but youâre still smiling as you sit side by side with your wine watching the sun set. âI stuck with it because I was a kid and it was fun, then the dance lessons got added, and then as I got older I realized that I also liked theater. It became a combination.â
âSo you were a theatre kid.â He nods in understanding. He hadnât been, but he had been friends with some and understood the passion of performing even if he didnât have it.
âThatâs how I ended up in New York.â You tell him, expression twisting into something like regret. âJust another small town kid convinced they could be the next Broadway star. Obviously that didnât happen.â
âBut you tried.â He reminds you, leaning against your shoulder and wishing he could take away the sadness. âSome people never try.â
âI go between thinking that maybe I should have tried harder, and wondering why I ever bothered at all.â With that offer of support there, you lean against his shoulder in turn and shrug gently. âIt is what it is, I guess. ButâŚhow did you start cooking?â
Zach sighs softly, knowing that it would eventually come up. âActually, I just started cooking a few years ago.â He admits.
âYou did?â That surprises you enough to turn your head and look at him more fully. âSo itâs just at natural talent, then?â
âI guess?â He shrugs slightly. âI got a job working in a kitchen. Saved my life.â He tells you. âThrew myself into it and experimented as much as I could and read everything I could get my hands on.â
âSo you stumbled into your calling.â There is something else there, something he doesnât want to tell you, so you donât push. âThatâs wonderful, though. Some people never find what theyâre meant to do in their whole lives.â
âIt helps with my anxiety.â He admits with a self deprecating grin. âSo I decided that it was the best thing for me. One day Iâd like to have a restaurant. One that I can plan every detail, down to free meals for the homeless.â
âI love that.â Without hesitation, the idea is not only a kind one but one you can tell means a great deal to him. âSome places have a system where you can pay for meals for others in advance, too. System like that can be used to pay for extra supplies so no one ever has to be turned away.â
âThat would be amazing.â Heâs had benefited from that kind of system before, but not often. And he knows how uplifting a good, hot meal can be when you are down.
"You can make it happen." Something in your gut tells you that he can and he will, and even though you have no stake in it, you can't help but feel proud of him for that.
âIâm hoping.â He flashes you a grateful grin. Even your confidence in him sounds so sure when heâs always wondered if he can succeed. âThe club on the ship has given me so many ideas.â
"I've been eating your ideas," you remind him with a grin. "And they're fantastic. You're really good, Zach. Any place would be lucky to have you and any team would be lucky to have you lead them."
âWhat about you?â He asks. âThis has to be a stepping stone for you. Iâve already heard from the crew that you might have some head hunters after you.â One of the passengers was apparently connected in the music industry and had been in to the club several nights.
"If I do, that's news to me." Whatever murmurings Zach has heard, you haven't. But you would be lying if you claimed not to be curious. "I don't know, honestly. I think I would rather be a headliner in a little club than wave a rose in a Broadway chorus for the rest of my life. But the chances of either are relatively slim." You take a sip of your wine and offer him a smile, shrugging one shoulder. "In my dreams I'm getting top billing in the biggest musicals and you're running the most popular restaurant in the country. Ultimate New York City power couple."
âThat sounds amazing.â Zach chuckles. âActually, running this style club, I think it would work in New York.â He tells you. âA dinner club.â
"I know it's something that you see in retirement communities in Florida, but I have always loved dinner theater." His laugh is sweet and deep and rolls through you like a wave of joy. "This club is such a great gig for people like us."
âYes it is, but imagineâŚ.â He sighs softly. âCreating a headliner show like you would see in Vegas, right in New York and pairing it with a daily changing menu like we do here.â
"New York would love a show like that." It sounds so doable when he says it. Like a dream you could reach for and pluck out of the sky.
âIt would be sold out.â He agrees, flashing a hopeful smile. âOne day, maybe if I had the right singer to run the show side of things.â
"I guess you're going to have to get to know some singers then, aren't you?" His bright smile is reflected right back at him, teasing as always but it's because part of you can't dare to dream this big for yourself. Only for him.
âI will.â He nods and shrugs. âMaybe hold auditions or something. Singing for your supper?â
"That's what most of us do." You agree, not wanting your smile to flicker at all even if the memories sting. "Sometimes literally."
Zach catches the change, the dimming of the light in your eyes and he knows that heâs touched on a sensitive topic for you. âI get it.â He promises quietly. âI think I gravitated towards cooking because I knew if I was making food for others, I would not have that gnawing ache of hunger ever again.â He licks his lips. âFood insecurity, the therapist called it.â
Your heart sinks, chest tightening, and you nod as you slip your hand back into his. "I wish I was more surprised to find out that more than a few of us have been there. But a job like ours...with guaranteed housing and meals and a way to save money for months at a time? It makes sense that it would attract people who have had it hard."
Of course you would be understanding. His eyes close as he nods, feeling a little choked up by the compassion in your voice and the understanding in your touch. âAbsolutely. And I hate that youâve had a moments bad luck.â He murmurs. âYou deserve so much.â
"So do you." You squeeze his hand gently. "Bad luck doesn't make us bad people."
âNot at all.â His hand slips from yours and his arm wraps around your shoulders protectively. âNow - before we start choking up, what do you want to try?â He wants this date to be nothing but a lovely moment for you and he tries to steer the conversation to more positive thoughts.
Without saying another word about it, you turn your head to kiss his cheek and refocus on the menu in his hands. They have enough tourists in town that the menu from this restaurant has one-sentence item descriptions in English that simply tell non-Greek speakers the main ingredients of each dish. A quick glance around you shows you that everything here seems to be served family style, and you settle in Zach's side again happily.
"How does this sound?" You ask, pointing out the special. Gamopilafo. The menu says, with ArnĂĄki Stamnagathi. "Greek risotto with lamb and vegetables?"
âThat sounds amazing.â Zach groans happily and nods. âDo you want to get that and something else?â He doesnât want you to share with him if you are just trying to make the bill cheaper, he can afford paying for dinner.
"It looks like it's family style? Maybe we can get another side dish to go with it so we can try more?" You shrug slightly, knowing that food was just a topic of some stress for both of you. "Sharing sounds nice. But not if you don't want to."
âIâm not opposed to sharing at all.â He promises, leaning in and nudging his nose to yours. âIâll share anything with you.â
"Promises, promises." It's too tempting to have him close and not indulge in another kiss, but you keep it short and chaste in case Zach isn't too into public displays of affection. The half dozen or so kisses that you have shared today have been relatively private so you want to respect that for him.
Zach smiles, beams really. âWhat else do you want, baby?â The term of endearment slips out, but he doesnât try to take it back or apologize. Feeling like itâs just the natural next step of this amazing day.
While the honest answer is him, that isn't what he's asking so you pull yourself out of the dirty thoughts you've been having on and off all damn day and look back down at the menu. In the top section there is something that lists cheese, fruit, bread, and flavored local olive oil, so you point that out. "Cretan charcuterie plate to start?"
âI think thatâs a good idea.â Zach agrees and smiles at you. âWe can see if we can come up with our own ideas for a board.â
"We'll have enough menu ideas for three new restaurants if we let our imaginations wander." Which is not a bad thing at all, but it does have both of you grinning when the waitress comes over to take your order.
Zach orders for the both of you, checking in with his eyes to make sure that itâs everything you want and hands the menu over with a pleasant smile for the waitress. Enjoying the knowing glances she shoots between the two of you. âI think that she thinks we are newlyweds or something.â He confesses quietly when she walks away. âWhat do you think?â
âMaybe.â Donât be so you, you remind yourself for the hundredth time in your head. âI donât know how many people come around here being cuddly on a fantastic day-long first date.â
âIt has been fantastic, hasnât it?â He muses, reminding himself that neither one of you has walked away or even been upset today. Not really.
âI think so.â There are clearly more things to talk about in your future, but today has left you optimistic that that future could exist. âIâm glad you do, too.â
âSo, whatâs your favorite type of wine?â He asks. âWith charcuterie? Are you a white wine or sangria girl?â
âIâm a whatever wine you serve me kind of girl,â you tell him with an amused laugh. âBut I do love sangria. There are very few things that arenât made better with a glass of sangria or a margarita.â
âA margarita; huh?â He smirks. âSalt on the rim or sugar?â
âDepends on the flavor.â After all, your palate isnât nonexistent, itâs just uneducated. âBut usually salt.â
âA watermelon margarita is my favorite.â He admits. âSalt and sugar on the rim.â
âSalt and sugar?â That has you raising an eyebrow. âColor me intrigued.â
âItâs delicious.â He chuckles. âGoes with a hamburger or ribs. Drinks just like water.â
âThat sounds incredible.â It sounds absolutely mouthwatering, actually, and you crack a grin. âMaybe Iâm just really hungry.â
âNext crew party why donât we do sliders and margaritas?â He offers. âI think youâd love it.â
âIt sounds amazing.â You can agree to that without hesitation. âBut I would also eat an old sneaker if it came out of your kitchen, so just know Iâm always here for your food.â
âSo boil shoe leather.â He pretends to make a note and laughs when you shove him playfully.
âYou boil shoe leather and Iâll sing scales off key. Our worst work night ever.â
Zach throws his head back and laughs. The deep, belly laugh of a man who is completely convinced that it possible could happen and finds it up-roaringly funny. âYouâre perfect.â
âYouâre perfect.â He doesnât need to know that a musical lyric sprung to mind instantly. He doesnât need to know that youâve been thinking it for an hour or more now. But you do hope he knows that the absolute affection shining in your eyes is honest and real.
He hums, not exactly able to take a compliment as well as he can give one. Instead he clinks his wine glass against yours. âTo being perfect together.â He offers with a smile.
Neither of you take compliments well, you note with a smile, but drink deeply from your glass and enjoy a private smile that he unknowingly completed the thought of the song lyric in your head. âI know youâre supposed to wait until the end of the date to say it,â you set down your glass, thank the waitress when she brings over the first course, and restart your thought after a few seconds. âBut I really think we should do this again.â
Zachâs heart leaps at your comment, happy that you have said that. âWell, of course we should.â He agrees, winking at you as he starts to dip a crusty piece of bread into the seasoned olive oil. âBut I was thinking maybe we spend a little more time together on the ship when we can?â
"We could always skip the crew parties now and then to have time to ourselves." Following suit, you dive into the cheese board along with him. The cured olives and soft cheese are calling your name. "I wouldn't mind that at all."
âI mainly go to the crew parties to see you.â Zach confesses with a shy smile, offering you the dipped bread after heâs spread a bit of goatâs cheese on top of it.
"Iâ" Your eyes drop, your whole face heats, and you clear your throat before offering him an olive that you have stuffed with a pinch of soft sheep's milk cheese. "I go to the crew parties to see you."
Zach snorts and shakes his head. âWe are pathetic.â He teases. âMooning over each other and not even aware of it until Shane makes you take me a drink.â
"He tried to tell me," you admit after trying the bite that Zach made for you. Like everything else he's ever fed you, it's perfect. "I just...didn't really think I had a shot."
