There have been several jealousy headcannons, and I was inspired to write a fanfic on jealous Luciel. Spoiler free! Enjoy~
You were out meeting an old friend from high school. You both hadn’t seen each other in years, though you had kept in touch with the occasional email.
You brought your coffee to your lips, smiling at the unfamiliar yet comforting individual in front of you. Meeting wasn’t as awkward as you had thought it would be.
Casually, your old friend brought their hand to your cheek, brushing back the strand of hair that had wandered across your face. You instinctively tensed, and they drew back, apologizing for touching you so casually.
The woman at a table a few meters away seemed to choke on her drink, and you naturally glanced over in worry, being the kind person you were.
An hour passed and you made an excuse to leave. You had made plans with Seven for the evening, and you didn’t want to be late.
As you got up to leave, your friend grabbed your hand. “[y/n]… Can we… meet again?”
The words got your heart beating like a teenager again, but you declined, your thoughts straying to your work at the RFA… and your precious redhead at home.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
You put the crestfallen face to your back and didn’t look back as you gathered your things before walking out of the café, the bells on the door jingling lightly. You had a bounce in your step as you walked to your house.
Opening the door to your shared house, you set your purse on the counter and picked your way across the littered carpet to Seven’s door. Knocking on it, you said cheerfully, “Seven~ I’m back! Let’s go play Mario Kart?”
You were slightly disconcerted when there wasn’t even the grunt of a distracted Luciel at work. You slightly cracked open his door to find the room completely dark save a figure curled up in the corner. When you had first moved in, you wouldn’t have been able to recognize him, but your senses had sharpened as you had to put up with his habit of turning all lights off except for his computers.
You approached the dark ball in the corner and put your arm around it. Seven was shivering, and you leaned towards his ear, whispering, “What’s up, Seven…?”
Then, harshly, Luciel shoved you away, and you caught the glint of tears in his eyes.
“Wha-?! S-Seven??” you gasped as you tumbled to the floor. Something was obviously wrong. You now recognized his shivers as sobs. Silent ones, but still painful tears from your beloved.
You crawled back over to his side once more, as if you had learned anything from being the girlfriend of Luciel, it was that you had to be persistant. “Seven, talk to me. I won’t touch you. Just… talk to me.”
A cracking sob racked his body as he glanced at you. His tears were like diamonds on his glasses. Slowly, you reached for them, removing them from his face and cleaning them before replacing them on his face, gently. Seven met your gaze this time before gritting his teeth and huddling deeper into the corner. “You… You want to leave me, don’t you?”
What…? Where did this come from?? You were confused for a moment before you remembered the incident from the café previously that day. Had Seven seen that? The lady from a few tables away came to mind and everything seemed to come together. Of course he’d been there. If his worry for your safety hadn’t spurred his actions, his own curiosity and self-doubts would have.
You pulled him into your arms, resisting his resistance. “Seven… Seven…” you whispered into his ear, comfortingly. “I love you, and only you. The friend I met at the café was just that, a friend.”
“B-but, the things you said…”
“I would never be able to love anyone besides you. Do you know why? Because I’m ‘pepper’ with you, Luciel. You’re my ‘butter’ half.”
Your poor attempts at puns didn’t gain the usual sarcastic responses, but at least his shaking stopped. Luciel melted into your arms, and you stroked his soft, ruby locks, running your fingers slowly through each strand.
“[y/n],” Seven murmured, and you could barely contain your sudden rush of desire at the low way he had whispered your name. “I… k-kis…”
You realized what he wanted, and it felt odd that he wasn’t forcing it on you like he usually did. Calmly, it was an odd role reversal as you lifted his chin to meet his lips with yours. Seven moaned into the contact, and you wound your fingers deeper into his hair.
“Seven… I love you,” you moaned, as your tongues clashed. “Seven… Ahh…”
He grew more confident with each passing second, seeming to draw it out of you, drinking in your warmth, your vibrancy, your trust. Your back met the bed, and you giggled, the bright sound causing some light to return to Seven’s golden eyes. “[y/n], thank god you’re here… thank god I have you. Thank god you love me!” And with that, he snuggled your neck, after which an intense tickle-fest followed.
How do you feel about the ASOIAF series? I know you've discussed YA series involving a war before, but this is an adult series that's supposed to be all anti-war and realistic.
Oh Song of Ice and Fire... To quote an anonymous IMDB reviewer for Ben Hur: I admire it more than I enjoy it.
And to be clear, I do admire the hell out of George R.R. Martin. I’ve only read Game of Thrones and Storm of Swords but I’ve seen the entire show (more on why in a second) but I have had so much admiration for what I’ve seen. Mostly because Martin calls J.R.R. Tolkien on his bullshit.
And I’m very sorry to all the hardcore LOTRers of the world, but J.R.R. Tolkien is chock full of bullshit. The Lord of the Rings is 1,500-odd pages of masculine white-normed cishet gender roles, a story where there are entire races of people (hint: they’re the ones with dark skin) who are portrayed as barbarically evil, while entire other races of people are ranked on a scale of superiority according to how tall and “civilized” they are. The female characters are almost entirely nonexistent, but when they do exist it’s primarily as prizes for the male characters to win. Aragorn is a Mary Sue who never gets called on his Mary Sue-ness, and my skin always crawls with the colonial attitudes that underpin the depictions of bygone days When Men Were Men and Technology Didn’t Exist. Maybe the greatest offense in my book is the fact that J.R.R. Tolkien became the code-setter for pretty much every work of high fantasy to follow for the next 50 years (Wheel of Time, Eragon, Sword of Truth, and the Kingkiller Chronicles all take most of their settings and tropes and RAGINGLY SEXIST WHITE SUPREMACY from Tolkien, just to name a few). Tolkien is also not subject to the however-flimsy excuse of being a product of his time; C.S. Lewis literally attended write-ins and did beta reading for Tolkien (even though they presumably didn’t use those terms) and he writes stories in which women narrate books, fight in wars, act as both heroes and villains, and hold equal partnership with men throughout their adventures. The Chronicles of Narnia might be infamously Christian, but they also have positive portrayals of other religions, depict heroes of color saving their kingdoms, and outright state that it doesn’t matter which god one worships as long as one vows to be humble and help others.
