#jack did not even attempt not to fall in love with her. king shit

[fighting-naturalist]

jack o'neill would absolutely tweet everything in this incredible post

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!���

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79 @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off @jesfreedark @amyk-37 @altarsw @feminist-violinist @spideysimpossiblegirl @lazybeeches @shameless-h  @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @mamacitapascal @the-ginger-hedge-witch @disgruntledspacedad @asta-lily @aesnawan @frannyzooey @gaiuswrites @beskarboobs @honestly-shite @sherala007 @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend @missminkylove @pedros-mustache @headinthestarz @leannawithacapitala @sharkbait77 @radiowallet  @danidrabbles @magpie-to-the-morning @mandocrasis @juletheghoul @javierpinme @voteforpedro09 @theorganasolo @aprilqueen84 @Prostitute-robot-from-the-future @wanderlustmags @darnitdraco @castleamc @outlawedmando @lawfulgranola @jaime1110 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @taticalsparkles @chasingdreamer @beautyagegoodnesssize @pintsizemama @recklessworry @tarolovesyoo @xgoldenjenny @prideandpascal @amneris21 @mylovelycomandante @ohhersheybars @heartsofbeskar

A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots​ 

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 278: MOMO IN CHARGE

Previously on BnHA: Deku and Kacchan were all “SIR, THAT’S OUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SENSEI” and got really ferocious and made a very passionate attempt to blow Tomura up and it was great. It basically did nothing, but it was still great. AFO was all “COME HERE LIL BRO”, and Tomura was all “silly Sensei, you can’t just take over my mind and body just like that”, and he was very confident of this despite there really being no evidence to back it up, but okay! Gran was all “time to make the fandom mad at me” and grabbed Tomura by the collar and yelled at him about Nana a bit, and then Bakugou and Endeavor made an even MORE passionate attempt to blow up Tomura, which may or may not have done some actual damage. The chapter ended with Gigantomachia battling Mt. Lady, just kinda out of the blue, which is FINE, but she had better be all right, though!

Today on BnHA: Everyone is all “WAUGHH IT’S GIGANTOMACHIA” and running around freaking out about it. The U.A. alums all kick some ass, and pretty much everyone else not from U.A. does jack fucking shit. Mt. Lady, who I plan on naming all of my future children after, does her best to stop Machia but he keeps flinging her aside. Kamui Woods is all “here I come with Midnight to put Gigantomachia to sleep!” and is PROMPTLY FUCKING MURDERED!? by Dabi because he’s a flammable tree man, and so Midnight falls all the way to the ground and is badly injured. So then she’s all “well I better call the most competent person I can think of to fix this mess” and dials up YAOYOROZU FUCKING MOMO, who proceeds to take charge LIKE THE BOSS SHE IS, and mobilizes the rest of the kids. And honestly I have more faith in them than in any of the adults at this point, so yeah, you know what? Let’s do this.

so I am possibly a bit spoiled on this chapter because I did a “top five predictions” post earlier this week, and someone replied to that yesterday on Thursday saying that they were mostly correct. I don’t know exactly how close to the mark I was though, and in any case most of the predictions were just “so-and-so shows up, probably”, so it’s not too bad. we’ll see how it goes!

OH THANK GOD MY BABIES ARE SAFE

I mean, CLEARLY they’re all about to be in horrible danger, seeing as Jirou is about to inform them of the whole “THE BIG GUY EVERYONE WAS AFRAID ABOUT WAKING UP WOKE UP” thing, but in the meantime at least Kami and Toadette and Honenuki made it back to the group safely

also Kaminari’s use of “Jirou-Jack” here is fucking inspired and I want him to teach a class on nicknames. isn’t he the one who coined “Yaomomo” as well? this boy has a gift and it needs to be appreciated

so Jirou is all “SOMETHING REALLY BIG IS COMING”, and actually she says “INSANELY HUGE”, which if anything is still an understatement, hard as it is to believe

WOW

“A BAD GUY IS HEADING THIS WAY?? SOUNDS LIKE IT’S TIME TO ABANDON THE CHILDREN IN THE WOODS” kjlfakh okay you know what?? fine!! you weren’t even going to do anything anyway so let’s not pretend!!

holy shit it’s like Mt. Lady isn’t even there

look at those speed lines!! goddamn. I just felt this huge rush of empathy for Mt. Lady though. like can you imagine growing up with this super-destructive quirk, and managing to become a hero with it against all odds, and having to put up with the manga making fun of you all the time just because sometimes you have a tendency to DESTROY A LOT OF STUFF, but it’s not like you can help it!! but the upside has always been that when your quirk is on, you are fucking UNSTOPPABLE though. so even though it’s been a hell of a rough ride for you, it’s worth it because you’re a complete badass and the number of people who can beat you out in terms of sheer physical strength is probably in the single digits. and you’re working really hard too, and lately you’ve been moving up through the ranks and actually becoming a damn fine hero if I do say so myself (and I do), and it’s like, about time though?? like finally, finally it is all starting to come together for you. and then this snarling trashrock person suddenly comes stampeding along and you put your all into trying to stop him, and it doesn’t even do a damn thing. like, holy shit. that’s just not fucking fair and YOU DESERVE BETTER, MT. LADY

anyway so she’s still hanging in there for now though so let’s check in with our villain squad riding on his back

lmaooo they’re all “I don’t even understand what is going on here”

YOU GUYS, THIS IMPLIES THAT THEY WERE ALL PLUCKED OFF THE GROUND BY THE SCRUFFS OF THEIR NECKS AND THEY HAD ABSOLUTELY NO SAY IN THE MATTER OMG. like I’m picturing Spinner being held by his cape pinched in between Machia’s thumb and forefinger, and awkwardly trying to lecture him like a mom with his hands on his hips all, “BAD GIGANTOMACHIA! NO! NOOOUAGH -- !” and cutting off with a yelp as he’s dropped onto his back

and I am glad they got Toga some clothes! I like to think Gigantomachia grabbed those for her as well. so thoughtful

wow Skeptic actually wants to go back to Re-Destro??

color me legit impressed. I underestimated your loyalty my dude. and let me also just take this moment to extend my gratitude toward Horikoshi for leaving the rest of the MLA out of it because good fucking riddance to them, goodbye forever hopefully!!

I guess they’ll be needing Skeptic’s quirk down the line for some reason? maybe he is meant to be like a new, less out-of-control Twice. smdh y’all out here trying to replace your dead buddy like a pet goldfish

who is this “they” Dabi is referring to

do you mean the heroes? lol yeah I guess they’re pretty distracted by the literal fucking kaijuu you’re currently piggybacking on

SIGH

“the Jakku team must’ve made a mistake” BOY, I’LL SAY. you know what, don’t even talk to me about that yet. it’s still too fresh. suffice it to say that your suspicions are correct and things in Jakku are not very daijobu right about now

anyway here’s a closeup of this bubble person just cuz

they are everything and I want them to be my friend. also there’s a squid person a few paces behind them who can probably do anything a squid can do. or they might actually be a shark person, actually. I don’t know. either way I love them

GETEN PLEASE GO AWAY

WE ARE PHASING OUT THE MLA!! MOVING FORWARD IT’S ORIGINAL LOV ONLY!! I’M SORRY BUT YOU DIDN’T MAKE THE CUT. we already have an ice character so shoo

OH DAMN MY MAN CEMENTOSS HAS HAD ENOUGH OF HIS NONSENSE TOO AHHHH YESS

1) hey so Cementoss is legit terrifying who’d’ve thought

and 2), did Cementoss always have a mouthful of gigantic perfect teeth each the size of a slice of bread, or is this just something I’m only noticing now because I’m behind the curve. either way, let me just say sincerely, DKJDLKFJLSKJG

RE-DESTRO YOU GO AWAY TOO!!

@waywardfacegarden​ you asked the other day which are the characters I actually dislike, and this is one of them lol. he’s just a big ol’ prick, and on top of that has the audacity to not even be interesting in any way so as to balance it out. anyway so apologies to any Re-Destro stans out there but I basically spend every panel he’s in hoping that someone will punch him in the face hard enough to finally make him shut up

anyway so my man Edgeshot is here though, finally!! but of all the people for him to fight! this is a real predicament for me. the most soothing character in the series contrasted with the character who grates my nerves the most. Edgeshot’s sexy ASMR voice is gonna be drowned out by all of RD’s punching and self-important ranting in the anime and I’m lowkey devastated but I’m gonna pull myself together and read on

SPEAKING OF SELF-IMPORTANT RANTING

Edge, if you can liberate us from having to put up with his insufferable ass once and for all I will be so grateful to you. can you do this. please. for me

and it looks like some other boring MLA villains are following along behind Machia so I’m gonna need someone to kick their asses as well. please

-- YESSSSSS

okay so now I see what that comment on my prediction post was referring to lol. I did indeed have my fingers crossed that these two would show up again, and sure enough! THE GANG’S ALL HERE YAY

and Mt. Lady is being sumoed aside!

anyone want tonight’s lotto numbers. during this brief fleeting moment of having my predictions be actually credible, I would just like to say that Hagakure is the U.A. traitor. thank you and goodnight

OH NO KAMUI IS WORRIED

HE LOOKS SO PANICKED?? OUT OF THE BLUE I SHIP IT SO MUCH?? I keep forgetting they’re on the same team and stuff and wow, I need to calm down

LOL MIDNIGHT IS ALL “NO TIME FOR SHIPS!!”

I wonder if her quirk will actually be enough to take him down? this is something I’ve been itching to see for a long time, actually. just how powerful is she? we know her quirk is more effective on males than females, but is anyone actually capable of resisting it? imagine if she really did just knock Gigantomachia out after all of this buildup. that would be some god-tier shit omg, DO IT

(ETA: I am just going to assume that since Horikoshi had to go to elaborate lengths to take her out of the fight, this means that her quirk really was capable of knocking them all out. another tragic case of Too Badass For The Plot. y’all better respect Midnight.)

YESSSSSSSS

is she stripping. you know what -- don’t think about it. I won’t let you ruin this for me Horikoshi. Midnight’s gonna be a badass because the ladies are fucking ruling this arc and that’s all there is to it

NOOOOOO

DABI GET BACK HERE I JUST WANT TO TALK!!

oh thank god, she’s all right. BUT KAMUI ISN’T THOUGH DLKJSFLKSJDG??!

did Kamui Woods just... die

(ETA: okay but for real, is there an actual curse in effect on the Billboard Top Ten right now, though?? did one of them accidentally disturb the tomb of some ancient king??)

...

( ･ั﹏･ั)

oH MY GOD!?!

NOOOOOOO WHY ARE YOU SO QUICK TO SLEEP ON MAJESTIC, LET’S SEE IF THEY CAN DO IT!! GIVE US MAJESTIC GOD DAMMIT

(ETA: Horikoshi is seriously just yanking our chain at this point. when Majestic finally does show up, he or she better have the coolest fucking quirk of all time, that’s all I’m saying.)

okay how badly injured is Midnight here, though?? she just fell all that way?? DO I NEED TO BE REALLY MAD. I CAN WORK MY WAY UP TO IT PRETTY QUICKLY, JUST SAY THE WORD. I’M ALREADY HALFWAY THERE HONESTLY. WHERE’S KAMUI WOODS

!!!!!!!!!!!

AND JUST LIKE THAT MY ANGER EVAPORATES INTO THE NIGHT, YESSSSSSSSS!! MOMOOOOO

holy shit. “a quirk that can stop that thing,” she says. and goes and calls YAOYOROZU FUCKING MOMO y’all I am barely holding myself back from SCREAMING right now I...

you guys

you guys. if Midnight and Yaomomo team up to take down Gigantofuckingmachia using some sort of MOMO MADE A MACHINE TO SPREAD MIDNIGHT’S QUIRK strategy, or whatnot?? I will fucking die on the spot. you can end the manga right there. Kacchan you can keep your quirk I don’t even care

“IT MIGHT BE AGAINST THE LAW” lmaooooo insert John Mulaney “WE’RE WELL PAST THAT” gif here. holy shit. listen, that is fine. if anything it’s even better

WHAT THE FUCK

DO I NEED TO START GETTING REALLY MAD AGAIN!?!?! FUCKING WHIPLASH, IS WHAT THIS IS, BUT YOU JUST TELL ME WHAT SORT OF OVER-THE-TOP REACTION IS NEEDED HERE AND I’LL GO FOR IT

(((( ;°Д°))))

[GRABS HORIKOSHI BY THE COLLAR] listen, you. if you only just now, for the first time ever, gave us a lady hero actually mentoring another lady hero, which we have somehow NEVER HAD BEFORE in almost three hundred chapters, only for you to then KILL OFF THE MENTOR IN THE MIDDLE OF HER GODDAMN SPEECH TO THE MENTOREE, I will... there’s... I’ll... okay, listen. DON’T. THERE WILL BE A RECKONING. CAPSLOCK SUCH AS THIS WORLD HAS NEVER WITNESSED!!

ヽ(#ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ┌┛

I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO REACT TO ANYTHING IN THIS CHAPTER AND I’M LOSING MY MIND OVER IT

so the other kids are all “what the fuck” and “so Momo’s in charge??” which, YES!!! IT’S THE ONE GOOD PART ABOUT ALL THIS SO DON’T YOU DARE QUESTION IT

MOMO NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE CRIPPLED BY YOUR ANXIETY, YOU CAN DO THIS GIRL I BELIEVE IN YOU

hell, it’s not even just an “I believe in you” thing, because it’s not just belief, it’s fact. you motherfucking can do this, you are the most capable and brilliant student in 1-A, you just gotta have faith and let yourself shine!!

so now there are some more panels of Machia running and the villains and heroes fighting, blah blah blah. and Momo screwing up her face as she makes her decision...

YESSSSSSSSS

my baby girl is all grown up and TAKING THESE MOTHERFUCKIN REINS and MOMO I WILL LAY DOWN MY LIFE FOR YOU JUST SAY THE WORD!!

lol she’s all “Jirou use your ears and scientifically calculate how long it’ll take him to get here”, and Jirou is all “I can literally fucking see him, he’s gonna be on top of us in like two seconds” WELL OKAY THEN

thank god there are no adult pros left to fuck this up. is that weird that this is a real and honest and completely sincere thought that just ran through my head? like, at this point if any of the adults were around I’d just be afraid of them dying honestly. but with the kids I actually feel real hope that they’re somehow gonna do this. of course it helps that unlike the adults they’re pretty safe from being killed off

also! way to represent the entirety of class 1-B there Honenuki lulz. sorry, The Rest of Class 1-B

OH MY GOD

MT. LADY I WILL LAY DOWN MY LIFE FOR YOU AS WELL!! YOU HAVE MY LOVE AND FEALTY!!

I’M STANNING HER SO HARD I’M GONNA EXPLODE SOMEBODY HELP!?!

JIROU SAYS THAT MACHIA HAS SLOWED DOWN!! YOU GUYS I’M ABOUT TO GET “MT. LADY FOR PRESIDENT” TATTOOED ACROSS MY FOREHEAD

lmao at Shouji using his power of “putting some extra eyeballs on my arms” to inform everyone that Gigantomachia is Right Over There and Very Big

good job Shouji

oh my glob I have so much love for Momo right now that it can’t even fucking be contained. brb wildly flailing my hands around a little to try and release some of this excess excitement

maybe Momo can be president instead and Mt. Lady can be the vice president

NO THE CHAPTER IS ENDING I’M NOT READY

AND JUMP IS ON BREAK AGAIN NEXT WEEK TOO, FML!!

okay!!

Kaminari is so fucking brave right now I just want to crush him in a hug?! we know he’s still scared!! look at his eyes!! and he was freaking the hell out earlier too, and now the situation is much worse! but he doesn’t give a fuck because his friends need him! he is ready to be a hero, my little baby boy is all grown up and I’m so proud??

Mineta’s face in the bottom right corner is everything. I know, I know, boooo Mineta, but that’s still the best face anyone has made in the entirety of this manga

Tetsutetsu’s out here all “I humbly request to also represent class 1-B” and Momo is all “okay fine I guess we can have two of you guys”

can we all just stop for a moment to appreciate how KamiJirouMomo is alive and well. like, we had interactions between all three of them in this chapter, in all possible permutations? do you know how happy this makes me?? I am vibrating with joy??!

I really can’t stress this enough -- I have no clue at all what these little soda can things are (anesthetic, I guess??? you know, like how you sometimes buy cans of anesthetic at the supermarket?? what do you mean you don’t do that??), or what they’re gonna do with them. I have like negative clues. but DAMNED IF I GIVE ONE SINGLE FUCK. the next chapter can be them all fucking hurling them at his face for all I care. THE DETAILS OF HOW SHE KICKS HIS ASS DO NOT MATTER!! GOOD MORNING TO YAOMOMO AND YAOMOMO ONLY!! MY MOMO ACADEMIA

[shirtlesssammy]

15x17 Bullet Point Rambles

We MAY be doing some squeaking during this THEN sequence. Billie! Cas! The Empty! WE’RE FINE

Boris: Amara is reading Murakami? That’s the ONE book of his I haven’t read

The stars begin to fall and Amara knows Chuck HATH ARRIVED (We like Amara even more now)

Sam’s giving Dean the silent treatment. (Boris: Boys you have 4 episodes to GET IT TOGETHER)

Amara wishes she could get to know Jack. The SECRETS in this crew, people. Also…AUNTIE AMARA!

Sam is Jack’s sad dad :(

Sam uses the phrase BLINDLY FOLLOWING ORDERS to accuse Dean of doing the wrong thing and we are LIVING

Dean THEN says “Jack’s not family” and we both gasp in shock. DEAN! You wash your goddamn fucking mouth out right now. Anyway, he takes Jack out to meet his doom and we sarcastically slow clap under Dean’s nose

Sam and Cas connect in the bunker, bonding over trying to find another way. ALL THE HEARTS

Amara and Chuck reconnect and…we get an “Amara” title card? Iiiiiiinteresting

Chuck asks Amara’s help to do a hard reset (Chuck is grossed out by Amara/Dean? Excuse us as we cry/laugh at this) Amara wants to defend the world and we shout PROTECT

“Why did I go with carbon based life?” Chuck laments. Humans ruin everything!

Amara zaps Chuck up to Heaven. I like that Amara’s doing the ghost of Christmas present schtick

FANDOM please make us a million gifs of Amara’s reaction shots from this episode for reasons

Amara proposes “balance” between herself and Chuck, but he’s not into sharing. She zaps Chuck into the Winchester’s bunker trap. DAMN GIRL

Me: DON’T KILL our precious sunflower, Amara!

Dean enjoys awkward moments with Jack and we get our next title card: “Dean”

Jack tells Dean that he understands that he’s not family and I love Dean but ALSO hope he feels like SHIT right now. Yessss YESSSSS give me that sweet angst

Dean and Jack end up at a “Southwest jewelry” shop - featuring Adam and————- Serafina. SERAFINA IS AN ANGEL whaaaat is happening

Adam’s ready for vengeance against Chuck and he’s partnering with Billie to do it

Jack has to pick a crystal - one touched by God. (Boris: this is like the tradition of picking the Dalai Lama like in King of the Hill, right?)

Jack sees all the crystals as being touched by God. Their existence makes them divine, because God is in everything. “At least he should be,” Adam grumbles

Serafina stabs the heck out of Adam and he actually says, “DUDES, chill” and I can’t even. She pulls out his rib

Adam’s rib is strong enough to create life OR destroy God. It will turn Jack into a bomb if he touches it. <Insert meta about his rib aka women being the strongest life force>

Boris: Hey, Jack. Sweetie? Maybe hand the bag with the power rib over to Dean to hold for safe keeping

Dean “apologizes” in his own special half ass way for what Jack overheard in the bunker. He tries to explain that learning about Chuck’s control meant that he felt like he wasn’t alive. He thanks Jack for what he’s about to do. (Me: NOT ENOUGH, DEAN-O) (He’ll get there, I know, I know)

“Sam” is our next title card and we are ready for feelings. He and Cas commiserate about their feelings of hopelessness and yet…immense sense of wrongness in the situation. Sam remembers the key to Death’s library from that one time Sergei was visiting (because he operates best under major trauma?)

We get a MONTAGE of box opening until they find the KEY. Yes, please! I am always down for a trip to a library!

Sam tells Cas to stay behind to stop Dean (Us: Distract him with a sexy strip-tease!)

Sam finds a whole bunch of dead reapers in the library. Guessing that’s not by design. Someone shrieks in the distance, which can only mean wholesome things!

