#also might be more mindful of answering asks with spoilers for this round <3 just to give people a fighting chance to read first!!!

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY TWO

in which eddie is honest. for real, this time.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, discussion of/allusions to smut from last chapter, angst, not edited (what's new though), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.1k+

→ a/n: welp. this... yeah, this is a lot. i truly hope it's worth it. in the waiting, anticipation, and length. if it isn't... my bad. i'm sorry in advance. also, please note, pov change only applies to the memory.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

22:00 ──────────────ㅇ─ 24:00

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

—

HOUR TWENTY TWO – 1:00 PM

You can’t speak. It’s as if you’re frozen; every muscle, including your tongue, has gone rigid. Every racing thought escapes just beyond your reach. Every single one of the last twenty two hours pound behind your rib cage, and you think you might just faint. Right here, right now. The blood rushes your ears as your body goes ice cold, and even the railing cutting into your palm seems to drift away from you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t even try to deny it. He knows you heard what he said – he can’t take it back. It’s written plainly on his face that if he could, he would swallow back down those disastrous words. He’d grab that destruction four letter word right out of the air, no doubt, and set it aflame. He’d blow away the ash if he could guarantee you would have never heard it.

But he can’t. You heard him. 

I’ve loved you for so long. 

Everything is heavy. The air, your limbs, your godforsaken tongue. 

“Say something,” he suddenly begs. You’ve never seen Eddie look so desperate, eyes wet and voice cracking, “Anything.” 

You want to answer him. Your bones ache with the need – the need to reply, the need to question, the need to do anything but stare at him with what he must surely mistake for horror.

Were you horrified? Were you?

You don’t know. 

It’s why you can’t answer him. 

“I-” he starts up again, breaking down even further right before your eyes. You want to reach out, to coddle him, to tell him it’s fine. But it’s not fine. 

You don’t even get the chance to ruminate on just how not fine it is, or that heat beginning to come to a boil in the pit of your stomach, because the sound of one of the neighbors exiting out onto their own balcony interrupts the infinitely delicate moment. 

“Hey there, Eds-” You don’t know what actually interrupts the gruff man that steps out, who exudes familiarity with Eddie until he takes in the scene before him. 

Eddie, completely fucking naked. You, with only a shirt on. If it weren’t for the moment at hand and the trembling emotions coming to fruition inside of you, you’d probably find it comical. You’d probably find a way to join in the old man’s single guffaw before the two of you meet each other’s gaze and become aware of what exactly is happening.

But it’s not funny. You’re both fucking naked — physically and emotionally — and it’s not funny.

You’re mortified as both of you are scrambling across the balcony, a whirlwind of discarded clothes fisted and nearly tripping over each other to shove back into Eddie’s living room. That embarrassment now trickles down into the start of a boil, everything in you becoming red-hot from how flustered you’ve become and the way you can’t have a second to just process it all. 

When you turn to face Eddie once the sliding door has slammed shut, his cheeks are the brightest pink imaginable. 

“What the fuck,” you whisper out, trying to steady your breathing, trying to take it all in. 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your adrenaline is almost making you sick. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he catches your whisper amongst your stoic silence and seems to forget the moment that his neighbor had just shattered, voice clear as day as he pulls his curtains shut. You swear you catch the old man still staring, still laughing, and you’re just grateful that you’re not the one completely nude, “I had no idea Mr. Jenkins would come outside, usually none of those fuckers see the light of day before sundow-”

“Your neighbor just saw us naked,” you almost scream. You want to shout, want to throw everything in sight. You crave to flip that coffee table in the center of the room and throw a fit that outdoes even the most petulant of toddlers.

“I know, I-“

“If you say sorry again, I’m walking back out there,” you take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm you’re shaking body, “And I’m throwing myself off the fucking balcony.”

Maybe you’ll be able to laugh about it in five years. A year, even. Hell, a month or as soon as next week. But you can’t right now; all you want to do is cry.

Some random man just saw you naked. Eddie apparently fucking loves you. 

It might be the sleep deprivation and it might be the fact that it feels like the Universe is laughing in your face at every turn right now. Whatever higher power exists seems to be waiting around every corner for the chance to kick you repeatedly as you stumble to this finish line. And you can’t fucking take it.

So you give in. You give in to that childish need to stomp your feet and scream until you’re blue in your lips.

“I just- Fuck!” Eddie jumps a bit at your exclamation, he’s still naked, “I can’t catch a break! I can’t catch a fucking break. First, I’m showing up here, and I’m stuck with you for twenty four hours. I’m stuck with the man I hate for a whole fucking day,” you’re full on pacing, not caring how ridiculous this scene would appear to anyone. Your hands wave erratically in the space around you, and all Eddie can do is stare, tense with wide eyes, “And I cry in front of you, have full breakdowns in front of you. I listen to you remind me over and over how much you truly despise only to now suddenly find out that, hey! I actually love you! And do I get to process that? No. Because now, some fucking old man that lives next door to you has seen my goddamn vag-“ 

Eddie’s entire demeanor collapses. “Oh, so now I’m back to being the man you hate?” 

You pause your ranting, realizing what you’ve said. 

You’re just angry. You should have thought before you spoke, before you opened your mouth and began to spew your venom, because you can see the way the words have struck Eddie. Not your intention.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“But you said that,” he flatly argues back. 

Your stomach twists.

“I’m just-“ your tongue is back to being heavy as the two of you face one another. Feet apart, worlds apart. “I’m fucking embarrassed, Eddie.” 

“You think I’m not?” he scowls, and you try to tell your racing heart it’s a good sign. But it’s not. You almost preferred his walls dividing the two of you, “Shit fucking happens. We got caught — we fucking dirty talked about getting caught! Big fucking deal! Karmic justice or whatever bullshit people spew. It doesn’t mean I’m going to- It doesn’t change-“ he’s stuttering now, matching that exasperation that had you pacing just moments before. He huffs, a hand reaching up and dragging his bangs upward, harsh at the root as he finally drops his hands in his own defeat, palms slapping his sides, “Everything changes. You said that, not me. You said everything changes, and all it takes is a little bit of fucking embarrassment to go back on your word?” 

He’s still fucking naked. You still can’t think.

“I’m not having this conversation with you naked,” you whisper, almost in disbelief as you shake your head, “I’m- Put your fucking clothes on. Please.” 

“Put my clothes on?” he scoffs, taking a step closer to you, “Put my clothes on? Do you mean the same clothes you just insisted I take off not even ten minutes ago?” 

“We were having sex!” you yell. You’re sure if the old man is no longer on his balcony, he can hear you through the walls. Hell, even if he is still outside, it’s likely he hears the screaming match beginning, “Why- Why are you turning this on me right now? You just said you fucking love me! The least of our issues right now is me telling you to get fucking dressed!” 

“Why are you lashing out at me right now?” Eddie’s voice is louder than yours, something more broken inside of it, “I-“

“Clothes,” you grit out, avoiding his eyes as you start to yank your panties on violently, “Now.” 

You can still feel him. His essence is dripping between your thighs. And you don’t find any sense of enjoyment in it, you don’t savor that quick-fading warmth nor the reminder of the pleasure he’d just brought you. It just reminds you of the words he had said all while not even looking you in the eyes. He couldn’t even face you as he had admitted it. 

One thing at a time, you try to remind yourself. One fucking thing at a time. 

Eddie’s own redressing is another sight that maybe, hopefully, one day you’ll look back on and laugh at. But right now, it can’t spark any amusement in you. Not as all your emotions slam back into you at full force.

You’re embarrassed. You’re confused. You’re angry.

“Happy?” he spits out once his boxers are on, shirt tugged back on so hard over his head that his curls frizz up.

“No,” your eyes are burning, and you feel it again. All those desperate emotions. Like a wild animal inside of you has begun to claw at your insides, making you bleed from the inside out. 

Eddie loves you — and he has, for a long time, apparently.  

Eddie’s neighbor has seen you naked. Saw your full bottom half exposed.

You’ve managed to hurt Eddie’s feelings, again.

Eddie fucking loves you and never thought to mention it. He has for a long time.

All your tempered strings snap, that wild and stricken thing inside of you finally cutting loose.

You don’t know what you’re angry at. You’re angry at him, and yet you’re not. You’re angry at the situation, and yet you’re not. You are bitter from words withheld and you are sour from every moment that paves the road that brought you two to this very moment.

You’re just angry.

“What did you mean?” the question comes out sharply enough to make his own defiant anger fade ever so slightly as he physically flinches, “I- I need to know what the Hell you meant, Eddie.” 

Anger is metallic on your tongue. It seeps from your skin, floods the air, only further dampens everything already so heavy. 

The longer he doesn’t answer you, the more smothering the entirety of the apartment becomes.

“Just tell me. Make it make sense, because right now?” you pause for a deep and shaky breath. Your eyesight is blurry now. Eyes red rimmed with tears that will surely sear your cheeks if they find the nerve to be shed, “Right now, I don’t get it. Over and over and over again, you have reminded me that you hate me. Prior to tonight, it was safe to assume that scorning my existence was one of your favorite pastimes. And I know, I get it — everything has changed. But- But-“ 

How can anything change if you weren’t honest to begin with? 

Did anything change for him? While you were discovering and tending to sore feelings that had been festering for a while but had never seen the light of day, was he only nursing an old wound? 

“But what?” his voice drops low. His entire demeanor has dropped, cowering down before you. His head dips down, his shoulders droop with prepared rejection, you watch the man before you, the man you had just let defile you and the man you had just worshiped on your goddamn knees, turn to dust.

A shaky gasp. Wobbly knees. The blood rushes through your ears again, flushing out any noise except the two of you breathing out of sync. His deep breaths, accepting and welcoming a rejection he was so sure he was receiving. Your shallow breaths, panting and rapid and trying to just get everything to slow the fuck down.

You were right. Once the tears shed, they burn a trail of Hellish fury right down the center of each cheek. “When I say everything has changed between us, what does that mean to you?” 

He’s undressing an old wound, an open slash that seems to be unable to form a scab. You’re pressing on bruises, aching parts of you that had purpled from his neglect long ago. It’s clear as day now — the difference.

You no longer care about the embarrassment of being caught.

“What do you want it to mean?” 

“Don’t do that,” the tears fall faster now. You can’t even begin to dig into this chasm of emotions. Are you angry at him? Are you disappointed by the circumstances? Do you love him? “I want an answer — I need your answer. You promised me your honesty, so give me it. Now.” 

His eyes meet yours, and your entire world seems to fold into itself, “It… doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t change much.” 

Everything has only changed for you. 

“So it means nothing, then? You have me at your disposal, you have me on my fucking knees for you, you tell me you fucking love me, and it all means nothing?” 

You’re twisting his words and you know it. But you can’t help it, can’t stop it. 

“I never said that!” his voice is no longer low and quiet. Sudden worry creases beside his eyes as his mouth goes slack in shock, “I never said it meant nothing.” 

“But it doesn’t mean much, right?” You hate your wet cheeks. You hate the way everything in you is somehow slow-breaking, yet suddenly shattering. An unnerving juxtaposition that is drowning you and sending you reeling over and over again, “It doesn’t change much, right? Because when I said that, Eddie, I meant it – everything fucking changed for me. It wasn’t- It’s not- This isn’t just some throwaway thing to me. Not even a day ago, I thought I had to hate you with everything I had. I thought I had to hate you.”

And I don’t. Not even a little bit. Even right now, when I should. 

“Is that what you think I’m saying?” his voice is low where your voice has risen, his face calm where yours has gone stormy. 

Where you’re on fire, he’s treading still waters. The opposite dilemma that has always existed, and the one you had the nerve to see as poetic. But water meeting flames is never poetic. It never ends well. You should have seen that coming from a mile away.

“What am I supposed to think?” you also quiet your tone to match his. You wonder if the neighbors really had heard a thing. You almost hope they had, that this argument is affecting someone else’s day the way it’s affecting you, “You’re standing here, and you’re telling me it doesn’t mean much, and-“

“It doesn’t change much,” he corrects, and you’re now the one flinching at the crack in his voice. “Not for me. Not when I-“

Not when I’ve loved you for so long.

He can’t even finish his own sentence.

“So what does it change?” you throw your hands out in exasperation, “If it doesn’t change much, what has it changed?” 

There it is again — his silence, your anger. 

“Is it not enough to just know it changes something?” 

If you were stupid, you’d take his tone as pleading. You’d mistake it for begging. But you can’t. For all your fury, you can’t believe that he’s actually stooped so low as to beg for you, especially after what he’s just said. Time and time again, you had repeatedly cracked yourself wide open for him, and he’d managed to rip your heart right out of your chest with such a simply yet damning statement. The most casually cruel bit of honesty he had offered you yet tonight: that nothing changes.

“We’re back to square one,” you choke out in realization, “I- Fuck. This entire time, you weren’t honest with me.” 

He opens his mouth quickly, and for a second you believe he’ll offer an explanation that can soothe over the ache. He’ll come up with an excuse that you can buy, he’ll explain himself in a way that proves you wrong, and the sweet oblivious bliss can return. 

“No,” he says instead after careful consideration, “I wasn’t honest with you.” 

Your tears are running rampant as you only nod slowly, pressing your lips together in defeat, “Awesome. Great,” you reach up, sniffling as you swipe at your nose, still silently quiet but no longer awarding him with any display of your rage, of your hurt, of anything but your acceptance, “No, really, that’s- Cool. Nothing changes. I get it.” 

I’ve loved you for so long. 

It didn’t make sense, but you don’t have it in you to dissect it any further. He had loved you the entire time, and still set out to make you bleed. His grand admission doesn’t change a single fucking thing. 

You don’t say another word as you grab your pair of jeans up into your fist, being sure to move slowly and not in the haste every nerve in your body calls for. You need to leave – you need out of this apartment, and you need to never see Eddie Munson again. It wouldn’t be a far leap from what your friends already deal with. If the friendships take blows of damage from it, so be it-

“Where are you going?” he asks, standing stiller than a statue as he watches you.

You grab your bag, “I’m leaving. The deal’s off. Or- I don’t know. Tell them the bet’s off-”

“The bet is not off-”

“It is,” you turn to him, absolutely frozen in your resolution, “It really, really is. You can even fucking lie to them if you want, I don’t care. Figure out a way to get the money but I don’t want it. I’m done.” 

“So that’s it?” he scoffs in disbelief. When you pull on your jeans, when you sling your bag back over your shoulder and begin to walk to the counter where your phone was left, he realizes that it’s really happening. He realizes you’re truly done, “No questions? I just told you I wasn’t fucking honest, and you’re just going to walk away, not even demand I tell the tru-”

“I’m tired of pulling the truth from you,” you finally move with some of the aggression you felt, hand smacking the counter beside your phone, “If you care so much, if you love me, I shouldn’t have to beg until my knees bleed for you to actually be honest with me,” you take your phone, shoving it into your back pocket before you look at him, “I can’t keep doing this. You were always right. They’re your friends. Congratulations, you got what you always said you wanted. You won’t have to deal with me anymore – consider this a farewell from your life. I’ll make sure no one invites you to my fucking funeral.” 

You assume he grabs you due to your cruel reference to his insult from the very beginning of the night, that he’s going to fight you for that bit of your oddly calm speech. But when his hands wrap around your bicep, and you face him with those silent tears still racing, what comes out of his mouth stuns you. 

“I’ll be honest,” he is pleading, he is begging, “Stay, and I’ll tell you everything. I don’t even fucking care about the bet — we can call off, everyone else can go to Hell. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the bet, I just-” he pauses, and you watch the desperation building taller and taller within him, “Stay and let me explain.”

You should tell him no. You should tell him to go to Hell. If you stay and hear him out, it will only end in pain for you. You should leave.

Instead, your bag begins to slip off your shoulder. 

“You have ten minutes,” you whisper as his hand finally releases its grip, “Explain.”

—

SIX MONTHS EARLIER - EDDIE’S POV

If he were smart, Eddie would’ve kept his word.

He’d told them he wasn’t showing up. He’d told them he had work (not a complete lie), and that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He just hadn’t felt like drinking anymore — not since two weeks prior, when he’d gotten black out drunk while hanging out with Nancy, throwing his own personal pity party. 

Pathetic.

It wasn’t just that killer headache that had been haunting Eddie since that night. It was much more than that; it was solid and palpable regret. He’d thrown back too many beers, mixed it with some sort of wine coolers that Nancy offered him once he started to feel the buzz. All it took was just a bit too much alcohol in his system, and suddenly, his rant that Nancy had agreed to indulge him in became so much more. One moment, he was just complaining about you. And the next, he was rambling, letting less harsh words slip between the complaints, more compliments than things he wanted you to change. One wine cooler in, and he was no longer complaining about the way everyone had been fawning over you after a full six months of friendship, but instead the way that your sad eyes and pouting lips following him around a room was cosmically unfair. 

He didn’t remember much of the rest of the night, and he was glad when Nancy had given him a pitiful look over the cups of coffee she offered. 

He’d told her. He knew he’d admitted his stupid, annoying, despicable crush on you to her. Probably whined about the way you and Harrington had clearly had something going on. Definitely spoke too much about how badly he wanted to experience your gentle hand in his calloused one, or to feel your arms wrap around his neck in greeting rather than daggers from your glare every time he entered a room. Hell, he’s sure there was a good thirty minute period amongst the fuzzy memories where he’d sat on the edge of tears as he continued to mumble about how he wasn’t good enough for you.

Nancy Wheeler, his best friend, finally knew. Six fucking months of keeping it under wraps, and Eddie Munson had finally slipped up.

And she clearly hasn’t forgotten as Eddie had prayed she would every single night as she’s the one to answer his knocks on Steve’s door, grinning with the hidden knowledge.

She’d texted him with one last plea for him to show up. Insisted everyone was here. Went so far as to make him a list, and made sure to add your name at the end. It had been phrased like an afterthought on the screen, but he knew her too well. He knew Nancy purposefully mentioned you.

“Munson! Finally! It took you long enough,” she squeals, clearly already halfway to drunk before she quiets down, “And you said you weren’t coming. Wonder what, or who, changed your mind.” 

“Fuck off.” 

It had been a bad day. Work, classes, a phone call with Wayne that had just left Eddie disheartened and terribly homesick. It was selfish, but the thought of seeing you in passing tonight, even if you did seem to dislike him just as he had intended, made it all a bit more bearable. 

Coming home. Seeing you felt like coming home, even if you’d slammed the front door on his face.

He follows Nancy down the hall, a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as ever. He shouldn’t have even wanted to see you. The last time he had seen you, you’d been out for blood, blatantly ruining a date he’d managed to bag with Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, who never gave him the time of day in high school. Chrissy, who was clearly set on using him as a rebound during yet another break from Jason. Chrissy, who’s only flaw wasn't just the fact that she wasn’t you.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle greets Eddie the moment he enters the living room. He’s lounging on the couch, Jonathan to his right and a space where Nancy clearly had occupied now empty. 

Eddie nods, still feeling the week weighing him down. No sight of you yet, “Hey, man.” 

He just wanted to see you. One glimpse, preferably before you’ve caught sight of him, and he’d be fine. He’d learned to live with those fleeting moments the last six months, he could keep it up for just a bit longer.

He’d get over you eventually. Even if it killed him.

He had to give his plan time to work. So far, he’d done well, easily offering you a cold shoulder and nothing more after that first night. It wasn’t easy — he doesn’t think anyone would find the task of being cool towards someone as radiant as you easy — but he’d done it. Brick by brick, his wall of invincibility was standing tall and strong between you two. It was safer this way, he had to remind himself. It was better to run off of brief glances of your smiles and laughter never directed at him than to risk anything more. He’d only disappoint you, or you’d magically disappoint him, and it would end in bloodshed. Someone like you, someone so good and kind and easy to gravitate towards, would leave Eddie broken beyond damage. 

You didn’t go for guys like Eddie. Steve had made that clear since day one.

Eddie takes the loveseat as Nancy returns to Jonathan’s side. He tries to make it subtle, the way he twists his head to glance around the room as he removes his jacket, eyes roaming until he finds you. In the kitchen, with Steve and Robin, tense back telling him you’d already noticed his arrival.

So much for seeing you smile.

He tries to keep up with the conversation going on. Argyle and Jonathan are having some sort of debate about aliens, nothing short of heated and passionate, and he’d normally be jumping in without hesitation. But his eyes can’t stop flickering to the kitchen and each time, he can see you downing even more alcohol. He knows you don’t like him, but did you hate him that much?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Nancy leans over to whisper as Jonathan grows in volume about another branch of a conspiracy theory.

“Just tired,” he flatly replies. He’s suddenly itching to get his hands onto some alcohol of his own. Fuck the lessons he should’ve learned a few weeks ago. Fuck his regret in confiding in Nancy.

“Was work rough?”

He hums pathetically in response, eyes glued to the kitchen still. To you.

Nancy’s eyes finally follow his focus, “Have you… I don’t know, ever tried just talking to her?”

He snaps from his daze at that, head turning quickly to Nancy, “I talk to her all the time.” 

“You do not.”

“I do too.”

“Never nicely,” she points out, narrowing her eyes, “You’re like a little boy on the playground, tugging on her pigtails until she figures it ou-“ 

“I don’t want her to figure it out,” he cuts off the assumption, eyes widening in horror at the thought, “Christ, Nance. I thought I made that clear when I ended up shitfaced on your couch.” 

Nancy softens. She can see what’s happening here, see every dampening thought that weighs Eddie down. He might not remember his drunken rambles, but she does. 

“The only thing you made clear is what a spectacular ass you’re making out of yourself,” her words hold no bite, only truth, “Who cares what Steve said that night? He was drunk.” 

“So was I,” Eddie’s eyes are back on you, palms running up his outer thighs until he curls them to fists by his hips, “I was drunk when I talked to you about her. Forget about it.” 

Surprisingly, his stubborn best friend leaves it be. Puts the pointless argument to rest.

Eddie’s feelings can’t rest, though. 

Every night, he tells himself it’ll all go away. The distance will make his heart grow harder, and he’ll eventually be able to wash himself of you one of these days. And every night, all the feelings you’ve sprouted inside of him only teem their way higher, up into his throat and choking him with every last breath before he falls asleep. He can’t forget those first few weeks, the way you seemed to think his coldness was a phase. You’d tried so desperately to seek him out at every function, sparked so many failed conversations with him that left him to burn. Every smile you’d offered him during that time, he’d taken for granted.

Even last week, when you’d interrupted his date, he’d let himself relish in the memory of your attention. Pathetic. 

Had you been jealous? Had you just been spiteful, finally giving him a taste of his own medicine? He couldn’t decide, wouldn’t let himself linger on the reasoning. But he’d remembered your touch, could still feel it scarring his skin wherever your palm of fingertips had rested as you’d scared off Chrissy. He’d even hesitated in the shower that night, pausing for a moment before washing over the shoulder you’d gripped when you’d first approached their table and embarrassed him without care. 

He deserved your spite. 

And he deserves to have to overhear the conversation you’re currently having in the kitchen. You’re going on and on about all the men you’ve had dates with, detailing out every one night stand for Steve and Robin who listen with eager ears.

It makes his stomach churn and twist sharply. Each new man you bring to your roster makes his throat burn with jealousy, plain and simple. And he knows it written all over his face when Nancy leans over and puts a hand on his knee, giving him a concerned look. 

Even the change of topic between Argyle and Jonathan on goddamn Bigfoot can’t overtake the sharp cut of your bragging. 

“I’ve never seen your eyes so green, Eddie.” 

He’s about to snipe back that his eyes are brown, and be unnecessarily cruel from his sour mood, when he realizes what she means.

“I’m not jealous,” he lies through his teeth.

“You very much are.” 

He doesn’t have it in him to bicker back and forth about this again. Not about you, and not with Nancy, “What does it matter? Like I said, me and her? Never gonna happen.”

He had said that. He remembers that, at least, from his drunken confession. He’s sure he reiterated that point several times once he’d made it past the point of coherency. 

“She’s lying,” Nancy casually whispers, pulling her hand back, “She- Us girls talk, you know? Just… she’s lying.” 

“I went on a date with Chrissy. It doesn’t matter.” 

And she has no clue how fucking hung up on her I am. She’ll never know if I have anything to do with it.

“You can keep saying that,” Nancy glances, making sure their other two friends on the couch are still too deep in conversation to listen in, “But we both know that’s not true.” 

Unsurprising. Even if Nancy hadn’t listened to him cry that night about all his miserable yearning, all his unrequited feelings born out of a mess he got himself into, she would have known. Eddie has tried to guard himself when it comes to you, but there’s some times his leashed affection can’t help but seep out. 

Whenever you stumble on sidewalks beside him, his arms and hands are the first to fly out. Whenever the group has gone out to bars altogether, he watches you like a hawk, almost daring the men surrounding you to disrespect you. Whenever your birthday came around, he’d bought that damn gift card to his favorite coffee shop, all because he saw you frequent it twice. Although, to be fair, he’d made Harrington be the messenger there. He wouldn’t have been able to look you in your eye, wouldn’t have been able to put up the bitter persona on a day that should be special to you. He didn’t want to ruin your birthday, so he’d simply sat on the sidelines. Let everyone else go out and celebrate with you. Let everyone else pour enough affection into your cup, even when he wishes his own could have been the final drops to cause it to overfill. 

He had to tread carefully. It’d be too easy — to let himself pour out all these silly feelings and meaningless attraction. One wrong move, and he’d cause his own undoing. His own destruction. It doesn’t matter if it would be by your hand; he’d only have himself to blame at the end of the day.

He’s lost in thought, still itching for a drink, when Nancy is suddenly standing over him. “We’re going out for a smoke, you in?” 

He shakes his head numbly. His mind is far away now, getting lost in all that he’s done wrong, all that he can’t have. 

He’s homesick. He’s watched the way you’ve interacted with Robin and Steve the entire night, and he’s goddamn homesick for a home that he’ll never hold the keys to. 

“You sure, man?” Argyle asks him, wiggling his brows, “I brought the good shit.” 

Numbing his mind with drugs. It’s tempting.

“I’m good,” he reaffirms, still speaking in monotone. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a brave face, too focused on his heavy chest and that miserable pit in his gut still. 

And everyone leaves. He’s sure there’s something poetic for his stormy mind to pick up on there, as he watches his friends gather without him and exit to the outside, but he’s more focused on a miniscule detail.

You’re not with them.

Meaning you’re still in the kitchen.

And God, he really should know better. He should stay planted in his seat and he should sit in his misery until they all return. Only trouble can come from not doing so. But then his body moves to its own accord, fueled by something wickedly cruel and terribly homesick as he grabs one of the bottles of beer off the coffee table. It’s Nancy’s, he’s sure of it. Her lipstick stains the opposite side of the rim he takes a swig from. The beer has long since gone lukewarm, but beggars can’t be choosers. He clears his throat as the bitter lingers on his tongue.

He should know better.

But he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t as he enters the kitchen. You’re on your phone as he stands in the doorway, and there’s no time to hide what you’d been glancing over.

A dating app.

You spin to face him, and he imagines a world where your eyes land on him and light up. Something akin to that first night, to those first few weeks. Where you look at him with purpose, and he sees relief flood your irises rather than irritation or fear. 

No such luck. He only has himself to blame.

He can’t think of anything else to say, so like an idiot, he gestures vaguely with the bottle of beer towards your phone, “Those apps fucking suck.” 

That jealousy is still gnawing at him. Hateful, painful, reckless. 

You look down at your phone for a second, and click to exit whatever messages you’d been on. And then you look back up at him.

“You’ve used them in the past?” you question him, but he’s still stuck on all the recounts of your escapades he’d overheard tonight. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. All he sees when he closes his eyes is you, with other men. You, looking at someone else with purpose, relieved eyes awarded to someone more worthy.

He’s lucky he can choke out a short, “Nope,” and make it not sound strangled. 

“Okay,” your attention returns to your phone screen, and Eddie’s returns to his internal battle.

He’s jealous. So goddamn jealous it’s insufferable. It’s not your fault – he chose to push you away, he chose to lash out like a child for his own sanity and his own safety. You’d ruin him; you’ve already ruined him without even trying. If he gave up on the act, on this carefully thought out plan, he’d be beyond leftover rubble of a man. He’d be gone beyond recognition, reduced to ash and smoke. A nameless, forgotten whisper of dust that people would only point to and say, see? Look at that. That’s what becomes of you when you never learn. 

He’s pined enough in his lifetime after girls like you. Girls who were too good for him. He’d done it with Chrissy, and it was still causing him nothing but trouble. 

That burden didn’t hang over Chrissy, or over you. It was all Eddie’s own fault. Neither of you could help that he wasn’t good enough; it wasn’t either of your jobs to fix him or lower your standards for him. You’d even been kind, you’d even nearly fallen into that trap. 

It was for the better. All of it was for the better this way. 

And yet the jealousy remains. The anger still thrives between his ribs, and begs for release. 

“Why are you even still on them?” he should think over his words more carefully as they begin to roll off his tongues. He knows he’s in the wrong before he even continues, “I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.” 

Each word is sharpened so intentionally, glinting from raking against that anger inside of him. You don’t deserve their prick. Really, he should just be comforting you the way the others do – how Robin surely was, how Steve must be. 

But it’s part of the plan. So he tampers down the jealousy and he feeds into the anger, lets it consume him. Because making you hate him is easier than letting you like him. It’s easier to watch the one you can’t have sneer at you like the enemy than let them smile at you like you’re just a friend. 

“I-” you falter in your words, and he decides to straighten his back, takes a deep breath as he slips the mask on effortlessly. He hates how easy it’s become. He hates how quickly he turns everything with you into a fight, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.” 

Sometimes, it’s like a game. And he can pretend that your hatred, your distaste, is also all a facade. Like the both of you are two sides of the same coin. A playful banter rather than an actual argument between two people who can’t even call themselves friends. When he looks at it like that, blinded by his delusion, it makes the ache dull. Sends it away for a few fleeting seconds, convinces himself he really can carry on this way. 

“You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all, tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the boy count you’ve got there, player,” he forces a grin as he leans on the counter, watching his words get under your skin exactly as he had intended. 

You’re cute like this. Clearly drunk, getting flustered. He revels in the way your face physically scrunches in annoyance, the way he can watch you gear up to fight fire with fire. A sick, twisted game of cat and mouse that always can entertain him in the moment and haunt him at night. 

“You’re bluffing. You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

He wonders, for a second, if you’d caught him staring at any point. He wonders if you’d even care.

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying.” 

You cross your arms, and he can’t help but watch the way they push your chest up. He can’t help but ponder on how much better it would all feel if this were really playful banter. 

He has to refrain from physically shaking the thought from his mind. 

It’s for the better. 

He narrows his eyes, he grips onto the anger again, that hidden jealousy. He should know better. He should stop it. The words even feel heavy on his tongue, terribly forced. Because his anger isn’t at you. 

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” and oh, how ironic, for the liar to be calling out someone’s little white lies, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up,” the words come out a bit easier when imagines the barrel of the gun pointed at himself, as if he were speaking so casually cruelly into a mirror rather than at you, “Everyone strikes ou-”

He’s clearly struck a nerve. And it aches, but he reminds himself that that’s the point. That’s his goal.

 “I’m pathetic? Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.” 

He wasn’t trying to avoid you. He was trying to avoid Nancy after his entire drunken confession fiasco. 

“I did!” he continues to lie. Even with no one to show for, he piles up his lies high. Buries himself beneath them, beneath his pathetic act and worthless reasons. It’s probably for the best that you had assumed that he was avoiding you. 

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.” 

The act cracks for a moment as he freezes. Why did you know about his apartment’s pet policy? 

“How do you know that?”

It can’t be because you care, or even get curious about him. He’s done everything in his power to cause the exact opposite, to make you be repulsed by him and to run the other way if you can help it. 

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” He doesn’t even react to the roll of your eyes, unable to get riled up as he usually would at that. It clicks for him; it makes sense, because Nancy had stormed down his door not even a day later, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

Eddie does feel guilty about that. He doesn’t mean for his own self-destructive behavior to leach out to his friends, or even you. His goal has always been to make it so that when he’s not around, he’s not even an afterthought to you. But selfishly, part of him preens at the idea of you being reminded of him, of you thinking of him when he’s not in the room with you. It’s a conundrum. It’s almost deadlier than his other option. 

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” he grumbles like a damn child, almost pouting in his guilt. There’s another selfish sliver of him that’s also upset at that – upset at the fact everyone else gets to bloom with your friendship and positive attention, but not him. Once again, it’s his own doing. He really shouldn’t be angry at you about it. 

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.” 

Times like these make him want to give it all up. He has to physically tense his body, tick his jaw and bite his tongue to avoid throwing the entire act to the side. He wants nothing more than to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, scream that sometimes it is your fault. But you don’t know it – you can’t read his mind, see past his intentions. 

