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heavymetalover · 5 years ago

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Call Me Daddy (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

{i imagined scruffy sojourn michael w this one but i left the description kind of open so yall can imagine whichever teehee}

Summary: Michael is about to become your step dad and the two of you have an unusual relationship…

Warnings: DADDY KINK DUH, smut, dirty talk, fingering, vaginal sex, dom!michael, hickies, rough sex.

WC: 5.5k

A/N: ive done the unforgiven… omg.

this is a different format from my other stuff. i didnt see anyone doing this and yall know me and my daddy issues I HAD TO. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE anon me, message me, whatever, if you want more parts cuz im down.

~~~~

You had an average run-of-the-mill life with your mom. The two of you lived in a sizable suburban Los Angeles estate; your mom worked for most of her waking hours to keep you comfortable and you worked your ass off to stay in your top college. You had a few friends that would pop into your life when your mom left town, a few boyfriends here and there, even your mom dated around. Everything felt normal until Michael came into the picture.

Your mom has been dating Michael for a few months now, but every time he’s around he brings an eerie feeling along with him. Despite being nearly half her age, he has the soul of somebody from the eighteen hundreds. The way he composes himself, how he speaks with the utmost confidence and how his stares linger too long; his glacial blue eyes always watch you like he can see right through your clothes.

You’ve been skeptical of him since the day you met him. When you shook his hand and accidentally removed one of his large rings, he nonchalantly told you to keep it. You decided to sell the huge diamond-encrusted Cartier ring and use the twenty thousand dollars to help pay for college.

Since then you’ve avoided the two of them in protest of their relationship. You knew it was juvenile to evade them, but the man turned you on more than you’d like to admit. His soft-waved blonde hair, fluffy lips, jawline for days, prominent cheekbones, and how can you forget the eyes… Everything about him looked planned, like he was designed to be flawless.

On a mundane weekend morning, your mom calls you from downstairs. “Y/n!” her voice echoes through the halls.

You stop reading your favourite book and take out an earbud. “Yeah?!” you yell back, looking up from the pages for a moment and waiting for her to say something else, but the house is silent. You pretend to ignore her call and go back to the story.

“Y/n!” your mom yells again.

You sigh and drop your book, rolling off of your bed and skipping down the stairs to see what fresh hell awaits. As you approach your mom, who’s opening her mouth to call you again, you smell something unusual. Something you haven’t smelt since your dad left. Cologne.

“Honey, he’s here,” your mom whispers to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. You try turning away to run back to your room, but your mom stops you. “Can you be nice for once, please?” she begs, squeezing your shoulder.

“Whatever, let’s get this over with,” you groan and shimmy her hand off of your shoulder.

Michael works at the dining table, setting up three plates and utensils. You’re planted to the ground in awe, you’ve never had to eat dinner with the two of them before. It crosses your mind that they must be confronting you about bypassing them these past few months, your fight or flight response is already kicking in.

Michael looks up at you, finally acknowledging you and capturing you in his ocean blue eyes with a nanosecond of contact. Your mom moves in between the two of you and takes some food out of a paper bag. “Michael and I wanted all of us to eat dinner together,” she skips to stand beside him. You widen your eyes at her and cross your arms in objection. She widens her eyes back, you can practically hear her nagging you to be polite.

Michael puts his arm around your mom. “Your mother and I thought it best for us to… start acting like a family,” he says.

Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t hold back your smile. “A family?” you laugh. You purse your lips and start walking backwards, aching to escape Michael’s spell. “Mmm, I think I’ll pass,” you turn around to start walking away.

“Y/n,” your mom snaps. You stop in the middle of a step and twist back towards them, taking small, reluctant steps to approach their little function. “We have something to tell you,” she says and immediately after, vaults her hand out to you.

You take it hesitantly and look at her, still trying to figure them out and failing. “What?” you ask.

“No, honey, look at it,” she rolls her eyes, “look at my hand.”

You gawk at her hand, her third finger is dressed in a huge diamond ring. It looks big enough to pay off your whole house. You unintentionally let out a dramatic gasp and drop her hand, she continues to hold it up for you. “It’s the bloodiest diamond he could find in the LA area,” she explains, “We’re in love.” She smiles and places her hand on Michael’s chest, looking up at him with hearts in her eyes. He gifts a small kiss on her lips.

You scoff and shake your head. Any tension that you felt from Michael has dissolved. He’s been dating your mom for five months, five fucking months. Who does he think he is? Are they both nuts? “You’re joking, right?” you ask, completely stunned by how brash the whole situation is. “Are you guys pranking me?”

Michael grins at you, it makes you melt and you hate yourself for it. “Call me daddy,” he sneers.

----

It’s a quaint Wednesday evening when you decide to take a break from studying and grab a snack. You’re scrolling through Tumblr when you walk out of your room and smash your face against a sturdy chest. “Jesus!” you gasp, looking up at Michael standing in front of your door; one of his hands is in a fist, ready to knock on your door, while the other is behind his back. “You scared the shit out of me!” You playfully push his chest away from you, trying to shake off the sudden rush of adrenaline.

He drops his fist as he stumbles back slightly. It’s the first time you’ve talked to him since they announced their engagement. Michael moved in about a month ago and it’s been hard to ignore him since he sits, day in day out, typing away on his laptop in your living room.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “But I have to admit it’s nice to hear your voice again.”

You lean against your doorframe, trying to act casual as if he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of you completely. “Did my mom come home from work or something? She send you here?” you ask, declining his attempts to meet your eyes, instead you stare at his lapel.

“No, I got you something,” he explains, wiggling the surprise behind his back.

“Another Cartier ring?” you joke. “Oh, or is it a new girlfriend? Because that would be even better.” His eyes find the ceiling in annoyance and it feels rewarding, you were starting to think he couldn’t be cracked. “Did you get me an apartment, so I don’t have to live with another failed marriage?”

“No,” he snaps back, starting to sound impatient with your infantile attitude. You straighten up at his belligerent tone. He slides into your room, keeping the gift hidden behind his back. “It’s thoughtful, something I know you’d like, but… if you’re hellbent on loathing my existence, why should I be so kind?” he asks. He somehow manages to speak reserved, yet impossibly intimidating. Every word that leaves his lips demands to be heard, it sends chills down your spine. “Right?” he prompts.

You take in a breath. “Right,” you force yourself to agree, mostly because you’re curious to see what the present is. Another part of you is getting bored of acting like a hermit and going days without social interaction. “Obviously it feels weird; I barely know you and you’re becoming my dad and you moved in, everything just seems so fast,” you explain yourself. You saunter back into your room to meet him. “I’ve been a bitch. I’m sorry, Michael. Seriously.”

He takes a step closer to you, you’re only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his body and fight the urge to wrap your arms around him. “We’ll work on ‘Michael’ later,” he replies. You’re about to question what he means by that when he takes the present out from behind his back. He holds a black bag in between the two of you and you immediately recognize the store. “I heard you on the phone with your friend about something red, lacey, with a bow. I think I found it…”

You take the Victoria’s Secret bag from him without saying a word. You have no words to say. You don’t know if you should thank him or refuse the gift or slap him for listening to your personal conversations. Your mind races wondering if you’d gossiped about his good looks on the phone with your friend.

You silently pry open the bag and paw through the lingerie, mountains of cute panties and bras, digging through things you were never able to afford but always wanted. And, of course, Michael bought the red, lacey one piece you were talking about with your friend. There’s a stillness in the room as you look through the bag. “You bought all of this for me?”

“Yeah, I can’t see how your mom would fit into any of those.”

All of the pieces are just your size, it’s the perfect gift… just not from your stepdad. “How did you even know my size?” you stop looking at the bag and make the mistake of falling into his eyes.

“I went through your clothes,” he carelessly shrugs.

You drop the present by your side. “You went through my clothes, like, my lingerie?”

He slowly nods his head, acting as if it isn’t strange for him to invade your privacy how he did. You huff and he begins looking agitated with you again. “Would you like if I returned all this stuff? I thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” you mutter and kick the bag away from him, you’re not jeopardizing this gift with your uncontrollable sass.

“Good,” he spits back.

“Just… don’t think you can just buy yourself into the family,” you mock. You catch yourself subconsciously crossing your arms over your chest to give yourself a breast lift, but you don’t stop.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirks. He looks down at your cleavage and it feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. “You have quite the collection of lingerie you keep hidden at the bottom of your drawers,” he observes, “like a dirty guilty pleasure.” You peer up at him, again trying to read him, and again failing. He uses one of his fingers to hook onto the thin fabric of your shirt, your tits are practically pouring out and begging to be the center of attention. He tugs at the fabric, looking under your shirt and inspecting your boobs suffocated in one of your intimate Victoria’s Secret pickups. “Kitten’s all dressed up?” he whispers, his fingertips graze the embroidered details.

You bite your lip, anticipating the second he’ll rip the bra off your chest. “It’s all for you,” you tease, pushing your tits together even more, “I’m always dressed up for you, Michael.”

He breathes in, groaning under his breath. “I thought I told you,” his voice is low and intimidating, “call me daddy.”

You’re drinking in a breath of his cologne, shifting onto the tips of your toes to give his soft lips a rugged kiss, when the sound of keys rattling downstairs takes you out of it. Michael still stares at you, his fingers continue to linger over your clothed tits. “Michael!” your mom calls from downstairs.

You look up at him with fear in your puppy dog eyes and Michael grins. He shoots you one last, knowing, glance before leaving your room. He leaves you without saying two words. “Yeah, babe,” he answers your mom, closing your bedroom door behind him.

What the fuck just happened?

----

Holding back your gags, you grasp your friend’s hair as she projectile vomits peach schnapps into an expensive toilet bowl. Her phone rings in her pocket and you huff, digging through the pockets of the leather jacket you lent her and pulling out a vibrating iPhone. You pick up the phone with an ill “hello”, answering too late and looking down at the screen. She must’ve ordered an Uber a while ago, there’s a ton of notifications that the driver’s outside. “Oh shit,” you mutter under your breath. “Your ride is here!” you yell at her, trying to pull her onto her feet.

“What?!” she yells into the toilet bowl.

You roll your eyes and lean down beside her ear, “I said, your ride is here!” you yell over the thumping music.

Your friend stumbles around, trying to stand up in her six-inch heels. You pull her onto you and her head rests on your shoulder, she goes limp against you. “Stop, come on!” you shout over the music. “You have to g-”

You’re cut off by your friend puking onto an expensive mini dress you bought for tonight’s party. This shindig was supposed to be a fun little escape from your school life, your home life, Michael, all your stress. You expected to make new friends, meet hot guys, but instead you came an hour late and have been nursing your friend the whole night. You’re seriously going to kick her ass tomorrow.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, her breath reeking of throw up.

You toss her arm over your shoulder and start walking her out of the bathroom. “I’m going to kill you tomorrow, you know that?” you say in her ear and she lets out a small, apologetic whimper.

A cute guy who was talking you up earlier approaches the two of you. He holds two red cups in his hands and shrugs when he sees you. “What the fuck, y/n? You disappeared on me!” he talks to you over the bass-y music. “I got our drinks!” he shakes the cups in his hands and hands one over to you, as if completely ignoring your drunken friend hanging off of your side.

Your friend staggers, nearly bringing you down with her. The cute guy helps you pick her back up and you sigh, annoyed at how much of a disaster your night has turned into. He knits his eyebrows at your sour attitude, then finding the vomit on your dress, he looks back up at you. You see his doe eyes grow apologetic when he mouths a weak “sorry” to you, stepping out of your way. You shake your head as if telling him it’s fine; you just wish you had more time to get to know him.

You continue dragging your friend along your side and hear someone call out your name from behind you. You whip your head around; your hair irritatingly sticks to your lip-gloss. “Hope to see you again!” he calls after you. You nod in his direction and resume walking your friend, who is nearly passed out on your shoulder, to the front door. When you walk out of the house, you’re assaulted with the smell of salt water. Despite this night turning into one of the most frustrating nights of your life, at least you got to visit a Malibu beach house.

A big, black SUV is parked outside of the house and you rush her to the door. Opening the backseat and stuffing her inside the seats in the back. “The app says where you’re taking her, right?” you ask the Uber driver, your voice sounds muted from being struck by loud music all night.

He nods and reads out her address. “Y/n,” your friend slurs, gripping onto your arm with all her strength, “you’re a really nice… you’re a… you’re a really good friend, you know that? Like, seriously,” she pauses to hiccup, “thank you for taking care of me tonight.” Her words are so slurred that it’s nearly impossible to make out her compliment, but you just nod in hopes it’ll get her to let go. She drops your arm and hands you your pricey leather jacket, bunched up in a ball, before shutting the van door.

You throw on your jacket, protecting yourself from the ocean’s breeze, and watch the van drive away when you notice a familiar car parked across the street. The SUV blocked a four-seater Maserati parked on the other side of the road. Michael’s sedentary in the driver’s seat with a cigarette hanging from his lips. You balance yourself on your ridiculously tall heels and stomp over to his car. He doesn’t even see you coming, he’s leaned back in the driver’s seat reading a book.

You crouch down and knock on the glass of his window. His eyes meet yours for a second and he slowly rolls down the window. A mob of cigarette smoke escapes the car and he chucks the stick onto the pavement. You’re both quiet for a few moments, the crashing ocean waves fills up the silence. “How did you know I was here?” you ask.

He finally puts down his book and looks at you. “Just trying to be a good dad,” he responds.

“Ugh, ew,” you groan. “You’re my step dad.”

He adjusts his seat to start driving, his eyes looking you up and down as he does. “Looks like your night went a little… rough,” he jokes and nods towards the puke on your dress. “You need a ride?”

You look back at the party. As much as you wanted to live up the night, you’re already in too much of a bad mood to go back in there. It doesn’t help that your new dress is covered in puke, too. You turn back around to Michael, he awaits your answer with a cocked brow. “You can’t tell mom,” you sigh, walking around the car to get into the passenger’s seat. The luxury car’s butterfly doors obnoxiously open up for your entry. “Not a word,” you assure him as you slide into the leather seat.

He starts up the car and one of his Led Zeppelin albums begins to play. “I picked you up at the library,” he quips.

He starts driving along the empty coast and you decide to skip the seatbelt, you don’t want to dirty his car with your friend’s retch. His eyes glance over to your seat for a moment, he notices you second guessing the seatbelt and puts a hand on your thigh. You look up at him and intuitively try to tempt him, biting your bottom lip and batting your lashes. “I’ll protect you if we crash,” he whispers, his fingers lightly caress your thighs.

You put your hand on his and slide him further up your leg. He keeps one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, but when his eyes do meet yours, it makes all the nerves in your core feel like a wave pool. Your dress is short enough for him to reach your panties without any hassle. Your hand is on his when his fingers begin to rub your pussy, still dressed in a pair of panties he bought you. “Baby’s already wet for daddy,” he says under his breath, kneading your clit in small circles.

You feel your stomach erupt with butterflies, you’ve never felt a nervousness so intense before. A rush of thoughts suddenly violates your mind, you try to shut them up but they keep coming. This is wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re disgusting for enjoying this. His fingers have been in your mom before.

You dig your nails into his skin and pull his hand away from you; bending over in your seat and clutching onto your stomach. You only had one drink tonight, you shouldn’t be feeling this sick.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, “are you okay?”

“I think I need air,” you grumble through the sudden sickness. “Can you pull over?”

Michael only takes a minute to find an empty parking lot on the beach and pull into it. You get out of the car without saying a word to him and take off your heels, throwing them into the backseat of his car. You’re already starting to feel your anxiety subside as you shuffle through the cool sand and pace towards the erratic waves crashing on shore. This is one of the reasons you loved LA, the tons of tiny, empty beaches. The ocean at night, and how it constantly smelt like salt water, how it relaxed you.

The breeze blew through your hair, a part of you felt like running into the crashing waves, but a voice took you out of it. “Y/n!” Michael called behind you, over the sound of the whistling wind. He trudges in the sand to get to you; you faintly snicker at his dedication. “Are you okay?” he asks once he’s closer to you.

When you see him, face glowing in the moon light, golden locks blowing in the ocean breeze, face twisted with concern, it all settles. Everything feels like it’s in the right place. Your stomach, although still turning with butterflies, no longer feels sick.

There’s a pause between the two of you; both of you deciding to admire each other instead of the beautiful ocean view beside you. Then, it feels like everything clicks. Like the two of you mentally communicate your longing for each other, your desire. Both shutting your eyes and diving in for a kiss at the same time.

His lips smash against yours, sucking your face, and his tongue quickly invades your mouth. He kisses you like he’s craved your lips for years, passionately cleaning up your mouth with his eager tongue.

Michael works your jacket off of your shoulders and you shimmy it to the ground. He unzips your dress, the zip running along your naked back sends a shiver crawling down your spine. He abandons your lips for a moment to pull down your dress, exposing your bare chest and expensive panties. You’re too lost in lust to even realize you’re half naked on a public beach.

You’re both panting and releasing all of the built-up sexual tension. He stands back up and kisses you again, his hands cup your ass and he gives an echoed smack; his fingers creep down your legs. He grabs onto the back of your thighs and hoists you up, you lightly yelp into his mouth and wrap your legs around him. His large hands hold you up and he leans down, resting you onto the jacket you’ve thrown onto the sand.

Once you’re laid down, he begins rubbing your pussy again. His cold rings adding a different sense of pleasure as he rubs you into entropy. He slides your feeble panties to the side and spits down on your cunt, shoving his finger inside you. You moan at the sudden intrusion, taking in a breath of the salt-scented air. “That’s it, baby girl,” he whispers, adding in another finger, “I want to hear you moan for daddy.”

You take in a breath and whimper as he curves his fingers inside of you, slowly pulsing against your g-spot. He touches you as if he already knows which parts make you crumble. “Ooh yeah, daddy,” you cry and grind on his fingers, pushing him deeper inside you, “right there.”

“You’re my dirty little slut, huh?” he asks, gliding in another finger. Your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Little girl likes to get fucked by her daddy?” He adds another finger, completely stretching you out. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you can’t reply. “I asked you a question.”

You meet his cold eyes for a second, before you throw your head back in pleasure. “Yes!” you breathe out, feeling the heat rise in your body. Your sensitive cunt throbs under his gluttonous fingers, persistently fucking you and begging for more. “Yes, oh, keep fucking me just like that, daddy!”

His fingers find a rhythm inside of you, constantly bringing you to the brink of climax and slowing down. “Such a dirty little girl,” he teases and spits on your soaking cunt. He pulls out his fingers and holds them to your lips. You grab his hand and suck on his long fingers, tasting the cool metal rings mixed with the sweet taste of your pussy.

You sit up and lock your lips with his again. Both, you and Michael, unbutton his shirt; you want to feel his flesh against yours as soon as possible. When you get to the bottom, you slide your hands up his body and square the shirt off of his shoulders. His perfect, porcelain skin shines in the moonlight. You want to appreciate it for a moment, but he’s already unbuckling his belt.

He’s propped on his knees, unzipping his black pants and bringing them down to pull his erection out of his briefs. It springs out when you start grabbing for it, he moves back and clicks his tongue. “My greedy little girl,” he mocks, “you don’t get a taste until daddy says you do.”

He pushes you down with one of his hands. His touch is so delicate, yet so commanding. Everything he does is done with conviction and a power that only you could dream of, he is inherently dominant over you. He strokes his long, girthy length over you, you’re practically drooling at the sight. He spits on himself and rubs it into the head. “Spit on it,” he orders.

You sit up and weakly spit on the tip of his cock; it’s too late when you notice your mouth is dry from nervousness. He shakes his head. “You’re so pathetic, you can’t even spit on me right,” he sneers, divorced from the nasty words leaving his lips. He presses his dick against your folds and your fingers curl into your jacket, awaiting the moment he plunges into you. “Say the word, baby girl, say you want me,” he’s lingering at your entrance.