Meg as the Empty is holding court! God, I love that they brought Rachel Miner back <3 She dead-ifies another reaper while Sam looks on

The Empty is pissed at all the manipulation from Death, from God. (We love that the sweetest person plays these dark characters. QUEEN)

Only Billie can read Death’s books, so the Empty can’t read Chuck’s book

Sam LIES HIS ASS OFF and tells the Empty that Billie sent him so, like, plz don’t kill him or hurt him? SAM FUCKING WINCHESTER tells The Empty that he needs to fetch Chuck’s book. BALLS OF STEEL, THIS ONE (Boris: That was a very beautiful Sam moment)

Meanwhile, Chuck and Amara exchange broody looks. She tries to convince him to make the right choice and then he tells her to “shut up.” We’ll have to slap him, now

Chuck feeds on Dean shoving Jack to his end. He is SUPER PLEASED with his manipulation

Dean PULLS. A. GUN. on Sam. FFS

Chuck reveals the truth about their plan to Amara OUR SUNFLOWER and Dean and Sam engage in fisticuffs. WELL SHIT

Amara’s heart gets broken and WE ARE DECEASED NOOOOO how did we come to care for her so much? Chuck implores Amara to create something new and beautiful with him. Ooooooo honey you can’t trust him. She takes his hand and gets absorbed into him. Gross

Dean attempts to lose his shit at Sam, but Sam implores him to remember how he’s protected him from Dad, Lucifer, everything. EYEBALLS EMOJI. Sam cries and we are EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISED

Sam talks Dean down but it’s too fucking late, baby boys! Chuck emerges all juiced up with his sister’s essence, and complains that they’ve ruined his story AGAIN

Jack collapses and the next stop is dead baby boy central! WE ARE SHOCKED that the episode is over! When is next week? Oh god, next week is the US election. We need to be…encased in some very soft blankets. Please, join us in our blanket fort WHERE NOTHING BAD EVER HAPPENS! See ya next week, babes

[theprinceofflies]

Sleeping Beauty

Ship: Danti

(dapperstache, google/chase/bing implied)

~`~`~`~`~

Dark walked the halls of the long empty halls of the old castle. No empty wasn't the right word. Frozen, that was it. Almost a hundred years had gone by since it had frozen. He paused in front of the Jims. Frozen in place chasing a dog.

A cruel twist in their fate. The fairy had said they would continue to age and die before their prince could awake. She must have changed her mind. Maybe she didn't want Dark to be lonely as he stayed to protect the prince. It wasn't much though everything around him had just stopped.

Dr. Scheeplestien and Dr. Iplier were frozen in the healer's ward. Dr. Iplier focused on mixing a concoction while Dr. Scheeplestien stared out the window, awaiting everyone's fate.

Jackie and a young squire were mock duelling in the ballroom. Marvin was frozen in fear, staring at where the fairy had appeared to bring her curse to them. The Host sat in the library talking to Bim Trimmer. Yandere was staring at a well-known knight who they had fallen for.

Google was reprimanding Chase and Bing for breaking a vase. Bing and Chase seemed seconds away from attempting to 'kiss it better' while Google, as usual, didn't notice.

Illinois was in the dungeons with Yancy, laughing because Yancy got himself stuck in jail for two days. Yancy was growling as he reached for the keys on Illionses belt.

Ed was in the kitchen sneaking some food. The Chef was about two seconds away from threatening to chop his arm off.

Wilford, Darks second in command, sat at a table surrounded by other knights and guards staring at JJ, a lovesick expression stuck on his face. JJ was sighing something to Robbie, stuck in a silent laugh.

The king and queen sat at their thrones joking about something. Jack was doing finger guns while Evelien was covering her mouth, eyes filled with joy.

Now only Dark was left. Left to make sure no one got hurt because of vines or wild animals. Oh, the vines. They stretched all over the castle, seeking to strangle the inhabitants. Huge dark green thorny vines.

Dark cut one down now as it was reaching for the Jims. He continued down the hallway, reaching a tower. He didn't know how the fairy did it but she had managed to place the tower right in the centre of the castle and make it seem like it belonged there. He ascended the steps now. Something he had done every day. At the top of the tower, there was a door, leading into a well-lit room. It was already open and Dark scolded himself for it.

The Prince lay sleeping on a bed. His green hair tied in a long braid behind him. It seemed to be the one flaw in the fairies spell. The only thing that didn't pause in time. Dark just braided it and prayed he didn't have to cut it.

Anti. Dark had been his guard when he was awake. Hopelessly devoted to him as Anti said. He could recall it vividly.

"Don't be so stuck up."

Dark sighed. "Come down from the tree your majesty."

"Oh come on that fairy needs me for her spell so she's gotta keep me alive till then," Anti said giggling. Dark sighed again, that was true. "What do you say I jump."

"Your majesty you can not-"

"One two three!" Anti shouted as he jumped from the tree.

Dark caught him as he fell. "Anti!"

"Aw I know you would catch me. Hopelessly devoted is what you are." Dark didn't respond, instead, he just glared. "And did you finally learned my name hot stuff?"

Dark blushed and set him on the ground. "I apologize to your majesty."

Anti laughed. "Seriously use my name dickhead."

"Language."

"Live a little. You've got another year of me and then I'll go to sleep and wake up with a handsome prince." Anti said and leaned again the tree.

Dark sighed. "And what is this handsome prince going to look like?" Anti froze. "You always say you want blond hair and blue eyes and," he said prompting Anti.

"He's going to have black hair and dark eyes. He's going to be kind to me. He's going to love me. And I," Anti trailed off.

Dark just stared at him. That wasn't what he normally said. His next sentence was about how his future husband would have a big dick and then he would go into fits of laughter. Beautiful maniacal laughter.

Dark shook his head and smiled at him. "You'll find out in one hundred and one years."

Anti nodded, not really feeling reassured.

~-~-~-~

"Come one I hate writing lessons. The Host hates me and you know it." Anti crossed his arms and glared at Dark.

"You are not skipping your lessons," Dark said plainly.

Anti sighed. "Fine."

Dark smiled and turned around. "Well-"

"Sike!"

Dark turned around to see Anti hopping out the window. "Shit!"

~-~-~-~

Dark dragged Anti out of a bush muttering to himself. "You can skip your lesson, just don't run away again and don't tell anyone I let you skip lessons."

Anti giggled. "Yay!"

"Why are you so adamant to skip your lessons?" Dark asked, letting go of Anti.

Anti hopped up and smiled sadly. "Well in like five months I'm going to fall asleep and wake up with everyone I love dead," he trailed off.

Dark nodded. "Do you want to watch the soldiers train?"

It was one of Antis favourite things especially if Dark was in charge. But if he wasn't commanding everyone he liked watching people fight Wilford who honestly played dirty most of the time. "Hell yes!"

~-~-~-~

"Wilford!" Anti shouted, running over to the training grounds.

"Anti darling, how are you?" Wilford drawled, leaning against a fence.

"Aren't you supposed to be training?" Dark asked.

Wilford chuckled. "Yeah, but I like the view."

Dark raised an eyebrow. "It's just the castle."

Anti frowned. "Yeah, I oh," he trailed off.

Dark looked concerned. "What is it?"

"JJ's working."

Dark turned to see JJ, the royal advisors apprentice sorting papers. Wilford sighed. "Isn't he just lovely?"

"Have you even talked to him?" Anti asked smiling.

Wilford shook his head. "Have you?"

"Well, it was rather awkward. He just stared at me, smiling. It was very one way."

"He uses sign language Will," Dark said.

"I can learn sign."

Anti laughed. "You're hopeless."

Wilford giggled, his moustache twitching. "I know."

"Just promise me when I go to sleep you'll talk to him."

"I promise."

~-~-~-~

"It's tomorrow," Anti said pacing back and forth.

Dark stood in the centre of his room nodding. "I know."

Anti grabbed at his hair. "My first kiss is going to be when I'm fucking passed out."

"You could change that I'm sure one of the squires would kiss you," Dark said.

Anti glared at him. "Help me pick an outfit."

"Outfit?" Dark asked with a chuckle.

"I'm stressed, Dark! Now green or blue?" Anti asked, peering into his closet.

"Black."

Anti looked back at him. "The black suit in the back of the closet with the green trim. You've always wanted to wear it, wear it."

Anti blinked at him. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

"I'm full of good ideas Anti."

Anti smiled and nodded.

~-~-~-~

The fairy had come the next day, early in the morning, taking everyone by surprise. She pulled Anti up the stairs and then he was asleep. He did look gorgeous in the outfit.

After Anti had fallen asleep and everyone had frozen, Dark was left alone. Not able to sleep or eat, just watch and guard everyone. He supposed he should thank the fairy for sparing everyone in the castle. He supposed.

Dark jumped as a crash cut through the silence. He walked out of Antis room and closed the door. He stood in front of the oak door awaiting the stranger. Footsteps approached and a young man appeared. "Hello? Who are you? Do I need to fight you?"

The man had sort of a blue and black swirl pattern on his armour. He had blond hair and black and blue eyes. He glared at Dark and grabbed for his sword. "No, I'm the guardian of the prince. He's in his room you can pass."

"Dude you look tired." The man said tilting his head.

Dark shook his head. "What's your name?"

"Die."

"Thank you, for saving us all from this curse."

Die laughed nervously and nodded at the door. "Could you move?"

Dark stepped aside and Die walked into the room. Anti lay still as ever in the room. Die sucked in a breath. "So I kiss him?"

"Yes."

"Ok."

Die walked over to him and leaned over. Dark turned away and closed his eyes. "Um."

"What?" Dark asked.

"It's not working."

Dark blinked and turned back to him. "Did you kiss him?" he asked almost frantically.

"Yeah see?" He leaned over and kissed Anti for about five seconds before pulling away. "Not waking up."

Dark walked over to Anti, panic evident in his expression. "He has to."

Die shrugged. "I don't know dude."

"But he has to!" Dark said, staring at his friend and prince.

"Why don't you fucking kiss him then?" Die muttered.

Dark stared at him. "What?"

"Kiss him. If he's supposed to wake up then you try."

"That's not-"

Die raised an eyebrow. "I dare you."

"Fine but when you try again and he wakes up you won't breathe a word," Dark growled at the prince. "Not a word."

Die nodded.

Dark sighed and leaned over Anti. He kissed him gently, meaning for it to be a peck on the lips before he pulled away and yelled at the other prince. That was until hands gripped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Anti pulled away giggling. "Hello, hot stuff."

Dark pushed him away. "Not me, him," Dark said, pointing to Die.

Anti raised an eyebrow. "I woke up kissing you," he said pointing at Dark.

"There was an issue with the curse it took too long, he kissed you first."

Anti nodded and turned to Die who smiled at him as if he had accomplished something. "Aw, that's cute you can leave."

Die's smile vanished. "But I-"

Anti waved him off. "Shoo get out."

Die blinked rapidly. "But I-"

"No not you. I didn't wake up kissing you so it's not you getting out."

Die left the room grumbling to himself. Anti stretched and hopped out of the bed. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep for a while."

Dark nodded taking a step back. "Your majesty I-"

Anti grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for another kiss. "Darky please," he whispered. "Use my name."

Dark blinked at him. "What?"

Anti groaned. "Oh my god, Dark, you're my knight in shining armour. Not him."

"How-"

"Because I fell in love with you, not some rando that didn't exist when I fell asleep," Anti said waving at the door.

Dark just nodded, standing stiffly and staring at Anti. Anti grabbed his braid. "Did you do this?"

"It was messy."

Anti laughed. "You know I asked her to let me grow my hair out, I've been trying for a while. Didn't think it would be this long."

Dark nodded again. "At ease soldier," Anti said.

Dark relaxed and paused for a second before he quickly pushed Anti against a wall, kissing him deeply. Anti squeaked in surprise but returned the kiss. "I've missed you," Dark whispered, running a hand through the prince's hair.

Anti sighed. "Well, I would say I missed you two but it was a blink for me."

Dark pulled away from the prince. "We should probably make sure the others are ok."

Anti perked up. "She spared them?"

"Yes."

Anti cheered, grabbing Darks hand and running down the stairs with him. They exited the tower and saw soldiers cutting down vines that had now grown aggressive. "Anti!" Wilford said, smiling. "Do you have any idea where all these vines came from?"

Anti shook his head and turned to his guard. "Dark?"

"They grew when Anti fell asleep."

Wilford frowned. "But he's right here."

Dark nodded. "It's been a hundred years Will," he said and smiled at his old friend.

"What," Wilford whispered.

"You were frozen for a while old friend."

Wilford thought for a moment and turned to Anti. "Wait then where's your prince?"

"Right here," Anti said, hugging Darks arm.

"You?" Wilford asked pointing at Dark.

Anti nodded and Wilford squealed. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Thank you," Anti said and kissed Darks cheek.

Wilford giggled and swayed back and forth. "So Dark?"

"Yes?"

"I was frozen for a hundred years."

"Yes."

"Anti was asleep?"

"Yes, Will I don't know how this is not registering."

Wilford grinned and took off. Anti laughed and Dark stared at where he went. "Remember his promise to me? To talk to his crush? He's either gonna talk to JJ or fuck some shit up."

"I should-"

Anti grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hallway. "Oh no, you don't. We're going to talk to my parents." Dark nodded and yawned. "After that, we can go to sleep."

"I can go to sleep. I believe you and the rest of the castle will be up for the next two days."

Anti snorted. "I don't think I'll sleep for a week."

Dark laughed and smiled at the prince. "I think I'll sleep for a week."

"Don't you dare I want to talk to you."

"Ok," Dark whispered and kissed Anti on the cheek.

Anti nodded and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for protecting me."

"You're very welcome my darling prince."

[erza155-writes]

Trephacard dark royalty!au

Ok, I know jack shit about Castlevania video game lore except "what is a man" line and I'm just spit balling and weaving webs as best as i can, but bear with me.

So, best!/worst! timeline Trevor/Alucard/Sypha is post killing Dracula, they are kind of a bit broken, and a lot weary.

 Alucard just killed his own dad. Trevor discovered the ruins of his family and that they were basically harvesting angel magic/enochian scripture [I haven't watched season 2 in a minute, so I might have to retcon that], and Sypha has left behind she knows for a prophecy that says she becomes a murderer-- but like, for the good of humanity. 

And the thing is, I'm taking to thinking of Speakers as the 'do no harm' medics and that's nice. But Sypha after experiencing everything that she does adds the 'but take no shit' addendum. 

Anyway, the 3 of them just defeated Dracula and had their worldviews kind of shifted, if not outright overturned and usurped. So, they kind of bunker down together. Cause fun fact about experiencing trauma as a group, is that it tends to make you attached [if you don’t splinter and fall apart at the seams in an attempt to avoid any further trauma]. Anyway, in this au Sypha and Trevor don't even consider leaving because Alucard has the 'I killed my dad' breakdown way sooner than expected. And Sypha is like, 'I can't imagine ever killing my family and the toll that would take on me. And it's easy to say that it was for the greater good, but he was still your father, and it's ok to be sad.' Meanwhile, Trevor is hanging about 'I know what it's like to be the last member of your line and the kind of emptiness and loneliness it breeds, so I will be here for you, but words are hard.' So, they stay and start building a relationship and a home, I guess?

 They combine the Belmont Holding and Dracula's castle, and it's beautiful for one brief shining moment. But the thing about humanity and people in general is that they're stupid and paranoid and xenophobic. So the trio are trying to live in the woods and they're chilling and are kind of content. 

Except, one day Trevor goes hunting for their food, and surprise surprise, gets abducted by townspeople/knights in the name of one king or the other and is thrown into a dungeon and tortured for information about the 'abominations' living in the woods. But Trevor, as always, is Trevor 'Fuck You, Personally' Belmont and sasses them and he pays a very hefty price for it. Like extensive and graphic medieval torture, and minor amputations if I can stomach writing that. Meanwhile, Sypha and Alucard are Very Worried and are tearing apart the continent looking for Trevor and things are not great for people who stand in their way. Because, once again, group trauma, and romance, and they don't feel complete when all 3 of them aren't together. And it starts out with Alucard and Sypha being polite because they were raised that way, but they're always met by closed doors and scornful eyes, and they're getting desperate, and some stupid idiot tries to disparage the Belmont name, and Sypha loses it. I haven't decided how, but it is not pretty, and Alucard barely pulls her back from the brink of madness. [Hint: they're all already mad. They just don't know it yet.] 

Anyways, now that THAT incident has happened, they're more willing to use any means necessary because it has been A While since they've seen Trevor. Meanwhile, Trevor is being tortured in a dungeon and is slowly breaking down that he's going to be abandoned like this (a voice whispers in the back of his head, "like you always are. did you think anyone could care for you or love you? how delusional.") And it's not great. Anyway, Sypha and Alucard manage to find Trevor, but he is on the brink of death. It has been a while. So, Sypha tries to heal him using her magic, and Alucard's life energy, and it somehow creates a soul bond between the 3 of them. (Because, frankly the idea of Trevor and Sypha dying and leaving Alucard behind can suck major hiney.)

So, Sypha and Alucard leave a kingdom in tatters, and retreat to their home to nurse Trevor back to health. And he doesn't come back the same, (because, again, tortured for a Hot Minute) but he's learning to trust in Sypha and Alucard to take care of him.

 But while they're doing that, there's an entire outside world that's out of balance and looking for leaders. And somehow, despite the fact that none of them want to do it, and they're some of the scariest motherfuckers this side of the continent, they become rulers. [I may not have emphasized it enough, but Trevor's 'Healing' involved a whole lot of fucking and love declarations btw.] 

Sypha is the face that handles the people, Alucard handles infrastructure of their kingdom, and Trevor handles security. And everyone's kinda confused as to how their relationship works cause it's a game of musical partners. Like, they all sleep in the same room??? But Sypha is not married to either of them??? And Trevor and Alucard goad each other a lot??? Like, it should not possibly work, but apparently they do. And a lot of people try to test that, but they're a united front and no one knows how to break that because they don't know about the soul bond! 

I like to imagine that at first they start ruling by accident, and they're just trying to make things better for their people, but Sypha looks around and says 'we can make things better' and Trevor and Alucard are in love and would set the world on fire for her, so bringing her kingdoms is nothing in comparison. Anyhow, they take over Europe, and it's equal parts bloody and innovative. Like yes, the wars are bad, but Trevor and Alucard are tyrants and they usually make sure their victories are complete and that everyone is too beaten down to consider fighting back. And then Sypha comes in and provides them with aid and technology and makes life better, and that's how they gain a lot of people's loyalty. 

And so that's how it goes for about a century or so, until people get stupid (as they always do) and there's an uprising. And it somehow works because the people are being backed by Angels [who are now, and forever always will be bastards. Ameen. Thank you, supernatural and good omens for that influence] because Angels are not happy with progress because if you're busy being happy with science, you're not spending enough time and being worshipful of God, I guess. (Is this very thin and transparent and weak logic? Yes. But I'm just listing thoughts) so, the trio die together, defending what they loved [each other] and that's the end because idk how to be happy, I guess. They absolutely die holding each other btw.

Link to the mood board

Addendum:

I like to imagine that they become rulers because post torture Trevor throws himself with gusto into the predetermined Belmont Protector role. Sypha remembers looking for Trevor and how unfeeling people were, and she wants to make that world a better place. And Alucard loves them both enough not to realize he's essentially becoming his father, but with two human leashes. And it's all fun and games until assassination attempts, and power corrupting. Also, I know I said they died, but I'm definitely adding an epilogue reincarnation because if I do put anyone through all of that, they deserve a sliver of happy ending

[drsilverfish]

Understanding the Closet in Narrative - Healing Hands/ Holding Hands in 15x08 Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven

The best theoretical book on this subject, in my view, to date is Eve Sedgwick’s Epistemology of the Closet (1990). It’s not that easy to read without a grounding in post-structuralist theory (it’s from that period in the academy when that was fashionable) and it has its flaws (one being that it only theorises the historical male closet, not the female one). But it’s still great :-) 

Essentially, she reads nineteenth and early twentieth century literature by European and North American authors, who were, or, scholarship suggests, may have been, queer (that term is anachronistic for the time-period, but I used it as a shorthand) e.g., Oscar Wilde, Henry James, Herman Melville.

But Sedgwick’s readings are situated in the political context of the AIDS crisis in North America of the 1980s. And her attempt to unravel the significance of the closet, in narrative and culture, is predicated upon a passion about the cruel times she, and her many queer friends, were living in.

She attempts to delineate how queerness was written about, by male queer authors, in times when they could not be openly homosexual/ bisexual/ otherwise queer, nor felt able to write openly about queerness (because homosexuality between men was a criminal offence).

As she carefully elucidates, that meant that often, themes of horror, rejection, criminality, deceit, even evil, were projected by these authors onto characters they were (in a coded manner) delineanating as “queer”. This was about expressing what culture made these authors feel about themselves and, about, somehow, finding a way to present queerness, or the queer experience, in a manner which would be “acceptable” (because heavily coded, and depicted negatively) to the mainstream audience. Internalised homophobia also fed into these depictions. You can see all of that in Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897).