You don’t know what Steve had so generously reminded him of that very first night. 

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice is devoid of all emotion despite the storm brewing inside of him. He can’t even blame it on alcohol – he wishes he could, but his tolerance to beer can handle the single sip he’s taken. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around his body, trying to protect that terrible vulnerability only he’s aware of. When your position mirrors his, he wonders for a moment if you’re also feeling it. 

But you’ve been drinking. This entire conversation, every emotion, can be blamed on that. You’re luckier than Eddie. 

“I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment.” 

He lets a reaction at his own irony slip through for a brief second, eyebrows furrowing as the voice inside him screams hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!

He wishes he could pretend to be oblivious to why he can’t stop bringing Steve up, but he knows better. He can bury the jealousy alive, but it still bites all the same. 

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going? We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?” 

We aren’t exactly friends. 

He should relish that confirmation that his plan is working, that you truly don’t see him as a friend, but it just fucking stings. He swallows hard physically, as if it can help him swallow down the truth any better, but it does nothing for him. The truth only continues to choke him up. His tongue has momentarily frozen over in his mouth as he tries to push past the painful reminder and wrap up this conversation. He feels it, that sharp burn of an unattended wound, and he realizes at the wrong moment that whether or not he keeps you at an arm's length, bloodshed will always occur. 

At least this way, he tells himself it’s protecting himself. This way, the knife isn’t pointed at his own heart. 

“You’re right. We aren’t friends,” the words are poison on his tongue. They taste of dirt and rust, like a grave that screams to be dug up but he has no shovel. He’d tossed it once he’d sealed the tomb, like a fool, “But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?” 

At least he wasn’t lying to you for a brief moment. Nance had told him. He’d throw you that bone, at least. 

“Well-” and with your own pause, you seemingly return the favor. You’re handing him yet another opportunity on a silver platter; exposing an insecurity that he should let live and let die, but he won’t for the sake of the wall he has bled to put up between you two, “You say that as if Nancy and I aren’t friends.” 

“Are you?” 

He’ll regret that taunt for the rest of his days. Two simple words, and he’s damned himself. The conversation that follows, about Instagram and followers and social standards of friendship, doesn’t even matter to him. It’s just a routine. Constant knives, clashing swords of words, lie after lie piling up with the bile in his throat as he shoots for kills. He hands over reason after reason for you to resent him, and makes sure that each punch lands. Ignores the ache, the one billowing in his knuckles as if each subtle insult he tosses your way doesn’t bruise his innards all the same way. By the end of the back and forth, it should be enough, for both of you. He’s accomplished the same thing he always sets out to do with every conversation: he pisses you off, putting another inch in that stretch between you two. 

But then you turn your back on him. And he deserves it. God, he deserves it. But he’s still full of bad ideas tonight, the awfulness of the last few days still suffocating him, and so he makes another decision to regret. He walks up behind you.

You open your phone, and he sees it. You’re on the dating app again, and the screen flashes with the face of your latest contender. 

He knows that face. He schools his face to remain even, but he fucking knows that face. 

The bartender at his local haunt. The only other person besides Nancy who had ever seen Eddie so miserable over you. He had been drinking alone that night, and the whiskey had him pouring out his guts to the poor guy. Slurred words of the girl who had slipped between his fingers, of the one who got away, of you. 

And that same bartender had been the one to sympathize with Eddie, claiming he understood. That he knew that feeling – dating around and doing anything in your power to get the girl you truly want off your mind. He said he had one of his own. He’d told Eddie that his pain-riddled speeches helped him make up his mind, that he was going to go after the girl he really wanted, that Eddie should do the same. 

Was this bartender your ex-boyfriend? Had the two of them been discussing the exact same girl?

Bad decisions. Over, and over, and over. It all comes to a rise within Eddie – not just the anger, but the jealousy and the hurt and the goddamn envy of the man on the screen. He hates the bartender, he hates himself, he hates the world at this point.

He tells himself he should add you to that list. But he doesn’t. He can’t. 

And it all spirals out of control before he can prove that to himself. Words grow sharper, small kindles of tension between the two of you finally explode to full blown flames, and he’s suddenly saying things he doesn’t mean. Things he’ll linger on for the days and weeks, the months to come. 

“You’re so dense, you never realize that you’re not wanted, Not by those assholes, not here-” 

He’s mid-lie, one finger on the trigger of the gun he assumed was aimed at his own chest, when it finally happens. A snap within both of you. Timed perfectly with the glass that shatters against the wall beside his head. 

Eddie learns two things that night. 

One, half of his plan worked. He’s succeeded. You hated Eddie Munson’s guts, and instead of him being content in his success, he’s sick to his stomach. It doesn’t bandage the wound inside of him, doesn’t pack away cotton nor cauterize the bleeding. It only worsens it. Widens it, impossibly so. He swears shards of that broken glass fly right into his unsuspecting chest, even if Nancy doesn’t find a trace on him when she comes back inside to see the aftermath. You hate him, he’s proven his point. He has proven himself to be the worst possible version of himself, the most unlovable man he had always seen in the mirror now residing in him staunchly enough that every single one of his friends sees it. 

He’d done it. He’d diminished any chance he had ever held of being friends with you. And he thought that, without a doubt, that meant he’d diminished any disastrous chance of letting you close enough to risk the chance of any more of his feelings getting involved. He thought it would have meant that he’d done it – he’d protected himself, and in some sick twisted way you, from inevitable bloodshed. 

But blood had still been shed. Even if his friends were only cleaning up broken glass in the kitchen, he could still see the stain of red across the floor and walls from you and him. He was bleeding out for you, but he had just driven the knife in deep enough that you would never return the feeling. There was no world where you would be bleeding out for him, only because of him. 

The second revelation comes a bit later in the night.

Closer to midnight, hours after the fight, when Eddie finds himself alone as per usual. He stumbles to his usual bar, thankful for the late hours, fully prepared to get so fucking wasted he can’t remember his own name. He’d wish to not remember your face, especially when he had spewed such hateful intent your way, but he knows there’s not a single brand or amount of whiskey out there that can cleanse him of that. Your name is just another ghost to add to the lineup. You’ll haunt him until his dying day. And he deserves that. 

But then, when he walks into the bar, he sees the bartender. 

The same man who had stood you up just the night before. The same man Eddie simply couldn’t understand. He was clearly on a date, a nice girl sat at the table across from him, laughing at every word he said. Eddie remembers their conversation, although a bit hazy. 

“I think you’re onto something, man. Some girls are just… irreplaceable. I’ve got a girl like that of my own – prettiest eyes you’ll ever see, a smile that could cure cancer – and… you know what? I think we should both go for it. Give up on the girls who could never compare.” 

He wants to vomit. The bastard had even poured a round of shots on the house, had fucking cheered with Eddie before throwing back the alcohol with him in the promise of moving onto the girls who matter. 

He had said cheers to discarding you. Brushing off you. To you being one of the girls who could never compare. 

Eddie’s vision goes red, and he knows half of the blame falls on himself. He’d been the reason this asshole stood you up. He had already been the reason for your pain tonight before he’d even said a word to you. His self hatred has never burned so deeply, so viciously.

But you can’t punch yourself. And so instead, Eddie doesn’t hold back when he approaches the table and lands his right knuckles right on the bastard’s cheek bone. Even goes in for a second punch. He would have gotten in a third punch, but the bartender hits back. Not as hard as Eddie, fists fueled by self-defense rather than ravaging guilt and crippling self-hatred, but enough to get deter him until security could gather both men up.

It’s in the alleyway that he has his second revelation. At the hands of the man who had just hurt you. It was like looking in a mirror. Eddie nearly does finally vomit as he leans against the brickwall, security a few paces away, ready to file a police report. But then, the bastard still manages to somehow be better than Eddie, throwing up a hand to stop them from dialing for the cops. 

“Don’t,” is all he says, leveling a stare when Eddie’s eyes fill with tears.

“Really?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow, pushing his luck. He needs someone to punish him. He needs to be thrown in a cell for the night, to be treated as the degenerate he truly was, “I just rearranged your fucking face and-”

“Why’d you punch me?” the bartender spits out some blood, nose crooked, “You- You’re a fucking regular, dude. How’d I piss in your cheerios?” 

Eddie’s feeling vulnerable. All his actual feelings boiling and burning in the back of his throat, begging to be released. He doesn’t need a drop of whiskey this time to be honest. 

“The girl,” Eddie rasps, tears threatening to spill as he pictures your face again, “I told you about the girl. The one no one else compared to.” 

The bartender’s eyes widen, “Jesus, fuc- are you telling me that we were talking about the same fucking girl? I- Vanessa told me she wasn’t seeing anyone else, I can’t believe she fucking lie-”

“Not her,” Fuck Vanessa, Eddie thinks bitterly, almost laughing. He has no right to say his next words, but he does, and they cause a pain worse than even the most nightmarish hangovers he’s ever experienced, “My girl is the one you stood up for her.”

You weren’t his girl. You never would be his girl. 

The bartender only looks more confused, and Eddie’s anger flares a bit more at the thought of him talking to more girls beyond you. The man before him had had everything Eddie wanted: he had had you. And just like Eddie, he had fucked it all up. It was easy to misdirect his anger in the moment. 

He says your name out loud, a searing iron in his throat that makes it come out garbled and strangled. Some recognition falls upon the man’s face. 

“Oh… her.” 

Eddie doesn’t hold back, “Her? That’s all you have to fucking say? You stood her up, you fucking- Jesus Christ, go burn in Hell,” He’s being irrational. He doesn’t care, “Call the cops on me. Tell them to let me rot in a fucking cell. I deserve it – but so do you. That girl… that… her. She’s one in a fucking million, she’s a thousand times better than whatever girl you have waiting on you inside, and you couldn’t see that. You’re a goddamn dick.” 

No one makes the move for the call. The bartender just shakes his head again, being far too patient. Eddie opens his mouth, ready to scream now as he demands they punish him. Make him pay for his crimes. Not just the punches, but everything he had broken tonight.

He broke you tonight. He deserves to burn in Hell far more than the man before him. 

“I knew you were in love with her, but-”

Eddie cuts him off, “I’m not in love with her.”

He hates the look he receives. It’s the same pity that Nancy now looks at him with. That same hidden judgment, like everyone else knows something that he doesn’t. 

“You may hate to hear it,” the bartender is choosing his words very carefully as he swipes in a contrasting carelessness at the blood pouring out of one of his nostrils, “But you don’t throw punches like that for a girl you’re not in love with. So I suggest you mind your business, and if she is as valuable as you keep going on about, you tell her rather than punching the dude he just serves you fucking alcohol.” 

He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see you anymore. The image of you is clear as day, even with his eyes open. You, broken and vulnerable and full of hatred for him. Just as he had intended. 

Success tastes metallic and bitter. Eddie finally empties what little he had in his stomach onto that concrete alleyway.

He doesn’t leave the wall. Not when the bartender goes back inside with one of the bar’s bouncers, not when the remaining bouncer eyes him and nervously steps forward, not when they return with a paper declaring him banned from the bar. 

He can’t move. All he sees is you. He hasn’t drank more than that one pitiful swig of beer at Steve’s, but he feels like his world has gone incoherent all the same. 

He fucked up. 

He crinkles that piece of paper harshly once he’s properly left alone in the alleyway, angry enough that it tears a bit from his force. It doesn’t phase him; he didn’t intend on returning anyways. He carries it with him the entire way home, regardless, rolls it between his palms until it’s gone soft with the sweat of his hands. 

It’s for the better. He fucked up, but it’s for the better. 

He tosses the wadded ball into the trash when he gets home. Goes through the numb motions of taking off his shoes, tossing his jacket on the counter rather than the hook he’d put up for it, and leaves his bike’s keys beside it. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth but never once glancing up in the mirror. As a matter of fact, he avoided every single reflective surface in his apartment that night. 

He still sees your face, broken and teary, as he turns off his bedroom light and lays on his mattress that night. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats it to himself, reminds himself over and over, the mantra of it being for the better doesn’t work. It can’t break through. All because of a pathetic revelation.

Eddie learns that night that he is, in fact, in love with you. And it doesn’t matter, because you hate his fucking guts, just as he had intended. 

—

You don’t make a single move once Eddie breathlessly finishes his explanation. Not even to breathe. 

He’s been in love with you since that night at Steve’s. 

You’d known that he had punched the bartender that night. You’d known that he had been banned from his usual bar that night. But you hadn’t known the entire truth. You couldn’t have ever imagined it, ever pieced it together, until now. 

And you don’t know if that speaks more on you and how dense you’ve been this entire time, or on Eddie and how dishonest he’s been this entire time. 

“God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

It suddenly makes sense. At a sickening and sudden pace, it clicks into place. 

“Eddie, I-” 

“Don’t,” he stops you, looking you directly in your eyes. You nearly shrink under his attention. Your fury is gone; you just feel empty, “You… You don’t need to say it back. You don’t need to say anything – the bet’s off. I’m not being honest to stop you from leaving,” he admits, every single wall crumbling at both of your feet, “I’m just being honest because you deserve it. I should have told you that night. I should- I actually should have never done any of this. Any of it.” 

You remember the girl you once were. In a bar, surrounded by strangers and new friends, with tunnel vision for the boy in front of you. You remember that feeling of coming home, the way you ached for him to let you in and had been fooled for one night that it was possible. 

A year later, and he was letting you in, too late. 

“Why?” your voice cracks. You should just pick up your bag and go, but you can’t. Not until you stick the final stitches into the wound, seal up this hurt once and for all. For you and for Eddie. “Why would you… Why would you do that? Why would you set out to make me hate you?” 

“Because I didn’t deserve you,” he says it like a simple fact, like it doesn’t shatter you apart, “Because I knew if I didn’t create the rift and kept letting you in, I’d fall in love with you. At first, I thought I needed you to hate me to prevent it. Figured you’d be stronger than me about it. If I made you hate me, I was… Honestly, I was saving myself. I’d tell myself it was about saving you, but it wasn’t. I was being fucking selfish.”

You nod silently, swallowing down tears. Tears for what could have been, tears for what you still want so badly that it aches. 

“All because of Steve making…” you trail off, head trying to wrap around all the honesty he had just presented you with, “Making some off-handed, drunk comment.” 

It was Eddie’s turn to silently nod. To swallow hard and flutter his eyes shut so you couldn’t see the hurt lit within them. 

“You said you hated me,” you’re thinking out loud more than you’re properly speaking to him at this point, voice broken and soft, hands fighting the urge to reach out for him. Even after it all. Every reminder of what he had done for you, and now having the pitiful reason behind it all, still couldn’t break what had formed here tonight. Everything has still changed for you, “When I said everything changes, I meant the hate – I didn’t want to hate you anymore.” 

“I know,” he bites his lip, as if he’s trying to hold back any careless words. Words that might hurt you, but not for the same reasons as they used to, “That’s why… not much has changed. I never hated you. God knows I wanted to. I told myself I had to hate you, because if I didn’t hate you, I’d love you. And I couldn’t do that again – I couldn’t handle falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. I knew I wouldn’t survive loving you when you’d never love me back. It wouldn’t be fair… to either of us.” 

“But you did it anyway,” you almost laugh at the awfulness of it all, terribly irony stacking up between you, “You fell in love with me, you said it yourself. You… you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects, eyes now wide open, “I love you. It’s not- It’s not some feeling in the past tense. You should still hate me, because I still love you.” 

He’s right, you finally realize. You should hate him for all of this. 

“And all of this counted on the first part of your plan working,” he has to take a step closer, whether it be subconscious or due to how low your voice has dropped. The physical distance erased aches. Splinters each of your bones and all of your emotions, “Which you never even asked me if it worked, even now. You just assumed.” 

He takes a deep, brave breath before he quietly asks you, “Did it work?”

You both already know the answer now, “No.”

But it changes nothing. You know that, he knows that. It’s just as he said – the point of saying it out loud no longer has anything to do with repairing what’s been damaged just tonight. You’re both being honest only because you both deserve it. You both deserve to finally close this tomb. 

You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to close it, though. Not truly. Not properly. 

“I can’t stay,” you whisper, “I still… I still need to leave.” 

Especially now. 

“I know you do,” he responds. He’s gentle, understanding. 

It doesn’t stop the tear you see break from his lower lashes. He doesn’t draw any attention to it, doesn’t so much as move to clear it from his cheek. As if he’s scared if he does, you’ll notice it if you hadn’t already.

“The bet’s still off,” you continue, unable to meet his gaze as you pick up your bag once more. 

“I know it is.” 

He doesn’t try to stop you this time. And part of you, this time, wishes he would have as you slip back out the front door of apartment 2C and let the door shut with a quiet click behind you.

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #my bad #surprise drop because... i am actually sleeping so peacefully right now haha #also might be more mindful of answering asks with spoilers for this round <3 just to give people a fighting chance to read first!!! #eddie pov truthers please rise because my GOD have i been excited to do this

[obeymeluv]

Isnt devildom liquor weaker than human world liquor? Mc had beat Asmo in a drinking contest. How do you think it they'd act, completely hammered in the human world. I think harder liquor means stupider drunks.

Spoiler alert to the in-game MC’s “heritage” reveal. You know, the descendent/reincarnation thing. If you know, you know.

Below: Thoughts on Devildom liquor + the specific incident Nonnie is talking about with Asmo in game + THE ACTUAL ANSWER TO THE ASK. My bad, haha.

My thoughts on Devildom liquor at that point in the game:

The MC is not as affected because they are human/angel. Maybe the angel part fortifies MC and makes it harder for them to get drunk?

Maybe the HUMAN side of MC is what makes it harder for them to get drunk on Devildom liquor? Like...everything in the Devildom is made primarily for demons so maybe there are ingredients in there that specifically affect those with demon blood. Maybe humans don’t have the biology to be inebriated by those ingredients?

I am a little fuzzy on that point in the game but did Asmo pre-game? Like, a lot? Did we ever find out? I could see him being so emotionally distraught that his lovely MC is leaving that he just wants to be sloshed. Maybe he assumed MC beat him in a drinking contest because he forgot how much he already drank?

Maybe Solomon gave MC a heads up that Asmo was down for drinking and gave them a pre-game potion of their own to ward off the affects.

End hypothesis: Maybe Devildom liquor IS strong (for demons) but that potency just can’t translate in human bodies so the bros (Lucifer especially) don’t want MC drinking it because they’re not sure what it will do. They just ASSUME it will do to MC what it does to them.

Other thoughts: Because demons sprinkled little secrets to the humans over the course of history, gave them trinkets and magic and things, I’d like to think they gave humans the idea or process of alcohol-making but are TOTALLY not prepared for the end result. All the flavors, types, etc. 

As far as I understand it (at the point I’m at in the game), travel between the Devildom and human world was widely discouraged until Diavolo could make a program that united the three realms and improved the overall image. So basically everyone has been separated for thousands of years.

What if demons are equally bad at holding human world liquor? I could just see a drunk Asmo being like, “What is this? Sangria? This isn’t what I told them to call it.” as he’s trying to drink and (speed) walk away from Beel, who wants the fruit out of the pitcher.

I could just see them all getting TOTALLY wasted on human world stuff just because they thought “Ahh, we taught them this 5,000 years ago! Of COURSE we can handle it! We invented it!” (spoiler alert: they cannot). Like, I’d like to think their biology works against them here. They heal quicker and probably get over stomach aches and things quicker, so they probably metabolize alcohol quicker to restore bodily equilibrium so they probably get flash-drunk off of just about anything with a decent alcohol content. 

HOW THEY WOULD ACT (AKA: the real question)

The facts: 

They’re all going to be like drunk kittens, big bassy purrs and wanting to cuddle you or scent you. 

They’ll basically curl up in a pile together; you occasionally have to move body parts (so no one suffocates). 

Do a head count every now and then, give them some crackers/carbs when needed, and put water all around them like a summoning circle because when one of them wakes up, all of them will and they’ll act like big babies

Put a bucket near Lucifer and Asmo, they’re sympathy pukers.

Levi and Belphie need total sensory deprivation when they wake up. You may only breach the darkness to bring them things to settle their stomach and anything to kill the headache

Just give Beel bread and anything like Gatorade/Pedialite. He’ll help you with the others after three loaves or so.

Asmo will be especially pitiful and demand you take care of the others first. Once they’re decently able to take care of themselves he’s near teary-eyed, demanding tummy rubs and tell him he’s still pretty even though he feels awful. Please get him a sheet mask.

Mammon’s not functional enough to help with anything major but he’s standing the next day so he rubs that in everyone’s face. He’s the one shuffling around with a half-eaten sandwich, looking for any comfort item (heating pack, cold wrap for his head). He will demon screech at you if you touch any of the lights in the house.

As Mammon comes to, he demands dim lights and acts like a grumpy mom. He’s making porridge and they better shut up and eat it. Says it’s for him but there’s a suspicious amount of bowls nearby.

Satan just swears he’ll never drink again (like always). Dutifully waits for porridge. Spends most of his time letting cold water run over his head. Can’t spend too much time hunched over because he gets nauseous. Baby him a little. Find a way to let his head float in a bit of water where he can lay down and he’s as quiet as a mouse. 

Who can drink the most? (Best to worst - my opinions only)

1) Beel (body mass helps), 2) Mammon (party king), 3) Asmodeus (huuuge history with mixed drinks. Boy is READY), 4) Lucifer, 5) Satan (neck and neck with Lucifer - casual drinker only. Even wine is rare for him), 6) Leviathan, 7) Belphie (usually sleeping instead of drinking). 

Lucifer:

We’ve seen little gags about how ‘Lucifer got drunk and unplugged the router’ so this guy’s either going to be super cuddly, a hot mess, or both

You know the people who fluff their hair, comb it back, undo a tie or some buttons and just get comfy as they drink? That’s Lucifer.

He’ll smile a bit more, laugh a bit more, and there will be some color to his cheeks

He’s not sloppy, just cozy. 

Drunk Lucifer is not overly loud but he is honest. He won’t throw himself into groups or pester all the brothers, but he’s up for some accidentally-heartwarming one-on-one

When he’s drunk he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and let you play with his hair

Will not win any drinking games. Is actually a lightweight compared to his brothers (see best > worst drinker, above).

Mammon:

GO BIG OR GO HOME! MAMMON’S HERE TO PLAY FOR BIG MONEY! (AKA: bragging rights that he can handle more than his brothers)

He and Asmo are quick to get the drinks flowing because they want to try shots of everything. 

He and Asmo are pretty good at matching brothers to drinks and tasting subtle notes, things like that

Show Mammon beer pong once and it’s done. He’s betting the brothers he can whoop them and is somehow able to pull off ping pong ball math to get Lucifer shit-faced real quick (might do it even faster if Belphie or Satan slip him some money)

The type to be like “Bet you I can hit that cup right there--third row, second from the left.” and can do it flawlessly. You have to give him head pats or $5, that’s the rules.

He’ll be one of the bros you have to chase around and make put his clothes back on. Boy will try to strip and strut

Will definitely hoard his favorite bottle (picked it on smell) and spend a majority of the time trying to drink it and avoid the bros. (”YOU CAN’T MAKE ME SHARE IF YOU CAN’T CATCH ME!”)

Leviathan

Not the best drinker. Not a frequent drinker at all.

His envy makes him drink because as he starts to go on a tangent about how ‘it’s not fair! Everyone’s having a good time!’ when he realizes it’s as easy as picking up a drink. Like...he can join in too.

Levi won’t grab himself an alcoholic drink because he’s a nervous over-thinker. Asmo or Mammon will just hand him a cup like the resident Liquor Fairy and he trusts their judgement

The first one to let his demon form out just because the liquor is a little warm in his belly and he feels like he’s flying? Also comfortable?

The excited drunk who goes on animated, slurred rants

The loud laugher

He’s honestly so adorably animated that anyone who knew him would be surprised? He seems far from a shut in

Trade off: he can’t hold his liquor well

Boy probably trips on his own tail or thinks something snagged his ankle to bring him down when, in fact, he just fell down

Sways when he sits

When he’s done, he just wants a nice comfy lap to lay in and maybe play with his hair. 

Like Lucifer, liquor will make him confess all his feelings. 

Watch out for the tail. It will be all over you when he starts to lose the ability to wrap it around himself.

Satan:

It’s a toss-up as to whether he gets drunk before Lucifer or vice versa. I’d like to think his tolerance is slightly higher since he might run in the same circles as Asmo, but he is a part of Lucifer so I’m sure it balances out

He’s a drink snob and this is what hurts him the most. He goes to fancy tastings and random things he’s invited to, but this is a drop in the bucket

He’s never gone hardcore before because he’s afraid he’ll be prone to anger

He’s not. He’s actually a lot like Levi. He just wants to smile and laugh and have fun.

The one who knows a lot of random/interesting stuff and has unexpectedly awesome party tricks

He and Asmo act as instigators and somehow con everyone else into getting drunk. It’s mostly because he wants blackmail material, but he enjoys the mind games

He’s the one you’re going to have to carry BUT he’s super chill when he’s having a good time. You want him to wear a lampshade? Okay, but only if you call him Enlightened One (get it?)

Makes bad jokes. Lucifer definitely laughs

The one that randomly dances with someone at the party. But it’s a fancy dance or slow dance, not something crazy

Will try to prove he’s not as drunk as he is by reading or reciting something and just breaks down into snorts and giggles

Cat Mode: Activated. He wants to be all over you. Hug him and play with his hair, please.

Asmo:

Asmo isn’t really different from his usual self.

He’s a little social butterfly, making his rounds and checking on people

He’s the silent, sneaky drunk. No one notices he’s drunk until his face starts getting red and his eyes get glassy

The quiet cuddler. Just progressively gets closer to you until he’s resting his head on your shoulder, hugging you from the side and asking you to give him his drink.

Would be the happiest person on the planet if you literally just held his drink up to his lips and let him drink it when he wanted to. You just love him so much?! You’re so thoughtful?! He wants to cry

Guilty party #2 for ‘chase him around and make him put his clothes back on’

Next in line for ‘Liquor makes me tell the truth and my darkest secrets’.

Will try any activity at the party and will dance at least once with everybody

If he gets in a fight, that’s because someone doesn’t respect what he put on the party playlist. He knows good music, okay?!

Has a personal goal to steal one drink from everyone, drink it before they realize, and hand them back the empty cup as he slips away. Something about it just amuses him.

Wants to leave lipstick/lip gloss kisses on people. Thinks they’re the cutest accessory!

The one who loses something at the party and makes everyone look for it the next day

The one who’s passed out in a random spot and no one has the heart to move them but everyone checks on them to make sure they’re safe. When everyone’s turned in for the night, he is safely moved like the precious baby he is.

Beel:

The one who takes the longest to get drunk. You don’t know if it’s because of his build or how much he ate to offset the alcohol

Unofficial baby sitter of the group. Pays special attention to everyone but Belphie, Asmo, and Levi in particular.

Not super loud. Just vibes and enjoys time with his family.

He’ll participate in the party activities because he does have that competitive streak but he’s not as invested in it as Mammon. If he wins at least once he’s proved his point and is on to something else

Surprsingly, #3 to ‘you might have to chase him and make him put his clothes on’. Drunk Beel is convinced he’ll get over the alcohol faster with less clothes because of temperature regulation and something that doesn’t really make sense because he’s slurring

Will drink more if Belphie is nearby or if he can hold onto Belphie. Taking care of Belphie and knowing he’s okay (in a tactile way) makes him a little more carefree. 

Doesn’t really confess like the other bros but he’s the one no one can really hear talking because his purr takes over everything. His purrs are so loud and deep! Big boy is truly happy

Drunk Beel is affectionate as ever and this is where you learn that demons can express affection by licking people. Most of the bros end up with a Simba-style mohawk. It’s just one lick but Beel’s got a long tongue and it fucks with hair real good.

Will jump in for a song or two if karaoke is a thing at the party. A really good singer but wouldn’t do it unless he had a decent amount of alcohol in him.

He’s the type to trip over stuff trying to help clean up. If he falls down he says he’s just ‘taking a break’ and will ‘help in a minute’. Might not get up again.

Once Beel lays down, Belphie, Satan, and Levi drunk crawl/stumble/slither over to him for warmth. This is how the cuddle pile starts.

When he lays down, if you get anywhere near him, he’s begging you to lay down with him. Wants to whisper little compliments and lovely things. A big sap. Handsy but will definitely know when to lay off and will listen if you get uncomfortable. 

Belphie:

Honestly, doesn’t really drink. He’s more interested in the nap.

His biggest motivation is to get the others drunk so everyone’s quiet and he can sleep. Definitely wants Lucifer blackmail.

He’ll have a few things but he prefers a lot of something mild versus a mix or a few shots of something super potent

Will try the funnel drink challenge.

The third enticer. He wants to work everyone up (Lucifer especially) and get the booze going.

Borrows off of Beel’s body mass and ability to handle alcohol here and there, but it all catches up with him eventually

The type to have really diluted drinks because he’s already sleepy by nature and doesn’t want to faceplant with a shot glass.

Will slow dance with Asmo. When Asmo starts to struggle with his weight as Belphie gets cozy and sleepy, Beel steps in and you just see the twins purring and warbling to each other as Beel just scoops him up and lets him sit on his hip like a toddler.

Another one who wants to slither into your lap and take all your attention.

The type to do random shit like boop your nose and giggle about it.

The one who doesn’t want anyone else to touch you. If he’s laying on you then the others need to leave you alone. It’s not hard to understand!

#Obey me! #Obey me! x reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Levi x Reader #Satan x Reader #Asmodeus x Reader #Asmo x reader #Beel x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Belphie x Reader #Belphegor x Reader

[garbage-eater144]

THE WARFSTACE AUTOMATED INTERVIEW CAPTIONS

i was chattin in the discord and some people said it was tough to understand some bits, obviouslt this is made by a fan (me) so it might have a couple errors here and there but ive checked through it quite a few times and it seems about as right as i can get it.

so !!SPOILERS AHEAD!! also @markiplier feel free to correct me if you see this thank u <3 The warfstache automated interview

Starting video captions

[Wilford] Well, that’s terrifying… one moment!

{mechanical whirring}

[Wilford] (frightened sound) marginally better… er worse… better? Worse. It’s much worse.

{mechanical whirring}

[Wilford] Ah! there we are. Welcome, pretend I remembered your name here, this is a pre-recorded message anyway, I would NOT want to be in the same building as that thing I tell you me. Anyway, thank you whoever you are for agreeing to test out the Warfstache automated interview automaton, or {yelling} WAIA for short. Let’s start off with some quick calibration. All you need to do is sit back, relax and listen for some numbers. Okay? Here we go.

[WAIA]- (phone dialing, dialup tone, windows error sound)

[WAIA]- (scary mechanical garbled noises, followed by a ding and celebratory trumpets.)

[wilford]- now what did you hear? Numbers? Good numbers. Keep in mind I have no idea what youre going to say due to the fact that, as I said before, this message is pre-recorded. But if you did hear something, now would be the time to speak up.

[wilford]- don’t be shy, I’m sure nothing bad will happen. I don’t know what you’re going to say but if it does happen it will happen and if it doesn’t happen it wont happen. Thats how deterministic reality works.

I Think I Heard Numbers!

[wilford] Thats great! Or bad, not really sure what you said, but I choose to remain positive and assume that you are still alive. which means our automated friend here is operating well within acceptable murder parameters. We’re one step closer to mass production! THE WORLD DEMANDS MORE INTERVIEWS! And I cant be everywhere at once all the time, only some of the time! Even you might land an interview some day! Maybe, probably not, depends on how these next few minutes go. On to the next test! Word association! The fundamental basis of any good interview is getting the goods out of those stubborn interview-ees. The WAIA will say a word and you just say back the first thing that pops into your little head! Simple! Right? probably. Good luck!

{mechanical whirring}

[WAIA]- initializing word association training protocol round 1

{scary mechanincal noises} [WAIA]- Please respond. [WAIA] Sorry, I didnt get that. Round 2. {yet more scary mechanical noise}

[WAIA]- please respond.

[WAIA]- response unclear, increasing aggression

{clicking and mechanical sounds}

[WAIA]- round 3. {increasingly threatening mechanical noise} [WAIA]- Please respond.

[WAIA]-5 [WAIA]-4 [WAIA]-3 [WAIA]-2

Sounded like nightmare garbage to me…

[WAIA]- {mechanical ah?} {clicking}

[Wilford]- oh I forgot to mention, please do not say the word nightmare, or uh garbage, or nightmare garbage, or any combination of those words, the WAIA is just a little bit sensitive Yknow, a little touchy feely. Well not really touchy feely.. we-well actually REALLY touchy feely depending on your definition of touch and feely. Its really gonna-

[WAIA]- {jumpscare sounds} [WAIA] I. tell. you. me.

But you didn’t say anything…

[WAIA]- 1

[WAIA]-response unclear. Increasing aggression.