“Please,” you whine, your pussy is beating against his hard cock, “please dad.”

He pushes his head inside you and you grab his arms for support, digging your nails into his skin. He’s so thick, you’ve never felt something so large obtruding your tight cunt. He moves in slowly, reading your stunned facial expressions to see if he should continue stuffing himself inside of you. You let out tiny weeps as he digs deeper into your hole, but you can’t manage much more.

Michael thrusts himself into you until he’s balls deep, even he can’t help but groan. “My little girl is so fucking tight,” he grunts under his breath. He starts to hammer himself into you, going so deep that you feel like pushing him back, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. His cock is so thick that it hits every nerve you could imagine; it’s hard to gather a single word.

He lets out a small chuckle at your reticence. “My innocent baby’s never felt a real cock before, huh?” he taunts, still pounding his length into you. You open your mouth to speak, but settle on shaking your head. One distinct tear runs down the side of your face while stifled cries pass your trembling lips with each time his balls smack into your ass. “You’re taking me like a good fucking girl,” he admires, “my good little slut.”

He lifts up your leg and rests your foot on his shoulder. You’re twisted onto your side, trying to look over your shoulder to see how vigorously he pounds into your cunt. Michael’s new positioning hits exactly in your g-spot, you feel your leg shaking under his grip. “H-holy shit,” your voice trembles, you let out a built-up breath. “Keep going, daddy! Right there, right there, I’m so close,” you’re begging, voice is flooded with desperation. You don’t care how childish you sound, you want nothing more than to come all over Michael’s big dick. “Don’t move, please, please,” you grab onto his arm again.

Tears overflow your eyes when you look into his. Just seeing his determined light blue eyes peering back at you makes you unravel even more. He has no remorse for how weak he’s making you, how vulnerable you’ve become, his unmistakable dominion turns you on.

He listens to your wails, finally granting you the satisfaction you’ve been begging for and plows into your g-spot. Your grip on him gets tighter as he thrusts harder, you’re almost certain he’s going to leave some swelling deep inside your cunt. “Your dick is so, fucking, good,” you breathe in between thrusts.

Michael doesn’t give up, keeping up the same pace and fucking you exactly how you want him to. You’re about to praise his long cock some more when you’re thrown into climax. You try looking back up at him, but you can’t say a word; your mouth hangs wide open with nothing but small chokes croaking out. He can see how dazed he’s made you and shoves your face into the ground, pushing your nose against the leather of your jacket. “You’re going to take daddy’s cock like a good little girl,” he seethes, suffocating your head into your jacket. “Don’t come,” he demands.

He continues punching your g-spot with his huge cock, you feel your pussy spasming under his rough thrusts. He holds both of your arms back, shifting you into doggy-style. His balls slap against your sore clit and you feel yourself starting to ejaculate. “Fuck!” you scream into the breeze of the empty beach. Your cunt twitches and gushes its balmy juices all over Michael’s hard cock.

He slows down his pace and pulls your arms up towards him, you feel his heaving chest against your back. “What did I just fucking say?” he fumes, tugging your arms even closer to him. “Answer me.”

“You told me not to come,” you answer in a syrupy, naïve voice.

He grabs both of your tits to push you flush against him, maintaining his rough thrusts into your cunt. “That’s right,” he whispers in your ear, “baby didn’t fucking listen.” He smacks your tits with both of his hands, striking you hard. You jump at how ruthless he hits you, it makes your stomach flutter again. His full lips lug along your neck. “Remember who you belong to,” he speaks into your neck, sending an iciness throughout your entire body.

Michael digs his teeth into your skin, sucking up your flesh while he continues massaging your breasts, pinching at the hard peaks your nipples have formed. He sucks so hard it stings, you wonder how that would feel on your pussy. His love bite begins to hurt and you shift your head away from him, he snickers. “Who do you belong to?” he whispers, lips chafing the shell of your ear.

He pinches your nipples even harder and you sob in pleasure. “Mmm, you,” you respond, looking over your shoulder to give his lips a frail kiss. “I belong to you, daddy.”

He takes in a deep breath as if shaking off your spell and regaining his confidence. He pushes you onto the ground again and goes back to fucking you like a ragdoll. “You better remember that,” he breathes, mercilessly pummeling himself into you again.

He holds both of your arms back once more, driving himself into you so hard that you’re concerned about cervix bruising. His pace slows down a bit and you look back at him, his mouth drapes open and he stares down at the back of your head. He pushes you away as he orgasms, savagely shoving your face back into the ground, as you feel his warm seed spilling inside your wet cunt. Michael groans from deep within his chest, letting out a long sigh when he’s done. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, “fuck, you sexy bitch.”

You let out a little giggle at this and he joins. He hauls himself out of you and you feel all of your muscles relax. You shift onto your back, looking up at Michael in disbelief. You’re too caught up in euphoria to comprehend what just happened. All you can think of in this moment is how fucking good he was. Even Michael has a dumbfounded look on his face.

He shakes his head and liberates a nervous laugh, “We’re so fucked up.”

You can say that again.

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bellaslilpapercut · 4 years ago

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Eclipse reread part 2! This is gonna cover a lot of chapters because I forgot to include stuff from chapters 4, 5, and 6 in part 1 (in my defense your honor, this book is very grating to read). Awayyy we go:

1. so chapters 4-6 really could have been one chapter tbh since the plot is: Bella ditches work at Newton’s Outfitters to hang with Jake and then writes some graduation invites with Angela. She pushes her rusty old behemoth as fast as it can go through driving rain but then hangs outside with Jake the whole time so I don’t really know where the rain went. She also manages to hear Jake gasp through her closed car door! Super sonic! Anyway, Bella insists that Edward is a good guy, Jake makes Bella hold his hand, Jake explains imprinting (yuck we can skip that), and then Edward drives threateningly past Bella while she’s on her way to Angela’s house. Angela reminds Bella that, at his core, Edward is a teen boy who is Totally Jealous of how Ripped and Sexy her 16 year old best friend is. Then Alice kidnaps Bella. Fun times!

2. During the imprinting convo it becomes very apparent that Meyer thinks the worst thing that can happen to a girl is getting broken up with. Somehow Leah got the “worst end” of the Sam/Emily/Leah fiasco despite Sam turning into a “monster” and Emily getting literally mauled in the face. What’s worse is later in the book, during the “Legends” chapter, when Bella wonders if Leah thinks Emily’s scars are a form of “justice.” Yea, Bella, that’s justice.

3. I love this Rosalie quote but hate the entirety of they way meyer writes her story. Others have mentioned it before but Meyer writes Rose's dialogue there as if Rose is an author and not like...a person telling a story. An easy fix would be to format Rosalie's story "flash back" style rather than have her narrate all the way through. Then you can include all the superfluous details of exactly what everyone's voice sounded like and all the excessive dialogue tags you want.

I also Violently Abhor this quote here:

Yea, meyer, the Hot Girl hates your self-insert because her stupid ass brother didn't have the hots for her. It just reads like weird middle school revenge fantasy "I only hated you because you were so Special!!!" Sure, sure. Also "all those females!" People don't talk like that @stephanie

4. I do love the scene when Bella “escapes” from Alice with Jake (I don’t know why i put escape in quotes, Alice could definitely murk Bella) but then that whole adventure ends with Jake telling Bella he’d rather she die than turn into a vampire. And yeah, fair buddy, but also you’ve known Bella for a long time. This should not be a surprise to you at all even a little bit. a) she mentioned it before, b) you knew she would never get over Edward even if your plan in NM had worked, and c) you’ve known that she’s fully obsessed with the Cullen’s since you started hanging out with her again. The last time you guys hung out she went on an impassioned rampage about how lovely and good and fantastic Edward is (footage not found) I really don’t know why you’re surprised that this hard-headed girl is prepared to commit to vampirism for him. She is not normal lmfao.

5. The legends chapter. Oh boy. Stephanie, Meyer, Smeyer. Honestly it might have been less offensive if she had just made up a whole new tribe to give these backstories to, for all that they have in common with real Quileute legends but actually that would still be offensive and terrible anyway. I don’t know how to describe this adequately but if you’ve ever seen G.I. Joe’s portrayal of indigenous people that’s exactly what meyer made Old Quil and Billy’s dialogue sound like. Just absolutely dripping with Mystical Native/ Magical Native trope from the content to the tone. https://mthg.org/ Because it can’t be plugged enough.

6. The legends chapter ends with this Wuthering Heights quote:

I have no qualms with it's inclusion, if you really want to push the Edward is Heathcliff and Bella is Cathy agenda, I don't believe it but fine, whatever. But those last two paragraphs are such a dumb way to end a chapter. Every chapter ending should make the reader want to turn the page: this makes me want to shut the book (actually I did take a long break after this lmfao). Anyway, just end the quote on "drank his blood," bold those three words, and end the chapter there. Don't go back and say "the three words that stood out were... Anyway it could have fallen to any page I believe in coincidence teehee!!" That's just annoying.

7. Okay guys I hate to say it but Edward does get a lil bit of ~character growth after the first few chapters. He comes home after having Bella kidnapped (she decides not to be angry, surprise surprise) and is all "so I've been thinking about it and you're right my Beloved Angel Face or whatever, please hang out with Jacob but also wear a helmet on your motorcycle my Beloved Dumb Idiot or whatever" (paraphrase). And he also says this in chapter 12:

Which is like, man I hate when I agree with Edward but I agree with Edward here. Now I know from MS that he only wants Bella to stay human because he's creating an Unfolding Drama in his head but this bit of dialogue is really sweet. And it's funny that he thought Bella didn't want to marry him because she just wanted to use him for immortality but it's also a Dark Reminder that he's literally only romantic with her because he can't read her mind and can't tell that she's just as obsessed with his looks as the other Teen Girls TM.

8. uuuh Jasper’s Backstory Time. This is so infuriating to read for so many reasons. So we know that smeyer got Jasper’s name from a confederate memorial/ listing (from a New Moon Q&A but the link isn’t secure so I can’t share) so I know that his backstory was always meant to be Confederate Soldier which makes everything else about his characterization just baffling. Again, he was the only Cullen that was genuinely kind to Bella besides Carlisle for the entire first book and he’s still incredibly kind during Eclipse (which is another issue I have though because no one mentions again that Jasper tried to eat Bella and they stand close to each other and hang out and Bella’s never like “this is scary, this dude tried to kill me” but i digress). The point is: smeyer knew he was going to be a confederate from book 1. She never addresses that this was bad, she never has Jasper mention that he regrets his role in the war, he is the only Cullen that’s actually capable of empathizing with humans anymore (Carlisle cares but I would not categorize him as empathetic), it just... None of these pieces fit together. This is a fraught and bloody history that smeyer throws in with no thought to how it might alienate black readers (though tbh she constantly emphasizes “white beauty” throughout the series so I doubt she cares) and the editors don’t question it either. No one, at any point in time, said “Hey, steph, you know confederates fought for slavery, right?” Every black american deserves reparations. White women and men who glorify the civil war should be the first to pay up.

9. I’m gonna jump back to chapters 9 & 10 here (target & scent, respectively) to say: no tension is being effectively built. I get it, someone stole your clothes. You’re annoyed because you have nothing to wear and Victoria is scary. But where is she? Where is the volturi? Move it along, please! This is one of the challenges of 1st person narrative because the author is stuck in the eyes of, usually, the person who knows the least. Meyer is not a talented enough author to make this interesting. Not to bring up THG again but Suzanne Collins really knew how to work 1st person. Everything that Katniss asserts with certainty throughout the series gets either confirmed or denied by the narrative, keeping it interesting. She assumes the worst of the people around her so we’re pleasantly surprised when people violate those assumptions. We’re kept on edge by how little Katniss knows and SC never gifts Katniss with more knowledge than she could be expected to have. Bella is constantly gifted with knowledge and her assumptions are rarely proven wrong. You can dig into the canon a little bit more, read the lexicon and the guide, and find all the examples of Bella being unreliable or making wrong assumptions. But within the narrative she is rarely incorrect. She doesn’t get opportunities to grow out of her false assumptions (while Edward does, at least in Eclipse). So to keep the Victoria debacle interesting, smeyer has to plant seeds like- during these two chapters- Bella thinking of Laurent and Victoria while the cullens discuss who could have been in Bella’s room. That just doesn’t cut it for me.

This is hella long and I’m only halfway through the book. I probably should split the second half into two parts as well but based on how talented smeyer is at stretching out the mundane, especially just before the climax, I probably wont need to.

#eclipse reread #saga reread #the twilight saga #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #long post

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worldbreakhlvrai · 4 years ago

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ABOUT

Welcome to WORLDBREAK, a HLVRAI AU narrative askblog! You’ve probably seen blogs similar to this, though it’s a little bit different than some. WORLDBREAK Follows the story of BENREY. He is a normal human, living a normal life, in a normal world. There is nothing special about him. Until one day, he begins to hear voices speaking to him. You, dear AUDIENCE, are the voices. You can speak to him by using the ASK feature. You, the AUDIENCE, are the driving force of this blog. Your questions, suggestion, and input influence how BENREY thinks and behaves, and how the very world itself will respond. So what will you say, dear AUDIENCE?

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Hello! My name is Rhi or Bees, and I’m the author here! My pronouns are they/them and she/her. You might know my from my general HLVRAI blog, @black-mesa-slut-voice. I just wanted to add a few big OOC notes, warnings, and rules for this blog!

Firstly, the thing above is a complete lie. I can guarantee you this blog is going to get super weird. This blog will contain unreality, body horror, some blood and minor gore, and other brainfuckery in later chapters. I will post current content warnings as they arise and tag everything appropriately! If you need anything specific tagged, I’m more than happy to oblige.

If you have any questions for me, please specify that your question is out of character by adding ‘OOC’ to the beginning, or addressing me by name!

Fanart and fanworks are not only allowed, but encouraged! You're welcome to tag either this or my other blogs, put it in the #worldbreakhlvrai tag, or message/dm it to me! I would LOVE to see!

I also have both formatted and mobile friendly pages that should be linked properly, but if you have any issues with viewing anything I’m willing to help.

Kinnies and such are 100% allowed. All I ask is that if, for some reason, you decide to kin from this au, just be respectful and concious of the source material and whatnot.

CURRENT CONTENT WARNING:

None

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ RULES:

I have the right to delete any asks that make me uncomfortable.

This blog will contain darker and more mature themes, but will NOT contain anything explicitly NSFW. At most, there might be mildly nsfw jokes (dilf jokes, etc), but nothing more than that. Despite that, I still recommend that you’re 16+ because of the themes mentioned above.

Please try to avoid anything overly fourth-wall breaking. You’re allowed to say things Benrey might not know (asking about unintroduced characters, speculating, etc)- but please don’t say that you’re an anon on an ask blog. As far as you know, you don’t know why you’re in his head either (because, really- you don’t)!

If I don’t get to your ask, please don’t send it again! I either haven’t gotten to it yet, or I deleted it because I already have a bunch of super similar asks, or something about it broke a rule.

Do not interact with this blog if you're an NSFW blog, truscum/transmed/TERF, racist/n4zi/anti-blm/pro-cop, antisemetic, MAP/Pedophile, ableist, homophobic, lgbt+ exclusionists of any kind, and/or supporters of cringe culture. I can't beleive I have to say this stuff but like, literally don't even look at me or my blog. Go away.

I would like to ask that people don't make major AUs/Ask blogs that are DIRECTLY versions of this AU (if anyone's familiar with what happened with Y2KVR... yeah, please don't). You are 100% allowed to make content inspired by this AU, and even just.. one-off posts of what-ifs and generic AUs (you can draw roleswaps if you want and such!) but PLEASE don't turn it into a Big Thing or a whole askblog without consulting me first.

Be respectful and have fun! Yeehaw!!!

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

TAGS:

The general catch-all tag is #worldbreakhlvrai

All main plot-relevant posts that I think should go in the general reading will be tagged with #plot.

All in-character asks will be tagged with #voices.

All out of character asks will be tagged with #ask.

All fanart/fanworks will be tagged with #gifts

All announcements or things I post out of character will be tagged as both #ooc and #rhi says things

All potentially triggering things will be tagged as their respective trigger, in the #____ tw format.

#ABOUT #RULES

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wrestlingisfake · 4 years ago

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Best in the World preview

After getting confused about MLW Battle Riot, now I feel like I have to check to make sure all these shows are actually available to watch live!

Best in the World is $29.99 on Fite.tv, or $14.99 for Honor Club members, or free for Honor Club VIP members. (HonorClub is really only worth signing up for if you're already going hard for ROH.) The pre-show starts at 7pm EDT, and the main show begins at 8pm EDT.

Rush vs. Bandido - Bandido won the Survival of the Fittest tournament for the right to challenge Rush here for the ROH world title. Rush won the belt for the second time in February 2020 and, thanks to the pandemic, has only defended it three times since then. But this show kicks of Ring of Honor's return to live crowds, so maybe now we can get back to normal. This is the company's big chance to get the Rush era back on track, or to turn the page and start a new era with Bandido.

There really isn't anyone else like Rush in ROH. He just clobbers dudes, wins all the time, and looks like a star. He's not exactly Brock Lesnar, but he has an aura that makes him feel like he should be in a bigger company, and no one on this roster can carry his jock. I would figure the plan is to set up a rising young star to finally figure out how to beat this guy. Bandido would make sense in that role, but it's anyone's guess if that's the plan for him.

AEW wanted very badly to sign Bandido in early 2019, but he went with ROH instead because at the time no one knew if AEW was actually going to work. That gave ROH a huge opportunity to build their future around a top prospect AEW wanted but couldn't get. Instead Bandido spent the past few years lost in the shuffle with Lifeblood and the Mexisquad. I really feel like ROH dropped the ball with this guy. The fact he's suddenly on top now doesn't totally make up for that.

It's tough to pick a winner here. Rush is the logical favorite, but ROH might want to shake things up as they go back to doing shows in front of live crowds. An upset win for Bandido would create a lot of options for fresh title matches at upcoming shows. But if Rush retains, ROH will have the same problem Smackdown is having with Roman Reigns--how do you convince the audience that anyone is left that can beat this guy?

Jonathan Gresham vs. Mike Bennett - Bennett won a seven-man gauntlet to earn this match for Gresham's ROH pure championship. This title is contested under "pure wrestling rules," which basically limit rope breaks and add tighter restrictions on punches to the face and outside interference. Gresham is an expert at this type of match, whereas Bennett is new to the format.

Bennett (along with his wife Maria Kanellis) was a mainstay in ROH, and then had a decent little run in Impact before going to WWE as "Mike Kanellis." Everything went wrong with that WWE run, but at least that's led to Bennett receiving a lot of sympathy from fans as he picks himself up and keeps going. Since returning to ROH, Bennett has mainly been supporting Matt Taven in his feud. So this is an interesting way to get him spun off into his own thing.

The pure rules stuff doesn't do a lot for me, but I like the idea of a styles clash where one guy is completely out of his element. Gresham should wrestle rings around Bennett, but Bennett should be so tenacious that Gresham can't quite put him away. It wouldn't hurt Bennett to lose, although a Bennett title win would probably be such an insult to Gresham's pride that it could set up an intense long-term rivalry.

Honestly my main interest in this match is that I recently listened to a WARHORSE interview where he said he almost quit wrestling but Mike Bennett talked him out of it. So Bennett seems like a cool guy and I'm pulling for him.

Jay Lethal vs. Brody King - Back in March, King disrupted the feud between The Foundation and Los Faccion Ingobernable by introducing his own stable called Violence Unlimited. That's pretty much all there is to this match--it's just a Foundation guy and a VU guy facing off in the latest round of a three-way war.

It stands to reason that the winner of this match would move on to start something with LFI's leader, Rush. So unofficially this feels like a match to decide the next contender for the world title. However, Rush already defended the title against King in December and Lethal in February. So I don't know, maybe these two will just clobber each other and it won't matter who wins. That's how a lot of ROH matches feel to me, honestly.