âHe would always talk about you.â He huffs. âMaking that crush I was suffering under nearly unbearable.â He smirks. âI guess he was hoping to push me into making a move.â
âAnd when you didnât, he pushed me instead.â Which is a very Shane thing to do, really. Heâs always been a little bit too cocky for his own good. âHeâs like my big brother. So it makes perfect sense that he would meddle endlessly.â
âHe basically adopted me once we became roommates.â Zach agrees. âHeâs a good guy with a surprisingly big heart.â
âIt took him a while to get there,â you acknowledge, not quite knowing how much of Shaneâs story he had shared with Zach. âBut now that he has? Heâll be damned if he doesnât help everyone that he can.â
âYeah.â Zach nods. âFrom what heâs told me, heâs completely different than when he was first sent away.â
âHe showed me a picture once. Oh how he dresses and everything back then.â Just keeping the topic about appearance is lighthearted. That way you donât dip too far into past seriousness. âEven if that was the only thing that changed, he really is a completely different guy now.â
âJet black hair.â Zach snorts, shaking his head. âDude has amazing hair now. Iâm a little jealous of it.â Shane still has earrings, but heâs no longer sporting the goth edge he had back in his younger years.
âDo you ever think about growing yours out?â Zach still has short-trimmed hair that is probably a cinch to take care of, but he might look great with it longer.
âItâs been a long time since Iâve worn it long.â He admits, rubbing his hand up the back of his head. âSince high school.â He snorts. âBut Iâve not given it a lot of thought, honestly. Why? You think it would look good longer?â He asks, curious about your preferences. Everyone has them, itâs like preferring clean shaven over a beard.
âI caught myself wondering once if your hair was curly when it grows out,â you admit, clearing your throat a little from being flustered. Admitting that youâve wondered and daydreamed about him is a big step to your mind.
âYeah?â A slow, pleased grin starts to stretch across his face as he turns back towards you again. âDaydreaming about running your fingers through my hair?â
âMaybe.â The huff in your voice is pure embarrassment, though youâre glad that he seems to like the idea rather than being weirded out by it.
âThen I have to confess somethingâŚâ he drops his voice down to a whisper like itâs a secret. âI really love when the hairdresser runs her fingers through my hair when cutting it.â
It feels like a far more visceral tease than youâve been giving him, and you can practically feel how soft his shirt hair is when your eyes flick up to it. âNoted,â you manage to huff out a second later, banishing the mental image of Zach beneath you as you card your fingers through growing curls.
He smirks and winks at you when you manage to look at him again, finding it incredibly empowering to know that you are on the same level as he is. Both of you wanting so much, but being too shy to reach for it. Someone will have to make a move, but right now, heâs enjoying the flirting and bantering.
Neither of you seem to care much that it takes longer to make bites out of your appetizer if you hold hands, enjoying the small show of intimacy more than anything else. You're loathe to give up that connection now that you have it.
Zach enjoys sharing with you. Often making bites for you to try, and he smiles every time you groan in pleasure.
âJust because I have no idea how to cook anything doesnât mean I donât enjoy it,â you insist, and youâre laughing together when your waitress brings out your shared entree. The large and shallow bowl is obviously meant to be shared but is beautifully arranged â vegetables bringing color with the creamy risotto-like grains and tantalizingly seared and roasted lamb.
âMany blessings.â She is smiling at both of you as she puts the food down between you. âHappy marriage to young love.â
âThank you.â Zach doesnât correct her, beaming instead and bringing up your hand and kissing the back of it. If they believe that you are newlyweds, who are you to disclaim it?
Seeing him go with the assumption instead of correcting the woman makes your heart swell. There is something deeply soft and intimate about the gesture and youâre sure you must look so deeply entranced by your date that protesting wouldnât do any good anyway.
âSoulmates?â The older woman asks, looking at the two of you with the pride of a grandmother.
Zach bites his lip, unsure of how to answer that, so he just wings it. âWhat do you think?â He asks, reaching out and caressing your cheek. âSheâs perfect, isnât she?â
"Very." The woman agrees, and with another proud smile she clasps both of your shoulders and heads off again to the kitchen with the purpose and speed of someone off to share vital gossip.
Zach smiles at you. âWell, I guess that makes us official.â He hums. âWhat do you think?â He asks, lifting a brow. âWant to be my girlfriend? Or should we jump straight to soulmate and wife?â He asks. âWeâve already gotten approval here.â
"It might be a little dramatic to show back up to the ship married." And yet you're grinning. You're absolutely beaming at him in a way that can't possibly be contained and for the first time today you don't want it to be. "But I love the sound of girlfriend."
âIâm sure we wouldnât have been the first couple to have done that.â He doesnât take offense to you ignoring the remark about soulmates. Heâs seen you without sleeves enough to know that you donât have his tattoo. You canât be his soulmate, but he is drawn to you like heâs never been to another woman. âBut girlfriend sounds perfect to me too.â
"I'm not one of those people that swears soulmates are the only possible relationship," you explain, as the two of you rearrange your little table to share your entree comfortably. The waitress had also brought you fresh drinks so the little table is loaded down with tantalizing options. "My parents aren't soulmates and they've been happily married for almost forty years. It's a great thing, but I always thought choosing your person yourself was more important than anything else."
âInteresting.â Zach is impressed and he nods. âI know that soulmates arenât everything, but my parents were.â He tells you, smiling a little sadly. âThey were probably the best relationship Iâve ever seen.â
"We both had good role models for healthy relationships. That's far more rare than it should be, I think." You note the past tense in his words but don't push, instead watching as he carefully serves the meal onto the two smaller plates you were given.
The lamb smells amazing and Zach is already drooling, imagining what he could make. âAre you ready to give me ideas?â He teases as he looks up from finishing plating.
"Dinner ideas?" You raise an eyebrow at him and pick up your fork, feeling bold with the help of the waitress who broke the ice and managed to make you Zach's girlfriend with a touch of cute teasing. "Or dirty ideas?"
âI accept all ideas.â Zach promises, his voice dipping down slightly, turning sensual.
"Fuck." Even just a quiet groan of frustration from you is enough to let him know exactly where you're at. Every single time he kisses you, you're convinced that you're going to soak through your shorts, and you no longer care if he knows it or not.
âIâve been thinking about something.â Zach starts, forking up a bite of the risotto and trying it with a groan of approval.
"Tell me." There have been a few more serious topics touched on today without delving too deep, but you have faith that whatever it is that's on his mind won't be bad.
âWe donât have to be back on the ship until tomorrow morning.â The club is closed for the night while in port since the majority of the passengers are on shore. âWhat do you think about not going back tonight?â
"Like...find a little hotel?" Your fork is halfway to your mouth when you meet his eyes, seeing that there is the same spark of desire there as in your own. "That would certainly be more comfortable than using one of our bunks after we kick our roommate out," you agree, letting a grin crawl across your face.
âWe donât have to.â He stresses, not wanting you to feel like he expects to spend the night with you.
"I know." But you shrug with just a touch of guilt. "And if you want to wait that's totally fine. But...I definitely want to."
âI want to.â He is quick to reassure you of that. âI really want to. I justââ he bandied about for the right words. âDidnât want to come off as pushy.â
"Pushy is normally my problem." you promise him. "The other part of Shane's whole 'be less you' advice was not rolling up to our first date and telling you we would make beautiful children." It's still of a hell of a way to come on strong so you laugh it off, but it's true all the same. "You've been anything but pushy, baby."
âYou would have beautiful babies with Shrek.â He snorts, shaking his head. âMy genes would have nothing to do with it.â
"Don't count yourself out." The grin on your face slides sideways and the two of you dig into your dinner in earnest. "Those curls of yours on a little baby? Cuties."
He blushes slightly, imagining how a baby with you would look. Itâs a fantasy that he never even imagined being able to consider just a few years ago. âOnly because of you. And most babies are cuties anyway.â
âThey are.â Thatâs just a fact as far as youâre concerned. The two of you continue to eat for another minute or so before your mind catches up with all the possible consequences of that topic coming up and you almost stutter as you reach for your wine glass. âIâmâIâm on birth control, though,â you point out. Like he might think youâre trying to baby trap him on the first date just because you think babies are cute. âThatâsâŚlike I want kids eventually but Iâm not crazy about it.â
This is happening. Zach swallows a bite of the deliciously fragrant and juicy lamb so he doesnât choke. âGood. I mean, I would still want to wear a- birth control shouldnât just be on you.â He tells you. âIâm clean, but I- itâs always good to- you know, uh, be safe.â
âIâm clean too, and if you feel more comfortable with a condom thatâs totally fine, I justââ Who knows if more wine is actually a good idea at this point but you take about gulp out of nerves. âI didnât want you to think I had any motivation forâŚyou knowâŚtonight, other than really liking you.â
He has to laugh at that, reaching for your hand and winking at you. âYouâre focusing on your career. I donât think that your grand plan is to be knocked up by the chef of the club you headline your first contract out.â He promises.
âWell when you say it like that it sounds silly.â And yet? A part of you is certain, beyond any doubt whatsoever, that if it happened you could be such a happy little family.
He smirks slightly and reaches over to brush off a tiny bit of sauce on the edge of your mouth. âSo we both know where we stand.â He hums. âLetâs just relax and enjoy where our night takes us.â
******
With the sun set and your meal finished, an intimacy has settled over you and Zach as you sip your coffee together and listen to the busy streets of Knossos bustle with tourists and nightlife. Normally you would be part of that. You would be out with friends or searching out a feeling to get lost in â but today has been so thorough in proving that you can simply get lost in Zach that you donât want to stray. Everything you could possibly want for your night is right here next to you. And itâs a type of calming feeling that you donât know youâve ever felt with another person before.
âThat was probably the best meal Iâve ever eaten.â Zach rubs his stomach appreciatively and looks over at you. âLamb on the menu for the club?â
âAbso-fucking-lutely.â Youâll eat anything he cooks anyway. But having it be a special memory between the two of you? Thatâs worth bragging about. âWith those whipped carrots you made yesterday? Oh my god.â
âYou liked those?â He grins, loving feedback as much as the next person and if it comes from you it makes it even sweeter. âIâve been thinking about making it a soufflĂŠ and putting a topping on it. Similar to a sweet potato soufflĂŠ? What do you think? Too much?â
âI donât know,â you admit with a grin spreading across your face. âIâve never had a soufflĂŠ before.â
âYouâve never had a sweet potato casserole?â His eyes widen. âYouâre shitting me?â
You shrug weakly, yet canât help but laugh at how strong his reaction is. âMy dad hates sweet potatoes,â you explain between giggles. âWe basically ate like toddlers in my house forever, because he only liked four or five foods.â
âWow.â He chuckles. âSo I know what Iâm making you tomorrow.â He grins. âRoasted chicken with sweet potato soufflĂŠ, creamed spinach and a fresh cranberry compote.â
âWe just ate.â Sure, your tone is complaining, but the teasing is clear and sparkling in your eyes. âWhy do you have to make me hungry all over again?â
Laughing, he leans over slightly to pull his wallet out to pay. Having cash is something of a safety net to him, although heâs proud of the shiny credit card with a low limit as he builds his credit back up. Offers have started coming for pre-approval of credit limits, but heâs resisted getting one so far. He pays this card off every month like clockwork. âIâll let you sleep it off first.â He promises.