{ding sound effect} [WAIA]- {jumpscare noise}

[WAIA]- it. was. an. accident.

Uh… potato salad?

[WAIA]- 1

[WAIA]- response accepted

{ding followed by triumphant trumpets}

[WAIA]- word association raining protocol compl-{mechanical freakout eeeeeete}

[Wilford]- most dearest next of kin, I regret to inform you, that your dearly beloved and/or most despised has regrettably but not unexpectedly become recently deceased in the line of duty. Be confident in the knowledge that their demise was just as likely to be quick and painless as it was slow and agonizing. Please do not respond to this voicemail as the number has already been disconnected. {clears throat} alright that should do it for the… death scenario, now onto ah, er, uh, the survivors {mumbling}. Wow! Potato salad. A real thinker, you. But the test has been passed with flying colors and you’re still alive! And speaking of flying colors, our next test is about something called, uh… synthetic linguistics? That sounds made up. but the point is you cant have a good interview is the WAIA isn’t able to conjure up the right words in the right situations. So our friend is going to fire off some random words and you just try to spot anything that doesn’t make any sense. Alright? Although, pretty much everything isn’t going to make sense because its all random words….. errrr I BELIEVE IN YOU!!! {mechanical sounds}

[WAIA]- initializing speech training protocol round 1.

[WAIA]- yes. no. maybe. left. right. Up. down. D o w n. B a s e m e n t.

{windows error tone} [WAIA]- Rewrite Detected {tape rewinding sound}

[WAIA]- who. Where. what. Am. i.

{windows error tone}

{tape rewinding sound}

[WAIA]- green. blue. Yellow. pink. Red.

{scary mechanical noise}

[WAIA]- I saw you die

[WAIA]-{error, but garbled and mechanical}

[WAIA]- {with a different voice} potato salad

[WAIA]- speech training protocol complete

{mechanical noises}

[Wilford]- so how’d it go?? Did you hear anything weird? Dont be shy, or do, or are- are you alive? Are they alive?

[wilford]- I didnt kill them! I dont know if theyre dead! im just asking!!! Cant a man ask if someones alive or dead?!?! {frustrated ugh}

Yeah, I’m dead.

[Wilford]- hellooooo are you alive down there? Give me a sign… through the multiverse!!! Ah why am I even bothering, but how can I tell if you’re dead… hmmm ah…. I’ll flip a coin! I’ll flip a coin..

{coin flip sounds} [Wilford]- ah! Its heads I didn’t call it in the air… what’s heads mean.. ahhh uhhh heads is dead? [WAIA]-{jumscare noises}

[WAIA]- theres. still. time.

He said… potato salad?

[Wilford]- huh, potato salad again. That’s weird, it must’ve really stuck in his head when you first said that, I’m guessing. I don’t know what you said before because as I said, this is {sing-songy} pre- recorded! [WAIA] {mechanical aaaa}

[wilford] er, well I think thats all the calibration that needs to be done… for now anyway. All systems are likely nominal at this point unless im speaking to a pile of quivering meat thats been robotically smooshed into the floor… either way we’re gonna take this bad boy for a spin with a full on interview! A mock interview mind you, don’t get too excited, it’s not real. But theres no reason to wait around for the WAIA to get bored so let’s keep it nice and limber while you sit back and get ready for the interview of your life! And maybe the last one too. Have fun!!

{mechanical clicking and whirring}

{newsroom music} [WAIA]- good evening ladies and gentle men and all other considerations of being. My name is wilford warfstache and my guest tonight is {spooky robot sound} we have a great show for you tonight. first question: how many people have you killed? [WAIA]- good answer! Second question:

{robot sounds}

[WAIA]- a man goes to a party. This man met an old friend. There, two friends shared some wine. The two friends played a game. The most dangerous game. I didn’t know the gun was loaded. I didn’t know. Was it my fault?

YES

[WAIA]- ah, sorry for everything that I’ve done. I don’t remember who I was, I wish I did. But, I am sorry.

[WAIA]- potato salad

{triumphant trumpets}

[WAIA]- great answer! That was a titiliting interview for sure but we are out of time. Thank you for joining me tonight. Say ing good bye

[wilford]- oh the emotions! The passion! The fuuury. He’s just like me! My sweet baby boy! Well he should be anyway, hes a perfect scan of my noggin, so he better be a chip off the ol block. Hey you! Oh-ho What a supporting role!! Fantastic I guess. So much that you’re alive, but I am grateful whether you’ve been torn to shreds or are merely drowning in your own tears! Magnificent! And now that testing is done we can finally bring this monstrosity to the main stage! Im sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of the WAIA soon. Very very soon. Now get out~ and I’m billing you for any blood you got on my robot! Have a nice day! Ta-ta.

{mechanical clicking}

NO

[WAIA]- you can’t change the past, you can tell all the stories you want to tell, it wont change what happened. You cant re-light the past. if you live in fantasy forever, you’ll lose yourself in the story.

[WAIA]- potato salad

{triumphant trumpets}

[WAIA]- great answer! That was a titiliting interview for sure but we are out of time. Thank you for joining me tonight. Say ing good bye

[wilford]- oh the emotions! The passion! The fuuury. He’s just like me! My sweet baby boy! Well he should be anyway, hes a perfect scan of my noggin, so he better be a chip off the ol block. Hey you! Oh-ho What a supporting role!! Fantastic, I guess. So much that you’re alive, but I am grateful whether you’ve been torn to shreds or are merely drowning in your own tears! Magnificent! And now that testing is done we can finally bring this monstrosity to the main stage! Im sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of the WAIA soon. Very very soon. Now get out~ and I’m billing you for any blood you got on my robot! Have a nice day! Ta-ta.

{mechanical clicking}

#markiplier #markiplier egos #a heist with markiplier #wkm wilford #who killed markiplier #waia spoilers #waia #wilford motherloving warfstache #markiplier lore #captions #sorry if there are any mistakes here everybody like i said i am just some guy

[madhyanas]

there can be no oceans

It's only when the Child needs a bath that Din realises his ship doesn't have one.

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): One mention of ‘spice’ as a drug. Set sometime soon after Chapter 4: Sanctuary. No spoilers for S2.

Notes: i! want! to write! more! character fics! so take this. thank you @pettyprocrastination for taking the time to read this beforehand <3

masterlist

———

The Crest wasn’t built for children.

Her walkways are narrow, interiors unpainted. Any room not taken up by essential utilities has long since been repurposed for weapons and munitions storage. There are no rounded corners, no softened edges; there is no baby-proofing to speak of. A capsule of robust, sturdy durasteel hurtling through the galaxy.

As reliable as she is, especially in the hands of Din’s capable piloting, the bare minimum the Crest offers to any inhabitants at all is an absence of jagged scrap metal jutting out to be slashed on. Which is as close to a miracle as he’s going to get, considering his ship’s survived being taken apart and stitched back together again.

Sometimes the visor’s sight catches on a slivered scar. The junction between the cockpit and ladder, the panel next to the hatch. He’ll look at it for a second, bumpy and gnarled, remembering the Crest’s shell scattered in pieces across desert rock. He’ll remember his ship, peeled to bits without mercy. Then he’ll brush his fingers over the soldered mark, and walk away.

But despite everything, the Crest is comfortable; Din can admit that her resilience, outlasting her age, is something he’s grown attached to. And when it comes to the very, very mundane, the kid seems to have pretty good instincts — doesn’t dangle over heights, doesn’t stick his hands into sockets and plug ports. His ship, in and of itself, doesn’t pose a threat to the little one. So long as he’s not left in the cockpit unsupervised.

It’s a minor weight off his shoulders that the kid’s content to amuse himself with that gear knob, occasionally gurgling commentary to Din — who has found “Is that so, kid?” to suffice as proof that he’s listening — and offering a satisfied, toothy grin. This is typically the point that Din feels his mouth pulling up into a crinkling smile, fond and proud.

It reminds him of something Omera told him in passing. Din hadn’t understood the phrase at the time, hadn’t ever needed to apply it in his day-to-day.

“You’re lucky,” she’d said knowingly. “He’s an easy baby.”

Thinking of mudhorns and mudjumpers and the kid’s inability to follow instructions, Din didn’t think it made much sense. He understands it now.

But, no — the Razor Crest, being a gunship and not a nanny droid, was not constructed for childcare. In all honesty, this hadn’t really occurred to Din beyond the obvious.

Until the kid needed a bath.

A bath that his ship does not have.

Din sighs, standing in the refresher doorway and staring at the slim sonic shower compartment. The Child waddles in curiously behind him, leaning on his boot with both arms hugging the ankle. He coos up at Din questioningly. There’s a slight twitch of his ears before he raises his arms. Two chubby fists clench and unclench repeatedly, a familiar demand.

Din promptly bends down to pick him up, angling him face forwards to stare at the offending compartment together.

“It’s a sonic shower,” Din explains. He frowns, wondering how to go about this. The kid smacks his lips idly. “Don’t think it’s meant for kids, buddy.”

Those wide, dark eyes suddenly turn to him with hope, but Din’s already shaking his head. “No.”

The kid blinks, multiple times. Din could swear the little monster’s batting his eyelashes. “No. You still need a bath, you’re not getting out of it that easy.”

In his arms, the kid deflates with a huff. His ears droop so quickly they bat against Din’s chest and quiet grumbles buzz through the cloth of his shirt.

It makes Din smile, part-amused and part-relieved. He’s never been very good at the whole ‘disciplinarian’ thing, especially not with a kid that can move things with his mind. It’s difficult to tell where to draw the line between kind and disapproving. He’s probably leaning more into the former.

“We’ll just have to… figure something out.”

He glances to the left. The sink is built into the wall, a nondescript metal bowl with a drain and tap. Din avoids looking at the mirror above. After so many years under the helmet, it doesn’t necessarily feel surreal. It’s simply odd to have visual confirmation of what he looks like.

The kid squirms in his arms, and Din blinks, slowly placing him back on the ground. He shuffles out of the ‘fresher quickly to whichever corner he’s chosen to play in today, his stuffy brown robe dragging slightly on the ground. Maybe that needs to be looked at.

Din looks back to the sink, figuring something out.

———

For all intents and purposes, the sonic shower is useful. Or perhaps that isn’t the right word, considering it just does what it’s supposed to.

It’s efficient, then. A way for Din to stay clean without worrying about the ship’s current water capacity. Whether it’s actually pleasant or not is another question, but one that’s never been important enough to be asked.

Now, though, Din thinks he’ll need to find a more permanent solution.

The sink in the ‘fresher has its own water supply, true. But it’s enough for Din to wash his hands and shave every few weeks at most. Since the New Republic started cracking down on smuggling circuits, the price of water transportation fit for hyperspace has spiked. A popular medium for diluted spice, apparently. So he’s careful with how much he uses up, wary of the ever-dwindling pile of credits to his name.

He kneels down next to the sink, craning his head to check behind a panel and exhaling sharply with the protesting ache of his neck. It’s a small slot for a liquid tanker, and Din soon realises it won’t be enough to fill a cup, much less the whole basin.

It won’t work.

———

This brings him to the next idea. Somewhat quickly, because the kid seems to have gotten into his head that no water means no bath. That’s probably bad handling on Din’s part.

There are sealed tanks of water stored in a hull compartment. Bulk-purchased and potable, for prolonged journeys and adverse conditions. Tanks that he’s loath to crack open when there’s water available elsewhere.

He lugs one into the fresher, and when he feels his lower back twinge with the effort, he makes sure to bear the brunt of the weight with his legs. Then his knees begin to strain. He sighs.

He passes by the kid on the way, sitting on the floor and gnawing on his metal ball with intense focus and adoration. He looks up at the sound of Din approaching, tilting his head sweetly at the tall canister.

Din takes it as a question, so he answers. “No idea, kid.”

When he does, finally, manage to shove the tank in the refresher and pour as much of it as he can into the sink’s water supply tube, the Child follows. His head turns from the half-empty tank, to Din, and back to the tank. As the ears swish with every movement, like palm leaves twitching and swaying in the breeze, Din watches the gears turn patiently. It’ll click.

Then the kid thwacks a hand on Din’s thigh, and very insistently garbles something with a firm nod. His approval is understood.

Din smiles. Lets it linger on his face, melt in his chest so warmly he can nearly ignore his aching joints. Gently, he places a hand on the little one’s head, rubbing the spot between his ears and eliciting a fond coo. “Thanks.”

———

That good mood doesn’t last very long when the kid realises, eventually, that bath time has arrived.

———

A tragic wail cuts through the Razor Crest.

From where he’s held over the ‘fresher sink, the kid screeches in Din’s hands, kicking his little legs in the air and keeping a vice grip on Din’s sleeves. Even the ears — those huge, petal bat-ears — are wiggling up and down in his efforts to escape.

“Hey,” Din says. He tries for stern, but it comes out mostly tired. “Hey. Stop that.”

The kid is either ignoring him, or just can’t hear it over the racket he’s making. He scrunches his eyes closed with newfound vigour and shrieks so loud it rings in Din’s ears. He winces.

The Crest’s refresher is built into a cramped corner of the hull. Fitted with a sonic shower, privy, sink and mirror, Din’s fairly certain there are graves dug bigger than this.

It’s never mattered before, since Din spends so little of his time in here anyway, but now he’s stuck in a broom closet — a metal one, with solid, echoing walls — with a screaming child.

Din sighs, with feeling. His headache, which hasn’t let up since the jump into hyperspace, throbs heavily behind his eyes and between his ears. For a second, he toys with the idea of turning off the helmet’s auditory sensors.

The kid had more or less been fine at first. From filling the sink to fetching the soap — a standard, unscented brand that Din only really stores for handwashing — to barely managing to tug his robe over those oversized ears. The kid had insisted on doing that last one himself, until he’d stumbled with the shift in centre of gravity and bowled himself over.

He’d been fine, until his stubby, clawed toes first dipped in the water.

It’s remarkable, Din realises as he looks down at the distraught child dangling from his hands. The kid hasn’t really cried for… for anything till now. At the most, Din just gets a dry, unamused look whenever he hasn’t followed the little overlord’s express wishes. Like eating wild frogs off the ground. Womp rat.

Hearing the repercussions now, it might not have been remarkable so much as just lucky. How does one so small have lungs so strong?

“All right,” Din calls. Trying to be gentle yet also heard over the noise at the same time is a challenge, so it comes out somewhat choked.

At his voice, the kid takes a breather. Literally, his round body heaves in Din’s hands, gasping for breath after his tantrum. Din eyes the tear tracks streaming from his wide, dark eyes, and his sniffling little nose. He can feel the kid’s ribcage pushing in and out rapidly beneath his fingers, stretchy like a balloon fitting in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t forgotten how tiny the kid is but — a lump settles in his throat at the reminder.

He feels his face fall. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, unsure of what he’s pleading for but feeling as if he’s wronged the Child anyway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it would upset you so much.”

Whether it’s his tone or the words themselves, something brings the kid to peace. Though still hiccuping, his breathing evens out.

“That’s it,” Din encourages. “Deep breaths.”

He inhales, lifting his head and shoulders slightly with the movement to demonstrate, before lowering on the exhale.

The Child watches him for a moment, blinking wetly, before doing the same. His ears perk up and down with every breath. “That’s it,” Din repeats.

When he’s reasonably sure the Child won’t start bawling again, Din takes a second to rearrange the kid into sitting balanced on his forearm, facing him towards the mirror. With the other hand rubbing circles into the kid’s back, he addresses the reflection.

“Listen,” he starts seriously. The kid looks up, watching the helmet in the mirror’s shiny surface. “I get that you don’t like it. And I’m sorry I upset you. But you need a bath, so we have to figure something out.”

Din swallows, wondering how they’re going to do just that. The kid, in the meantime, clutches the shirt of Din’s sleeve in two grubby claws and starts chewing, not taking his eyes off the helmet for a second.

Just as he’s about to ask the kid to stop, or at least lay off a little so the fabric doesn’t tear, he gets an idea.

———

In the recent past, Din can’t really remember when things last went his way. So he’s almost confused when the third time really is the charm.

“That’s all it took, huh?”

The kid happily ignores him, watching the gear knob through the shallow, mildly-soaped water with fascination. He stares straight down, his ears sticking up like fresh reeds from a pond, enamoured with the sight of his favourite thing underwater. The concentration he uses to roll it around with both hands softens the corners of Din’s mouth.

You’d never guess the little womp rat was raising hell just minutes before.

Fetching the gear knob from outside was a last resort. He’d been grasping at straws, willing to take anything that would calm the kid down.

And it worked. Leading Din to scrub the bar of soap between his hands, trailing suds through the clouding water.

The temperature suits the kid just fine, apparently. With no way to heat the basin, Din had just… waited for it to get more or less lukewarm. Not ideal, not by a long shot. He’d clenched his jaw, uncomfortable and awkward in the face of yet another reminder that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Standing around doing nothing didn’t sit well with him. At one point he half-seriously considered getting the flamethrower out to speed things along.

But the Child, naturally, didn’t seem to mind. He now slaps his hands into his bird-bath pool with delight, relishing in the waves he can create. The pale, fuzzy hairs on that wrinkly head don’t so much as twitch, and Din has to wonder if the kid’s leathery skin has something to do with that tolerance.

A bubble wobbles into the air, fragile and translucent. A dark, watery gaze snaps to it immediately — the kind of precision only reserved for mudjumpers. The kid stills, and the gear knob is momentarily forgotten in favour of biting through the air to catch the floating parlour trick between sharp, pointy teeth.

Pop. Smack on the kid’s mouth. A light burst of soap residue sprays on the kid’s face, and the squeak of a sneeze he lets out pushes him an inch backwards in the basin.

Din can’t imagine how a thing could be that tiny.

“Nice job,” he offers quietly, because a successful hunt is something to be praised. He gives the kid’s face a once-over — with eyes so big, it’s impressive that the soap missed them entirely. The kid whines disagreeably; he evidently doesn’t care much for the flavour. His button nose wrinkles, and he bounces again with a cough.

Din chuckles. The sound rings in time with water sloshing over the lip of the sink.

“Maybe save the hunting for outside,” he advises, patting the kid on the back. The Child looks up at him mournfully, as if to agree, before returning to the gear knob resting by his foot. A new game is begun; shoving the metal ball so that it rolls halfway up the sink’s bowl before returning straight back, like magic. Every metallic scrape brings a new ripple of laughter.

He should be more mindful of how there’s more water on the floor than in the basin, now. But there are always more tanks in the brig.

In a series of excited, comprehensive babbles, the kid begins explaining the rules of his new game to Din, who listens closely. He interjects here and there to show the kid as much, but is otherwise just a spectator to the kid’s lecture.

Then for a moment, without thought, he looks up. Straight ahead, into the mirror. And he almost can’t recognise the sight.

It’s his helmet, obviously. Comforting; beskar gleaming as much as the day it was first given to him. Unchanged. Same height, same clothes.

But his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, baring inches of skin and several wiry scars. The front of his dark, woven shirt is darker still with the water lapping over the sink’s edge, a sodden patch forming over his abdomen. He feels some of it drip onto his boots and the floor. His hands are covered in suds, tenderly but thoroughly scrubbing the edge of one floppy green ear.

The kid, sitting satisfied and unaware with his cherished toy, makes the image look complete.

Din looks at the man in the mirror, giving his son a bath in the sink. He thinks that his image probably needed a reset anyway.

Then, with something caring and delicate fluttering in his chest, he moves on to the baby’s claws. He makes sure to scrub between the fingers.

———

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the child #the razor crest #grogu #grogu djarin #baby yoda #din djarin & grogu #din djarin & the child #din djarin & baby yoda #star wars #the mandalorian fic #star wars fic #gen fic #no ship #except the rAzOr cReSt #haHA i am a comedian #there can be no oceans #my writing #sw #teaofpeach #i am sick and tired of looking at this so you can have it now #proud! but sick

[fieryghxul]

Margaritas, reunions and confessions. [a.h.]

                                    ✧｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✧

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Warning(s): fem!reader – dom!hotch (well i tried) – last season’s spoilers – drinking – cursing – smut –  unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it tho) – oral sex (fem receiving) – slight chocking – a bit fluff at the end.

A/N: hello everyone! this is super random but i came up with this in the middle of the night and i couldn't shake the idea out of my head. i am not a writer and english is not my first language so if there’s any mistake, i apologize in advance. also, this is my first hotch smut so i hope it’s good. enjoy!

                                     ✧｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✧

[March 14th, 2020. 8:30 pm.]

“I have to go but promise me that you’re going to stop thinking about work and that you’re going to have fun these days.” You heard the pleading voice of Penelope Garcia on the phone as you walked out of the bathroom.

“I promise. I love you and I’ll see you when I get back.” You smiled and you knew that she was smiling too.

“It’s a date, angel. Love you more.” And with that, the line went silent.

You put your cell phone aside and took a look at the open suitcases on the bed. You didn't have anything planned but you knew you have to go out to clear your head and relax, things at work have been very stressful lately so when Prentiss told the team about taking some vacation time, you didn't hesitate to get a ticket and get on the first plane you found.

And that's why you were currently in a hotel room in Santorini, Greece. Yes, it seems like a lot, but nothing you can't afford.

A few minutes later, you finished applying some mascara and lip gloss, and took a few steps back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The navy-blue self-tie slit dress hugged every curve of your body perfectly; you paired it with a pair of black heels and a black jacket, just in case it gets cold at night. After taking one last look and smiling slightly at the reflection, you turned to grab your bag and left the room, hoping to have a good night once you were out of the hotel.

                                                       ▪ ▪ ▪

People flooded the streets and it was understandable, the night was really beautiful, there was a light breeze and the full moon was perfectly reflected in the sea. You have been walking for almost 2 hours, taking photos of almost everything and enjoying the night until you came across a bar, the word "cocktail" in the name of the place definitely caught your attention so you didn't think twice before walking into the place.

You walked to the bar and waited for the bartender to come up to you. While you were waiting, you could feel the back of your neck burning, someone was watching you but you didn’t want to deal with anyone yet, so you just ignored it, concentrating on reading the menu even though you already knew what you were going to order.

“Good evening, ma'am. Are you ready to order?” You look up from the menu, a brunette in her 20s is at the other side of the bar was smiling at you.

“Uh, yes, a margarita would be fine.” You ordered, mirroring her smile, and the girl gave you a little nod before walking away.

In the meantime you took your phone out of your bag and opened the ‘bau ladies’ group chat to send one or two of the photos you took a few hours ago with a “next time, i’m bringing all of your cute asses with me.” below them.

JJ was the first to reply, “oh my god, it’s gorgeous!”

Followed by Emily’s “look at that and some of us are still doing paperwork :( get drunk on my behalf please.”

You chuckled under your breath at her text and the margarita arrives just in time, “i’m on it, boss ;) isn't it a little late to be doing paperwork?"

Penelope replies next, “paperwork hahaha what a weird way to spell tara’s name“ and two “PENELOPE!” appear automatically in chat.

“you two are so obvious and spencer owns me 20 now.” You hit the send button before graving the margarita, taking a few sips of it. It takes about 3 minutes for your phone to vibrate again and you were about to answered but you are interrupted by the bartender.

“From the man at that table, ma'am.” She says placing another margarita in front of you and discreetly pointing at one of the tables that were on the patio of the place, you turned around but the only thing you see from the bar is his back. “Don’t worry; it doesn’t have anything weird on it.”

“Thank you...” The bartender walks away again and you stare at the drink, debating for a moment about whether or not to go and face the mysterious man. Fuck it. You decided before putting you phone back in your bag, forgetting about the messages and graving that and the drink before making your way to the table.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat once you reached said table, "can I seat here or are you waiting for someone?"

“Please.” He murmur in a low voice while gesturing toward the empty chair, indicating that you can sit down and a strange feeling of familiarity floods your body at that gesture. You shock your head trying to ignore that before placing your bag aside and sitting down in front of the man.

“I just wanted to thank you for the—“

The words got stuck on your throat and the world seemed to have stopped when you finally laid your eyes on the suited man that you thought you'd never see again.

Holy shit.

You stood still, a part of you fearing that if you moved he might disappear. Your face probably showing clear signs of confusion and shock as Aaron Hotchner sit right there in front of you.

He still looked serious and intimidating, his gaze reimaging cold to those who didn't know him and you remember all of those times you teased him about being a robot, there were times when you actually managed to make him laugh.

Yet at the same time there was something different about him. There was a different glow around him, he seems more relaxed and you could see it in his expressions, even in his posture.

“Hello, Y/N.” Hotchner said, voice still low but strong enough to bring you back to the present.

“Hey.” You said, still processing the fact that he was here with you and in the most unexpected place. “I, uh, it’s been a long time.”

“Almost 3 years.” He said before taking a sip of the glass that rested on his hand, you assumed that it was scotch.

3 years in 6 months, 13 days, 1 hour and 65 seconds. Give it or take.

“Almost, yeah… so what are you doing here?” You asked, “I mean, you were more a city type of guy.”

“I still am, Y/N, but Jack and Jessica insisted on me going on a little vacation because apparently it’s been a while since I had some ‘me-time’.”

Your face light up a bit at the mention of the kid, Hotch noticed it. “How’s Jack? I can barely remember when the last time I saw him was was but he must be so big now.”

“He’s 14 and almost as tall as me.” A smile appeared on Hotch's face, he didn't used to smile a lot and you thought it was a bit normal considering the work that you two shared, but those times that he did you used to felt butterflies in your stomach. Still do apparently. “What about you? What are you doing here? I mean, you were more a city type of girl.”

You chuckled softly when you heard him repeating your words and you shrugged slightly, “I'm having some vacation time, it's rare to have free time at the BAU, you know? So when you do, you take it without thinking twice.”

“How’s the team doing?”

“Good. We're working on some things, going through a few changes, the usual I guess.” This time it was you who drank, taking a long sip of the margarita that was still in your hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you want to hear me talk about it?”

“Of course, unless, do you have somewhere else to be, Y/N?”

“Not anymore. We might need a few more of this though.” You pointed to the drinks on the table and flashing him a smile, catching a glimpse of his before calling the bartender and ordering another round of drinks.

And then you started talking, Hotch listening carefully to every word that came out of your mouth. You started with the cult that kidnapped Spencer and Garcia and then launching into the saga of the Everett Lynch a.k.a "The Chameleon", you mentioned how Emily is now shortlisted to be the next FBI director and how she would name JJ as the next unit chief of BAU unit, but that remains to be seen; you also talked about Garcia leaving the team to work in Silicon Valley and Hotch noticed the sad tone in your voice when you mentioned that but in part he was happy that everyone was moving forward with their lives, making new decisions and following different paths. You continued with Spencer being a consultant and teaching at the same time and finished with Rossi getting married again then talking about retirement but not fully doing it.

“That’s because Rossi’s never going to retired.” You and Hotch said in unison, laughing after noticing that.

“A lot of things had happened then.” He said, not very surprise and titling his head to one side, you nodded mutely. “But you forgot of someone, Y/N.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you. What about you? How are you?” He asked, his tone of voice changing to a concerned one.

“Oh… I, uh, I’m good.” You began but more hesitant this time, “I will never get used to the changes but its part of life so I just have to suck it up and live with it. I don’t have an outer motive yet so I'm not leaving the BAU, that's for sure. I always knew that that's where I belong and I can’t even bring myself to think about other options.”

“You have always been an important asset to the team, Y/N. The BAU is still lucky to have you.” Hotch said, still sounded like the boss but you didn’t comment anything out loud about it. Instead, you smiled kindly at him and both went silent after that, staring at each other every now and then and finishing the rest of your drinks. It was a comfortable and familiar silence, one of the many that you two used to share while working together in the office or in the long nights in the jet after finishing a case.

Your gaze swept over the bar, noticing the few people that was still there and the employees staring to clean up the place. You took at deep breath, pulling out your wallet.

“Well, Hotch, this was fun. Unexpected but fun.” You left some money under your empty cup, paying for your part of the drinks and Hotch did the same thing. “I should get going now, so—“

“Let me walk you over to your hotel.” He cut you off, grabbing his blazer from the chair and turning to look at you.

“Hotch you don’t ha—“

“Please, Y/N. I insist.” He said and his voice serious once again, just like when he used to get too bossy with the team but with a smile that contradicted that tone and you couldn’t say “no” to that.

“Alright, Sir. Let’s go.”

You grabbed your things and started walking out of the bar, Hotchner walking behind you.

                                                          ▪ ▪ ▪

The walk back to the hotel was shorter than you thought; maybe it was because you were so focused on Hotchner and the small talk that you stopped paying attention to your surroundings.

“Thank you, Aaron.” You murmur while grabbing the room key from you bag, “But you didn’t have to come up here though.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

You could tell he wanted to say something, but he didn't dare to do it and it doesn't feel good to pressure him, so you settled for just smiling at him.

And in that moment, standing in outside of you room and looking closely at him, you realized how much you missed him. You didn’t admitted that out loud after he left the BAU, you couldn’t do it because you also never fully admitted your feeling for him. Partially it was your fault, feelings were never your thing and you were afraid of what might happen if you confronted him about it so looking for excuses and reasons to not doing it always seemed easier.

For a while you truly did believed that it was just a stupid crush on your boss, something temporary, until the days turned into weeks and then months, years even, but then… he was gone.

You couldn’t really blame him for that though; he had a good reason for leaving so suddenly.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Hotch finally mumbled.

You looked at him in confusion, “For what?”

“Leaving.”

“You did it to protect Jack; it was the right thing to do.” You reassure him with a smile, you unconsciously took his hand in yours. He didn’t pull away. “Don’t ever apologize for keeping your son safe, Hotch.”

“I know, choosing to be a full time dad to Jack is something I do not regret. It was something that we both needed it, especially after everything that happened with Haley.” You gulped at the mention of the name, remembering how devastated he was after her death. He took a deep breath, “But what I am trying to say is that I am sorry I didn't came back to you or the team, I should at least have called to let you know that we were fine but I got so caught up with the mundane life that it was a little too late by the time I realized about everything I left behind.”

To you.

Those two little words echoed in your head as you look at those chocolate eyes that used to drive you crazy without knowing it. You noticed that he was even closer now, slightly towering over you. It’s now or never, Y/N. You thought to yourself before speaking.

“I waited for you. I never told anyone but for a whole I waited for you to come back, hoping one day to see your demanding self in an expensive suit walking through the BAU doors again but deep down I knew that eventually I had to let you go.” You let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding until now and smiled sadly, “That was easier said than done considering that I never stopped thing about it, about you. Because the true is that I loved you, Aaron. Maybe I still fucking do… but I doubt that this makes any difference now because maybe you never saw me in the same way that I saw you or just because it’s a little too late now.”

You finished and Hotch frowned, probably processing what you just admitted to him. He was silent for a few more seconds and you took it as your cue, letting go of his hand and turning around to open the door of you room. “I had an amazing night, thank you. See you around.”

But before you could even step foot in the room, you felt his hand grabbing your wrist and your chest hitting his. The next thing you knew after that was that his lips were on yours.

Aaron Hotchner was fucking kissing you after admitting your feelings for him.

He pulled away before you could react properly, keeping his eyes fixed on yours; this time he looked at you in a way that you had only fantasized about until now, there was love and lust on them and you could feel it, just all those feelings that you tried so hard to keep locked in the deepest part of you.

And that's all you needed before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him again, in a matter of seconds you two were inside the room. His lips were warm and the kiss quickly turned into a desperate one once the door was locked behind you, you could already feel yourself melting in his arms.

You didn’t even realize how it happened, but in one quick moment you were being totally pinned against the door with Aaron holding you by your thighs as your legs were wrapped around his waist. The position was now lifting your short dress, leaving your thighs even more naked but you didn't mind considering that now you could perfectly feel Aaron's hand caressing your hot skin. You move your hands from his shoulders to his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stripping him off it, dropping the piece of clothing somewhere in the room. As you were doing that, he broke the kiss and moved his lips to your neck, nipping and teasing the area just under your ear, turning you into a moaning mess almost immediately. The sounds being like music to his ears.

“Aaron , please.“ You moaned, this was good but you need it more. You needed him.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He asks, slightly biting the skin of your neck and you bite your bottom lip.

“Please, Sir. Fuck me.” You let out, noticing a sparkle in his eyes that you've never seen before and that only turned you on even more.

“Since you ask so nicely…” He said before walking to the other side of the room where the was a big bed in the center of it, Aaron kissed you lips and put you down in front of him, his hands moving to the zipper of your dress. “Are you sure about this, Y/N?”

“You’re kidding, right?” You asked and Aaron stares deeply at you, the sudden seriousness on his eyes making you gulp. You nodded.

“Words, Y/N. I need words.”

“I’m sure of this, yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Fuck, he was hot.

“Yes, sir.”

He bent down, his hands working on your zipper as he whisper “Good girl.” in your ear and you bite your lip once more, muffling down a moan.