Tracy Williams & Rhett Titus vs. Homicide & Chris Dickinson - Williams and Titus (of the Foundation) are defending the ROH tag team title. The challengers are representing Violence Unlimited. Dickinson came to ROH by way of teaming with Brody King on NJPW Strong, so he made good sense in King's ROH faction. Homicide was at the very first ROH show in 2002; before aligning with VU, it had been seven years since he appeared in the promotion.

This is another match where I can't get a feel for where things are headed, and I'm not sure it makes much difference. I guess my gut says they should put the title on the new team to get them over.

Tony Deppen vs. Dragon Lee - An injury forced Lee to vacate the ROH television title, which Tracy Williams won for the Foundation, who lost it to Violence Unlimited's Deppen, and now Lee wants to get it back for Los Faccion Ingobernable. Once again, I'm not sure it matters which guy ends up with the belt, but I'll go with Lee to win since the injury situation probably messed up their plans.

Shane Taylor & Moses & Kaun vs. Dalton Castle & Dak Draper & Eli Isom - Shane Taylor Promotions is defending the ROH trios title. Castle has been doing this weird passive-aggressive thing with Draper and Isom, so his latest move is to arrange this title shot behind their backs. It might be interesting to put the title on three guys who want championships but not with each other. But I'm fairly confident this just ends with Castle's team falling apart because he's a dick.

EC3 vs. Flip Gordon - When EC3 started here as a heel, he recruited Flip to help him fight Jay and Mark Briscoe; later as EC3 went babyface, he took exception to Gordon's cheating tactics. So now Flip is the target of all the weird cryptic multimedia presentations that EC3 likes to do for his opponents.

Flip used to be a beloved babyface, and it was just mildly amusing that he was a flat-earther in real life. Then he turned heel, and then he caught heat for complaining about face masks during the pandemic. So I'm pretty sure any goodwill Gordon had with the fans is gone by now. I don't see much upside in giving him the win now; pushing EC3 is the better bet for ROH.

Jay Briscoe & Mark Briscoe vs. PJ Black & Brian Johnson - I guess the Briscoes were having some issues but they've worked them out, so they're back in the hunt for the tag team title. Meanwhile Johnson seems to be getting frustrated under the mentorship of Black, and they're regrouping by making their own tag title run. Presumably the story of the match is that both teams want to be back on the same page, but only one of them really is. Pretty sure the Briscoes win this one.

Josh Woods vs. Silas Young - This is a "last man standing" match, so the match can only end when one participant is on the ground and cannot stand up again before the referee's ten-count.

Woods became Young's protege all the way back in September 2019, forming a tag team called, uh, "2 Guys 1 Tag." Right from the start I didn't expect that to last very long. But as it happened, what with the pandemic and all, Young didn't turn on Woods until March 2021.

You'd assume the point of all this would be to have Young put Woods over and establish Woods as a rising star for ROH's future. But it feels like every time ROH sets up something like this, they have the bitter old bully win to get heat. By the time they set up a rematch for the face to finally get vindication, I've usually given up and lost interest, which defeats the purpose of dragging the story out so long.

Demonic Flamita vs. Rey Horus - This is scheduled for the pre-show. Flamita, Horus, and Bandido were all in a trio called Mexisquad up until Flamita snapped and turned on the other two. Now he's "Demonic Flamita." I'm guessing the idea here is to give Flamita an impressive victory here to build up Bandido vs. Flamita to be a bigger deal.

PCO & Danhausen vs. The Beer City Bruiser & Brawler Milonas - This is also scheduled for the pre-show. PCO is basically a wrestling Frankenstein monster, but he's also Qubecer Pierre from the WWF in 1993, which still blows my mind. Danhausen is sort of like if Conan O'Brien played a character on What We Do In The Shadows. I like the idea of these two teaming up, and I hope it goes somewhere beyond prelim matches. I think the Bouncers (Bruiser and Milonas) turned heel when I wasn't paying attention, but that wouldn't be hard since I never pay attention to them. They should be easy pickings for PCOhausen.

#roh #ring of honor #best in the world #rush #bandido

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land-under-wave · 4 years ago

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As promised, here’s the complete draft of the weird Scott Pilgrim Red/Green fic in its current state. For information about what’s going on with this fic, please see this post. If you’d only like to read completed sections, please start here and keep following the links.

This is very much a rough draft. Aside from simply incomplete sections, there were a lot of things that needed to be revised, such as: awkward tone shift, two sections being too similar to others, a lot of transitions I didn’t like, a really just inadequate Misty section, bad wording choices, etc. I would estimate it was about 85% done.

Content warnings: some amount of creepy old man behavior which I did my best to mitigate but was somewhat unavoidable given the premise. For section-specific warnings, in the first part, Green gets close to panic attack territory, and the ending contains physical slapstick comedy and a few references to Officer Jenny I was trying to edit out. A more detailed warning (which touches on ending spoilers and explains how I tried to handle the creepy behavior) can be found here, and the full spoilers with all the details can be found in this post (also linked above).

A year after Red finally comes down from Mt. Silver, Green gets his head out of his ass long enough to ask Red out on a date.

Surprisingly, Red agrees. Even more surprisingly, the first date is actually a resounding success. Sure, Green panics for half an hour about what to wear, and it gets off to an incredibly awkward start — Red’s mother is hovering anxiously in a corner because he insisted that it be at his mother’s diner, the douchebag, so they spend twenty minutes in stilted conversation while Green makes attempts at small talk and Red gives monosyllabic answers — has he mentioned that Red is a total douchebag? But then Green loses his temper and starts shouting, which gets Red fired up at last, so they start bickering over training regimens, Green’s childhood dickishness, and that time Red vanished up a mountain for four years, and by the end of the meal, they’ve hashed out most of their issues.

On impulse, he grabs Red’s hand on the way out, and Red lets him. His fingers curl around Green’s in response, and it sends a jolt of electricity right up to his spine.

This is . . . good. It’s new and unfamiliar and a little terrifying, and sometimes Green just wants to bury his head into a pillow and scream angrily to deal with the confused tornado raging in his chest, because what the hell are emotions, but it’s good.

A month after they make it official, Green brings Red to a gym leader meeting. Red gets a couple of surprised looks when he walks in, but it fades quickly, and Misty waves him over to the usual corner where she, Brock, and Green sit. If anyone asks, Green is prepared to point out that Red’s still technically champion, but no one does. Everyone must like him enough that it doesn’t matter.

They wait till after the meeting, when everyone’s milling about and talking to each other, in order to announce that they’re dating. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“What? Green?” Misty shrieks, while Sabrina looks at him with silently judging disapproval.

“Oh my,” Erika says delicately, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

“Red, no!” Brock wails.

Green is pretty sure he should be offended. These are his colleagues, after all. He’s been working with them for half a decade — when’s the last time Red even talked to any of these people? Why are they all on his side?

Surge snorts, arms folded. Just when Green thinks he might restore some sanity to the proceedings, he declares, “Think again, boy. You’re not tough enough to make the cut.”

Green bristles immediately. He and Surge have always had a slightly contentious relationship, because Surge is all hard-nosed discipline and Green is — well, he can admit that he’s a cocky bastard. “And why do I need your approval to date Red anyways?” he sneers, with the full disdainful force of all his teenage attitude. The contempt is not hard to muster up. Nobody here is related to them, and even if they were, he and Red are both adults who can make their own decisions.

As expected, Surge stiffens at the implicit taunt in his voice, but just as the tension is about to boil over into an argument, Erika steps in with a raised hand and a warning glare to silence him. “Surge,” she says, and that one word is all she needs to restore order.

Before Green can feel grateful for their calm, sensible supervisor, she turns to him and resumes the thread of conversation. “We have a league,” Erika informs him, serene. “You may not date Red until you defeat all of us.”

Green’s jaw drops open. “Are you serious,” he says, and looks to Red, who just shrugs.

Great. Big load of help he is.

“I’m afraid not, my boy. And I’m afraid you’re no match for me,” Blaine says, before laughing at his own stupid pun.

“Why the hell are you so concerned about Red’s love life anyways? What are you, his possessive loser exes?” Green demands.

He’s expecting a response like, “Don’t be ridiculous,” but instead, to his horror, Erika merely smiles. “What do you think?” she says.

Silence.

Green stares at his colleagues, the seven elite trainers who have been charged with safeguarding all of Kanto, and wonders if he’s losing his mind. Has his hearing gone? He doesn’t think he’s that old, but maybe it’s hereditary. God knows how many times Gramps has misheard his name.

He knows Misty had a crush on Red at one point, but all of them? How the hell did that happen? Red’s never exactly been Kid Casanova here — some days, Green can barely believe Red seduced him — and when did he even have the time for that? He’s spent most of the years since he’s met them alone on a mountain! And hold on a second, Blaine is at least four decades older than him! For that matter, how old is Surge?

Green is about to have an aneurysm.

He holds his head in both hands as he struggles to wrap his mind around the concept. “Okay. So you’re saying all of you have dated Red, and now I need to defeat you to date him,” he says slowly, hoping that saying it out loud will make things sound more reasonable. It doesn’t. It just makes his head hurt even more.

What’s worse, Erika doesn’t correct anything he said. She just smiles and nods. “That’s right,” she says, and as if that’s a cue, the others fall in line behind her in a perfect V formation, sliding into battle-ready stances with smiles just shading into predatory. All traces of friendliness have evaporated, turning them into consummate professionals. Even Brock has dropped the doofy attitude for something serious. Surge’s grin is a little too maniacal for comfort, exposing both gums and teeth, and combined with the glint in his eyes, it’s downright feral.

Green takes a step back, almost involuntarily, and sees Surge’s smile widen in response. Out of spite, Green squares his shoulders and moves back in place, pretending he’s not as uneasy as he actually feels. He scans the seven faces before him, hoping to see a sign of their normal collegial acceptance, but their faces are as solid as stone.

He can’t say he really expected anything else from them. This pose is familiar and well-rehearsed, and they’re all beyond the point where they let the mask slip during official business. Still, Green was hoping that there would be some sign that things would be different for him. After all, this isn’t official business, and in any other situation, Green would be there too, flashing one of his trademark smirks while staring down whatever poor schmuck who Erika decided had earned their ire. But this time, it’s not some hapless criminal or an interfering bureaucrat. He’s the schmuck, and for once in his life, he’s feeling the part.

Green knows he shouldn’t feel this rattled by a battle stance. As a fellow gym leader, it’s easy to notice all the work that went into constructing it, and the flash of eyes and tilt of head that Erika used as a signal is all too familiar. But it gnaws at his stomach anyways, and it’s not even because all his colleagues have turned against him at the drop of a hat. It’s the space. Or the lack of it. Because the spot where he would be standing has already been taken up. Misty and Brock closed the gap without so much as an exchanged look, and in doing so, they’ve erased his years as Viridian Gym Leader like it was nothing.

He didn’t think it would be so easy to replace him.

Green looks at the inch-wide gap between them and swallows, hoping he can swallow down the uncomfortable lump at the bottom of his chest along with it. He’s always tried to ignore it, but sometimes, he gets this sneaking suspicion that they haven’t fully accepted him as one of their own. They’re civil, of course, and sometimes even kind. But kind is different from warm, and that’s what he thinks they lack.

He can’t nail down exactly what it is that separates him from the rest — in terms of join date, Janine’s less than a year his senior, and he doesn’t think any of them except Surge would hold his old, immature attitude against him, since he was mostly grown out of his bratty stage by the time he took over Viridian. But none of that has banished the [sinking feeling] that he’s on the outside, just a little.

So he’s kept his head down like an animal exposing its belly, and every time the doubt rears its ugly head, he redoubles his efforts to earn his way in. He had a hard road from the start, with the stain of Giovanni’s legacy seeped into his gym’s very foundations, but over the years, he’s earned fantastic evaluations, the loyalty of a cohort of talented trainers, and an official commendation here and there. He’s even got a sickeningly gushy page in the Viridian guidebook that made Red laugh at him for twenty minutes straight after one of his challengers showed it to him. When you’re on a mountain with bad reception, those twenty minutes count for a lot.

Green carries all his accomplishments with him, close to his chest, but they don’t do much to dispel the doubts that hang like ghosts in the back of his head. And he thinks that if he stays quiet and still for too long, they might eat him away until he’s nothing.

He sucks in a breath, but his lungs don’t feel like they’re absorbing air. He presses his hands against his thighs, but that doesn’t do anything to ease the trembling. He tries to count in his head. One. Two.

“Wow,” says Red’s voice from behind him. “I didn’t know that all it took to defeat the great Green Oak was dramatic posing.”

The sound of that innocent tone sends Green whirling around on instinct. “Oh, shut up, like you can talk!” he shouts, and it comes out as easy as breathing, so easy that he doesn’t notice how much lighter he feels at first. “All it took to defeat you was realizing Mt. Silver would never return your love!”

“The mountain and I have something special. You’ll never understand, Green,” Red says, very seriously. If it were anyone but Green, they might’ve believed he meant it, but you don’t grow up with someone and not know when they’re just yanking your chain.

“You know, the only thing I got out of being your childhood friend is the ability to tell when you’re being a dick,” Green tells him sourly.

“Love you too,” Red croons, and okay, he’s definitely doing that on purpose. But if he’s doing it to be a distraction, it’s working.

He brushes his hand against Red’s. “Thanks,” he says, low enough so that only Red can hear it. Red curls his fingers around the palm of his hand and looks him in the eye, unspoken question burning in his gaze.

In response, Green draws a breath, takes one final glance at his erstwhile colleagues, and nods.

He can do this.

What he might not be able to do, Green reflects as he starts his first match, is endure any more of Brock’s stupid rock references.

“My Pokemon and I are all rock-hard,” Brock declares proudly. He’s always been cheesy and goofy — probably because of all those younger siblings — but his horrible battle introductions have always taken the cake. And does he realize that by doing this, he’s also teaching his siblings about innuendo? Maybe that’s why they giggle at him all the time.

In all honesty, once you get past all the quirks, Brock is kind of an admirable person. You don’t raise nine kids without earning some respect from Green Oak, and he knows all too well about growing up with absent father figures. But unlike Green, Brock didn’t let that hurt define him growing up. Instead, Brock took on that responsibility without reserve and without complaint, and he grew with it to become a good man. A lot of kind, loving people would’ve broken with it. In comparison, really awful puns and a tendency to hit on every girl in the room aren’t that bad. At least he’s sincere about it instead of just being a sleaze.

But Brock makes it really goddamn hard to get past those quirks. And when he starts urging Onix to use Harden, that only proves his point.

Things go downhill from there.

With the proximity of their gyms, it’s convenient for Green and Brock to have practice matches together, and he uses the knowledge he’s gleaned from those to plow him down in their fastest match yet, one eye twitching the entire time. There’s no way Brock could be making that many hardness references by accident. “I took you for granted, and so I lost,” Brock says glumly. Then he looks in Red’s direction and cries, “Red, my love, I have failed you!” throwing an arm across his face theatrically. Geez, get a grip. Or a life. Or both.

But instead of treating him with the contempt Brock deserves for this patheticness, his traitor boyfriend pats him on the back sympathetically. Ugh, why is he even dating this jerk?

At any rate, at least this catastrophe is over. “Loser,” Green scoffs, and heads out to schedule his next match. He catches Red giving Brock a shrug before following after him.

He never thought he’d say this, but thank god Misty is the Water type Gym Leader. After rocks, they have the most potential for innuendo, but Misty has too much angry dignity to be caught dead like that. If someone tried, steam would come out of her ears and she’d probably yell something about disrespecting the beauty of water types. This shouldn’t be an issue again until Blaine.

Misty might not be a fan of innuendo, but she makes up for it with determination and skill. There’s something different about her this time, a strength in her stance that didn’t used to be there, and it centers Misty too much for him to rattle her.

The first time they fought, she was fourteen years old to Green’s thirteen, a skinny kid who bristled with her inferiority complex and hated anything to do with flowers. Provoking her was a piece of cake, and any suggestion of her inadequacy could send her into a spiral of rage or just as easily send her collapsing in tears.

In hindsight, it is funny how Misty rejected her famous family while Green embraced his too much, opposite ends of the same spectrum. Green dealt with his issues with his cockiness, Misty with her anger.

This Misty is fully in control. She holds the reins to her anger and reels it in, harnessing it as fuel instead of distraction. She’s ruling her emotions instead of letting them rule her, and in doing so, she’s taken on a bright, focused zeal he’s never seen from her before.

She’s growing into herself, he thinks, and out of her sisters’ shadows.

He’d be proud of her if she wasn’t giving him such a hard time right now.

“You definitely weren’t this hard to beat the first time around!” Green growls, sending out his Scizor.

“Oh, that was just business,” Misty says, rather cheerfully, enough so that Green wants to wring her neck. Her smile widens to just this side of menacing. “This is personal.”

Green gets out of it with his dignity intact, but it’s a close one. Not for the first time, he rues having taken over an Earth-based gym, because it means he has to keep at least a respectable amount of Ground types in his regular training rota and he’s a far less flexible trainer now.

“About time you showed up,” Surge says, arms folded, boots planted shoulder width apart. Green looks at the severe military cut and the stern expression and wonders what Red ever saw in him. It can’t be a thing for older men, everyone but Surge and Blaine are within a few years of Red. It can’t even be a thing for men. The league is half women, after all.

“Why did you date him anyways?” he hisses to his boyfriend, low enough that Surge won’t hear.

Red shrugs. “We both like Pikachu,” he said.

The utter loser.

“I can’t believe you,” Green mutters in disgust. “And people think I’m shallow.”

“It was only once or twice,” Red says, in what sounds suspiciously like a consoling tone. He pats Green on the shoulder a few times.

He stares at him in confusion until the dots connect. “What the — I’m not jealous!” Green cries indignantly. He’s just perplexed, and that’s a very different thing. Green Oak is above such petty things as jealousy.

Red just pats him on the shoulder some more.

Green Oak also does not need such things as consoling, so before his boyfriend can be even more of a passive aggressive dick, he turns to Surge. “Let’s just get this over with.” And maybe it’s sheer frustration or his natural tendency to be a brat to Surge, or maybe it’s just type advantage finally being on his side for once, but for some reason, this time the victory comes easier than all the previous.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Green?” Erika asks. She cocks her head to the side, and for the first time since he accepted this stupid challenge, Green feels a sense of trepidation. Erika is, after all, kind of his boss, and she’s also one of the most terrifying people he’s ever met.

You wouldn’t think it to look at her. Most of the people in Kanto never get the chance to see anything more than a sweet woman who likes gardening and flower arrangements. Her colleagues, on the other hand, experience a whole different side of her, with all the talents that got her appointed as Kanto supervisor. Things like her ability to calmly reason with anyone, her backbone of steel, and a carefully hidden serial killer crazy that can outstrip Surge at his worst.

He breaks out into a cold sweat. Is he ready for this? Sure, he’s beaten her before, but the first time he battled her, he was still stupid enough to think Erika was soft and beating her would be easy, and weirdly enough, that stupidity gave him the reckless brilliance he needed to take her down instead of causing his downfall. He might’ve become a better battler in the meantime, but now he’s too cautious to use those same crazy strategies and he also knows that she was taking it easy on him — all gym leaders adjust their level to their opponent’s in official matches.

More than ever, Green is acutely aware of the differences between him and his thirteen year old self. There was a kind of fearlessness that came with being young and feeling like the world was at your fingertips. He spent pretty much his entire Pokemon journey swaggering around like being thirteen meant he was now a real adult and the world would just fall at his feet, and even losing the championship to Red didn’t quite jolt him out of it. Green’s only eighteen now, but he feels unbearably older, more off balance, uncertain of everything he needs to do. It’s funny how he couldn’t wait to get older when he first set out from Pallet Town, but now he just wants the carefree bravado of thirteen again. Why did he decide to grow up? Who told him it was a good idea?