A different woman comes out with your check and a small folded bag. She smiles when she sees Zach ready to pay, and hands you the bag. âCongratulations,â she explains in a thick but clear accent. âFrom my grandparents. Theyâre very flattered you chose their restaurant for your honeymoon.â
Zach immediately feels guilty. âNoâ nothing is necessary.â He promises, shaking his head. âWe are happy to be here. The food was amazing.â
"It's just a few cookies," she promises, apparently charmed by the display of manners. "And we're always glad to have kind guests."
âEveryone here has been wonderful.â Zach smiles as he hands over his card. âNow we just need to find a hotel with people as wonderful.â
"You don't have a place to stay already?" The bill is easily and silently settled with the exchange of a few bills between them and the woman points down the beach to a three-story white building on the edge of the beach. "Dite is a beautiful hotel. Small. But very nice. And you will see the perfect sunrise in your room."
âWhat do you think, sweetheart?â He asks, turning towards you. âI think it sounds just about perfect, if they have a room available.â
âSmall sounds perfect.â In fact, after the bustle of the ship, it sounds like a small relief. âThank you for the suggestion.â
âI will call for you.â She offers. âFamily.â
âThat would be wonderful.â You look to Zach for confirmation. âThe hotel is my treat. I promise.â
He huffs, frowning slightly at the notion of you paying and there is a grin on the womanâs face as she nods in approval. âI will go call right now and let them know you are coming.â She beams before scampering off.
âItâs okay.â Sensing a bit of hurt pride that you dismiss as typically male, you lean over and kiss Zachâs cheek. âYou can buy our breakfast.â
He canât tell you that itâs because he somehow still looks at someone paying for something â even if it benefits them â as a handout. That is way too deep for this date and probably means he needs to schedule a visit with the VA therapist next time heâs in New York. âSounds good, sweetheart.â He hums.
It only takes a few minutes for the younger waitress to return, and when she does she is smiling broadly. To Zach she hands a slip with the name and address of the hotel. âTheyâre getting your room ready now,â she tells you both gladly.
âThank you.â He smiles. âFor everything.â
âOur pleasure.â She assures him, and trots off again after saying good night.
He turns towards you and gives you a searching look. âAre you ready?â
"Absolutely." Considering you can see the hotel from here, you don't mind walking. A stroll through the streets of the ancient city, hand in hand with your newly minted boyfriend? It sounds perfect to you.
Zach scoots out of the seat and holds out his hand to you. âThen letâs walk off this amazing dinner.â
The roads and the beach stretch on longer than you anticipate but the walk is welcome. You're most quiet, enjoying each other's company without the need to fill the air with idle conversation. You take in the city around you and the overwhelming number of tourists. The hustle and the bustle is beautiful, but something about the fact that you can be comfortable in the quiet with Zach brings and unexpected extra layer of intimacy to the night.
Walking hand in hand is intimate, serene. He doesnât feel the need to make excuses or fill the silence, he just enjoys the way the smiles seem to be just for you as a couple, coming from others who pass you on the streets.
The hotel is clean and bright, and the extended family of the folks who owned the restaurant are as sweet as can be when you check in. Theyâve put you in a top floor room facing the ocean and promise you itâs their best, and you and Zach take the stairs up after thanking them once more.
âI feel bad.â Zach muses. âThey think we are on our honeymoon.â
âFirst dates can be just as special as honeymoons, right?â You offer as you make your way down the hall to your room. âI checked their rates online and it was the same as what we paid. So theyâre not giving us big discounts or anything. If they had, I would have said something.â
âGood.â He feels better about that and his stomach twists in nervous anticipation. You both had stopped in a little shop where he had purchased a small box of condoms. They feel heavy in his pocket.
âHey.â The leaden heaviness sits between you as you unlock the door to your room and push it open. Before you even make a move to step inside, you settle your hand on Zachâs arm and offer him a soft, reassuring smile. âJust because we want to doesnât mean we have to tonight, okay? We can decide to just hang out and cuddle and sleep beside each other and it will still be perfect.â
âAre you having second thoughts?â He asks seriously, trying not to look disappointed, because he doesnât want that to pressure you.
âNot at all.â Youâre quick to assure him of that, pushing open the door and stepping inside. âYou just seemâŚnervous? I donât know, maybe Iâm wrong.â
âAfraid of disappointing you.â He admits with a small huff of amusement at himself as he flashes you a grin. âItâs been a while for me.â
"Then I'm flattered you would choose me to be the one to break that dry spell with." It really is a vote of confidence from him, and you won't take that for granted. Despite the fact that you don't understand how in the hell anyone has ever let him go, you're glad to be the person that is here and ready to see all of the potential he has as a partner.
âI would be fucking crazy not to.â Zach snorts, shaking his head. âBaby you are gorgeous and kind, and everything I donât deserve.â
"Hey now." You shake your head as you shut the door behind the two of you, flipping the lock and feeling the shiver of anticipation roll through you. But still, hearing him put himself down is the last thing you're comfortable with and when you turn back to Zach you slide your hands up his arms gently. "I wouldn't let somebody else talk about you like that, what makes you think you get to?"
âHabit.â He admits, biting his lip and reaching for your waist to draw you closer. âIâm working on it.â
"I'm here to remind you how incredible you are anytime you need." A strong support system means everything, you learned that the hard way. And you're more than happy to be that for Zach.
âThanks.â Thereâs a bit gratefulness and quite a bit of amazement in his eyes as he looks at you. âYou are absolutely amazing, you know that?â He asks. âYou take my breath away.â
Your hands creep up his arms, sliding around his neck so your fingers can sink into his short, soft hair. "I'd be happy to do that for you literally, if you'd like."
âHow would you do that?â He has a pretty good idea, but he wants to hear what you have in mind.
The hum that leaves your lips as you press your body against his is full of promise. "I'd start at the top and work my way down, of course," you tell him, bringing Zach down to meet your lips for a searing kiss.
He canât help but groan, a grown man melting against you, but heâs already weak in the knees from the passion in just this one kiss. The sense of complete rightness that washes over him as his own arms band around you tighter and he starts to give back to you.
None of the kisses you had shared yet today had been allowed to be this deep. You were in public. You were sharing space with other people. And this is so intensely intimate. It would have felt wrong just to let other people see your naked heart out there on your sleeve. But when it is just the two of you locked safely away in the privacy of a hotel room? You would be a puddle at his feet if it werenât for the uncanny strength of him holding you tight against his chest.
Itâs not hard for his body to respond instantly. Heâs already lived most of the day in a state of arousal just being around you. But with the length of your body pressed against his and your tongue coaxing his further into your mouth? He is rock hard and aching. Groaning slightly as he turns both of you towards where the bed should be based on the split second examination of the room earlier.
And just like that you feel ignited. The press of his body against yours as he steers you blindly through around the room is an errant spark that seems to catch on every inch of you. With one hand your fingers card and tug in his hair, nails grazing over his scalp. With the other you pull his shoulders to keep him impossibly close â feeling like youâll forget to breathe if you stop sharing gasps with him between kisses.
You taste like sweet wine and cream. A perfect combination when mixed with something that is justâŚyou. He canât describe it, but itâs warm and earthy.
The backs of your legs bump against the bed frame, almost toppling you over and making you hang onto Zach all the more tightly, giggling into the kiss. âOops,â You canât help but laugh at how deeply uncoordinated it was, even as out of breath as you are. âWeak knees arenât very stable, apparently.â
âThen we should lay down.â Zach suggests, grinning against your lips and starting to crouch down.
It doesnât exactly take convincing. Not when every single time heâs kissed you today has turned you a soaking wet, needy mess. The fact that you finally get to do something about it is exhilarating and relieving all at once. âHell yes,â you agree, nearly hauling him into the bed with you when you try to kiss him and move at the same time.
He laughs when you both nearly topple over, flopping down on your sides in a move that is not nearly as graceful as he had planned in his mind. âEager?â He asks. Sliding his hand down your side to your ass.
âOh, absolutely.â You smirk, but shift your leg ever so slightly so your thigh presses against the front of his shorts. âJust as much as you are.â
âBaby, have you looked in the mirror?â Zach groans, twitching under the pressure. âYouâre a complete knockout and fucking sweet as pie.â
âAs long as you like what you see, the mirror doesnât matter.â What you see and what he sees looking at you will never be quite the same, so as long as he likes the version of you that he sees, youâre fine with it.
Zach doesnât say anything else, he just slowly leans in and presses his lips to yours softly.
Itâs such a sweet, gentle gesture that you melt deeper into the mattress. For that one moment there are no thoughts at all left in your head. Itâs just Zach and the possibilities.
He follows you, body half covering yours as he lets the kiss deepen slightly. Not too much, but he squeezes your ass gently as he grinds into you.
The roll of his hips earns him a moan, and he swallows it up eagerly so you give him another and hitch one leg up to let him get closer.
He presses deeper into you, slotting his hips between yours as you open up and he gasps into your mouth when his hard cock presses against the heat of your core.
The heat in your belly flares hotter, wicking all the way Down your limbs, and you whimper again because you have no prayer of a coherent sentence or even word in that moment. Thereâs horny and eager then thereâs whatever the hell you are as you grind your hips against his to beg for more.
Itâs juvenile, but grinding against you over clothes while he kisses you is the height of eroticism right now. He groans into your mouth before breaking away, wanting to taste every inch of your skin.
He trails kisses along your jaw and throat, making your back arch and stealing your breath all over again. While he begins to travel south you tug at his shirt, trying to tear the damn thing off while your whole body aches for him.
Zach smiles against your skin, cutting his eyes up at you playfully. âYouâre too impatientâ he teases, pulling away. âThink Iâll blindfold you.â
You pout instantly, but the idea is intriguing enough that you raise an eyebrow at him. âDo I get to see you eventually?â
âEventually.â He smirks, loving that you are going along with his little idea. âThat way you can accurately judge how good I am.â
âI canât judge your skills with my eyes open?â Delighted to have found him not so very vanilla after all, you let the hand you still have in his hair tug in his curls and grin when he moans.
âYou might be overwhelmed by my good looks.â He chuckles and shakes his head. One of the things that made him suggest this is his tattoo. He didnât want to have a ton of questions about it right now. This wasnât the time for remembering the past, but enjoying the present.
âIs this a âhands offâ situation, too? Or can I at least still touch you?â There are plenty of things youâre willing to try out that you already know you enjoy that people might consider out of the ordinary, but the first time with a new partner you want to feel them in every way.