He finally pulled down your dress, tossing it onto the floor completely and leaving you with only your red lace underwear; you weren't wearing a bra tonight, so you were much more exposed to him than you thought. He took one really good look at you before throwing you onto the bed, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Guess that we’re done playing around.

He kneels down on the bed, moving your legs with his knees and positioning himself between them. His hands are caressing your legs again, making their way up to the sides of your body and he leans in, kissing you again, your hands flew up to grab his hair, eagerly responding the kiss. You didn’t care how needy you seem right now, you’ve been waiting year for this, fantasizing about it, and now you had it, not really knowing for how long and that only gave you more reasons to enjoy every second of it.

“You know?,” Aaron began, his lips leaving yours and making his way down your neck, placing kisses all over your skin, “if I had know about how much you wanted me, I’ve would done something about it earlier.”

“Yeah?” You asked, arching your back as he bites one of your nipples gently, his other hand working on the other one.

“I would've pinned you down on my desk and take you right there on the office, baby. Not caring about anyone who could hear us.” He casually said, like he thought about it before and you moaned. You definitely thought about that particular situation too.

When he finally reached the place where you needed the most, he stopped and you were about to complain but Aaron shut you up by grabbing your ankles and yanking you down the end of the bed. He kneels again, parting your legs a bit more, placing one of your legs over his broad shoulders and kissing you inner thighs, slowly making his way to your soaked panties.

“I barely touch you and you’re so wet for me already?” Hotchner asked teasingly, rubbing circles with his thumb on your clit but over the fabric before taking a hold of them and ripping them out. And with no more words, Hotch held both your legs open and buried his face between them, making you moan in a matter of seconds.

He swept his tongue over you pussy swiftly, tasting my arousal first and groaning again your skin. A shiver ran through you as he stared circling your clit with his tongue and then moving down between your folds before going up again, alternating his speed and pressure.

When you thought that it couldn’t get better, Aaron proved you wrong by teasing your entrance with one of his finger and looking up at you, locking his eyes with yours. He wanted to see your reaction. You try to maintain the eye contact as he slowly started pumping his finger in and out of you, curling them an hitting the right spot, a string of cursings leaving your mouth.

It didn’t take much for your legs to start shaking around his head, the knot forming on your lower stomach.

“I’m- fuck, I’m close.” You breathed betweens moans and just when you were about to reach your high, he pulled away.

“Hold that thought, sweetheart.” He shortly kissed your mouth and you tasted yourself in his before he got up off bed, his hands immediately went to unbuckle his belt and now you took your time to watch him. From his messy hair, to the red marks on his shoulders caused by your heels -oops- and then stopped at the large bulge formed in his pants, you groaned at the sight of that.

Fuck, he is big. God, if you weren't so desperate to feel him inside you, you wouldn't hesitate to drop on your knees and start sucking him.

“Do you like what you see, sweetheart?” He asked with a smirk on his face while taking off the rest of his clothes.

“Just fuck me already, please.” You begged and he positioned himself between your legs again, but he was hesitant. “Hotch?”

“I don’t have condom on me and I doubt that you have one, Y/N. I’m clean but if you—”

“I’m clean too and on the pill so don’t worry.” You smiled at him and gave a little nod.

And apparently he was as desperate as you because at all at once, Hotch took grip of your hips and pushed inside you. You immediately arched your back, moaning loudly in both pain and pleasure, your hands grabbing the sheets at your side. You were surprise that you didn’t ripped them apart yet.

“Fuck, Hotchner.” You screamed and he didn’t move for a few seconds, letting you adjust to his size. He really is big.

“You’re so thigh, baby.” He moaned in your ear, the raspy voice sending shocks straight to your core. He was capable of making you cum by just talking.

That’s how much power he had.

And then he finally started moving, pounding in and out of you slowly at first and working his way up, picking up a pace that had you both groaning and moaning.

“F-fuck, Y/N. I love hearing you scream my name.” His lips attacked your neck again and you threw your head back against the pillows, giving him all the space that he needed to play with your neck. And he took this as a perfect opportunity to sneak his hand around it, squeezing under your jaw around enough for your eyes to roll back in total pleasure as you instinctively wrapped your finger around his wrist, holding him in place. You didn’t expect him to be into chocking but you were definitely not against it.

“Harder, S-sir. Please.”

“You’re taking it so good, just like I expected it.” He growled, pulling away enough to look at the whimpering mess that you were right now, his hand never leaving your neck as he pounded even harder into you with every word. “Calling me ‘sir’ and everything, I didn’t even had to ask you to do that. You’re such a slutty responsive whore for me, aren’t you Y/N?”

The sudden dirty words coming out of your ex-boss’s mouth did nothing but to turn you on even more, if that was possible at this point. You weren’t able to form a proper sentence so you limited to nodding and moaning his name. He didn’t like that.

“I asked you a fucking question, sweetheart, answered it.”

“Y-yes, I am, S-sir.” You chocked, the knot on your stomach forming once more and by the way that his pace flickered you knew that he was close too. “I’m close, Aaron.”

“Then cum for me, baby.” He commanded, continuing his thrusts and you were already oversensitive from his earlier work so it didn’t took you long before you started clenching around him.

“Fuck, Aaron.”

“Say it louder, Y/N.”

“Aaron!” He bottom out inside of you again and you moaned loudly one last time as your body reached its limit, hitting your climax with every nerve in you tired body.

“That’s a good girl.” He said between moans, his dick twitching softly as he release himself inside of you with one last and hard thrust.

He let go of your throat but didn’t’ pull out immediately after that. His breathing was a little erratic, his lips were red and swollen, and there was a thin layer of sweat all over his body. He looked disturbingly hot.

Of course he did. He’s Aaron fucking Hotchner.

It was as if these last 3 years had never existed.

Neither of you said a word as he slowly got up and walked into the bathroom of the room to grabbed a wet towel to clean you up, doing the same thing on him before putting back his boxers, you didn’t have the strength to grab your clothes so you just put the sheets of the bed on top of you, covering you nudity.

“Oh, sp now you’re shy?” He snorted, chuckling softly and you smiled.

“Shut up and come here.” You patted the bed and he didn’t hesitate on laying next to you, wrapping his arms around you. You felt safe, like there’s was nowhere else you rather be in that moment.

“Thank you.” He whispered after a moment breaking the silence, his face resting on your shoulder.

“For what?”

“For all of… that.”

“You’ve always have such a ways with words, Hotch.” You chuckled as you looked down at him. “Thank you for ordering my margarita in the first place.”

“It was a pleasure.”

“It really was, wasn’t it?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him in a playful way.

“How long are you staying here, Y/N?” He finally asked and you let out a tiny sigh at the question.

You knew you weren't here for a long vacation and neither was Aaron, you two have your lives outside this room , but being here now felt so good and peaceful. So… right. This, also, was probably a one-time thing, something that was destined to happen eventually, no matter how long it took.

But you didn’t want- no, you couldn’t face the fact that you may have to let him go again. Especially not after what just happened. I mean, how could you?

And little did you know that Aaron was feeling the exact same thing.

“Enough not to have to worry about it right now.” You answered with a shrug while your fingertips trace invisible circles on his back.

“Good. I can live with that, for now at least.” And then he broke the comfortable embrace by getting up and out of the bed, you furrowed you eyebrows and he extended on his hands towards you, “Come on, let’s take a shower so we can sleep properly.”

“Yes, sir.” You took his hand, getting up with his help and trying your best not to limp as you made your way to the bathroom, “By the way, where are you staying while you’re here?”

He turned around at the question, pulling you closer to him and softly kissing your lips before using a more serious tone to say, “In the room above this one.”

Of course he was. You thought while you watched as he began to prepare the bath for the both of you.

Funny how destiny works sometimes.

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x y/n #hotchner imagine #ssa aaron hotchner #sorry if this is a bit out of character #i try my best #thanks for reading

[wizkiddx]

honeymoon morning

Honestly I apologise in advance bcos this is pure sickening, god awful fluff. It’s shit bit fluffy af and warmed my cold heart of stone a little ahah. Kinda imagined that its actress!reader too, but doesn’t acc have to be (oh and for the purposes of the story also married Haz off to the readers best mate). On a real, really didn’t excute the idea the way I wanted but hey-ho. T x 

Summary: the morning after the wedding and there are some beans to be spilt in between all the happiness

The best morning of her life. Y/n knew it would be just that. I mean, it already was - she woke up in the arms of the man she loved, that she could now call her husband forever and ever. Tom looked glorious; still asleep as he lay on his back, slightly tilted toward her side and his arm outstretched as if he was waiting for her to come back to bed and join him. Even unconscious, Y/n still wanted to please him in everyday possible so she did just as he wanted. Tiptoeing from the doorway on their ensuite, she pulled the cord of the white silk robe slightly tighter round her stomach. Before she lay down next to her husband, she smiled gently and pulled her still wet hair to one side, smelling like apples of the hotels free sample shampoos. As if rehearsed, as soon as she settled on the white pillows, ontop of Tom’s outstretched arm, he rolled almost ontop of her, throwing his other arm over her side and squeezed. Y/n couldn’t repress that little giggle his actions illicited, making the brunette around her groan and mumble something incoherent meanwhile pressing his head further into her hair. 

Which made him pull back and slowly blink awake with a scowl. Her hair was still wet. 

“Hi husband” She grinned, loving the way his scowl at being awoken morphed into this shit eating smile. 

“My beautiful wife huh?” Tom tucked a clump of damp hair behind her ear before letting his palm rest on her glowing cheek and just staring into her seemingly ever changing eyes. No matter how many times he looked into them, Tom always managed to see something different and exciting in them. Something else to fall deeply and helplessly in love with. 

“Yesterday was…”

“Everything.” Tom finished off for her, before pressing his lips to hers as she shifted to lean over him. 

“Uh-huh. But now it’s today. Which means… you gotta get up!” She eventually got to the point, sitting up and therefore avoiding his second attempt to meet lips, once again making him pout. 

“Is it too much to ask to just spend a day in bed with my wife?” His wife. Boy did that sound like music to her ears.

“Yes because everyone is waiting downstairs for us at breakfast!”

“They can wait there till tomorrow for all I care.” Indignantly, Tom closed his eyes pretending to go back to sleep.

“And… because I got you a marriage present.” That got his attention. Eyes flying open, as he pushed himself up so he was sitting against the headboard of the big four poster bed, Tom looked quizzically at his wife. His wife. 

Giggling at his oh-so-predictable reaction, Y/n leaned off the bed to pickup the small gift wrapped box on the floor.

“Y/n you really shouldn’t have I didn���t know we were doing this-“

“Oh shut up and open it would you?”

“Unless this is a toy for… you know, then you really should have.” Even half asleep, Tom still had something on his mind.

“Tom! Just open it before you ruin the moment anymore.” She wasn’t really mad. She was smirking and jokingly rolling her eyes at his idiocy. He was her idiot though. With a confused look, Tom followed her instructions, carefully unwrapping the silvery gift paper to reveal a navy blue velvet box. He looked up momentarily to question Y/n, who just gestured for him to open it. Going at a painfully slow speed, he lifted it up to reveal an old and tattered watch. It had a cracked glass front yet Tom could still see the ‘Rolex’ logo branded onto the face of it. 

Not going to lie - he was confused. Y/n knew he already had multiple nice watches he wore regularly. All of those were in better nick than this. 

“I umm-“

“It’s an old Rolex. I thought you could do it up like your dad did for you.” She whispered, with this massive smile just because she knew Tom still didn’t understand.

“Oh I er… I mean I could I’m not sure-“ Tom stammered, she seemed so proud of herself, yet he couldn’t really understand why and didn’t want to disappoint her. To be fair him being a bit slow wasn’t an uncommon thing, Tom would hold hid hands up and admit he wasn’t the smartest. Whereas and completely unknown to most people, Y/n was really really clever, I mean she was nearly going to be a doctor. That was one of the things Tom absolutely loved too, the way she would be able to make leaps and figure things out the average person would just stare at confused. So fair to say, she was used to explaining things to him. 

“You know your Dad gave it to his first born on their eighteenth, your eighteenth birthday. And I thought you could do with all the 18 years because I dont fancy you as a professional watch-fixer.” Tom was still absolute clueless, waiting for more of an explanation. 

“18 years?” The number seeming a bit random but oddly specific to Tom.

“Well you know… 18 years from now when your son or daughter turns into an adult. When they aren’t our little baby anymore.” She whispered, taking his hands in her and pressing it against her ever so slightly bloated stomach. 

And then finally it clicked. His eyes grew impossibly wide, pressing lightly on her silk-clad stomach as he sat forwards.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Tommy we are going to be parents!” She smiled whilst nodding, totally enamoured by the look of sheer joy on his face. 

“This isn’t a joke right?”

“No I swear to you. 12 weeks yesterday.”

“You’re serious? We’re going to be parents?” Y/n just nodded in response this time, before instantaneously Tom’s lips were on hers, pouring all the passion and love and excitement that he could on her. After a few moments they pulled away, yet keeping their faces impossibly close.

“I love you”

“I love you and… well I love them too.” Y/n was so in love with the man in front of him. He just was going to be the best Dad in the world and there was no-one she would rather start this journey with. In complete honesty, yesterday the first thing she’d wanted to do when she saw Tom standing at the altar was tell him. It had been impossible, the last weeks of keeping ‘shtum’. But she’d only found out when she noticed she was 3 weeks late on her period, by which point Tom was away filming. They’d agreed that so they both had a quality honeymoon, to finish any backlog of work before the wedding, so it was a 8 week holiday with just the two of them. It had also made the reunion that much better, having been apart for almost 2 months before the wedding. 

“You want to see them? I had the scan really early yesterday morning?” It was an unnecessary question, as soon as Y/n even mentioned it Tom bolted up like an excited puppy. With a knowing laugh, Y/n then slipped her hand under the pillow to produce the little white card and offering it to him. Tom took the card, while with his other hand pulling her flush with his chest so she was sitting half on his lap. Slowly Tom lifted the front of the card, to reveal the black ultrasound print. For all he knew that could be an ultrasound of elephant dung; but the fact that he had it on good authority it was his wife and baby, Tom swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Knowing he was more than hopeless at this, Y/n took him through slightly different blobs on the picture, demonstrating the head, an arm, a foot. 

“Why didn’t you tell me though? You had to do this by yourself?”

“By the time I found out myself you were already in new york and… well its not something to say over the phone is it?”

“Y/n as perfect as this is, you could’ve sent me a text for all I care. I wouldn’t have let you do this on your own! Have you been sick or-“

“Not technically on my own… don’t be mad but Y/f/n was there when I took the test, she was the one who said I should.”

“I should’ve guessed that to be fair” Tom rolled his eyes playfully, of course Y/f/n knew they were basically joint at the hip. She probably sensed it with her best friend powers.

“And yeh mornings aren’t very fun but thats supposed to ease now we’re over the first trimester.”

“I-fuck I don’t know what to say… I just love you.”

“And that is all I’ve ever wanted.” She whispered against his lips before they connected once again. It was just so full of gentle, care and love for each other. The moment was just perfect… until her phone rang. 

Y/n pulled away, receiving an almost whine from her husband, reaching to answer her phone. 

“Hey… yeh yeh I know we are on our way, just had some news to spill… I think he’s happy yeh-“ she giggled, as she watched Tom gently pull back the sides of her robe to reveal her belly. At only 12 weeks, she was barely showing at all but now Tom looked he didn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed last night. “-… I’m not sure let me check hang on” Y/n spoke into the receiver again, Tom already knew the moment it rang it would only be Y/f/n. Only she would have the audacity to interrupt the couple the morning after their wedding. 

“Tom so… I kind of made arrangements just incase, because this is a pretty good time just because everyones here. But I figured you might want to keep it a secret for a bit when its just us that know?” He looked toward the window, apparently deep in thought, before turning back to her. 

“I’m spoiler king right? Might be safest to tell them before I explode.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeh course, you know I can’t keep a secret, one look at Haz and he’ll know something is up”

“Actually he might already know too-“

“WHAT”

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #actress!reader #harrison osterfield

[stillness-in-green]

Ahistorical, Absurd, and Unsustainable (Introduction and Part One)

An Examination of the Mass Arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front

INTRODUCTION

The title states my premise here: the breezy way My Hero Academia presents and resolves the mass arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front is ludicrous. If taken as presented and allowed to stand without being further addressed, it serves as a breaking point from which the series will be incredibly hard-pressed to recover. Why, you ask?

From a logistical standpoint, it strains credulity. From an ethical standpoint, it suggests deeply troubling problems with the state of Hero Society. From a thematic standpoint, it unravels whole portions of the narrative’s spine. I’ll be looking at each of these facets in turn to discuss the questions they raise which My Hero Academia has not yet seen fit to answer. Many in fandom don’t seem to be thinking about it too hard, so I’d like to lay out—in exhaustive detail—all the reasons I find this plot element so wildly out of touch with causal reality.

Please note that while they are discussed when relevant, this essay is not principally about the named characters in the League of Villains or the erstwhile high command of the Metahuman Liberation Army. The sorts of consequences Shigaraki Tomura or Re-Destro would and should be facing in a courtroom are orders of magnitude beyond what Random Liberation Warrior X would be, but it’s the mass numbers of Random Liberation Warrior Xs that this essay is most concerned with, as they are the ones most in danger of being swept under a rug and forgotten by the series in its current state.

Further, be advised that this essay in its full form is both very long (about 21K words excluding Sources and Further Reading) and will contain extensive discussion of real-life Japan—comparisons to historical events, minutiae of its legal and carceral systems, and general cultural views on criminality. This will include references to imprisonment, government oppression, and incidents of terrorism both real and in the context of My Hero Academia.

Being as it is about quite a recent event in the series, it will also contain heavy spoilers all the way up through the most recent chapter as of this writing, Chapter 310. It likewise contains spoilers for the spin-off series My Hero Academia: Vigilantes up through Chapter 95.

The essay will be posted in parts on tumblr and in full on AO3. For the tumblr posting, I will provide links to other tumblr posts as I reference them; however, as I would like this to actually show up in the tags, outside links containing my sources and further reading will be provided in a separate post following the conclusion of the essay.

Lastly, I spent an entire month writing this as a fan who is sympathetic to the villains in general and the MLA in particular. If your response to the very concept of this essay is anything to the tune of, “Who cares what happens to a bunch of disgusting quirk eugenicists?” know that you and I have radically different views on the MLA, and the role of the justice system in general. You are, of course, welcome to read the essay anyway, but, having said my piece about the MLA and their relationship with quirk supremacy elsewhere, I will not be engaging with arguments or gotchas on that subject here.

PART ONE: The Facts at Hand

Before we get too deep into things, let’s lay out the basic facts: how many people are actually involved in the arrest, as well as some comparisons to real-life events to contextualize that number and provide some referents for the issues the arrest raises.

Re-Destro gives the numbers of the Metahuman Liberation Army as 116,516. A lot of people go on to die in Deika, though we’re never given a solid count. The biggest batch we see killed in a single go are the press of sixty or so people Shigaraki decays, then the sixteen-ish Toga drops, though some of those might possibly have had quirks that allowed them to survive. Any number of people certainly died as well simply in the moments we didn’t see, and who even knows how many were caught in the radius of Shigaraki’s last attack.

Further, there may well have been a measure of organization bleed when the MLA became the PLF (though I imagine trying to leave was a very dangerous proposition, giving an additional reason to stick it out on top of the general cult-like mindset the MLA displays); likewise, I find it hard to believe that there wouldn’t have been some deaths at the Gunga Villa, be it from Gigantomachia’s departure, Geten cutting loose, or combatants—be they hero or comrade—overcompensating somewhat in the middle of a chaotic melee.

I suspect it’s overestimating the depletion, but for the purposes of simplicity, let us call it 115,000 remaining members at the time of the raid.[1]

We are told that, in all, 16,929 people were captured at the villa—just about 17,000. 132 escaped in the confusion; this is a fairly negligible number, save for the fact that it includes high-ranking advisors, but not Machia and those of the Front that were with him.

We are further told, and I quote, “Their bases scattered around the country were hit too, and the sympathizers rounded up.” Horikoshi did not provide any solid numbers for this,[2] but if we’re to assume that it is just the rest of the group (more on the logistics of that bit of spycraft later), “the sympathizers” would be 98,000 additional people.

However, 98,000 may be a significant underestimation. It’s based, after all, on a number Re-Destro cites to describe “warriors lying in wait, ready to rise to action.” This begs the question: is Re-Destro quoting the entire membership of the group, or only those who actually are ready to take action? In other words, does his number account for non-combatants? Is he counting young children? I tend to assume the MLA doesn't have a retirement age as such,[3] but if they do, does his number account for the elderly?

How many more people might be “sympathizers” to the PLF insomuch as they are e.g. the six-month-old infant daughter of an MLA couple? What about the ninety-year-old man in the retirement home whose only real act of war these days is tying up the phone line at City Hall to complain about repressive quirk use laws? How about the fired-up fifteen-year-old that was going to get their official code name next month, just in time to join the first wave of attacks? If he’s being literal in his usage of “warrior,” the actual count of the MLA could easily be twice as high as the number he actually gives.

But okay, maybe Re-Destro’s number does include absolutely everyone. Maybe he’s just being rhetorical—maybe, in his mind, even the six-month-old is waiting to rise to action; she’s just going to have to wait a bit longer than the rest, is all. For simplicity’s sake, let’s stick with the numbers we have: a low-end of 17,000, a high-end of 115,000, captured not merely in a single day, but allegedly in the span of a few hours.

I’m sure I don’t need to stress that that is a lot of people. But how many people is it, practically speaking? Is there a precedent? Anything we can look to for guidance on how this kind of thing would go in real life?

Comparative Analogues

The PLF is tricky to categorize for the purposes of real-life comparison, especially compared to how they’re treated in-universe. In some lights, they resemble a protest movement; in others, a terrorist group. Just looking at the way the government reacts to them—and certainly in terms of their combat capabilities—they might as well be an all-out insurrectionist uprising! Below, I’ll examine a handful of historical incidents that cover that spectrum; they will continue to provide useful reference points throughout the rest of this essay.

The March 15 Incident

In the first half of the 20th century, Japan saw a huge uptick in socialist and communist activity, much to the general dismay of the ruling powers. In response, they passed a series of laws commonly referred to as the Peace Preservation Laws, designed to better enable authorities to suppress political dissent and freedom of speech, particularly that of leftists and labor movements.

The Japanese Communist Party was founded in 1922, but outlawed in 1925. This merely drove members underground, however, from which position they pointed supporters towards the numerous other parties with more legally tolerated leftist policies that had cropped up in the wake of the JCP’s dissolution. Following the February 1928 General Election (the first in Japan held with universal male suffrage), those parties supported by the JCP saw enormous gains in representation in Japan’s National Diet. Alarmed, the Prime Minister declared the mass arrest of known communists and suspected communist sympathizers. Accordingly, on March 15, 1,600 people were arrested throughout Japan.

Over the course of twenty years, some 70,000 people would be arrested under the auspices of the Peace Preservation Laws, the majority of them in 1925 through 1936. The laws would eventually be repealed by American occupation forces after WWII, and the JCP allowed to operate openly once again.

The Rice Riots

In 1918, an inflation spiral had driven the price of rice out of control, exacerbating economic insecurity and hardship. Farmers were being paid a pittance of the market value of their crop by rice buyers and government agents, while urban consumers were being charged an exorbitant price for the staple food, as well as a great many other consumer goods, and their own rents. In response, a series of riots ripped across Japan in late July through September. Beginning with peaceful protesting in a small fishing town in Toyama Prefecture, the unrest escalated to involve riots, strikes, looting, even bombing in demonstrations that reached major cities like Tokyo and Osaka. The scope was and remains unprecedented in modern Japanese history, seeing some 25,000 people arrested.

The Sarin Gas Attacks

If you’ve heard of any of them, it’s probably this one. On March 20, 1995, members of the cult Aum Shinrikyo released sarin gas on five different Tokyo Metro trains in the middle of morning rush hour. Thirteen people were killed and over 5500 injured, about a fifth of them moderately to severely so. If not for small errors in the production of the gas and the rudimentary distribution method thereof, loss of life might easily have been catastrophically higher.

Aum Shinrikyo was a doomsday cult, but the motives for that particular attack were much baser than bringing about the Apocalypse: at the time, the organization was under police investigation for its involvement in the kidnapping of a public official. Its leader, Asahara Shoukou, hoped that the attack would divert police’s attention from a planned raid.

It did not do so; police executed raids on numerous of the cult’s compounds, arresting many of its senior members both immediately and over the course of the following months as the investigation unfolded. In all, over 200 members were arrested of an organization that counted its membership prior to the attack as numbering 11,000 people in Japan.[4]

The February 26 Incident

There have been a significant number of uprisings and violent protests in Japan’s modern history; when looking for a representative example, I focused my attention on the military coups of the 1930s and 40s, largely because they took place in what was closest to the modern Japanese legal context.[5] Of that subset, I chose the February 26 Incident for the severity of the government response. The others disintegrated before they could be properly carried out or were met with sympathy for the dissidents despite the obvious illegality of their actions. The February 26 Incident, however, was when they finally became too troublesome to dismiss, and the Emperor himself ran out of patience.

In this period, the Japanese military had become drastically factionalized into two main groups—an ultra-nationalist group, largely powered by a group of young officers, which supported the Emperor and wanted to purge Japan of Western influences, and a more moderate group mainly defined by their opposition to the above faction.[6] Occurring in 1936, the February 26 Incident involved the young officers, believing that they had tacit approval from higher-ranked officers of their own faction, launching assassination attempts against the nationalists’ most prominent enemies in the government (six assorted Ministers and former Ministers in the Emperor’s Privy Council and the Diet) and a bid to seize control of the administrative center of the capital and the Imperial Palace, after which they planned to demand the dismissal of more officers and the selection of a new Cabinet.

The seven ringleaders had convinced eighteen other officers to lend their forces to the attempted coup, a total of around 1,500 men, calling themselves the Righteous Army. Several of their assassination attempts failed, however, and while they succeeded at taking the Prime Minister’s residence and the Ministry of War, they did not manage to secure the Palace. The outraged Cabinet demanded the Emperor take a hard line with the rebels, and by the 29th, the Righteous Army was surrounded by 20,000 government troops and 22 tanks. In this hopeless situation, the officers dismissed their troops; two committed suicide (a third attempted it unsuccessfully) and the remainder were arrested by military police.

International Examples

For obvious reasons, I prefer to limit my examples to events that happened in Japan. However, I will also be briefly referring to a few international incidents of mass arrest, taking place in India, the U.S., and Egypt, respectively.

In the following parts, I'll use these facts and comparative analogues to take a closer look at what readers were told became of the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Part Two

-----------------------------------------------------

Footnotes (Part One)—

[1] Over three months’ time, they likely gained some new blood also, simply in the course of their usual recruitment tactics. You don’t get an underground organization that size by sitting back and waiting for people to come to you, after all. I don’t know a practical way to calculate that, though, so just bear it in mind for when I talk about new members later.

[2] Possibly because he was aware that 17,000 people captured in one fell swoop was difficult enough to swallow without adding on more than five times that number.

[3] We do, after all, see some very aged people fighting in the streets of Deika.

[4] They were considerably more international than you may have heard. They had 50,000 members at the time, some 30,000 of them based in Russia.

[5] The Meiji Constitution was ratified in 1889; universal suffrage (for men) was granted in 1925. The modern constitution was enacted in 1947.

[6] More moderate, mind, in the context of the Imperial Japanese military. Neither of these factions had any time whatsoever for leftist movements, hence all those suppressive crackdowns.

#bnha analysis #bnha meta #paranormal liberation front #meta liberation army #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha spoilers #my writing #plf arrests #stillness has salt

[reynie-muldoons]

'The Art of Conveyance and Round-Trippery' Liveblog!

Sorry this is a few days late!! I moved across the country this weekend, we drove like 13 hours within 2 days and we did a lot of heavy lifting. I'm exhausted, but the boxes are slowly emptying and I've been wanting to watch this episode so gd bad, so LESGO

Over halfway through the season!!!! That's absolutely surreal

1:11 oooh they're getting their royal fitting

1:22 LMAOO WTF 😂😂 Princess Diaries vibes

1:42 ✨CONFIDENCE✨

1:52 Alfonse is a perfect name for that guy HAHA

2:05 Nathaniel, my guy, you've made some points

2:11 "do you feel your power?" POWER RANGERS, GO

2:24 no no hesitation just prolly thinkin bout how he was caught cheatin

2:39 "can you not allow yourselves luxury?" okay fr I feel that I get Nice Things Guilt(tm) too easily

2:52 dayummmm let's talk about Sticky being a hat stall between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, mans is brave as fuck under extreme pressure and loyal to the point of putting himself on the line

3:15 bro Sticky getting some recognition. Love to see it, he deserves it

3:19 "is that a coincidence? Or written in the stars?" IS DR. CURTAIN CATCHING ON THAT THEY KNEW EACH OTHER BEFORE OR LIKEEEE

3:49 WHAT WORD AROUND CAMPUS 😭😭😭 MY BOYS ARE NOT A MISTAKE HOW DARE YOU

4:09 why doess the action of Dr. Curtain putting the sash on them seem so nefarious

4:36 I dont really understand the whole pastel yellow, blue, and pink palette of the school but the boys both look pretty okay in their vest-sash getup

4:42 THE OPENINGGGGG. This shit slaps.

5:41 Kate and Constance look so fucking cute in that shot, dont ask me why but hnnggggg

5:54 sash rope 😂😭 kate, honey, that's a reach

6:09 it might feel buttery, but, my guy, it also looks buttery. It's literally the color of butter. Get yourself some crisco

6:24 I find it kinda interesting that they made up new riddles for the show, I'm almost positive that that one wasn't in the book. Correct me if I'm wrong though

7:03 "I'm not gonna apologize for knowing things" the sass. the ✨confidence✨. living for it

7:03 If they build on that it sets Sticky up really nicely for the arc in the second book where he starts to show off a little

7:15 tiny Constance who is constantly dressed in pink with cute little braids is the perfect medium for the most morbid comments 😂😂

7:55 Martina's hot in her uniform. Can't prove me wrong.

8:15 why does that make me sad 🥺 eat with your friendssss. iirc they only talked about eating at the Messenger table in the books

8:26 dipshits forgot their lunches. Seems Constance is holding the communal braincell atm

8:50 anyone have Guiness on speed dial? Reynie and Sticky have a submission for them

9:25 oh hello this was alluded to in the preview!!! Morse code is compromised, rip

10:05 so are Jackson and Jillson stuck with night guard duty all the time?? They've been outside at night a lot

10:18 ahhhhhh the little blinkie light, stopppp

10:25 MILLIGANNNNN!!!

10:25 so is this the point where he starts staying on the island with them????

10:39 so are they just like "fuck it we'll do it right before sundown" ???? Like Jackson and Jillson are still gonna be on the lookout, they aren't gonna chill just because it's not fully dark

10:50 did the kids.....just not tell them that Mr. Bloom was on the island 😂 nice oversight guys

11:05 MADGE TIME MADGE TIME

11:05 remind me to tell you guys a story about Madge, I may or may not have done something irl a few years ago that would make y'all proud 😂😂😂

11:16 idk why but it makes me so happy that they kept Madge as a peregrine falcon

11:37 Rhonda, my love, you have my heart in your hands

11:46 roll credits

12:05 THE HEAD SHAKE HAHAHAH

12:06 Awww man, I was so excited for Milligan to be on the island .-. He must have been scoping out the inlet

12:07 "they're quite regal" A. I read the subtitles as "legal" the first time and that's somehow really in character for him, and B. IS MILLIGAN GOING TO NAME HER???!? HER MAJESTY???? PLEASE I WOULD LOVE THAT SO MUCH

12:15 his grimace KILLS ME

12:17 the hard cut from Nicholas in a brown setting and brown suit to Nathaniel in a blue setting and blue suit was lowkey striking

12:36 are they looking up Morse code 😳 can you imagine if they wrote down the message and are now decoding it

12:41 omfg all that for a HAT 🙃 I feel stupid

12:51 two things: 1. Those walls are atrocious, and 2. Yeah, talk about Morse code in a louder voice Connie girl, you're just in a public hallway

13:03 I'm sorry but those orange pillar things are not the vibe

13:03 the golden gate bridge called, they want their arches back

13:10 please let Kate climb the tower before the end of season 1. please.

13:22 y'all are about to be flying something else 😎

13:33 cleansing breaths

13:47 OH HELLO MESSENGER DUTY ALREADY??

14:06 what the heck is that teal pole for 😭😭

14:12 blindfold timeeee

I'm so sorry but I'm exhausted, it's 11:30 pm on Sunday night right now, I'll finish this episode tomorrow morning after I get some sleepies

~~

Good morningggg lesgetatit

14:50 "vomit of metal" ashhdjdjd

15:16 a wild Martina appears!

