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raplinesmoon · 1 year

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원샷! (One-shot!) - MYG x F!Reader

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pairing: Doctor!Yoongi x Doctor!Reader genre(s): crack, fluff, brief smut au(s): medical AU, idiots-to-lovers (not quite yet) word count: 3.1k warnings: cynical Yoongi, hospital talk, artificial insemination and pregnancy, sperm for insemnation switched without readers’ knowledge/consent, Yoongi has no filter, 20,000 different ways to say sperm, unhinged behaviour from OC and Yoongi, probably HIPAA non-compliance, intoxication, marijuana use, an almost-kiss, did I mention they're idiots (affectionate), mentions divorce (OC's parents), bi-panic from Yoongi, implied masturbation (m) rating: 18+

summary: Yoongi's friendship with you is the one bright spot in his life. So when you tell him you're ready to have a baby, he thinks this will finally be his shot to take your friendship to the next level. Cue a few shots of soju, and one insemination party, and Yoongi suddenly has a huge problem on his hands.

a/n: Old rom-coms (aka pre-2012) are the best. I was rewatching The Switch the other day and felt a burst of inspo to write this cute little au! This will probably be a oneshot (get it?) for now, but never say never! I hope you enjoy!

disclaimer: I do not own, or have any affiliation with BTS. Any similarity between the version of the idol(s) mentioned and portrayed here and their real life counterparts is purely coincidental, and does not represent the thoughts and opinions of said idol(s). Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This specific fic is based on the 2010 movie The Switch, which contains sensitive themes relating to accidental artificial insemnation, consent, and pregnancy. Please do your research before engaging with this fic, as these themes may not be for everyone.

In his somewhat short career of practicing medicine, Yoongi had become an expert people-watcher, you could say. For instance, he’d been privy to the same morning commute as hundreds of other strangers in the city for the past five or so years. In fact, he was so used to seeing their faces that they didn’t seem like strangers at all. There was the old man who rode in the same car he did, always clutching what seemed to be a bouquet of flowers or a baked good. Maybe it was for his wife. Or his mistress.

Yoongi puckers his lips sourly at the unsavory thought, shuddering at how cynical he’d become. Instead, he turns his attention to the girl sitting in the corner. She had to be in middle school, he thought. Only middle school could put that despondent look on the face of someone so young. Maybe she’d been jilted by a crush. Or more likely, she’d gotten a B on her math test and was about to walk into a lecture from her parents the moment she came home from school today. Yoongi knew the feeling all too well.

You see, it was Yoongi's job to be in the business of people. Being a doctor meant that he dealt with people all day long. They flitted in and out of his life like the flies that buzzed past his ears every time he entered the subway. And he always surprised himself with how much he could learn about them in a single meeting, or before they even walked into the room.

Which is why nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him when he walked into the hospital cafeteria that morning. Sweat streamed down his back in rivulets from the summer heat, drenching his scrubs. And yet, he still insisted on grabbing a piping cup of black coffee from the drinks counter.

“It keeps me awake for longer,” he grumbled when the man at the checkout counter shot him a quizzical look.

His eyes scan the crowded array of chairs and tables outside the café, looking for the one person who could perk up the start to another grueling work day, even more than his cup of coffee was capable of.

You wave to him enthusiastically from the crowd, bouncing up and down like a child waiting for a lollipop. It was probably from all the kids you hung around with all day. Peds was no joke, and Yoongi admired your ability to keep a bright, starry-eyed attitude when his own stomach turned at the thought of sick children.

“Please don’t tell me you saw another man with flowers who might be cheating on his wife,” you raise an eyebrow at the scowl on his face as he approaches the table. “Either that or today’s the day you finally regret not getting an iced coffee.”

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, annoyed yet also mildly amused by your teasing.

“I told you, it–”

“It keeps you awake for longer, I know, I know,” you beam at him.

“It’s actually neither of those things,” he groans. “Today it was the old lady in the elevator who asked me what year of high school I was in.”

“That’s what you get for having a stupidly perfect face,” you quip, waving your fork at him. “You know Seungkwan from Derm would freak if he knew you only washed your face with bar soap?!”

Although you chuckle at your own joke, Yoongi can’t help the way his heart twists at your words, resisting the heat that rises to his cheeks when you compliment his face. But before he can think about it too long, he falters, noticing that your attention is buried deep within your pile of scrambled eggs, and you’re unable to look him in the eyes.

“You know, Seungkwan from Derm would also tell you that frowning causes premature wrinkles, ___,” Yoongi responds, and you lift your head up, eyebrows furrowed in worry. His hand twitches, and he fights the urge to reach out and squeeze your hand to reassure you everything will be alright.

You finally reach into your bag, pulling out a piece of paper.

“Look at these labs,” you push the paper towards him. “What do they say to you?”

Yoongi stares intently at the paper, trying to piece together this patient’s story, despite you failing to provide any helpful demographic information.

“Iron count, a full blood panel, HcG, any infectious diseases, genetic markers—” Yoongi pauses when he realizes. “You’ve got a pregnant kid on your hands?”

The paper is snatched from his hands before he can finish, your face redder than a tomato.

“No silly, it’s not a kid. I-it’s me. Those are my levels. Do you think they look okay?”

Yoongi can’t prevent his jaw from dropping wide open. He’s sure he must look like an idiot, staring blankly while you blink your eyes, waiting for him to respond.

“You’re having a baby?” he chokes out. The sick, twisty feeling in his stomach has returned, only this time it's a thousand times worse.

“Not yet. But I’m trying,” you admit sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

“So what, you want me to have sex with you?” Yoongi blurts out before he can stop himself, and he immediately sees you freeze. Sometimes he really hated that he had no filter when it came to his thoughts. That, combined with the fact that he’d had a crush on you since you nearly knocked him over with your Heelies during his first week of work, and Yoongi had found himself in a sticky situation more often than not.

“No!” you immediately blurt out, growing more flustered when Yoongi frowns. “Not that, I mean–, that’s totally beside the point, completely irrelevant to my clinical question, I, I– I’m using a sperm donor okay!”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, you’ve rendered Yoongi completely speechless.

“Is this about Kihyun?” he finally asks. “Or Doyoung? You know, I know you haven’t had the best track record with relationships in the past, but jumping into having a baby with a random guy is definitely not the solution!”