âYou can touch me.â He promises. âIâm just feeling a little shy right now.â He jokes playfully, winking at you. âDonât want you to get too scared.â
âYou have nothing you need to be shy about, but I fully respect having a few hang ups. Iâve got plenty, too.â Reluctantly as you are to take your hands off of him, you reach for your belt instead â or rather, the long sash of fabric that you tied through your belt loops today because you thought it looked a little cuter than a standard belt. âUse this.â
âAre you sure?â He takes the fabric from your hands and holds it up to his eyes playfully.
âI trust you.â You trust him somehow inherently. As though it were as simple as trusting yourself. In a way that sticks in your chest and warms through you like hot cocoa in winter.
He watches you for a moment after pulling the scarf down from his face, âOkay.â He agrees. âI just want this to be something we never forget.â
âI can already guarantee I will never forget any part of today,â you promise him, shivering slightly with anticipation as he settles your former belt gently over your eyes.
He ties it firmly, but not too tight. If you need it off, all you need to do is slip it up your forehead or pull it down. The point of this is to be fun, to explore without judgement and he canât do that if you are uncomfortable. âHopefully thatâs a good thing and it doesnât go into your âworst datesâ catalog.â He jokes before he slides his hands down to the edge of your shirt to push it up your stomach and drop a kiss right above your belly button.
With every small touch now heightened, your skin tingles with the scrap of his calloused fingers and press of the feather-light kiss. âI donât fuck on the first date unless itâs a really fucking good date.â
âMe either.â Zach smirks against your skin before he decides to nip your side slightly, laughing quietly when you jump and gasp at the grazing of his teeth. Instead of working down, he decides to work up and nuzzles just under the band of your bra.
One hand blindly makes its way to his shoulder again, grasping the thick cords of muscle there and reminding you just how powerful this broad man is that is being so tender and playful with you. At this point itâs Zachâs game â to explore and to pleasure and to discover â and every point of contact between you is a spark catching fire.
It takes just a second to discover that your bra hooks in the front, to Zach's utter delight, making it easy to unbind your breasts and capture a nipple in his mouth before your shirt is even off or your straps slid down your arms.
The heat and pressure of Zachâs mouth feels boiling even on this warm night, sending you gasping and cursing as you grip his shoulder tighter. If you get any wetter your shorts might outright dissolve, but he would probably consider that a bragging right.
Zach groans against your nipple, loving the little arch to your back, pushing your breast to his mouth more. Offering yourself up.
There is no steady rhythm to any of it as Zach works to take you apart piece by piece. He has a method in his madness, surely, but you are breathless and moaning as he reduces you to a human puddle on the bedsheets. While you canât see him like this you can definitely feel him, and your hands tug at his shirt again to get that luscious skin-on-skin sensation as he starts to travel down your body.
He takes his time, learning the sensitive spots on your body and enjoying every soft sound he pulls out of your mouth. Until he is dragging your shorts down your legs.
Itâs about fucking time says the impatient voice in your head as you squirm in the bed and lift your hips to help him move things along. Heâs consented to take his shirt off, at least, so that warmth that rolls off of him in waves can seep directly into your bones. You whimper as the cool breeze of exposure hits your overheated cunt, dripping with need and aching for attention.
âFuck, you look so pretty right now.â Zach groans at the sight of your wet lips, hair trimmed and manicured. You either were hoping that the night would end this way, or you were very meticulous about your grooming. Heâs kind of hoping for the former even though he wouldnât care if you had done anything. âBaby, you look good enough to eat.â
âTease.â You whine, trying to sound huffy but only succeeding in strangling another moan when his breath ghosts over your swollen pussy. Even with his hands caressing your thighs, youâre squirming.
Itâs been a long goddamn time since Zach has had a pussy in his face, but he loves the musky scent of your wet sex. Making him twitch and groan as he slowly spreads your lips wide for him to drag his tongue up your folds for that first, tantalizing lick.
âFuck, fuck, fuckââ With your back arching and your fingers tight in his hair, itâs so easy to lose yourself to one little taste.
He makes a sound of pleasure as he flicks his tongue over your clit and comes back for another pass. This time starting lower and letting his tongue tease your entrance before sliding higher.
If you werenât blindfolded already you might have cum just from the sight of him. His lips and tongue explore while his hands keep you steady, holding you in place so the buck of your hips doesnât unseat him before he can really get going.
He absorbs your sound, your taste. The very essence of your being, feasted on as he slowly and thoroughly licks through you like a meal he is savoring.
Itâs a stunning combination of thorough exploration and eager enthusiasm that has you writing and moaning his name so quickly. You could have had a date yesterday and everything about tonight would already be better. Zach seems somehow to know exactly what you like without asking, reading your signals perfectly air pushing you higher and higher until his name is the only word on your lips.
Zach is completely entranced by the way you respond to his touch, never having a lover he feels so in-sync with. Itâs like heâs touched you a million times before rather than just these last few minutes.
The whole world has stopped existing around you. It's just you and Zach and this bed and every new height of pleasure that he keeps building you to. The press of his hands on your hips, the deep push of his tongue, the sharp half-scrape of his teeth near your clit that he's discovered makes you gasp and moan.
âCum for me baby.â He pulls away to gasp his plea, the need to see you fall apart about to rupture in his veins and make him go mad. His grip tightening on your hips and he dives back into your cunt with the desperation of a man starved thatâs reached his oasis.
You don't have to tell me twice, you would say if you could swim through the thick mire of bliss to tease him. Instead, and much more true to the moment, you let out a sobbing moan and beg for just a little bit more to send you over the edge.
He hears the unspoken plea in your whimpers and opens his mouth wider to just devour you. Burying himself into your pussy where his nose is blocked by your mound as he pushes you over the edge and if he died in this moment, he would die blissfully happy.
Your back arches fiercely one more time, lifting your shoulders off the bed as you hit that sharp crest that explodes into your climax. All of your muscles tense and curses spill freely, interspersed with his name and moans entirely without words â until that crest becomes altogether too much, the thread mercifully snaps, and you fall back on the mattress an utterly satisfied puddle.
Zach is slow to pull his mouth away. Savoring the little tremors that race through your thighs and makes your pussy clench against his chin as he laps at your juices one last time before he lifts his head with a groan of satisfaction. âAnd just think, weâve only started.â He hums playfully, knowing that the night has just begun.
------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon  @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer
ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76
#Pedro Pascal#Pedro Pascal character fanfiction#Pedro Pascal fanfic#Zach Wellison#Zach Wellison x female reader#Zach Wellison x you#Zach Wellison x f!reader#Brothers & Sisters#Shane Dio Morrissey#Shane Dio Morrissey x female OC#NYPD Blue#soulmate au#Soulmate Sunday#cruise ship au#first date
36 notes
¡
View notes
Text
you stole my heart (but i don't want it back again)
Pairing: Alastor/Charlie
Rating: G
Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposals, Demiromantic Asexual Alastor
A/N: Had the idea of "What if Alastor invokes his deal with Charlie when he's ready to propose?" and it was just too cute not to run off with! I feel like he'd be super nervous about the whole thing, so it's kind of "If you have to go on this date, so do I" kinda deal so he can't back out at the last minute. Anyways, time for some stupid cute Radiobelle! Title is from Evergreen by Dirt Poor Robins (which, ironically enough, is the song I want to be the first dance at my own wedding)!
Perfect. Everything has to be perfect. Alastorâs been planning this out for a while now, and he'll just about double-die if anything goes wrong. And he's pretty sure double-Hell wouldn't have Charlie, so he's not too keen on that idea. Heâs spent the last few days going over his plan in detail, running things over a hundred times with Rosie because Charlie has to say yes, and generally killing himself with worry over the whole ordeal. Rosie keeps assuring him everythingâs going to be fine, but fine isnât good enough.
Today is supposed to be the day. Itâll take him all day to get everything ready while also dealing with the hotel, but heâs planned everything in such detail, he knows he can get it all done. Heâll be handling all the cooking, Niffty already said sheâd handle setup for everything else if he wanted. Really, heâs surprised she hasnât spilled the beans to Charlie yet with how excited she is alone. He wishes he could feel excited, but all he feels is nervous.
The hardest part will be actually going through with it. Heâs been thinking of proposing for a while, but always managed to talk himself out of it. Heâs never seen himself as the marrying type before, and itâs only since getting into this relationship with Charlie that heâs realized itâs because he doesnât really think heâs marriage material. Thereâs plenty of men and women out there better than him, and even now, heâs certain sheâll realize that one day and itâll all be over.
He idly considers calling the whole plan off again. And then, Charlie comes over to talk to him, bright-eyed and ready to start the day, immediately standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss. She has a habit of doing things that just wipe his entire brain clean, and this is definitely one of those things.
âGood morning, darling,â he says, pulling her against him in a warm embrace.
âMorning,â she replies, looping her arms around his neck. âYou looked like you needed a bit of a mental reset. Everything all right?â
This is it. Heâs supposed to ask her to come out with him tonight. Thatâs all he has to do right now, not even the hardest part. So why does he suddenly feel like his heartâs beating a mile a minute? Theyâve had hundreds of date nights at this point. She wonât suspect a thing. Thereâs nothing to be so anxious about. Yet.
âActually, I did have a small favor to askâŚâ
âOh, anything you need! What is it?â
He still canât bring himself to do it. One step closer to proposing is also one step closer to her potentially saying no. Heâs going to back out, like he always does. Thereâs no way he can go through with this. UnlessâŚ
Keep Reading
#hazbin hotel#radiobelle#charlastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin charlie#charlie morningstar#alastor x charlie#charlie x alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#hellaverse#x#my writing
25 notes
¡
View notes
Note
Hihi!! I got a silly lil request if u wanna write it =3
Soooo since Kenma from Haikyuu is prob very rich in timeskip, would u consider writing something where y/n is like âHey honey I want Burger Kingâ and Kenma misunderstands and buys the whole BK company and y/n has to make Kenma return it XD(bonus if the internet finds out and memes it or something)
â§ď˝Ľďž: a/n: : Kenmaâs lowkey chaos energy combined with his wealth and your grounded perspective made this such a fun dynamic to write. I hope you enjoy<3 thank you for the req
⧠Title: ⧠Burger King of My Heart ⧠⧠Characters: Kenma Kozume x Reader (Gender Neutral) ⧠Genre: Humor, Fluff, Established Relationship ⧠Rating: G ⧠Summary: When you casually ask Kenma for Burger King, you never imagined heâd take it literallyâand buy the entire franchise. ⧠Content/Tags: Kenma Being Kenma, Rich Boy Hijinks, Social Media Memes, Established Relationship, Reader in Disbelief, Humor with a Dash of Fluff ⧠WC: 713 words // 4.1k chars
Life with Kenma Kozume was anything but ordinary. Between his highly successful gaming company and the residual fame from his pro volleyball days, he had wealth, influence, and a surprisingly practical approach to everythingâwell, usually.
Today, however, was shaping up to be one for the books.