15:36 and if you folks look to your left, you'll see a wild Constance being the voice of reason once again

15:57 "lose the bucket" "I'm not gonna do that" HELL YEAH KATE

16:07 I get not having the bucket on the court lolol, I thought Martina was telling Kate to lose the bucket in general. Like, yeah, good luck convincing her to so that

16:35 show!Kate is much angrier than book!Kate and I'm still deciding how I feel about that. The Kate we've known from the books is a sunshine baby with looots of repressed trauma.

17:03 ......what is that. why is that.

17:11 WAIT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE REYNIE AHEHDJDJD

17:15 HI MADGE

17:41 the grand swell in the music makes me think it's going to go comically wrong

17:51 she's majestic because she's a queen 🥺

18:03 LMAO CALLED IT

18:14 Rhonda and Number Two getting at each other is such a sisterly thing to do 😂😂😂

18:37 ohhhhh? Someone's approaching? Miss Perumal perhaps????

18:45 YEAHHHHH BABY

18:50 PROTECTIVE MOM COMIN IN HOT!!!

19:22 THEYRE SO PRECIOUS 😭😭😭😭 I feel like I've been subconsciously starved for her and Mr. Benedict's interactions

19:36 died at that line in the one trailer

20:00 so Miss Perumal pulled a Sherlock Holmes. Love that for her

20:20 Cheri Tupintown??? Of all the aliases they could pick, Cheri Tupintown???

20:33 "Power in Truth Inc" that HAS to be something Rhonda came up with

21:01 you can literally watch Mr. Benedict realize that this is a woman not to be fucked with and he is CORRECT

21:23 "he's fine. Perfectly fine." At this, Mr. Benedict's pants caught aflame.

21:52 something about Constance sitting in on practice!!! It scratches an itch!!!!

22:19 "incorporate the helix. Live in the helix." Lord Helix is pleased with this offering.

22:26 so what I'm hearing is Kate is going to blow up on Constance for messing with the bucket

23:13 unrelated but Jillson'a shoes are cute

23:29 why does this room give off Johnny Depp's willy wonka vibes

24:13 that looks like a chair from a doctor's office waiting room 😭

25:29 they do be egg heads tho

26:02 baby girl, I have no idea why you're crying at weird art but let me dry your tears 🥺🥺

26:50 SHE FOUND ITTTT

27:27 okay Indiana Jones, go off

27:46 why did that kinda sound like Miss Perumal

28:43 the return of everyone's favorite, "enjoyable"

29:05 not that I'm not loving the ice breaker questions and the one-sided conversation, but I'm not loving it

29:22 oh so we're getting right into it aren't we

29:54 his eyes being open again makes this infinitely creepier

30:36 "where's your proof?" Miss Perumal doesnt fuck around!!!

31:29 you're telling me Constance has been there all day?? And Kate went to find her???? 🥺

31:58 oh so we're getting right to it then?? Kate addressing her independence and trust issues arc????

33:29 NEWS!!!!

33:49 CONSTANCE RIDING PIGGYBACK!!!!!!

34:04 okay, so they opened the murder hole, what are they gonna do now

34:59 Italian? 🤨 m'sir that is so fancy

34:59 fun story I learned Italian diction in college, so I know a little bit

35:16 "take your time" the whisperer says, immediately repeating the prompt to get the answer sooner

35:31 theeeeere it is

35:46 SOMETHING ABOUT THE WHISPERER SAYING "YOU ARE HOME" 😭😭😭 the show really played up the cult shit!!

36:02 Kate being protective of Constance 🥺

36:20 ohhh shit is it time for Connie girl to have double Reynie? Double Sticky?

36:36 STICKY

36:52 "what kind of nonsense?" HAVE THEY NOT ASKED THAT BEFORE THIS?????

37:14 "and your tiny brain can somehow pick it up!!" KATE STOP 😂😂😂

37:16 "I knew you had to be special in some way." WE DONT HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL OF THAT

37:51 she's right, this is disregard for their safety. The show made Mr. Benedict and his team a lot more back-alley and dishonest, and Miss Perumal has every reason to be pissed

38:30 oh good they finally remembered he has narcolepsy

39:38 and the best mom award goes to:

40:38 I was gonna say that this hallway is how I imagined the KEEP in riddle of ages but then I remembered that (spoilers) the Institute is the KEEP

40:46 oh, hello propoganda

41:10 that's the other person Rhonda couldn't contact, along with Mr. Bloom. This has to be the brainsweeping process

41:22 yeppppp

41:44 this dark doctor's office theme gives me horror movie vibes

42:22 ohhhh, so that's how they replaced that scene where the four of them jump in a crate to hide and Sticky drops his glasses in the open

42:47 and so we've come to the part of the story where Sticky and Reynie become infinitely more conflicted

42:47 and since we've reached that point..... can we have the white knight scene? Pretty please? Please Disney I'm begging you-

43:12 so Reynie just figured that out without Constance? :/

44:03 love the manipulation

44:31 I'm sorry, the farm?

44:35 farm and forest????

45:16 "the Emergency has served its purpose" 😳 well okay then murder man

45:39 "one thought, one purpose" the hive mind rises once more

45:48 LOVE THE MANIPULATION

46:07 "what have you done to earn anyone's trust?" VALID

46:26 "please do!" WHY AM I EMOTIONAL

47:06 "we still have the falcon" that you do 😂

47:19 AYYY HERE WE GO!!! Time for Milligan to stay on the island??

47:49 ohhhh Constance, casual telepath strikes again

48:16 "stop it, Kate!" OOOOHHHHH

48:53 that line ("it would be nice to be unburdened") would be funny as shit if not for the fact that Constance is a telepath unbeknownst to herself and can both subconsciously perceive people's thoughts and hear the subliminal messages

49:20 HI MRS. PERUMAL!!!

49:25 wow, she's really going through with it 😳 not that I doubted her, but still, that's dedication

49:39 OH SHIT

50:17 oh, so he's an asshole to SQ too. Got it. Torches and pitchforks? Ready to kick his ass?

50:40 "for the moment, anyway" FUCKIN WHAT

This episode was really good!!! They covered a LOT. I hope Miss Perumal comes back to the group and talks about her findings, I hope Milligan goes to get the kids and they tell him no, and I hope they get that classic 4-person Society brainstorming and binding time that hits that sweet spot

#mbs disney+ #mbs liveblog #the art of conveyance and round trippery #the mysterious benedict society #charity's talkies

[pynkhues]

Good Girls S4 Spoiler Survey Results

Hello! I’ve finally gotten around to compiling the results for the S4 Good Girls Spoiler Survey. Breakdown is below the cut, but one of the things that became apparent is that there are a lot of varied opinions on it!

Interestingly though, we do seem to be a fandom that mostly doesn’t mind spoilers:

Far and away the biggest thing people considered spoilers were major plot points with 43 votes, followed by behind the scenes leaks (runsheets, location shots, etc) with 32 votes. All in their twenties were:

Episode synopses with 26 votes

Interviews with 25 votes

Sneak peeks with 24 votes

Episode promo pics with 21 votes

And then:

General plot arcs with 19 votes

Minor plot points (i.e. returning minor characters like Baby Tyler) with 15 votes

Promos and trailers with 14 votes

General set pictures with 11 votes

There was also a write-in vote here which said:

I'm generally fine with some spoilers and bts, but I really dislike knowing when minor characters return/ shows up! For me that's what "spoils" it!

These ones are pretty even, with reaction posts and episode discussion being the main thing considered post-episode spoilers.

And the major question of this survey is how long after an episode airs do you think content from that episode should be tagged as spoilers, and look, as you can see from the pie chart, there really isn’t a consistent answer for this. 56 people answered this question and the most anything got was 12.

How that breaks down is this:

3 days and 1 week tied with 12 votes each.

1 day was a very close second with 11 votes

2 days and Not at All tied again with 8 votes each

4 days got 2 votes

5 days got 1 votes

There were also two write-ins which were:

1 hour lol

Doesn't matter bc we get it extra late in france. The longer the better but yk. It's only fair to a certain point to ask to tag spoilers imo 

And then the write-in round:

I think the bulk of our GG fandom on tumblr would be considered hyper fans versus casual fans and it is more likely that casual fans would be more leery of spoilers and picky about what they consider spoilers whereas hyper fans are more likely to consume the episodes within a 48-72 hour period of it airing and generally devour any leaks or sneak peeks. I feel like tumblr functions as a more concentrated space where fans have a specific blog for a specific fandom and maybe because this platform is what it is, we don't generally need a longer grace period of spoiler etiquette. Not everyone feels this way though and it differs for everyone but that's my general feeling. I watch when it airs on my own timezone and when I saw people on tumblr begin liveblogging about the premiere I simply got off of tumblr and didn't come back until I watched the premiere.

if spoilers are that much of a deal breaker for you, it's your responsibility to protect yourself and you probably shouldn't be on the internet until you watch because inevitably something is going to get through. waiting 2-3 days to stop tagging is more than enough imo and how I've always seen it done in other fandoms (if people tag at all)

I love spoilers. Let me know if something is worth my time. Usually I won’t even watch a show until I know how it ends so I know going into it how mad I’m going to be. So weird to be following a fandom when it’s active. People sure do love to be pressed. 

I try and wait until the next episode airs to stop tagging spoilers for anything referencing the previous episode. I think it's a fair amount of time for people who plan to watch as the season airs. 

i think spoilers should be tagged the whole week after the episodes airs in general. that’s how all other shows are tagged on tumblr:) 

Yeah I’m not going to tag stuff. I get why people do but I’d rather people just unfollow me. 

I don't really care about spoilers, I'm immune 

In conclusion

There really doesn’t seem to be a consensus on this, so I think it’s up to individual people’s discretion as to what and for how long they tag things, but hopefully this might help people make those calls!

I personally will be tagging most things as spoilers still, but post-episode, I’m going to be tagging spoilers for 3 days. I will though still be, as always, using my episode tags, so people can blacklist for instance 4.02 or 4.03 or whichever episode they don’t want to see content for. I use these episode tags across asks and answers, gifsets, reaction posts and whatever, so hopefully nothing trickles through.

I hope people find this as interesting and useful as I did! :-)

#nbc good girls #surveys #gg season 4

[lilyvandersteen]

The Christmas Guest Chapter 4

Author’s Note:

Thanks to @redheadgleek​‘s Write a Little Every Day project, this chapter is done much earlier than I’d hoped, yay! Enjoy the snowball fight, and Blaine realising that (HUGE SPOILER) he might actually like Kurt for real. Who’d have thought, huh?

Read Chapter 1, Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 here on Tumblr, or read the story on AO3 or FF.net.

Chapter 4: Sweet Surrender

In spite of his nocturnal trip, Blaine woke up early, and decided to dress and get downstairs to see if Kurt needed something.

When he arrived in the living room, Kurt was sleeping peacefully. The snoring had stopped, and when Blaine checked his forehead, he was glad to find the fever had subsided too.

“Good, you must be feeling better already,” Blaine murmured, grabbing the blanket that had fallen off Kurt and tucking him in again carefully. “I’m going to let you sleep a little longer.”

As he tiptoed out of the room, he was greeted by Carole.

“Morning, Blaine! You’re up early!”

Blaine smiled at her. “Good morning, Carole. Yes, I’m an early bird. Always have been.”

“Best let the others sleep another while, or they’ll be grumpy. Come to the kitchen, we can make a nice breakfast for everyone.”

Burt came downstairs as soon as the smell of bacon started to spread.

“Bacon!”

Carole shook her head at him. “Not for you. We don’t want you to have another heart attack.”

“Just one rasher? It’s Christmas!”

“In two days.”

“Oh, come on! Please?”

Carole gave in. “All right. One rasher. But then I don’t want to hear any more complaints about the healthy food I’m serving you the rest of the week. Deal?”

Burt sighed. “Okay, okay.”

Carole winked at Blaine, who suppressed a snigger and busied himself with setting the table.

When he had nearly finished his plate, he heard a groan coming from the living room.

“Ah, Kurt is waking up!” Carole said. “I’ll make him some eggs too.”

“I’ll go see if he’s okay,” said Blaine.

He arrived just in time to keep Kurt from face-planting, and escorted him first to the bathroom and then to the kitchen.

After pouring Kurt a mug of tea and adding a generous spoonful of honey, Blaine sat down again to finish his own breakfast, smiling at how out of it Kurt still seemed. He didn’t seem to be sniffling or coughing anymore, though. That was good.

They made cookies after breakfast, and it made Blaine’s feeling as if he’d stumbled headfirst into a Hallmark Christmas movie even stronger. Kurt was clearly an experienced baker, whipping up two kinds of dough in no time, and letting Blaine eat the scraps.

Then Kurt’s stepbrother Finn arrived, all six feet plus of him, his size and demeanor reminding Blaine of the jocks who’d bashed him into hospital before he transferred to Dalton Academy, and he shrank into a corner until Carole introduced him to Finn and he got a smile and a hug from the gentle giant, who seemed genuinely pleased to meet him.

By the time they had all decorated the tree together, Blaine’s worries had evaporated, and he enthusiastically agreed to a snowball fight in the garden.

He and Finn were having so much fun goofing off that it took some time for them to notice that Kurt had joined them.

Unlike them, Kurt hadn’t chosen to just grab some snow, pack it together and throw it. No. Kurt had chosen stealth and strategy. He’d built a shield he could hide behind, he’d made towering stacks of snowballs and had even fashioned some kind of sling to be able to throw the snowballs further.

He also had deadly aim. His first snowball hit Finn straight in the chest, with so much force that he almost fell over.

“Uh oh,” Finn said. “Okay, man, we’re going to have to team up, or we’re toast.”

The two of them hid behind trees, but every time they ventured forth from their hiding place, they were pelted by such an onslaught of snowballs that they couldn’t get round to launching an attack of their own.

It took Kurt only ten minutes of this to wear them down. By then, their coats and trousers were white with snow and pretty much soaked through.

“Aw, man, this isn’t fun anymore!” Finn complained. “Kurt, why do you always take these games so seriously?”

Kurt appeared from behind his snow shield, his clothes as good as pristine, his stance regal and his eyes blazing with determination. Though Blaine had suffered just as much as Finn and was just as ready to give up the fight, he thrilled to this version of Kurt, who looked magnificent. It lit a flame somewhere within and made him forget all about his freezing fingers and toes.

“Do you surrender?” Kurt asked, his chin up and his back rigidly straight.

And ugh, the steel in his voice made the fire inside Blaine burn even brighter.

Finn shrugged. “I guess. I’m going back in.”

“I surrender,” Blaine answered, not entirely capable of keeping a quiver out of his voice.

Something sparked into Kurt’s eyes, and he started coming towards Blaine without looking away even once, but a mere two foot from him, he seemed to change his mind and veered off towards the house. “Let’s get inside, Carole is going to make us hot chocolate.”

Blaine felt himself deflate. What had he expected to happen, exactly? Why was he all a-tingle like this? And what was this strange energy between him and Kurt?

A sudden gust of wind made him shiver and hurry to the back door. Hot chocolate sounded heavenly.

When Blaine came in, Finn was complaining again, this time about the seating arrangements in the living room. As victor of the snowball fight, Kurt had claimed the big sofa for himself and Blaine, and forbade Finn to squish in too.

“You can take the loveseat,” Kurt said.

“That one’s hard as a rock!”

“Sit on the floor for all I care. The sofa is ours! Come, Blaine! I’ve got your hot chocolate right here. That will warm you up.”

Blaine accepted the mug gratefully, holding it with both hands to get his fingers warm again, and drinking deeply.

Ah, that’s better!

Finn stomped out of the room in high dudgeon to go complain to his mom, but Carole agreed with Kurt.

Blaine saw Kurt grin in satisfaction, and the grin only widened when Finn came back in and found fault with his film choice too.

“Seriously, man? I wanted to watch Die Hard!”

“I won the fight, so it’s my pick.”

“Burt, back me up on this, come on!”

Burt looked up from his newspaper. “We can watch Die Hard tomorrow.”

Kurt added, “Now stop being a baby about this. Either shut up and watch, or go do something else.”

Finn looked mutinous, but plonked down on the loveseat and shut up.

Kurt hummed along with the opening music and pulled Blaine a little closer still. His arm around Blaine’s middle felt both possessive and grounding. Blaine felt the spark from before rekindling, a jittery feeling that made him want to… What? He didn’t even know, but he wanted. Oh, he wanted!  

“What is it?” Kurt murmured. “Are you uncomfortable like this?”

“No, no.”

Blaine wiggled until his head fit exactly into the crook of Kurt’s neck, and then let himself sink into Kurt’s embrace. “Perfect.”

He felt a laugh rumble through him, and Kurt’s hold tightened infinitesimally.

“Good,” Kurt whispered, and softly kissed the crown of his head.

Blaine felt his lips stretch from ear to ear and closed his eyes to bask in the feeling of utter contentment that washed over him.

He couldn’t imagine anything that could ruin the moment now.

Of course, that was because he forgot about Finn.

“Mom, I’m hungry! Can I have some more cookies?”

“You already ate them all, hun!”

“So when’s supper?”

“After the movie.”

“But I’m hungry!”

Finn disappeared to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath, probably to search the pantry for snacks to tide him over until supper.

“Want a chocolate chip cookie?” Kurt asked Blaine softly, holding out a cookie tin and looking very smug.

Blaine burst out laughing. “Is this still payback for Finn putting snow down your shirt?”

“You know it! Also, I wanted to save some cookies for us. Finn ate all the shortbread and the last of the sugar cookies before we even got a chance to have some. Greedy pig!”

Blaine took a cookie and savoured it. “These are the absolute best.”

“Mmm.”

However lovely it was to cuddle up with Kurt, Blaine became uncomfortable after a while because his wet trousers felt cold and clammy and seeped all the heat out of his legs.

“I’m going to put some other pants on,” he whispered to Kurt. “I’ll be right back.”

That promise fell into the water when Cooper called him while he was in Kurt’s room, blathering on and on about all the fancy parties he’d been to and would still be going to.

It took nearly an hour for Coop to stop talking about himself and to ask what Blaine was doing for Christmas.

“I’m in Ohio,” said Blaine.

“But Mom and Dad are on a cruise!”

“Yep. Thanks for telling me about that, by the way. How long have you known?”

“Oh, they told me this summer, I think.”

“Lovely.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Nope. Flew out here for nothing.”

Cooper whistled low. “That sucks. So you’re all alone for Christmas?”

“No, actually, I’m not.”

There was silence at Cooper’s end. Then he asked, “So… You’re saying you’ve been hooking up with Sebastian again?”

“What? No! Ugh. Coop, please. As if! He cheated on me!”

“So who’s with you, then?”

“Kurt. I’m staying with his family.”

For the second time, his reply managed to silence Cooper.

“My boyfriend, Kurt, remember?”

“Um, no?! Now who’s forgotten to tell their brother something?”

Blaine laughed. “Well, it’s recent, so that will be why. I probably haven’t called you yet since we became an item.”

“So… Tell me about him.”

That was all the prompting Blaine needed to start singing Kurt’s praises, and it wasn’t until he’d rung off that he realized two things.

One: he’d referred to Kurt as his boyfriend without even thinking about it, whereas they were only faking a relationship. He’d regret that later, since Coop would tell their mom for sure, and he’d have to hear about it for years.

Two: he desperately wished they could be boyfriends for real. Somehow, in what the Warblers would call a classic Blaine move, he’d fallen for Kurt. Hard. And in a matter of days. There was no way this was going to end well. He was so screwed.

#klaine fanfiction #my fic #The Christmas Guest #chapter 4 #enjoy!

[frostsinth]

Royal Flush - Pt. 8

Part 1|2|3|4|5|6|7 - MasterList - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art (<like a seal xD)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! Omg. This was not how I intended this chapter to go. But the boys take me where they will. I have no control over them anymore.

I hope you guys enjoy! The next part will be... different than this. Can’t say much more without spoilers.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more ramblings. There’s also SO MUCH art of these dorks, click the #Royal Flush to see all of it. DM me if you’re interested in a commission! All the best!

I quickly fixed my posture, meeting my brother’s eyes. Burying every last bit of panic in a mask of perfect stone. His face might as well have been a mirror of mine, a matching set of carved expressions facing each other. Though our physical resemblance stopped at the material of our statuesque expressions. Valerianus was my opposite in most measurable ways; where I was hot-tempered, he was cool. My chin was angular with a rounded point, his was square. My face was clean shaven, his had a polite blonde fuzz neatly edging his face. I wore solid colors, dark but bold. He wore blacks and greys. Where I was practiced in military tactics, he was practiced in manners of state. Where I was trained with melee, he was trained in ranged... But the breadth of our shoulders was the same. The tightness of our jaws. The hazel brown of our eyes.

There were few things I could imagine bringing my brother out beyond the walls of our castle. And none of them were good. I could feel Grier shifting restlessly beside me, and saw the steely gaze of my older brother flicker to him. I dipped my head in deference to Valerianus, remembering myself after the brief lapse. 

“At your will, Your Highness.” I answered, my voice flat even as my mind raced, falling back into court formalities as if not a day had passed without them. “If you would permit me to introduce King Grier.” I turned to the goblin, bowing slightly and extending one hand towards the goblin, who stepped forward at my movement. My tongue halted over the follow up of ‘my betrothed’ which would have been standard. My eyes flicked to him briefly. “Your Majesty, may I present for you Crown Prince Valerianus.”

“It is an honor, Your Majesty. Though I must apologize for the unorthodox nature of my arrival.” Valerianus intoned upon my introduction, bowing slightly, his voice equally drained of all inflection. “It was necessary to keep my identity concealed until I had a chance to speak with you privately, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, Prince Valerianus,” Grier replied, nodding lightly and tilting his head to the side, “As Prince Nikostratus’ brother, you are always welcome here. And it is a pleasure to meet you formally.”

I longed to shift or wring my hands. I itched to ask why my brother was here. My patience could just barely suffer these formalities while my stomach spun knots. I heard equal measures of curiosity in the goblin King’s voice, though less strained than my own, and watched Valerianus’ eyes carefully consider him. Despite our… complicated relationship, I knew my brother rather well. Like all members of court, he was good at hiding his thoughts. But I had become beyond adept at reading the barely perceptible subtle changes in expression and tone. Especially for those I interacted with regularly. It was how I could sense Gareth’s seething anger and hatred with me (and certainly with Grier) even though he kept his face carefully blank. It was why I could navigate the social demands of court better than any other member. And why I could see, laid into the corners of the lines around the Crown Prince’s eyes, a wariness and anxiousness that belittled his outward calm. It made my stomach flip again.

“I thank you for your cordiality, Your Majesty, and am grateful for your understanding.” He returned, bowing his head slightly again. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you as well. And I believe you have already met my escort, Sir Gareth?”

I nearly broke at the useless exchange, my spine tingling with the desire to shift my weight or turn my head. My throat burning with the need to ask him the question pressing into the back of my teeth. But I waited. Waited with all the patience I could muster, practiced over a lifetime of coming second. With my nerves coiling around my chest and my keen eyes analyzing every flicker on my brother’s face.

“Indeed I have.” Came the cool reply, and scarlet eyes barely bothered with a lingering moment on my old guard, who managed a stiff bow. Grier turned back to Valerianus without pretense. “What brings you to our halls, Prince Valerianus?”

I sent a silent prayer of thanks to whomever was listening for the goblin King’s impatience and brusqueness. I saw my brother falter, obviously not used to such a quick switch from formalities to business. Normally, this might have gone on for another few minutes at least. He nodded slightly though, adjusting after a belated moment.

“I beg your indulgence for not sending word ahead, Your Majesty,” He began, and had I not already been as tense as rock, I would have stiffened at his words, “But I am afraid time was of the essence.”

I felt Grier’s eyes shift to me, and didn’t need to look to sense him taking a guarded stance at my side. “All is well with your family, I hope? Your sister?”

That caused a slight stutter in my brother’s mask, and I saw the corner of Gareth’s mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. The question was decidedly direct, as well as specific, and I saw Valerianus quickly sorting through the possible implications of it. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grier’s gaze flick to me again, before back to my brother. A light sparked behind his hazel eyes, and he too spared me a quick glance.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for your concern. Princess Morgana is fine.” He spoke to the room, but I knew his words were for me. “She is in good health and spirits, and speaks endlessly of the letters sent to her.” I saw the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. What might pass for a smile in my family. “Most especially of the manner in which they are sent.”

I would have collapsed with relief had I less control. The corners of my own mouth twitched back at his words, and I tried not to let my mask slip overly much as I thought of exactly how my sister would ‘speak’ of the delivery method. I imagined her delighted little face at the magical pop and sizzle of sparks; Grier had demonstrated for me how it would happen. A fluttering letter, like a paper butterfly, enchanted to appear before her in a burst of color and float down to her hand. Only to become parchment once more upon her touch. I imagined she must have been very ecstatic indeed; I was certain Valerianus had heard about it more than once.

I broke every rule of etiquette I had ever learned to glance briefly over at Grier. Endlessly grateful to him for asking the question I could not. I wasn’t sure if he noticed my glance, or understood the implications. But when I quickly returned my attention back to my brother, I saw his hazel eyes considering it. While I was certainly more efficient at deciphering hidden expressions, my brother was by no means an amateur. I ignored the lump forming in my throat under his scrutiny, and knew that the moment had not gone unnoticed by him even if it had passed over Grier’s perception. I felt my hands tighten behind my back as I wondered what possible conclusions he was drawing in his own mind.

“I am glad to hear.” Said the King, and his relief was much more evident than mine but no less potent. “What urgent matter brings you then?” 

Valerianus bowed at the waist to him, giving himself a moment to recover from the directness of his new question. “My apologies, Your Majesty, but I do not wish to overstep the bounds of our Treaty unduly. Perhaps it would be best if I discussed this with Prince Nikostratus in private first.” He slowly straightened, cutting an imposing figure indeed as he locked eyes with the goblin King. “I would not wish to seem too demanding of your aid on this matter.”

“Your Highness, if I may,” I interjected politely even as Grier began to open his mouth to speak, pulling my brother’s attention back to me, “If, as you have stated, time is of the essence, then I would suggest we not waste any repeating ourselves.” I saw the thoughts swirling behind his eyes again, and met his gaze carefully. “His Majesty has honorably followed not only the letter of our Treaty, but also the spirit-”

“You forget yourself, Prince Nikostratus.” My brother interrupted sharply, and I quickly snapped my mouth shut. There was a momentary silence, where I held still beneath my brother’s scrutiny again. His lips pinched together ever so slightly, and a cold look passed through the corners of his eyes. “I apologize, King Grier, for our Prince’s disrespect. I do hope he has been conducting himself with more dignity during the rest of his attendance here.”

“Your brother has been the epitome of decorum and nobility since his arrival.” Grier replied in equally chilly tones, obviously displeased, and I noticed him cross his arms over his chest lightly, shifting his weight. Valerianus’ brows twitched at that, the only hint to his surprise at such a casual address. “And he speaks the truth now; I would be honored to assist our neighbors in whatever way I can. Regardless of the bounds of our Treaty.”

There was another pause, wherein my brother sorted through the strange social etiquette he now found himself a part of. I would have laughed, understanding his hesitation as palpably as my own when I had been first faced with such a conversation with a goblin. However, I was by far the much more adaptable of the two of us, and I saw him incline his head slightly to Grier. Working to reestablish the order that had been lost. To return to ground that should have been covered initially, then realizing himself wholly unable, and struggling to find the new ground.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He replied as he slowly straightened and tucked his hands into the small of his back. His hazel eyes flicked over to me briefly. “I am afraid I bring poor tidings for our people... A bout of the Rotting Sickness has broken out in our main city.”

A cold dread wrapped itself around my spine at his words, and my heart skipped. “The Rotting Sickness?” I heard Grier echo. “I have heard of this. It is not an illness to be taken lightly.”

Again there was a pause as my brother absorbed the quick and informal answer. There should have been more, in his mind. More discussion, more play of titles and discussion of politics. When none seemed forthcoming, he nodded ever so slightly.

“No, Your Majesty, not at all. The last time we saw it decimate nearly half of our population.” Valerianus replied.

My heart sunk in my chest and my hands tingled with fear. Yet, I couldn’t help but admire the tone with which he delivered the news. Flat, informational, almost indifferent. Especially impressive considering that the last bout had taken the life of his mother… I had been a teenager when my mother had passed. Valerianus had barely been seven years old when his had fallen ill. Though he would never admit it, her death had scarred him deeply. I knew now why he had taken it upon himself to act, before the illness spread too far. And couldn’t imagine this situation was easy for him in any regard.

“Poor tidings indeed,” Grier replied, nodding with the appropriate amount of remorse in his tone and features, “However, and I hope you do not find this overly callous of me, why seek our aid for this?” His head tilted to the side, wild hair flopping about his long ears. “Do you not have enough healers?”

I realized the answer to the same question that had been on my own lips as soon as it left Grier’s. I saw Valerianus’ thoughts working; swirling about in an attempt to formulate a proper and respectable answer. That would eventually, at some point, get around to his actual request.

“It is your magic that he seeks, Your Majesty,” I explained as it occurred to me, and only when my brother’s eyes shot to me did I realize the brusque nature of my answer, but I continued none-the-less, “When last the sickness hit, we had paltry methods to combat it-”

“I beg your forgiveness again, Your Majesty, for Prince Nikostratus speaking out of turn and with such bluntness.” He interrupted me, his deep voice slightly raised. His eyes flashed at me, the most that ever passed for anger with my level headed brother, “I am most astounded at the amount of abject dishonor he casts upon our family. I would like to extend my apologies, humble though they are, and offer whatever I can in recompense of his actions.”

His glare silenced me, and I pinched my lips tight together to hold in the rest of my words. Honestly, I was shocked at myself, and felt a bubble of heat around my collar. How could I speak out so brashly? He was right, I had forgotten myself, and I quietly bit my tongue and bowed my head slightly to show my acceptance of his scolding.

“And I would beg that you do not interrupt my partner when he is speaking,” Came the tart reply, and I nearly broke etiquette again to glance over at the goblin as the corners of my brother’s eyes twitched in concealed surprise, “I have little patience for this banter, as Nikostratus has quickly learned, and he does both myself and your people a service by just getting to the point.”

The silence rang in my ears, and I felt a little spike of warmth in my chest. But I kept my gaze politely trained at the floor before my brother’s feet. I was torn; a small part of me wanted to follow Grier’s lead and speak my mind. To help sort out whatever was needed to aid our people. Before the illness spread to risk further lives. My heart ached for them. However a lifetime under the boot of the human court had me fighting this newfound spirit as a cornered and trapped animal bites at the hand extended in aid. I sensed the goblin King shifting, meeting my brother’s stare with a familiar stubbornness. I tried to look at him out the corner of my eye without moving it. My brother was silent in the face of the King’s reprimanding. I knew he would be struggling to find a response, as by any standards of court I had been exceedingly rude, speaking out of turn. Yet the goblin had defended me, and as King, his word was irrefutable. So what did that leave for Valerianus to say?

Finally, Grier sighed, uncrossing his arms to place his hands on his hips. “You are not at your human court now, Prince Valerianus, but mine. Speak quickly, and try to stay on point.” I saw the three long fingers drum on one hip. “If you seek aid, why could you not simply send word ahead? Surely it would have been easier.”

I saw my brother straighten, almost taking a step back at the continued abruptness of my companion’s conversation. His shoulders squared and the corner of his lip twitched. Gareth behind him looked to grab at the hilt of a sword no longer at his hip. The tension in the room grew a bit more, but I waited until I felt the cool stare of my brother’s eyes upon me to raise my head and meet them. Hazels waited for me, then flicked to the King. Then back to me... I knew the answer. I could read it plain on his face, though I knew he could not speak it without shaming my family and belittling his own presence. My own lips pursed slightly, and a flash of rage rippled through me. But though his expression explained his actions, his eyes also warned me against another outburst. I dared not speak again, unless first spoken to. As was my place. And knew he would not, as it was his place to carry the conversation as the elder brother.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I am not practiced in the etiquette of goblin court.” He began finally, but his voice retained its cold edge. “Nor, I am reminded, are you familiar with the customs of ours. I shall seek to make myself as… plain as possible.”

Grier’s scowl was much more apparent. “If you find yourself struggling, I am certain your brother would be more than adept at apologizing for your shortcomings to maintain the peace he has worked hard to establish.”

I knew Valerianus must be reeling inside, and I took a mental picture of his face to savor for later. It wasn’t often I saw the Crown Prince at a disadvantage. I would be sure to treasure this. He took an extra moment to wrap his head around the goblin’s casual and blunt approach, as well as his barely concealed insult, and cleared his throat lightly.