ANYWAY, I could go on and on about my hate-on for Tolkien (and oh look I already have), but where I love what Martin is doing is that he shows exactly why the portrayal of Middle Earth is full of crap. In ASOIAF, the main characters simply go about getting things done regardless of gender—they kill, fight, rule, have sex, etc.—and the only difference is that the female characters have to work around (or work with, or use to their advantage) the fact that no one ever respects them. Martin simply shows us that women have to be twice as good as men to get any respect, without falling into the trap of vaguely-condescending, vaguely-masturbatory declarations of “This is so feminist! Look at how feminist I’m being!” the way that shows like Agent Carter and Supergirl tend to do. (Disclaimer: unlike LOTR, I actually really like Agent Carter and Supergirl. They just both get my back up every time a character goes “… it’s because I’m a woman” or “how could some little lady like you do a thing like that?” only to knock over those straw men and pat themselves on the back for having done so). Martin neither ignores historical sexism nor falls into the Tolkien-trap of romanticising it. He instead shows how it affects all of his characters, regardless of gender. He doesn’t assume (as so many modern writers do) that women simply stayed at home because they were “supposed to;” he does his homework and makes use of the fact that women have been leading armies for as long as there have been armies.
Of course, it’s not just Tolkien’s sexism that Martin deconstructs. He also does not flinch away from portraying the fact that (shockingly) people die in wars, and most of the time those people are individuals who had several loved ones at home. In ASOIAF, battles are not just a matter of mowing down opposing forces who aren’t even human anyway so we get to have uncomplicated glory for our protagonists; they’re a matter of showing both sides of the conflict, justifying both points of view, and then allowing the reader to appreciate the full horror of the mass murder that results from two lords’ egos clashing and seven thousand commoners paying the price. Martin shows that the idea of going out and winning glory for one’s kingdom is the kind of privilege afforded to the mainstream, well-born, able-bodied, cishet, traditionally masculine few. He heroicizes the other 75% of the population who aren’t talked about in the historical epics, and casts a stinkeye on the idea that things were sooooooo great back when the typical life expectancy was about 45 years. The Lord of the Rings could easily take place in Westeros, but not only would it be a drop in the bucket of like eight other wars, it would also be a disturbing tragedy about the senseless slaughter of orcs rather than an uncomplicated heroic epic. There are hundreds of other authors doing the good work of moving the fantasy epic out of Whitewashed HeteroMasculine Medieval England (Tamora Pierce, Garth Nix, Nancy Farmer, Ursula K. LeGuin, Patricia Briggs, and Octavia Butler, just to name a few), but G.R.R. Martin actually speaks directly back to J.R.R. Tolkien and for that I admire the heck out of him.
Given the extent to which I just all-but licked the ground GRRM walks on, this is probably going to come as surprise… but I don’t actually like his books that much. As I said, I admire his writing but don’t enjoy it. High fantasy is one of those genres that I find only moderately appealing at the best of times, and at the worst of times I throw at a wall because it’s just Lord of the Rings fan fiction that claims not to be. I find ASOIAF to be too slow-moving and dreary for my tastes—I prefer my books to have cinnamon-bun-eating aliens and jokes about cockatiels pooping on celebrities’ desks, not mass suicides and survival cannibalism. I admire the vast interconnections of Martin’s enormously intricate web of human politics, but I find it obnoxious trying to keep track of that many characters and usually disengage before I have to go pull out an encyclopedia of fictional genealogies. I’ve watched the entirety of Game of Thrones because I have an awesome group of friends who spent this whole summer having weekly cookouts where we’d have historically-authentic sausages and grog (AKA eating hot dogs and getting drunk) while watching each new episode, but I would probably quit the show if I didn’t find the process of watching it to be so socially rewarding. So I wish Martin all the best in the world, but I’ll probably be checking out a novel with less resemblance to a cinderblock the next time I visit my local library.
A Palestinian, identified by his green headband as a supporter of Hamas, helps a fellow protester cover his face with the black-and-white scarf that has become a symbol of the Fatah movement outside Ofer, an Israeli military prison near the West Bank city of Ramallah. Hamas and Fatah have been longtime rivals, but earlier this week formed a unity government, signaling an end to a seven-year split during clashes with Israeli soldiers after a protest in support of Palestinian prisoners hunger striking since 42 days in Israeli jails. Majdi Mohammed/AP
A couple of beers at Right Proper in DC. On the left, Sevens Clash (a 3 of 4), and on the right, Know Your Conjurer (a 3 of 4). Sevens Clash is a light, bright pale ale with quite a lot of citrus hop notes. Nice sticky lacing and some more powerful resinous hop notes in the body, but nothing too aggressive. Quite drinkable, and nicely juicy qualities in the body with a dry finish. Know Your Conjurer is a lighter farmhouse beer with quite a bit of weirdness going on. Corn and oats are both in the mash, and the brettanomyces and lacto add just a bit of tartness and funk. Neither is a home run, but both are quite good.