“It’s not about them!” you sputter, unable to stop your voice from rising. “It’s about me, okay! My choice to be an independent woman, raising a child, who doesn’t need a man to help her at all! I get paid well, I have all the resources I could dream of, a strong support system. My life is in session!”

Yoongi has to bite back at chuckle at you quoting one of the various hospital brochures that decorated every reception desk and spare table.

“So are you gonna help me find some jizz, or not?!” you finish, only to look around and realize nearly a dozen pairs of eyes are on you. Perhaps you’d said that last part a little too loudly.

“I-, I gotta go,” you whisper, slinging your bag over your shoulder and running as fast as you can out of the cafeteria, leaving a wistful Yoongi to ponder over the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to finish your breakfast.

You might have thought that breakfast was the end of your baby-making discussion, but judging by the way Yoongi cornered you immediately during the mid-afternoon patient lull, it seemed he hadn't.

“So you’re looking for, uh, semen,” he says, mortified when the charge nurse on your floor whips her head around to glare at him. He pulls you into an alcove by the windows, immediately realizing what a wrong move that was when he can smell the strawberry shampoo you’d used this morning, or count each one of your long eyelashes.

“What’s wrong with mine?” he asks innocently, before realizing he’d messed up yet again. The uncomfortable look on your face tells him as much.

“Listen, Yoongi, I’m sure you have great sperm, killer sperm even. Not in a murder-y way, you know, but like in a Darwinian kinda way. But we’re best friends, wouldn’t that be weird?”

“We don’t have to have sex, you know. I could just nut in a cup and hand it to you. I mean we’ve literally cleaned vomit off each other, how weird could this be?”

A strangled giggle erupts from your throat, and you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet. Yoongi knows you well enough to know your untapped anxiety is preventing you from saying what you really want.

“Okay, spit it out ___.”

“Well, no offense, Yoongi, but you’re kind of neurotic. And not to mention a little pessimistic, maybe even nihilistic…”

“Damn, ___. You could have just said you didn’t want my swimmers. No need to hit a man where it hurts.”

You smile, fondly recalling the time you two played for the hospital basketball team, only for Yoongi to suspend you when your pass had gone awry and smacked him straight in the balls.

“Oh please, you recovered just fine. And we still won the championship that year against the nurses.”

The smile Yoongi forces out of him is no match for the way his heart is breaking underneath. But he looks at you, eyes sparkling and so excited about the prospect of having a baby, and immediately sets his own feelings aside. He could do this. He was your best friend, and as your best friend, your happiness was his number one priority.

“Okay, I’ll help.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!” you crush him in a too-tight hug, his arms wrapping around you stiffly, before melting into it. Normally he would have pushed anyone else off by now, but you’d always been his exception to every rule he’d ever set for himself.

“So, what do you think about Hoseok from Finance?”

Yoongi freezes at the mention of the happy-go-lucky man with the heart-shaped smile and how he could immediately charm the pants off of anyone within his vicinity.

“Absolutely not,” he grumbles, walking away.

“Oh come on, why not? He has great fashion sense, can pull off any hair color, the nurses say he can dance well… Yoongi, YOONGI!”

After a tumultuous few months, which involved a rather precarious incident in which Yoongi had nearly gotten fired when he locked Taehyung, a cardiology fellow, in the bathroom after he’d gotten a bit too handsy with you at a party, Yoongi opens his apartment door one Saturday morning to find a comically large pink envelope on the outside.

The dozens of sperm-shaped balloons that fall out of the card have him jolting in surprise, and he looks up to find his across-the-hall neighbours, a mom and her daughter, staring at him dumbfoundedly, before swiftly slamming their door shut in his face.

I’m Getting Pregnant… And You’re Invited, the garish pink letters on the invitation read, and Yoongi wants to tell the stupid card to go shove all the balloons up its ass when he realizes in horror that you’d finally decided on someone. Without him.

Standing in the hallway with the huge mess around him, Yoongi wonders how despite changing people’s lives every day, he’d always managed to fall behind when it came to his own.

. . .

The obnoxious EDM bumping in your apartment is enough to make Yoongi’s ears bleed. Tugging at his hoodie, his eyes scan the crowd of people, recognizing more than a few people from the hospital. Frowning, he tries to run each one of them through his mind, wondering if you’d gone with Hoseok from Finance after all.

“Dr. Min!” Yoongi nearly chokes on his drink when Jimin from HR comes up to him, landing him a good-natured slap on the back. “You made it!”

“What the hell are you doing here, Jimin?” Yoongi deadpans. “Shouldn’t you be reporting this shit? I thought all this was supposed to be protected under HIPAA!”

“We’re all HIPAA-compliant here, Yoongi, except you,” Jimin chortles, before smirking at him. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’re the only one in your department who hasn’t submitted their training modules yet.”

“I-, I’ve been busy! You know, actually taking care of patients and stuff.” Yoongi knows Jimin is joking, but somehow still feels the need to defend himself.

“I’m sensing some negative energy from you, Yoongi,” Jimin drawls, and Yoongi is sure he has to be drunk, waving what looks like a turkey baster in his face. “This is ___’s moment! We should all be happy for her!”

“Oh I’m sooo happy,” Yoongi grumbles, disappearing into the crowd to look for you.

“Dr. Min!” another voice calls out to him. “Wanna take a hit?”

Yoongi turns to see Jungkook, one of the medical students rotating in his unit, offering him a lit joint.

“Put that damn thing away, Jeon!” Yoongi scolds him, before backtracking. “On second thought, gimme that.”

All Jungkook can do is blink in surprise when Yoongi takes a drag of the joint, immediately feeling his irate energy subside just a tiny bit. Still, he was antsy. Where were you?

Yoongi takes another few hits, downs a few shots of soju and he’s overcome with the munchies. Reaching for the hummus and pita chips, he groans when the dip plops down, staining his pristine white hoodie.

“Here, let me help you with that,” another disembodied voice calls out to him. Yoongi looks up at the sound, and is immediately taken aback.

Yoongi’s sure he’d never seen this dude at the hospital before. He was like, freakishly pretty. Tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders, and pink lips. He blinks, trying not to panic at the attractive man swiping the stain off his shirt.

“Yoongi!” you appear out of nowhere, wrapping him in another crushing hug. “I see you’ve met Seokjin.”

“I’m the donor,” the man called Seokjin reaches a hand out for him to shake, offering a blinding smile.