This is why the monstrous has always been “ours” in a special and specific way in narrative (here, in relation to Sedgwick’s discussion, in fiction) and later, as cinema developed, on screen, because it has often been a site of queer-coding. Of course, that’s a bit of a double-edged sword as a symbolic history. So pervasive did those codes become, that they are still used today, sometimes, as a short-hand for villainous, as in Scar in The Lion King (1994) (much discussed in pop-culture YouTube videos about queer-coding) or SPN’s Crowley (who for instance drinks “fruity” cocktails as part of the historic repertoire of male queer-coding as effeminate and therefore, untrustworthy/ villainous). But, of course, Crowley is also written as deliberately drinking those fruity cocktails because he knows what they “mean”, and not only does he not give a shit, he flaunts drinking them as part of his particular combination of transgressive bravado and demonic viciousness (an “I may drink a fruity cocktail but I will also rip your heart out and chop you into tiny pieces” vibe). Crowley remains, however, queer-coded [not unequivocally bisexual/ homosexual/ pansexual] for most of his SPN screen-time. He refers to his relationship with Demon!Dean as a “bromance”, even if the way he utters it sounds as if he’s sarcastically calling that word for it out. We see him kiss men on the lips as part of doing cross-roads demon-style deals with them, but it’s played as him fucking with those dudes (notably Bobby) rather than fucking them. 

Finally, we do see Crowley participate in a a mixed-gender orgy in 11x01 Out of the Darkness into the Fire (well, we see the before and after). He has a four-way and then slaughters them (I really hate that particular scene; there’s a shitty menopause “joke” in there too) but Crowley is smoked into a different vessel from the one we are used to, a female vessel, for that orgy. So, although we do “see” it, Crowley’s pansexuality, we also don’t “see” it, because Crowley’s usual male-embodied vessel is missing from the scene. It’s out there (I’d say it does semi-“out” Crowley) but it’s, on the part of the SPN text, kind of a chicken “out” because dude-Crowley is not present. Moreoever, the context is horrible and murderous rather than tender or intimate. So, there is a classic, historical, on-screen queer-coding residue. Because, in terms of our still powerful cultural norms, it would have been more shocking for the audience if dude-Crowley had been present and the scene was a tender, loving orgy, rather than the gender-swopped and slaughtery scenario Carver gave us. 

Sedgwick develops the useful concept of the “glass closet”. Which means, that, deliberately, in a text, a queer reading is at once available (clear) to some readers and opaque (unavailable or rejected/ denied) by others. She writes, of Oscar Wilde’s famous story The Picture of Dorian Gray, that it...

“.... occupies an especially symptomatic place in this process. Published four years before Wilde's "exposure" as a sodomite, it is in a sense a perfect rhetorical distillation of the open secret, the glass closet, shaped by the conjunction of an extravagance of deniability and an extravagance of flamboyant display. It perfectly represents the glass closet, too, because it is in so many ways out of the purposeful control of its author. Reading Dorian Gray from our twentieth-century vantage point where the name Oscar Wilde virtually means "homosexual," it is worth reemphasizing how thoroughly the elements of even this novel can be read doubly or equivocally, can be read either as having a thematically empty "modernist' meaning or as having a thematically full "homosexual" meaning.” (Sedgwick, 1990: p165-66). 

So, what she’s saying, is that the closet as a narrative structure, has a double structure. It makes queerness at once visible and invisible, “there” and “not there”. Another way to put this is that the “there” is queer subtext, and the “not there” is all the other available readings provided by the built-in ambiguity that delineates the narrative closet. Such queer subtext IS part of narrative, but its nature is to contain a plausible deniability. 

This shot from 15x08 Our Father Who Art in Heaven, epitomises Sedgwick’s “glass closet”:

There’s no doubt this is (in its context) an intimate gesture between Dean and Cas, and a loaded one, because the SPN text has made it clear (not subtextual) that Dean and Cas are not in a good place with one another emotionally or communicatively, following Jack’s (apparent) murder of Mary WInchester. We see them fight, and Cas leave, in 15x03 The Rupture. 

However, in its subtextual context (meaning in the context of all the other queer subtext in SPN in relation to Dean and Cas’ individual sexualities and their relationship) this gesture (for those taking the text’s invitation to read it queerly) is also a gesture which begs for the space between those hands to be closed, for those fingers to be entwined, for those hands to clasp one another, in a manner that cannot be understood as between “bros”. The narrative negative space screams, in this register, “Hold hands, you idiots, we know you love each other!” 

It’s loud, but the fact that it’s clear AND opaque (visible to some, and “don’t see it” to others) means that is still follows the structure of Sedgewick’s glass closet, i.e., it’s still subtext.

Other readings of it are available:

1) Yes, the negative space is there between their hands, but it symbolises how they are not as close as they usually are, because of the rift between them.

2) This healing gesture, in which Cas uses his fading power (and it costs him to do it) to heal Dean’s wound, a wound which Dean initially keeps hidden, curled inside his clenched fist, is symbolic of something at the core of their relationship- pain and healing.

The wound on Dean’s palm, is almost a stigmata, or a wound-from-the-cross; healed by an angel.

Cas fought his way to Dean in Hell and, in their initial (off screen) encounter put him, body and soul, back together, from his half-Demon, broken-on-the-rack, state. In other words, Cas healed a wound in Dean’s soul and restored him to humanity.

Cas: “Good things do happen, Dean”

Dean: “Not in my experience”

4x01 Lazarus Rising

Cas ended up himself being a good thing which has happened to Dean, the best thing (outside of his brother and his mother’s return from the dead) Dean’s ever had in his life.

It hasn’t all been roses. Far from it. Cas has hurt Dean deeply as well as healed him, particularly during the Godstiel/ Levi!Cas arc.

And Dean, in turn, has hurt Cas deeply too, particularly when he was vulnerable and human after the Angel Fall, and now, since Jack’s (apparent) murder of Mary Winchester.

But, this healing gesture, palm to palm, which is vulnerable for both of them, in the midst of their painful period of miscommunication, tells us, in spite of all that, that at the core of what Dean and Cas are to each other, or could be to each other, is a place of healing.

These readings make sense, whether we consider Dean and Cas to have a deep fox-hole type, bestest buddy in the world friendship, or that they are sexually and/ or romantically desirous of one another as life-partners.

This is the structure of the glass closet - healing hands/ holding hands; the gesture is both, but the holding hands reading (because of that physical space in between those hands) is subtextual. The romantic/ sexual reading is visible/ invisible, for different segments of the audience. 

The history of heterosexuality as visible and coded as “normal” and homosexuality/ bisexuality/ queerness as invisible and coded as “abnormal”, means that we don’t yet have a narrative level playing field for queer and straight characters even simply in terms of recognition.

In general, audiences are socialised to be excellent “readers” of the codes and gestures on-screen that signal heterosexual intimacy. So, a man and a woman can just look at each other on-screen in a certain way and the audience knows they are being written and performed as desiring one another, sexually/ romantically. 

Straight audiences have become, in the last fifty years of activism which have precipitated LGBTQ social and political changes (moving from decriminalisation to gay marriage) better readers of queer subtext, because they have been “invited in”, to some extent, to these codes, which were previously themselves opaque (and often written as a coded bat-signal between queer creatives and queer audiences). It would be hard to watch Freddy Mercury’s video for “I Want to Break Free” (1984) which he sings whilst doing the hoovering in drag, without understanding him to be queer today, but trust me, at the time, those codes went straight (ha ha pun) over the heads of thousands upons thousands of his fans, who saw him as a macho rock God (who must be straight by default). 

 However, more subtle and complex forms of queer subtext can and do still remain opaque for the “mainstream”. Because, you have to learn to read queer subtext; it’s not something LGBTQ folk are automatically born with either, not some inherent textual kind of gaydar. Queer people, certainly those of a certain age, just tend to be socialised into it to a greater extent, because it’s been our hungry experience to search deeply for characters that reflect us, given the slimmer pickings. 

So, the standard of “proof” that a character is, without ambiguity, understood by all (not some) of the audience as homosexual/ bisexual/ queer is still higher than the standard of “proof” that a character is straight, because straight remains the default. 

Is that fair? No.

Is it the deal? Yes. 

And whether that full recognition (full audience recognition) is there or not has political implications for a text. It changes its impact in the world. 

That doesn’t mean a queer-coded text has no political impact in the world, however. In some ways it can be more persuasive, e.g that “love is love”, because a queer label isn’t there up-front, kicking in (some) people’s automatic resistance. 

So the fact that Dean and Cas are still queer-coded, not textually “out”, doesn’t mean Dean and Cas are not queer, unless the whole audience knows it. Dean has been queer-coded since S1, so I’d say, that, to me, he’s been queer all along. But, it does mean that Dean and Cas’ queerness is still structured by the glass closet - it’s there (for some of the audience) and not there (for others of the audience). It remains visible/ invisible.

A complex additional question, is whether it is ethical, in this time period in which we can (in some, but not all, parts of the world) show LGBTQ characers on-screen, to continue to tell queer stories in subtext. That is essentially what lies at the root of the contemporary, popular “queerbaiting” debate. 

The answer to that is complicated too, and I think, varies from text to text, but this post is long enough.

If you want more, you can browse my “reading subtext” tag for some of mine, and others’ further musings on that topic. 

[lovelyirony]

Hello. I'm having kind of a shit day ( just found out my sister's hair was full of lice) so if you wouldn't mind could you write some thorbruce? Sorry if this bothers you, I hope you and your family are doing ok

 this could never bother me. I hope that this little story helps! i really wanted something comedic, or at least my attempt at it. so without further ado...a fusion of a thief AU and royalty AU! 

Bruce Banner technically has a career as a scientist. He writes research papers occasionally, helps out with other science projects, and wears smart, science-y glasses. 

And so what if he just happens to make most of his money stealing rich people things like paintings, wine, and other assorted items off of boats and out of houses? Well, that’s extra. Doesn’t even go on any tax forms. 

“You’re gonna get something done to you one of these days,” Tony tells him over margaritas. Tony is one of the rare people who caught him, let him still take the Warhol because “I sure as hell didn’t pick it out, I have taste,” and invited Bruce for cocktails. 

“Of course I am. Maybe jail.” 

“No, not that,” Tony says. “You forget I will be offering my lawyers. They could get the devil himself scot-free. And you’re way better than that guy.” 

“Then what?” 

“You’re going to have to balance yourself,” Tony says, smiling. “And I can’t wait to see you pull it off.” 

Bruce wishes he had more friends like Tony, because unfortunately both Jane and Helen have texted him that he’s screwed for his next goal: Odin. 

Odin is a king who made his whole goal to cover up the shady dealings of his reign, and while his sons are doing better to call it out and bring about new policy ideas now that it is said that Odin will be retiring from the throne, so to speak, nothing has changed yet. 

Bruce knows that people say the next king in line, Thor, is very similar to his father. 

So he’s planning on infiltrating a party. This involves getting a planet ticket to Asgard, sneaking in, and maybe also leaving by boat. He’s not sure yet, depends on how quickly Tony can engineer a self-steering boat. 

(The boat’s gonna be there.) 

“You’re gonna get your ass kicked,” Helen snickers over drinks. “Have you seen his arms?” 

“I’ve heard your ramblings about ten or twenty times, yes,” Bruce says. “For someone who loves their wife as much as you do, you also have an interesting love for Thor’s arms.” 

“They’re buff!” Helen protests. “Jane also nice arms, but they are not buff.” 

“Guilty as charged,” Jane says from the kitchen, rolling her eyes. “Bruce, be careful. And for the love of god, don’t talk to any of them if you can.” 

“Like I would.” 

- 

Thor is very bored with present society. His father has banned all of his friends from attending, Loki has decided to go on their own way in as outrageous of a dress as they could find, in any case guaranteeing that their mother’s attention would be focused on making sure that they had the right accessories. 

There is not one interesting person to talk to. 

Thor is bored. 

This means Thor isn’t so much as paying attention to any sort of conversation and has found one new guest that he has never met before. 

“Hello,” he says. 

The man whirls around. He has curly, nearly-messy hair. Nice nose. 

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Thor says. “I’m Thor.” 

“I’m Bruce,” Bruce blurts out, because he is a Class-A Idiot. 

Of course he gets caught at a royal function. 

“And you haven’t met me before. I’m a...scientist.” 

Thor smiles. 

“Well, what study of interest are you in?” 

“DNA sequencing,” Bruce says weakly. “And you are...Thor, right?” 

“Yes,” Thor says, smiling. “Did my father invite you?” 

“Your mother,” Bruce says, knowing that Queen Frigga is occupied at the moment trying to ensure that Loki is not stealing all of the strawberries. She cannot possibly come over and confirm his story or realize that she has no idea who he is. 

“How is your night faring, Your Highness?” Bruce asks nervously. He cannot make eye contact. 

“None of that,” Thor says with a chuckle. “That title is...stuffy. Overused. I’m just a regular person who is assuming a throne.” 

“Any plans then, regular person?” Bruce asks in a snarky tone, grinning.

“None that I’m comfortable sharing within earshot,” Thor mutters under his breath, into his drink. Bruce smiles. 

His eyes crinkle up. That’s cute. 

“Good idea. Never know what your father listens to.” 

“Not a fan?” Thor asks. 

“Can’t say I’m dedicated,” Bruce answers with a shrug. Thor smiles, leaning in closer.

Thor’s about to answer more, willing to speak with this man. The night was turning around, and--

Odin claps him on the back. 

“Thor, I have some people you must talk to for the future,” he says, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he turns his son towards a group of the most ancient looking old men Bruce has seen. 

Thor swivels his head back. 

“I hope to see you again!” Thor calls. 

Bruce waves. 

“Probably not,” Bruce sighs to himself. “But I’m sure you also won’t see some of your vases again.” 

- 

In the news, they reported that it had to be at least a three-man job. The surveillance didn’t help, heirlooms had been nicked out of at least six different rooms, and top secret documents had been spilled out into the back lawn, some artfully arranged as if they were reading material for the next garden party. 

Thor has an idea of who did it. Has since his mother confusedly asked “who’s Bruce?” 

He’s clever, that’s for sure. Going directly to the house? Using Odin’s disregard of people he doesn’t think are worth his time? Oh, it’s perfect. 

It would also make a good quality in a husband, if he says so himself. 

- 

Bruce is currently lying on his back at Jane’s house, the sunshine warming him. 

“You’re gonna die!” Helen yells. “You told him your name and you are storing, just casually, a priceless artifact!” 

"I’m not storing it. I just put it back in a museum,” Bruce says. 

“You think that Odin’s honestly not going to get it back?” 

“Nope,” Bruce says. “Because he didn’t change the paperwork on it and it has a loan repayment clause thingy. I don’t know how it works but he needs to pay the museum for it and it’ll be bad press for a while. That and his shady dealings with repressing country public opinion. I think Thor’s up to the plate.” 

He is. Bruce is right. Odin has rescinded his claim on the throne, allowing a coronation to be held for Thor. 

“Are you gonna go?” Jane asks. 

Bruce snorts. 

“And what, risk being detained in Asgardian jail or being murdered? Nah,” Bruce says. “Besides, I probably won’t ever really interact with them ever again. And I have no purpose for being there.” 

- 

Bruce isn’t sure how. But he gets an invitation to go. Well, he’s sure how he got it. Thor remembered him, probably found out that he wasn’t supposed to be there. 

He’s mad. 

He’s from fucking Ohio. He knows that no one is supposed to notice him under any circumstance besides maybe an eating competition or a tornado warning. 

“You have to go,” Tony says. “I’ll be there, I can cause a distraction. Loki owes me a favor.” 

“How does Loki owe you a favor?” 

“They needed some help with executing a perfect red carpet walk a couple years back to ensure they upstaged someone. I don’t know who, but I helped. Loki owes me.” 

“But why do I have to go?” 

“Because if you don’t then Thor’s not gonna stop,” Tony says. “Because if he personally invited you, that means something. It means you’re either going to die or he’s going to make sure he has a very fun time at his own coronation.” 

“Why wouldn’t you have fun being coronated or whatever the fuck you call it?” 

-

Two hours in. There’s been two hours of this. Bruce has fallen asleep twice, and Tony keeps jabbing him in the side. 

“Decorum,” Tony hisses. “If you fall asleep, you’re going to cause a scene.” 

“So sorry that I don’t find this just entirely interesting,” Bruce says, “I wasn’t the one who minored in anthropology.” 

“Majored,” Tony says. “Among other things.” 

“Is this when we couldn’t find you for a year? Like, when you went to California or whatever and had a crisis?” 

“I didn’t have a crisis,” Tony says. 

“Sure you didn’t,” Bruce said, snorting. “You were sad and probably ate five loaves of pumpernickel in one day.” 

“If you keep talking we’re gonna get kicked out, and I want my record of being kicked out of royal events to be kept to a minimum of two.” 

“You’ve been kicked out of two?” 

“One was England. That’s practically a given.” Tony hisses. “Now no more.” 

Bruce falls asleep again. 

Thor catches him in the audience. 

He has to bite his own tongue to stop from laughing. Sif side-eyes him. 

He raises an eyebrow. She looks out into the crowd, sees the man who has fallen asleep. She stills, trying very hard not to laugh. 

“Is that the man you want to pursue?” she whispers as the officiants droll on about tradition. Thor nods. Sift snorts. “Of course you do.” 

- 

The party afterwards is tasteful. People are in a line to congratulate Thor. Bruce is by the appetizer table slowly but surely stealing all of the colby-jack cheese slices. 

“I hate you,” Tony says to Bruce. “You’re a menace to society.” 

“Put that on my headstone, see if my ghost sticks around to cause trouble,” Bruce says. “Besides, I am not paying for any of this. I’m already eyeing the chocolate fountain.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“I suppose this is what I get for bringing you here.” 

“You literally did not have to, I got an invite and you forced me to come,” Bruce says. “And all because I stole priceless artifacts. Ugh.” 

- 

Thor finally manages to escape a long line of well-wishers/want-to-make-sure-he-won’t-do-things-he’s-gonna-do people. 

He finds Bruce slowly but surely demolishing the pineapple. 

“Nice to see you again, Dr. Banner,” he says. Bruce stills, turning. 

“I wasn’t expecting to even meet you today again,” Bruce says, smiling. “How have things been?” 

“I’ve gotten some more space for storage,” Thor says, referencing to the act of stealing and also revealing his father’s less-than-golden past. “Thank you for that, by the way.” 

Bruce stills. 

“You...know?” 

“The queen knows no one by the name of Bruce who is a scientist. You paused. Terrible lie, really. You’re lucky you’re quite good-looking and my father is a fool.” 

Bruce looks at him. 

“I stole a lot of shit from your house and you’re calling me good-looking?” Bruce asks. 

“Well to be fair, I’m just glad you didn’t steal my blanket on my bed. It’s pretty soft, pretty valuable,” Thor says grinning. 

“Didn’t get to see that room,” Bruce responds. 

“You’ll have to come up with me some time then.” 

Bruce almost spills his drink. 

“Are you...?” 

“Flirting with you? Yes.” 

Bruce takes a sip of his drink. 

“Interesting. Although I hardly doubt your mother will be pleased to see you talking with someone who stole things.” 

“On the contrary, she most likely won’t mind,” Thor says, smiling. “Just because she married my father doesn’t necessarily mean they’re affectionate.” 

Bruce tilts his head. 

“So what you’re saying is that no one in your family likes your dad?” 

“Not especially. Kind of a bastard, if you ask me.” 

Bruce laughs. 

“So. What kinds of things does a king like to do for a date?” 

Thor puts a finger on his chin, teasingly. 

“Well I’m not sure. Is it kingly of me to offer a lunch?” 

“I would say I’ll accept,” Bruce says, laughing. “So long as it’s a good lunch.” 

 - 

Tony is gasping in disbelief as he sees Thor put a hand on the small of Bruce’s back, leading him to meet the queen. 

“Only my brother,” Loki says, pursing their lips. “Of course he falls in love with the man who stole from the kingdom and would probably be arrested for about twenty years.” 

“He does that,” Tony says. “Thank you again, for inviting me.” 

“No problem,” Loki says. “God knows I needed someone else to judge the questionable fashion choices people made. Just...ugh. Look at her shoes.” 

“I need another drink to even think about looking at those,” Tony says, turning towards the bar. 

- 

With Thor and Bruce, the kingdom gets two excellent rulers. Bruce is more focused on environment sustainability and education infrastructure, and can frequently be seen leading children all over the grounds of the kingdom, identifying herbs and plants and grinning as they picnic for lunch. 

Thor focuses more on bringing more of the...unfavorable history to light, reinventing what he wants for his country, and leading by example. 

Of course, Bruce and Thor are photographed together getting breakfast, lunch, and on one memorable occasion, in-sync eye-rolling at a United States event. 

(Tony gets it framed for their wedding gift.) 

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 120 Thoughts

A Fleeting Moment.

You blinked and missed it.

Is there some sort of deadline that I am unaware of? Because I think this is the second chapter in a row that reads so YOLO that it carries the desperation of a death soon at hand.