You were lounging on the couch in Kenmaâs sleek, minimalist apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a perfect view of the city skyline, but your attention was squarely on your grumbling stomach.
Kenma was stationed at his gaming setup nearby, wearing noise-canceling headphones and entirely focused on whatever strategy game he was playing. You admired how cute he looked when he was concentrating, but hunger had made you restless.
âKenmaaaa,â you called, dragging his name out dramatically.
âHm?â he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the screen.
âI want BK,â you said, your words tumbling out lazily.
Kenma finally glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes meeting yours. âBK?â
âYeah, Burger King,â you clarified. âIâm starving. I need greasy fries and a Whopper, stat.â
He nodded once, a small, thoughtful âhmâ escaping his lips before he turned back to his game. You figured heâd order delivery or suggest driving out to grab food later.
But Kenma Kozume, former volleyball star turned tech genius, never did things the way anyone else would.
About two hours later, Kenma wandered back into the living room, phone in hand. Youâd half-dozed off in your hunger-induced haze, but his calm voice brought you back to reality.
âSo, itâs done,â he said.
âHuh?â You blinked, sitting up. âWhatâs done?â
âI bought it.â
Your brain, still foggy from your nap, struggled to catch up. âBought what?â
âBK,â he said matter-of-factly.
It took a solid five seconds for his words to register. âWait. You mean... like the food? Whereâs the food?â
Kenma tilted his head slightly, confused by your confusion. âNo, the company. Burger King. You said you wanted it.â
The room went silent as you stared at him in disbelief.
âKenma.â
âYes?â
âYou bought the entire company?â
âYeah,â he said, as if it were the most logical solution in the world. âIt wasnât that expensive, all things considered.â
You gawked at him, your jaw practically hitting the floor. âI meant I wanted a burger and fries, not to own Burger King!â
Kenma blinked. âOh. I thought you meant you wanted BK, as in... all of it.â
Your hands flew to your head. âKenma, do you know how insane that is? You canât justâwait, does the internet know about this?â
Almost as if on cue, your phone buzzed with a series of notifications. Grabbing it, you saw that #KenmaBuysBK was trending. Social media was already ablaze with memes and commentary.
One post read: âImagine being rich enough to solve hunger by buying an entire fast-food chain. Kenma Kozume, everybody.â
Another had a photo of Kenma with the caption: âMe: I want fries. Kenma: Hereâs your kingdom, Burger Queen.â
You groaned, scrolling through the chaos. âKenma, this is everywhere!â
He shrugged, his calm demeanor unshaken. âPeople were going to find out eventually.â
âKenma, you have to return it.â
âWhy?â
âBecause I donât need to own Burger King! I just wanted food!â
Kenma sighed, pulling out his phone. âFine. Iâll call my financial advisor.â
By the next day, Kenma had quietly backed out of the purchase, but the internet wasnât ready to let the incident go. Memes flooded every platform, and even major news outlets picked up the story.
When you arrived at Kenmaâs office later to bring him lunch, his coworkers couldnât resist teasing you. One of them grinned and said, âSo, Burger Queen, whatâs for lunch today?â
You rolled your eyes, but even you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Kenma, as unbothered as ever, simply handed you a small bag when you walked into his office.
âWhatâs this?â you asked, peeking inside.
âBurger King,â he said with the faintest hint of a smirk.
You burst out laughing, shaking your head. âYouâre unbelievable, you know that?â
Kenma leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. âI just wanted to make you happy.â
Despite everything, you couldnât help but feel incredibly lucky. Because in his own unique, overly extravagant way, Kenma always found a way to show you just how much he cared.
#kenma kozume#kenma kozume fluff#kenma kozume x reader#kenma kozume x reader fluff#kenma kozume x gn!reader#kenma kozume imagine#kenma kozume haikyuu#kenma#kenma fluff#kenma x reader#kenma x reader fluff#kenma x gn!reader#kenma imagine#kenma haikyuu#haikyuu#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x gn!reader#haikyuu x gender neutral reader#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x yn
30 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Carry On Countdown Day 1 - Something Old
For this year's COC I've decided to put together daily fic rec lists! Let me know if you find any new favorite reads from these <3
For todays prompt I've gone with fics written pre-Wayward Son!
To Get to You by ikehgaan
Rated M, 40,437 words
I think of this fic often. Fight kissing! Who could ask for more!
Simon figured the Pitches didnât exactly encourage being open and honest about feelings. Unsurprising, but a little sad. Baz always acted aloof, as though nothing got to him, except with Simon. Simon could always get to Baz. (When Simon canât take out his frustration on Baz by fighting him in their room because of the anathema, he resorts to more⌠unconventional methods).
No Tomorrow by Spockzilla
Rated T, 42,142 words
I will never listen to Take a Chance on Me with out thinking of this fic. It's such a fun take on the time loop trope!
âWhy didnât you wake me?â I growl groggily into my pillow. âItâs not my job to wake you up. Get an alarm clock, you fucking numpty,â he snaps. I wonder if super hearing is a vampire thing. âYou threw my alarm clock into the moat first year!â I shout over the music. âNot my problem,â he says, as he slams the door shut behind him.
Cinnamon Lips by @f-ing-ruthless-baz
Rated T, 9,249 words
I love a good drunkenly getting together story and this is a great one!
âSnow, did you drink my Fireball?â âYour what?â He blinks at me, wobbling in place for a second, so I nod at the flask in his hand and he grins. âIt tastes like cinnamon sweets and burning,â he says proudly. âThat it does. Now hand it over.â He scowls. âYou know, you act like youâre so fucking perfect all the time, Mr. Know-It-All, Mr. Good-at-Magic, Mr. Shampoo-Advert-Hairââ âSnowââ âBut imagine what people would say if they knew Basilton fucking Pitch, top of the class, hangs out with corpses and drinks cinnamon sweets?â
Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps by stellatundra
Rated M, 3,936 words
Baz sowing some wild oats? Simon getting jealous as hell? Sign me up!
After his kidnapping ordeal, Baz goes to a magickal bar, deciding he deserves just one night to forget about destiny, numpties and Simon Snow. Simon follows him, convinced heâs up to no good, but is taken by surprise when he sees his roommate kissing another boy.
All this soulmate shit by half_witch
I only read this for the first time this year. It is so fun. If you love magic soulmate tropes, this one has just about all of them!
Rated M, 31,573 words
Simon has learned to despise his âevil anti-friendmateâ Baz despite being connected to him through magic their entire lives. From sharing luck at ten years old, to mind reading at twelve, to teleportation at seventeen, and the Red String of Fate at twentyâSimon and Baz know only three rules: 1) The New Yearâs Eve countdown brings them one new bond to share, 2) The bond only lasts the year, and 3) Bonds NEVER occur twice. But this year, the magic is out of their control and seems hellbent on bringing them closer togetherâeven if it kills them.
I Hoped It Was You by EllisyaSyron
Simon and Baz fall for each other without knowing they're talking to each other. It's like You've Got Mail, but better since neither of them lose their family bookstore in the end. Excellent dialogue!
Rated T, 8,901 words
as requested by anon: "au where baz and simon start talking online bc baz writes drarry fics and simon draws fanart and they do a collab (they don't know that it's them)" BlackPrince:Â I want to kiss you. SSPuffPride:Â I want to kiss you too. I wish I could BlackPrince:Â ...Tell me how you would.
Unspoken Rules and Simon's Nights by @lilmcgil
Rated E, 5,503 and 5,822 words respectively
This was one of the first Snowbaz fics that I ever got obsessed with. Both fics are truly excellent!
Simon and Baz develop a nightly routine. In the daylight they pretend it's not happening.
Companion piece to Unspoken Rules. Same plot line, but from Simon's perspective. I think it would make more sense if you read that first. But don't let that keep you from reading this if you haven't! Be a rebel if you want.
If you have any recs that fit the prompt that I've missed, feel free to leave them in the comments! There's plenty of gaps in my reading so there's a good chance I may not have read it.
Also I've had a hard time finding if some people are here on Tumblr, so if you know someone who hasn't been tagged, feel free to leave that in the comments as well <3
21 notes
¡
View notes
Text
âDeath Becomes Themâ chapter 1 is up!
Read on ao3 or below
**********
Rated: E (not this chapter)
Words: 3,111
TW: death, homophobic language.
Summary:
A month after Tommy devastates Buck by breaking up with him, Tommyâs dad dies and he find himself at Bucks door searching for comfort.
Although Buck is still reeling (and baking) from the break up, he canât find it in him to leave Tommy to deal with his grief alone and agrees to accompany Tommy back to his childhood home while he deals with the arrangements.
Spending a few days together, with Tommy finally opening up about his past, makes them both reevaluate things and share some truths.
**********
Buck stood staring at the inside of his full to the brim fridge wondering where hell he was going to put the latest offering, a six-layer chocolate cake.
Itâs was fine. Heâd take out the banana loaf and walnut cake and take them to the B-shift on his day off tomorrow. He was in the middle of trying to squeeze it into the fridge when a loud knock on the door came out of nowhere and he almost dropped it.
âGod damnit!â He swore before putting it back down on the counter and walking to the door.
He opened it and every breath seemed to leave his body.
âT-Tommy.â
His heart swung like a pendulum between utter joy at seeing his face again and raging anger that heâd just shown up out of the blue.
He knew theyâd run into each other eventually but figured it would be on the job. He thought heâd have more time to prepare for seeing those eyes again. Those same eyes that had looked into his whilst opening up his chest cavity and ripping out his heart by hand.
However, something was different about Tommyâs eyes. They werenât the bright blue ones he was used to (and missed) seeing. They were dull and unfocused.
âWhat are you doing here?â He asked.
Tommyâs eyes took a few seconds to focus on Buck before he spoke. His voice was not one Buck had ever heard from him before. It wasnât the deep, confident one that comforted him after a bad call or whispered beautiful commands into his ear when naked and tangled up together in bed.
It was meek and fragile; his tone giving away that even he himself was surprised by what he was about to say:
âMy dad died.â
The half of Buck heart that still existed solely for Tommy, cracked. He stepped aside to allow Tommy to enter and he took a few slow steps into Bucks apartment. He stood almost perfectly in between the door and the kitchen island just staring ahead.
Buck had the fight the instinct to wrap his arms around him. He couldnât do that. Not now. He didnât have the rightâhe wasnât Tommyâs boyfriend anymore.
âAre.. are you okay?â He asked instead, rounding the island and standing at the other end. Tommys eyes continued to stare forward, not meeting his.
âI donât.. I donât know. We hadnât talked in.. 10 years. I..â
Tommy had occasionally mentioned vaguely that he didnât talk to his dad; compared him to Gerrard once, but that was about it. Buck hadnât want to pry so didnât asked about him.
Buck was uncertain about asking the question; terrified heâd scare Tommy away. But heâd never seen Tommy like this in the entire time they were together.
His shoulders were slumped; arms hanging loosely by his sideâhands not on his hips or in his pockets like heâd usually stand. He was every bit not the Tommy heâd knew.