Fuck. Of course this stupidly attractive man was your sperm donor. Of course you’d want to have his baby. He was literally perfect. You probably had a crush on him. Hell, Yoongi kind of had a crush on him.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you drunkenly lean on Yoongi for support. “You two have fun talking though!”

“___’s great,” Seokjin grins. “Super nice. Pretty hot too.”

“Why are you doing this?” Yoongi interjects bluntly. “I mean no offense, a guy like you, you could probably have anyone.”

“Ahh yeah,” Seokjin ruffles his hair, and Yoongi grits his teeth at how he still manages to look perfect doing that. “Money’s tight these days. A PhD in astrophysics at Harvard doesn’t exactly come cheap.”

Before Yoongi can make another smart comment, Seokjin is whisked away by Jimin and Hoseok from finance, the men slapping him on the back, hollering that it’s time to do the deed. He sees you disappear into your own room nervously, and can’t help himself from following you.

“Everything okay, ___?”

“NO!” you’re nearly bouncing off the walls. And there’s no kids to entertain in sight. “I’m freaking out!”

Yoongi’s next to you in seconds, taking you in his arms and letting your head lean against his shoulder. He’d discovered how much it calmed you down after one drunken night out where you’d basically recalled your childhood trauma from your parents’ divorce.

“Do you think I’m crazy, Yoongi? I want this so bad, but maybe this is the wrong way to go about it.”

“I think you want a family, ___. There’s nothing wrong with that. And I’ll be here every step of the way. Uncle Yoongi to the rescue.”

You giggle at his words, a dazed look in his eyes.

“You do act like a total dad.”

There’s a brief pause, silence falling in between you two. Your eyes peer into Yoongi’s and for a moment, he could swear you lean in, the shiny pink gloss on your lips sparkling in the dim light—-

Only to be interrupted by Jungkook bursting into the room, grabbing your hand and telling you its finally time.

One shot, Yoongi had promised himself. Only now he’s ten shots of soju deep and hiding in the fucking bathroom while the party rages on outside. The colors on the wall blend into each other, and Yoongi’s head throbs trying to figure out what he’s looking at. He smiles to himself when he sees its your meticulous pregnancy planning chart, filled with labs and calendars and lists of medications.

Lifting himself up off the floor, he stumbles, bracing himself against the toilet. He was about to hurl. In his stupor he hears something clatter, off to the side.

“Is someone in there?” the nervous voice of Kim Namjoon, one of the hospital’s talented surgeons, calls out from the other end. “I have to pee!”

Namjoon’s voice breaks Yoongi out of his daze, and he looks at the object lying on the floor.

Cum. A whole bucket’s worth of it, it looked like. The creamy white substance now lies swirling in your toilet bowl, and he feels his heart drop to his ass when he realizes it’s Seokjin’s. Oh fuck! It was Seokjin’s sample. Aka the sample you were supposed to shoot up in mere moments, to have the baby you’d been dreaming of for so long.

Yoongi tugs at his hair, wanting to scream at himself for ruining your plans, all because of his own stupidity. You’d be so mad at him. You’d probably yell at him in front of the entire hospital, hands on your hips, and your face would go all red.

He’s horrified when his dick twitches to life at the image of you cursing him out. How was it his fault that you were so hot and he was idiotically attracted to you?

A lightbulb goes off in his head, and Yoongi looks down again, caught in a face-off with Min. Jr. This was a very big problem with a very simple solution.

The pounding in his head continues as Yoongi drops his pants, getting right to work.

. . .

Thankfully, Yoongi doesn’t remember much about the night of your party. He thinks it’s a blessing, at least until you pounce on him in the hospital cafeteria a couple of weeks later.

Something about you is different, he thinks. You’d always been pretty but now you’re stunning, practically glowing from the inside out. He wonders if it has anything to do with stupidly handsome Seokjin when you tap him on the shoulder.

“It worked!” you blurt out, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m pregnant!”

Suddenly, it all comes back to Yoongi. His jealousy over Seokjin, the two of you nearly kissing in your room, the cup spilling into the toilet, the way Yoongi came with your name on his lips.

Shit.

A/N pt. 2: Thanks for reading! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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team7-headquarter · 10 months

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ABOUT THE POLITICAL IMPLICATIONS OF THE LAND OF THE WAVES ARC, THE ACTIONS OF TEAM 7 AND WHY ITS ONE OF THE BEST ARCS OF THE ENTIRE FRANCHISE:

I'll never shut up about the Land of the Waves arc.

Here are the facts:

A corrupted man —who was believed to be the richest man in the world due his shipping and transportation business— decided he wanted to make his a small land made out of islands, better known as the Land of the Waves.

In Tazuna's words: "Nami No Kuni (the Land of the Waves) isn't a real prosperous land. Even our local lords are poor..."

The name of the corrupted man is Gato. He was affiliated with drug trafficking and contraband, as well as being a criminal who employed gangs and teams of shinobis to help him (through violence) to take over companies and countries alike. That's what he did to the Land of the Waves, taking hold of all the marine transportation and their shipping industry. Since the Land is made of a number of islands, Gato successfully isolated them. He was now the owner of the local economy and had the power to decide how people lived there.

Tazuna is an old man with no money at all who had been tasked to be the architect and overseer of the new bridge. If completed, it would mean that Gato no longer had absolute control over the Land of the Waves. It'd free them all, bring more movement to their economy and stop the crazy violence promoted by Gato's gangs.

To make sure we all understand the severity of the mission and the power of Gato, let's remember that he employed Zabuza Momochi.

Zabuza is one of the Seven Ninja Swordmen of the Hidden Mist. Kirigakure was known for one of the cruelest traditions regarding shinobis: they'd have to fight each other to death and only the survivors would be promoted. Zabuza put an end to it himself, killing an entire year of graduates. He was not even a student yet.

Zabuza also plotted a coup against the Mizukage, but he was betrayed. He became a rogue nin after that, taking money from men like Gato in order to keep living.

That's the first Team 7 mission.

Sakura, Naruto and Sasuke are staked to help Kakashi free a land of a corrupted businessman and in the process have to fight one of the most legendary shinobis they can encounter out there. We're talking about an entire small nation!!! We're talking about the insane irony of Zabuza being a rogue because he fought against the corruption of his own Hidden Village, and he lost and now he has to work for a man doing the same to others.

The first Team 7 lesson was not only to work as one, to value their teammates, but to question the world around them. Kakashi told them to not follow orders blindly and the narrative throws the Team on a mission to test it.