Yes, that’s right.

This chapter.

Is a Zekesona.

Maybe it’s because I’m a heartless monster, but my predominant thought throughout this chapter--well, fine, we’re getting to the real one later, but mostly my thought was wow, we’re really just diving straight in to the plot magic.

I’m not going to stop calling it plot magic.

Starting out it might have been a deliberate attempt to avoid the grammar of all things Paths, but at this point... it’s here to make the plot go. Sense is optional.

.

.

Zeke, you’re fucking killing me.

I.

Let me. just.

Let me attempt to form words with my fingers. Or my head. Or anything at all. This chapter has beaten me. I read it, I consumed the information, and so help me, I think if I let myself, I would never stop laughing over this.

It’s not funny, it’s just.

This, as we have here, is the pinnacle of everything wrong with letting the Yeager Bros take the wheel of a car that is not only missing seat belts and brakes, but perhaps also a functioning wheel.

In the world that is still sort of maybe occupied by sanity, there’s. Zeke.

Holding his brother’s decapitated head.

While he and his brother have an extended Inception dream sequence to manage the fact that Eren should really be very dead.

Really, I could probably spare a few minutes on that, but I don’t want to, because the logistics of how dead Eren is, exactly, when years have to pass in the plot magic in the seconds it’s been since his head was shot off--

I feel like someone shot my head off.

So okay.

A dream level up, the fight goes on in excruciating slowmo.

Meanwhile, Zeke and Eren are.

Okay, yeah, can’t do it. Nope.

This is not a criticism of the writing, as of right now. Like, I have my severe hysteria because of course Zeke has spent his Inception time growing to surpass the chains the First King adorned himself with, and of course, for some unholy reason, those chains bind Zeke at all despite him rightly pointing out he’s not of the Reiss branch and Zeke not actually being the Founding Titan.

Those are things I am noting, and I am completely failing to have a reaction to them because my entire jaw is in pain from holding back laughter, but that is not my present comment.

My present comment.

Is that these two are fucking morons.

I do not mean that disrespectfully. I mean it with the full sincerity of someone who is absolutely okay with the text making them fucking morons.

But holy damn fuck these kids do not have a clue what they’re doing.

Zeke first meets Ymir Fritz when he nearly dies in an unexpected near-incidental suicide. That’s when he has his first hands-on experience with Paths.

Sorry, plot magic.

So um.

Both Eren and Zeke plan to finally make use of the Founder’s power by showing up at this place. They don’t know that at the time they make their plan, because it’s still new to them, they just know that they’re going to hold hands and stuff and somehow things will happen.

Eren thinks the things Zeke wants to happen are bullshit.

Shocking.

Zeke thinks the things Eren wants to happen are bullshit, despite having no clue what those things even are.

Shocking.

And like.

Neither one is getting what they want, because Eren can’t actually use the power he’s journeyed all this way to get, because if this were a real anime, Zeke would have pink hair of warning. Zeke’s royal blood matters more than Eren having the Titan.

Sort of.

Zeke can dismantle the chains on the Founding Titan that attach to him for some reason, but Eren seems to still be required to pull the trigger. (ETA)

So if Inception-verse did not exist, Eren would have just gotten whatever it is he’s after, which would be bad for Zeke by measure of it not being what Zeke wants, but because Inception-verse does exist, they have all the time in the world, Zeke has the means to get what he wants, only technically he doesn’t really because he still needs Eren to agree with him and that hasn’t happened yet.

All of this work.

All...

Good fucking what.

ALL OF THOSE DEAD BODIES, BOYS, AND NEITHER ONE OF YOU HAS JACK SHIT TO SHOW FOR IT.

SOMEHOW

BEYOND ALL COMPREHENSION

BOTH OF YOU ARE FAILING TO GET WHAT YOU WANT. BECAUSE OF THE VERY SIMPLE FACT THAT YOU NEVER TRULY BOTHERED TO UNDERSTAND THE PERSON OR THE POWER YOU WERE ASKING TO MAKE YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE.

EREN MISUNDERSTANDS THE NATURE OF THE FOUNDER.

ZEKE MISUNDERSTANDS HIS BABY BROTHER.

BOY I’M SURE GLAD WE’VE SPENT THIRTY CHAPTERS ON THE CLUSTERFUCK OF YOUR MUTUAL DECISIONS JUST TO FIND OUT NEITHER ONE OF YOU HAS A FUCKING CLUE HOW TO MAKE ANY OF THIS WORK.

YOU BROKE THE WORLD, FULLY CONFIDENT IN YOUR DUCT TAPE, ONLY TO DISCOVER THAT THE ROLL YOU WERE HOLDING WAS SOME OTHER COLLECTION OF TAPE THAT SOMEONE GAVE A SILVER PAINT JOB.

THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T GIVE CHILDREN GUNS.

THEY SHOOT THINGS.

YOU INCOMPREHENSIBLY DUMB FUCKS.

Once more, this is not a criticism of the writing. I think it’s very fair for Zeke and Eren to be interacting with forces beyond their understanding, and screw it all up badly. In Eren’s case, that force is some weird demigod demon who possibly sold their soul to the devil. In Zeke’s case, it’s the will to live.

Both very confusing things. It is perfectly reasonable for them to be having difficulties.

-pre-corpses screaming in the background, only in slowmo because the moment of Eren’s head being blown off hasn’t actually passed-

-Falco steaming in the dirt-

-all Eren’s friends risking their lives so they might maybe use the Founding Titan to fix this all up-

You can tell Eren and Zeke have a doctor for a father, because their elaborate plan depending on thousands of years of history and starting international incidents fails in the face of basic common sense.

No, I’m not done.

These would be the people who would change the world.

Eren.

This is why, when you were ten, your mother was already telling another ten-year-old to look after you. BECAUSE SHE KNEW. SHE KNEW THIS IS WHAT YOU WOULD CHOOSE TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE.

LO, BEHOLD THE NEW UNDERSTANDING OF CARLA’S TEARS AS HER CHILDREN LEAVE HER TO HER DEATH.

IF ONLY EITHER OF YOU HAD A BRAIN.

I’m sorry, I know I should be making comments on other parts of the chapter, but this is all just so typical, and so blisteringly obvious an outcome, and.

Well, we got a lot of nice shots of Grisha and his family. Yay.

Plus--

Oh.

Fuck.

No no no no no, no, I don’t want that.

The thought occurred that this probably is one of the many functions of the plot magic’s oddness around people remembering things they shouldn’t, and blah blah blah Eren crying at the start of the series, but...

Grisha sees Zeke for a moment. Just a moment, but he taps into their link in the Paths.

If Mikasa goes back to watch the memory of Eren sleeping while he’s supposed to be collecting firewood, I have objections. I don’t know what they are, but there’s a visceral reaction of how dare you if that’s where this is all heading.

But you know, that’s for people who do things like speculation about things that aren’t related to people with the last name Reiss, so not my problem.

Anyway, the flashbacks are not a surprise. Grisha loves Eren. He makes his mistakes with Zeke, and comes to regret them terribly. He becomes a better man, and leaves his obsession behind to hold his new family.

This explains what happens the night he kills the Reiss family very well.

In that moment, he must have felt, so keenly, that this is all his fault. He walks away from the Founder. He leaves his mission. He leaves the power behind.

The walls fall, and in the hands of the Reisses, the Founder can do nothing to assist.

His wife dies.

The obsession returns, and Grisha’s last act is saddling Eren with all of his mistakes. Because he learned from his old ones, but he found that those lessons just destroyed the new life he comes to love. Grisha abandons his cause, and Carla dies. Eldians die. Marley creates more victims.

How many people suffer needlessly because Grisha hesitates?

That’s not a burden he takes to well, and the Grisha in these memories never wanted his last moments with Eren to be what they were. It’s one more piece to the insanity that took hold that night. One more tragedy.

When Kruger gives Grisha the Attack Titan, he tells Grisha to love someone inside the walls. The instruction becomes to make a family, but its root is in love. The important part is that Grisha loves someone. Otherwise, the cycle continues.

Grisha loves his sons. He abuses one and nearly ruins him, and takes the next and loves him properly. That’s the son who rejects the idea that they should all die. He’s been given a life that he understands has glory in even its beginning moments, and understands how horrendous it is that Zeke would remove generations of future moments.

The problem that continues, however, is one that I imagine we’ll be addressing with future flashback episodes.

Zeke loves his little brother. Until time allows otherwise, he takes it for granted that his precious little brother will see things his way. He needs so little convincing to bring Eren into the fold. Even before he knows how much control he truly has, he fully accepts Eren.

He doesn’t know Eren.

Eren knows Zeke, because the truth of Zeke’s heart is in this plan.

He knows Zeke, and doesn’t do anything with that knowledge.

Eren and Zeke use each other to reach this place, and in the end, their failure to be there for one another results in neither one being able to wield the power that their union creates.

There might be love there, but it’s the ruined kind Grisha bestows on Zeke. Control is what matters. Reaching the end is what matters.

“Your wife. You child. Even someone on the street. It does not matter. Love someone inside the walls. If you can’t, we’re doomed to repeat it all again. The same history. The same mistakes. Again and again.”

The mistake Eren and Zeke make is the opposite of the one their father chooses in this memory. He puts his love for his family over his mission.

Eren and Zeke prioritize their mission so deeply that they might as well be strangers, no matter how often they refer to each other as brothers. Of course it’s a disaster.

The audience has been waiting for Eren’s side of this story for years, because we’ve watched him grow up. We’ve watched him struggle and triumph and lose himself, and none of that was enough to establish the train of thought that led to these choices that Zeke is so proud of him for making, so it’s been a known thing to us that he’ll have some sort of eventual reveal (which we’re still waiting on; this chapter just does us the favor of confirming that we are waiting).

Zeke wants to confirm Eren’s mindset before they kick things off, since he has the luxury of time in this space.

He never bothers to confirm Eren’s thoughts out in the living world. Not actively. Eren lies, and Zeke lets it pass as enough.

These two never try to help each other. They use each other up.

Zeke can swear to be there for Eren, can swear to set him free, but he does not see who his brother is, and Eren, knowing exactly what kind of person Zeke is, chooses to ignore that in favor of playing the long con.

They fail.

They fail their family by failing to see them as such, and so fail every other task they sought to accomplish.

The story’s forcing them to deal with that now, since they have so much time, but it is so easy to see why this happens. They’re desperate, and they grab their lifelines, and they decide that if there’s something wrong, it can wait.

In the metaphor, that’s fine. They need to stop drowning.

But they see each other as a lifeline before they see each other as siblings.

Grisha sees Zeke as a tool before he sees him as a son.

The same mistakes, over and over.

Some more familiar than others.

We’ve reached the above thing.

What I’m referencing is that really, all through this chapter my only concrete thought was Eren looks a lot like Frieda. Naturally not greatly evident in the shot that’s actually relevant to why I’m bringing it up. Why should I get nice things.

Like. A lot. To the point where it starts to feel intentional, not the result of my brain linking everything back to the Reiss lands. Eren’s hair doesn’t part like Grisha’s or Carla’s, and conveniently we’ve got the comparisons readily available. He has Frieda’s. The young woman his father took the Founding Titan from.

After a long series of consensual (with heavy sarcastic quotes, yes, but putting that aside for the moment) sacrifices, Frieda and Eren are the first in recent history to have their consent overridden. Frieda’s ripped to pieces by Grisha, and has her family slaughtered by him. Hours later, understanding nothing of either Titan he’s inheriting, Eren takes up the mantle.

Eren first sees Frieda through her eyes, looking in a mirror, and I absolutely know I’m reading too much into this, but give me a sec of indulgence. I rarely get to talk about Frieda in these posts.

Frieda, the one who Eren really does look bizarrely like, is Zeke’s foil.

In the two shots above, we have an older half-sibling using their powers to convince their younger sibling to see the world they want them to.

Zeke’s having his difficulties, but Frieda has none.

Frieda has a loving relationship with her little sister, and touches her head to Historia’s gently.

Zeke bashes his head to Eren’s forcefully.

Frieda loves Historia. She has no reason but love to come and pay her visits. She helps her learn to read, she rides horses with her, and provides her company.

Historia has all those memories taken away. Their relationship only exists on Frieda’s terms until five years after Frieda’s death.

In an attempt to keep this post from turning into me shouting about how the Reiss family is symbolic of the manga as a whole, and Historia needs to come back and rightfully re-dethrone Eren as the main protagonist, I’ll be brief:

Frieda screws Historia up.

She adores her little sister, but in a world without Frieda, Historia is left with neglect and an overwhelming sense that no one wants her to be alive. Frieda routinely takes away the memories that prove that belief wrong. For complicated reasons that a teenager shouldn’t be expected to handle, but Historia’s problems are still actively exacerbated by Frieda forcing her will on Historia.

Eren has more say in what his brother’s trying to pull, thanks to his own plot magic, but we see the problem, with the same dynamic.

Zeke loves Eren.

He can’t see past his view of the world to see Eren well enough to try to do what’s best for Eren.

This is not a collaboration. It’s two people fiercely opposed who have put that argument off until the last possible second rather than approach one another as equals.

Eren’s head is blown off. He’s due to be dead.

Zeke is still trying to rescue him from his own free will.

Love without respect is useless. It’s what turns the emotion selfish.

Idiots.

I’m torn on what this chapter means for future chapters, because I don’t see how Eren and Zeke are moving past this roadblock without finally dealing with the issues that landed them here, aaaand theoretically that means that Eren’s plan wins.

I guess we get to look forward to what that means if that’s the case.

But Eren’s head is still kind of. Not. On his body.

Which makes me think that whatever decision makes it out of Inception, it’s probably going to be one that alters the reality they’re playing with, and that is really hard to do satisfyingly.

Those are problems for another month, though.

I have trouble calling this chapter good, because a lot of it is. well, what did you expect when you chose to do things like this? There’s some satisfaction in the fact that the characters are truly being respected as the numbskulls they’ve behaved as, but that does little to make the overall situation better.

Thankfully, emotional flashbacks pander to my needs directly, so this will be a satisfying trainwreck, but, uh.

Yeah.

Local siblings don’t listen to each other on family roadtrip down memory lane, feat. apocalypse in the background. That is the chapter.

It needs to be drawn as the Renaissance painting it clearly is in spirit.

[msjr0119]

Valtoria Haunting

***Spoiler for ‘Why me?’ Series ***

Tags:

@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @beardedoafdonutwagon @cordonianroyalty @drakexnadira

******

Dressed up to ‘trick or treat’ they stepped out of the Duchy. It was ice cold even for the end of October, as if all the heat had been drained away- it felt more like they were in Lythikos.

Arianna and Jackson Walker were worn out from trick or treating under the supervision of their parents and Uncle. Maxwell coughed over dramatically, preparing to become the greatest story teller that Cordonia will have heard of.

“Beware of the ghosts of the two previous Queens, Uncle Leo and Uncle Liam’s moms. They will lurk in the grounds of every Duchy in Cordonia- wanting revenge on all those people who did them wrong.” Maxwell said whilst shining the torch under his chin- providing a spooky expression.

“Max don’t scare them! They are only ten.” Riley pleaded. Maxwell shrugged his shoulders, ignoring his ‘sisters’ words.

“They adore luring young children. It was once said, that they haunted the palace grounds too. Dragging Uncle Leo and Uncle Liam into the palace maze.” Drake shook his head, he knew that it was in fact he and Maxwell that did that. Arsehole- not the ‘fun Uncle’ he thought.

“They only come out to play on Halloween. It is said that King Constantine’s evil spirit also joins in. You know, your home was empty and abandoned for decades before Uncle Liam made your Mom and Dad a Duchess and Duke.....” Arianna and Jackson’s eyes widened, whilst their Uncle burst out laughing.

“Enough Beaumont!” Drake snapped. “Watch ya backs kids. I love you both. Tis, Halloween, the night when spirits come alivvveee...”

The Valtorian grounds were eerie as they arrived back home- the trees stood dormant, their branches hung low. Fog like a thick white blanket, was drifting past them stroking their skin. Uncle Max had ‘shit up’ the young twins up, but they had both recovered from their initial shock. Thinking nothing of it the adults made their way into the Duchy. The twins separated heading to their rooms, surrounded by candy that they had collected. Getting dressed into their pajamas, that had been on the radiators- their bodies soon warmed up as Riley and Drake kissed each of their children goodnight and tucked them in bed.

*****

The twins were both startled by a large bang and both had awoken, scrutinising their rooms- Jackson snuck into Arianna’s room. Both deciding to investigate the Duchy- they decided to go to the basement. A place their parents had advised them to never visit. The dark and shadowy corridors provided an eerie and cold atmosphere. The lights flickered chaotically, as if a poltergeist was flicking the switches up and down instead of it being a poor electricity supply. The cobwebs hung from the ceilings surrounded by the dust in the abandoned basement. The windows were mainly boarded up- during the day, the suns rays would struggle sneaking through into the dark and gloomy room. Arianna stopped walking, standing frozen- panic began to kick in- as she brushed past the cold mouldy wall which made her shiver. Jackson sniggered at his sister’s petrified expression.

“Oooo a ghost!” He teased his sister, making her jump as he impersonated a ghost that you would see on an episode of Scooby Doo.

“Shut up Jack! We should go back.” Her nails were now non existent.

“Don’t believe Uncle Max- ghosts don’t exist. You’re such a wimp!”

The doors banged before abruptly shutting. The wind that wanted nothing more than to announce its arrival- petrified the two youngsters. Turning around, both trembling- both their complexions turned whiter than snow. Jackson caught a glimpse of the murky shadow ambling from the direction of the wall that was approximately only a few feet away. Squinting their eyes, the familiar figure led them to escape the damp basement holding their hands, to rescue them. Leading them to safety. They both felt safe with this familiar touch.

******

The woman’s voice was a startling scream- that echoed throughout the Duchy. Checking on the family she noticed the children had disappeared- becoming anxious, the windows and doors had been boarded up with nowhere to escape. It was deja vu all over again.

“Arianna? Jackson? Where are you?” The creaking floorboards, created a slight bit of noise- otherwise the Duchy was silent. As if they were in a morgue.

******

Drake woke up, still ready to throttle Maxwell for his behaviour. Riley was on the toilet, ever since she had become pregnant again, she was forever in the bathroom- it became more of a bedroom to her.

Walking to the children’s rooms, he wanted to make sure that they were alright after they were both slightly spooked due to their irresponsible Uncle. Panic began to run through his veins- neither of the twins were in their room.

Heading towards the playroom, opening the door silently- he jumped out of his skin. Seeing the figure in front of him- the blonde hair, the now out of fashion clothes. He believed it was one of his daughters many pot dolls- Bertrand and Maxwell had made her fall in love with dolls, she was wrapped around their little fingers. Personally he couldn’t see the attraction, they slightly freaked him out. Shaking his head, he knew the twins wouldn’t play hide and seek at this time.

As he exited the room, the woman followed- holding a photo in one hand of the young prince who was now the King and an antique goblet in the other hand.

******

Arianna and Jackson ran through the Duchy, attempting to find their way with no light- their father had left them. They didn’t believe he was like their Uncle Max - a wind up merchant. He was usually protective, a marshmallow, he loved them- he wouldn’t let any harm come to them. Neither could breathe, it felt as if someone was choking them, blocking their airways. Their heartbeats were rapidly increasing- wishing their Dad would return to them and save them again. No one was there, they continued to run through the dark corridors as if their life depended on it- seeing figures in the shadows they just believed their imagination was playing tricks with them. It was Halloween after all.

“Kids there you are!” Drake looked furious but also relieved that they were safe. Pulling them both into a tight hug- he loved his children to the moon and back. His strong arms, always made them feel safe.

“You can sleep with us tonight. I will be having words with Uncle Max tomorrow!”

“You left us!” Jackson spat. Drake looked at his children bewildered.

“The door shut in the basement, and you helped us out daddy. Then you left us.” Cupping his daughters cheeks, he saw fear and disappointment in her baby blues.

“Baby, I haven’t been to the basement. I’ve been to both of your rooms and then the playroom. Your doll scared me Ari. Was that a trick for me? Or was Uncle Max up to his old tricks again? Because you surely made me jump.” Arianna and Jackson looked at each other confused, their breathing began to increase again.

“I don’t have any dolls in the playroom, Daddy.” She whimpered, beginning to shake. Drake explained that he was silly to forget that her dolls weren’t stored there anymore- even though he still believed they were. He was now as spooked as his two children but didn’t want to admit it- picking both his children up, he carried them to his bedroom holding them protectively. Riley looked concerned, as they all got into bed next to her. The two children snuggled in between their parents, and feel asleep immediately.

“Drake we need words with Max. He’s obviously scared them.” She kissed the two of them, then rubbed her growing bump.