“Backing out now, Green?” says a dry, challenging voice, and all the air goes out of his lungs. But in a good way.

He didn’t have this at thirteen.

Now that he’s back in reality, Green pulls up his disdain like a barrier against his fear. “As if,” he sneers.

“Good. After all, you still have to win me,” Red says. He bats his eyelashes, and the sight is so horrifying that it wipes all thoughts of Erika from his head immediately. “Your princess awaits inside the castle.”

“Princess? Yeah, right. You’d never be able to pull off the dress,” he shoots back automatically. He feels himself ease, the seas inside him settling down as he sinks into the rhythm of the familiar. He even lifts his chin and smirks as he says, “You know what, I think I change my mind. Let’s call the whole thing off, I need someone who’s better-looking than you.”

“Aw, but nothing’s as ugly as your personality,” Red says, and that tone would sound sweet if it weren’t coming from someone who’s halfway allergic to sincerity. But at the same time, he covers Green’s hand with his and gives him a smile like a secret. “You can do it,” he says, with an iron, quiet faith.

Green breathes out, long and slow. “You’re right, I can,” he says, turning back to Erika. He flashes her a smirk full of confidence that he’s actually starting to feel and declares, “I won’t back down.” It comes out as an oath, and he’s not sure if it’s to himself or to Red, but he knows he won’t lose.

She shrugs elegantly, but it doesn’t feel like as much of a threat this time. She’s just an ordinary woman now. “Very well,” she says, and sends out Tangela.

Throughout the battle, Red doesn’t let go of his hand.

Sabrina’s waiting at the door of her gym when Green and Red walk up to the entrance. “You’ve arrived, as I predicted,” she says.

“Uh, yeah, we scheduled the match in advance,” Green points out. Beside him, he can hear Red muffling already-quiet laughter. Why does he enjoy Green’s discomfort? Is he just a sadist?

“We did not arrange that you would arrive twenty minutes early,” Sabrina responds, and turns around to lead him inside before Green can get the last word.

Green fights the urge to make a rude gesture at her back out of sheer spite. He and Sabrina have never been that close. They have a shared interest in freaking people out for fun and games, but Sabrina does it by being sinister and cryptic, while Green prefers sheer power with a dash of douchebaggery instead of mind screws. Even though he knows he’s still a total dick, being around Sabrina makes him feel weirdly benevolent in comparison.

In that regard, she’s a little more like Red—they’re both closed-mouthed and hold their cards close to their chest until something makes them give them away. But it’s weird to think that Sabrina is anything like his boyfriend, so Green shuts off that train of thought as fast as he can. He can’t really explain why he likes Red so much more than Sabrina. It’s not just shared history, there’s something deeper there between them that he can’t quantify. Maybe it’s just that the things Red holds to his chest align with Green’s own brand of awfulness, maybe it’s just that Sabrina somehow manages to be even weirder than Red.

Whatever the case, Sabrina’s tactics might have a point. This battle feels like the worst one yet, not because of the difficulty, but because of the tense, hard air in the gym, Sabrina’s ever-present smile like another ghost skulking in the background. This battle doesn’t excite him, it just exhausts him. He just wants it to be over, and in his haste, he makes mistakes. Sloppy ones, like trying to use Tackle against Gengar even though he’s grown up knowing Normal type moves don’t work on Ghost types. It doesn’t help that the mere presence of Gengar in the Psychic gym had thrown him off to begin with.

Sabrina seems to be sensing his discomfort, because the funny little grin on her face widens with his growing unease. For the first time, he truly sees what a formidable opponent she is, wielding both psychic powers and psychology against her challengers to damage them physically and mentally. It was another thing that his complete and utter self-confidence had made him immune to the first time.

Idly, he wonders if that was the point of this, one big scheme to make him appreciate his colleagues more as trainers. If so, it worked. But was he really that bad before? Maybe he’d ask Erika once this awful quest was over.

If that is the case, though, ironically, it’s also her undoing, because as the match goes on, Green also starts to see the woman he knows inside the mysterious figure at the other end of the gym, and focusing on that familiarity helps combat the unease. In the end, Green can’t really say that it’s his skill that wins the day. It feels more like luck, just a game of who can outlast the other and he happened to draw the winning card. But when Alakazam falls, it seems to break the spell over the room. The lingering tension dissipates, just as ghostly as the atmosphere that had created it, and the world comes back into focus.

Sabrina looks at her fallen Pokemon and, bizarrely, smiles as she recalls it back into its Pokeball. “Your love for Red overwhelmed my psychic power . . . The power of love, I think, is also a kind of psychic power . . .” Sabrina intones.

“Okay?” Green says. Even ignoring the psychic powers, Sabrina has always been a weirdo.

Sabrina says something else, but he’s not really paying attention. Instead, he grabs his boyfriend’s wrist. “Red, let’s get out of here,” he says. He’s ready to blow this joint, and if he has to be in this creepy gym much longer, he’s going to make that literal.

Out of all the other Gym Leaders, Green thinks Janine might be his polar opposite. Sure, they’re around the same age and their names kind of rhyme, but Green is brash and confident and walks like he owns the place, while Janine . . . well, Janine is naive and enthusiastic to the point where she’s pretty much tripping over her own feet. She seems too young for her authority, while Green wields his so easily that people are startled when they find out his actual age.

It’s weird to think that Red could date two such different people. Heck, it’s weird to think that he could get two such different people to date him. Maybe he realized he didn’t like that type and that’s why he’s dating Green now, he muses.

That still doesn’t explain why both Janine and Green agreed to date him. Insanity? That must be it, because it also explains why he’s fighting all of his colleagues over his dick of a childhood friend.

But the biggest difference between them, Green thinks, is that Janine has never gotten over her yearning for her absent father. She still desperately wants to make Koga proud. Even now, he sees in the way she forms her stance that she’s trying to follow his teachings.

Still, in spite of their [different] reactions, struggling to cope with the fame of their family line and its looming shadow over their entire lives is something they have in common. Someday, she’ll have to figure out how she wants to be a gym leader, separate from her father’s legacy. Someday, she’ll have to make a name for herself as Janine, Gym Leader of Fuschia City and not Janine, daughter of Koga. No one will ever respect her if she doesn’t — Green’s learned that the hard way.

Someday, she will have to walk her own path. But that day is not today.

“Are you ready, Green? Cause I’m not going to wait for you to catch up!” Janine calls, sounding very un-ninja-like. Green briefly mourns the loss of the mystique. He used to think ninjas were cool.

“It’s my duty to defeat you on the behalf of all evil exes everywhere!”

“You can’t be serious,” Green says.

“Sure, I am!” Janine says. She pulls out a small, colorful rectangle from somewhere with her magical ninja arts and waves it around. “After all, I’m a card-carrying member of Red’s League of Evil Exes!”

There are cards now. Green looks at his boyfriend and says, “Red, what did you do to them?”

Red just looks at them and shrugs, looking mildly confused himself. But not confused enough that he’ll actually do something about it, Green notes sourly.

Cinnabar’s volcanoes are as fascinating as always, but Green is too busy stewing to enjoy it. He marches past all the ads for hot spring resorts and into the Gym, braced for what lies ahead of him. Blaine is waiting for him inside. “You’ve made it, my boy,” he said, and the expression on his face is almost like a proud parent.

Green scowls. He used to respect Blaine. He is, after all, one of the finest scientific minds in all of Kanto, and while Green isn’t a scientist, Gramps has instilled him with a healthy respect for their work. Even the punning had been bearable. He had earned the right for a quirk.

But this? This was going too far.

Blaine at least has the decency to wait until they’re all set up for battle before he springs the next part of his awful sense of humor on him. “And now, a quiz! What makes you worthy to date Red?” Blaine asks.

“What made you worthy? You’re an old man! Red was a teenager!” Green shoots back. He’s pretty fuzzy on the timeline of Red’s awful lovelife, but there’s no way Red was any older than fifteen whenever the hell they dated. He’s pretty sure Red wasn’t in some demented long distance relationship while still on that goddamn mountain.

Blaine gives him a creaky shrug. “What can I say? Red really lights a fire in my heart,” he chuckles.

“I’m reporting you to Officer Jenny when this is over,” Green informs him. Gym leader or not, perverted old creeps shouldn’t be allowed in society. Especially not the punning ones.

But reporting him to the officer and letting her punish him for his sins would be cheating if Green does it before he beats Blaine fair and square. He doubts the rest of this stupid league would accept that as defeating Blaine and their ridiculous challenge, so he sends out Rhydon and prepares for a fight.

After an excruciating moment, Arcanine falls.

“Oh,” says Red’s voice. Green looks over his shoulder to see him standing along the wall of the gym, near the entrance. It’s completely like the sneaky bastard to come in secret and Green can’t even be mad at him as he looks at the battlefield and asks, “Is it over?”

For a moment, Green doesn’t know how to answer him. He doesn’t even know how to speak. He just breathes, as the adrenaline drains out of his lungs and euphoria replaces it. His shoulders slump. He looks at the ceiling. It’s over. This ridiculous journey is finally over. He can now date Red in peace.

And then the applause starts.

Erika is the first one to emerge, from behind one of the outcroppings of rock near the back of the gym. Brock is next, followed by Misty, while Surge, Janine, and Sabrina come out from the other side. They form a line at the head of the gym, and bizarrely, every single one of them is clapping, even Surge, though he looks like he’s been forced into it. While Green looks at them, too stunned to react, Blaine moves back to take a spot next to Sabrina.

“Congratulations, Green,” Erika says, smiling. She looks genuinely happy for him, as does Janine, but Surge still looks vaguely murderous and Brock looks like he might cry with happiness.

“What’s going on?” Green demands. On closer inspection, Brock’s “about to cry” face is more like a father watching his child leaving on a Pokemon journey, so proud that it’s spilled over to sad. It worsens the distinct feeling that something’s been going on in the background that he doesn’t know about.

Erika coughs delicately. “I’m afraid we must admit to a deception,” she says, serene as ever. “We are not actually a league of Red’s exes.”

If Green gets any more revelations in the next week, he’s going to have a stroke.

After a beat of frozen silence, he splutters out, “You’re not?” in a tone that’s half confusion, half demand for an explanation. He looks all around him and then waves his hand at the entire gym, a gesture which turns sharp and wild with his anger. “Then what was all of this for?”

“Well, we’re not a league of Red’s exes, but we are all members of ‘Red’s League of Allies Against His Evil Ex-Best Friend Who Broke His Heart,’” Misty explains. She frowns at him. “He was pretty torn up over you during his Pokemon journey, you know.”

Dumbfounded, all Green can manage is, “You can’t be serious.”

“But we are,” Janine says earnestly. She produces her card out of nowhere again and hands it over to Green, who’s now close enough to read the letters embossed on the front. It does, as she’s claimed, state Gym Leader Janine of Fuschia City to be a member of Red’s League of Allies Against His Evil Ex-Best Friend Who Broke His Heart. It’s even made out of red plastic.

Well. One part of him is touched to know that Red had valued their friendship so deeply. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, with his stoic man of mystery act.

The other part is just plain indignant. “That was over five years ago!” Green screeches. They started their journeys when they were thirteen, for God’s sake!

A new thought occurs to him. “And if this was all fake, why was Brock going on about his love and hardening?”

“Did he? Oh, that scenery-chewing ham! I knew he would get carried away!” Misty says in disgust.

“I was trying to go for realism!” Brock protests

“That’s only realism for you, you sleazy flirt!” she snaps, and yanks at his ear.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he yelps.

While Misty’s handling that headache, Green tries to replay the conversation where this all started. “I was the one who first brought up the idea that you were exes,” he mumbles, a little horrified.

“Once you made the assumption, I thought it might work to our advantage,” Erika explains calmly. “A test of your reaction to his supposedly storied history, so to speak.”

“So you just made it up on the spot?” Green says, nearly speechless. How on earth had he fallen for a hastily thrown together scheme? What had it even been centered around, seeing if he was the kind of douchebag who’d storm off and call Red a slut? He’s Green Oak. You don’t get to be one of the top trainers in Kanto by the time you’re fifteen without being a good strategist.

Then again, clearly, all of his colleagues are absolutely insane. No one ever taught Green how to anticipate that.

Erika smiles apologetically. “Please do forgive us, Green, but we had to make sure you two were serious about this. Your friendship ended so badly, and we didn’t want this to end the same way. After all, the poor boy was so heartbroken that he went up a mountain to get away from you.”

Green’s jaw drops. “Okay, that one was not my fault!” He’s willing to accept the blame for being a dick, for being generally unhelpful with Team Rocket, and a lot of other things, but he draws the line at the goddamn mountain.

“Sabrina?” asks Janine curiously.

The psychic in question is studying her nails, looking bored. “My powers aren’t meant to be used for answering this sort of nonsense,” she says. “Ask him yourself.”

“Hold up!” Green shouts, before they can get too off topic. “How was this supposed to make sure I was serious about him?”

“You can be a fickle, capricious sort of person, Green,” Erika explains. “So we thought that, with a series of challenges in your way, if this was some kind of idle whim, you would abandon your quest.”

Green tries to wrap his head around that logic and fails. “How was that supposed to work?” he demands. “What if I was just in it for the challenge of beating the entire Kanto League again and not for Red?”

Erika just smiles. “You don’t have enough of a death wish for that,” she says, like she’s sentencing someone to execution.

Green freezes and feels his spine go rigidly straight at the sound of her tone. That smile looks sweet at first glance, but it’s just a little too perfect, a little too gentle, carefully controlled in a way that says she could easily let that control snap at a moment’s notice. It’s the kind of smile that might be the last thing you see before you die.

Holy Arceus, there are no words in the universe to describe how terrifying Erika is.

Green breaks eye contact as soon as he can and shakes his head a few times, just to get out the lingering feeling of dread. He quickly turns his mind to another topic. “Okay, so who really has dated Red?” he asks, just to get everything straightened out once and for all.

“None of us. Particularly not me,” Blaine answers. “You young whippersnappers are practically infants.”

“Misty did ask him out once, but he turned her down,” Brock chips in.

“Hey! That was years ago, and I’m over him anyways!” Misty splutters, cheeks bright red. She shoulders him hard in the chest and snarls, “Stop bringing that up!” still blushing furiously.

“Ow, that hurts!” Brock yelps.

“You deserve it!” Misty hollers back, and the two of them start arguing again.

You know what, maybe Green doesn’t need to get revenge for all the innuendo after all. Misty’s been doing a pretty good job of enacting it for the both of them.

Misty stomps on Brook’s foot, and Blaine winces. “Please don’t call Officer Jenny,” he says.

In the chaos, Green realizes there’s one party they’ve forgotten about entirely. “And you!” He whirls around and points at his erstwhile boyfriend, whose expression is blankly nonchalant. To a stranger, he might’ve even looked innocent. “There’s no way they could’ve gotten away with it unless you played along! But you haven’t dated any of them!”

“Nope,” he confirms, wearing a funny little smile on his face. He’s clearly enjoying himself, and the smugness of his expression only increases as he coos out, “You’re my one and only.”

That tone he’s using is the stuff of nightmares, and Green blanches, reeling back on instinct. He can hear Red laughing at him inside his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, refusing to let that deter him.

“It was funny,” Red says, and then, in a perfect deadpan, “Besides, it was a nice revenge. You drove me up a mountain, after all.”

Green is at least seventy-five percent certain that isn’t true and Red’s just playing along to be a douchebag. “Why, you—!” he growls, and instinct born of ten years of childhood games takes over. He tackles him to the ground, fisting his hands into his shirt so he can drag him up by the collar. He hears someone shout behind him, and it’s probably because they’re a little too old for roughhousing, but Red, Red understands him. Red doesn’t panic or protest. Red just lifts his head to meet his glare with a smirk, and then leans up, grabs his head, and kisses him.

There’s still noise in the background, but it fades away as the world becomes nothing but Red.

Later, while they’re falling asleep, Green asks, “You didn’t really go up the mountain because I broke your heart, did you?”

“No,” Red answers, but before Green can let out a breath of relief, he says, “I went up there cause you were so annoying that I wanted a break from you.”

In a display of supreme maturity, Green kicks Red in the shins. Some things never change.

#Fanfiction #Pokemon #OriginalShipping #Green Oak #Red #Crack #Scott Pilgrim AU #At Last I Am Rid of the Albatross

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lalahbug · 4 years ago

Text

Hidden Emotions - Levi x Reader

Fandom: Attack on Titan Word Count: 2,888

My Masterlist

Warnings/disclaim: general I wrote this before I knew about the lifespan of a Titan shifter, so that doesn’t exist in this certain fanfic, okay? Okay.

Author’s Note: continued under story Originally posted on DeviantArt, same username, on 03/05/2017. Revamped/edited in 2020.

___ is a blank for your name/oc/whatever you prefer Written in 3rd person

Line/header is to separate paragraphs to indicate time skips, as Tumblr hates my formatting. I do not own it, found it as a free vector to use though.

Story under cut

“State your name and business.” Levi droned as someone knocked at his door.

“___, Erwin told me you wanted to see me.”

“Enter.”

___ pushed the door open and closed it lightly, she walked up to his desk and stood, until Levi glanced up at her and gestured to her to sit.

“Erwin said you had something you needed to tell me.”

“Yes.” Levi kept writing for a moment until he was done with his sentence. Oh, how he loved her patience. He put down his pen then leaned back crossing his arms across his chest. “You’ve been in the Scout Regiment, for about 4 years, correct?” She nodded. “You haven’t died but you haven’t really done anything notable,” she nodded in agreement.

’She talks less than I do. She always does her job, keeps to herself.’ Levi thought to himself.

“Erwin and I believe you have more potential. We need you to be better. Starting Monday, you’ll be a Squad Leader. Our new recruits will be under you until they die or are put into another squad.”

“Thank you very much for this opportunity,” Levi was about to say, you’re welcome. “But, I would like to decline if I can. I do not believe I would be a good leader. I’m a pawn, maybe a rook. I’m no knight such as yourself and Hange. I do not believe I could be better. I apologize.”

Levi just stared at her. He was not expecting this at all. Her eyes were as deadpanned as his. He never knew she had self-doubt like this, is this why she never did anything notable? Because she figured she can’t do more?

“You are a Squad Leader as of Monday. It has already been decided. If you have issues, you may ask any Squad Leader or Erwin. You will meet your squad Monday morning in the mess hall.”

“Yes, sir.” He saw a glint in her eyes, it was either worry or fear, it was too fast for him to tell.

“Then you’re dismissed,“ she nodded and stood up, pushed in her chair.

“Levi!” Hange busted into his room. “Oh, ___!” Hange hugged her, causing her to stiffen.

“Afternoon, Hange. Please let go.”

“I’m your best friend, who you tell everything to and I can’t even hug you!” Hange whined.

“We can talk later, I would like to go to my room.”

“Did Shorty say something weird? Like he loves you?”

“Oi!”

“Hange, even if Captain did. Nothing would happen, you know that.” ___ pulled herself out of Hange’s arm. “I’m a Squad Leader as of Monday. So I would like to get some materials. I will see you later.”

“Oh! That’s awesome! Let me know if you need anything!”

Levi’s eyes widened a bit. ___ actually smiled full-heartedly at Hange.

“Of course, Hange. I always go to you,” with that, she left. As much as Levi hates Hange, he liked having her around when he was with ___. Hange brought a side to her that Levi never saw.

“What the fuck was that about me loving her?” Levi spat at Hange.

“Well, you do. You need to start dropping hints. She’s so clueless. You’ve loved her for like three years, you always stare at her! Come on, Shorty!”

“Shut up, Shitty Glasses! God, I regret you ever figuring that out,” Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did she mean, nothing would happen, even if I told her?”