Kakashi accepted to continue the mission without telling the Hokage anything. He knew he had the jinchuriki and the last Uchiha with him, that it was a great risk, but he accepted because he wanted to help Tazuna and the Land of the Waves and he knew Tazuna had not enough money to pay for a class B mission. Hell, he was lucky Kakashi got a genin team. One of the best jonins of the Hidden Leaf could give his service under the disguise of a rank C. Kakashi was using a loophole to disobey orders and he complains the whole time in his head because he knows it's gonna be a mess of a mission, but he does it anyway.

Do you want to know why is my favorite arc?

The reality of the Land of the Waves is a perfect scenario to force Team 7 to wake up. Naruto and Sasuke sure know loneliness and misery, but they were also part of a very rich land and a powerful Hidden Village. Sakura didn't go through anything like Sasuke or Naruto, which is worse in the sense that she was more naive than them.

Their world falls apart when they meet Haku and Zabuza, when they realize this is not s fairytale of good heroes and bad villains, but people who had to become violent to survive.

Like Kakashi said, the only reason he and Zabuza are trying to kill each other is because they were paid to do so. Zabuza works for Gato, Kakashi for Konoha, that's it. Kakashi didn't want to kill Haku and Haku didn't want to kill any of them, but the Naruto world is old and messy, the customs and the means to survive are others.

Shinobis are no heroes. They're mercenaries, they act as the military force for the strongest nations. They are tools and weapons. It's not advanced in any sense, so many years after the Warrant Era and the world was just as cruel and wild. People with kekkei genkais were forced to practice that violence to protect themselves, like Haku, Sasuke and Neji. People with bad luck like Naruto and all the jinchurikis were the same. People like Sakura, who loved and cared for those others, devoted their lives to joining the fight, to try and protect the ones dear to them.

That's why the final conversation of Team 7 —the one after the events of the bridge that ended with Zabuza and Haku dead— went the way it did. The members of Team 7 weren't happy with the reality of the shinobi life. Naruto even ended up saying that he would make his own ninja way, basically denying such reality and promising to break the traditional ways that kept all shinobis chained to violence, fated to kill each other.

Just look at it:

Sakura: ... But still... Master Kakashi...

Kakashi: Hmm~~?

Sakura: ... I can't help wondering. Were those two right about what a ninja should be?

Kakashi: A Shinobi shouldn't be concerned with a reason for her own existence... It is important merely that we exist as a tool for our homeland to use in whatever way they need. That's as true for us in Konohagakure as it for any ninja anywhere else.

Naruto: Is that really what becoming a full-fledged ninja's gonna be about? I don't like the sound of it!

Sasuke: Do you really feel that way, master Kakashi?

Kakashi: Well... No. And that's why all we ninja live our lives with that ideal always bubbling beneath the surface of our minds, disturbing us. ... Like it did Zabuza ... And the boy.

Naruto: That's it. I've made up my mind! I am going to create my own nindo— my own ninja path. My own destiny!

This arc plants the seeds of what should be the rest of Naruto and Naruto Shippuden. Team 7 is frustrated and they don't agree with the tradition. None of them, not even Kakashi. Naruto promises to be the change, to make his own destiny.

Sadly, it doesn't happen. The manga changes its tone halfway through. Naruto ends up becoming part of such tradition and he ends up being the fated reincarnation, the chosen one. His destiny is not his exactly and his own ninja path gets lost in the way, replaced by a hollower desire to become Hokage. Naruto doesn't evolve to deeply question the order of his world or his society.

Instead, Sasuke occupies his place and the story turns him into an antagonist (someone who wants the direct opposite of the protagonist, someone who is on the way of the protagonist to reach his goal). The story radicalizes the dream that was so innocently spoken in this chapter. It also ends up chaining Kakashi to the same system, uses him as someone to fill the Hokage role until Naruto is old enough and then gives Naruto the hat, forgetting the themes set on the Land of the Waves arc.

What started as Team 7 fighting corruption and people sick with power while trying to help the victims of the system, understanding that their world is made of greys and not moral absolutes, ends up becoming a kids tale of ninjas = heroes and aliens = villains. All the complexities of politics get softened by Black Zetsu's manipulations and Kaguya's existence.

It wouldn't be a reach to say that the Land of the Waves belongs to a very different type of manga, one that never got its continuation.

#naruto #land of the waves #land of the waves arc #naruto meta #Naruto classic #team 7 #og team 7 #team kakashi #kakashi hatake #naruto uzumaki #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #zabuza momochi #haku yuki #naruto gato

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sunderingstars · 8 days

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☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ GENDER ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— what the stars reveal: interpretative analysis, theory, elation!sampo

— word count: under 1k

— overview: (as of 2.5) a companion piece to my sampo character story & brughel poisson analysis! an examination of the similarities between sampo’s relationship with gender and the relationship higher beings have with gender.

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

Across the board, Aeons and higher beings in Honkai: Star Rail seem to have more complex relationships with gender than the average character. Beyond going by They/Them pronouns (further emphasized by THEY/THEM in recent updates), Aeons often have androgynous looks and even “multiplicity” of identity. It makes sense — beings who exist so far above mortal comprehension would obviously have a different understanding of gender (if subscribing to it at all) and be less likely to care about mortal binaries. As such, Their identities, much like every other part of Them, are multi-faceted and vast, only able to be attempted to be understood by mortal frameworks (which often don’t fully capture the identity anyways).

Higher beings closely affiliated with Aeons also have nuanced experiences of gender, like Emanators. Emanators are sometimes referred to by the “it” pronoun set, as shown by Boothill at the beginning of 2.2’s Trailblaze Mission:

While looking through the Data Bank and Official Wiki, it also seems that Emanators can be referred to by any and all pronoun sets according to the situation — for example, the Wingperor of the Wingweavers (Abundance) is referred to by binary pronouns (he or she), the Harmonic Strings (Harmony) are referred to by they/them pronouns since they are multiple embodiments of Xipe, and the Noblesse Worm (Elation) is referred to by it/its pronouns.

From this, we can surmise that Emanators — in a categorical sense — exist in a genderfluid state. Depending on the specific Emanator’s position and relationship with their Aeon, they can be referred to by any set of pronouns, perhaps even ones that haven’t been established in-game yet.