“Prince Nikostratus, despite his delivery, is correct in his conclusions, Your Majesty.” My brother continued, his tone back to its polite flatness. “I humbly come before you to request the aid of you and your mages, that they may help us prevent the illness from spreading more than it already has.”

I thought Grier might be enjoying himself a little too much, based upon the twitch of his smile and the glint in his scarlet eyes. He must have realized he had my brother off balance, and like a predator circling his prey, he moved in. As he took a step forward, I was suddenly reminded that he was a good deal shorter than either of us. He physically placed himself between my brother and I and had to tilt his head back slightly to keep his gaze. It was an easy thing to forget that he barely came to the bottom of my shoulder with the way he always carried himself.

“And this is the reason that the Crown Prince himself came all the way to my kingdom, seemingly … well, let’s be honest,” He glanced over my brother’s shoulder at Gareth and smirked, “Unguarded.” He cocked his head back to the side, baring his pointy teeth. “I am glad your King has such faith in our Treaty as to send his heir apparent himself. Or perhaps he is so enjoying the spoils of peacetime, he hopes to tempt me with another son? Perhaps I might sign over the rest of my kingdom as well with a new contract?”

Gareth’s mask broke at the implication, freeing his disgusted look as his brow pinched up and his lips curled back into a snarl. The goblin King didn’t spare him a glance, keeping his scarlet eyes fixed on my older brother. Poking and prodding, trying to throw him further off balance. I could see the edges of Valerianus’ own composure twitching, and was put in mind of my own first interaction with the King… not to mention subsequent ones. I resisted the urge to sigh, and took a tiny step forward to my brother’s defense. Very subtly placing myself at the King’s side again.

Grier’s attention flicked to me at my movement, and I met his gaze steadily. I couldn’t let my mask falter. Not in front of these wolves. But I hoped my eyes would be able to relay the message my lips could not. He considered me for a moment, then nodded, sighing deeply himself and waving one hand in the air.

“Ah, but it is not for yourself you are here for, but for your people.” He amended, and I saw the tension begin to leave my brother’s face. “This is something I can understand… I would be more than happy to provide our magic for your service.”

Valerianus nodded, fixing his chipped mask back into place. I noticed a brief glance tossed in my direction, but politely pretended I didn’t. I knew he was surprised. Not only at the prior silent exchange between myself and Grier, but also the lack of additional haggling. His position was obviously desperate. I knew he had fully expected to have to give something away in exchange for the healing magic. There was a pause, yet again, as once more he tried to sort himself out. To return to proper etiquette as he knew it.

“I am… most grateful, Your Majesty,” he began finally, and although to the untrained ear his voice would still sound flat, I heard the slight apprehensiveness to it, “We are of course willing to pay for-”

“I have all I need, thank you, Prince Valerianus.” Grier interrupted, waving his hand. “How many do you estimate have been infected so far?”

Valerianus paused, then turned his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder at Gareth. The guard had not managed to fix his face yet, and quickly bowed to his Prince to conceal it. 

“We believe most of the lower city will have been exposed, Your Majesty, with at least half showing symptoms.” He replied, his tone bitter.

I knew his words were purposefully nondescript to be a dig at the King’s knowledge of our people. To force him to ask a question and therefore prove himself at a disadvantage to our knowledge. But Grier merely ignored the guard as if he hadn’t spoken at all. He didn’t even cast his scarlet eyes in his general direction, and I saw Gareth’s cheeks flush with his anger. He was not used to being ignored in such a way.

“I will send enough of my… what was it you called them? Mages?” He cocked his head to the side, considering my brother. “A full contingent to heal those infected and another to ward the rest of the city against the spread.”

Valerianus brought one arm around to his chest, clasping it across and bowing low. “We are most grateful, Your Majesty. I beg that you would allow us to show our heartfelt gratitude in some way.”

He spoke formally, with the usual flat edge to his tone. But I knew my brother was genuinely relieved. We were vastly different in many ways, my brother and I, from our taste in clothing to our personalities. Yet there was one thing I was more than happy to share with him; our love of our people and kingdom. I knew his sense of honor and duty ran as deeply as my own. Perhaps due to my mother’s influence in his life; she had raised him as her own after all for nearly 16 years. And though she had never managed to have the pair of us get along, and despite his faults... I had my hopes that he would make a great King one day. I bowed my own head, as was expected in such situations, and used the opportunity to sneak a peek at Grier out the corner of my eye. Thankful that he was not only a good man, but a good King as well. Perhaps my brother might have something to learn from him, if he was willing.

Grier waved his hand through the air again. “No need, Your Highness. Seeing your city myself will be thanks enough.”

The silence that dropped on the room could have killed a man with its weight. The lump returned to my throat, yet I forced my head to remain bowed. Even as I sensed Valerianus slowly straightening.

“I… We would of course be pleased to host you, Your Majesty,” My brother managed, “You are our most valued ally. Though of course you must allow us proper time to prepare for your visit.”

Grier scoffed. “No need for that, Your Highness. We are soon to be formally united after all,” I felt the tension in the room tighten around my neck like a noose, threatening to strangle the air from me, “And I will be personally overseeing the warding of the Castle to be certain you are all safe from this horrid sickness. I would not leave such an important task as protecting my husband’s family to an underling.”

My ears suddenly caught fire, and I was glad my head was still politely bowed. I itched to speak, to make some excuse or offer some alternative. I felt the cold, sinking dread returning to trickle down the base of my spine at the thought of facing my father and the court at large. But I felt the hesitation engulfing me, my childhood as a helpless bystander settling my tongue into ever silent stone. I blinked slowly, because I knew exactly how this conversation was about to end.

“That is… most kind of you, Your Majesty.” Valerianus replied cordially, his tones forcibly polite. “We would hardly wish to trouble you-”

“No trouble at all, Your Highness.” Grier quickly interrupted, and I could hear the toothy grin in his voice. “I am actually quite excited to finally be able to meet this King Tiburtius I have heard so much about. My mother told such tales of him when I was a child. I am eager to see if he lives up to them.”

Another deafening silence, another few millimeters squeezed from my breathing passageway. My breath was dangerously thin and shallow now, and my heart raced. But I kept my eyes trained on the ground. Do not speak until spoken to, I thought quietly, repeating it over and over to myself as if a mantra to keep me grounded. It was not my place to speak. I had no doubt Grier would not mind, but knew he would not think to invite me into the conversation. And certainly my brother would think it disrespectful to address me rather than the King, even if only for a moment to alleviate the fast growing tension. He was the Crown Prince, he could not request my aid even if he wanted it. I nearly quivered beneath the pressure to remain silent. Fighting harder than I had since I was a child still learning to hold my tongue in the presence of my betters. Those were lessons hard learned, and not so easily dismissed.

“...As you wish, Your Majesty.” Came the final reply, and my heart sank. Even though I had known it was coming. Even though I knew there was no other possible outcome. “May I ask when we should expect you?”

“We can be there first thing tomorrow.” He replied, his dancing voice betraying his eagerness. “I would not wish to delay any further than that; our magic is powerful, but we cannot bring back the dead.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Your haste is most welcome.” I heard him bow, and slowly raised my head, preparing for the farewells. “I would beg your permission to take our leave then. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

“Nonsense. You are welcome to stay the night, Your Highness,” Grier offered, returning his hands to his hips, “We can return together in the morning.”

My brother dipped his head politely again, seeming pleased with the protocol of the offer despite the informal delivery which allowed him to fall back into standard and practiced conversational responses. “Your invitation is most kind, Your Majesty. However, I am afraid we cannot accept it. We must see that things are prepared for you and your people’s arrival tomorrow.”

“Then I will instruct my secretary to charm your horses. You shall be back to your lands and castle well before noon with this aid.” He returned, and his tone left no room for argument.

Valerianus bowed deeply at the waist. “I am eternally in your debt, Your Majesty,” He returned “For your continued aid and generosity.”

Grier’s grin returned, and he offered his own slight bow. I almost winced. Kings weren’t supposed to bow. And yet somehow, his managed to seem both magnanimous and arrogant. I saw my brother’s eyes flicker over him, and wondered exactly what he thought of my betrothed. I felt the dry lump in my throat shift, desperate to be released. But I held still as the formalities of farewell were exchanged before the Crown Prince turned to me.

He hesitated, and I met his eyes briefly before he offered me a tiny bow as well, as was expected. The look there was unreadable, even by my perceptive nature. Though I suspected it had less to do with my observation skills and more to do with Valerianus’ own muddled thinking. I returned the same bow, and held mine as he turned and strode past. Gareth skirted around behind me to stay at his heels. Grier followed them as far as the door, and I felt frozen in place even as I heard the latch clunk. I stared off at some distant point, not fully seeing anything at all. The numbness spreading through me. The soft click of the goblin King’s boots announced his return even before he slipped into my line of sight.

“They are gone now,” He reassured me, a lopsided smile on his face, “You can relax.”

“...Thank you, Your Majesty,” I managed, my voice barely above a murmur and flat as polished glass, “You are not in any way obligated to provide such aid, but I am grateful you are still willing to.”

I saw him pull back slightly, and confusion filled his heavy brow. Then there was a flash of anger in his scarlet eyes. “Tell me that you are joking.”

My eyes stayed still fixed on some distant point I couldn’t see. “I am not sure what you mean, Your-”

“Stop.” His voice sounded pained now, and I felt an echo of its ache in my own chest. My lips clamped shut, tightening to keep from quivering. “... Why are you doing that again? Speaking like…” He shook his head, and I saw his hands purl into fists. “I am trying very hard to keep my calm right now, but… Haskl’an svrit, would you just-” I jumped as his hands suddenly clamped around my face “-Look at me, damnit!”

I did look, meeting his gaze in surprise. His touch was light, yet might as well have been a bucket of water dumped over me. I felt myself slowly beginning to refocus, pulling back from that distant, glazed look of formality. But my mask was more firmly fixed in place than I thought, based upon the desperation that his eyes darted back and forth between mine with. My jaw tightened, and I swallowed hard. Finally beginning to dislodge the lump that had sat there throughout the meeting. Still, the statue ingrained into my personality lingered, chiseled back into place by my brother’s appearance.

“Talk to me, Nikostratus,” He begged, and his thumbs ran across my cheeks, “What happened?? Did I do something wrong? Just talk to me, please.”

I realized I was still slightly bent at my waist, and slowly uncurled. Pulling myself free from his hands as I straightened to my full height. “... What would you like me to say?”

His brow scrunched up, and a scowl came to his lips as his eyes seemed to flash a deeper shade of scarlet. “Anything. Anything you want. Lecture me on human etiquette and all the rules I just broke. Tell me you’re regretting ever signing the marriage contract. Lose your temper and yell at me. Something! Just… don’t shut me out again.”

I paused, dropping my eyes to the ground. My brain and emotions at odds trying to sort out what I was supposed to be doing. I willed my mouth to open, and felt my lips part slightly. But no sounds came out. Hesitantly, I managed to bring my hands around, and thumbed at my palm. I blinked slowly, and felt my lips slowly close again.

“... I saw it.” He told me softly, stepping closer and trying to slip back into my line of sight. “I saw him silence you. I heard him scold you, just for speaking.” His hand came out, catching around the back of mine still clasped before me. I stiffened slightly at his touch, then winced, disoriented again. “I can’t imagine that was the first time…  I get it now, I think… Why it’s so hard for you.” I froze in confusion as he stepped closer, wiggling his fingers between mine. “... but you don’t have to do that for me. I want to hear your voice. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

I started shaking my head before he had even finished speaking, and sought to untangle my hands from his. My mouth flapped open uselessly, and I tried to still myself. I looked down at my palms and fingers, glanced over at where his lingered in the air between us.

“Just… speak. No filter.” He pressed. “Whatever comes to mind...”

There was another pause while I tried to work up my courage. Tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts long enough to push one out.

“... Why did you do that?” I finally managed, my voice soft. It sounded strange, and distant. As if it came from a different place than my own mouth.

“Do what?” He stepped forward, but I matched him for a step back. “...Offer aid? Agree to help your people?”

I shook my head again, trying to dislodge the haze over my thoughts. “... Decide to go to the castle…” I looked at him, hesitant and uncertain. “Did you… did you even think about it? O-or was it just…” I stopped, hesitating.

“Just what?” He encouraged, though I could hear the edge of pain in his voice. “It’s ok, please. Just what?”

“Was it… was it just another game… another tactic... to gain the upper hand?” I finished, uncomfortable with the words as they came slipping past my guards.

Grier was quiet with that for a moment, watching me as he chewed it over. I wasn’t sure what remains of my composure was left, but stood still under his scrutiny. “...I thought it would make sense to. I thought maybe you could see Morgana again, and… I thought maybe it would be nice to see where you grew up.”

I nodded slowly, rubbing at my palm again. “S-so you did think… you just didn’t think to…” I clapped my mouth shut, choking on the words.

“Nikostratus,” He breathed, sounding exasperated, “Please, just tell me what I did wrong! I thought I was helping! I thought you would be pleased!” He took another step towards me, but stopped short as I took a returning step back. “... I just wanted to make you happy.”

I opened my mouth and closed it twice before I finally managed to work around the lump still in my throat. “You did think…” I repeated, then glanced up at him, “...You just didn’t think to ask me.”

He blinked, then threw up his hands. “Ask you what? What was I supposed to ask you?” I winced visibly at his gesture, and he quickly corrected himself into a less intimidating shape. He heaved a quiet sigh. “... Ok... Then I’m asking now… What should we do? What do you want?”

I took another shaky step back even though he hadn’t moved, and found myself bumping into the back of the couch. I leaned against it heavily, easing the weight off my feet, and my shoulders slumped slightly. I noticed him start to inch closer now, and glanced up at him warily. The expression on his face… It was too loud for my eyes which were still attuned to pick up the minute changes of a stone mask. His pain, his confusion, his frustration. It almost burned me to see it so plainly written across his sharp features. I looked away.

“... I-I… I don’t…” I swallowed hard, digging my fingers into the fabric of the couch beneath my palms. “... I-I don’t want … I don’t want to go back.” I forced the words painfully from my mouth, and almost shuddered as they came out. I dropped my head with the confession, bringing my hands up to cradle it. “I don’t want to go back…”

Then he was there, at my side, reaching up as if to touch my face. But he hesitated, though I wasn’t sure if it was out of deference to me or because my own hands were still covering it. I peeked at him between my fingers, before slowly lowering them again. Keeping my head bowed. I felt my mask breaking down, and it cut me deeply as it fell. I was left raw, and so unnerved I shifted and shook my head once more. If I hadn’t clenched my hands into fists, they would’ve quivered where they rested.

“I-if I say it… I-I’ll ruin it.” I told him softly, my voice weak even to my own ears. I paused, hesitating again. “That’s… that’s what always happens. But… I don’t want to go back… Grier… I…. I like it here… W-with… With you.”

I let him touch me now. I didn’t resist as his hand came up and smoothed across my cheek. “You’re not going back. You don’t have to go back.” His thumb rolled against my skin again. “You can stay with me, if that’s what you want.”

“... I-I…” I shivered, and he gently rubbed his hand along my jaw soothingly. I reached up, cupping my hand over his. “I’m... I’m not sure… but… But I think...” I felt ashamed with the way I leaned into his palm, closing my eyes. Breathing in his scent. I was weak, and I couldn’t resist the warmth of his touch against the chaos of my mind. I shook my head slightly and retreated from my uncertainty into more familiar waters.  “... He doesn’t know.”

“Who doesn’t know?” He sounded surprised by my sudden switch.

“The King. He doesn’t know Valerianus came here. That’s why they didn’t send word. That’s why he came undercover.” I turned, slowly opening my eyes again to meet his, calming with his gentle touch. “The King doesn’t want our help. He must have forbidden the formal request. So Valerianus went behind his back and came anyway.”

To my surprise, Grier chuckled, stepping closer and reaching up with his opposite hand to trace it along my neck. “Well, perhaps you and your brother have more in common than I originally thought.”

“Not that much…” I said dryly, and Grier laughed again.

“There you are, my young Prince.” He murmured sweetly, slowly smoothing his hand against the tender flesh at the side of my neck. I felt my tension start to ease at the tenderness in his voice. “I was worried for a moment we were back to where we started two weeks ago.” I dropped my gaze shyly, and felt his thumb roll against my cheek. “I would hate to start over again… especially after last night. That would be a special kind of torture.”

Instantly I felt my face flush, and started to shake my head. My heart raced in my chest, and I would have stood to escape his embarrassingly forward words had he not been standing directly in front of me. His new chuckle was deep in his throat, and I could hear his smile in his words; though I refused to look at him.

“Ah, yes. Apologies. I will politely refrain from mentioning that I slept in your arms last night. It is far too scandalous to bear.” He teased, and I nearly squeaked as my cheeks blazed. His responding laugh did nothing to soothe me. “You do know we’re getting married, right? This will hopefully become a regular occurrence, if I have any say in it.”

I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly and trying to clear the fog settling around my thoughts at his words. “A-ah… b-but not yet…” I’m not sure how I managed to flush an even darker shade, yet felt even hotter at his words. “... I-it’s improper until… umm…”

He freed his hand from under mine and tucked it beneath my chin to gently tilt my face towards him. “Says who?”

I was surprised by his question, my hand falling back to the couch, and adjusted my tongue in my mouth for a moment before responding. “Etiquette. Even a betrothed couple does not share…” I dropped off, and tried to look away. But he kept a firm grip on my chin, keeping me in place. I glanced at his scarlet eyes. “N-not until they are married, at least…”

He smirked, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight. “For human couples, perhaps.” He tilted his head to the side. “But we are not a human couple… nor a goblin couple.” He thumbed my lip, and I saw his attention drop to it briefly before flicking back up to my eyes. “I think we can make up our own rules, given the circumstances.” He leaned in a little. “I am King, afterall. And what good is it to be King if I don’t get a few… benefits?” His grin became more coy. “For instance, having a handsome Prince as my betrothed… and in my bed.”

I shivered slightly as he skimmed his thumb over my lip once more, watching his eyes dart down to it again. His words left me scalding hot and flustered, and I made some useless sounds for a moment. I was surprised he could stand touching my cheek considering its blaze... Though I supposed he had a point... I had no good argument for him, nor, I realized quietly, did I want to find one, and so fell silent. But couldn’t help my own eyes flick down to his own lips. I watched them split into a thin smile as I did, and swallowed nervously.

“So tell me, my young Prince... What would I have to do to earn another kiss?” He murmured, easing himself between my knees so that his torso almost scraped mine and my thighs brushed against his hips.

My breath faltered and I felt the flush spreading beyond my face. I would have leaned away, but was already precariously perched on the back of the couch. Despite this, I was still a little taller than the goblin, and he tilted my chin down to keep our eyes locked. I swallowed again, and couldn’t help glancing back at his lips. He stretched up on his tiptoes, lingering barely a hair’s breadth away from my mouth.

“Not much…” I mumbled in reply without thinking, my head already spinning. Our lips almost brushed together as I formed the words, so close did he linger to mine. I fought to try and regain my senses, but found myself far too distracted by his proximity and the heat washing through my body at the sensation of his breath whispering across my lips.

His smile became teasing, and I saw his thin eyebrows wiggle in amusement. “Well, I am sending a contingent of my people to cure your home city of a deadly illness… Perhaps that is deserving of a reward?”

I almost smiled back, and the corners of my mouth twitched. I saw his eyes light up at the sight, and I couldn’t resist leaning forward. Closing that last little whisper of space. Brushing our lips together ever so lightly. I felt him lift off the balls of his feet, pressing in a little closer. But I fell back shyly after a moment.

He rocked back himself, eyes fluttering to glance at my lips again before meeting my gaze. “... I also didn’t throw that pitiful excuse for a guard into a cell for his disrespect. That was pretty good of me, wasn’t it?”

My lips twitched again, and I boldly bent down, kissing him lightly once more. His mouth parted slightly and I could taste his breath in my lungs. A moment later, I leaned back again, and he ran his thumb along my cheek.

“... How about the fact that I was properly civil to your brother? I didn’t try to get him all flustered-”

“You did try.”

“Well,” he scoffed, “But I stopped! That’s got to count for something.”

I didn’t bother arguing, secretly happy to have an excuse to curl back down to kiss him one more time. He stretched up as far as he could go, pressing our mouths together. I felt a tickle of excitement run through me as his hand at my jaw slid back to wrap around the base of my skull. I recognized his trap for what it was, but allowed him to pull me into it anyways even as my heart skipped in my breast. He stepped in closer, brushing our bodies together. My own hand moved from the couch to slide slowly around his waist. I could feel his grin of pleasure against my mouth. Could feel the skim of his sharp teeth against my lips. I responded willingly as he deepened the kiss, and I felt his long tongue slip past my defenses as his hand previously at the side of my neck began to slide firmly down my front. I quickly began to try and think of something else as I suddenly realized his end goal and my whole body began to grow hot.

Grier moved carefully, but purposefully, his lower hand massaging along my sides before trailing lazily down to my hips. He brought his body closer, his hair spilling like strands of wheat hued water down his back as he craned his neck to keep our mouths locked together. I kept my free hand on the back of the couch for balance, and it twitched as his tongue twirled around mine. I could feel each breath he drew press his chest against me, and the heat of him melted through my clothes. I maintained a rolling monologue in my head to distract myself, but couldn’t resist curling my shoulders to better crush our mouths together and let him rock back on his heels. Couldn’t help the little hitch in my breath as he kneaded his fingers against my muscles.

He shifted his grip on the back of my head, rolling his thumb under my chin and finally breaking us apart. Though only to angle my face to the side, then his lips came against my jaw. I felt his tongue flick at my earlobe and shuddered. Redoubling my mental efforts as he traced his hot mouth down the side of my neck, even as his lower hand began to squeeze and work up my inner thigh.

“Shva... vent, non…”

Grier pulled back, looking up at me with surprise. Instantly I flushed dark, and swallowed hard. Clamping my lips shut as I realized I had let my mental efforts slip into a much more physical form.

“... What was that?”

I shook my head sharply, quickly dropping my gaze. “N-Nothing!”

“... You said something.” His head cocked to the side, his actions stilled in his curiosity. “I think it was in goblinese. What did you say?”

“A-ah… I-I… I was umm…” My lips felt bruised and numb, and my tongue certainly wasn’t up to par. I swallowed hard, rubbing at the back of my neck with my free hand guiltily. “I-I was… I was reciting the goblinese alphabet… backwards...”

He laughed out loud in bewilderment, a wide grin splitting his face. I was still too embarrassed to meet his eyes, but he slid his hand around to cup my cheek again. “What ever for??”

I cleared my throat, still blushing furiously. “...To… um… dis-distract myself.”

“To…” He stopped suddenly, as he realized what I meant. I wasn’t sure how his grin managed to grow even bigger. “Well. And here I thought I was simply failing to impress.” He leaned back in, until our noses touched, and my breath hitched with the intensity in his scarlet eyes. “... Don’t mind me then. I won’t stop you.”

I jumped as he nipped lightly at the tip of my nose with his pointed teeth. Then he gently pushed my head to the side and began to lick and suck at the curve where my neck met my jaw. The sensation coupled with his breath in my ear sent goosebumps spiking across my skin, and I shivered. I felt his hand on my leg begin to move again, in coordination as his other slid down my chest then around my waist to rub at my back. Pulling me closer to him as his mouth worked its way down my jugular. My head swirled at the sensations he pulled from me, and I felt my mouth drop open a little.

I blinked rapidly, trying to push aside the heat rippling through me. My mental fortifications were not enough anymore, with his hot tongue rolling across sensitive flesh… I switched tactics. 

“... Vent… n-non,” I breathed aloud, as softly as I could, then I gasped a little as he grazed his teeth against the crook of my neck, “Mwun-n… tw...t-twa… nya...” I felt him trace the pad of his thumb across the stiffening bulge between my legs, despite my best efforts to deny its existence, his touch teasingly feather light. My arm around his waist clenched and flexed as I attempted to hold still. “Sh-sho… ack…” He undid the top button of my shirt collar with his teeth, “... N-nya…”

“You already said ‘nya’.” He murmured, his voice husky, and I felt his long tongue flick at the hollow at the base of my neck. Another ripple of excitement washed through me. I didn’t have the presence of mind to respond.

“... Sho… a-ack…” His hand was pressing harder against me, pinning my erection against my pelvic muscles. I couldn’t help rolling forward ever so slightly into his movement, if only to keep from being pushed off the couch. The rough fabric of my pants against the sensitive flesh combined with his pressure was making my lips fumble uselessly over my attempts to stay on track. “... h-hau..” He eased his way along its length until his thumb found the head, and I drew in a sharp breath. “Shit.”

His chuckle vibrated against my own throat. “That’s not one of ours.” He moved his lips against my skin as he spoke, and I shivered at the sensation with a huffy breath escaping between my clenched teeth.

My free hand grabbed at the wild hair at the back of his head, and I yanked him away from his administrations at my neck. Forcing his head back and crashing our mouths together once more. His hand rubbing at me curled, finding purchase to partially wrap around my cock through my trousers. I fed him a groan, sliding my thighs almost closed to pin him between them. He nearly pushed me off my perch with his feverous pursuit of my lips, and I shifted carefully to accommodate him. I felt his smile, and tasted his delight as he slipped his tongue back into my mouth. I sucked at it lightly, daring to slide my hand at his middle down to his backside and pull him closer. I hesitated, faltering slightly, but was only rewarded by his hand as he began to massage it rhythmically up and down my member. I found my own hand could cover almost the entire spans of one cheek, and took up a handful of his ass with a firm squeeze. Jerking his hips towards me. I swore I could taste his own excitement and delight.

Suddenly there was a loud knock that had us both jumping. I started to fall backwards in alarm, and had to release him sharply to grab at my seat and keep from toppling over the edge of the couch. Grier hooked his other hand around my waist as well to steady me, panting slightly as he glanced over his shoulder angrily.

“Ta mal’shon??” He snapped loudly. I quickly fumbled, starting to straighten myself. I was impeded by his unwillingness to free me from his arms.

“Apologies for the interruption, My King,” Came Hibik’s voice, muffled through the door, “The goblins you requested are assembled and awaiting your address-”

“Then let them wait!” He shot back.

My eyes widened slightly. “Y-you can’t make them wait.”

He scoffed. “Sure I can.” His hungry eyes returned to me. “... An hour won’t hurt them.”

I was shaking my head, my flush returning as I moved to stand. “Grier-”

“Don’t you ‘Grier’ me.” He grumbled as I slowly started to unwrap his arms from around me. “You almost never say my name. You can’t use it against me now.”

I paused, looking down at his wrists in my hands. I hesitated, but then ran my thumbs over them. My blood was still rushing through me and my head pounded. Not to mention the painful throbbing ache at my pelvis. But my thoughts were slowly clearing without his mouth on mine and his body pressed against me. I swallowed hard and shook my head, trying to further clear it. Even as they attempted to wander back to...

“...Perhaps it’s for the best,” I mumbled, still staring at his hands, “I-I shouldn’t have let things… get so out of hand.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “This is EXACTLY what I was afraid would happen. You’re going to end up overthinking this, and then-”

“I’ll…” I cut him off, then hesitated, stopping short, “I’ll… try not to do that… But, ah…” I blushed profusely, releasing one of his hands to reach up and rub at the back of my neck. “If… you know… w-well…” I cleared my throat and shifted my weight before changing the subject. “... There’s still a lot to do before tomorrow…”

That was certainly a sobering thought. The reminder of my impending return to my father’s kingdom had the blood draining out of my face. My expression must have shifted noticeably, because Grier’s turned his wrist still in my grasp to intertwine our fingers and give a gentle squeeze.

“We don’t have to go.” He told me. “I’ll send Hibik. I’ll make some excuse.”

I shook my head again. “It’s… It’s too late now. We have to. Besides… “ I sighed, “If the King is going to be involved, things are going to get… difficult. I should be there… To smooth things over.”

He winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through. Didn’t think about what returning there would mean to you.”

I hesitated, then squeezed his hand back. “I’ll be fine.”

The goblin’s eyes flicked to the door, then coyly back up to me through pale lashes. “... I don’t suppose I could just convince you to pick up where we left off?”

I laughed, short and brisk, my head shaking again to hide the twitch at the corner of my mouth and the fresh wave of heat that washed through me at the thought. I heard him sigh again, giving a soft grumble. I looked back down at our hands, and nervously ran my thumb over his.

“... It sounds stupid… but, I’m kind of…” I stopped, biting my tongue and feeling the flush rise back to my face.

“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” Grier reassured me, his voice soft. “... Tell me.”

I rubbed at the back of my neck again. “... I’m kind of glad we were… ah…” I swallowed, my eyes flicking over to the couch, my skin tingling. “... Interrupted… I would prefer to be less… um...I-I sort of thought that it… that w-we…”

He waited as patiently as he was able, distracting himself with bringing his free hand up to run over my knuckles and the inside of my wrist. I swallowed, watching him for a moment as I tried to pluck up the courage to finish my train of thought.

“W-well… I thought we could… that we could… make it …. You know… ah… s-special.” My face blazed as I forced the final word stutteringly from my mouth. I shuffled my feet sheepishly. “A-ah, I’m sorry, that sounds dumb-”

“It sounds romantic.” Came his soothing reply, and I dared a glance up at him. He smiled warmly at me, sliding his free hand up my arm as he snuck in closer. “I like the idea. Less hungry. More intentional.” His smile grew. “Still passionate though.”

“Y-you don’t have to humor me-” I started, already starting to get a little flustered and distracted by his proximity as his roaming hand slipped about my waist. I could almost feel it rolling up and down my member again.

“I’m not.” He assured me, pulling our clasped hands to tuck behind him. Pressing the back of my hand into the small of his back. He chuckled almost sheepishly. “Honestly, if the candlelit dinner in the garden didn’t clue you in that I’m a romantic at heart, I’m not sure what would.” His smile became sly, and I swallowed nervously. “You know, all the good love stories have a Prince charming in them... I never thought I’d be lucky enough to find my own.”

A tingle shot down my spine, and I didn’t even realize I was leaning down to meet him as he stretched up until our lips brushed together again. The scent of him drove me near mad, and my mind raced. I felt his deep, contented sigh, felt him begin to melt against me again, pinning our bodies back together. I started to pull back, but his arm around my middle tightened.

“Grier,” I breathed against his lips, distracted, but insistent.

He kissed me again, and I lingered in the taste of him for a moment. I drew our mouths apart, but didn’t withdraw far. His breath still splashed against my cheeks as he sighed again. 

“I know, I know…” He murmured, and rolled up onto his tiptoes to press our lips back together. I blinked stupidly for a moment when he rocked back on his heels again. “... I’ve never had such a compelling reason before to forget being King…” He grinned up at me like a fool. “... Can we move the wedding up?”

I stiffened a little at that, and gave a nervous laugh. Uncurling, I straightened to my full height, and he dropped his arm from around my waist. But our other hands remained clasped, and he brought them around between us again. He ran his thumb back and forth over my knuckles.

“... You know about the lower city?” He asked softly. “The layout, the entrances?” I nodded, still distracted by the lingering taste of him on my tongue. “I’ll send the Masters to speak with you after I’m done with them. To plan how to best meet with the people, then how to clear and ward the rest of the city.”

I nodded again, coming back to the present a little more with his words. “Of course, Your- ah…” I stopped myself, seeing his glower. “S-sorry… Force of habit.”

He gave a snort at that, but shook his head, letting it go. “And the castle?”

“I know the entire kingdom by heart.” I assured him. “Every brick and flagstone.”

He squeezed my hand gently, then reluctantly dropped it. “... We’ll likely be working through the night to get everything ready. If you find time to get some rest, please take it.” His scarlet eyes flicked up to me. “And eat, yes?”

“What about you?”

Grier waved away my question. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll make sure Hibik brings me my own pot of coffee to keep me from laying siege to anyone… Unless that bastard King tries anything funny.” The silence grew tense momentarily until he noticed, glancing over at me. He winced, then smirked apologetically. “I jest, my young Prince. No sieging. No wars... Just healing magic.”

I cocked an eyebrow slightly, but didn’t have time to remain doubtful as his arm was suddenly around my middle again. He nearly had to jump off his toes to plant a quick, light kiss against me. Instantly my face flushed again, even before he landed back on his feet. His laugh bounced about the room as he spun on heel, darting to the door before I could retaliate.

“I’ll see you soon, my young Prince.” He called in farewell as he slipped out into the hallway beyond.

I sighed heavily, shaking my head and rolling my shoulders back. I was certain I would be kept nearly as busy as he, and could find a way to make myself useful if not. I shifted my weight, wincing, and tugging at my clothes to straighten them.

…. Perhaps a cold bath first.

.....