“Ri, Valtoria is haunted.” Riley laughed uncontrollably, trying to control herself before needing to go to the toilet again. Her eyes fixated on his, she immediately saw fear in them- witnessing goosebumps form on his arms. Riley was now hoping that this was some kind of sick joke or prank that Maxwell had got him included in.

“Give up. You’re as bad as Max. Who could possibly haunt Valtoria?”

[hollenka99]

Five Cards

Summary: Chase Brody becomes a father and loses his children more than once.

Warnings: Relationship that becomes progressively less healthy, Implied child death, Referenced murder

The first time Chase Brody received a Father's Day card, he hadn't been expecting it.

For him, it had been a regular Sunday. He'd gone to work before meeting with Stacy for a Sunday roast at a restaurant. It was more crowded than usual due to all the fathers celebrating their day with their families. Luckily, he and Stacy had booked a table in advance.

He looked over at her. One day, that would be them. They'd have a little boy who would think his dad had the best aim ever. He'd try to copy his dad and probably start making attempts to throw them into cups or empty containers as soon as he stopped wanting to taste everything he got his hands on. Their daughter would be as beautiful as her mother. They'd share Stacy's wavy blonde hair and lime green eyes. The two of them would roll their eyes at Chase's hobby of doing trick shots.

He chewed slowly on his Yorkshire pudding as he pictured this. It had been two years since he had grinned like a fool in front of all their friends and family as the two of them were introduced as Mr and Mrs Brody. Maybe it was time to move their relationship forward. If they actively tried to become parents, a baby could arrive by the time their third or fourth anniversary came around.

His wife regained his attention from the daydream. When he explained his thought process, she simply handed him a card addressed to him. His confusion only caused her to smile wider. Something was up.

The Father's Day card containing an ultrasound picture within caught him off guard. The longer it took him to speak, the harder Stacy laughed at his reaction. Yes, she insisted, she was serious. All he could do was move to the chair next to hers and hug her. Dessert wasn't their usual ending to Sunday dinner but tonight was special. Tonight, they were celebrating along with the other parents.

When the waitress came to collect their dirty plates, noticed the card on display and enquired where their child was, he proudly told her it was coming soon.

The second time Chase Brody received a Father's Day card, he smiled when he noticed his seven month old daughter had seemingly mastered the art of writing. In fact, her handwriting appeared to have a remarkable similarity to her mother's.

Samantha had been due in the first week of January. Spending Christmas in a hospital with a month old baby was not how he'd pictured his first Christmas as a parent. However, he was ecstatic when, after weeks of waiting for her to grow stronger, he and Stacy were able to bring Samantha home for the first time. She had only progressed further since then.

When he announced the pregnancy to Jack, his old friend from college congratulated him with an arm around the shoulder. Along with Henrik, they'd been drinking beer in a pub. The doctor assured Chase he was more than happy to provide parenting tips if needed.

It was strange whenever any of them hung out together, especially as a group. People insisted they looked the same. Chase certainly wouldn't deny he and Jack resembled each other. Only slightly though. After all, that was part of the reason why they began talking in the first place. But Henrik? No. Perhaps some Clark Kent nonsense was happening with his glasses and neater hairstyle but Chase simply couldn't recognise the similarities other than they had the same colour of eyes and hair. Either way, he was thankful for the German doctor who had saved his life before being introduced to him on a personal level by Jack.

He'd experienced recurring moments of pride every time he announced the Brody family was expecting a new member. His parents were overjoyed at the prospect of becoming grandparents. The rest of Chase's friends were happy for him too. Unfortunately, Stacy's family had to be informed of the good news as well. He never understood why they hated him. Okay, sometimes he could act immature but that part of his personality was what had had gotten their daughter to fall for him. Every time he messed about with trick shots, it would get Stacy to smile or even laugh.

Tracy was the worst of them. His wife's twin sister seemed to have a personal vendetta against him. Stacy's parents were cold towards him but with Tracy, he seemed to be one wrong move away from being murdered by her in cold blood. The two avoided each other when they could get away with it.

It didn't matter. Stacy's family didn't live with them. At home, it was just the two of them and their baby girl. Chase had been correct. Samantha had her mother's hair and eyes. He could still a little of himself in his daughter. Her smile, one of his favourite things about her, certainly didn't resemble Stacy's smile. He could make the comparison right now, seeing as both of them were smiling as he played peek-a-boo in the living room.

A year ago, this had been a daydream in a restaurant as he lived a repetitive routine. This year, he had no schedule. His only objectives were earning enough money to give this baby the world and witness her happiness as often as he could.

The third time Chase Brody received a Father's Day card, he felt like he didn't deserve to be praised for his parenting skills.

His boss was forced to make cutbacks to ensure the business survived tough financial times. Of course Chase was let go. 'I'm sorry to have to do this to you, Chase'. Yeah, that was bullshit. If his manager was really cared about him, they wouldn't be firing Chase a month before his second child was due. He'd put all the effort required and more to his professional responsibilities. His willingness to work hard was the only reason his in-laws didn't riot when he married their daughter.

Telling Stacy had been the worst part. Yes, he knew it would be a while before she could return to her job. Of course he was aware having two children under the age of two was expensive. He was feeling like shit after being told he wasn't good enough to stay employed. Couldn't he get some reassurance that these things occasionally happened to those who didn't deserve it? Could he perhaps receive some emotional support from the woman he loved, despite letting her down? No, it turned out he wasn't getting anything.

Going to a restaurant to celebrate Father's Day seemed like a waste of money. It wasn't like Sam was going to eat beef and potatoes with her parents. Their little girl was still at the stage where she lived off of cheese cubes and slices of fruit between meals. Nevertheless, they still spent the money they should be saving up. He didn't enjoy the meal out at all.

The card and teddy had really been from Stacy, when he thought about it. He doubted Sam knew what was going on. She probably recognised something exciting was happening, that was all. Regardless of her understanding of the holiday, Sam still acknowledged her daddy was upset. She toddled over to him while her mother prepared everything for bedtime. Chase's new little teddy was offered to him. For a few minutes, things didn't seem so bad when he appreciated how easy it was to make a 19 month old child giggle if you made a bear boop her on the nose. It was a shame Stacy didn't have the same appreciation. All she cared about was how he wasn't helping her when she needed it most.

He said nothing. However, as he slept beside her that night, he knew things were changing for the worst.

The fourth time Chase Brody received a Father's Day card, it was signed with two stickers.

Flynn was the opposite to his sister. While she had been nearly two months early, he'd stayed until the day before intervention had been scheduled. Samantha had taken her time with her milestones but that was normal for a premature child. Flynn, on the other hand, was already walking on his own and on the brink of saying his first word. Chase had his fingers crossed for Dada.

The July morning Samantha met her baby brother was beautiful. Chase picked her up from Henrik's home to visit the hospital. Her reaction to Flynn was better than he'd expected. She'd been fascinated by the pink face surrounded by the blanket he was wrapped in. Within days, she wanted to hold him all the time. She even became incredibly frustrated that he couldn't play with her yet.

Whenever he had the time, Chase would film poor quality videos of his unsuccessful attempts to perform simple tricks. Apparently, people enjoyed Bro Average's failures. Being reminded failing multiple times before success wasn't that bad did seem appealing. He didn't have many subscribers however Jack assured him it was early days. A shout out from his internationally popular friend did boost the statistics. A video on Jack's channel had been suggested in passing conversation but it wasn't something they had considered doing for real as of yet.

Flynn was definitely Chase's son. Sure, Samantha looked more like her mother than him. Flynn, however, was his father's doppelganger. Jack, king of nicknames, had even dubbed the small boy 'Mini-Chase'. The infant clone was slowly learning how to imitate his father's mannerisms. Stacy was the clear second favourite. Then again, Chase was always home while she worked a full time job to make ends meet. Not that she let him forget that detail.

He struggled to know where he stood with her. Sometimes, they catapulted insults between each other like it was a game of hot potato. You want to remain sane for the sake of your children? Tough, how about you're reminded of your numerous flaws instead. Other times, they would get along perfectly. It was like the fights were simply blips. Nothing to worry about, all couples fought. Take Valentine's Day, a rare lovely dinner at home while their children remained quiet. The good times were gradually growing less and less frequent.

Recently, he noticed Stacy was employing an immoral and frankly childish method of never allowing the verbal wounds to heal. In the past few weeks, Samantha would act as messenger for her mother. Mummy says this, Mummy said that. Jesus, the child was only two years old. She didn't deserve to be used like this. His wife would brush it off as a toddler picking up more than she should. No, she was listening to her mummy openly criticize Daddy in front of her. If it had been a case of a small child saying things she shouldn't, Stacy would have helped him discourage the behaviour. He was never aware the woman he married had the ability to be manipulative.

Chase ended the day by putting Flynn to bed. His son stands up immediately, clearly not planning on sleeping yet. He reaches out as Chase reminds him it's time to get some rest. Flynn shouts his first word in protest. Chase doesn't know whether it's the actual word or the fact that he's had no rest himself since the early hours of this morning. Either way, he's wiping a tear or two as he steps towards the crib. He whispers thank you as they cuddle. At least someone at home wasn't working against him, intentionally or not.

To her disapproval, Stacy found her husband asleep with his back against the wall, cradling their dreaming second child. Once a photograph of the moment was taken, she took control of the situation. Chase mumbled the news as he climbed into their bed. Obviously that would be Flynn's first word. The kid was joined to his father's hip.

The fifth time Chase Brody received a Father's Day card, he found it in his post.

April had only been two months ago. He still remembered that phone call in perfect clarity. He had been filming the Bro Average video for Jack's channel when Stacy announced she was divorcing him. Taking their children to her twin sister was like twisting the knife. Stacy hadn't even allowed him to say a proper goodbye to the kids. One second he was making sure Samantha knew he loved her and her little brother, the next he was listening to a disconnected line.

Stacy had the nerve to explain the split to her parents as 'realising they were right about him all along'. She spouted rubbish about how he refused to provide for his family. Since when? Ever since he'd been made redundant two years ago, he'd done everything in his power to help make ends meet. He had a job again, albeit a part time one that paid far less than his old job. What mattered was that he was pulling his weight. He couldn't go full time because somebody had to be there for Sam and Flynn while Stacy worked. Not to mention, the merchandise he'd brought out for the Bro Average channel earned them a few extra pounds on the side. She once argued with him about the items he purchased for the videos. Clearly he'd been married to someone who didn't understand basic business principles.

Chase never intended to become dependent on alcohol either. Prior to the call, he'd liked to have a drink every now and then, the same as anyone else. Now, he used it to lose a few hours of the day. Without meaning to, he allowed his life to unravel. Countless shifts of pretending he wasn't intoxicated or hungover had been noticed. Last week, he experienced a huge serving of deja vu. He had been called into his boss' office and fired for his performance. Because of course he had. He was Chase Brody, the world's biggest failure. He couldn't keep a job, make his wife stay with him or be a good enough father to their two children. Everything had gone to shit after Stacy demanded a divorce.

And yet, he still loved her with the a similar strength as he did at the beginning. God, did their marriage only last seven years? If he didn't have a chance of fixing his relationship with Stacy, he'd have to fight for his right to see his children grow up. If his life was spiralling out of control, he refused to let that affect his involvement in their lives. He wasn't going to back down, not when he needed his family the most.

The first time Chase Brody didn't receive a Father's Day card, life was close to hell.

It had started okay. He still abused his liver but after a battle in court, Chase had been granted the right to spend time with his kids over the weekend. He wept the day it happened. If he had been able to get away with it, he would have asked for every day with them. He'd be a part of lives, even if it wasn't as big of a part as their mother. That was the motivation to try and ultimately fail to go cold turkey with the drink. Sam and Flynn didn't deserve an alcoholic father, on top of everything else Chase was. His friends supported him and cheered with him at this breakthrough.

Then Jack fell ill.

He didn't know how it had happened. It was either the end of July or the start of August when he'd last visited him for a gaming session. A few days later, Henrik rang with bad news. Jack was in a coma. If someone asked why Chase remembered the date being August 3rd, he wouldn't be able to tell them. He knew his kids' birthdays to the minute but he was supposed to know that.

For months, his life fell into a routine. On weekdays, he would spend most of the day at the job he'd miraculously managed to obtain, given his record. As the sky got dark, Chase frequently headed to the hospital to share a one-sided conversation with his friend. The weekends were dedicated to his two anchors.

On the last Monday of April, Jack listened to the story about a trip to the fairground. If he was awake he would've learned Flynn insisted on mint choc chip ice cream then handed it to Samantha after one disgusted lick. Oh, Sam was starting to get really scared of heights as well. That was a weird coincidence, wasn't it? Chase hoped Jack was enjoying these stories, even if he couldn't react. Like always, he begged him to wake up.

May marked nine months since Chase lost his best friend to a coma. It didn't help that Henrik had left indefinitely, only to suddenly return without a word. May also marked the beginning of the end.

After nine months and five days, Jack finally regained consciousness. Chase couldn't get over there fast enough after work. They had proper conversations until Friday night's visiting hours were over. It became Jack's turn to worry incessantly about Chase when he disappeared for a week. The once playful man who lived with the burden of his failings came back a shell of himself.

Jack didn't learn what had happened from the one who had lived through the incident. Instead, it was the doctor who had been the first to witness two tiny bodies on their bedroom floor, their mother deceased in the corridor and red staining the carpets. The most Chase would leak was that the three of them must have thought he'd gone psycho. He hardly spoke a word after that horrific night. Maybe if Flynn had remembered his toy truck, his father would have been spared from discovering the haunting scene.

Now Chase Brody was reduced to a man who sat by his apartment's front door, waiting for a card he knew was never coming.

[the--blackdahlia]

Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 4 (Dirt!Nikki x Reader)

Title: Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 4

Summary: Nikki Sixx was a hard partying musician on the strip. He never expected to fall in love with anyone, until a girl knocked on his dressing room door looking for a ride home and took his breath away. Just like everything else Nikki did; the drugs, the money, the music; Nikki went hard with love. (Y/n) Bass never expected the bassist of Motley Crue to be the one to shake her calm and calculated life up. She had a plan. Graduate school, become an epic producer, and watch from behind the scenes as her brother’s band rose to fame. Nikki and (Y/n) were perfect for each other, too bad her brother, Tommy, didn’t think so.

Series warnings: Smut (18+ Please), drug use, language, referenced miscarriage, drug overdose, mentioned attempted suicide, out of character moments for everyone in the band, the timeline might be a little screwy but it’s fanfiction!

Nikki got back to the apartment. Mick was the only one there, since Vince and Tommy were still out late. He looked up at Nikki from the TV show he was watching.

“Thought you’d be crawling in at the sunrise.” Mick commented.

“She has class in the morning,” Nikki sighed. “I… I really like her and I don't want to screw this up.” Nikki ran a hand across his face. “This girl isn't like the groupies at the shows… she different… I don’t feel the need to party when I’m with her. I just want to be with her.”

“That’s deep Nikki.” Mick said. “Don’t let Tommy and Vince hear you saying that though. They’ll start planning the wedding.”

“Shut up,” Nikki grumbled and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “What is wrong with me man?”

“Infatuation. That’s what’s wrong with you.” Mick said. “You give it some time. If the feeling sticks, you’re in love. If it goes away when a new flavor of girl walks by, you were just smitten.” He glanced over at Nikki. “I actually just had to have this same exact talk with Tommy.”

“He has a girl he’s interested in?” Nikki raised his eyebrow at Mick.

“Well, his was about Pop Tarts. So same thing right. Something you both want to eat?” He winked at Nikki.

“I mean… It would be nice but… I don't think she’s that type of girl for now… besides Vince cock blocked me tonight.” Nikki grabbed a chair flipped it so that the back of it was in front of him and sat down.  

“How did he do that?” Mick asked.

“Brought over some girl name Tiffany or Tracy or some shit like that and just started running his mouth,” he took a big chug of his beer. “(Y/n) wanted to leave after that to go home.”    

“Maybe she’s just a homebody? Not every girl likes to go out all the time you know.” Mick pointed out. “You said she was in school right? How old is she?”

“I’m not sure…” NIkki felt himself panic. “Shit what if she’s underage!”

“Well, what I saw of her, she looks like she’s probably eighteen or nineteen. And it sounds like she has a plan with her life. Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck it up and have to rely on a rockstar to support her through life?” Mick suggested.

Nikki let Micks words sink in, “meaning she is completely out of my league.” Nikki chugged the rest of his beer and grabbed the bottle of Jack taking a large gulp from it. “She should be with someone normal.”

“She comes to Motley Crue concerts. She’s not normal Nik.” Mick laughed. “Just be easy with her. If she’s young and never experienced life, those are the ones that have a tendency to go hard when they get a taste of it. I’d hate to see her be one of the girls that comes through the window.”

“Yeah, yeah I guess.” Nikki said. “I asked about having a normal date… what’s a day we don’t have a gig?”

“Do I look like a calendar?” Mick asked. He went to the fridge where Tommy had handwritten a schedule in crayon. “Looks like Thursday we’re good.”

“Sweet, I’ll call her tomorrow and see if that’s good for what I want to have planned… should get the phone book and look up a decent place to eat… maybe a movie or some shit like that.” Nikki rushed to his room and closed the door giving himself some privacy. He looked down at his hands he could almost still feel the softness of her skin on his fingertips. He wanted nothing more than to touch her again. Not even in a sexual way, like every other girl he had been with.

He knew in the morning, Vince would apologize and Tommy would tease him. But for the night, in his mind, it was just him and her.

****

“Here comes the king!” Vince said as Tommy made his way into the rehearsal space. They were working on some new music for their album that they needed to record. Tommy had a pair of sunglasses on that he had stolen from one of the girls, and a pair of Athena’s pants he had taken the last time he had stayed at her place.

“Relax dudes, I put my pants on like everyone else.” Tommy laughed.

“Yeah, but we aren’t wearing our little sister’s clothes.” Mick pointed out, making Nikki and Vince laugh.

“Hey,” he shrugged, “At least I look better in them than she does.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Nikki said, shaking his head. “So, do you guys know what movies are out right now that a girl would like to go see?”

“Trying to tell us something Nik?” Tommy teased, making Nikki flip him off.

“Huh,” Vince titled his head in thought. “Could check the news paper for listings in the entertainment section… I mean are you planning on doing something with that chick you were with last night?”

“Well, yeah.” Nikki said. “Gotta make sure she doesn’t have anything going on Thursday, but I thought I’d take her out. But I’m not telling you fuckheads which theater, because you’ll show up and embarrass me!”

“Awwwww, come on!” Tommy got on his knees and crawled to Nikki to grab at his legs. “Tell us please I haven’t met this chick yet! That’s not fair!”

“Not my fault you left with half the Laker Girls last night.” Nikki told him, pulling his legs away. “I’m almost scared to introduce her to you.”

“Why? Cuz she’ll take one look at me and realize she’s been with a zero when she could’ve been with a hero?” Tommy laughed. Nikki smacked his arm.

“Are we going to do music or talk about you idiots some more?” Mick grumbled, messing around on his guitar.

“Come on, I got a new song I want to try out.” Nikki grabbed his notebook and showed the guys the lyrics.

“That sounds pretty good.” Vince said. “Let me look over the lyrics.”

“Got any directions for music?” Mick asked as Vince took the paper to work on finding the right way to sing it. Tommy messed around on his drums while Mick and Nikki worked on the music.

Nikki began playing a beat thinking of (Y/n) and the lyrics. Vince seemed to respond to the beat Nikki was laying down, Tommy adding in his drums and Mick finding a good riff. The song was coming together nicely.

“So, do we have a set track list yet?” Mick asked a while later while they lounged around.

"Don't know yet. Elektra doesn’t seem to want to approve anything," Nikki shrugged. "We can play around with the flow." Nikki looked at the guys and at the list. "Any ideas for anything?"

“I think we’re just missing one song. They recommend a cover.” Vince said. “But I dunno man.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Tommy said, hitting his drums. “Got a bit before our next gig and I think I’m gonna go get a new tattoo or something.” Tommy laughed. “Who wants to join me?”

"I'll go with you man," Nikki said. "I could use one."

“Gonna get your girlfriend’s name tattooed on you?” Tommy teased. Nikki smacked him upside the head.

“What? NO!” NIkki smacked him upside the head. “Not sure what I’ll get yet but something awesome. If I even decide to go with you, you asshole.”

“It’s amazing we’ve made it this far with you two at the helm.” Mick grumbled.

After rehearsal, NIkki closed the door to his room and dialed (Y/n)’s number. “Please be home and pick up please.” he said to himself as it rang.

“Hello?” (Y/n) finally answered.

“(Y/n)? It’s NIkki… NIkki Sixx?” he smacked his head and groaned.

“Well, hi there Nikki Sixx.” (Y/n) giggled. “You just caught me getting home from class.”

“Hi, yeah, hey… I already said that,” NIkki laughed nervously. “I’m glad I caught you… what are you doing Thursday?”