It is important to note that in Boothill’s specific case, the “it” pronoun may be used as a way to dehumanize — rather than referring to the Emanator by it/its pronouns the Emanator themself chose to go by, Boothill almost seems to be projecting an “it” status onto them (i.e. assuming that because of their specific position as an Emanator, they are no longer “human” or relatable). This is an issue Emanators may run into writ large; despite existing in a multitude of different states, there is most likely dehumanization that comes from separate sources, the kind that reduces their identity to the “other” rather than understanding the nuanced existence they inhabit.

It is also important to note that both Emanators and Aeons have a history of changing appearance. The aforementioned Harmonic Strings can take the form of any Family member regardless of gender, Tingyun was used as a vessel for Phantylia, and Aha Themself has been known to assume mortal form to toy with others. As such, any character who is able to quickly and effortlessly change appearance is a notable candidate for higher existence theories.

Which, of course, brings us to Sampo. As I detailed in my Character Story & Brughel Poisson analysis, Sampo not only has a history of genderfluidity, but of physically changing appearance with ease. Brughel Poisson seems to be an alias he uses often, to the point it’s implied he has an entire place of residence in the Overworld as her. While this could be purely for the benefit of his scams, it also shows a casual disregard for gender norms, the kind that almost seems to imply a more nuanced, complicated existence than what mortal frameworks can offer.

I also have a theory that the reason Madam Poisson was so confident in talking about the wigs in Part IV is because the wigs don’t exist. If Sampo is able to shapeshift on his own, then there would be no need for wigs or other such amenities — his different identities would be so convincing because he literally changes his own appearance. Having such a power and doing so with ease would place him much closer to a higher being in my mind.

However, even if we aren’t assuming he can transform on his own, his relationship with gender still seems very Aeonic in nature. Or rather — he doesn’t seem to care about it beyond what it can do for him. Again, the ease with which he embraces genderfluidity speaks to a deeper and more complicated relationship with gender, one that has been seen overwhelmingly in the cases of Aeons and Emanators.

(Note: Sparkle has also been shown to directly shapeshift across genders as a part of the Masked Fools, however this power seems to come directly from her mask. Sampo, on the other hand, is able to manipulate his appearance (through his own power or otherwise) without his mask, giving the sense that his mask is either A. Only for decoration or B. Holding a power even more deep-rooted to the Elation than that of a common Masked Fool.)

Overall, I see lots of similarities between Sampo’s experience of gender and the experiences of higher beings. The almost uncaring nature towards gender norms, the casual fluidity of being, the ease of transformation — it’s all there. Also, as a genderfluid person myself, I just think it’s really neat!

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ thank you for reading to the end!

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ ✧ super.nova ⌝#⌞ 🎭 ⌝#hsr #honkai star rail #honkai: star rail #sampo #sampo koski #sampo hsr #hsr sampo #sampo honkai star rail #analysis #hsr analysis #hsr theory

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voxasks · 6 months

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· · · ★ VOXTEK ﹔ TRUST US. ✦ » live every weekend, don’t be a stranger !

A S K S T A T U S : CLOSED. I N B O X C O U N T : 27.

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still-a-morosexual-help · 2 years

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Okay so I briefly mentioned having a theory about this to @pandapantslovesyou in the notes on one of my posts and then completely forgot about it ✌️

The Witch Theory 🧙

Okay so from Obey Me! we know:

• Witches are somehow different from sorcerers.

• Sorcerers are registered at the Sorcerer's Society and need a licence to practice magic in The Human World

• There's always a distinction made when they (specially Mammon) talks about witches vs MC & Solomon (who are sorcerers)

• It's not a gender thing because MC (they/them pronouns in the game - undetermined gender depending on the players) is a sorcerer

• Sorcerers and Witches can both potentially make pacts with demons

• The demons and angels were at war for a long time. This affected their relationship with The Human World as well. By the end of the war the three worlds were at peace but (for the most part) kept closed off from each other:

a.) Despite The Celestial Realm, The Human World & The Devildom being the three big worlds and so Angels, Humans and Demons being the three main species, we've seen there are other species, capable of higher cognition, that have a smaller presence and so weren't as directly inlvolved in the war & have more freedom moving between the realms. Eg: Reapers who have contacts with humans & demons (& presumably angels as well), ghosts who live and work freely in the Devildom, fairies who lived in both the human world and Devildom but later moved out of the human world, banshees, centaurs, dragons, yetis/the snowmen

• Demons can further be broken down into sub-species (or if you want to be technical/biological about it; Angels, Humans Great Apes, Demons are different biological families. Demons can be broken down into different genera so the "lesser demons" mentioned in-game would be one genus. These can further be broken down into different specific species;) Such as the Sins, Incubi, Succubi, the little Ds and those little ant sized demons (these can't only be considered as different races/ethnicities the way humans have because there are very significant biological changes between them <ant-sized vs Sins> rather than being differentiated due to culture, environment/location & small changes in appearance, though it's quite possible the Devildom has different races/ethnicities as well <The Night Lantern People>. Most possibly the different species of the people of the Devildom acts as another factor in defining their different cultures and so defining their ethnicities)

b.) Until Diavolo's exchange program, which opened those boundaries back up. S1's exchange program can be considered something of a pilot study and, as with Simeon & Luke being the first angels in the Devildom, Solomon & MC are the first humans.

• Though the general citizens become more accepting of the presence of humans (and angels) in the Devildom, as the game & events progress, the exchange program is never expanded at a larger scale (with only two new students - neither a human). And even in S4 there are still those that are against the whole exchange program and everything it stands for.

• HOWEVER, witches are present in The Devildom. They're just casually there, despite originally being from The Human World, supposedly being human and humans outside of Solomon & MC not being allowed in The Devildom. Despite the brothers actually questioning how human Solomon can be considered given how old he is and MC displaying many non-human characteristics starting from S1 itself, neither are allowed to stay long term in the Devildom without supervision/without an affiliation to Diavolo/RAD because at the end of the day they're still more human than anything else. Witches however are just living in the Devildom with no seeming connection to RAD or the exchange program.

• Furthermore; Maddi arrives in The Devildom from The Human World. Given who she is (one of the oldest and most powerful witches) she should be considered one of the leading figures of the magic users in The Human World. Aka one of the most important figures, in this context, from one of the Big Three Worlds that have been maintaining a tenuous peace for thousands of years. Though The Human World isn't one of the main warring factions this should still be given at least a somewhat similar significance to Michael visiting The Devildom. At the very least Diavolo should be there to greet her given how peace & balance is his goal and rightfully she should be a main part of achieving that. BUT, though they treat her with respect and go out of their way to meet her wishes it's not given this significance. Diavolo deliberately doesn't come out to meet her and has apparently already met her during previous visits.