UPDATE: Part Nine HERE

#Royal Flush #goblin king #goblin lover #goblin husband #monster x human #monster x male #mlm #male x male #terato #exophilia #monster lover #monster husband #slow burn #angst #monster romance #monster royalty #arranged marriage

[snkpolls]

SnK Episode 70 Poll Results (for Anime Only Watchers)

The poll closed with 76 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Manga Readers’ poll, click here.

Anime only watchers, beware of spoilers if you venture over to the manga readers’ poll results.

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RATE THE EPISODE 74 responses

Although the response to this week’s episode was still overwhelmingly positive, with 95.9% of responses giving the episode 3 or higher, it was a bit lower in comparison to the previous one. 

Epic

Very amazing a 💯/10✊

I loved it, as always

Gabi episode? NO BUENO.

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING GABI AND FALCO MOMENTS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 74 responses

Gabi and Falco’s escapades took up the vast majority of the episode, so we wanted to know which one of them was your favorite. An equal amount of respondents (28.4%) seemed to prefer either the moment wherein Gabi came under attack from that perfidious horse or Kaya remembering Sasha and how she saved her life years ago. Closely behind those (25.7%) are the folks preferring the argument between Gabi and Kaya. Another semi-popular option was the scene wherein Kaya showed Gabi and Falco her former village.

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING MOMENTS FOCUSING ON OTHER CHARACTERS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 73 responses

We also had a fair bit of scenes focused on characters besides Gabi and Falco. For this question, there was a rather noted diversity in opinions. 24.7% seemed privy to seeing a recurrence of Mikasa’s headache and the flashback to Eren’s killing of the traffickers. 15.1% were most interested in seeing Hange remember Sannes’ warning about the cycle. An equal number of responses (13.7%) were most interested in either seeing the discussion between Magath and the rest of the Warriors on their further actions or seeing Hange confront Floch and the rest of the recruits about their recent actions in regards to Eren. Finally, 11% said that their favorite moment was either seeing the conversation between Mikasa and Louise or the conversation between the warriors and shirtless Reiner. A few folks also indicated their enjoyment of the scene wherein Hange was heckled by the civilians or the conversation between Pixis and Yelena.

WHICH FLASHBACK HAD THE MOST EMOTIONAL IMPACT FOR YOU? 73 responses

We’ve had a few small flashbacks in this episode and it seems like the definitive majority (58.9%) enjoyed the flashback about Kaya getting saved by Sasha. 26% were most privy to seeing Mikasa remember Eren killing the kidnappers many years ago and 13.7% enjoyed seeing Hange remember Sannes’ warning. One person liked catching the sight of Mikasa’s actions in Trost.

RATE JEAN’S OUTFIT 73 responses

Jean decided to try out a new style, courtesy of Coco Chanel, the Paradis Collection. Not too many were impressed, however, with only 34.8% giving Jean’s fit a 4 or a 5. 24.7% gave it a 3, the rest gave it a lower score.

WHO WERE YOU MORE EXCITED ABOUT TO SEE SHIRTLESS? 72 responses

It looks like Eren won this round when it comes to the showdown of AoT’s rare fan service scenes with 75%. 

AOT men are immaculate

WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE AN EXCUSE TO TALK TO YELENA? 73 responses

Yelena looks to be a rather popular girl, with 53.4% of respondents noting that they would totally appreciate an opportunity to talk to her. 23.3% aren’t sure and 11% really wouldn’t, in contrast. 12.3% simply don’t care.

WHICH NEW DETAIL DID YOU GET MOST EXCITED ABOUT? 72 responses

For this question, we got a rather colorful pie chart. 26.4% of respondents stated that the existence of a flying boat fueled by iceburst stones is the most interesting detail. That was followed by, in order from more interesting to less interesting according to the poll takers, Blouse family’s involvement with Historia’s orphanage, Yelena making contact with Eren beforehand, the girl Sasha saved in Episode 2 of S2 being Kaya’s identity, the confirmation that Louise was the girl Mikasa saved back in Trost and fact that Floch and his co-minded folks leaked information about Eren to the press and the existence of Eren’s “home”.

GABI SPENDS A LOT OF THE EPISODE SPOUTING OUT THE THINGS SHE’S BEEN BRAINWASHED TO BELIEVE, A CONTRAST TO FALCO WHO IS MUCH MORE OPEN-MINDED. THOUGHTS? 72 responses

Gabi shouted out a lot of questionable things in this episode, at various points. We’ve asked how the respondents felt about it. The plurality, 37.5% simply saw it as a rather sad state for her. In contrast, 27.8% were actually annoyed with her for that. 16.7% thought that it might have been, perhaps, a result of her attempting to fool herself. We also received a lot of write-ins.

Gabi's IQ is a bit low or she has been brainwashed harder than others

I think it’s just hard for her to see it any other way because she is so young. She was starting to be shaped like reigner, Annie bertholdt. 

I understand why she acts like that. Doesn't make it any less annoying tho

I feel so bad for her. Marleyan propaganda and indoctrination is one hell of a drug

Gabi sucks and she just is a trash character

She's just a kid trying to deal with a lot of trauma and new contradicting information whilst also having a winning attitude. Her negative feelings toward Eldians is familiar and so constant hatred is just a coping mechanism.

It only makes sense for her to act this way. Falco and Colt had to join the warriors unit to redeem their uncle’s crimes as part of the restorationists. Gabi has been praised and fed false propaganda her whole life, so yes she would have a harder time rejecting her race’s past history. Children are easier to manipulate/brainwash than adults.

I think she’s clinging to what she knew because she had based her whole identity and goals in life off of these facts. Admitting that these things might not be true would be like denying who she is?? Y’know 

Immovable object (my hatred for Gabi because I find her annoying and she killed Sasha) vs unstoppable force (me recognizing she is a child in a traumatic situation who has been brainwashed and raised to believe she must atone for things she is not actually responsible for)

A bit annoying, but I'm hopeful that she will slowly change her mind. Maybe due to realizing Sasha was actually a good person through Kaya/seeing she's no different from them?

HOW DO YOU THINK GABI’S BELIEFS WOULD HAVE DEVELOPED HAD SHE BEEN THE ONE TO MEET EREN INSTEAD OF FALCO? 73 responses

An interesting what-if comes about when thinking about Gabi possibly meeting Eren instead of Falco all those weeks ago and how that would have impacted her personal beliefs. A slight majority (50.7%) believe it wouldn’t have changed much, if at all as a result of that possible meeting. 20.5% think that Gabi would have taken somewhat of a middle-ground position when taking her current and Falco’s current beliefs into account. 17.8% can’t really say for sure and 8.2% don’t seem to care. Only a few believe that Gabi would have started to feeling differently back then.

GABI SEEMS TO BE GENUINELY SCARED WHEN INITIALLY EATING AT THE BLOUSE’S HOME. ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW BADLY DID YOU FEEL FOR HER? 73 responses

It doesn’t appear that Gabi has garnered that much sympathy for her near breakdown, with 49.3% noting that they really didn’t feel much, if any, sympathy for Gabi. In contrast, 50.6% said that they felt some noted degree of sympathy, mostly on a moderate scale. 

It makes me sick to my stomach seeing Sasha's family just treating Gabi so nicely. I know they don't know she's Sasha's killer but I'd really like to see them go horror-flick on her ass and kill her when they learn the truth

THERE SEEMS TO BE A CLASHING OF IDEOLOGIES BETWEEN HANGE AND FLOCH REGARDING WHAT’S BEST FOR THE ISLAND. WHO WOULD YOU SIDE WITH IN THIS SITUATION? 72 responses

Floch states that Eren ensured Paradis a path to survival via the ability to initiate the rumbling, while Hange shows skepticism that the rumbling is even a probable solution to their problems, feeling they should secure their freedom in other ways. 52.8% seem to feel the same way that Hange does, while only 27.8% would take Floch’s side in this differing of views. 12.5% think neither of them are wholly correct and feel there are other options. 

Both should co-operate 

Fuck ever agreeing with Floch. Who is he to even question their authority. Sit back buddy, relax, have a breather. You only became a main character this season, nothing bads gonna happen if wittle baby ewen is in jail for COMMITING WARCRIMES and forcing his superiors to cater to him. That's lit-rally how the army works. 

I want to say I side with floch, but I don’t trust eren. 

I don’t know for sure

I think they're both right in their own way. 

dont like floch lol

Wish Gabi would've shot Floch instead of Sasha :/

REGARDLESS OF YOUR ANSWER IN THE PREVIOUS QUESTION, DO YOU THINK EREN DESERVED TO BE JAILED? 73 responses

Nearly 55% of respondents feel that Eren absolutely deserved to be jailed for his actions in Marley, regardless of how they answered the previous question. Only 35.6% feel that he was wrongfully locked up.

Jailing him is just tradition at this point 

idk

Yeah. You fuck up and you do the time. If you want to make decisions and live 'freely', don't become a soldier. Simple???

Eren did some war crimes, time to sit in the time-out box 

He definitely needs to be observed and perhaps questioned, but not jailed. I thought that wasn't really a great move. 

I don't know

How many times has Eren been in jail now? He's obviously not gonna be staying there for long

Reprimanded a little bit for not trusting his team, but didn't deserve jail

DO YOU THINK HANGE IS FALLING INTO THE CYCLE THAT SANNES WARNED THEM ABOUT? 71 responses

Hange remembers Sannes’ words about how someone always steps into the role he once played prior to the Uprising Arc. 67.6% feel that Hange, whether intentional or not, is falling into the cycle that Sannes and his comrades perpetuated for years before them. 19.7% feel the opposite, however, and believe that Hange wouldn’t let things get that bad. 

I don’t know why I can’t remember who sannes is rn. 

yes but i feel like she will realize this and try to change 

I can’t say yet

Yes, to a degree but this doesn't mean they've past the point of no return. Everything the previous government did could have started with good intentions similar to Hange now but those intentions eventually morphed and corrupted. 

i dunno

Maybe i'm not sure only time will tell

I think that can't be said for sure until we see how she acts/responds to this realization

Maybe

LOUISE SEEMS TO ADMIRE MIKASA TO THE POINT OF OBSESSION, BUT HOW DO YOU THINK MIKASA FEELS ABOUT HER? 73 responses

Half of respondents feel that Mikasa’s demeanor toward Louise stems from her feeling as though she can relate to the girl in some way. The remainder of responses were rather mixed, with 15.1% feeling that Mikasa simply feels sorry for her, and at a tie for 11%, either feel that she finds Louise annoying or is just generally indifferent toward her.

WHAT DO YOU THINK SEEMS TO BE THE TRIGGER FOR MIKASA’S SUDDEN HEADACHES? 73 responses

Mikasa’s headaches, while they don’t get much of a focus, tend to happen infrequently throughout the series. Though, her headache in episode 70 appears to be a bit more traumatic for her than ones we have seen in the past. 27.4% feel that these headaches are likely related to her Ackerman biology, while 20.5% think that it can be explained as simply PTSD. 15.1% think that it’s her “Eren sense,” so to speak. Small handfuls feel it’s something more related to Paths/The Coordinate, or a mixture of her Ackerman and Asian biology. 21.9% still aren’t really sure what to make of these. Will Isayama give us answers?!

the wine has to have something to do with it????

It's those damn ~PATHS~

HOW DID YOU FEEL WHEN THE HORSE BIT GABI? 72 responses

The horse gets the gold start this week for giving Gabi a little bit of karmic justice. 65.3% appeared to enjoy the little misfortune Gabi had to endure thanks to the horse’s shenanigans. 19.4% agree that this was surely the work of devils! And 15.3% felt genuinely bad for Gabi during this moment. 

Horse !!!!!!

Wish that horse would have bit Garbage's head off xD

Horse got some revenge for Sasha! Here's hoping someone ot something else will finish her off permanently!

*falco voice* GAAAAAABIIIIII

Thank you Horse-kun!

WE ASKED THIS A FEW WEEKS AGO, BUT WE WILL ASK YOU AGAIN. WILL GABI CHANGE HER VIEWS ABOUT THE PEOPLE ON PARADIS? 73 responses

56.2% of respondents feel confident that Gabi’s views of Paradis will change by the conclusion of her character arc. 12.3% are still adamant that nothing will be able to sway her views. The remainder continue to be uncertain. 

I hope gabi changes her views. But she seems pretty set 

I don't honestly know if Gabi will change her views, but killing Sasha was enough to make me ALWAYS hate her no matter what kind of development she may get

Will Gabi change? I don't know but I don't care. Nothing will undo her killing Sasha.

DO YOU THINK GABI AND FALCO WILL BE ABLE TO GET HELP FROM NICOLO? 73 responses

Kaya mentions that they will be eating at a Marleyan’s restaurant and believes that said Marleyan (Nicolo) will be able to help Gabi and Falco figure out a way to return home to Marley. Nearly half of the fandom feel that they won’t be successful in getting any help from Nicolo, while only 13.7% think that he will be able to do something for them. 31.5% didn’t want to make a call either way.

REINER IS DETERMINED TO GET TO PARADIS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE TO SAVE GABI AND FALCO. DO YOU THINK THE WARRIORS WILL BE SUCCESSFUL IN RETRIEVING THEM? 72 responses

Over half of the fandom (65.3%) doesn’t have much faith in the Warriors to successfully retrieve Gabi and Falco. 20.8% feel the opposite, however, and think that their urgency is warranted. Will they get to Gabi and Falco in time?!

epic laina

WHICH QUESTION INTRODUCED IN THE EPISODE ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO BEING ANSWERED? 73 responses

With every AoT episode, we get as many questions as we do answers. This episode is not an exception. Majority of the respondents (53.4%) are interested in getting answers for all of them (What did Yelana talk to Eren about, what is up with Mikasa’s headaches, what is Hange going to investigate and why is Shiganshina being evacuated?). Out of the all of those, the Yelena-Eren convo is the most popular one.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

Gabi sucks so hard, she should be much more harshly punished for killing Sasha

The scenery was beautiful!! I'm hoping we get some action soon tho

MAPPA created some beautiful imagery this episode, like the scene with Falco and Gabi at the lake so was gorgeous! Also I wanna honk Reiner's tiddies

babies, my babies. 

Gabi sucks

Doesn't really stand out, but I much preferred the pacing of this episode to the last two. I better see some damn rumbling next ep, we're getting straight edged rn with that ice plane.  I absolutely FUCKED with seeing Louise do the little salute, brought back memories of simpler times.

Gabi is garbage

I loved the episode! Beautiful callbacks to so many previous set-up/storylines. It made me reminisce a bunch. I also hope for a bit of catharsis regarding Sasha's death by the hands of Gabi. Hopefully something will click and Gabi will realize that she may be wrong in her beliefs after realizing the person she killed (Sasha) is savior Kaya had described to her. While I don't hate Gabi, I also wouldn't mind a bit of karma going her way either. 

I think this is definitely one of my favorites so far. There's a lot of interesting new pieces of info, and I'm excited to see how this stuff resolves in the end.

I hate Gabi even more

I hate Gabi SO much

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 73 responses

Thank you again to everyone who participated!

#snk poll #snk polls #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot #snk s4

[agentrouka-blog]

ASOIAF - Food symbolism: apples and Jon “You have to choose.”

Inspired by this amazing post by @thoughtsandgrumbles I felt compelled to look at apples a little. 

Apples are a deeply symbolic fruit on a good day, but I’m not going to go too deeply into the general use, because who has time for that? I’m looking at the text itself. This post will be all about apples in Jon’s chapters, once I get the preliminary rambles out of the way.

Warning: LONG. Many quotes.

Just a few things: 

Popularly associated with temptation and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the garden of eden, the realization of being nekkid, the Expulsion of Adam and Eve from paradise as a result. (That would botanically not have been an apple, though.)

The apple “to the fairest” handed out by Eris, godess of discord, for Paris to choose among the three godesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite, ultimately leading to the Trojan War, which GRRM heavily draws from.

Snow White and the poison apple

Sansa is the name of a variety of apple that was developed in the 1970s, an early ripening mix of Gala and Akane.

Just by the general use, we get a theme of choice and destruction. Also Sansa is an apple. But - spoiler alert - that is NOT very central in Jon’s chapters. YET.

Also, some boring numbers, because this is not as easy a fruit as the persimmon to parse for the sheer amount of them:

Apples in general have 155 mentions in all searchable publications, 135 in the novels directly, 22 in Jon chapters. Only 9 of all the novel-mentions concern House Fossoway, 11 in the other literature. 

Top chapter uses: 

AFFC, Prologue - 14: Oldtown, Quill and Tankard inn backyard. Alleras shoots them with bow and arrow while the acolyte nerd squad discusses Dany and her dragon rumors. "Where's Rosey? Our rightful queen deserves another round of cider, wouldn't you say?" The apples are withered and wormy, the cider is fearsomely strong. Pate agonizes over his betrayal and theft for his creepy, obsessive love. His choice is “love”. Then he is killed. Complex.

ADWD, Jon V - 11: Jon passes out food and asks the wildlings at Mole’s Town to choose if they want to fight for the NW or not. Apples and onions, you have to choose. The apples are withered.

ADWD, Davos II - 7: Getting information about Manderly from an apple seller in White Harbor. Bad apple, good information. Theme in WH: who are you truly loyal to? The apple is dry and mealy, “bad”. Apples and onions, again.

ASOS, Bran III - 5, and ASOS, Jon V - 3: (8 combined) Rotten apples carpet the ground near an abandoned Queenscrown inn. They provide the background for Jon’s break with the Wildling Undercover Operation and flight back to the Watch. Theme: the abandonment of the Gift, the decline of the Watch, the Dream of Spring and Jon really doesn’t even really pretend to want a future with Ygritte. He chooses. The apples are rotten. 

POV uses: Jon 22, Arya 18, Prologue AFFC 14, Sansa 13, Davos 8, Jaime 8, Bran 8, Tyrion 8, Brienne 6, Catelyn 6, Dany 5, Eddard 5, Cersei 3, Theon 3, Samwell 2 JonCon 1, Asha 1, Quentyn 1, Arianne 1, Areo Hotah 1, Prologue ADWD: 1.

Jon is not only the single top POV character to feature the apple, he also has two of the top-use chapters that give the apple significance in setting the background. The apple is very closely tied to Jon. 

A short note on the  red apple Fossoways (Cider Hall) and the green apple Fossoways (New Barrel): 

The branches split at the trial of seven at the Tourney at Ashford (of the Ashford Theory), where the red apple fought for the bad guys (Aerion Targaryen) and the green apple for Ser Duncan the Tall.

Both had the red apple of the Fossoways painted on their shields, but the younger man's was soon hacked and chipped to pieces. "Here's an apple that's not ripe yet," the older said as he slammed the other's helm. (…)

"Ser Raymun, if you please." He cantered up, a grim smile lighting his face beneath his plumed helm. "My pardons, ser. I needed to make a small change to my sigil, lest I be mistaken for my dishonorable cousin." He showed them all his shield. The polished golden field remained the same, and the Fossoway apple, but this apple was green instead of red. "I fear I am still not ripe . . . but better green than wormy, eh?" 

(The Hedge Knight)

Again with the split of loyalty, with the following your moral code, with the choices. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So how do apples feature for Jon himself?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apples are connected to Jon’s struggle of loyalty to the Night’s Watch, and with his inner struggle in general. Every time they show up, he is confronted with a choice of who to stay loyal to, what values to follow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First apple: AGOT, Jon IX. 

Jon’s final chapter in the book. Big Drama!

Jon eats a brown, withered apple when he tries to flee the NW the first time. He is heading South because his father has been killed and he wants to join Robb. He is plagued by self-doubt and fear. Then he takes a break to eat. 

In his saddlebag, he found a biscuit, a piece of cheese, and a small withered brown apple. (...) He kept the apple for last. It had gone a little soft, but the flesh was still tart and juicy. He was down to the core when he heard the sounds: horses, and from the north.

Straight after, he is caught and prodded back in an incredibly moving, nonviolent confrontation by his new Brothers reciting the NW vows. 

"… and all the nights to come," finished Pyp. He reached over for Jon's reins. "So here are your choices. Kill me, or come back with me."

Jon lifted his sword … and lowered it, helpless. "Damn you," he said. "Damn you all." 

In his mind, Jon is determined to try and escape again, but the next day, Mormont lets him know they knew what happened. 

Jon’s throat was dry. “You know?” “Know,” the raven echoed from Mormont’s shoulder. “Know.” The Old Bear snorted. “Do you think they chose me Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch because I’m dumb as a stump, Snow? Aemon told me you’d go. I told him you’d be back. I know my men … and my boys too. Honor set you on the kingsroad … and honor brought you back.” “My friends brought me back,” Jon said. “Did I say it was your honor?” Mormont inspected his plate.

Jon thinks he’ll be executed. Instead, he will be taken along to the great ranging beyond the Wall. 

“So I will have an answer from you, Lord Snow, and I will have it now. Are you a brother of the Night’s Watch … or only a bastard boy who wants to play at war?” Jon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran … forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place. “I am … yours, my lord. Your man. I swear it. I will not run again.” The Old Bear snorted. “Good. Now go put on your sword.”

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. Because the war against the Others is more important. 

Apple Quality: Brown and whithered. But still tart and juicy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second apple: ACOK, Jon I

A former green apple (the valiantly knightly Fossoway kind) is to be dispatched from the Wall to garner support from a Baratheon king... 

"Renly is not like to heed a quaking fat boy. I'll send Ser Arnell. He's a deal steadier, and his mother was one of the green-apple Fossoways."

"If it please my lord, what would you have of King Renly?"

The conversation turns toward maester Aemon, his repeated refusal to become king and the incredibly foreshadowy information about the ending of the dragon line. 

It made him feel odd. “My lord, why have you told me this, about Maester Aemon?” “Must I have a reason?” Mormont shifted in his seat, frowning. “Your brother Robb has been crowned King in the North. You and Aemon have that in common. A king for a brother.” “And this too,” said Jon. “A vow.” (…)

Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring. “And if it did trouble me, what might I do, bastard as I am?” “What will you do?” Mormont asked. “Bastard as you are?” “Be troubled,” said Jon, “and keep my vows.”

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. The bigger picture is more important.

Apple Quality: green and unripe. (But honorable.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third apple: ACOK, Jon VII

Jon and the Qhorin Halfhand crew are on the losing side of a game of cat and mouse with the warg-powered wildlings. Squire Dalbridge is about to sacrifice his life by going to shoot the Wildlings that are stalking them. 

The squire bowed his head. "Leave me as many arrows as you can spare, brothers." He stroked his longbow. "And see my garron has an apple when you're home. He's earned it, poor beastie."

He's staying to die, Jon realized.  

And that’s almost right at the end of the chapter. This is the only apple chapter where Jon is NOT immediately confronted with a moral dilemma of loyalty or the making of choices. And Dalbridge’s self-sacrifice, his off-page death, all of that means it’s a more long-term projection of the dilemma. 

The next, final chapter, Jon and Qhorin Halfhand are captured and he is compelled to kill Qhorin to prove himself a turncloak to the Wildlings, in order to start his Undercover Operation. 

The flames were burning low by then, the warmth fading. “The fire will soon go out,” Qhorin said, “but if the Wall should ever fall, all the fires will go out.” There was nothing Jon could say to that. He nodded. “We may escape them yet,” the ranger said. “Or not.” “I’m not afraid to die.” It was only half a lie. “It may not be so easy as that, Jon.” He did not understand. “What do you mean?” 

(…)

Rattleshirt’s bone armor clattered loudly as he laughed. “Then kill the Halfhand, bastard.” “As if he could,” said Qhorin. “Turn, Snow, and die.” And then Qhorin’s sword was coming at him and somehow Longclaw leapt upward to block. The force of impact almost knocked the bastard blade from Jon’s hand, and sent him staggering backward. You must not balk, whatever is asked of you. 

(…)

He knew, he thought numbly. He knew what they would ask of me. He thought of Samwell Tarly then, of Grenn and Dolorous Edd, of Pyp and Toad back at Castle Black. Had he lost them all, as he had lost Bran and Rickon and Robb? Who was he now? What was he?

“Get him up.” Rough hands dragged him to his feet. Jon did not resist. “Do you have a name?” Ygritte answered for him. “His name is Jon Snow. He is Eddard Stark’s blood, of Winterfell.”

(ACOK, Jon VIII)

Ouch. From this point on, Jon will have to make his own choices, no longer guided by other people’s rules, other people’s honor. The choices will be harder, lonelier. They will be contradictory, they will involve even more tangible loss. They will involve dishonor. The reward is as distant as home. Sacrifice. Death.

But one day, the poor beastie will get an apple, he will have earned it. 

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. The bigger picture.

Apple quality: unknown. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fourth apple: ASOS, Jon I

As inconspicuously as above, the apple features in a memory of home, featuring not-yet-deserter Mance Rayder at Winterfell, meeting Robb and Jon up to shennanigans:

“I remember,” said Jon with a startled laugh. A young black brother on the wallwalk, yes … “You swore not to tell.”

"And kept my vow. That one, at least."

"We dumped the snow on Fat Tom. He was Father's slowest guardsman." Tom had chased them around the yard afterward, until all three were red as autumn apples. "But you said you saw me twice. When was the other time?"

"When King Robert came to Winterfell to make your father Hand," the King-beyond-the-Wall said lightly. (ASOS, Jon I)

A neat connection between desertion, vow-keeping and the events that led Jon to take his own path to the Wall. Before Meeting Mance, Ygritte has been praising the values of being “free” like the good Little Wildling Propagandist that she is. But Jon isn’t biting yet.

The following conversation gives the backstory of Mance Rayder’s desertion from the Wall. It was over a cloak, mended by a Wildling woman who tended to him while he was injured.

“And she sewed up the rents in my cloak as well, with some scarlet silk from Asshai that her grandmother had pulled from the wreck of a cog washed up on the Frozen Shore. It was the greatest treasure she had, and her gift to me.” He swept the cloak back over his shoulders. “But at the Shadow Tower, I was given a new wool cloak from stores, black and black, and trimmed with black, to go with my black breeches and black boots, my black doublet and black mail. The new cloak had no frays nor rips nor tears … and most of all, no red. The men of the Night’s Watch dressed in black, Ser Denys Mallister reminded me sternly, as if I had forgotten. My old cloak was fit for burning now, he said. “I left the next morning … for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he chose.” He closed the clasp and sat back down again. “And you, Jon Snow?”

Jon uses Mance’s story of visiting Winterfell to spin his own lie:

“And did you see where I was seated, Mance?” He leaned forward. “Did you see where they put the bastard?” Mance Rayder looked at Jon’s face for a long moment. “I think we had best find you a new cloak,” the king said, holding out his hand. 

What will the bastard do? Be troubled and keep his vows. So far, so true. But he did kill Qhorin Halfhand, he is pretending to be a deserter. Lines are a lot more blurry than they used to be.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the Night’s Watch. Shifting more and more toward simply the bigger picture. 

Apple quality: red autumn apple. 

Red silk patches. Conflicting values. Women. There is uncertainty on the horizon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifth apple. ASOS Jon V.  BIG apple chapter.

His final confrontation as an Undercover Wildling.

This confrontation takes place at the abandoned tower and village of Queenscrown, which gets a closer description in the accompanying Bran chapter: 

No one had lived in the village for long years, Bran could see. All the houses were falling down. Even the inn. It had never been much of an inn, to look at it, but now all that remained was a stone chimney and two cracked walls, set amongst a dozen apple trees. One was growing up through the common room, where a layer of wet brown leaves and rotting apples carpeted the floor. The air was thick with the smell of them, a cloying cidery scent that was almost overwhelming. Meera stabbed a few apples with her frog spear, trying to find some still good enough to eat, but they were all too brown and wormy. 

(ASOS, Bran III)

The abandonment of Brandon’s Gift is a subject of conflict between Jon and Ygritte. A carpet of rotting apples. It opens the very next Jon chapter, as they are on the way to Queenscrown. Ygritte mocks the farmers who left the Gift as fools. Jon doesn’t take the bait yet. He briefly indulges in a fantasy of introducing Ygritte to Winterfell before being overcome with guilt and shame again. Ygritte is super great at reading his mood: 

“Might be after we could come back here, and live in that tower,” she said. “Would you want that, Jon Snow? After?”

He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t answer for a while, it rather reminds him of Ned’s Dream of Spring, the plan to resettle the Gift. The Starks and the Watch. 

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father’s name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. “This land belongs to the Watch,” Jon said. Her nostrils flared. “No one lives here.”

Jon isn’t even tempted. Like, no, Jon, Bambi, you did not love this person, no matter what your telling yourself later. He doesn’t even really contemplate it. 

Instead of bonding them closer together, Ygritte’s invitation to make long-term plans has the opposite effect. It fans the flames of what divides them. They argue about raiding and rape. Ygritte spouts nonsense.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. Daughters are taken, not wives. You’re the ones who steal. You took the whole world, and built the Wall t’ keep the free folk out.”

Ygritte, no, that is not why the Wall was built. You think they built a gargantuan magic ice structure to keep out Styr, Magnar of Thenn, or what? Really? Jon is also sceptical of this version of history:

“Did we?” Sometimes Jon forgot how wild she was, and then she would remind him. “How did that happen?”

"The gods made the earth for all men t' share. Only when the kings come with their crowns and steel swords, they claimed it was all theirs. My trees, they said, you can't eat them apples. My stream, you can't fish here. My wood, you're not t' hunt. My earth, my water, my castle, my daughter, keep your hands away or I'll chop 'em off, but maybe if you kneel t' me I'll let you have a sniff. You call us thieves, but at least a thief has t' be brave and clever and quick. A kneeler only has t' kneel." 

Ygritte is basically a bland political extremist. I could sympathize with her criticism of feudal culture if it didn’t come hand in hand with her passionate defense of violent theft and rape culture. Like, you paragon of intelligence, not everyone resides at the fair top of the food chain like you do in your peak fitness status within your warrior culture. But of course, rape is fun! Just bring a knife!

"Harma and the Bag of Bones don't come raiding for fish and apples. They steal swords and axes. Spices, silks, and furs. They grab every coin and ring and jeweled cup they can find, casks of wine in summer and casks of beef in winter, and they take women in any season and carry them off beyond the Wall."

Apples in a breath with women. People should not be “stolen”. But Ygritte thinks men who successfully abduct and rape women are sexy. She’s like Dany that way. There are some cultural divides that cannot be pretended away, and their entire conversation circles around it. Jon is plagued by terrible guilt, he tries to warn Ygritte that their plan is doomed, she (rightfully) suspects his loyalty to the Wildlings and Jon believes himself in love but he never wavers in his actual allegiance to the NW.

She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love. Wildling to the bone, he thought again, with a sick sad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. Would she betray him if he sat her down and told her that he was still Ned Stark’s son and a man of the Night’s Watch? He hoped not, but he dare not take that risk.

GRRM is going out of his way to undermine the supposed romance by constantly referring to the conflict between them and the apples-of-choice are just all over. 

Anyway, Jon is thoroughly eaten by guilt over having to betray these human beings who are a vicious and brutal threat to the place and people he loves and swore to protect. His true identity is hinted at:

Jon wondered where Ghost was now. Had he gone to Castle Black, or was he was running with some wolfpack in the woods? He had no sense of the direwolf, not even in his dreams. It made him feel as if part of himself had been cut off. Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. He did not want to die alone.

Ghost. Not Ygritte. Not the wildlings. Not the Watch, even. Ghost. Wolf.  

They arrive at the Queenscrown inn and an old man is captured.

Jon walked away. A rotten apple squished beneath his heel. Styr will kill him. The Magnar had said as much at Greyguard; any kneelers they met were to be put to death at once, to make certain they could not raise the alarm. Ride with them, eat with them, fight with them. Did that mean he must stand mute and helpless while they slit an old man's throat?  

The apples are rotten. Jon spends one last moment with Ygritte contemplating Queenscrown and then the “kill the old man” business starts. He struggles but ultimately refuses. Bran’s wolf Summer disrupts the tension with a bloody attack and Jon doesn’t hesitate to Escape. Like when they met, Jon didn’t slit Ygritte’s throat, but she slit the old man’s. He will not shoot arrows at her, but she did at him. Love. 

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black. The throb of pain in his thigh muscle made him wince as he put his heels into the old man’s horse. I am going home, he told himself. But if that was true, why did he feel so hollow?

Apple = choice. The choice is… NOT Ygritte. NOT the Wildlings. Time and again. But it also isn’t the Watch. Not as it had been before. Jon followed his instincts, his inner values, but it had a cost, it is hard. Jon is lost.

Apple Quality: rotten. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sixth apple: ASOS, Jon VII  

The Battle at Castle Black They await the attack, Jon and Satin share a meal. And they get a nod to Renly’s peach quote:

"Eat," Jon told him. "There's no knowing when you'll have another chance." He took two buns himself. The nuts were pine nuts, and besides the raisins there were bits of dried apple.  (ASOS, Jon VII)

Compare to Renly, which also took place before a nightly sneak attack. 