“Oh that. Well, she doesn’t want a relationship. She doesn’t see a point since she’s in the Regiment. Knowing that she’ll die and leave her lover behind.” Hange paused and looked down. “The thought of it, makes her almost cry. It’s the first time I ever saw her eyes water.”

“I doubt she’ll die anytime soon. She’s the only one who ever survives when her squad dies. She’s outlived many of her Squad Leaders.”

“It’s a bit strange if you think about it. How does she always survive? It’s like she’s a titan like Eren.” Hange chuckled a bit, before realizing that wasn’t actually too bad of an explanation.

“If she is, why would she be here for so long? You’ve known her since you were both young adults.”

“Huh.” Hange tapped her chin. “I want to ask her now. I wonder if she’ll lie or not. Her eyes do a weird shake like thing when she lies or is nervous.”

“Let me know how that goes, now get out,” Levi grumbled while getting back to his paperwork. Hange left his office, closing the door. “How would I drop hints when she’s so impervious with her emotions?” he mumbled to himself.

Levi was walking towards ___’s room. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but he had been going to her room every night. To check on her, make sure she was okay. Sometimes he would sit in her room if she was tossing and turning.

Cracking her door open to see if she was in bed, for once in the past 5 weeks, she wasn’t. Also, a first, her room was a mess, papers and books were everywhere. Confused, Levi walked into her room, picking up one of the books, it was about leadership.

“She is actually freaking out. That’s cute,” Levi placed the book back where it was, ignoring the mess, he went to go find her. It’s not his mess to clean, he’d make her clean it instead.

She was pacing outside with a book in her hand, she flipping through the pages. She made a small groan before leaning back on a tree and sliding down it to sit. Staring up at the canopy, stars peeping through the leaves.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” ___ snapped her gaze over to Levi.

“Evening, Heichou.” Levi paused as he noticed a slight blush on her cheeks before she looked back up. “The sky is beautiful tonight, it’s been awhile since I’ve been outside this late,“ she mainly whispered to herself.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Levi stood in front of her, she looked from the sky to him.

“I know, as I am now. I can’t be a Squad Leader. I don’t have the confidence, the only time I can be aggressive is when I notice someone about to die. I do everything I can. I even lost my foot that one time. I can’t do this on my own. Hange is going to help me more tomorrow, but I figured I could do my own studying and research in the meantime. I got upset at myself, so I came outside to read.”

Levi stared at her, as she rambled, this is the most he had ever heard her talk in one go. Maybe this is the side that Hange always got to see. The one Hange said he’d love. Her sweet and worrying, a bit scared but wanting to fight side.

“Why?” she looked at Levi.

“What?”

“What do you guys see in me? Just because I can stay alive, doesn’t mean I am worth anything.”

“___.” Levi squatted down in front of her. “Being able to stay alive out there, is a rare thing. You’ve got something that makes it so you fight harder. Erwin wants you to pass that one to others. So we can keep more people.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Then we’ll keep losing people. You can make great split decisions, many which have saved us before. You’ll be a fine leader.”

“Do you really think so, Levi?” ___ sat up more, looking into his eyes, trying to read him.

Levi was so happy to hear his name roll off her tongue, for the first time. His heart twinged at her cute, sad, worried (e/c) eyes.

“Yes,” he gave her a small smirk, which caused her to blush, lean back and look back up. Levi noticed this. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

As Levi leaned towards her, before something clicked in his mind. “Early, you said you lost a foot. Which one?”

She looked back at him, her eyes shook slightly. “My right, I meant almost lost. Sorry about the confusion.” Her normal tone was back, she was closing back up. Levi studied her for a moment, she was lying.

“You suck at lying.”

“If I lost a foot, it wouldn’t be in my boot, right now.”

Levi put a hand on her arm, in case she tried to escape. “Unless you’re a titan, like Eren.”

She glared at him for a moment. “You’re being stupid,“ she smacked his hand and stood up. “I’m going to bed.” Levi pushed her up against the tree, pinning her by her wrist. “Get off me.”

“Stop lying to me.”

“What difference does it make to you? Whether I am a titan or not? I’m still ___.”

“If you’re a titan, you’ve been deceiving us all, you could have helped. You have let all of us down, by letting hundreds die.” Levi spat at her. Her eyes widened. “Plus, you’ve outlived everyone in your squads. How have you been doing that? What are you hiding?” Levi growled at her when she didn’t answer him. “You’re a fucking disgrace,” Levi gripped her by the front of her shirt, starting to walk and dragging her.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to Erwin. Now.”

“I’m sorry.” Levi turned his head to look at her, meeting her fist.

By the time he opened his eyes. She was gone.

Levi burst into Hange’s room. “___’s gone!” Hange jumped out of bed.

“What do you mean gone?!”

“I confronted her. She’s a titan. When dragging her to Erwin. She punched me and disappeared.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to her about it? You’ve scared her off, Shorty! We could have talked it out then talked to Erwin!” Hange was shaking Levi by the shoulders. Before letting go and quickly pulling on some shoes.

“Where are you going?!” Levi chased after her.

“To find, ___! She’s my best friend; titan, and lair, but she’s still my dearest friend! And if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have been such an ass!” Hange ran out of the building. Levi groaned as his heart ached and chased after Hange.

___ was sitting on top of the Rose Wall. Staring down at the titans below, out in the distance. The wind was blowing her hair around. She wanted to jump down and transform, run far away. But at the same time, she wanted to run into Hange’s arms, cling to her. She put her hands over her ears and curled up, trying to not cry. She had no right to cry, she had lied to everyone for almost 15 years. She brought this upon herself, she just wanted to be a human and live and die among them. She had never thought of helping them, there wasn’t an urge until 5 years ago. But even if she would have tried to help, she probably would have been killed. That is what she had always thought until Eren came along. She always tried to help, only transforming when she knew there was no other choice.

Screams of her fallen comrades flooded her mind, she broke down crying. Curling up even tighter, rocking back and forth. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Hange was kneeling next to her, with a small smile.

___ nearly jumped on Hange, crying and clinging to her. Of course, Hange just held ___. Hange knew all of her hiding spots. Now that Hange knew her best friend was a titan, this certain hiding spot, made a lot more sense.

Levi stared at ___, he had never seen her cry, saw her broken looks but never a tear. He could hear her gasping for air as she clung to Hange, mumbling sorry over and over. She’s beautiful, even while crying.

___ pushed away from Hange, sitting on her knees and rubbing her eyes, trying to stop crying. “I’m sorry I never told you. I could have helped you. I could have helped humanity. I’m so sorry. I lied to you for nearly 15 years. I don’t deserve a friend like you,” she was starting to hiccup from crying so much. Hange threw a glare over her shoulder to Levi, who looked away from her glare.

“You’re my best friend. I understand why you never told me or anyone. If you would have when our world wasn’t getting worse. They likely would have killed you.” Hange looked at ___, who was still trying to stop herself from crying. “Until everything with Eren, even if you would have told me. I would have kept it secret with you, in fear of you being killed. You’ve never hurt anyone that didn’t attack you first. Even titans. You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever known. In fear of letting anyone down, you’ve held back and been under the radar in fear of having to explain yourself.” Hange hugged ___ as the tears finally stopped.

“I can’t get their screams out of my head. My last squad. An abnormal attacked, I didn’t want to lose them. After two got ate, I transformed. But they ran from me in fear, which made them die. Even at my strongest, I fail. I’m such a disgrace, I can’t do this Hange. I should have never entered the city.”

“I know the screams won’t stop. You’ve always had them, since your first expedition. You’ve been telling me that for years.” Hange rubbed her back. Levi just stared at her. Feeling guilty for the words he had spat at his love beforehand.

“Hange, I want to die now.”

Hange smack ___ across the face. “Don’t you say that shit!” ___ laughed a bit, Hange smiled. ___ then noticed Levi and crawled behind Hange so he could no longer see her. Levi clicked his tongue before walking over and gripping ___ by the arm. Pulling her to her feet, his tight grip making her squeak a bit.

“You punched me really hard you know.”

“You were dragging me off. I claim self-defense.”

“You still have to pay for the pain you did to my head.”

“Fine, I’ll clean the stables.”

“No.” With one tug, he crashed his lips onto hers. She squeaked and pushed him away. Hange clapped.

“Finally!” Hange cheered.

“Shut up!”

“What?” ___ looked at both of them.

Hange popped up and kissed ___ on the cheek. “When you’re done. I want to talk before you see Erwin. I’ll leave you to lover boy, for now,“ Hange walked off.

“I am very confused.” ___ glanced at Hange walking away then at Levi’s hand on her arm. “Can you let go?”

“Will you stay?” she gave him a small nod and he let go of her arm. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. They were basically the same height, so Levi just leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to hers for a small second.

“I thought you hated me.”

“Because of what I said earlier?” she looked away. “I’m not good with my emotions. I’ve loved you for 3 years. I was about to kiss you before my fucking brain clicked what you said.” Levi put a hand on her face, pressing his cooling hand against her warm cheek that Hange had smacked. “I’m sorry. Let’s head back,” she nodded, staring at him for a moment before heading down the wall.

While walking back, Levi wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

___ looked at Levi, with a confused look.

“Would you fucking say something instead of just staring at me? You’re starting to piss me off.”

“You love me?”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s why I kissed you.”

“I thought you knew about me being a titan and no longer trusted me. That’s why you were checking on me every night.” Levi started blushing a bit. “But you did that because you love me?”

Levi coughed. “So you knew? And yes that’s why.” He stopped and stood in front of her. Putting a hand on her cheek again, running a thumb over her cheekbone and smirked as she started blushing. She glanced at his lips then back at his eyes. “Oi, brat.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Brat? You’re like 5 years older than me,“ she scoffed at him.

Levi rolled his eyes before kissing her, moving his hand to the back of her neck, to deepen the kiss. ___ bowed her body into his, wrapping her arms around his neck. Levi pulled away a bit.

“You still haven’t really replied to my confession.”

“I like you.”

Levi clicked his tongue in frustration. “Fucking brat.”

She gave him a small smirk before giving him a light kiss. “Old perv.”

“Tch.” picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. “I’ll teach you how to respect your elders.”

“Put me down!” She ordered him.

“I don’t take orders from you, bitch.” Levi smacked her ass, earning a small yelp.

“I have a feeling my lesson, isn’t going to be something I would ever learn in school.”

“Your lesson is only to be taught by me. The lesson you need to learn right now, can’t be taught with words… only with action.” A small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he heard the female make a loud gulp.

Author’s Note: continued Also Levi is a bit OOC. I really disliked this fanfic when I wrote it. But it got positive feedback years ago, so I guess it’s decent but still. I am sorry for this shit.

#attack on titan #aot #aot fic #levi x reader #levi/reader #levi ackerman #shifter!reader #fanfic #fanficition #lalahbug #lalah writes #reader insert #xreader #self insert

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tessatechaitea · 4 years ago

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Justice League #1 (1987)

This is actually a more impressive line-up than I remember.

I'm pretty sure this line-up is a huge scam. I don't remember Doctor Fate interacting too much with this group and I think Shazam bows out fairly quickly. Batman probably does that thing where he acts like he's leader (even if Martian Manhunter actually is) and only helps out every sixth mission. So at that point, the line-up is already decreasing in strength and intimidation factor quickly. Adding Fire, Ice, and Booster Gold later won't really improve the team much. But I'm getting ahead of myself. My impressions from this initial cover were "Wow! Pretty interesting team!" and "What asshole fucking decided on the shit stencil font for the title?" Sorry, I cuss a lot when I'm writing on the Internet and trying to seem like a bad-ass. The issue begins with Guy Gardner calling the other Green Lanterns jerks and suggesting, to himself, that he should be the Commander-in-Chief of the new Justice League. Some people would read this first page and think, "What an arrogant fucking asshole." But my stomach got all queasy and I giggled a little bit and I muttered quietly under my breath, "I love him."

I'm not saying it isn't composed of some truly ridiculous aspects but Guy still has the best costume in the DC Universe.

I don't love everything about Guy Gardner because most writers at the time didn't truly understand him. They made him a jerk that nobody would like because they were too cold-hearted to see the brain damaged cool guy that he really was. Guy Gardner often needed to be written by somebody who loved the character; it would have done him a world of good. He could still have been that abrasive jerk. But written deftly, those who actually cared to take the time would see his true self. Sure, that would also be an abrasive jerk! But a little bit more likable!

Stallone was pretty sensitive in a few scenes in Rocky IV!

Black Canary is second to arrive, after which Mister Miracle and Oberon show up. I never quite understood how Oberon fit into the Justice League. Wasn't he like an agent or a manager? Did Batman and Martian Manhunter need Oberon to sign off on every mission or else Scott Free would have to remain behind? I bet he was included just so Giffen and DeMatteis could make dwarf jokes.

Why would Guy choose Sneezy?! Oberon's breathing has been impeccable since he arrived!

Normally after some kind of cynical prediction about the comic book that immediately is proved true, I'd write, "Grandmaster Comic Book Reader!" But it doesn't feel right to say it in this case. I mean, Oberon is present for four panels before he becomes the butt of a joke based on his diminutive nature. And by Guy Gardner, no less! Is this why I loved him so much at sixteen?! What a terrible and typical sixteen year old white heterosexual male I was! Black Canary (whose costume I'm just now noticing is really fucking weird) responds to Guy's awful behavior by saying, "Dozens of GLs around and we get 'Rambo' with a ring!" That's unfair to Rambo! I'm also unsure who in this story (including the writers of this story) have actually seen First Blood. Gardner is more like the authority mad Sheriff Teasle than the sensitive green beret John Rambo! Rambo should be admired as a hero, battling back against corrupt cops who think they have the right to use as much force as they want for any stupid fucking reason! It's possible they were talking about the Rambo from the second film who gets to kill more than one person because the people he's killing are Russians and Vietnamese. He does get a bit murder crazy in the second film. Or maybe they're talking about Rambo from the third film which wasn't actually out yet so I don't have to read up on it. Next to arrive are Captain Marvel, Blue Beetle, and Martian Manhunter. Martian Manhunter proves to be a buzzkill, reminding everybody how the old series ended in total death and disaster.

His view of the media is pretty spot on though.

J'onn calls up the files of Steel, Gypsy, Vixen, and Vibe before purging them completely from the Justice League computer. That's probably a good idea, like deleting old joke tweets on Twitter that were a bit racist and also boring. Meanwhile Maxwell Lord IV watches from a distance, doing that Ozymandias thing where you watch dozens of televisions at once. I think it proves you're a genius whose done the research and contemplated all sides of an issue before making up your totally rational and logical mind about any issue. As opposed to us losers who simply use compassion and empathy to almost immediately understand the correct and most ethical path to take. Maxwell Lord IV watches all of this television and decides the correct course to take is to leave the "America" off of the Justice League of America this time. Oh, and also the "of".

Maybe this is why I liked Guy so much: because he knew the saying was "you've got another think coming." Look, I'm going to be desperately finding good reasons to have liked Guy Gardner so much when Giffen and DeMatteis are this determined to make him a huge and unlikable jerk.

Look, I was sixteen! Hardly the best time in a young man's life for qualities like compassion and empathy and fashion sense and hair styles! I'm also fairly certain it wasn't this comic book that made me like him so much. I'm pretty sure he gets knocked out by Batman with one punch before the year is over and I remember loving that scene. So I probably despised him like a good reader of Justice League was supposed to do. Hopefully he'll have some character moments during this series that will show why I wound up liking him so much as a character. Right now, he's just a complete and utter asshole. The five panels following the one I just scanned consist of Guy once again calling Oberon "Sneezy" and then suggesting Black Canary is going to want to fuck him soon enough. Martian Manhunter tries to break it up and just winds up part of the chaos.

Okay, I'm starting to get why I might have liked him at sixteen, even after the first few pages. To a sixteen year old white male, mocking Martian Manhunter with a "Ho-ho-ho" trumps ableism, sexism, and, with this attack on J'onn for his inherent physical Martianness, almost certainly racism as well.

Guy continues to play the role of Squeaky Wheel for another page or two. I suppose if you want more on-panel time than the other heroes, you've got to be a raging asshole. I can't say I'm not entertained by it!

Captain Marvel earns a little of my love with this line as well. No shame in drinking warm milk at night!

This is only nine pages into the first issue and Guy has completely derailed the formation of the new Justice League. Was this blasphemy to previous fans of the Justice League where the team may have had some minor squabbles about various things and Batman would quit every six issues but mostly they didn't break out into brawls whenever they got together? Or were internal struggles and arguments a regular plot point? I have no idea because the only Justice League comics I read previous to this title were the terrible months where everything was breaking down and then Steel betrayed them and Vibe was killed off and Martian Manhunter felt like a huge failure. Although was Aquaman leading the team at the time? I dislike Aquaman so much, I'm just going to believe he was leading the team and that's why everything completely fell apart. He sucks. Once per day, I think about that lousy meme trying to prove Aquaman wasn't useless by using the image from New 52 Justice League where he controls a bunch of great whites to breach and kill a bunch of parademons and I hate everybody who actually thought that was a cool moment. Batman and Doctor Fate arrive in the middle of the Justice League brawl (which even Martian Manhunter, the only adult in the room, is taken part in) and shuts shit down The Batman way.

I guess heroes are also a cowardly lot.

Meanwhile, Doctor Light winds up being held hostage with the rest of the United Nations by some white terrorists. I felt I needed to say they were white because a lot of racist assholes can only envision terrorists one way. Also, I should always describe people as white when they're white since I don't want to be an accomplice to maintaining a world where we assume a person mentioned is white, male, and heterosexual unless they're described more fully. Doctor Light was given a Justice League emergency beeper by a mysterious figure some time previously. This isn't revealed but I just read Justice League Spectacular #1 so I know Maxwell Lord gave her the device so that she could alert the Justice League when the United Nations was taken hostage by terrorists that Maxwell Lord IV paid. It's all about getting some early press! There's an advert for the new Flash which I'm surprised I didn't pick up since the advert shows him having some kind of accident in a sperm bank.

Ew Flash is right!

The Justice League head over to stop the terrorist attack. At some point, Doctor Fate disappears to go do something else and I think he never comes back? Is that why I barely remember him as a part of this league? Was he just there to look cool on the cover and fool all the lovers of DC magic users? The League storms the UN, murdering several terrorists.

Look. Manhunter either phased their heads into the solid ceiling or he smashed their skulls straight through the roof. Either way, I don't see a high percentage chance of their survival.

The Justice League capture all the terrorists and then Batman has the building evacuated, leaving just the leader of the terrorists alone in the United Nations building threatening to kill himself so that the bomb attached to his heart would detonate and kill them all. He does kill himself but the bomb doesn't detonate. And the thing is, Batman realized during the mission that the bomb was almost certainly a bluff. So he left the man alone to kill himself. Later we discover the man had a history of mental illness. So this, to Batman, is justice? Batman almost certainly realized the man was being manipulated and that he'd definitely kill himself to blow the bomb and Batman let the man do it. Batman is a fucking monster. After the event, the media points out that the terrorists were mostly composed of 60s radical groups like the Weathermen and the Black Panthers. Which is odd because there wasn't one black terrorist in the bunch. The issue ends with Max Lord talking to himself and admitting to being the one who staged the terrorist attack. He also knew the leader was unstable enough to kill himself for the cause and he sent him in with a bomb that definitely wouldn't blow. So he's a fucking monster as well. And Martian Manhunter is a monster, not because he's a weirdo martian, but because he basically popped the heads on a few of the terrorists. No way will I believe those guys hanging from the ceiling by their necks survived! All in all, Guy Gardner is starting to look like a rational member of this group! Justice League #1 Rating: B+. A better than average start to the new Justice League, building some intrigue and conflict right from the start. Who is Max Lord? What are his plans for the Justice League? Why is he acting like it's his group? Will Doctor Fate ever return? Will Oberon poison Guy Gardner? Will Black Canary and Doctor Light become best friends because they're the only women in the League? Will Guy Gardner and Batman ever come to blows? I can answer that! They will not! They'll just come to blow. One punch by Batman. And that one punch causes some severe psychological trauma to Gardner and nobody thinks he should get medical help simply because he starts acting nicer. They're all fucking monsters!