And those are all the canon facts.

The main theory then?

Witches aren't humans.

Or rather they're a subspecies of humans (or maybe more accurately they're, like humans, a species originating from the genus homo that never went extinct like the neanderthals & rest).

Appearance-wise they're more or less physically indistinguishable from humans. The main thing that seperates them is their magic.

They're much lesser in number than humans but unlike humans, where only a select few have magic, all witches have magic.

Their magic could be more natural? Whenever I think of witches I think of little cabins in the woods and large cauldrons and that always makes me think of nature. But more seriously, the sorcerers have their Society and need a licence to practice magic - this gives the impression of strict rules and a very rigid system. The game never makes a connection between the Sorcerer's Society and how witches practice magic. So what if this is because their magic is more natural and doesn't fit into the rigidity of the Sorcerer's Society.

They're different enough a species than humans (& much lesser in number) that they fall into that small group of species that weren't as affected by the post-war regulations. Meaning like the fairies they were able to travel easily to The Devildom despite living in The Human World

Anyway that's my theory 😮‍💨

All those words to essentially say that Obey Me!'s humans & witches have whatever The Owl House's humans & witches got going on

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rise-my-angel · 10 days

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Heart of the Great Wolf

63 - Laws of Gods and Men

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 16.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, child harm/abuse, descriptions of gore and violence, past traumas

Notes: Next week either you can have the Jon flashback chapter, or modern!au part 4, so let me know if you have a preference which comes first. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“Lord Petyr Baelish, step forward.”

The silence through the hall felt staggering. Not even whispers were given thought as men and women alike only stared at the man in question with a narrowed glare matching nearly to every one of them. As if only then as Jon spoke, did Littlefinger realize the degree of guard surrounding the court. Up at the main table behind where you sat with Benjen beside you, was five members of what had become known as the Queen’s personal guard, all fully equipped with weaponry and behind you specifically was Theon, fully armoured. Behind Jon and downward to Sansa, Arya, and then Bran as Meera stood just off to the side away from main view but enough she could get to him if need be, did equally as armoured and ready members of the Stark household guard also remain firmly present. One of the same household guard seemed to be stood at the walls adjacent of each end of the table and more were placed throughout the room both behind the crowd and in front of it.

If somehow even more intimidating, when normally the witnesses of the smallfolk of Winter Town normally come stand and watch the proceedings of the Northern Court at the helm of their new King, were instead, men and women all dressed in only one way to interpret. Where the common people normally stood to watch, instead all around were the arrivals whom could be found in and around Winterfell or by Tormunds side. The Free Folk most involved in their new affiliation with the Northern people on a daily basis, stood as their own witness as well, if not to present a unity against what was to come.

Were you to wager, you would put gold that the front of Starks before him were all matching in their stern solidarity to the degree he did not expect. He always assumed he was the smartest man in the room, but his advantages were running thinner and thinner as the world around him seemed to twist and turn into something entirely beyond any one persons control. Things all bearing down on the real which one singular man could not always manipulate to his benefit, but it would not be an easy task to change that, nor reveal to the man himself that his house of cards had begun to fall without his knowledge.

Yet the look in his eye as he spoke presented that of a man whom begun to put the pieces together that he had walked into something he knew nothing of. “May I inquire your Grace, what this is about?”

Jon looked at him with eyes dark and yet a steady calm in his voice as it projected with unquestionable authority throughout the room. “Lord Baelish, you’ve been involved with my family for many years. Through my blood in the Starks, of my brothers and sisters to House Tully, and to my wife’s b birth, House Baratheon. Most recently, you were the reason my sister Sansa could be returned home to Winterfell safely, and for that I thank you.”

“It was my honour truly-”

Cutting him off, there was but a flash in the mans eyes which could clearly be read as something almost in an anger at being interrupted, yet blind sighted to the words coming from Jon as he continued. “But that’s not all you’ve done. And it’s those reasons you’ve been summoned to court. To answer for your crimes.” The silence in the room, one could hear near anything had a single person broke that stern quiet. In a steady tone, Littlefinger asked what crimes it was he was here to supposedly answer for, but the moment your name, in it’s entirety came out did the realization in him grow. “To answer for the crime of conspiring to murder the Queen in the North.”

He said nothing, which was smart. His eyes flickered to you, but you did not blink, breathe nor move one single bit. Biting down on your tongue as if to not even allow a twitch of your muscles peek through, he read nothing from you which gave away the nerves flowing through you. You didn’t wish for this to have come around to you, but you could not change that and you would stay at Jons side no matter how much you wished the eyes around looked anywhere else.

You had not often seen a trial within your time in Kings Landing, but in contrast, this looked far different. Taking place in the throne room, so always something grand and decorated with light shining through the windows would peek through. Two sides of seating built up like the stands of a crowd for a tourney, and in the middle of the space up by the steps was the podium. One could sit or stand, but chains were placed on their wrists attaching them to the spot. Robert would sit as judge in one seat, and one on either side always consisting of the same judges. His Hand of the King Jon Arryn on his right, and his brother, Stannis on the other. Any relevant parties to the matter would always sit off to either side of them as well, creating a sense of organization and almost ease in the way the room looked and sat.

This was not the same. He stood freely without chains in the middle of the clearing as the Northerners around sat and stood and watched with guards posted to keep him from acting out any. Not just a King and two judges, but the family remaining to Jon sat at either of his side as a symbol of a strength, or a unity not seen much in the capitol. The darker walls of Winterfell as snow and clouds surrounded made the sunlight dripping in more doused in a blueish tone, almost imposing in contrast to the brightness of the Red Keep.

Addressing both the man and room, Jon laid out the details of the charge before any questions could even be asked as if the story was brand new to him. You forced your eyes forward without room to see the nerves behind as Jon again brought up your name. “Some months ago, while attending to personal matters in Barrowton, she was kidnapped and put up in a trail of outlaws against impossible charges she had no way to defend herself against. This was part of an elaborate plan meant to result in her being found guilty, and executed by these outlaws. You’ve been brought here today, Lord Baelish, to answer to the accusation that this was an attempt to assassinate the Queen in the North, created and planned by you.”