“I’ve got two classes in the morning and then I work until 4. Why?” (Y/n) asked. “Another gig?” She laid on her bed, looking up at the ceiling. She twirled the cord in her finger. It was times like this she was glad her siblings had moved out already. She knew they’d be listening in.

“Actually… a date,” Nikki jumped on his bed and looked up at the ceiling, his head resting on his arm.

“You want to go out on a date with me? I mean, we’ve been on two but...are you sure?” (Y/n) asked. Nikki could tell she was nervous and it was a little cute. “I mean, I haven’t been on many dates and…”

“Neither have I, but I am pretty sure I want to actually do something with just you,” he chuckled. “I mean we can go to a movie and then dinner or dinner movie and then a fun night out?”

“I love going to the movies,” (Y/n) said. “That sounds great. Your friends aren’t going to show up, are they?” She didn’t mind the band showing up, she just didn’t want to see Tommy’s face yet when he realized her and Nikki were going out.

“I am keeping the theater we are going to under lock and key,” Nikki felt himself smiling. “Besides, I won’t even tell them what restaurant we’re going to.”  

“Well, I’d love to go out with you Nikki Sixx.” She giggled. “Just tell me a time and I’ll meet you, or whatever. I’ll eventually get a car.” She cringed a little. She was making herself sound so uncool.

“I can pick you up at your dorm,” Nikki smiled. “What do you say to 6 O’clock?”

“Oh, yeah! That’ll give me time to get in order.” She said, closing her eyes. She was eventually going to have to actually move to the dorm or tell him the truth.

“Good,” Nikki sat up and pumped his fist in the air. “Sweet girl, I’m going to show you a real good time.” Nikki found himself smiling brighter, “I’ll call you tomorrow. What time are you usually home by?”

“Tomorrow I work until the library closes. I think tomorrow is like eight.” She told him. “But summer is coming up soon and I won’t have to work as much.” She was all smiles. That’s when she heard a voice in the background.

“Hey Nikki! I gotta stop by my parents house first before I go to the parlor. Mom asked me to do something for her since I’m so tall.” Tommy said. (Y/n) gulped. She hoped that Tommy would come alone and not bring Nikki. She didn’t want him to see her here.

“I told you I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go with you or not. Why are you telling me this?” Nikki asked.

“Wasn’t sure if you wanted to tag along. You know mom loves you.” Tommy said. “Maybe I could introduce you to my sister.”

“Nikki’s too busy with his hot little number!” Vince yelled to Tommy.

NIkki grabbed some empty cans to throw at them, “Shut up asshole.” Nikki turned back to the phone. “We have a gig tomorrow so I’ll be in late. Maybe I can catch you the next day?”

“Maybe I could try to come by tonight. I don’t have class until ten tomorrow.” She shrugged a little. “If not though, have a good night Nikki.” She smiled every time she said his name. He made her heart flutter.

“If you come by that would be nice, but I know you’ll be tired from work and you should rest,” Nikki smiled. “I’ll catch you tomorrow… just listen for my message if I can’t reach you. Night (Y/n).” Just saying her name made his pulse race.

“Night Nikki.” She hung up then, laying back on her bed with a smile.

Nikki sighed and closed his eyes. He could picture her in his mind and he could feel a song coming on. Grabbing his notebook he began writing. He placed the title at the top: Use it or Lose it.

(Y/n) turned on her radio as Nikki was in his room writing. “Crazy on You” by Heart came on and (Y/n) felt like she could relate to the song. She laid back on her bed, thinking about him. She was starting to think about moving into the dorm with Vanessa, or even getting their own apartment near the campus. Athena had offered her a room once, and Tommy had said she could live with him if she would stop being such a nerd. But she really wanted to get through school. She was ahead of everyone and she was so close to graduating. She could taste it. If she took all the classes over the summer, she only had a semester.Tommy would call her a nerd, she would call herself an opportunist.

That’s when she realized she had no idea what to wear on a date.

“Oh come on.” She groaned. She was sure he wouldn’t mind the rock t-shirts that Tommy had gotten for her over the years, but she wasn’t to be a little classy or something. She knew Vanessa would help her in a heartbeat, and of course she would be there to help her pick out an outfit, but it was also time she called in the big guns. She picked up her phone then and dialed a number that she had recently memorized.

“Athena? It’s (Y/n). Can you come over tomorrow night or Wednesday? I need your help with something.”

“Why? Are you doing something for your class?” Athena asked as she sat on her couch and began flipping through the tv channels.

“I, uh...I have a date.” (Y/n) told her, making Athena sit up straight.

“You have a date?” Athena sat straighter. “Anyone I know?”

“I met him at the concert you ditched me at.” (Y/n) told her. “And no, I’m not telling you his name.”

“It’s not fucking Vince, is it?” Athena asked.

“No, no. It’s not Vince. Are you going to help me or not?” (Y/n) asked.

“Yes, I’ll help you,” Athena smiled. “But you know you can’t hide him forever.”

“Does Wednesday night sound good? Mom and dad are leaving for their cruise.” (Y/n) told her. “They’ll be in Greece for like a month or something.”

“Oh well, that sounds like you can have a house party if you wanted to,” Athena teased.

“No parties and no...anything else.” (Y/n) blushed. “Thanks Athena. I’ll get us dinner. There’s booze. We’re set.”

“Ok, I’ll help you out and bring over what I have that can fit you or we can go shopping!” Athena squealed slightly. “Night baby sis and maybe this guy can help de-flower you.”  

(Y/n) hung up and sighed. She had jumped that obstacle but now she had to deal with Athena wanting to know who she was dating. And she’d have to figure out what to do if Nikki wanted to come back to her place. She closed her eyes. She had gotten herself in a deep hole.

Forever Tags:  @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316

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Too Young to Fall in Love Tags:  @kingbouji3 @leximus98

[geniusbuilttm]

BMC 4/6/2019 2 PM Show

Soooo I saw BMC yesterday with @awkwardpersontm and it was an amazing day so I have a lot of notes from the show..... a L O T

This is all me copy+pasting from a note I made on my phone so sorry it’s so long

ALSO SPOILERS!!! LOTS OF SPOILERS SO SCROLL IF U DONT WANNA GET SPOILED

Also signatures (those who came to the signing): George, both Jason’s, Gerard, and Anthony

Pre-Show

Talked to Zachary so much and he was signing a little while talking

He is so excited about giving everyone their custom pins and talking to them

The pin this month is ‘I ❤️ Play Rehearsal’, last month was a SQUIP pill (green and white), and February was a Michael Mell pin

Here is a pic (also Zachary is amazing I adore him and love him sm):

He geeked out about my pants and told me I need to show my pics of them to George Salazar

Jake’s understudy went today and Anthony ROCKED IT!!!

Act 1

Jeremy’s mom went to Long Island with her prom king bf

Jake’s whole character starts to change since he first talks to Christine

The book Christine is reading is a worn book about Barbara Streisand

He loves Sbarro bc his parents used to take him there (he tells her about it during the mall)

Wolverine is v creepy and swallows a lot

They have a mailbox

Mr heeres table was full of newspapers and cereal

During TPG George didn’t catch the controller so they scrambled so it wouldn’t fall off the side and did the part until after Mr. Heere on the floor

Jeremy when he first sees rich is like I’m not in the mood I had a bad daaaaaay then proceeds to get swirlied in the toilet

Outfit changes per day

Michael has a vest over his hoodie the second day

Squips countdown before Christine says ‘guess there’s a part of me that wants to’

Upgrade got replaced and completely revamped

George wasn’t apart of the ensemble of SQUIp song

Jenna has an adorable pineapple bag

Jeremy and Brooke made out in the bleachers at the football field

The wombat mascot of the school changed to an elephant

The SQUIp pill was huuuuge

Michael’s explanation of what exto cooler tastes like: *deadpan voice* ghosts

Brooke and Jeremy both hate being the player two

Chloe kicking Christine’s backpack aaaaaaall the way stage left and it hit the wall

Me and Mikaela (awkwardpersonTM) in second row got hit with confetti that Squip tossed

He doesn’t squirt out the lotion to masturbate anymore

Squip solo before Be More Chill Part 1

Karl has lots of sequins

Mall cop Jake is replaced with bedazzled af dude

Lots of Michael references when he is ONB’d and props and stage stuff covers him and apparently headphones aren’t allowed in the halls

Chloe is scared of losing attention

Jeremy is halo’d like a king with light when looking down at Michael at the football field

New patches on Michael’s hoodie back: Atari, floppy disk, and one other I don’t remember rn

Jeremy smiled and was proud of being a masturbator

The kids in the new song all had a way to connect to Jeremy and we got bg info on them a bit more that way so it makes more sense why Jeremy says yes and is ‘suddenly popular’

Act 2

I got too caught up after with hurrying for stage door but

Jeremy isn’t late for the Halloween party this time

Christine is a princess still but instead of having her old Juliet costume, she tried to be someone she wasn’t by dressing as a slutty princess (it also had a hoop skirt that was short)

Halloween has an extra bit st the end

Do you wanna hang is a lot better with no awk lap dance

Jake unfortunately no longer hops in through the window

The entire time of the Halloween party yoy see rich getting more and more panicked and in pain with his squip

He takes a jack o lantern and starts the fire with that

The army stuff is still there in pants song

Before pants song they have an actual news broadcast on the tv on the table they recorded

Michael tries to awkwardly do military stuff back and Mr. Heere does it in return to make him feel better

Smoking effect and the mells have a lawn chair up front, garden gnomes, and a plastic pink flamingo

Jeremy tells Jenna about what the squips are before she drinks the beaker

Jeremy ends up hitting Michael and punching him in the nose and I think breaking it?

Jenna says that she refuses to not be connected and has the squiped kids grab him and she knocks him out

Michael wakes up as Jeremy is confronted with Christine and no fake out kiss attempt is made

He explains that one destroys them all before they all go

SQUIp actually wants to take over the world

SQUIp: you helped me realized what I was meant to do (context: take over the word); Jeremy: ... ah SHIT

He gets angry at Jeremy after he originally is upset and sad that he was shut off

Jeremy explains that he wanted to save Christine and that he didn’t knowing shutting one off shut them all off and Michael says that Jeremy’s less of an asshole than he thought

Rich has realistic burn makeup on the side of his face (not really real but i gasped)

Jenna/Brooke/Chloe/Jake call themselves Jeremy’s Squad

They have actual closure for the issues, even if very brief, for what happens during the show

Squip still faceplants onto the bed

Jeremy’s voice is glitching out as he insults Michael

On Squip’s anime villain look his lit up chest piece reacts and freaks tf out when Michael shows the Mt Dew Red (which is literally printed out paper around a bottle)

Jake clings to the bottle during most of it and dumps most out into the sink

Brooke wants to be seen and Chloe wants to be liked (they say they see/like each other)

Basically everyone is creepy hugging each other after being Squipped like they’re blissed out happy

[thesffcorner]

Book Couples of 2019: Ranked

I stole this idea from Sam at ThoughtsOnTomes, and I’ve done it two years in a row. So why not keep the tradition going in the next decade too and rank all the couples from books I read in 2019. 

Before we start, some ground rules: 

SPOILERS AHEAD;

All of the couples are from books I read in 2019;

All the couples must be canon; they are only on the list if they are written as explicitly romantic; 

Worst to Best, i.e. couples I liked the least to couples I liked the best. 

Let’s go!

TERRIBLE TIER: 

50. Erika and Michael from Corrupt by Penelope Douglass

Is anyone surprised that these two are the worst couple of the year? If you are, you must be new here. 

This pairing has all the tropes I hate in literature: an abusive, possessive alpha male hero who treats the girl like shit, but it’s ok because he loves her. He’s also willing to destroy her life over his friends, who as far as he knows raped her, so that’s fun too. Oh, and also it takes for her to almost die for him to tell her he loves her. We stan an emotionally stunted idiot. 

As for Erika, she’s entitled, dumb, naive and completely virginal, in spite of being in a committed long term relationship. She has no personality other than her unrequited 14 year old crush, but somehow she’s supposed to be smart and independent? Sure, Jan.  

49. Joe and Beck from You, by Caroline Kepness:

I don’t think I need to explain to anyone why I hated these two. They are both pretentious, horrible people and I’d say they deserve each other, except no one deserves Joe, not even Beck.

48. Marcus, Maria and Saya from Deadly Class by Rick Remendeer:

2019 was a bad year for love triangles, which is a trope I’m not a huge fan of anyway, but man did this year make me hate it even more. As the first example we have Marcus, Maria and Saya, who are by far 3 of the most obnoxious characters I have ever had the displeasure of reading from. 

First we have Maria, who is just ‘crazy’, because women be crazy y’all! She’s promiscuous, even though she has a boyfriend, who she then cheats on with Marcus, back-stabs her best friend over him, and then gets dropped like a potato when Marcus realizes he can sleep with Saya too. 

There are some attempts in the latter volumes to give her some depth and explain why she was dating Dio to start with, but you know, I’d rather you had opened with that. 

Marcus, outside of being the absolute worst person in existence, treats Maria poorly, talks shit about her behind her back, cheats on her, let’s her take the fall for stuff he and Saya did and in general doesn’t want to be with her, but stays because sex. 

His relationship with Saya is even worse; they like the same shitty music, and are both horny. Also Saya is a horrible tsundere cliche, which is already annoying in anime and manga, even well written ones, let alone when an American writer tries to emulate it. Badly. 

BAD TIER: 

47. Mariko, Akira and Taro from Empress of All Seasons by Emiko Jean

The second love triangle on the list, and this one wins by being the dumbest, most underdeveloped one of the year. 

Mariko was the character I liked the most, but her connection to both Akira and Taro was tenuous at best, and more than a little frustrating. 

Akira gets put in the friend-zone, except not really because he actually is proactive and tries to show Mariko that he values her, but then the book forgets about him so we can develop Taro, who is somehow even worse. At least Akira had a connection to Mariko before he fell for her; Taro sees her and decides she’s the one because she talks back at him thinking he’s just an ordinary samurai, not the prince, a trope that needs to fuckin DIE. Not to mention his faster than Kylo Ren turn to the darkside.

46. Odessa, Evander and Mereday from Reign of the Fallen by Sarah Glenn Marsh:

The next triangle on this list, and this one hurts more because it actually had potential. 

There is something really compelling about two women coming together to grieve the loss of a loved one, with the idea that Mereday has nursed a crush on Odessa since childhood, but because of social norms and her brother, she’s stayed away. 

What we get instead is an uneven mess, where neither character feels like they are progressing at all, and a ton of contrivances as to why they won’t talk to each other, instead of  building on the existing conflict of ‘Odessa’s boyfriend and Mereday’s brother is the same person, and he is dead’. 

45. Poe, Auden and St Sebastian from A Lesson in Thorns, by Sierra Simone:

Speaking of potential, these 3. 

This is one of those triangles where all 3 legs should be, and are written to be equal, but unfortunately, the author clearly liked the one I liked the least, the most. 

I liked Auden and St Sebastian, wanted to find out what happened to make Auden treat St Sebastian the way he did, and why St Sebastian let him do it.  I even liked the pull they felt for each other and the jealousy Poe brought up in them. 

I also really liked Poe and St. Sebastian, their angst over being separated, their bonding over feeling like outsiders in Auden’s world, and the loss of their respective mothers. 

The couple I liked least were Auden and Poe, which is the one Simone spent the most time on. I hated Auden’s entitlement, the blindness to his privilege, the unnecessary engagement to Delphine, and I likewise hated how horny Poe was 24/7 even when she’s supposed to be finding out what happened to her missing mother, which uh… is not good. 

44. Arthur and Ben from What If It’s Us by Adam Silvera and Becky Albertali:

I wasn’t a fan of this relationship from the start, because I just couldn’t stand Arthur as a character. Even though he improved, the relationship didn’t. 

The two didn’t have any chemistry, they weren’t compatible, and Ben had rather serious issues he should have been solving, instead of jumping straight into a new relationship. Arthur also fixated on stupid shit like a box of stuff, which is appropriately immature, but didn’t make me root for them to succeed as a couple. 

Also I hated the ending. 

43. Penelope and Sam from Emergency Contact, by Mary H K Choi

In theory, these two would be in the meh tier, but what pissed me off about this relationship is how underdeveloped it was. Sam was a character who needed serious counselling and therapy, not a girlfriend, and Penelope was just an immature teenager. I didn’t root for them to get together, I rooted for them to get help.

42. Malachiasz and Nadezda from Wicked Saints, by Emily Duncan:

These two absolutely have to go to the bad tier, even though they had potential and worked with tropes I like. 

I love the idea of a villain-hero romance; it can be done right, and the push and pull between power and control, light and dark, etc can be invigorating. This, was not that. 

Firstly we don’t know that Malachiasz is a villain for most of this; at most we think he’s some kind of assassin, but considering the whole mission the characters are on is to destroy Kalyzin and kill the King, that’s not exactly damning. Second, what should be these characters’ conflict, their religious views isn’t at all explored and Nadezda falls for Malachiasz way too quickly for someone who has been indoctrinated from birth to kill people who do blood magic. 

Also there’s a set up for a love triangle in book 2, and when will my suffering end. 

 41. Celine, Bastien and Grimaldi from The Beautiful, by Renee Ahdieh: 

Speaking of love triangles, we have possibly the worst one I read this year, in that it wasn’t even properly established! 

I had the same issues with Bastien as I did with Auden; he had no personality, other than being rich and handsome. He also does the whole ‘this woman talks back to me, so she must be the one’, which is strike 1 against him. 

Celine was fine as a character, but her connection and love for Bastien felt unwarranted, considering both his behavior and everything she knows about him, not to mention it somehow felt rushed in a 500 page book. 

Grimaldi I just plain hated. Him stepping in to pretend that he was Celine’s lover when she’s lost her memories and clearly doesn’t love him, but ESPECIALLY him deciding out of the blue that he loves her after he detains and humiliates her for his own amusement made me rage quit this series. 

40. Daisy, Camila and Billy from Daisy Jones and the Six, by Taylor Jenkins Reid:

Yeah, I know it’s weird to put the couple(s) from a favorite book of the year in the bad tier, but I really, really didn’t like these pairings. 

Billy and Camila were infuriating. I get that people like that exist but Camila was far too forgiving considering everything Billy put her through. Billy was trash. 

I also hated the way Billy treated Daisy, and I was furious that she had to live with knowing what was happening between them for decades while he got to go home to his wife and pretend nothing happened. Yeah, this book hit a personal spot, read the review if you want more coherent thoughts. 

39. Noam and Dara from the Fever King, by Victoria Lee:

I am genuinely shocked they are this close to the meh tier, because boy was I not a fan of them. 

I wrote a really detailed review of this book, and all my issues with Noam and Dara, from their age gap, to the weird sexual politics, to substance abuse, and especially to Dara reading Noam’s mind for months without telling him anything. Their relationship made me uncomfortable, and that was without adding the third leg of this Godforsaken triangle which is Lehrer, a man who is like 100 years old. 

But hey, I still want to know what goes down in book 2, so they get to close out the bad tier. 

MEH TIER: 

38. Runa and Indigo from The Boneless Mercies, by April Genevive Tucholke:

Runa was a great character, but this romance is barely worth mentioning. It’s introduced at the very end, and it’s underdeveloped. 

37. Jack and the Village Girl from Down Among the Sticks and Bones, by Seanan McGuire:

I tried to look up the girl’s name, I really did, but I couldn’t find it and I don’t remember it. I also don’t have the book so I can’t check. 

I don’t know what I expected from a book about Jack and Jill, but Jill killing Jack’s girlfriend because she was jealous of Jack is… well not it. 

36. Lowen and Jeremy from Verity, by Colleen Hover: 

I struggled with whether to put these two in the bad or the meh tier. On the one hand, I cared not one bit about their relationship, even after we discover that it’s founded on lies and an attempted murder. On the other, there was nothing inherently wrong with their interactions and they did care for one another, even if was painfully boring. 

In the end, I decided that boredom is a meh trait so, meh tier it is.

35. Annaleigh and Cassius from House of Salt and Sorrows, by Erin A Craig:

Instalove, the couple. 

There was some potential, with the whole not knowing when it’s the real Cassius and when it’s Kosamaris or the Trickster pretending to be him, but it’s barely taken advantage of. In the end it’s just another ‘we’ve known each other for a week, but let’s die for each other’ plot. 

34. Mei and Kai from The Bride Test, by Hellen Hoang:

I really struggled where to put these two, because as individual characters, they were fine, great even. As a couple? Yikes. 

I loved Mei and wanted her to be happy, but the secret she kept from Kai was genuinely horrible, and I still can’t believe that the book resolved it by just not addressing it until the very end. 

Kai was fine, not nearly as developed or likable as Mei, but the way he treated Mei in parts of this book were horrific, even if he struggles with expressing feelings and boundaries. 

I ended up placing them in the meh tier, because at least they were never malicious to each other, which is more than can be said for the couples in the bad and terrible tier. 