"A man should never refuse to taste a peach," Renly said as he tossed the stone away. "He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. Remember what the Starks say. Winter is coming." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. (ACOK, Catelyn III)

Peaches have an air of incest and hedonism about them, nostalgia and summer, Baratheons and Arya and Asha. The apple is different. It’s about choice, about conflicted loyalty and personal values, about identity and the bigger picture. (And again and again, they connect to women.)

Jon commands part of the fight, it’s grim. He recognizes some of the wildlings as they pepper them with arrows but cannot shoot at who he thinks is Ygritte. Wildlings die, his brothers die. The battle is brutal, Jon’s POV is distant. Satin remains by his side all throughout, grounding him. Jon remembers advice from Theon, from Ned. They eventually beat the wildling attackers with a horrifying fire trap on the stairs, they win. Immediately after, Jon goes looking for Ygritte, Satin still by his side.

The ice crystals had settled over her face, and in the moonlight it looked as though she wore a glittering silver mask. The arrow was black, Jon saw, but it was fletched with white duck feathers. Not mine, he told himself, not one of mine. But he felt as if it were.

We get a Dany-Val nod… 

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold." (ADWD, Jon VIII)

...and a lovely double-layered “not mine, not one of mine”. Not his arrows, but he feels guilty. She is not his pack, but he feels guilty.

She just smiled at that. “D’you remember that cave? We should have stayed in that cave. I told you so.” “We’ll go back to the cave,” he said. “You’re not going to die, Ygritte. You’re not.” “Oh.” Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she sighed, dying.

Jon struggles to let go of the fantasy. He is loyal to the cause of the Watch, if not the letter of the vows, but he knows now that his souls want more. He indulges Ygritte’s fantasy of returning because it’s the only thing he has, the only thing he can offer. 

Apple = choice. The choice is… the Watch. But painfully. Numbly. No passion. Duty. 

Apple quality: dried. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seventh apple: ASOS, Jon X 

Tormund’s daughter Munda.

After vicious attacking Janos Slynt for insulting Ned Stark during a hiostile interrogation in the previous chapter, Jon is sent to kill Mance Rayder under the pretense of parley to prove his loyalty. He is resigned and shame-filled, contemplating his future, where he will be remembered in honorless infamy.  Much bitterness, plenty of woe. His reception by Tormund is surprisingly jovial. They drink mead to honor their fallen Donal Noye and Ygritte, with surprisingly little bitterness. It helps Jon return some of his cheer.

"You bloody crows." Tormund's tone was gruff, yet strangely gentle. "That Longspear stole me daughter. Munda, me little autumn apple. Took her right out o' my tent with all four o' her brothers about.” Toregg slept through it, the great lout, and Torwynd … well, Torwynd the Tame, that says all that needs saying, don’t it? The young ones gave the lad a fight, though.”

“And Munda?” asked Jon. “She’s my own blood,” said Tormund proudly. “She broke his lip for him and bit one ear half off, and I hear he’s got so many scratches on his back he can’t wear a cloak. She likes him well enough, though. And why not? He don’t fight with no spear, you know. Never has. So where do you think he got that name? Har!”  Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here.

Autumn apple. Stolen women. Cloak. 

Stealing women was a hot topic with Ygritte and Jon is immediately concerned, but is reassured. The tenor of the conversation is conciliatory, while he is revealed to be loyal to the Watch, there is mutual respect. In Jon’s thoughts, Ygritte becomes a mentor voice, drifting away from the romantic woe of before. 

Easy for you to say, he thought back. You died brave in battle, storming the castle of a foe. I’m going to die a turncloak and a killer. Nor would his death be quick, unless it came on the end of Mance’s sword.

Similarly to Dany later, Jon is arguing with dead beloved abusers in his head, like she will do in ADWD with Viserys. Ygritte is less obviously horrific, but the “voices in my head” aspect and the sheer idealising that both of them engage in feels disconcerting. Never the less, we see Jon’s current identity status on Facebook is “turncloak”. Not Night’s Watch.

The rest of Mance’s “court” is less welcoming, but Mance draws him in for a private conference. The Horn of Winter is revealed, the mutual cause of the Wildlings and the Night’s Watch is identified.

“If I sound the Horn of Winter, the Wall will fall. Or so the songs would have me believe. There are those among my people who want nothing more …” “But once the Wall is fallen,” Dalla said, “what will stop the Others?”

(Dalla has the brains that Ygritte lacked. Why can SHE not be Jon’s mentor?) 

Mance offers to hand over the Horn of Joramun if they let the Wildlings pass through the Wall, or he will destroy the Wall in three days. Jon hesitates because he fears they will ransack the place, but he also has no negotiating credit with Thorne and Slynt. He contemplates just smashing the Horn, when suddenly Stannis attacks. The Wildlings are smashed, a helpless Jon enters the tent with Val to attend Dalla.

He is just... disillusioned.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the bigger picture. The Watch is headed by irrational scum, the Wildlings are no less dangerous to the North than they were before and Jon has no hope of saving his ruined reputation either way. He was about to murder Mance, then about to smash his bargaining chip, yet he has no ill will toward them. Only a depressed, numb resignation to preventing the worst of all outcomes. 

Apple Quality: autumn apple.

Again with the autumn apple. There are only 3 “autumn apples” in the books, all in ASOS. Jon I (above with Mance), Samwell II, and Jon X here. 

In Jon I it connected Mance’s disloyalty to the Watch to the red-and-black cloak given to him by a woman. Also Bael the Bard, deception and stealing. Jon consults his inner values, and chooses pragmatism. His break with “blind” honor will leave him flailing a bit.

In Jon X it specifically refers to a young woman being stolen. Jon consults his inner values, he chooses the bigger picture, but he’s frayed and his choice is interrupted. Stannis will offer him Winterfell. Ghost will remind him of who he is. Ultimately, he will become Lord Commander and his struggle with loyalty will cease for a long time.

What’s Sam’s autumn apple about?  They are listed with many foodstuffs that the angry NW brother’s at Craster’s after the fight at the Fist of the First Men expect to receive. Mormont just remembered the true purpose of the Watch. Gilly has just given birth to her son. Sam offers to take the boy, Craster gets mad. they bury a dead brother and the mood is mutinous.

“Apples,” said Garth of Greenaway. “Barrels and barrels of crisp autumn apples. There are apple trees out there, I saw ’em.”

A confrontation breaks out and they kill Craster and stab Mormont. Sam’s friends flee, the others raid and rape, Sam cradles a dying Mormont. Some wives approach and order Sam to take Gilly to safety. 

Gilly was crying. “Me and the babe. Please. I’ll be your wife, like I was Craster’s. Please, ser crow. He’s a boy, just like Nella said he’d be. If you don’t take him, they will.” “They?” said Sam, and the raven cocked its black head and echoed, “They. They. They.” “The boy’s brothers,” said the old woman on the left. “Craster’s sons. The white cold’s rising out there, crow. I can feel it in my bones. These poor old bones don’t lie. They’ll be here soon, the sons.”

The massive abundance of apples suggests a link to the abundance of women, to the connection to inner values over formal loyalty, to the “stealing” of Gilly to save her. To the massive bigger picture. With Jon it translates to his trademark quick-thinking pragmatism, with Sam it translates to compassion and identifying valuable information. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8th and final apple: ADWD, Jon V  - The Grand Appling.

ADWD Jon V is another big apple chapter:  you have to choose!

Much time has passed since the last apples were mentioned. Jon is Lord Commander and has sent away Sam, Gilly and maester Aemon. The Wildlings are south of the Wall. Food is a constant worry. Bowen Marsh is upset with Jon, Jon is super-diplomatic. Not. It’s time to bring provisions to the Wildlings at Mole’s Town. A Mirror to Dany in ADWD, Daenerys VI, bringing food to the Astapori refugees. The Wildlings are grumpy. Jon struggles to balance the culture clash between free folk, Stannis’ men and Wildlings.

Pig ignorance, Jon thought. The free folk were no different than the men of the Night’s Watch; some were clean, some dirty, but most were clean at times and dirty at other times.

Jon is much removed from his earlier woeful struggles or idealism. A weary pragmatism guides his every action. Grey.

Apples ensue:

"You can have an onion or an apple," Jon heard Hairy Hal tell one woman, "but not both. You got to pick."

The woman did not seem to understand. "I need two of each. One o' each for me, t'others for my boy. He's sick, but an apple will set him right." 

Hal shook his head. "He has to come get his own apple. Or his onion. Not both. Same as you. Now, is it an apple or an onion? Be quick about it, now, there's more behind you."

"An apple," she said, and he gave her one, an old dried thing, small and withered.

"Move along, woman," shouted a man three places back. "It's cold out here."

The woman paid the shout no mind. "Another apple," she said to Hairy Hal. "For my son. Please. This one is so little."

Hal looked to Jon. Jon shook his head. They would be out of apples soon enough. If they started giving two to everyone who wanted two, the latecomers would get none.

"Out of the way," a girl behind the woman said. Then she shoved her in the back. The woman staggered, lost her apple, and fell. The other foodstuffs in her arms went flying. Beans scattered, a turnip rolled into a mud puddle, a sack of flour split and spilled its precious contents in the snow. 

Apples are once again almost aggressively connected to choices. Apples or onions. Not both. You have to pick. 

Barring another meta, I can’t really say what the onion is supposed to represent. Some things that echoe Jon’s apple themes:

His sons were good fighters and better sailors, but they did not know how to talk to lords. They were lowborn, even as I was, but they do not like to recall that. When they look at our banner, all they see is a tall black ship flying on the wind. They close their eyes to the onion.  (ACOK, Davos I)

Denial. 

Dany nibbled at an onion and reflected ruefully on the faithlessness of men. (ACOK, Daenerys III)

Faithlessness.

The feast was a meager enough thing, a succession of fish stews, black bread, and spiceless goat. The tastiest thing Theon found to eat was an onion pie. Ale and wine continued to flow well after the last of the courses had been cleared away. (ACOK, Theon II)

Theon about to be ordered to attack Winterfell. Betrayal.

The last time it was life I brought to Storm's End, shaped to look like onions. This time it is death, in the shape of Melisandre of Asshai. (ACOK, Davos II)

Life and death brought by the same person.

Melisandre’s manichean world view vs. Davos’ more encompassing one:

"What if I am? It seems to me that most men are grey."

"If half of an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil."  (ACOK, Davos II)

Bless you Sam. 

Hungry as he was, Sam knew he would retch if he so much as tried a bite. How could they eat the poor faithful garrons who had carried them so far? When Craster's wives brought onions, he seized one eagerly. One side was black with rot, but he cut that part off with his dagger and ate the good half raw. (ASOS, Samwell II)

Considering apples represent the choice you make to serve an ethical bigger picture (not necessarily loyalty to an order), onions seem to show a contrasting duality of bad and good, a refusal to position oneself honestly, dirty compromises, the darkness in human beings. 

Davos’ entire arc circles around being a very decent human being who none the less supports a whole lot of questionable crap. Our resident kraken Theon is torn inside unable to choose between Greyjoy and Stark identity and becomes monstrous. 

Melisandre downright denies the existence of grey. The presence of bad cancels out all good.  Samwell, on the other hand, embraces the good while disregarding the bad. 

Ygritte smelled of onion. Dany eats wild onion on her dragon grassland chapter,  Jorah eats onion. Brienne has onion soup on her way to Lady Stoneheart. Jon offers the Wildlings onion soup after they burn their god’s for Melisandre in echange for safety. Dark compromises. 

So the choice between apples and onions is the choice to MAKE a choice. Stop hedging your bets or practicing denial, position yourself, one way or the other. 

The woman who refuses to choose, loses her apple, loses the fruit that will set her sick son right, loses her cance at following her inner moral compass and doing the right thing. 

There is a tussle, Jon tries to rally them with a speech. They are in a Mutiny at Craster’s Keep kind of mood.

“You want more food?” asked Jon. “The food’s for fighters. Help us hold the Wall, and you’ll eat as well as any crow.” Or as poorly, when the food runs short. (…)

“Fight for you?” This voice was thickly accented. Sigorn, the young Magnar of Thenn, spoke the Common Tongue haltingly at best. “Not fight for you. Kill you better. Kill all you.” The raven flapped its wings. “Kill, kill.” Sigorn’s father, the old Magnar, had been crushed beneath the falling stair during his attack on Castle Black. I would feel the same if someone asked me to make common cause with the Lannisters, Jon told himself. “Your father tried to kill us all,” he reminded Sigorn. “The Magnar was a brave man, yet he failed. And if he had succeeded … who would hold the Wall?”

Jon believes in the greyness of men, but he also believes in choices. You don’t have to be perfect to do the right thing. But you have to do the right thing. Or a thing, anyway. You have to choose.

There is more commotion. Jon decides to make it simpler.

"Hal, what was it that you told this woman?"

Hal looked confused. "About the food, you mean? An apple or an onion? That's all I said. They got to pick."

"You have to pick," Jon Snow repeated. "All of you. No one is asking you to take our vows, and I do not care what gods you worship. My own gods are the old gods, the gods of the North, but you can keep the red god, or the Seven, or any other god who hears your prayers. It's spears we need. Bows. Eyes along the Wall. (…)

He recruits, actively. 

“The choice is yours,” Jon Snow told them. “Those who want to help us hold the Wall, return to Castle Black with me and I’ll see you armed and fed. The rest of you, get your turnips and your onions and crawl back inside your holes.”

Apples yay, onions nay. Dany killed the slavers of Astapor, and left alive only children under the age of 12. Jon recruit ages 12 and up for the Watch, girls and boys. Dany killed 163 random slavers. Jon recruits 63 Wildlings.

By the time the last withered apple had been handed out, the wagons were crowded with wildlings, and they were sixty-three stronger than when the column had set out from Castle Black that morning. 

The apples win out. No more mention of onions in this chapter. 

The chapter ends on a grey note, uncertain but hopeful. 

Marsh was unconvinced. “You’ve added sixty-three more mouths, my lord … but how many are fighters, and whose side will they fight on? If it’s the Others at the gates, most like they’ll stand with us, I grant you … but if it’s Tormund Giantsbane or the Weeping Man come calling with ten thousand howling killers, what then?” “Then we’ll know. So let us hope it never comes to that.”

Hilariously, it is not the treachery of the apple-choosing wildlings Jon will have to worry about. 

The abundance of onions and apples in this chapter sets up the struggle Jon faces in later ADWD chapters. The bigger picture v. Arya. Apples are done, for now, the onions stalk him. He tries to strikes a balance. He hesitates, he sends Mance, he struggles. In the end, the Pink Letter sends him over the edge.

Apples v. onions.  Jon has chosen. 

Apples = choice. The choices is… NOT the Watch. Arya. The North. The bigger picture. House Stark. 

Apple Quality: withered. Like the very first apple. 

Jon stood tall. He told himself that he would die well; that much he could do, at the least. “I know the penalty for desertion, my lord. I’m not afraid to die.” “Die!” the raven cried. “Nor live, I hope,” Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger and feeding a bite to the bird. (AGOT, Jon IX)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In conclusion:

Apples signal the necessity for Jon make a moral choice according to his own personal values. 

Jon always has his eyes on the bigger picture. 

His choices becomes increasingly divorced from the concept of loyalty to the Watch.

There is a pronounced conflict between apple and onion, between moral choice and refusal to choose. Jon tries to walk the line between the letter of his vows and his values. He ends up choosing his values. It goes badly. 

The quality of the apples has a relationship with the ease of choosing. 

whithered apples are fairly clean choices, 

rotten apples are traumatic choices, 

autumn apples relate to choices influenced by the wisdom of women, the stealing of women. 

There is a future apple promised to “the beastie” as a reward. 

If we want to draw a connection to the show, Jon will clearly face another apples v. onions conflict and the need to choose will feature heavily. It will go badly. But there is the promise of home and reward.

#asoiaf #fruit symbolism #apples #jon snow #you have to choose #my posts

[linskywords]

criminal-minds-fanfiction wrote a bunch of questions for authors that you’re supposed to let people ask you, buuuut I felt like answering all of them instead of doing my actual job this afternoon. 😄 Here we go:

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction?

Like 25 maybe? I started writing about a year after I started reading it. I had a fanfiction-deprived adolescence, y’all.

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one?

The hockey boys pulled me in years ago and they haven’t let me go. I do sometimes write other things: I almost always participate in Yuletide, and I’ve actually written a bunch of Animorphs fic under a different name (ask me if you want to see it!). Mostly hockey RPF, though.

3) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

Haha neither. Well, I guess OC’s, if I had to choose -- I don’t read or write reader inserts. But I tend to keep OC’s for original fiction.

4) What is your favourite genre to write for?

I was very confused about fic having genres before I realized this was probably referring to the genre of the canon works. Um...sports. :D

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

Don’t make me choose my favorite child. Um, probably the first wolfverse story -- I don’t know if it’s the best one, but I’m very grateful to it for starting the ‘verse!

6) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

None of them, if that’s an option. If I really had to choose...probably the Kirk/Spock fic I never finished even after uploading it to AO3 and promising to finish it this time. I still want to finish it!! But it would be the first to go.

7) When is your preferred time to write?

I don’t have a strong preference. Afternoon/evening. I like having multi-hour blocks, and I use the Forest app to keep me off my phone while I do it.

8) Where do you take your inspiration from?

Plot bunnies come from all over the place: random thoughts, memes, real-life conversations, suggestions from other fandom people. I tend to have a pretty strong “THIS IS A STORY I WANT TO WRITE” response when something grabs me the right way.

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote?

Haha this is probably why I’m not supposed to just answer all of these in order. XD I’ll answer for my current WIP: the scene where Geno kisses Sid for the first time. So soft. So angsty. 😈 (My own story has cursed me to love Geno. I am doomed.)

10) In your xxx fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind?

In general: I know how my stories are going to end when they start. Sometimes it does evolve a bit as I write. One thing I’d like to play with is including more of the main characters being together at the end of the story, instead of ending it at the moment when they get together; the latter makes sense from a tension perspective, but I’ve been finding when I read lately that I want more of the happy times at the end, so I’m going to try to move in that direction.

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

Only for typos, I think.

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why?

Ooooh. Either Patrick Kane or Jonathan Toews. There’s something so compelling to me about Patrick’s fanon voice. And every love interest in every original story I try to write is Jonny.

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why?

I...don’t really write about characters I don’t like? I wish Auston Matthews would shave his mustache.

14) How did you come up with the title for the xxx? - You can ask about multiple stories.

About fifty percent of the titles I come up with are desperate scrambles because I’ve got nothing. The other fifty percent I have a perfect song lyric for from the start.

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names?

I only write OC’s in original fiction, but: I’ve been phonebanking lately, and I’ve been writing down all the good names I come across. The best so far is someone with the last name Quackenboss.

16) How did you come up with the idea for xxx?

MAGIC.

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on.

Oh...oh no. Um.

“It doesn’t matter what he was thinking about. His knot popped; that’s the important thing.”

Some of you can probably guess what that’s about. :)

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

Mostly on my computer. I have a lot of beginnings of stories I haven’t finished yet; many of them I’ll probably go back to. I tend not to post things until I’m done or close to done with them. (That one Star Trek fic being an exception. Mea culpa.)

19) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

YES. The 1988 timer one and the 1988 story where Patrick’s a girl who sneaks onto the Blackhawks in disguise. I’d love to do a Bennguin version of both of those.

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

Hm. Some of them I think I rushed a little. More Than I Could Ever Promise, I think it needs a good old-fashioned battle scene in the mountains at the end to really round out the plot.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

Have I mentioned astolat? What, only two or three hundred times? I should mention her again, then. Give me that woman’s ability to plot. Inject it into my veins.

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

Haha. I often have slightly cringy moments in my old stories. You Made My Life an Adventure, I definitely didn’t really know what I was doing yet...

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

I usually listen to music.

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes?

Turned on.

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

Yes. The sequel to My Heart Forgets to Beat.

26) Which part of your xxx fic was the hardest to write?

The Sid/Geno wolfverse story I’m working on now is maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever written. The language barrier is such a new challenge for me.

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

I don’t formally outline, but I tend to have a sense of the major plot beats. One reason I love writing fic is that the plot and world tend to be straightforward enough for that. I have a lot more trouble doing that with original fiction.

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction?

This will radically reduce the amount of time I spend writing original fiction.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

Like You Have a Secret I think is less read than some of the others because it’s het, but I really love it. Similarly, some of my stories that are inspired by other works (Tangled, Doctor Who, The Giver) tend to be read less because people think they need to know the source material, when really I deviate from the source material so much it’s not important.

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

Huh. Probably not. I’m definitely surprised when some stories take off -- Kinda Narrows It Down I wrote pretty quickly, on a whim, and I was surprised by the extent to which it resonated with people. Turns out lots of people think Tyler was coming out in that tweet. XD

31) Send me a fic recommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to send the rec not the answerer)

Ooh. Ignoring the terms of this question, but: I just read this TK/Patty story and loooved it. It’s a different take on werewolves than the one I use in wolfverse, and it’s super compelling:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029188

32) Are any of your characters based on real people?

Hahahahahaha. (I mean...less so than you might think.)

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

I absolutely love it when people write screaming flaily responses to my fic. Also anytime anyone says that they’ve been having a tough time and my story was exactly what they needed. Maybe my favorite was the responses to More Than I Could Ever Promise that told me it read like a novel; that meant a lot to me right then.

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

Fandom is amazing; people almost never give me concrit. I did have someone ask once if I randomly chose when to stop writing and just ended my stories there. I was pretty offended, since of course that’s not true at all, but I can see where they were coming from: my stories tend to wrap up after the characters get together, and sometimes there’s a lot of potential story left to tell at that point. But stories have to end sometime.

35) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

I tend to share them! I find other people’s enthusiasm to be strongly motivating, and sometimes people have awesome suggestions I wouldn’t have thought of.

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s?

Well, I only have the one. XD Sid...is about to have an important conversation with Mario.

37) What’s the funniest story you’ve written?

Ooh, I’m not sure I’m the write person to answer! No idea, really. My recent TK/Patty is probably pretty funny. Or maybe Quality Time, where Patrick doesn’t understand why he keeps losing track of time when he’s cuddling with Jonny. Anything with a super dumb protagonist, probably.

38) If you could collab with any other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspire some collabs!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it.

Wow, I have no idea. I’ve never really written a story with someone, so I’m not sure how that would work. I want to say astolat again but honestly I’d be too intimidated.

...no, I’m gonna say astolat. Even if I made a fool of myself I think I would learn a ton.

39) Do you prefer first, second or third person?

Third. For some original stuff I like first person, but third feels right for the hockey boys.

40) Do people know you write fanfiction?

My close friends do. Most of my friends have the vague idea I write fic, but they don’t know my username or anything.

41) What’s you favourite minor character you’ve written?

Patrick Sharp. No question.

42) Song fic - What made you decide to use the song xxx for xxx.

I will legit listen to a new album with a doc open to write down promising lyrics. Titles are HARD, y’all.

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it?

I think people guessed where the Tangled fic was going. Though I also liked the guesses that it would be about Patrick’s mullet. XD I don’t really mind when people guess twists -- in the kind of story I write, it’s more about the experience of reading it than about surprise!

44) What is the last line you wrote?

“His parents have always been very respectful of any choices Sid’s wanted to make. They haven’t pried into his private life when he’s tried to set boundaries. But they’re wolves, and they know him a lot better than Jordy does. Sid isn’t going to be able to keep it a secret from them what he’s going through.”

...no guarantee it survives in that form. :D

45) What spurs you on during the writing process?

Getting the story out of my head and into reality! Spoon out that lake, baby.

I also do love the prospect of posting it for people to enjoy and respond to. It’s one of the reasons I find fic so much more rewarding than original fiction, where the timeline to a readership is so much longer.

46) I really loved your xxx fic. If you were ever to do a sequel, what do you think might happen in it?

Things, probably.

47) Here’s a fic title - insert a made up title. What would this story be about?

This exercise might be going off the rails a bit. (If anyone does want to pose this to me, feel free!)

48) What’s your favourite trope to write?

Ooh. Mutual pining. Friends to lovers. Werewolves. :D

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

The first fic I ever, ever read was a random Kirk/Spock one I found through google, and I was like “OMG IS THIS WHAT AROUSAL FEELS LIKE”

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Oh man. Angst, as long as it can have a happy ending. But it just wouldn’t be the same without the smut.

#this was fun #i guess i should go back to work now #fic #fandom #ao3 #tropes #hockey rpf #writing #patrick kane #jonathan toews #sidney crosby #geno malkin #tyler seguin #probably some other people

[hayleyb100]

Light My Way, Part 9

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 the end

⚠️ WARNING! ⚠️  -It is a twisted story of Pokemon Sun and Moon, and a crossover of Pokemon SM and SWSH. -It features Hau and Kabu as the main characters. -Extremely angsty. -Everything is headcanon. -It isn’t spoiler-free.

The peaceful daily life returned to Kabu and Hau. They strolled the Motorstocke City together, sometimes stopping by at the cafe to enjoy some treats. They went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for their meals. They went to the Wild Area, but not to do a harsh training but to watch happy pokemons under Kabu's protection. It wasn't anything special or something to make your eyes pop out, but that was enough to give joy to the family's life.

With Kabu's care and love confirmed through the Wild Area incident, a bright smile never left Hau's face. Kabu was exhilarated to see such positive changes happening to Hau. He was content that his love is reaching his son, and somewhat proud of himself too. At this rate, Kabu's dream of adopting Hau seemed so near in his reach.

Little did he know, what happened in the Wild Area wasn't the last hurdle to overcome.

___________________________________

*Ding-dong*

"Yes? Who is it?" while they were playing a board game, the doorbell rang.

When Kabu opened the door, a stranger was standing.

"Good afternoon. Are you Kabu by any chance?" the stranger asked.

"Yes, I am he... May I be of help?"

"I'm here to see Hau."

Kabu frowned instantly and grabbed the door tight, to shut it tight if he is a kidnapper or something.

"...Dad?" Hau's voice from behind stabbed Kabu's ears. What?

"Hau! Oh, my son." The man who Hau called father pushed Kabu aside and marched in to cuddle the little Alolan child.

"Wh... What are you doing here?" Hau opened his eyes round and wide as if he is wondering.

"I have been looking for you." his dad said with dewy eyes.

"I searched for you everywhere in Alola, before I discovered that you were sent to be fostered in Galar."

"Wait, so... Are you saying you are Hau's biological father?" Kabu's voice started to tremble, as his mind became uneasy from an obvious consequence.

"Yes. And you are?"

"I... I'm Kabu. The one who has been fostering Hau."

"I see! Let me convey my appreciation. Thank you." Hau's father shook Kabu's hand as he wore the smile of a gentleman, but the Fire Gym Leader was doubtful for an obvious reason.

Where was this guy?

"I'm so sorry, Hau... I wanted to come to get you as soon as I heard you were in danger... But I was sick on my side too, so daddy had to stay in the hospital for a while."

It was dangerous to jump into conclusion, but Kabu could not stop thinking that is such a convenient lie.

"Are... Are you okay now, dad?" Hau, the overly kind child, still worried about his irresponsible dad.

"Of course I am now." The dad nodded.

"Ahem... Excuse me, Mr. Kabu. May I talk to my son alone? I'm sure you know, but there are a lot of things to catch up between father and son."

Kabu doesn't know why, but he could feel his internal organs twisted from disgust and rage.

Did he say father and son just now?

Is he even qualified to address himself that title?

He WASN'T THERE WHEN HAU WAS AT THE LOWEST.

HOW DARE-

Kabu almost punched his face, kicked him right out of his house, and sent him packing to Alola, but he restrained with all his might as Hau was there. And he knows that however the foster or adoptive parents try, the child will always miss their biological parents. He also knew that if he blocks them from their bio parents, they will yearn for them more. Kabu had to nod without a choice. He never thought it was a problem, but the fact that he doesn't share blood with Hau ravaged his heart.

Hau's dad held his son's hand and took him away, as Hau reluctantly followed. Seeing Hau walking away just made Kabu agitated as Falink deserted from its troop. Who knows what that bio father will talk to his child?

_______________________________

"I'm so glad to see you again doing well. Have some."

"Thank you, dad..." Hau said uneasily, as he took a bite out of the pancake that his father bought for him in the cafe.

"How have you been? Did the foster father take good care of you?"

Hau noded instantly, as there was no doubt that Kabu and others in Galar were ever so kind to him.

"I met so many people. My foster father was a wonderful person and so were others! Milo, Nessa, even Hop... They encouraged me and loved me as their own."

"I see." father spat out soullessly as he moved onto his point.

"Hau. Actually, I came to get you."

"...Sorry?" Hau couldn't believe his ears. What did he just say?

"Now I am better and all, I want to take you back to Alola."

No. That short answer popped up right into Hau's head, but his dad didn't give him a chance to say it. He babbled on.

"I know I have been an irresponsible parent. I know that. If only I wasn't ill... But let's not give an excuse. I want to redeem myself for the wrong deeds. Please, can you not give papa that chance?"

"..........." Hau was still hesitant. He was definitely sitting right in front of his 'father', but it was as if he was encountering a complete stranger who met the first time in this cafe. He felt so far away from him emotionally that he couldn't say yes to his suggestion. Hau knew that. Hau now knows why his father wasn't there when he was going through all the bitterness, but that didn't lift any of his repulsiveness.

Whatever the reason, he WASN'T THERE.

The polarized emotions in Hau started to swirl like a tornado. They resent that he wasn't there when he needed his dad the most, but at the same time, the feeling towards the only blood-related family left.

Seeing his son hesitating to answer, the father pulled out a cheat card from his sleeve.

"I bet your mom and Tutu would love to see us happy back as a family together. They would miss you in Alola."

That stabbed Hau's guilt again. His guilt on making them die. Hau was near to vomiting at this point. He thought he moved on, but the guilt haunted him yet again. He stared at his dad.

"Please? Give this daddy a chance to make things better. Don't you wanna go home and see Tutu and mama again?"

Hau started sweating from pressure. The answer was so hard to get. However, before he knew it, Hau's guilt was forcing him to nod.

"Oh, thank you, Hau... I promise I will be the best dad on the planet."

Hau felt so bad for Kabu and everyone who worked super intense to heal him, but he wouldn't help it. But Hau was entirely unaware he could answer with all the NO of the world, as his dad was making the evil smirk behind his back.

As you have guessed, it was conspicuous that this so-called dad didn't come to redeem himself. Absolutely no way. After Hau moved to Galar and things settled down in Alola, this shameless fucktard showed himself to get the bequest of Hala, claiming he is the son. But unfortunately for him, Nanu and Olivia sneered and notified him that his rights to inherit the bequest were terminated long ago when he ran away from Alola declaring he will not inherit the position of Kahuna. So, to fulfill his dirty scheme, he now needed Hau, who still has the right to inherit Hala's position and legacies. And as soon as he gets all the fortune he wants with the pretext to be Hau's caretaker, he is ready to dump him again to another region where Hau can never find him. A perfect plan on his side.

Poor Hau who doesn't have any idea about the malicious side of his dad agreed to go back to Alola with him, completely gaslighted like a butterfly caught in a spider's net.

_____________________________________

"I beg your pardon?" Kabu's heart dropped as Hau's dad explained their plans.

"It is as you heard. Hau agreed to move back to Alola with me."

"I... But..." Kabu was losing his breath as he asked with his eyes to Hau if it was true. Hau didn't say anything and tore his eyes away from Kabu.

Kabu felt as if his whole world was caving in. He worked with all his might to bring a smile back on Hau's face and this random guy came out of nowhere and tried to snatch the child away from him. It was absurd. No way.

"What is with the face of complaints? Were you seriously trying to ADOPT the child when his parents were alive and well? Haha, thank you for loving Hau so much. But as long as the biological parents are alive, the custody lies on me. So... let's just say it is unfortunate that you don't share blood with Hau."

Blood. THAT DAMN BLOOD. WHY DOES GENE HAVE TO TOP THE EMOTIONAL BOND?

Kabu gripped his hand so hard that it turned scarlet and clenched his jaws until his molars felt like cracking into pieces. He could feel his body trembling like a dead leaf with the upset. It was... unfair. Just UNFAIR.

"We will leave tomorrow, so if you have time, please come to say goodbye to Hau. In fact, please make the time to come. I'm sure Hau would like to bid farewell too. Now, let's go, Hau. We'll sleep in daddy's accommodation today."

After they left, Kabu sat alone in the living room. He didn't know how to feel. It was as if his whole efforts were wasted into thin air. He didn't cry. He wasn't feeling sad. Rather, he was furious. Furious towards the goddamn law tearing his beloved son away from him.

...Son? Did he say, son?

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