#Justice League #Kevin Maguire #Keith Giffen #J.M. DeMatteis #Terry Austin

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anamericangirl · 5 years ago

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Okay, @beachflowerr you brought up a lot of things and it’s too hard for me to do this all in replies on the post, but I think they deserve a response.

I’m not “pulling you into any philosophy” that you didn’t say. The very concept of the privilege that you say I have is skin color, is it not? You told me I was putting myself in a picture I was not a part of and if I was not black, this did not affect me. Those were your words. That means I have the wrong skin color to be affected by this and to be a part of the picture and doesn’t the “privilege” you say I have affect the way I see and understand things? Isn’t this what people call white privilege? And doesn’t the very name imply that I have inherent privileges based on my race and that it has an effect on what I can and can’t understand? That is telling me I have the wrong skin color to understand certain things. That is all based on what you said. I’m not putting words in your mouth or pulling you into any philosophy that you yourself did not project.

And sorry but the fact that you’re white doesn’t mean anything here. I don’t care what color skin you have you can discriminate against anyone. Even other white people. And just to be clear, I never claimed you were discriminating against me because I don’t think you were. But saying “I'm also white so I'm not discriminating against you” doesn’t prove anything. It doesn’t matter what color you are.

But yes, please, let’s continue on American history.

Thanks for the links but I am familiar with the slave trade. However, slavery goes back way before the 15th century. Slavery was literally going on all over the world and had been a thing for hundreds of years before America even existed and it certainly was not unique to African-Americans. Perhaps you are not aware of this but the very root of the word “slave” is slav, which is a reference to the slavic people who were the primary slaves during the Middle Ages and they were white people.

Also, you are not correct that people from Africa were stolen by Europeans. The Africans who were slaves in America were actually enslaved by other Africans and then sold to the European slave trade. Another interesting fact for you is that most of the slaves in this slave trade did not even go to America, they went to South America. So it’s weird that America is the only racist country because of slavery even though less than 10% of the slaves came here and one ever shames Brazil for racism because of slavery.

But yeah, let’s focus on America because that’s where this issue is. So you might not know this, but not only black people were slaves in America. There where white slaves as well as black slave owners. In fact, at the height of slavery in this country 28% of free black people owned slaves while 1.4% of white people did, yet for some reason only the black slaves matter and only the white slave owners. People in this country like to ignore the fact that there where white slaves and black slave owners (a higher percentage even than white slave owners) for some reason. :)

Slavery did last here for a while but it officially ended in 1865 and that was a long time ago. People like to pretend that all the problems in this country are because of slavery and we, as white people, still have to pay for this evil even though there is still slavery going on in Africa today. Slavery was a bad thing and it happened. But it’s over now. No one alive today in this country was a slave or owned any slaves and it’s not responsible for what we see happening today.

And let’s be glad those three amendments were added. I don’t get why it matters to you that it was three amendments and not one. Does it surprise you that completely shifting your culture and changing public perception of something that has been seen as normal and has been engrained in your culture for 100+ years doesn’t happen overnight? Is it a negative thing to you that, as a country, we worked and made changes until all people, regardless of skin color, were seen and treated as equals even if it took more than one amendment to get the job done? That seems like a positive thing to me.

I realize in our country that black people have had a harder time gaining equality, but you are looking at this as a black v. white issue and that is not at all what it was. It was a democrat v. republican issue. If you look back through history at all these racist policies that we have had, every single one, from slavery to segregation, can be traced back to the democrats. Republicans fought since their formation for the freedom and equality of black people. One of the main reasons the republican party was formed was opposition to slavery. So it’s really not fair of you to just act like white people were oppressors and black people were oppressed. That’s a really shallow representation of what the actual issues were.

You’re also misrepresenting redlining here. You’re acting like because a lot of black communities were subject to redlining because of their condition the reason is because they were black communities. And that’s not accurate. You’re just making an assumption.

And yeah, I’ve heard of micro aggressions and I think it’s one of the dumbest ideas that has ever been presented. Micro aggressions aren’t real. African-Americans don’t commit more crimes because of micro aggressions, they commit more crimes because they choose to. You are literally trying to remove all personal responsibility here. But for whatever reason you want to think they commit more crimes, that accounts for the higher incarceration rate so it’s not alarming at all and it’s not racism. It’s expected that those that commit more crimes are more likely to be in jail.

I agree, people can make subconscious race based judgments, but to just assume this accounts for all racial disparities is quite naive. There can be a lot of other reasons for these disparities, jumping right to racism is pretty extreme. Most people, whatever you would like to believe, aren’t racist and aren’t making subconscious race based judgments. Besides, most subconscious race based judgements would have to be rather small and it wouldn’t have a really profound effect on anything. To be infecting the entire criminal justice system, they would have to be pretty conscious judgements. I think there’s a lot you don’t understand about the justice system and that’s ok. But it’s not okay to just call it racist because you don’t understand it and because you, personally, can’t think of any other reasons disparities exist. I looked at that page you linked from the NAACP but you should know that website has a pretty strong political bias and I don’t consider them credible. But it didn’t say African Americans get higher sentences for the same crimes. But even if it did, there are a lot of different factors that are considered at a sentencing so assuming that the difference is just racism is ignorant.

And I'm sorry, but your transition to police brutality is incredibly weak and makes absolutely no sense. Numerical inequality does not prove racism so you thinking it proves racial injustice and inequality just means you don’t really understand what racism is.

You are also, it seems, oblivious to how white people can be treated by police. Police brutality is not unique to black people. A lot of white people have been victims of police brutality. They just don’t make headlines and don’t get protests because no one cares. More white people are shot by the police every single year than black people. Here are some for you to look at since you, apparently, think it doesn’t happen.

https://www.dallasnews.com/news/investigations/2019/07/31/you-re-gonna-kill-me-dallas-police-body-cam-footage-reveals-the-final-minutes-of-tony-timpa-s-life/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shooting_of_Daniel_Shaver

There’s a couple to get you started. I know why the protests and riots are happening, but I disagree with what they are saying and I don’t think the reason they are protesting is valid or is something that is happening today. I think all the protesters, like you, are either misinformed or uniformed. There is absolutely no evidence that this killing was racial in nature. You and everyone else who buys into that idea are just saying that because George Floyd was black and Derek Chauvin was white. That’s it. That’s all you’ve got. You guys are the ones focused on race and you literally can’t see anything else. So everything is about race to you.

I’m perfectly aware of the history. In fact, based on the way you went through it, I think I know more about the history than you do. I also, unlike you, am aware of the changes that our country has gone through and people can’t blame the history of slavery for everything bad that happens to black people.

You don’t seem like you know this so let me explain something to you: literally every race on the planet has, at one time or another, been treated very poorly by other races. Every single demographic has been through oppression of some sort. Why can every race get over their oppression to the point where it doesn’t have this lifelong mitigating effect on all future generations except for black people? Why is their bad history the most important? What you are doing is ignoring all of history except for the parts you want to acknowledge because they fit your narrative.

I have America in my username not because I’m unaware of the history we have, but because I am aware of it. We have a big history. We have a lot of bad things in our history as well as a lot of really great things. I’m very proud of this country. I'm proud that the people in our history saw slavery for the evil that it was and stopped it. I’m proud that the people in our history saw segregation for the evil that it was and stopped it. I’m proud that the people in our history fought until black people were recognized as fully equal human beings in every single aspect under the law. Though you mentioned things that happened in history, you have failed to explain why this instance of police brutality is racist and how the history makes everyone racist today.

White privilege is not a thing. And with your little explanation of white privilege you have proved that you were, in fact, telling me I have the wrong skin color to be able to understand certain things :) I appreciate you being concerned about my ignorance, but I would suggest you be more concerned about yours :) your idea of white privilege doesn’t make any sense. A white person is not the least likely to be ostracized or oppressed. You just made that up :) I get what people say white privilege, but I don’t accept that it exists and you have failed to prove that it does. You’ve made one of the weaker cases against it that I’ve seen. White people aren’t oppressed in America and black people aren’t oppressed in America. No one is oppressed in America. And there is no white privilege and there is no evidence that this was racism. I stand by what I originally said because you didn’t make a single valid point against any of it. I suggest you become more familiar with all aspects of our history, not just the parts that fit what you want to be true. To be honest, even the parts you are aware of you don’t really know that much about.

Stop letting people make you feel like your skin color matters. It doesn’t. Your skin color doesn’t give you special privileges and you are capable of understanding this issue. Just like everyone else, you can see facts. Don’t believe people who tell you that your skin color means there are just some things you can’t understand. It’s racist for people to say or think that. The very concept of white privilege is inherently racist so don’t buy into that crap.

#racism #white privilege #george floyd

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rockethorse · 5 years ago

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HOW TO MAKE SIMLISH LOOK NATURAL (aka. why typography matters, even if you can’t read the language)

We’re living in a golden age of Simlish (or Simlish-esque) fonts. Gone are the days of trying to recycle the same two or three typefaces without feeling like you live in the Twilight Zone! We have handwritten fonts, digital fonts, fancy fonts, formal fonts, cartoony fonts, and blocky fonts. Now making great-looking Maxis Match, Simlish content is as easy as changing the typeface from a drop-down menu in your graphics editor of choice! Right?

The thing is, typography - the art of type - is incredibly important to the overall aesthetic of an image, even if you can’t read it - in fact, probably moreso than if you could, because you have nothing else to distract you from how it looks. The whole point of Simlish is to maintain our immersion, and our suspension of disbelief, but unnaturally-formatted text can break that immersion even if we can’t read it.

The key to nice-looking typography is balance, and two primary factors to that balance are kerning and line spacing. Kerning is the space between two letters, and line spacing is, as you might guess, the space between lines of text. Your program’s default settings are probably not tailored to your needs, or to the specific font you use, and tweaking them can make a big difference.

Here’s a sentence I put down in a graphics editor in both Arial and a well-known Simlish font (Simlish v3 by SIMale) using my program’s default line spacing and kerning.

It’s not awful, but if you compare the two sentences, the Simlish sentence has much greater line spacing than the Arial sentence, and the kerning is a bit tighter (the double “e”s are practically touching). Here’s a chunk of Lorem Ipsum in Simlish (double gibberish!) to show how it looks in a paragraph, maybe for a book or poster retexture:

Again, maybe it doesn’t seem so bad. It definitely does the job of looking like a page of text. But if this were a real book, the line spaces would probably be a bit shorter, and the letters would be spaced just a tiny bit further apart, like this:

It’s still far from perfect, but it’s starting to look a lot more like “real” text. Because this font was one of the first of its kind, and many Simlish font creators are not professional typographists, not all of the characters are going to fit well with each other, but that’s okay - that wasn’t the point. If you’re just filling space with text like this, you probably wouldn’t need to do much more. Your eyes can glaze over this without being distracted by “gaps” caused by awkward line spacing.

Mostly, this is an issue in Simlish logos, signs, book titles, etc. where inappropriate kerning/line spacing really stands out. Back to the first example:

Again, the top text is using my program’s default text formatting. I decreased the overall line spacing and kerning, but because we’re dealing with less text, I was able to also go in and further tweak the spacing between individual characters. I looked for anywhere there was a large gap between letters, such as the gaps between the capital letters and the rest of the word in the first and third words. I also made the last word larger, to balance out the sentence/slogan - play with the sizes of different words and even the sizes of individual letters if certain fonts are scaled unusually.

One great benefit of Simlish is that it’s not a real language, so you don’t have to care about doing things the “normal” way. Imagine how you might write on lined note paper - that invisible “line” in typography is called the base line, and you can adjust where individual characters sit on the base line just as you can adjust individual letters’ kerning. I adjusted the first letter of the last word to sit below the baseline, and also made it larger than the other characters, to be more symmetrical and fit better with the character next to it. In English, that would look like this:

Which makes the S seem a bit odd, because we don’t usually stylise a capital S below the base line. But Simlish is not English, so maybe that’s normal for a Simlish S! You are free to do whatever you like, so long as the end product looks okay!

Most line spacing/kerning mistakes happen by making the spacing too broad, but be careful of making it too tight, too. Tight kerning is called “keming” because that’s exactly what happens - letters get so crowded they look stuck-together, making them difficult or impossible to read, e.g. joining an r and an n together to look like an m.

... Though, to be honest, that doesn’t look that bad here, because as we established, Simlish is not English, so we can’t really tell when characters begin and end, especially when your texture is 64x64 pixels. So try out different things that you wouldn’t think to do with a real language and see if you like the results.

Hinting and anti-aliasing are also aspects to consider. Anti-aliasing is probably toggled for you by default, and it’s what makes shapes look smooth instead of jagged/pixelated. Hinting affects the clarity of letters at smaller resolutions. Since many Sims textures are quite small, try toggling hinting on/off to see if the image looks better or more clear.

Hopefully there was something worthwhile here. I’m by no means a typography expert, but as Custom Content is many Simmers’ first experience with graphic design, my only goal is to introduce beginners to these basic concepts, and from there, trial and error is the best way to learn.

Again, Simlish is not English, so the concept of Simlish “legibility” might seem weird, but the ultimate design goal of nonsense-languages like Simlish, alien runes, ancient markings, etc. is to recognise what they represent, not what they say. Your eyes slide over it and you maintain your suspension of disbelief. Awkward typography is a universal language, and it can pull you out of that immersion when that might not be your intention.

Happy Simlishing, nooboos!

#The Sims #Sims Tutorial #if you liked this please reblog!#I see a lot of Simmers who make excellent retextures but use their program's default text formatting #and once you see it it's hard NOT to see it so I have a hard time using said content in my games

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occasionalfics · 5 years ago

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Not Such A Long Shot

main masterlist | thor masterlist | taglist | ko-fi | ao3

For: Me. But also all of you, because I feel weird not having posted something in what’s probably weeks but feels like months.

Pairing: Alpha!Thor x Omega!Reader

A/N: You absolutely did read that pairing tag right. I almost never write a/b/o because it’s just not really my thing but I felt like alpha!Thor was vastly underrated (except by @spacelabrathor who’s a god damn MASTER at it) and wanted to remedy the issue.

I’ve been working on this for at least two weeks. Probably more. It’s not edited, probably not my best work, definitely not really finished. It was meant to go on longer than it currently is but I’ve forgotten the direction I was going to go in and decided to just post this and write more later if I remember.

I don’t have a beta reader and didn’t want to read through 25 pages of this before I posted it. I’m sorry about that. I hope you like it anyway.

Honestly I’m so tired today I couldn’t even be bothered to fix the italics formatting throughout this whole thing in one sitting. Maybe I’ll fix it later, maybe I won’t. Does it make that much of a difference when you read it? (I legit would love responses!)

Warnings: SMUTTY SMUT (just one section, but still), NSFW/18+ CONTENT AHEAD. Not a super confident Reader, but she knows what she wants.

Words: 10,177 (like I said, 25 pages)

You feel like one of the most pathetic Omegas to have ever lived.

Most Omegas find their Alphas and go straight into bonding, but you? You had always made things more complicated for yourself.

And the walking embodiment of such a reminder has absolutely no idea that you exist.

You don’t blame him. The last five or so years have been extremely difficult for him, and for most of that time, you were nothing but a tiny, run of the mill SHIELD Agent. Even now, as just...an Avengers Agent, you still blend in with the crowd.

It’s...kind of the job of a spy to do so.

But for an unbonded Omega? One who, at some point over the last five or so years, imprinted on an untouchable and uninterested Alpha?

It’s torture.

Thor comes back to Midgard and tells his friends about Ragnarok. He and Bruce relate all of the relevant details, and they somehow trickle down the chain of command to you. Your ears perk up when you’re notified that Thor’s back, and without thinking, you head for the residential floors.

You’ve memorized where Thor’s apartment is. You’ve never gone in, knowing what kind of boundary that breaks, but you’ve gone to the floor, stood in the hallway, and nearly cried yourself dry on particularly bad nights of your last few heats.

You can’t help it.

Your body decided, long ago, that Thor was the one. The Big One. Your heart and mind haven’t really caught up to your biology and it fucking sucks, but it’s the reason why you’ve abandoned your work station and head upstairs.

Remain calm, you remind yourself. He doesn’t even know who you are.

You think of the countless times you’ve tried to mate with another Alpha before. And each time since you imprinted, every one of those Alphas have told you how terrible you smell. So you’ve gone home alone too many times, unable to even see the man you’ve been physically pining over for years, knowing he has no idea who you are, feeling like the scummiest, most useless Omega in the entire universe.

You don’t deserve him. He works so hard to keep everyone save, pulls so much of the weight of the team when he is around that you wonder how they ever manage to work without him. You just keep quiet, fill out paperwork, and go on the occasional mission when your skills are required and relevant.

But he doesn’t make you feel so bad about your job when you find him in the common area. The Valkyrie is sitting next to him, drinking beers from glass bottles, feet up on the table in front of them while they watch the local news.

When Thor sees you, he smiles. “Hello there,” he calls, raising his beer.

You give a small wave. He nods to one of the seats beside the couch. “Come, join us!”

He doesn’t even know you, but he’s acting like he does.

The Valkyrie looks at you, her expression unreadable. You’d say your jealous of her, but she’s an Alpha, too. You can smell it on her, feel the guarded and dominant energy flowing off of her. She’s not competition, though. That much you can tell right away.

You do as Thor had offered, taking the chair right next to him.

“Waiting for Stark?” he asks.

You shake your head, unable to look at anything else but him now that you’re so close.

You wonder if he can feel what you feel: the sun falls over his glorious face in waves that make your stomach churn; his smile is bright and makes your chest tight and fluttery; his one remaining eye - that you’d just noticed - is a deep, earnest blue that might cause slick to pool between your legs if you were in heat.

At least the Gods had mercy on you there. For now.

“I, uh,” you say. Instinct wins over, despite the logical parts of you screaming not to say what you say next: “I heard you were back.”

If he did feel what you were feeling, his smile wouldn’t be falling like it is. He must not be imprinted like you are. It’s unfortunate, but you know it happens sometimes.

You don’t like what people have said about the Omegas with unrequited imprints. This isn’t faring well.

“Just wanted to say hi,” you say. You remember that he doesn’t know you, despite you having been in the background of his story for the last few years. You try not to hold that against him while you hold a hand out toward him, attempting a softer smile because you don’t want to scare him away. You don’t want to be one of those Omegas. “I’m (Y/N).”

You don’t deserve him. He’s too kind. His smile comes back as he leans toward you and shakes your outstretched hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he says.

And if he feels anything more than what one normally feels upon first introduction, he doesn’t show it.

“This is my friend,” Thor says, pointing now at the Valkyrie. “We call her Val.”

She nods. “My friends call me Val,” she corrects. “Everyone else calls me Valkyrie.”

You know it’s meant for you. Clearly it is, since neither of them know you. Gods you plead in your head why did I come up here?

“Don’t mind her,” Thor says, maybe, just possibly picking up on your anxious energy. “Her bark’s much worse than her bite.”

“My bite is plenty horrifying, thank you,” she jokes, and Thor laughs with her.

You want that. To laugh and be at ease around him. To know him.

But since you’ve known of him, your crush has been exclusively on the sidelines. You imprinted on him from across a room, when he hadn’t even been looking at you. Your schoolgirl feelings for him had just...mounted and climaxed, and then you were suddenly attached to him chemically, without his permission or knowledge.

Sometimes - actually, make that most of the time, you hate being an Omega. This kind of shit only happens to Omegas who don’t settle down and pick a good mate that they’re realistically worthy of before it’s too late.

This is ridiculous. This was always ridiculous. Why did I come here?