33. Rachel and Delphine from A Lesson in Thorns, by Sierra Simone:

These two get to be in the meh, not the bad purely because I actually understood their dynamic. I really liked the idea of Delphine discovering her sexuality, both in women and in BDSM, and overcoming trauma by taking charge of her own body and desires. 

I also liked seeing Rachel realize that she had actual feelings for Delphine and having to deal with them. Too bad I’ll never get to find out how their relationship will pan out, cause fuck this series. 

32. Stevie and David from Truly Devious, by Maureen Johnson:

These two were perfectly fine, even interesting at points, until the ending, which made me so angry that they get to squat in the meh tier. 

Also Stevie going through David’s stuff? Not cool.

31. Yen and Vu Con from In the Vanisher’s Palace, by Aliette DeBodard:

The dynamic between these two was more than a little uneven, with the constant threat of murder and the knowledge that Yu would never be able to go home and see her mother, which is enough for me to resent any character no matter how cool of a dragon she is. 

But… that human-dragon sex scene. Wildest thing I’ve read all year. 

30. Henry and Diego from We Are the Ants, by Shaun David Hutchinson:

While I liked the book a lot, Henry and Diego were… not great. Diego was a character that at points came off more unreal than the aliens, from his wildly dramatic life story, to him not going to jail at the end, and his limitless patience when it came to Henry. Truly a manic pixie dream boy.  

29. Olive and Ethan from the Un-honeymooners, by Christina Lauren:

This couple would have been in the great tier, had it not been for the last third of the book. Ethan not believing Olive, telling her that she’s jealous and dramatic for wanting to warn her sister that his brother is a cheater, and then making up for it with a stupid, grandiose gesture instead of, actually talking to her and learning his lesson? Nah, we don’t stan that kind of manipulative behavior in this house. The only reason they are in the meh tier is because they really were cute the rest of the book. 

28. Isobel and Julio from An Alchemy of Masques and Mirrors, by Curtis Craddock:

Not much to say about them, mostly because they met in the last third of the book. I would take a bullet for Isobel, and judging by the blurb for book 2, Julio might have beat me to it, so he gets to be in the meh. 

27. Emily and Haskel from Passing Strange, by Ellen Klages:

Like Mei and Kai, I liked these two as separate characters more than as a couple. It’s not that there weren't any chemistry between them, it’s that they weren’t developed enough for me to care. If this were a longer work instead of a novella, they’d probably be higher. 

26. Jonas and Florian from The Monster of Elendhaven, by Jennifer Giesbrecht:

I liked the idea of this relationship more than the execution. Jonas being horny 24/7 for Florian’s dainty wrists was understandable, but Florian being sad that Jonas isn’t his dead twin sister… less so. 

However this does get points for having the strangest sex scene in any book I’ve read this year; yeah even stranger than the one in Gideon the Ninth. 

OK TIER:

25. Ruby and Dov from The Wise and the Wicked, by Rebecca Podos:

While I didn’t love the book, Ruby and Dov were fine. I appreciated the trans rep, I liked the way their relationship developed and the oddball humor the characters shared, and I thought they were cute together. 

24. Lila and Cassel from the Curse Workers Series, by Holly Black:

Lila and Cassel grew on me substantially between White Cat and the rest of the series. I liked the angst in Red Glove because of Lila being worked and I liked the rod trip they get to go on at the end of Black Heart. 

23. Aurora and Kal from Aurora Rising, by Jay Kristoff and Amie Kaufman:

There is nothing wrong with Aurora or Kal, even their bonding/imprinting thing reminded me too much of Twilight/Avatar. 

They do have cute scenes together, but I’m just not a fan of the alpha male, macho boy ‘protecting’ the girl and deciding for her what he will do with their relationship. There’s room for improvement, is what I’m trying to say. 

22. All the couples from the Witchlands Series, by Susan Dennard:

I was originally going to split these up in different tiers, but seeing as it’s been exactly a year since I read these books, and I don’t remember much about these couples, they all get to go in the OK tier. 

First we have Ryber and Kullen from Sightwitch. I liked Kullen’s humor, which contrasted well with Ryber’s seriousness and diligence, but there’s very little of them as an actual couple. I hope we get to see them again in Bloodwitch. 

Aeduin and Iseult were also fine. I know they feature more prominently in Bloodwitch, but what little we get from them in Truthwitch and Windwitch was some solid set up for a good Ben/Rey, Zuko/Katara type relationship. 

Safi and Merik are my favorite, but that’s only because I love Safi. Merik is the weaker part of this duo, though I do enjoy their banter, and the scene in Truthwitch where they dance and start levitating was amazing. 

21. Sam Cade and Gina from Stillhouse Lake, by Rachel Caine:

I was really surprised by how much I still like these two as a couple. The only reason they aren’t higher, is because they don’t stay a couple by the end of the book. 

I genuinely loved how tender and slow their relationship developed, and how much character development Cade got to get to it. Him bonding with Gina’s kids, was super sweet and the scene where he asks Gina if he can kiss her warmed my shriveled heart.

GOOD TIER:

20. Frey and King Roth from The Boneless Mercies, by April Genevive Tucholke:

I think the theme for the good category is my surprise at how much certain couple stuck with me. When I read the book, I wasn’t thrilled with Frey and Roth, because a different romance for Frey had been built up. 

But now, a year later, I still remember their scenes, especially the one where Roth tells Frey he is writing an epic about her, and asks her to come back to him. Good sh*t. 

19. Kate and Shepherd from This Is Our Story, by Ashley Elston:

I was surprised at how much I liked these two as a couple. They were supportive and cute, while also dealing with some serious issues and angst. The ending was a bit dramatic, but the scene where Kate likes a 4 year old picture of Shep on instagram by accident SPOKE TO MY SOUL. 

18. Grier and Shafeen from STAGS by M A Bennett:

This is another pairing that surprised me with how much I liked them. The book claimed that Henry was charming, but Shafeen was the real charmer, and I could actually believe that he is a gentleman who went to private school. 

Grier was a bit dim, and more than a little naive, but I liked how she got through the huntin’ shootin’ an’ fishin.

17. Levi and Enne from Ace of Shades, by Amanda Foody:

I loved these two and they had great chemistry and banter, but they aren’t yet an official couple so I can’t really justify putting them any higher than good. 

The scene where Enne plays for Levi’s life? Amazing. 

16. Harrow and Gideon from Gideon the Ninth, by Tamsyn Mur:

I wanted them to be in the great tier, but they just weren’t. 

I loved Gideon; she was funny, a true himbo. But Harrow? I hated her for about the first 300 pages of the book. And when I finally stopped hating her, they had that weird bath sex scene and then Gideon DIED. 

So I can’t put them any higher knowing that I liked only 20% of their actual relationship.

15. Cat and Tyler from  Aurora Rising, by Jay Kristoff and Amie Kaufman:

Cat and Tyler? Now that’s some good sh*t. 

I am a sucker for the captain and his/her pilot pairing, especially if one of them is a smooth talking pretty boy and the other a daredevil always ready to fight. These two were excellent, not just in their chemistry and banter, but also in the angst because what kept them apart actually made sense. 

I love that Cat broke a chair off of Tyler’s head when they met, Anne of Green Gables style, but I also love the scene where they first got together at the bar. Chef’s kiss. 

14. Sebastian and Emir  from Running with Lions, by Julian Winters:

Seb and Emir were really close to making the great tier, but there were just too many contrived reasons to keep them apart. 

I liked the slow build from enemies to friends to lovers, but I just wish we had gotten more time on the lovers section without unnecessary drama keeping them apart. 

13. Poppy and Cerenic from Sleepless, by Sarah Vaughn:

I freaking love Poppy and Cerenic, and they would have been in the great tier, had it not been for the rushed ending. 

They were still excellent together; supportive, trusting and caring, and that scene where Cerenic kisses Poppy so she can’t put him to sleep? God tier. 

GREAT TIER: 

12. Mia and Grace from On a Sunbeam, by Tillie Walden:

I loved how cute and realistic, Mia and Grace’s relationship was, which a wild thing to say for a series set in space. I loved their friendship, how it slowly became a romance, the heartbreaking way they split apart and then found each other again. 

The only reason they aren’t higher on the list is because they don’t end the comic as a couple, which works perfect for the story, but less so for my, uh, list of couples. 

11. Millie and Flora from Her Royal Highness by Rachel Hawkins:

I am a sucker for the stuck up snob falls for the earthy dumbass, and Flora and Millie were exactly that. They were a really cute couple; I liked the discussion of homophobia in the royal family, letting someone else define your life and the overall way the two of them got together. I also appreciated Millie being the one to fuck up and doing everything she could to fix her mistakes. 

10. Daisy and Miles from Prince Charming by Rachel Hartman:

Daisy and Miles beat Millie and Flora just because reading their banter put tears in my eyes. I don’t think I’ve laughed out loud at any other book like I did this one. 

There were so many great moments in this book, starting from Big Bird Hat to Sebastian getting punched by Alex, but the scene I love the most was the scene between Miles and Daisy in the cabin. 

9. Severin and Laila from The Gilded Wolves, by Roshani Chokshi:

The amount of angst and sexual tension Laila and Severin have makes me wonder if this book perhaps should have been an adult. 

I like both characters on their own, though I’m always a sucker for the trope of two competent and smart people making the other an absolute fool just by being in the same room as them. 

I would have put them higher, but I just hate the way this book ended. Though since I’m mentioning scenes that were great… the dance. If you know you know. 

8. Jack Zimmerman and Bitty from Check, Please! By Ngozi Ukazu:

Jack and Bitty are too cute for words. I love the way their relationship developed, I love their dynamic, how positive their relationship is while also dealing with real world issues, like families and gossip magazines. 

Also this comic is amazing and free, go read it. 

7. Hypnos, Zofia and Enrique from The Gilded Wolves, by Roshani Chokshi:

I didn’t know that my perfect pairing is where every character is Jonathan from the Mummy, but I guess that’s my jam. 

Enrique and Zophia using their skills in math, languages and history to solve riddles together was great and hilarious, especially Enrique antagonizing Zofia just to see her reaction. 

Hypnos is my favorite character and the banter between him and Enrique was excellent; I’m always a sucker for smooth-talking rich, misunderstood anti-heroes with tragic backstories (ahem, Lando, ahem). If this is to be a love triangle with one pairing at the end, I really don’t know who I’m rooting for.

6. Zara, Beatriz and Nadim from the Honors Series, by Rachel Caine and Ann Aguire:

Finally, some good fuckin food. 

This love triangle fed me. It was the only one that was properly developed and established, I loved all 3 characters in it, and they all complimented each other amazingly. 

Zara is a great lead, I really loved her journey; I would die for Nadim, though I’d probably have to fight Zara for that because her commitment to him was so wonderful. I also really love how slowly and carefully Beatriz was introduced as a love interest, and how well balanced the three of them are. Can’t wait to see what happens in Honor Lost. 

5. Bri and Curtis from On the Come Up, by Angie Thomas:

Listen, their banter alone was enough to make me root for them. Also Curtis saved Bri from a freaking SWAT team so like… what more do I need to say. 

They were just super cute and entertaining ok? 

GOD TIER: 

4. Nax and Ryan from The Disasters, by M K Englnd:

The only couple that came close to making me laugh as much as Miles and Daisy, except I related to Nax way more as the bisexual disaster he is.

I loved the way Nax’s always on the edge of a panic attack, and yet somehow still so charming personality was complemented by Ryan’s cool calm and collected demeanor, and their banter was hilarious. 

I especially enjoyed Nax’ inner monologues, and the scene where they have to hide in a herd of goats had me in stitches. 

3. Neil and Andrew from All for the Game Trilogy, by Nora Sakavic:

People should learn how to write an angsty slowburn from this series. 

Andrew is an absolute piece of shit and Neal definitely deserved better, but I am not about to sit here and tell you that the scene where Andrew let Neal put his hand on his chest and Neal didn’t move it, didn’t send me into a weeklong crisis. 

2. Rachel and Sana from Tell Me How You Really Feel, by Aminah Mae Safi:

Sana and Rachel were like two halves of my own personality and yet somehow infinitely cooler than I’ll ever be. Their romance was an excellent homage to every great teen rom-com, and I loved every page of it. 

Sana was amazing; I loved her personality, the way she stood up for herself and dealt with problems. I also loved that for once the more feminine of the duo was the one who took charge of the relationship. 

The only gripe I have with Rachel was that she finished the film before the screening, like hello, ex-film student here: I call bs. 

1. Alex and Henry from Red White & Royal Blue, by Casey McQuiston:

Was there any doubt here? Henry and Alex were hands down the best written couple of 2019. Not only were both individual characters fleshed out and so well developed, their relationship, going from enemies, to beruging friends, crushes, and finally lovers willing to upheave international politics was amazing to read about. 

Alex Claremont Diaz is my favorite character of the year and maybe even top 5 of all time, and if you haven’t read this book, read it. It will make you a happier person. 

And there you have it, 50 couples ranked. Happy reading in 2020!

[tachipaws]

so uhhhhh

I watched the Game of Thrones finale just a little bit ago

and I have some thoughts

spoilers under the cut.

Firstly, seeing Tyrion find Jaime and Cersei together had me almost burst into tears. As soon as he saw Jaime’s golden hand I kinda thought, oh this is a big gag, the hand will be there with Cersei and Jaime will come sidling out from somewhere, he lived thank god. But no. Jaime died in the arms of a woman he loved, taking all these years of beautiful character development with him. And I don’t say this solely as a Braime fan. I LOVED Jaime’s character. He always tried to do the right thing, and even when he was tempted by Cersei, even when he gave in, he still came back and tried to do what he thought was best. He saved thousands of lives when he killed the Mad King, and he suffered in silence for it. He stood with Brienne and with the Starks in the Battle of Winterfell, even when his own queen refused to send her help. He tried to save Cersei from certain death, and their child, tried to get her to leave and live with him in obscurity, because they would be safe and happy and their child would grow and live. But no. They die, and all it serves is to give Dany her win and Tyrion some last-minute angst. But god, seeing him crouch over his beloved brother and sister, I could feel that he felt responsible for their deaths, and it was heart wrenching to watch.

And then Dany. Oh, beautiful Dany. I’ve loved her character from the start, and all through her arc, even when she made choices that weren’t for the best, even when they put her on a White Savior complex, even when it became clear the writers had lied and were going to make her turn out just like her father. I knew she’d die this episode, but it didn’t make watching it any easier. I had so much hope watching through the series that Dany would be the one to dethrone the Lannisters, give the people a kind and just ruler, and be everything she set out to be. For her to lose so much, from her family to her friends, and then die with nothing as well, broke my heart and even as I sit here typing I have to hold back tears. I loved Danaerys’ character so much, and I’m disgusted that she was turned into a Mad Queen. The writers don’t know jack shit about character development and it really shows with her. She should have grown and realized that maybe she wasn’t best suited for a throne, at least not the one in Westeros, and either become an adviser or return to Mereen when all was said and done. I’m so glad Drogon destroyed the Iron Throne, because it’s nothing but a death sentence anyway. Fuck that throne and fuck the writers for making it so unnecessarily important. Danaerys Targaryan was meant to be different, was meant to break the wheel. But in the end, she was crushed by it like her father and so many others before her. The Targaryans die out after a legacy of incest, mental illness, fear, and death. A complete waste of an incredible character played by an amazingly dedicated actress.

Bran being named King of Westeros was something I knew was coming bc I’d asked for the spoiler, but it was still kind of a surprise in an “are they REALLY gonna do it” kind of way. I really fucking hate that his title is Bran the Broken, as if that’s the only B word that can possibly describe a man who defied death and became the Three-Eyed Raven, but again these writers are fuckin terrible so I guess that’s what we get. I didn’t like how Sam’s idea to have the people choose a ruler was sneered at so harshly. It just shows that everyone there enjoys having all the power, which goes against the characterization of at least half of them. But I guess all the upper-class have to be assholes at least a little, huh.  I don’t know if I do or don’t like Bran being the king, but I did like how it was brought up. He is the living history of the realm as Tyrion said, and now he will live on to be its future as well. For a kid who was tossed out of a window after seeing the former queen having sex with her brother, I’d say that’s a pretty good decent glow up of sorts. I almost wish there would be another season, if only to see how Westeros fairs under Bran’s rule with Tyrion at his side. I can only hope everyone lives to see the peace they finally deserve, after suffering so much under the rule of families hungry for fame and riches and titles.

Arya leaving is the one thing I’m just, really fucking bothered by. I don’t recall anywhere her having a desire to travel and see new parts of the world. When she left Westeros she did so because it was life or death. She came home to be with her family. And now she’s leaving them for god knows how long to go god knows where. I can’t believe after all the chaos and death these kids have faced and grown up around, she wouldn’t want to stay in Winterfell to be with Jon and Sansa. I just don’t like it. Arya is one of my top favorite characters and watching her grow from a stubborn child into a ruthless assassin was amazing, but somehow her ending off as an explorer just doesn’t feel quite right.

Jon being sentenced to live out his days in the Watch is the cruelest joke in this whole fucking show. Right back where he started, the bastard son of Ned stark, forced to live out his days in the cold and snow at Castle Black, never to have any family or land of his own. After all the attempts to hype up the R+L=J shit, which so many people figured out way too easily, after uncovering the mystery of his real lineage and discovering he’s one of the only two Targaryans left in existence, after all the struggle within himself of not wanting to take the throne from Dany even though he had a legitimate claim and her Mad Queen story line made her unfit to rule (and after having to listen to Varys insist only men can rule properly, tbh I’m not sad he died, I never liked him and he got what he deserved for that shit), he ends right back where he started. Jon was my first favorite character, and I always hurt for him, how he was raised with the Stark children as Ned’s bastard, how much Catelynn seemed like she wanted to love him like her own but just couldn’t, how much it must have hurt him knowing he was hurting her and her just by existing. I would have loved to see Cat find out the truth and their relationship become something different, as he was the son of her husband’s beloved sister and she would have embraced him with open arms and a thousand apologies. She just didn’t know any different, and by the time Jon knew, it was all too late. He’s lost almost all the family he’s ever known, and all the real family he ever had. His whole character arc amounted to nothing. NOTHING. My only hope is that he just goes off north with Ghost, Tormund, and the wildlings, because who’s gonna bother to make sure? Aegon Targaryan will have never existed.

AT LEAST, he finally gave Ghost the fucking pats that direwolf deserved. I was actually really happy to see Ghost and Tormund again, and even happier to see Jon acknowledge Ghost, who’d been by his side from the very start. I’m at least glad knowing they’ll still be together in the true north.

And now the grand finale, the one thing I was completely satisfied with.  Sansa Stark The Queen in the North Seeing the crown placed upon her head, seeing her take her rightful place, and hearing her men shout “THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH” made me feel swollen with pride. Sansa has been through hell and back. She watched her father die at the command of a king who tormented her, she was raped by another man who executed her youngest brother, she lost her mother and her oldest brother to a supposed ally, and spent so many seasons a hostage or a tool for other people. But she fought, and she grew, and she became shrewd and cunning at the table. Sansa calculated every step she made and it saw her to ascend the throne, and take her rightful place as the oldest Stark heir. She secured her people’s land and ensured their safety. I can only imagine how proud Ned, Catelynn, Robb, and Rickon would be if they could see Sansa now. No longer is she the scared, air-headed little girl who just wants to marry a noble man and live life in the luxury she’s always known. She’s a war veteran, a general, a wolf through and through.

I started watching Game of Thrones in season 5 I believe, with a group of friends in a stream. I knew about the show but had just never bothered to sit and watch it. After seasons 6 ended, I figured I may as well start at the beginning and have a better understanding of what’s going to happen in the last 2 seasons. I spent about three or four weeks slowly marathoning it around my oldest daughter’s schedule (she’s only six and there’s no way she’s watching it any time soon lmao) and I couldn’t help but fall in love with the characters, the world itself, and the stories being played out. I have to say though, along with so many others, I’m utterly disappointed at the ending, and season 8 as a whole. It felt unrefined, and rushed, and there was no sense that anything meaningful happened in the end. When I saw the writers so brashly say that story lines were for 8th grade books, I realized just how little they care about actually writing, and this season truly reflects that. The deaths were for shock value more than anything else, and the major conflicts were solved so easily it felt as if all the buildup for them had been for something else entirely. I don’t regret watching Game of Thrones by any means, but I do feel sad for Martin that his beautiful complex stories full of beautiful complex characters, were reduced to nothing more than a circle story. All this talk of breaking the wheel, and yet it just rolled right back around to see the unspoken main character end right where he began. Because what’s the point of a story when there’s CGI dragons and big fight scenes?

[elfnerdherder]

The Unquiet Grave: Chapter 16

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Chapter 16:

           Beverly is walking away from his doorstep when Hannibal pulls into the driveway. The dogs are going nuts inside, and Will uses that as the perfect distraction to avoid her bemused expression at seeing him get out of his therapist’s car.