Littlefinger looked to you, peeling them back to Jon as if he could again use that lightness in his voice as a shield where one no longer existed. “I was in the Vale for many years, your Grace. And in Kings Landing for much longer before that. How could I be responsible for an attempted murder thousands of miles away?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, my Lord.”

A smaller stand just off to the side door by the top of the hall was the only new addition. Positioned to be seen and heard by judge, accused, and witnesses alike. Being told he would be given the chance to speak, you knew out bursting was not going to be what he did. Littlefinger wasn’t so stupid to say anything at anytime and you knew he would save it all for the worst moment. Your eyes did catch however, the glance to where your mother sat with Gendry enough to the side and back that it appeared as if they were just part of the watching crowd. The moment his eyes went from Gendry, back up to you did your breathing hitch in your chest, but you refused to allow it to exhale with any shake. Sensing Arya’s watchful gaze taking in the entire scene, you dared not think what she would feel when realizing how long you hid it from her, but it would come out eventually.

Jon was smart though, where he started off. The crime to be slowly connected and revealed through almost a recounting of events until it built and built, the first to speak was, to Littlefinger no doubt, one he saw no reason to put any fear into having him speak. Seldom would such a thought occur to you, but you could not find reason to dismiss it once it found its way into your head. More on the quiet side compared to men of the North, and more well spoken but also in a kinder way he appeared without any threat, and his size would be scrutinized by those whom cared.

Littlefinger was a man whose work was deeply rooted in how things and people looked around him, so of course you saw not a scrap of worry as the first entered the hall. Asking him to state his name, you also knew Jons time as Lord Commander likely long since prepared him for this side of the man as good as his brother, turned King. “Samwell Tarly.”

Jon asked with an even tone, if he was there the night of your kidnapping, and thus Sam was let loose with Jons full trust to say what needed to be said and nothing more. It was not a coincidence that Jon had chosen Sam to relay the events start to finish, rather then Gendry. Keep him out of the focus of attention, and giving a well spoken highborn within the Nights Watch the chance to establish a trusting basis. “I was, your grace. I had met her earlier in the day before it all happened.”

Explaining the simple facts of the story, you knew you gave nothing away to him that he could read but you felt Sam just barley meeting your eyes as he talked around the details regarding the lies and mess your presence caused right away, a smoothness which none else would pick up on whom was not there to witness the hostility. Jon took advantage of the lull in Sams recounting of meeting you, knowing to establish Sams credibility, though to Sams amusement not that you nor Jon picked up on, was he asked it the same way you asked him. “What would a man of the Nights Watch be doing in Barrowton?”

Sam sensed it likely, his attention more towards the room away from Jon knowing both were aware of such details already. “Before being crowned King in the North, I first knew Jon Snow in the Nights Watch. He had been elected Lord Commander, after avenging the mutiny and murder of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.” Your eyes flickered to spot not just Maege you realized, but two familiar figures watching as well. One a mirror of her mother, and the other still just as small but just as feirce as her older sister and mother beside her. Clever too you thought, appeal even moreso your side to the North. “And after leading the Nights Watch through the night Mance Rayder attacked Castle Black with an army of wildlings.”

Again your eyes flickered, that time to the other side of the room. A situation you felt you knew nothing about, battle in and of itself fought and won by Jon and somewhere in there your father had a place. The event which led to the only reason any true salvation of your relationship with your father was made, the strange yet respecting dynamic between Stannis and Jon. Looking at the wild yet harsh gaze of Tormund, you could only wonder the life lived leaving to being on separate sides of a violent battle to being as close friends as could be, between he and Jon.

Sam continued regardless. “Our Maester had fallen ill sometime after that, and I was sent with him to the Citadel in Oldtown to both possibly begin studies to return as a replacement for Maester Aemon, and to see if I could find any helpful information on the Others and the Long Night.” The crowd was silent and serious while Littlefinger raised an eyebrow as if thinking he was surrounded by fools. “It was when I had discovered information I thought Jon should know when I learned he had become King. So I made my way into the North through Barrowton to make my way to Winterfell, when I had met the Queen. Who was there on personal business.”

Your eyes found Littlefingers as Sam continued, the details of what happened, the fires, the fight, the confrontation as you both stared at one another. He knew. He had to of always known. The way he almost raised one eyebrow in knowing, saying what was going wholey unsaid. Your eyes dared not leave his and risk flickering to Gendry, it would give it away, it would give him more fuel to add to his fire building to burn you with. You were well aware, you were not exactly a person whom lended themselves to being painted in the best of lights at times.

“She didn’t have a chance. They threw accusation after accusation that only made her look like a traitor to the memory of her late husband. They blamed her, saying she had conspired to take the King in the Norths crown from it’s rightful heir, and give it to a bastard with no claim but it was only her word against theirs. They had a story in their minds they thought was true, and there was nowhere it could go but finding her guilty.”

You hated thinking of it, the thought of it all. How much that falsehood of a creature wanted you to pay for what her demonic, twisted memories of Catelyn Stark claimed against you. It had never been about rights or crowns, it had all been a ruse to punish you for the son that never came back. It had all been to make you pay for her hatred of Jon, with your life. And worse too, you had been willing to do so then and you still would now. This plan against you alone still managed to taunt Jon with the things he grew up knowing he would never have nor be. Every freedom granted to him now, was still always being painted against him for being a bastard. It still refused to go away, even now.

“How do you know the accused?”

In truth, you were not even sure you had once appeared as if you moved in the slightest. Hidden more by the table before you, your hands were all but begging to dig into your palms. Instead tightening in the fabric of your dress almost as it to tear a whole into it just to alleviate some of this feeling. You knew why this all had to be dragged back out once more, but that did not change the fact that you hated it was about you.

Speaking with more of a passiveness you were used to from the man, it had struck you the thought if being sober made Thoros of Myr more or less insufferable. But too you sat there, thinking strikingly of what he had said. That there were no words in any language to describe the feeling existing within both of you wit what you had been able to do, and it made you somehow more uncomfortable. How much worse did you come off as you wondered, if not sober did this appear to be the form of most tolerable he could be. “He was on the small council of King Robert, I was a member of his court. Our paths crossed from time to time.”

You dared not ask yourself to which degree brothels were included in such endeavours. Beside you, Jon had not even the slightest bit of inclination towards that question appearing in his own head as he indicated to you. “How did you go from part of the Kings court to the Brotherhood Without Banners, involved in her kidnapping?”