You go to stand, but before you can, Thor clears his throat and turns the television off. You can’t tell if you’re relieved that he’s leaving the room or not.

“We were just about to head out for karaoke night,” he says. “Would you like to join?”

For just a moment, you wonder how he has time for karaoke when his entire kingdom lives in your backyard now, but you don’t question it.

Your crush dictates that you simply smile gratefully at the offer and accept.

At three more beers in, the Valkyrie ran off with a Beta she’d met ten minutes prior. Thor’s other friends - the Avengers, the team you’d worked under for years and barely ever met personally - are sprawled around the bar, some dancing, some drinking, some talking. Bruce is letting loose with a wildly off-key rendition of “I Think We’re Alone Now.”

But you haven’t left Thor’s side all night. You’ve got a respectable distance between you, and you refuse to drink more than you should. Closing that space seems...wrong. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t know how you feel. Doesn’t know that you physically cannot help but be drawn to him.

You swirl around your second drink, the ice long melted intentionally to dilute the alcohol. You watch Bruce with a smile, trying your hardest to ignore the suffocating heat of the Alpha beside you. He smells like...rain and wind, like the beach and a forest all at once. You want to lean back into him, let him hold you and touch you and smell you, but you know that wouldn’t be right. Or fair.

So you slump forward and focus harder on Bruce’s shoddy footwork.

“Not having fun?” he asks from behind.

You can’t tell if he knows you’re holding back or if he genuinely just thinks you’re a depressed drunk.

“I am,” you say, attempting your best smile and convincing voice. And acting is a huge part of what you do when you go on missions, so you think you’re pretty successful now.

Except that Thor’s smile turns somewhat sad. “C’mon,” he says, and then one of his hands is placed at the small of your back.

Your eyes widen as you ask, “Where?!”

He nods at the dance floor. It seems weird that there’s a dance floor for karaoke night, but you doubt anyone drunk enough truly cares.

“Let’s go dance!” he says, and he sounds so light hearted and genuine that you find you can’t deny him. You can’t even question him anymore.

You slide out of the booth, then wait for him. Thor follows you out, and when he turns back to face you, he takes one of your hands in his.

Something in his face twitches, but you swear you imagined it. In no time at all, he’s back to smiling and pulling you out onto the floor behind him. He finds a place he likes, between two other couples and a handful of single women dancing with their glasses raised. Some of them look back at Thor, but his eyes never leave you.

You don’t see that much, though. All you focus on is his one hand on your hip, the other holding your hand out beside you. Your free hand grips his shoulder as he sways you out of time to the music, neither of you appearing to care.

There’s something electric between you. You know you feel that, but can only hope that he feels it, too. It’s more than imprinting. It’s more than a crush. It’s...connection, you think. He smiles down at you and you smile back and follow his lead through the dance because it’s all that you can think to do. You never want this moment to end.

But then it does, with the song, of course.

Thor lets go of you, except for your hand. You try not to laugh giddily at the thought that, if he didn’t want to be holding onto you, he wouldn’t be. Somehow, you’ve been blessed by the Gods.

He brings you to the bar, orders two more drinks, and then makes sure you’re comfortable on your stool before he sits on his own. You’re not sure you want to keep drinking, but then Thor doesn’t even seem to care about the glasses placed in front of you when they do come. He holds his in his free hand, sure, but his eye is zeroed in on your reaction to him and nothing else.

“I don’t want this to sound weird,” he starts, “but you smell...so familiar.”

You shrug. It’s not that weird, you know. Scents are how everyone distinguishes themselves.

“I’ve been...around. In the background, I guess.”

“What- the whole time?” he asks.

You nod, picking up the drink to take little sips. It’s not too bad that way, thankfully. A simple drink, with plenty of tropical flavoring to make it bearable.

“Well somebody’s gotta keep an eye on day-to-day stuff around the city,” you tease, flashing a smile at him because you really can’t make your face do anything else. Even when you drink again, your cheese are still puffed into a rather gleeful expression, because just being in his presence is enough to light you up.

The feeling leaves you thinking about how pathetic of an Omega you are. But it also...makes you think about how close he is. How he chose to invite you, to dance with you, to drink with you. He could have any Beta or Omega he wants...and he’s looking at you.

He keeps looking at you. The whole night, actually. The only time he’s not really looking is when, four drinks later each, you’re straddling his waist in a corner booth and his hands are roaming the curve of your hips. His one eye is shut, but you can only tell because there’s no flutter of eyelashes on your cheek.

You don’t care, though, because your tongue is tangled with his, and he noises he’s making fill you with warmth and electricity that makes the hairs on the back of your neck and along your arms stand up. The sheer Alpha energy wafting off of him is consuming you beyond comprehension, pushing you closer and closer to a point of no return, but you don’t care.

Five years of pining and it only took introducing yourself to get him in your clutches. You laugh at the thought.

He pulls back, dipping his head to the side because your lips drag to follow his. His eye barely opens, but you’re so close that it doesn’t matter. He can easily see you right where you are.

“What’s so funny, Little One?” he asks, using a name he’s just taken to calling you moments ago.

You bite your bottom lip lazily and shake your head. “Absolutely nothing,” you tell him, breath heavy as it falls across his face.

You’re just about to dive right back in when someone clears their throat. Your body wants you to ignore them, but your mind, as gone as it is, knows better. The authority in the person’s voice screams Alpha, and despite them not being your Alpha, you still heed their warning.

Looking over your shoulder, you find the Valkyrie standing, watching, arms crossed. Possession in her eyes like a bright fire.

You’d thought she wasn’t competition, but maybe you were wrong.

“What happened to your friend?” Thor asks from below you.

“Sent her on her way,” the Valkyrie says. “You should, too.”

Your face drops. Your heart skips a painful beat as you realize...he’s going to listen to her. She is competition, despite being an Alpha herself and despite having had her own source of fun earlier in the night.

Without hesitating any longer, you slide off of Thor’s lap, twisting to sit before pushing yourself out of the booth. He calls your name, and you can’t help but stop, but you don’t turn to face him. You look at the Valkyrie, see the fire still burning in her irises, and scurry away. Out of the bar, onto the street and down a block without thinking twice.

You’re lucky that you’re able to hail a cab without a hitch. You know how lucky you are, but you don’t really feel lucky.

Really, you feel even more pathetic now. Thor had brought you up so high over the course of one night, but a single glower from the Valkyrie and you were reduced to embers, the dying bits of a fire burned long into the night.

You manage to keep it together until you reach your apartment. The second your door is locked, the tears come. You slip out of your shoes and tear your work clothes from your body before shakily managing to get in bed. The covers come up over your head, and only then do you let out a room-shaking sob.

How you could have read the room any differently than to know the Valkyrie would never let you have him, you can’t say. Something about the whole situation didn’t make sense, but the feelings of shame and embarrassment wash over you so strongly that you don’t care to think the night through.

Your little crush would be the end of you. Unrequited Imprinted Omegas, more often than not, became old maids, never mating, suffering through heat after heat until, one day, their bodies aged and decided they no longer needed to bear babes. Then, they were useless to anyone.

Everything hurt as you acknowledged your future.

You don’t cry beyond that night. Knowing that your crush is entirely one-sided meant acknowledging that you couldn’t just imagine yourself into mating. You wouldn’t let yourself get lost in the fantasy of being Thor’s Omega anymore.

So, you avoid him. It’s not too hard, since your department is well below the residential floors and no one really comes to visit much. You have work to keep you busy, and plenty of books and television to catch up on at home.

You hate that your biological systems have decided that, if you can’t have Thor, you won’t have anyone. But until you know whether or not this Imprint will fade, you have to accept the possibility that you may end up alone. It wasn’t ideal, but it happened, and you know it does.

A week after karaoke night, you see a doctor. You tell them, reluctantly, about your Imprint. You tell them that you’re certain the feeling is unrequited, that there’s no possible way he formed as quick a connection as you had. You ask to be put on suppressants, so that you won’t have to suffer as much pain during your heats, since you’ve convinced yourself you’ll be the only one getting you through them until you don’t get them anymore.

They give you a higher dose than they normally would for someone who’s never been on suppressants before. But they tell you that they want to help with the emotional impact of an unmatched Imprint. They say the medication will dull the ache, will cloud the thoughts and memories of the person you’re imprinted on. This specific dose and brand of suppressant will make it easier for you to function on a daily basis without falling into depressive spirals.

Within days, you can tell there’s a difference. You’re not anxious about going into work, not constantly thinking about running into Thor again. The image of the Valkyrie’s smoldering eyes doesn’t haunt your dreams as much.

You feel...almost normal. Still a little pathetic, but you’re getting there.

On occasion, when the rest of the team is already on mission, you’re recruited for your special abilities.

One of those abilities is flight. Meaning that you have your pilot’s license, so sometimes Tony Stark himself asks if you’ll captain a jet for some of his friends. You almost never turn him down - you can’t remember the last time didn’t eventually regret turning Tony Stark down for anything.

You wish you had this time. You’re stuck on a ship with Bruce Banner, the Valkyrie, and Thor. Their camaraderie distracts you as you attempt to fly the jet, but more than that, Thor’s scent completely engulfs you and doesn’t let you go for a second.

Not even when you’ve landed the jet and let them off to fight whatever Hydra group they’ve found this time.

The longer the smell of him lingers, the more frustrated you become. You try to hold it together, remember that you’re on suppressants and nothing is supposed to happen to you. If you hold your breath and close your eyes, you can actually calm down a little, you think.

But then you take in a deeper breath and you’re filled with him all over again.

“Fuck,” you mutter, shutting your eyes as hard as you can. But that proves to be a bad idea, too, because the second you rest your head against your seat, all you can see is him. You can practically taste his tongue on yours, as if you’d only been kissing him the night before and not nearly a month ago.

You whimper, and it’s the single most lamentable noise you’ve ever heard.

Heat settles in your belly. Slick gathers between your thighs. Blood rushes in your veins so hot and heavy and fast you’re sure you can hear it.

You need release. It doesn’t make sense because you’re not due to be in heat for a week and it shouldn’t feel this intense while you’re on these suppressants, but you don’t think about that right now or, really, even care.

You look over the back of your seat. There’s no noise coming in from the dropped walkway at the opening at the back of the ship. The three of them only left a little while ago, so they won’t be back for some time.

Reaching forward to your control panel, you turn up the volume on your comm, just in case, but also shut off your mic. You can hear them if they call you, but they can’t hear you.

The zipper to your tac pants is too easy to slide down. You roll up your sleeve, reach below the fabric of the pants, and find your folds already drenched. You gather slick on your fingers and reach your clit, rubbing in slow circles at first.

Your eyes shut and all you can see is Thor. All you can smell and feel and taste is Thor.

Your mind wanders. You dream of Thor touching you like this, teasing and pleasing you, beaming when he knows how wet you are for him. You hear imaginary praises that set butterflies free in your stomach, and the taste of your name on his tongue is so real and glorious that you whine as loudly as possible. Your back arches against the metal chair uncomfortably, but you keep going.

Two of your own fingers reach down and enter you, but you almost convince yourself that they’re his. That he wants to see you beneath him, stretching for him, preening and keening for him. You know he’d be bigger than you are, but you are all you have to work with.

You move quickly, hitting your spot before long, pushing against your chair and moaning out into the world as if you’re in your own bed. You clamp your free hand over your mouth, just in case you hit a button or someone comes back without announcing themselves.

The last thing you need - the last thing you could even handle - is being caught in this act.

You clench around your fingers and come messily, but thankfully, entirely alone. It’s the first time, maybe ever, that you’re glad to not have any company.

After giving yourself ample time to calm down, you rush off to the restroom to clean yourself up. Now that you’ve taken care of yourself, you don’t need two Alphas and a Beta to board the ship and immediately know what you’ve done in their absence.

It rains for three days straight after that mission. It wasn’t a hard or taxing mission in particular - or so Bruce had explained upon returning to the jet - but something about it had affected Thor enough for him to keep a continuous storm hanging over the city.

You don’t dare ask him about it, though. It’s not any of your business how he feels and what he does.

But then, on a late night after work, he shows up at your apartment. He has the decency to knock, and even more to ask for permission to enter your space.

An Omega’s home is a sacred place. A safe space. So many parts of being an Omega in a large city are dangerous, and a home is meant to be somewhere to escape all of that.

So when an Omega lets an Alpha in after that Alpha has submitted to their will? It’s… huge.

You and Thor both know that. The remarkably surprised look on his face when you allow him into your living room tells you that much.

He looks around as he enters, taking in the picture frames of you and work friends, you and childhood friends, and you and your parents. His mouth hangs open, even and especially when you tell him to get comfortable and take a seat wherever.

You immediately think you shouldn’t give him so much power in your space, but you actually don’t regret it. You offer him a drink and try not to take it personally when he declines politely.

He seems pleased when you set your own glass of water on the coffee table in front of the couch. You sit with one leg bent so you can face him, and you smile without even having to think about it.

“So. What’s up?” you ask him.

He sighs and wrings his hands out. “I think I owe you an apology.”

You wish that were true, but you can’t, for the life of you, figure out what it is he should be sorry for. You’ve gone over everything in your head since that karaoke night and you’ve never once found anything to blame Thor for.

It wasn’t like he knew you. Wasn’t like he owed you an explanation or anything.

You shake your head. “No, Thor, it’s okay-”

“But it’s not. I have so much to say and...I don’t think I know where to begin.”

In the silence that follows, you think about how weird this is. Your feelings for Thor are intense - or were - but you still don’t really know one another. One night of drunken making out does not make a solid foundation for any kind of relationship. He shouldn’t feel like he has anything to apologize for.

You’ve been keeping yourself in check with reality this whole time, you realize. And it’s been helping and hurting - more of the former, thankfully.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he is in your space, working up to some kind of apology for...what, abandoning you? It’s not really like he did that, either, and it was long enough ago that he shouldn’t still feel so sorry.

He’s an Alpha. An extremely good looking Alpha with the appeal of a pirate and the gentle touch of an Angel (which you know from first hand experience now). He could have any Omega or Beta he wants - and you know that’s not the first time you’ve thought so.

More than anything, you kind of want an explanation. But who are you to demand such a thing from him?

He laughs at himself, bringing you back to reality for you. “You’d think in my quest to find you, I would’ve thought of what to say.” He shakes his head and looks down at his lap. “It’s just… Since that night, I haven’t...stopped thinking about you?”

Despite ending the statement as a question, Thor still can’t bring himself to look at you.

You sigh a little sadly and tell him, “It’s been weeks since that night. And we were just on a mission together-”

And he nods, effectively cutting your thoughts off at the root. “I know I’ve disappointed you. I could tell on the jet. I hesitated to come out here, to you, because I know I’ve done wrong by you.”

Something inside you yells out to take his hand and comfort him, but you fight the impulse. It wouldn’t be appropriate, despite your nature telling you otherwise.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been granted the leisure to have thoughts of this nature, (Y/N). That’s no excuse to mistreat any unbonded Omega, but it’s true in any case.” He smooths out the denim of his jeans, but doesn’t say more.

So you grip the back of your couch for a little grounding of courage before asking him, “If you’re so concerned with treating unbonded Omegas right, why did you buy me drinks? Invite me to dance? Let me…” Despite your best efforts, a lump forms in your throat. You try to push past it by clearing your throat, but can’t manage to finish the last question. You go on with, “Why let all of that night happen the way it did if you were already taken?”

At that, he finally turns back to you, his brow arched in a question over his one eye. “What do you mean, taken?”

“Why hide it, Thor? The Valkyrie is clearly better suited to your needs.” You think only of preparedness for battle when you say it. “Who am I to keep you away from her?”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, as if he hasn’t a clue.

Anger bubbles in your stomach, but you try to keep it contained when you say, “She’s the one that came over and separated us. She told you to get rid of me. What other explanation is there for that?”

“(Y/N),” he says softly. So softly that you can’t not look up at him again. “Val and I are not bonded. We’re not together. Neither one of us is taken by each other, or anyone else for that matter.”

“But she-”

“Was looking out for you. I don’t know if you remember much about our...tryst, but I was far too close to...well, to be frank, taking you right there in that booth.”

You are...stunned. This is not what you expected at all. And you have nothing to say - your mind is, inconveniently, blank as you try to process his explanation.

“Val is hard to read. I can see where you might’ve come from to think otherwise. She only wanted me to release you to keep you safe, in a very public setting, with Alphas all over the place.”

“And I ran-”

“I regret not going after you, at least to make sure you made it home safely.”

The sincerity in his voice is echoed in his eye. You now feel a little bad, since you’re still keeping a huge secret from him when he’s given you every explanation you could need. But...how do you tell an Alpha like Thor that you’ve only recently been suppressing your longstanding feelings for him, and that those longstanding feelings are more than just feelings?

You decide you won’t. Or can’t. Not yet. His thinking of you, of seeking you out, is not equal to being Imprinted. Telling him now will not help anything.

Besides, your meds are helping. Even with him so close you could touch now, you still don’t feel the same dread you had before you’d approached him the first time - dread caused by anxiety over a possible rejection.

You can’t set yourself up for that so early on.

“Is...that all you wanted to say?” you ask. If he gets up and leaves now, then you know it’s done and over. You’ll do what you have to in order to move on.

But if he stays…

You wait, and eventually, he shakes his head.

“It’s not.” He shifts to face you like you’ve been facing him and clears his throat. “I’d regret leaving you now if I didn’t ask if you would like to show me around town one night. My friends are sometimes helpful but mostly have their own haunts, so I’ve mostly only seen a handful of the same bars.”

You take him to Times Square, just for the hell of it. You take him to see Wicked and he cries through intermission, drawing the wary eyes of more than a few other Alphas. But he hardly seems to care.

You take him to a 24-hour diner after the show and down coffee and hashbrowns and pancakes galore, and you laugh and talk and enjoy his presence like you had at karaoke night. He’s cordial and kind, not like many other Alphas you know. You’re more surprised that you’re the only Omega you know that’s Imprinted on him than the fact that you are still Imprinted on him.

How are you the only Omega not willing to let this moment pass?

When he brings you back to your apartment, you don’t want him to leave. You try to invite him in, but he shakes his head, though he doesn’t appear to be able to stop smiling at you.

“I won’t repeat my mistakes from the bar,” he says, only moving through the motions of attempting to pull his hand from yours. But there’s no real effort there. No muscle behind his actions.

You know if he really wanted to leave, he’d have no problem pulling you off of him.

“Just come in. We can talk, that’s all. I just don’t want this to end.”

“And neither do I-”

“Then come in,” you say, really, truly trying to get him to budge.

He doesn’t. But he does smile, even laugh at your attempt. “I’m not going to move this too quickly. I told you I don’t believe in mistreating Omegas.”

“You’d be mistreating me more by leaving now.”

He seems to pause at that, and you take the opportunity to tug on his hand in yours. You must take him by surprise, because he’s jostled over your threshold and into your living room. He laughs at that, too. You shut the door and lock it - but the lock is simple and on the inside of the door, so you both know he’d be able to unlatch it if he truly wants to leave.

When he doesn’t do anything other than stand up straight again, you move closer to him.

“We can just...watch a movie. Have some popcorn or something,” you say.

“It’s so late,” he tries. And it is, but there’s a distinct lack of emphasis behind his words.

“All the more reason for you to not be wandering the streets of New York, all alone and unfamiliar with the grid system, as you are.” You smirk up at him, knowing that, since he’s already here, you’re going to win this debate. “Nothing has to happen. And...if it does-”

“Which it won’t,” he says, eyebrows raising nearly up to his hairline.

“We just won’t let it ruin this.”

“But nothing is going to happen. I’m only going to stay if you agree to that.”