           The dogs rush about, and Buster frantically sniffs at him, begging treats. Will crouches to rub his belly, and he stares at the toe of Beverly’s shoe just at the corner of his eye. Beverly has always been a surefire read, a genuine one. She has something to say, and she’s radiating with an energy of something bordering antagonistic.

           Will imagines his walls, where they rise high. He can’t handle channeling her anger right now. He has his own, something a potent bled of antagonistic and afraid all in one.

           “Was wondering where you were.”

           “I didn’t know you knew where I lived.”

           “Do you know where I work?”

           They both smile, and she accepts Buster’s affection and excitement, reaching down to scratch behind his ears.

           “I’m getting insight into the rogue empath that Jack asked me to look into. He pulled me away for something else, but I’ll be back to hunting Dolarhyde soon, promise.”

           It was a shitty promise, but he wasn’t feeling too awful about it.

           “Bull shit, you’re coming out with me,” she replies easily, and she picks Buster up, much to his delight. “We haven’t gone out for a beer in awhile.”

           “Now isn’t exactly…”

           “Will and I were going to go out to dinner, actually. Would you care to join us, then go to drinks after?” Hannibal cuts in smoothly. His smile is as warm as his tone, and Will barely manages to repress a look of utmost disdain. He really doesn’t have time for this shit.

           “Where were you thinking of going?”

           “I haven’t had taken either of you to an excellent Greek restaurant just a on the edge of Baltimore. Are there any allergies I should be aware of?”

           There are no allergies to fear, and the plan is set. The dogs make their rounds, and Will apologetically ushers them back into the house, giving them an extra treat each on the way out. They take Hannibal’s car, and maybe it’s a calculative move on Hannibal’s part as much as a political one because now someone is less likely to kill him if they think he has company over for the evening.

           Beverly is quiet only through the appetizer. She seems to be observing as much as she is enjoying the ambiance of an artificial waterfall in the corner, as well as the tangy scent of olive oil and vinaigrette. That buzzing energy sits with a cloud around her, and Will imagines her leaning in with aggression, hearing something she’s not entirely pleased about.

He blinks away the thought, the Dream. If he looks too closely, he’ll fall in, and sometimes falling in is scary when you’re not quite sure where you’ll land. These days, it’s unsettling enough that he can’t account for how he’ll react once he’s inside, either.

Just Mr. Jackson, now.

Will picks at his cloth napkin idly, and Hannibal informs them of the best of the menu, along with some of the recipes he’s attempted to replicate. The air hums with socialites’ laughter and the clatter of fine china. Live music plays, Beverly hums along. It’s the setting to a perfect scene of three friends from wildly varying lifestyles coming together, and if he was in more control of himself and his surroundings, Will would have laughed out loud at it.

           “Sometimes, Will, I think it’s a shame that you can’t eat meat. Some of the flavors Greek cuisine bring out linger in a way that is difficult to mimic in other dishes.”

           “They have a roast lamb that I’m going to have to devour,” Beverly says by way of agreement. Her eyes lighten at something, and she taps the menu pointedly. “This was a good suggestion, Dr. Lecter.”

           “I’m happy you could come along.”

           “Well this guy usually makes a point to clam up and avoid social situations, so this is one of the few times I get to have a conversation with the illustrious Will Graham outside of work,” Beverly says with a laugh.

           It’s light, not unkind. Will manages a smile and accepts the wine from the waiter as he returns. The waiter’s eyes linger, focus on his gloves still on inside the restaurant. Will tucks his hands under the table and waits for him to leave. While empaths aren’t hated within society, they aren’t entirely enjoyed, either. He can sense the immediate assumption and judging.

           Far different from the taxi driver that supposed him to be cold but far too polite to voice it.

           “Have you been waiting for a moment to question him extensively on something?” Hannibal asks.

           “What’s on your mind?” Will asks distractedly, looking back to them.

Sometimes, he thinks about how Hannibal had looked, standing so close to him in the house of mirrors. Perhaps he Dreamed it, something his mind created because it wanted to be, and yet; there was something in the way he spoke words that would be treason should Jack Crawford hear them, and here he was ensuring that Will was in a position to be protected. His question now is much the same, and Will swears he can see that same hint of hunger as he studies Beverly with a keen attention to her squared shoulders despite the casual setting.

           I’m fond of you.

           “I was wondering what your thoughts were on the empath Jack’s having you track on the side.”

           Can you see?

           “What do you mean?” Will frowns.

           “I just want to hear what you have to say,” she says, but that’s not quite how it sounds.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he retorts, and it grants him a laugh.

           “You’re going to probably think I’m an ass hole after this,” she warns. “But I like taking things head on.”

           “I’ll live,” Will promises, taking a sip of white wine. It is light, buttery on the palate as the server said when he first suggested it. He notes Beverly tracking it, and he forces a smile.

           “When you first put your hands in the victim’s chest cavity, afterwards you described this as being some sort of homage to you. You said that the person asked you if you could see.”

           He thinks of Slowinski, how his life hangs in the balance of whether or not Dolarhyde can find him. He tastes the bitter burn of monkshood, and it takes another long sip of wine before he can sound perfectly normal.

           “It was a disorienting experience, but I recall” he says. Barriers. Compartmentalize. “What about it?”

           She takes a sip of her wine –to steady herself, Will notes –and she accepts a plate and an offering of hummus from Hannibal. “The second time, you tell Jack he’s an empath, but you make no mention of this person saying anything specifically. Just that they were weaponizing their gift.”

           Will could see where this was going. He busies his hands with his food, and he savors the warmth of the naan in his palms.

           “Did he say anything that time? Or did it go from him reaching out to you to nothing at all?”

           One thing Will both loves yet loathes is Beverly Katz’s tenacity for diving right to the point. Maybe, if Will hadn’t yet felt such a distinctive…need to protect this person in the moment, odd as it was, he’d tell her the words ringing in his head, nudging, pushing? And yet it would be a disservice, somehow, to tell her how protective, almost endearing it was that in the midst of all of this someone is attempting to save him from himself. From the institution that holds him.

           He can’t quite say it like that to Jack, though. That’s a surefire way to fail his psyche-evaluation. To retirement.

           To turning out like Dolarhyde.

           “He likely lost interest when I didn’t respond. I think Jack was right to pull me. No action led to boredom, so he’s escalating,” Will says, swiping the bread through the hummus. He won’t look at her eyes.

           He’d hissed to Lecter that the rogue empath was taunting him. It seemed Hannibal had kept his secret, left it there among the distorted glass and tilting halls.

           “Do psychopaths do that? Or rogue empaths, for that matter?” Beverly asks, confused.

           “I suppose it’s possible,” Hannibal admits, cutting in smoothly. “It depends on the ultimate intentions of the empath. Are they attempting to draw Agent Graham out specifically, or are they comfortable so long as they have someone’s attention?”

           “I guess that’s what I’m wondering if you gleaned something the second time. I’m confused that it’s so…contrasting from the first time they struck.”

           Will polishes off the rest of the wine and tears into the hummus with a single-minded vengeance. “That, and you had to ensure that if I drank tonight, it wasn’t alone.”

           She snickers rather than blusters, and maybe that’s why he likes her, for a neurotypical.

           “If he strikes again, get me there asap, and you’ll get the reaction in real time so you trust the source,” he suggests. “I’m thinking back now, and what I said in the moment would have been the most honest. In the moment, we say what we see, we say what we feel. If that’s what I said, that’s what I said.”

           “Thanks for the permission,” she replies after a beat, saluting him with her glass. “Now, I’ll make up for the interrogation with a round of drinks after dinner. You’re always a good sport, Graham.”

           It’s not alcoholism if he drinks with others. Will allows himself to relax.

           It’ll look good right before the evaluation.

-

           He’s drunk by the time Hannibal safely returns them to his humble abode. Everything is slippery, falling away, and he thinks of the first time he watched a fish die. How his father hit it, and he’d barfed later, unable to peel the death from his eyes.

           “Are you comfortable walking by yourself, Will?” Hannibal asks, and everything’s damp to the touch. Will isn’t sure if he sounds angry or if he’s amused, and gloved hands tuck themselves into pockets. Beverly had gone home in an Uber, promising to pick up her car in the morning. If she felt liquor as much as Will currently did, she was going to regret her life choices in the morning. He would, too, but right now he feels nice. Things feel nice. Damp, but nice. Why damp? He inhales, and the air is wet. He wonders if he’s thinking too much about that fucking fish. How it gaped, staring, dying.

           “Yes, thanks, Dr. Lecter.”

           “Please, call me Hannibal.”

           Will likes the feel of that, how it compresses in his chest and makes his heart constrict. He thinks of how close they’d pressed together in the wardrobe, his cheek to the woolen coat, and Hannibal had held him so tightly.

           He’s drunk, and it sounds like a god damn dream. He needs to hold it together but he can’t, and this was the sort of drunk he’d once told Hannibal about, the kind of drunk where being an empath wasn’t so bad. The dangerous kind. The kind where reality can be a dream, the dream being a life where one could touch someone whenever they wanted.

           He doesn’t often think about touching people, but dreams are like that. You want something you don’t allow yourself to normally think of. You long for it. You hope for it.

           “Dreams,” he manages to say –out of all of that –and he follows Hannibal into the house, taking his jacket off and allowing it to hang in the hallway. “How did you follow me into my headspace? I thought to ask at the time, but I…”

           He inhales the taste of Hannibal Lecter’s home, and he trails off, studying the warm tone and how it continues to constrict his heart, panging tight and hungry. He wonders what Alana would say, if she could see him now. Obsessed, indeed.

           “You grabbed my hand. I’ve heard it sometimes possible with E-2’s, so I supposed it plausible with an E-3. It’s never happened to me before, but it’s an experience I’ll never forget. I thought to thank you for it after, but it seemed a tasteless thing to thank you for.”

           Hannibal leads him straight to the guest bedroom. It makes sense, given how he struggles up the stairs, but it makes Will think of how closely they’d been pressed, how lightly he’d been touched. Fuck, he’s too drunk. He can’t handle the overwhelming sense of his own feelings at the moment. He’s once again grateful he can’t sense anything from Hannibal.

           He’d eaten monkshood within the shabby shelter of Will’s crumbling brain. Hannibal Lecter truly was something else.

           He wants to say as such, but he forgets to, somewhere between shuffling into a spare set of pajamas and having a glass of water forced down. He watches Hannibal’s ease, how his vision wavers in and out but still continues to fixate solely on him.

           Alana thought of it as obsession. Will wonders what Hannibal would think of his breaking into his office.

           “You didn’t tell them what I said about the empath,” he recalls, just before Hannibal leaves the room.

           Hannibal pauses and acknowledges it with a tilt of his head. Will’s vision swims, and he fully accepts he will be vomiting in the morning. “I am in your corner, Will. I wouldn’t have you doubt that.”

           A rogue empath hunting him down to make him Become wouldn’t look good while his mind crumbled as he chased Dolarhyde. Hannibal is protecting him.

           “Do you remember when you asked about my sex life, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks, unprompted.

           Hannibal’s amused, and Will’s too drunk to yet feel shame. “Good night, Will.”

           “No, I’m going somewhere with this. For your study of empathy.”

           There’s something about Hannibal, how he looks at Will. Sometimes Will thinks it’s that he’s intrigued or amused, or he wonders if he is a puzzle that the doctor is trying to put together. Perhaps there is something less professional in how his eyes darken perceptively, but this is the sort of thing that is dangerous for Will. He’s only feeding off of his own emotions, and his own emotions are terrible at best and terrifying at their worst.

           “I spoke of being able to numb myself enough that another person’s emotions and skin didn’t overwhelm me.”

           Hannibal’s smile is lethal. “I recall.”

           “This is how drunk I have to be in order to bear it.”

           Hannibal takes that information with the same expression he had when he first found Will stumbling through the hallways of the house of mirrors –hunger. Something a little wicked, and Will thinks of bare hands passing over poetry, tasting the first sense of the good doctor for who he was behind such a normally modest façade.

           Will falls into a drunken stupor that could be called sleep, if it wasn’t for such wonderful Dreams.

-

           He dreams Hannibal is behind his sturdy walls. They rise high, and the stag paces along the tree line, watching. Somehow, the space feels bigger, a little more room for another row of herbs to grow. The poisoner and the healing hand. The air has a hint of thyme.

           He isn’t sure how they are naked together, only that they are. There is something in the way of his dreams that he blinks, and he is there, as though it always was. Then he blinks again and it is another place that he always was, but one thing that is for certain is that Hannibal is there, his kiss is enough to get drunk off of; Will is certainly drunk off of it, and it is to the early morning he wakes, still drunk, puking into the first toilet he can find.

           He thanks whatever God is listening at the moment that he managed to get to a toilet in time. He’s not quite sure he’d live down the shame of having to clean vomit off of Hannibal Lecter’s woven rug that belonged somewhere in a museum rather than someone’s floor.

           His dreams pass over his eyes, but mornings are the best times to forget dreams. They become hazy, odd, and as he digs through the cupboards and is relieved to find mouthwash, Will is able to convince himself that he didn’t have wildly inappropriate dreams about his therapist, that he didn’t dream that they pressed monkshood to one another’s lips, that they didn’t dare and share a kiss.

           It takes another round of dry-heaving and a good scrubbing of cold water to his face, but Will Graham walks out of the guest bathroom having managed to do what most people are able to do with dreams –forget them entirely. He thinks instead of the row of thyme that’d sprouted since his last trip into the bone arena of his skull.

           “How are you feeling?” Hannibal asks the moment Will walks into the kitchen.

He’s already prepared a breakfast that was surely made with drinking in mind, a healthy helping of grease wrapped in lemon and honey-glazed salmon with eggs on the side. Will accepts it and sits up to the bar where Hannibal is busy with finishing his cup of coffee, newspaper in hand.

“Nothing I haven’t felt before,” Will reassures him.

           “Were you ill?”

           It’s a nice way of asking if he vomited. He shrugs a shoulder and focuses instead on the scents of the breakfast, testing the water. Is it safe to eat? The lingering flavors sit in the back of his throat before he swallows them down and deems them safe.

           “Anything good?” Will asks, nodding to the paper.

           “I woke thinking about your killer,” Hannibal replies, and he sets the paper down, smoothing the creases along the article he’s reading. “He’s made the front page.”

           It’s the house of mirrors where Randall Tier was found. Police tape sections it off despite the fact the body is long gone and the stains are removed. The scene was a symbol, but the location in of itself is irrelevant because it was only a prop, used merely to mock Will as his mind attempts to rend itself in two.

           Will remembers vaguely mentioning the killer, but it’s like attempting to look through a windowpane in a downpour. Everything is streaked, grey somehow, and he absentmindedly takes a bite of food, gloved hand gripping the fork with just a little too much pressure.

           “Why did you wake thinking about him?”

           “You never explained why you thought he was taunting you.”

           Will chews the salmon to a paste before he swallows. “Why didn’t you tell them what I said?”

           “Because I first wanted to understand what you said,” says Hannibal without missing a beat. He tracks Will’s next bite, lips pressed to a flat line. “How can I relay something I myself don’t know?”

           Will manages another two bites before he thinks he can explain himself in a way that doesn’t make him sound just mentally unstable enough for Hannibal to turn him in. Despite the richness of the food, it’s not overwhelming. The tightness in his stomach seems to be hunger rather than nausea.

           “He spoke to me,” he says, spearing a bite of egg.

           “You heard him?”

           He glances up and studies the curiosity on Hannibal Lecter’s face. So perfectly neutral, and Will is tempted to remove his gloves just to reach out his bare hands and maybe see something for once.

           “With noise and clarity.”

           “What did he ask you?”

           “He asked if I could see.”

           Can you see?

           “What is it he wanted you to see?” Hannibal wonders, and he presses his palms to the warm coffee cup. He leans back against the counter and props himself up, a generally rumpled appearance for the good doctor.

           This takes somewhat longer for Will to share, and he forces a few more bites of salmon down, the lemon bitter but welcome on his tongue.

           “Myself.”

           Hannibal’s head tilts just slightly to the side, but the corners of his eyes tighten, and Will can see that hint of hunger, of craving for something.

           I’m fond of you.

           “Did you see yourself in the house of mirrors? Or did you see yourself in Randall Tier?”

           “Both. I…Randall Tier is the house of mirrors. Every time he contorted himself into some shape that wasn’t his, every time he made himself into something else for every person he came across, I’ve done something like that.”

           Hannibal’s laugh was light, not unkind. “You have refused to contort yourself to many of us.”

           “No, but I can’t help but take just enough of everyone along with me that I can’t separate it anymore. He…he knows how Hobbs…”

           He doesn’t want to say it. How he and Hobbs are the same, even now with him six feet under. He needs to see Abigail today, needs to prepare for the evaluation. He needs to see Abigail, but in his most terrifying dreams he is Abigail –but aren’t they? They both died that day, died then returned not completely whole. Maybe there is something to the thought, that he has to see her because it seems to be the only way he can marginally feel whole.

           “What does he gain from making you see? What is he wanting from you?”

           Will finishes the eggs and lets the tines of the fork drag through the honeyed sauce. That is perhaps what is the most terrifying aspect of it, alongside somehow sympathizing with the monster murdering these people. Tools, he reminds himself. He thinks of these people as tools.

           “He wants me to see what they’re trying to make me become,” he admits, and this isn’t like before when fear and adrenaline forced him to be intimate and confined in tight spaces with Hannibal. It’s a quiet, immaculate kitchen, nothing in the world to distract him from honestly apart from his own blunt, stubborn refusal. “I think that…that this person is trying to save me from dying at the hands of the FBI. I think he knows something that we don’t.”

           He chances a look to Hannibal’s face. It’s contemplative, his brow furrowed as he makes quick work of wiping down the counter where his mug left a ring of fog on the granite. Hazy, grey streaks of dreams come, unprompted, and Will wonders if he managed to mention that the night before, or if he’d said something otherwise embarrassing that’s caused the talk this morning.

           He finishes his plate, and there’s something bordering on domestic as Hannibal takes it to rinse it in the sink.

           “Why didn’t you feel comfortable telling me then?”

           Will thinks of the hunger in Hannibal’s eyes that day, that tenseness as though he’d been prepared to hold Will there until he fucking talked. “I wasn’t sure if I could trust you.”

           Hannibal’s smile is graceful that time. He offers coffee and makes short work of preparing he grounds, fresh from this morning. “You trust me now, though?”

           “Dr. Lecter –”

           “Hannibal.”

           “Hannibal,” Will corrects, “you literally have every reason in the world to call Jack Crawford right now and have me arrested for at least four felonies. Why haven’t you?”

           Hannibal doesn’t miss a beat, focused on the espresso machine. “I’ve already told you that, Will. I’m fond of you.”

           “Yeah, well,” Will huffs, “I’m fond of you, too.”

           And then it’s said, and it’s too big for the room they’re sitting in. It’s too big for his lungs that quite suddenly deflate, and it’s too big for the way he’s entirely sure Hannibal’s smile is more telling than it should be. He likes that smile, though. There’s something nice about it, and there’s something nice about not quite being able to read him despite the complaints to the contrary. Dr. Lecter is interesting. Dr. Lecter is different.

           Dr. Lecter is staring at him.

           He offers Will the cup of espresso, his lips curved ever-so-slightly. “Will you drink this without your gloves on?”

           For a wild moment, Will thinks of dragging his hands over Lecter’s office, craving every inch and marveling at the vast sensations. How close he felt, yet far enough away to only catch imprints. And now he’s suddenly being given permission? He wants to rip his gloves off, touch his palms to the surface of the kitchen where Hannibal so clearly loves to work; wants to press his palms to cheeks with hollowed, cruel edges that seem sharp enough to cut.

           If Alana could see him now…

           He removes his gloves slowly so that the good doctor can see and understand the motion. Then, he reaches out and accepts the piping hot cup, small enough that his palms encase it.

           There is a hunger there, something that drags across his ribs as a bow along cello strings. He blows on the cup, both resigned and wickedly excited for the way it’s going to burn all the way down. When his lips press to the edge of the cup, there’s a wild feeling that he’s somehow sharing a kiss, and without anymore preamble, he tilts his head back and sucks the piping hot drink down.

           When he looks back at Hannibal, there’s an intimate expression on the planes of his face that suggests Will had done everything Hannibal could have hoped for. Will’s palms are still tingling, stinging from the heat, but it compares nothing to the fire in his throat that claws down to his stomach. He has the briefest moment of indulging in a bad habit, and it’s difficult to say if he picked that up from the cup, or if it’s something much his own.

           Either way, he’s drowning in it, that feeling. Something that is pronounced enough it lingers long after the heat does, after his throat stops complaining from the onslaught.

           “To Abigail?” Will suggests hoarsely, when Hannibal makes no comment.

           “To Abigail,” Hannibal agrees.