âDo you.. do you want to talk about it?â
Tommyâs eyes finally focused on Bucks and he could see the shiny emotion glazed across the surface that Tommy was trying to keep at bay.
Tommy nodded silently.
âOkay.â Buck said softly. âYou go and sit on the couch and Iâll make us some tea.â Tommy didnât respond but did as Buck asked and aimlessly walked over to the couch.
Buck opened a cabinet and slid a few things aside until the box of double bergamot tea came into view. It was Tommyâs favourite and Buck hadnât thrown it away. Truthfully, he hadnât gotten rid of anything that belonged to Tommy. Not his toothbrush, not his protein bars and not his pretentious tea.
Getting rid of Tommyâs things, even if they were just stupid unimportant things like his favourite snacks, meant getting rid of Tommy. Buck wasnât ready for that. Instead he shoved Tommys toothbrush into the bathroom cabinet, hid the protein bars in the back of his pantry and his tea behind cans of soup.
He placed two mugs of steaming tea onto the coffee table and took at seat on the opposite side of the couch.
âThanks.â Tommy said quietly.
âCan.. can I ask what happened?â Buck asked.
âUh, doctors think it was a heart attack. The kid that delivered his newspaper every morning called the police when he hadnât picked it up from the yard yesterday.â Tommy told him.
âHow did he know something was wrong that soon?â
Tommy let out a small laugh but it was cold and empty. âBecause he knew my dad wouldnât leave it out longer than a few minutes. You so much as bend a blade of his grass in the wrong direction and youâd know about it.â
Resentment oozed from the word âhisâ. Along with the weight of a story Buck wasnât privy to.
âHe was.. he was particular about his front yard?â
âHe was particular about everything. Everything had to be perfect. The perfect yard in front of the perfect house with the perfect family inside. Superficially anyway. But behind that front door..â he shook his head a swallowed. â..it was hell.â
There were a thousand questions Buck had in his desperation to know more about Tommy. But none he felt comfortable asking. He wasnât talking about past relationships or old jobsâhe was talking about his childhood. One that, judging by Tommyâs tone and his body language, wasnât one he spoken about much before. If ever.
Buck was still struck by the difference in Tommyâs presence. He was sat on Bucks couch with his hands in his lap; fingers picking at his nails. His posture wasnât upright and confident, instead he was almost curled down into himself.
Tommy reached forward and held the mug of tea in both hands without taking a sip, as though he were trying to preoccupy his hands.
âWhen I a kid, like 6 or something, my dad got a job in this warehouse doing night shifts. Iâd help my mom cook dinner. Mostly by badly stirring stuff. But it was the only time it got to be just me and her.â A somber smile flashed across his face at the memory. âOne night, my dad came home early; had a fight with the Forman and got fired. He was angry as hell when he walked in but when he saw me helping mom..â He blew out a breath. âHe yanked me to him by my collar and screamed in my face that.. that only fags and women cook. I.. I was 6âI didnât know what that word meant, but I knew it was a bad thing.â
Buckâs heart broke at Tommyâs confession. He had his own issues with his parents but at worst they were emotionally neglectfulâ they were never intentionally cruel or abusive. He couldnât imagine being in an environment like Tommyâs.
âThat was his go to insult for everything that was remotely feminine, or he thought was feminine. Unless you cried. That got you beaten into silence.â
Buck instinctively reached out and placed a hand on Tommyâs forearm.
âThey need me to, uh.. identify is body formally tomorrow.â Tommy said stopping to take a breath. âI know that I donât have the right to ask anything of you, but-â
âWhat time do we need to be there?â Buck interrupted. It was a no brainer to him to go with Tommy.
His feelings for the manâincluding the angerâwere still deeply situated inside of him, and simply being in Tommyâs presence made it feel as though his heart was in a vice. But heâd take that pain for Tommyâs sake, if it could provide him even the smallest amount of comfort.
âAre you sure?â He asked finally looking at Buck. âI you donât have to..â
Without thinking he reached up and held Tommyâs face with his hand. âI want to.â He said softly. Tommy closed his eyes for a second, tilting his head into Bucks hand.
For a fraction of a moment it felt like before. Like neither of them had had their hearts broken. The familiar feeling of Tommyâs unshaven jaw in Bucks hand, and the comforting feeling of Bucks palm on Tommyâs face.
Tommy pulled away from Bucks had with an awkward cough.
âI said Iâd meet the coroner at the hospital at 1 oâclock. So, we should leave around 8am.â He said.
âOkay.â
Tommy put his half empty mug on the coffee table and stood up. âThanks for the tea. I should go home.â
âNo!â Buck replied louder and quicker than he had anticipated.
âBuck.â Tommy argued and Buck swallowed away the pain at hearing Tommy call him that. âThatâs not-.â
âI mean you can stay on the couch.â Tommy opened his mouth to argue but Buck carried on. âI just.. I donât think itâs safe for you to drive like this.â
Tommy looked as though he wanted to argue but didnât.
âOkay.â He eventually conceded.
âI-Iâll get you a blanket.â Buck said leaving for his bedroom.
He opened his linen closet and stood behind it for a second to take a few breaths. His heart had been racing since the moment Tommy knocked on the door. So many conflicting feelings were bouncing around in his head and heart he was in danger of spinning out.
Torn between wanting to scream in Tommys face, letting him know in gory and intimate detail how heâd destroyed Bucks heart when he unceremoniously dumped him in the middle of his kitchen and walked out, and also wanting to tell Tommy he still loved him and beg him to take him back.
He blew out a last heavy breath and pulled out a blanket and pillow before walking back down the stairs.
Tommy took it from him and noticed the tag still attached at one of the corners. âNew blanket?â
âOh. Sorry.â Buck pulled off the tag. âYeah I, uh.. bought it after you stayed on the couch when I dislocated my shoulder. That old one barely covered you.â He huffed a small laugh.
Tommy looked as though he wanted to say something and Buck looked back in anticipation. Instead Tommy turned away to lay the pillow on the other end of the couch.
âIf you need anything Iâll be upstairs.â Buck walked to the stairs and climbed the first step.
âThank you, Evan.â
His heart flickered at hearing his name spoken again from Tommyâs mouth. âYouâre welcome, Tommy.â
*
Bucks sleep was patchy at best.
Tommy fucking Kinard, the man who helped to unlock the door to a hidden galaxy of feelings within himself; his ex boyfriend; the man who tore his heart to pieces ventricle by ventricle; the man who his ventricle-less heart still searched for to find its natural rhythm, was laying 6 feet beneath him.
How was he supposed to sleep soundly with that?!
Around 6:30am he got out of bed, bleary-eyed, and crept downstairs as quietly as possible to shower. He hoped that the steaming hot water that cascaded over his body would also wash away the apprehension he was feeling.
It did not.
After getting out and drying off he opened the cabinet under the sink to retrieve Tommyâs stupidly expensive (in Buckâs humble opinion) shower gel, along with his shampoo and put them both back in the shower, then put his toothbrush back into the holder in front of the mirror.
They looked like they belonged there. They did belong there. His bathroom had somehow looked entirely different for the last month having only a couple of things removed and hidden away. Every time Buck entered the room, a room heâd entered probably thousands of times in the years heâd lived there, without Tommyâs possessions dotted around, it looked empty.
As quietly as a he could he left the bathroom and put on the coffee. He was going to need caffeine today. And carbs. Lots of carbs. He eyed up the banana loaf that was still on the counter from last night and decided it was the perfect breakfast.
Buck walked over to the couch to wake up Tommy but stopped for a moment to look at him. He was lying on his back, one leg straight, the other bent with just a slither of his bare knee poking out of the side of the blanket.
His face was slack; calm and devoid of any of the grief.
Beautiful.
âTommy?â He said tapping his leg. He shifted in his position but didnât wake. âTommy?â Buck said a little louder.
âMmm fiveâmore mânits baby.â He mumbled and god did that shoot what felt like another lightning bolt directly to Bucks heart.
âTommy.â He said louder and gave his knee a rougher shake. Tommyâs eyes shot open and he leaned up quickly scanning his surroundings before his eyes met Bucks. His body relaxed a little when he realised where he was.
âSorry.â Buck said quietly. âItâs almost 7. I thought you might want to have a shower and some coffee before we left.â
Tommy rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times in an attempt to wake himself as he sat up.
âUh, thanks.â
âThereâs coffee in the kitchen and fresh towels in the bathroom. Help yourself.â He said. And god did it feel weird.
Informing him of fresh towels and beverages like it was a fucking hotel. He hadnât had to do that in so long. From the moment they started dating Tommy had slid into place in Bucks apartment as though heâd always been there. Theyâd move in sync around the place whilst getting ready for the day or winding down for bedtime.
Tommy knew where the towels were kept and the wash cloths. He knew which shelf Buck preferred to keep his milk and where heâd keep his extra stack of dish sponges. Extra pillows, batteries for the TV remote and the secret stash of ice cream in the back of the freezer Buck always denied the existence ofâTommy knew it all.
And now Buck was forced to treat him like a temporary guest.
Tommy sat up fully and stretched before removing the blanket. Of course the first thing Buck noticed was Tommy was only wearing boxers on his lower half. He knew Tommy didnât like wearing sweats or pyjamas to bed and yet he hadnât prepared his eyes to catch sight of him like this again.
He bit back a sound and quickly turned on his heels and made for his bedroom closet returning a minute later with clothes in his arms and hoping Tommy had had the sense to put his sweats back on.
He had thankfully.
Buck placed the clothes on the table. âSome fresh clothes.â
âYou didnât have to-â
âTheyâre, uh, yours.â Buck said feeling a flush of embarrassment slither through him.
âOh.â Tommy said looking at the washed out jeans and navy hoodie that he knew would have âLAFD Harbor Stationâ logo on its breast. âI thought youâd have thrown them out.â He sounded surprised.
âI wouldnât just throw them awayâthey belonged to you.â He walked over to the coffee pot; a sudden need to turn away from Tommyâs face. âI wasnât ready to get rid of them yet.â
If Tommy wanted to say something, he kept it hidden. Buck poured two mugs of coffee and turned back to hand one to Tommy.
Without thinking Tommy walked to the fridgeâsomething he always did beforeâto retrieve the milk.
âJesus.â He said being suddenly face to face with some serious competition to the Great British Bake Off.â
Buck flushed with embarrassment once more. âYeah, I-Iâve been baking.â
âI can see that.â Tommy replied not being able to look away from the baked goods.
âUh, here.â Buck moved a few things out of the way to get to the milk that had been pushed to back.
His shoulder brushed up against Tommyâs and his stomach twisted at the familiar touch. He ached to stand there body to body; basking in Tommyâs familiar smell and warmth. Instead he moved away to shove a mouthful of banana bread into his mouth to distract himself.
âIâm gonna take that shower.â Tommy told him and disappeared into the bathroom.