He drives a hard bargain, you think. And while half of you wants something to happen so badly, the more logical part that’s been bringing you back to reality over the last five years reminds you that his worry is legitimate. That just because nothing is going to happen tonight, that does not mean something won’t happen eventually.

“Okay, okay,” you say. “I accept your terms.” And then, before you can convince yourself otherwise, you stretch up on your tiptoes to press a small kiss to the soft hairs of his beard, right along his cheek. When you set back on your heels again, you smile and tell him to get comfortable. “My movies are in the rack next to the TV. Pick one and I’ll be right back with a snack.”

It nearly breaks your heart when he tells you he won’t spend your next heat with you.

You waste five whole days in bed, rolling back and forth, eating ice cream and cold pizza when you’re not weighed down by an entire wholesale-sized pack of Icy Hot wraps around your abdomen. It’s honestly not your worst heat, so you’re finally glad you’re taking suppressants.

All you really want, though, is Thor with you. Holding you, caring for you in every way an Alpha is meant to during heats. Sometimes you dream about him so viscerally that you search for him when you first wake up, but quickly remember his gentle but firm rejection when you’d asked him to stay.

At the end of the fifth day, you clean everything. Every surface in your apartment shines and sparkles and has no trace of a heat whatsoever before you even dare to call him.

He comes over for breakfast the next morning. You’ve got two more days off from work - a preliminary statute to all Omega contracts under Stark Industries - and since you’re sure your heat is over, you and Thor both agree it’s safe for him to come over.

But you’re quiet. Unusually so. From the moment he shows up, you’re not yourself. He’s so used to holding your hand now, to you cuddling up against him, and he knows something is wrong.

When he asks as you’re preparing eggs, you let out a deep sigh.

“I just… I really wanted your help over the last couple of days. That’s it.” You know there’s no use in lying to him, especially not on top of the secret you’re still keeping.

No, you still haven’t told him about your Imprint. It’s too embarrassing to think about now. Maybe there will be a good time to talk about it, but you don’t think it’s now.

He doesn’t say anything until you finish with the eggs. When you bring them to the table and immediately turn around to continue cooking, he stands up and gently grips your hand. You try to keep going, but he calls your name so softly, you nearly melt back into him. But you stop yourself before you fall too far.

“I have one strict rule for myself and many, many smaller, more specific rules follow it. First and foremost, I protect those who cannot protect themselves.” He tugs on you gently, clearly wanting you to face him, but you stand your ground.

“It wasn’t your protection I needed, Thor.”

“No, you’re right. You needed to be protected from me.”

He must’ve known that would get you to look at him. He seems to be anticipating the incredulous, offended glare you send at him.

“One of those more specific rules I’ve set for myself is that I do not share a bed with an unbonded Omega, for the first time, during their heat. I will not stoop to the level of the majority of Alphas, who only seek out their own pleasure.”

“So you’d rather let me writhe in pain for days instead.”

He sighs, practically growls from deep in his chest, but he doesn’t look or smell or feel angry to you. Frustrated, perhaps, but to be fair, you are too.

“Of course I don’t want that. Of course I wanted to be there for you. But what kind of man - what kind of Alpha would I be if I took advantage of that pain? What happens to this-” he holds your intertwined hands up in front of your face - “if I act selfishly on your discomfort?”

On the one hand, you want to tell him that it isn’t as if you weren’t begging for his company. But...on the other, you kind of get it. And you’ve known Thor long enough now to really hear what he’s saying: that this isn’t just about his comfort, but yours. That he wants to take this courtship at your comfort speed, not his.

You don’t think you were wrong to ask him to help you. But at least now, you’re not really upset with him for turning you down, either.

You have a lot of important, heavy conversations in succession. You draw lines and create boundaries, come to compromises and agreements over a series of weeks and long, drawn-out dates.

And after each one of these dates, you feel so much better than you have since he’d come back from Asgard. Or with what was left of Asgard.

Thor doesn’t think you’re a pathetic Omega. He thinks you’re attentive and sweet, affectionate and maybe a little over eager. But he likes that. He’s told you, often, that he likes seeing you light up when something excites you. He reminds you how long it’s been since he’s been able to focus on taking moments like those in, and he appreciates every one of them.

You know pushing off telling him the Big Secret will only complicated things later on. And with how open you’ve become with one another, you don’t really want to continue keeping it from him.

You wait until after a movie ends, then turn to face him, practically curled into his side on your couch. You tell him that you have something to say, something important. He bends the arm across the back of the couch and rests his forehead against his fist, one of his clear signs that he’s listening.

“So...that day, when I just showed up in the common area?”

“Yes?”

You want to get the words out. They struggle to fight against the lump in your throat, because saying this is…weird and you know it. You manage to get out, “Well, I didn’t just show up.”

He laughs at that. “I assumed as much, (Y/N). I never took you as one gifted with teleportation.”

And you know it’s a joke, but it doesn’t sit well in your tumultuous stomach. You try to brush off the sick feeling that threatens to take over, knowing it’ll only get worse the longer you drag this out.

“Before you left after Sokovia, I was hanging around the tower. I think...I think it happened at that party, before Ultron showed up.”

You can’t meet his eye. He must feel the nervous energy flowing from you now, because he pushes hair behind your ear, then lets his hand make a slow trail down your arm until he can hook his fingers between yours.

The warmth of his palm reminds you that this is necessary. That, for this courtship to work the way you want it to, you have to be honest with Thor. Ask for forgiveness for not being open about it before, but don’t keep keeping it from him.

“I...don’t know. I saw you at the bar at some point, talking to Steve and Natasha. I guess you looked over at me or just...in my direction or something, but the second you glanced my way, I felt it.”

His lack of response, lack of question, makes you wonder if he’s following. If he is, and he’s this quiet, you think that can’t be a good thing.

But you have to get it out. The exact words, feelings.

“It was like I’d gone fishing and my hook caught in you but you wouldn’t come when I pulled or let the line go. Like every light in the room shone on you and you alone. And- Gods, this all sounds crazy, I know.” You force yourself to look at him again. His expression is blank, but attentive. “But I did- I Imprinted that night. And I- I hoped it would go away. I’ve read about Imprints that fade over time. And you left Earth for two years, so I waited, day after day, for that...tethered feeling to just go away.”

“It didn’t,” he says.

Slowly, you shake your head and smile sadly at him. “So that night, I thought I might try to do something about it, you know? See if I could, I don’t know, get it to go away if I looked at you or something. Never actually heard or read anything about that working before, but I thought Hey, why the hell not? But, Thor, I just wanted you to know that, through it all, I never once let myself believe it was mutual. I-”

“Why?” he asks.

You’re stunned for a moment. You stare at him, dumbfounded and confused. “Wh-why?” you ask back.

“Why would you convince yourself it wasn’t mutual?”

You blink. And blink. And blink again.

“I-I mean. You’re...Thor. And I-”

“You’re (Y/N),” he says as simply as it is true.

“Well, did you Imprint that night too?” you ask him, eyes widening in curiosity and possibility. You even lean a little further into him, hoping for a specific answer but knowing it’s probably not what you’re going to get. The Gods don’t like you that much...do they?

Thor sighs, but his smile returns. “It’s not...quite the same for Alphas, I believe. If what Stark says about him and Pepper is anything to go off of, of course.”

You don’t really know that much about an Alpha Imprinting, now that you think about it. So you wait for him to explain with bated breath, heart stopping every few seconds to skip an anxious beat.

“From what I know, it’s less of a tethering on our end and more of...being tethered. We feel the pull, but more so as a need to protect. A desire to provide for the Omega who’s chosen us. The whole...system, I think, is meant to pull two people together. Sometimes it’s not perfect, but sometimes,” he drifts, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. He kisses the soft skin there, never breaking eye contact with you. “Sometimes it works out.”

“But what about all that time between when I Imprinted and karaoke night? There’s no way I was on your mind for...years like that.” You didn’t mention that he’d famously courted another Omega before you, and that sometimes, even now, Stark employees asked about her when he was around.

“I told you, it’s been so long since I could even consider this.” His hand squeezes yours gently. “I always felt a calling to return to Midgard. Maybe after that night, you were a part of that call. When you found me and Val that day, it was like...like I’d been given answers to questions I didn’t even know I had to ask. Your presence made sense. And that need to protect you only got stronger after you ran that night.”

“Did you know then?” you ask him. “You’d said you hadn’t stopped thinking about me after that night. Was it because you knew I’d Imprinted?”

He takes a second to think, then shrugs. “Maybe. I think I had an inkling, but more than that, I was just following my instincts. Waiting for that tug to come, to help me find you and see you again.”

The more you think on it, the more you realize that this is just...how Thor functions. He’s not a normal Alpha, so why would anything about your relationship with him be normal? He’s told you many times how lonely he’s been the last few years, how unavailable he’d been to Omegas like you before now. How being back on Earth, back with the Avengers, is really what’s given him the time and energy to focus on things outside of the care and safekeeping of his kingdom.

Because, really, they’re not a Kingdom anymore. It’s a whole complicated mess full of legal and international political jargon that you don’t like bringing into your home, so for now, you put that thought to the back of your mind, knowing you’ll come back to it later.

“So, to be clear,” you finally say to him, relaxing against his side again. “You’re...not mad at me for keeping this from you for so long?”

He chuckles. “Why would I be mad? Honestly, I’m rather flattered.”

You’d turn to face him fully, only you’re far too comfortable where you are now. The validation of your feelings blooms a new affection for Thor deep within you, and you silently thank the Gods for giving him to you.

Bashfully, you tell him, “Some Alphas think Imprinting is just a myth. A lie Omegas use to tie them down and force them into bonding.” You know that’s not how Thor operates, but he asked. “I didn’t think you’d be one of those Alphas, but I was still nervous and, honestly, kind of embarrassed to admit it. It’s not...easy to admit that I didn’t really get a say in picking you.”

Without letting go of your hand, he wraps you up entirely in his arms. Thor is warm and huge and so fucking comfortable. He smells, frankly, to die for, and he’s...all yours. Somehow. At least for this moment.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” he asks softly, lips in your hair now.

“Of course not. I just, really, didn’t want you to think I was making it up, using Imprinting as a trap or something.”

“I’d never.”

“I know. If I regret anything, it’s not telling you sooner.” You tuck your face into the safe, inviting little nook between his shoulder and jaw.

The two of you are just a tangle of limbs and two steady heartbeats. The only other words spoken between you for some time are a whispered, tiny, “I forgive you,” from Thor, but you can tell from the scent he gives off and the kisses against your hair that he doesn’t really think there was anything to forgive in the first place.

Thor is the single most patient Alpha you’ve ever met, let alone been with. He waits for you to come around, to ask for things other Alphas might just demand of their Omegas. But he’s different, and you know it’s because of the whole not having been able to think about romance in a while thing he constantly brings up.

You like this little transition of power. It’s nothing, really, not in the grand scheme of things. But in your home, it’s kind of...everything at the same time.

By Thor letting you make the moves, he’s consistently telling you that you make the rules. You decide when you’re comfortable letting him in, staying the night. He trusts that you’ll respect his status as the Alpha, and in that trust, he gives you something you didn’t even really know you were missing.

Freedom.

It’s almost chilling to know that. But instead of running from something so gigantic, you run toward it.

You woo him by ordering his favorite food one night, ply him with just a little bit of the ale he likes from the corner store (not like it can get him drunk anyway), and sit far too close to eat when there’s a perfectly good chair across the table from him. Neither of you care, though.

Normally, you two sit on the couch and watch movies after dinner.

Not tonight.

You lead him by the hand to your room, ignoring the couch and the television and everything in between because none of it is important. When he asks where you’re taking him, you don’t answer other than to giggle and open the door to your bedroom without a second thought.

You have no doubts. No second guesses. You are absolutely certain you want this.

So you don’t hesitate to pull him into your room. Thor stops short after you’ve shut the door, but he just looks around your space. Wonder and curiosity line his eyes, and his hand loosens around yours as he takes everything in.

If an Omega’s home is sacred, their bedroom is the most protected place in the home. It’s a place only those an Omega trusts fully get to see. So you let Thor take in everything - the dark blue-gray walls, the golden star stickers placed in cascading patterns all around the room, the matching blue and gold bedding, your desk against the far wall with just a stack of papers, your computer, and a lamp on it - and feel proud that he seems to be in awe.

You might never know if you moved closer to his side or if he pulled you against him, but suddenly, you’re practically clinging to his torso. He looks down at you and smiles, baby blues shining like an afternoon storm.

“This all…” he gestures to the room at large, “feels very you.”

“You like it?” you ask, chin against his shoulder as you look up at him.

He shakes his head, but it’s his unwavering smile that keeps you from worrying. “Love it,” he whispers, lowering his face so his lips barely touch yours.

Your mind wraps itself around the true meaning of his words. The energy he’s giving off is electric - excited and relaxed and warm and a little frantic - and you melt into it. You press your lips up to his, and he breathes you in deep.

In what feels like an instant, he hooks his hands under your knees and lifts you until your knees are at his sides. He walks you both to the bed and turns to sit on the edge of your mattress with you in his lap, calves against the sides of his thighs.

You start to pull back and take in the position he has you in because...it’s so...not Alpha behavior. Everyone Alpha you’ve been with before has pinned you down and taken you their way, and you’ve been just fine with that. There’s nothing wrong with following one’s nature, you know, as long as everyone involved consents.

But this...you on top…

You almost move to lay on the mattress yourself, because the idea of being nearly crushed by Thor’s weight is so enticing.

But then his hands slide up and around you. He pulls you closer, until your chests are pressed to one another with no space between them. His fingers dig into your back a bit, just to be as close to you as possible, and your breath gets caught in your throat.

The feeling you get when you’re beneath an Alpha - a feeling of trust and comfort and being protected - fills you. It deepens when you, slowly, reach out and wrap your arms around Thor’s broad shoulders. His scent clogs your brain, and you whine needily because of it.

“You okay?” he asks breathily, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you carefully.

You nod. “Just...not used to this, I guess.”

“You want me to-”

“No,” you whisper. Your hips stutter to make your point. “No, I like it.”

His smile broadens somehow. “Good,” he responds. “Me too.”

You let yourself think that he’s unlike other Alphas one more time. And then you lose yourself in the best fathomable way.

Your clothes are gone in a flash - before you can even recognize how - and your skin gets hot, almost like you’re in heat when you’re not. You know you’re not because there isn’t an inherent, desperate desire for Thor within you that springs forth painfully. Every sensation of lust and want and admiration is totally normal, coming from a place of trust, knowing you’ve both earned it from one another.

He was right to want to wait for this. There’s no pain at all, actually. No annoying nagging of your internal clock reminding you that you’re of ripe reproducing age.

There’s just you and Thor and heat and fun and freedom. And that combination makes his touch all the more sweet, all the more intense against your back.

Maybe you’re not in heat, but you’re still positively drenched for him. He’s long and wide, but still presses into you without much resistance. Your walls are tight around him, and you feel every inch of his cock stretch you out, delicious seconds of tension fading until you’re seated fully on him.

When you’re able to look him in the eye again, all you see reflected in his one shiny orb is a culmination of all the things you’re feeling, too. Words you can’t say yet, only partially because you’re out of breath. Things you’re saving for another day, because right now, all that matters is Thor’s hands on your hips, raising you up off his lap and back down again.

You like being in control of the position, you realize, but you also like when he takes the lead and pounds into you, rendering most of your body useless and totally at his mercy. He’s rough without being aggressive, just tight fingers and loud moaning and tense teeth against your own. He’s, truly, not like any other Alpha you know or have ever known.

Pressure builds within you, increases when one of his hands slides down your body until his fingers find your clit. He rubs small circles into your wet, sensitive skin, and you pull your mouth from his because kissing is nearly impossible when your chest feels this tight. Breathing isn’t coming easily, but you’re not complaining because you’re positive that you’re ascending to another plane of existence.

A gate breaks open. Pleasure - hot, enormous waves of it - washes over you, engulfing you like Thor’s arms do. Everything is him and this lovely, dirty, star-shattering feeling inside of you. You cry out his name. His teeth find your shoulder and dig in - not too far from where he might leave a mark one day, you briefly think - and the pain adds to the lofty, intense sensations rolling through you.

Your walls squeezing him bring Thor over - his knot swells, despite not being in a rut. He fills you with his cum, which you know won’t do anything until you’re off the blockers. For now, for once, you’re kind of grateful for them.

He goes into Total Alpha mode when you both calm down. Thor turns you both, lays you on your comforter, and kisses you tenderly to distract you before he pulls out. The distraction only works so much, but you only whine because you already miss the feeling of him inside you. You relax beneath the satisfactory gleam in his eye, one that seems to promise that he’s not going anywhere, that that feeling will return soon enough.

You whine again when he backs off the bed, but he only chuckles at the sound, shaking his head as he heads to your bathroom. You listen as he rummages around, turns the sink on and off, and finally returns with one wet washcloth and one dry one.

“Is this you calling it a night?” you ask, a little weakly because your body’s more exhausted than you’d like to admit.

He gently presses the wet washcloth to the spots along your thighs were your release has mixed with his and spread. “We have work in the morning,” is his response.

You don’t really like it, but he’s right. If you’d had the next...day or two off, you’d keep going, never leave the bed if that was what Thor wanted. It’s absolutely what you want.

But it’s already kind of late, and indulging on a work night doesn’t entirely seem smart.

“But, just for the record,” you try again, unconsciously spreading your legs further for him, “we could go again if we wanted to, right?” You bite your bottom lip, but that doesn’t hide the downright smirk you’re giving him.

His matches yours. “Of course.”

You let him clean you up in relative silence, satisfied with that answer. You almost...wish you were in heat - the both of you could call out of work and stay here, go as many times as your body required. But you know his rule - his only rule - and you don’t regret sticking to it.

When he gets in bed beside you, you realize that you won’t be needing the comforter below you. His skin his scalding, and he insists on holding you as close as he can get you. You’re still sticky from earlier sweat, and you know more is to come if he’s going to be so close all night, but you somehow don’t seem to mind.

A little while later, before your eyes start to feel too heavy, you sigh and finally tell Thor, “I’m on suppressants, you know.”

He nods. “I do.” When you give him a questioning, confused look, he shrugs. “I found them on the counter one night. I wanted to ask about them, but…”

You face him and scratch the tip of his chin with a single pointer finger. “But?”

“You have every right to choose to be on them or not, (Y/N). And I couldn’t fathom a way of bringing up the subject with you that didn’t innately make me sound controlling.”

“So you’re okay with me taking them then?”

“I…” He takes a second, but seems to fight a war with himself. You can’t stop your heart from sinking in the stretch of his silence. “I’m an Alpha. I try not to think of medications like that in this way, but it does almost feel as though you take them to keep me at arm’s length.”

Maybe at first you think. But not for the reasons you’re considering.

“No,” you whisper instead. “No, I started taking them when I thought Val was your mate. When I thought I was just some dumb Omega with a biological crush on you but had no chance of ever getting- well, where I am now, I guess.”

“And now?”

You can’t help but frown because your answer is...not as meaningful as you’d wish it was. “Now I just-” You sigh. “They’re just a habit now. And I have to say, they were kind of a godsend during my last heat.”

You know you didn’t say that to make Thor feel worse, but his own frown deepens anyway. You shake your head.

“I just mean that fighting the pain alone was nearly impossible before. But last time, it was bearable. Doesn’t mean it has to be that way every time, though.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

You give him a small, hopeful smile. “I can be persuaded to stop taking them. They were just a way to protect myself when I thought you were already taken.”

Something stirs in him so quickly, you nearly miss it. But it’s not fleeting, and you can tell by the slow buildup of something against your leg. His smile returns, stretching out across his glorious face at the same pace.

“Funny how those things work themselves out, isn’t it?” he asks.

#thor x reader #alpha!thor x omega!reader #alpha!thor #thor fic #thor odinson x reader

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