*
The drive up to Tommyâs old town was mostly quiet. Buck had tried arguing that Tommy didnât have to drive but he insisted. Heâd asked about the 118 and Buck had told him what theyâd be up to (aside from Maddie being pregnant), and how Denny was recovering. Buck had asked about Lucy and Melton and the others at the Harbor and Tommy had filled him in about Meltons anniversary and Lucyâs latest dating debacle.
They didnât talk about themâas an ex couple or individually. Neither asked what the other had been up to or how each of them was and both seemed to be content with that for now. Just driving the open road towards Tommyâs past.
Buck wasnât new to seeing a dead body; the sad reality of his job. But there was something entirely different about peering through a window in a hospital corridor and seeing someone lying still and pale on a gurney with a sheet draped up to the chest.
The clinical nature of the moment gave Buck an uncomfortable feeling. His eyes took in Thomas Kinard Srâs features and he tried to connect them to Thomas Jrâs. He definitely had his fatherâs nose and those cheek bones were definitely from the Kinard family gene pool. Everything else he must have gotten from his mother. Bucks mind drifted to what she would look like.
He was pulled back to reality when Tommys hand grabbed onto his for stability.
âYeah. Yeah thatâs him. Thomas Kinard.â
After signing a few forms, the hospital were happy with Tommyâs formal identification and sent him on his way with information about a local funeral home and a clear plastic bag with his fathers wallet and keys inside that had been on his body when he was brought into the hospital.
25 minutes. Thatâs how long it took to walk into a hospital, identity your fatherâs dead body, sign some forms and walk out.
They got back into Tommys truck and he blew out a deep breath.
âYou okay? That.. that was hard, I know.â
âYeah. Iâm.. Iâm okay.â Tommy answered. Buck wasnât sure whether to believe him. He seemed okay but Buck was well aware how good Tommy was at keeping things to himself.
âWhat do you want to do now?â Buck asked.
âI think.. I think I want to go home.â
âOkay. But Iâm driving this time. And no argument, Tommy, you-â
âNo.â Tommy interrupted. âMy dadâs house.â
#911 abc#911#911onabc#tommy kinard#bucktommy#911 buck#evan buckley#buck x tommy#evan buck buckely#bucktommy fic#tevan#tevan fic#bucktommy fix it fic
20 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Wow..i saw the leaks and just. Wow.
I was hoping they were fake and its everything i hate in a series. I was biting my tongue until i saw the episodes but here we are.
Before i go into spoilers i do want to say that i AM grateful that we even got anymore of Arcane, but sometimes less is more.
Spoilers underneath
Edit: these are kinda messy thoughts.
My biggest gripes:
Too many plot points for a finale
Family trade in ( Bio sister for found sister for bio sister again )
Vander dying, Alive but fucked up, okay, fucked up again, dead, alive but fucked up, dead.
Not bringing up Isha at all??? Not even a quick funeral?
People being brought back to life but Isha and Jinx has to die.
Jinx has to sacrifice herself to save Vi and herself. đ
The SEX scene.
Better explaination:
Too many Plot points:
I knew it was gonna be too many. I KNOW we needed answers/resolved plots, as well as needing things to make sense. But it.. was too much. Like most media at this point.
Family Trade In:
So... no one really talks about this trope? Or whatever you want to call it. But it bugs me, so much. If you don't know what I'm talking about..
To me a family trade in is when a Character, no matter their role, has family, turns evil or gets lost and finds a family of their own, and then when it seems perfect for them, they end up back with their original family because the new family died for them/their old family or they just.. don't belong/want to go.
Perfect example that isn't Arcane: Amphibia. Anne has to leave her adoptive found family from another universe and can never go back ( until she dies basically ). As well as her friends have to leave their found families as well and also cannot go back. Anne loves both her families..
And while i understand life isn't fair, and that people are allowed to not want to stay here or there.. it just bugs me the trope is to always trade back in for the old.
With Jinx, she "loses" Vi ( and yes Silco but it isn't about him right now ), And gets Isha. I KNEW the second i saw her she was gonna die ( this isn't a bash against those who didn't see it coming ( /genuine ) at some point. While i adore Isha and i am fine with Jinx adopting her, i am not okay with the writers choice of adding her just to kill her and be practically a trade in for Vi later on.
It sucks. I'll just say it out right.
And i want to be very clear. By trade in i do NOT mean replace. I know Isha was never a replacement for Vi ( or Powder ).
Again, i know life sucks, and you just don't get everything you want in this world, especially when it comes to war. But since this is a trope or at least a thing i see constantly, whether its in a pg way or an R rated way... its annoying.
Which brings me to....
People dying / Jinx / Vander:
Why? Other than shock value?
Jinx Dies, and it felts uncomfortable to me as a Psychotic/Schizospec person like her. She should have lived, she should have been able to find her own happiness after properly grieving Isha.
Isha Dies, happy to do so for her big sister(s), but like.. it ends up not being worth it. It both does and doesn't. She saved them time but then-
Vander. Vander is killed, then brought back to life in a fucked up way, then okay for awhile, then fucked up again, then dies ( by Isha ) and then is fucked up again and alive, and then dead.......... and then fucked up and alive again! And then dies, with Jinx!
It doesn't feel satisfying. Of course that one moment was very sweet and worth it. But oh my god? Why do it at all if you're just gonna kill and reanimate him again and again. Its not shocking its annoying by the third time and a joke by the fourth.
Viktor.. Same deal with him? And I'm not even clear if he is dead or just fucked off to space-time with Jayce, but still. It wasn't shocking anymore. Or thrilling. Just like "ah. Okay. Cool mask".
Heimerdinger... when i read the leaks i thought he was gonna die. Then i was watching and thought "oh no okay, he's gonna stay in that universe. Thats nice he deserves that". Nope. He's either also dead or also in space time. I just sighed really hard rather than be sad.
And finally.. The Doctor's daughter gets to live- AND HIMSELF- even he gets a happy ending? Over Jinx or Vi? What.. i mean yes Vi gets Caitlyn , but.. ? Ugh
The Sex scene:
I'm glad for Sapphic rep i really really am. I like Caitvi a lot as well. But this didn't feel comfortable for me. Not because it was an intimate moment, but because neither of them talked things out properly. On top of that it was really random.
Vi was upset, then suddenly horny for i guess.. make up or grief sex? Or both? And Cait was obviously fine with it, but then to suddenly try and talk about Maddie. I'm glad Vi wasn't the typical ">:( you fucked someone else while i was hurting?!" It was so... random. This is why they needed to talk before hand. At LEAST say it before getting into it.
And doing it in Jinx's cell? It feels so.. weird and wrong in a way? I don't know how to describe it.
TLDR: what in the five marvel hells was that other than visuals pretty
20 notes
¡
View notes
Text
okay, before i go on this little tirade, i am going to try and make one thing clear: ao3 stats are not always a measure of whether a fic is Good, Actually or Not. i have read fics with less than 10 kudos that were amazing, and i have read fics with thousands of kudos that were...fine.
but let me tell you what stats are a good measure of: fandom engagement.
and so, with that in mind, i have a tiny little bone to pick with our fandom when it comes to fic.
our kudos to hits ratio is DISMALLY low and i struggle to find an answer as to why that is. we have some amazing writers in our fandom and yes, okay, you know me, i'm the BIGGEST champion of "write what you want because you want to write it and not for any other reason" so believe me that has not changed and i still believe that wholeheartedly. it's just WILD to see a majority of new fics in our fandom are getting a less than 10% kudos to hits ratio. especially when i read them and can see the love and effort the writer poured into it. like, that's just disheartening.
(and here, have some data! as of typing this, the first 20 fics under the cobra kai tag on ao3 have an average of 12 kudos and 263 hits. that's a 4.5% kudos to hits ratio. this is all ships all ratings all tags all works that have been updated as of today. if 10% is the expected average, we are just not hitting it.)
and the crazier thing is that we do so much as a fandom to celebrate creativity (ckhalloween, cksecretsanta, ckreversebang, cktkkffawards -- just to name a few)! it's one of the things i love about participating in this fandom! and sure, we are tiny compared to a lot of others and therefore i temper my expectations accordingly. but damn, we gotta stop reading fics in silence because authors will stop writing and move on to other fandoms where people will actively engage with their work.
february is our last hurrah (karate kid legends i am choosing to ignore you) and we'll probably lose some writers after that simply becaue there won't be any new content. so why not engage with the fandom while we still have fun toys to play with in our sandbox, right?
#remember when i said âit's the last season so i'm not going to be quiet about my opinions anymoreâ??#this is one of those opinions i have#bro there ain't no reason on earth why some of these fics have such low engagement like y'all are clicking the link!!!!#like i get it -- you sort by kudos and all the top fics are from 2020-2021 when we were super active and more people were watching#(thanks to the netflix transition and the lockdowns)#but like. y'all are still clicking. you're still reading. it's not the same 10 people who are reading fic on this site i gotta believe that#idk what to tag this as so i'm just not going to lol feel free to ignore me
19 notes
¡
View notes
Note
do you use any site/spreadsheet/etc. to track your comic reading? i use locg right now but have been considering other options.
... yes. technically. but bc i'm an autistic bitch i just. have a google spreadsheet i'm gonna be honest. i log it all manually.
this is an example of what a random section looks like of my 2023 spreadsheet. in order it's: title, issue/volume number, page count, date i finished the comic, and my personal rating. blue and red is obviously DC and Marvel. pink means the numbering is counting single issues, yellow means it's counting volumes/trades. sometimes for the page count i guesstimate based on how long comics tend to be if i can't find an exact page count. the colors in the rating are just for fun so i can easily see what stuck out as 10/10 and what stuck out as 1/10.
then i take all of *that* data and condense it into monthly stats. all by hand bc idk how to like. properly use google sheets that well.
obviously i'm aware all of this is likely the most tedious way to do it and i'm probably making it harder for myself. however. i am just Like That. i do use the Comics Geeks app as well, which i think is a solid app? i just haven't fully logged everything i've read because i find that to be wildly tedious. but the stat breakdowns it gives about most read characters and writers and whatnot is nifty. though you can tell the app is more geared toward tracking comic collections rather than comics read.
so uh. i'm not the best person to ask about this probably lkjhghgjhkjjkjh i will always brute force my own way than just doing it the. smart way. but! i do keep track of it all and i find it very useful to do so, because i like seeing the trends of what i was reading when. also i enjoy the data of how i rated a comic when i read it vs how i feel about it now that it's sat with me. idk if this helps but!! i do like rambling about my spreadsheet!
#necrotic answerings#no one ask me about the spider-man 2099 week i had.#i'm not a spider-man fan. so it's only more baffling. I got weird about miguel o'hara.#and *no one* ask me what was going on in november that caused me to *only* read warrior nun comics. /lh#don't read the warrior nun comics. they're not fucking worth it.#i read them all to prove a point. idk what the point was but I was a hollow shell at the end of it.#also as for the âhow i felt when i read it vs how i feel nowâ a GREAT example is the bat-man of gotham#bc in hindsight. no i do not like it#but clearly i enjoyed it enough to put it as my favorite for that month?? idk#also some of these are rereads.#i personally log rereads bc rereading can often deeply change my opinion on a comic#but ik some ppl don't#i love spreadsheets#i also use one for the like regular books i read#and my longest spreadsheet is one that keeps track of every research topic in my grimoires.#assume what you will about me with that#anyway i think if i actually *used* comic geeks properly#i'd like it a lot#the stats are cool!!!#it's a well made app#but as far as i know it doesn't track dates or any of that#and i like knowing when i read a thing and my rating of it#and page count#the data calls to me.
6 notes
¡
View notes
Text
i saw this tweet and found it interesting for two reasons. one is that some people base how good cartoon network would be to toh by how it treated su, and despite the fact that suâs treatment by the network was considered poor at the time, now its thought to be exceptionally good in comparison to modern shows.
two is how exactly su got impacted by a limited budget. a common criticism is how characters like connie, peridot, and lapis are left out of missions. but balancing a lot of characters is not only hard but also costly (extra animation, extra voicesâitâs been revealed that the show is limited to a set number of characters per episode otherwise theyâre over budget). animation mistakes are not uncommon since retakes cost extra. the entire reason the original show got cut short was due to loss of funding!
#i donât know if pay rates differ per networks#but a.ivi and s.urrashu have said that they needed to work outside of su in order to make sufficient funds#it only makes me wonder what other ways su suffered from a lower budget#that we as the audience never got to see#in the vein of the too-little characters complaint#another part of that is that low-stakes episodes shouldâve been abt the main cast instead of the townies#like last one out of beach city and too short to ride vs restaurant wars and kikiâs pizza delivery service#i definitely see that especially since that isnât budget related#nor would it seem to be network related (even if cn had an âepisodic episodesâ quota it could still be abt the gems#(another side note: /would/ cn even have a requirement that the show make episodes that can be watched standalone?#this is a question for the people who were around when su was airing#what episodes often got rerun?#was it the townie eps or the lore eps?#for example i heard that su once did a âperidot eventâ where they just reran peridot episodes#which had eps that skip around in the show#did they even care about airing the story so that it made sense anyways?#id get it if the low stakes townie episodes were the ones getting rerun))#but i have such a boring view on that which is i think itâs simply because the creators like townie eps#like in interviews r.ebecca s.ugar has said sheâs the type to be really invested in background characters#answers in interviews have been crafted in ways to hide whatâs really going on though tbf#prime example of this is rebecca and ian saying the wedding being interrupted was meant to follow the common trope#when later in the art book they said that it was bc cn rejected the ep bc it âwasnât interesting enoughâ#both could simultaneously be true! itâs a psychology thing though where people make up nice-sounding explanations behind what they create#in retrospect because they want it to be thought out in such a nice way they believe in it#the bigger problem is that not matter how many episodes there are of them#it can be hard for ppl to be invested in the townies the same way they are invested in the main cast#iâm sure that a million writers have made surefire advice on how to get an audience to care about characters#but off the top of my head i think itâs because 1. most donât have strong motivations to get truly invested in#(exception is ronaldo but people find him too annoying to care about him)#okay i had more points and explanations but i hit the tag limit and idk if anyone is actually reading this so bye
176 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Good morning, happy Thursday, who wants to read a fun idea I had about giants in Soul Society?
So! I was reading this @littleeyesofpallas post about wuxing symbolism and was particularly struck by this passage in a section about the gate guardians:
There is no central guard but conspicuously Kirinji's name comes from Qilin, but apparently according to official height he's actually not nearly as tall as Kubo's drawings always made him seem. Not that he was on the same scale as the gate guardians even then...
No, I said to myself, of course not. He's powerful enough to control his size, because I was thinking of the part where Grand Fisher claims Isshin is too small to defeat him and Isshin responds with a lecture on soul reaper lore:
Now, bodies are not swords, but maybe the same mechanic applies! It certainly applies to Hollows. Earlier in this same scene, Kon mistakes Grand Fisher for a Menos Grande, and Grand Fisher is insulted by the comparison, but it's the same thing. Menos are huge and scary, but when they become Arrancar, they shrink down and become scarier. [Aside: I think this is why the Yammy-is-secretly-Espada-0 reveal doesn't quite manage to hit. It goes against the lore Kubo has been laying down for ages]
On a meta level, this is just a shounen storytelling tactic where X is an indicator of strength, but then later on, it's like "Reverse Uno! Not-X is the real indicator of strength!!" That's exactly how this zanpakutou-size thing is used when it's first introduced.
Exhibit A: Renji, a court jester, being impressed by the size of Ichigo's sword:
Exhibit B: A handful of issues later, Urahara, an intellectual (lol), sets us straight:
Genre convention or not, I think it lends itself some interesting world-building. Among low-powered people, size is impressive, but as you scale the ranks of power, it's kind of pathetic. Weirdly large people are like the petty bourgeoisie of Soul Society power dynamics.
But that's actually the perfect niche for a gatekeeper! In general, your typical Joe Shinigami is going to be able to take on just about any rando from the Rukongai, but maybe not a particularly strong ryouka. Ganju was able to take on Yumichika, after all. A single shinigami wouldn't be able to take on a planned rebellion, like in the Bount arc, and they've got to, like, sleep and stuff. The Gotei could, in theory, have an entire gatehouse and a gate patrol, etc, but that they are perpetually short-staffed as-is. Instead, how about one medium-powerful gatekeeper whose size makes them well-suited for fighting groups of people (or siege weapons), and who is going to be intimidating overall?
Furthermore, it's implied that Jidanbou isn't actually a shinigami. He wears a shihakushou, but his axes don't seem to be a zanpakutou (he doesn't release them and is distressed when they are destroyed). His neighbors offer this comment on him:
It's not quite right, though: after all, many shinigami are from Rukongai, including Gin, who is the reason Jidanbou is being healed at the very moment this panel takes place. I think what this guy means is that Jidanbou is of Rukongai, which is to say not of the Seireitei.
So what is he, then? Here's my big idea: I think that the gigantism in Soul Society might actually be a reiatsu-developmental disability! It's always been my impression that growth, especially for powerful people, happens in fits and spurts, rather than linearly, and that furthermore, big changes in growth tend to coincide with developments in reiryouku. Somewhere, either in childhood or adolescence, someone's spiritual pressure grows more quickly than their control over it, which results in their body growing uncontrollably. They become very powerful "physically", but their strength is all in their mass/reishi, which takes most of their spiritual pressure to control. This may end up limiting the upper end of power they are able to achieve and some cases means they get cut off entirely from the other forms of power used by shinigami (connecting to a zanpakutou, kidou). I think this might be especially common in children from the Rukongai, who lack access to education and training. I can also imagine it leading itself to cautionary tales in the outer Rukon that if you feed your hungry children too much, you'll end up with a giant on your hands.
This offers one explanation to why Jidanbou is a giant and his brother Jiroubou is large, but not remotely on the same scale (the Souls Data Book lists his height at 7'7" vs Jidanbou's 32'5"). There are a handful of other shinigami of larger-than-human height, which could be a milder form of this, or it could mean that some sort of special training or medical intervention helped keep their growth manageable. I think you can squeeze in a lot of interesting character insights into this headcanon, from Hachi (8'5"), who perhaps worked exceptionally hard in an effort to control his power and ended becoming incredibly skilled at kidou as a result (interesting that he, too, is not actually a shinigami). Or Oomaeda (6'11"), who gets by a lot on his family's wealth and clout, but is definitely on the weaker end of the lieutenant power scale. In his case, his large size kind of speaks to his entire "thinks he's classy, but is really just gaudy"/can't-even-tell-how-outclassed-he-is-by-his-peers deal.
Then, as a counterpoint, you've got Hitsugaya: immensely powerful from a young age, and one of the hallmarks of his character is how in-control of himself he is, down to having developed an actual visible power bar for his bankai. Whether this is some effect of his personality, or whether it's an intervention on Hyourinmaru's part, his growth has been choked off as a side effect. He's the direct opposite of Jidanbou, who additionally seems somewhat childlike in personality (crying over his axes, for example, or his attachment to his extremely dubious "rules of the city"). To me, it's very sweet that their friendship might have roots in opposite expressions of the same reiatsu-growth-fuckup.
Much in the way that the Shiba use some sort of magic that's distinctly different from shinigami-kidou, I guess I really like thinking about other ways power might manifest itself in Soul Society outside of the shinigami-industrial-complex. And also the way the Seireitei may or may not try to control those powers."Guard this gate!" they say. "We won't actually let you live in the city or give you city wages, but you can have a cool outfit and, uh...do it for the exposure?"
#soul society worldbuilding#gate guardians#jidanbou ikkanzaka#soul society inventing new forms of ableism that are only accessible at the highest level of power. incredibly on-brand for them#toshiro hitsugaya#hachigen ushoda#marechiyo omaeda#this may or may not be relevant to zaraki (6'8") but that guy is in his own category#werewolves are also their own thing but i wonder if their size firmly predisposes them towards the 'melee' side of things#not sure we ever saw komamura do a kidou and his hex chart rating was p low#ngl even tho it's a little silly later on i LOVE it when the characters in early bleach have no idea how the worldbuilding even works#rukia-doesn't-know-what-a-quincy-is i am looking at you#like it's not graceful or anything but learning how the world works is a thing that goes along with character and power growth#it underscores how 'young' characters like rukia and renji are even though they are old by human standards#and also how soul society is not. uh. committed to the ideals of the free spread of knowledge and education#i just think it's neat! my favorite lil dystopian afterlife!!#the reason i read that wuxing post is bc i woke up this morning and missed troius and went to go scroll thru his blog and it was there#troius i miss youuuuuuuuuuuuuu i hope you're having a great day
18 notes
¡
View notes
Text
ANGELA/SERA FROM THE MARVEL SNAP HERO ANIMATIC
#eep babies first gif#definitely... could be better#i ended up having a lot of issues doing it the way i wanted to in my head and so. had to work around it the only ways i could figure#and also making tumblrs size & dimension limits was. harder than i thought! kinda. compressed to hell#idk. i think i can do better but this is what i ended up with#also i know this has been giffed already but i thought messing w animation was a bit easier than irl images#low stakes also bc none of my friends care about this either#nyxtalks#angela#angela odinsdottir#sera#sera of heven#serangela#angelsera#angela x sera#marvel#marvel snap#gif#one of the things i was having issues was was framerate? like i could not get it to cooperate at all#i couldnt figure how to make it faster as i saved it and then when i tried to edit it in post speeding it up even 1% made it way too fast?#but it was stuttery without change. so im gonna have to mess around more with that#idk! still much to mess with#will be a long time before the GB edit happens at this rate lol#i think maybe im somewhat getting the hang of the bare basics though#if you read this far friends i love uuuuuu#i assume only my dear mutuals would actually read the tags#sorry for there being so many. i had commentary
17 notes
¡
View notes