Thoros at the least, was an honest man to an insufferable fault. Telling the same story Beric Dondarrion had told Jon, but without the ghastly slight of a man littered all over with memories of previous deaths to distract. Ned Stark, the Mountain, the Riverlands, all circling around to fighting supposedly for the people as part of you felt the bite to point out the people, the common people they claimed to fight for were included in those that night they lured you out. But what was worse, was her. The talk of whom had led them to the North and in your direction.

The memory of a woman whom died a mother to you, but whose pale eyes stared down into yours and hissed with a vitriol that she wished she had never preyed Jon survived the pox as an infant. That she wishes Robbs son had been cut out of you before you died with him, because wouldn’t that be so much easier. A living son and heir, and this fight of whom claims for what would never exist and yet you dared not trace where under your layers, a scar told the story of an unborn son whom did not survive.

A dark, growing weight in your stomach rising up your chest. The pressure placed on your lings acting as something to suffocate as the thoughts increased, as did the force within you to tell such memories to stay away. Worse still, the three Starks beside Jon having to hear of the memory of their own mother torn to shreds in an impossible magic which made her monstrous. The worst which you could imagine they would think of her final fate and yet there was no hiding from that truth.

That hateful thing walking in her visage was a lie you and her children would remember as her final part of your lives, but at least for them, their final memory of their mother wasn’t drenched in horror. They mother they parted from was alive, and loving. The one you parted from had her throat slit after watching all she had left, lay dead on the ground before her, and the anguish of that night, or the demon whom came for you, were your only options.

Lady Stoneheart was all that remained to Catelyn Stark and yet you knew hearing of her was a better final image then the true one you shared not with people. You hardly remembered a thing, you could hear voices and cries and blurs of Robb by you but nothing a memory that had any weight. But Thoros of Myr stood there recounting it all.

That time you dared not look at Littlefinger, what he felt about her you did not care. He had not the right to care, not now, not after what would happen here.

Jons voice almost startled you back into the present, your mind having drifted so far you could’ve forgotten you sat in that hall. “How did you know all this?”

He need not point the finger, more would come. Jon wanted his basis covered, no stone left unturned, as he let the vauge answer be unchallenged as it truly was honest. “I have no idea. We were told what we were told, that she got her information from someone close to her. Who that was, we didn’t know and she wasn’t a woman who gave us much room to question that. But one thing was clear, it wasn’t yourself her mind was really set on.” Commenting with a confidence that it was indeed, a violent inclination towards you, you again said nothing, nor moved. You had been a statue for this entire trial thus far, and you had not a clue when anything else would return.

You just wished for this part to be all over, you didn’t want to sit there and let Jon find justice for you, it didn’t matter. What happened then did not matter compared to the things Jon was fighting now, you knew dealing with Littlefinger had to be done, but you hated his best way was to go through you first. You wanted to leave everything of those nights, the memories they caused, the images and sounds they conjured back up, you wanted all of those to go away forever. To be picked up by the cold winds and blown so far from reach never to be seen again.

Jon had never forgotten nor forgiven almost losing you in those nights, considering how you both had found yourself parting ways, but you hated it. You wanted him to care more about things that weren’t you, but with the advantage of knowing saying it to him as such would not go over well. So you stayed still as a statue, and as silent. This was his Kingdom, he could handle attacks on those within his Kingdom as he saw fit.

The slime dripping from his voice, as Littlefinger had the audacity to speak up. “Your Grace, if I may ask the witness one question?” Formal and polite, he played it well, thus Jon gave only one rigid nod with darker watchful eyes drift from him, right over to you before jumping to Thoros. “Was this leader of yours after her death, or simply justice in whatever form that would’ve come in?”

You felt Thoros looking to you, but your eyes casted downward to the nothing of the table before you. What truly was even left of your life you ever wanted to revisit? How little of who you were wasn’t painted over by something you still felt a heavy guilt for? How much of your failures since being with him again, did Jon have to take care of in the aftermath?

Smooth was the way it was answered though, eyes flickering towards you again as Thoros spoke. “We were after justice, but in the eyes of the Lord of Light, there is no punishment for the guilty but death. In our eyes there is no half way. If half an onion is black with rot, then it’s a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil.”

Hours ticked by in your mind, in place of the minutes it truly was. You had the final nail to hammer in for what this was leading up to, but you wished you could disappear until needed and let it play out without you bearing witness to defending your honour. Perhaps you could’ve been up where you had Gilly watch the baby. Sam had grown to a boy of three and much more he was learning to talk, you could help her with him, see how well she’s done with reading on her own. You could simply hold little Eddard in your arms as he slept and focus away from what was too much about you.

You wished there was another way to seek out your defence then this, you wished there was anything else as strong that had nothing to do with you.

He hadn’t seen it coming, the things to come as the next witness was called. So far up North Littlefinger likely assumed Jons reach was limited, he assumed what information Jon had was based on what he only could guess on his own. He very distinctly, had not guessed the sheer idea that not only would he be betrayed by the people he manipulated around him, but that he had not seen coming that those he simply looked down on as lesser then could ever see through the facade he put up for himself.

Thin cloak and tunic both matching, the colours stood out more then most would have been seen wearing in this area. The fabric, the designs all looking like one whom would stand most days in the sun high in the sky rather then any style of dress and colour looking to keep what little warmth existed, tight against their person. The clasp holding together their cloak being worn like robes was in the shape of a shield. Bronze in colour and black iron studs sitting within the middle. Were one to look closer, the markings surrounding the edges could be seen in the shape of runes.

Yet what stood out most was not the man himself, but the hardly concealed look crawling upon Littlefingers face as he approached the stand. As all were within formalities, he was asked to state his name. “Ser Yohn Royce of the Vale, Lord of Runestone.”

They acted with nothing but stern formality, as if this winding mystery had not started with him. Jon asking with his head gesturing somewhat towards the middle of the hall. “Do you know this man?”

The look shared between Ser Royce and Littlefinger was what you could call unique. A knowing on one yet the confusion of the other, the situations had flipped and the confused was now with no understanding when he once thought he surely held all of the cards. But Ser Royce did not linger, losing back towards Jon. “I do. Lord Petyr Baelish, widower of the late Lysa Arryn.”

Jons face remained neutral, nothing smug or condescending or even holding a single hint that Jon knew far more about what he was to say then any other. “And what do you know of his crimes?”

If you were to glance beyond Jons person to Sansa, you would’ve seen her blue eyes unblinking as she stared at him. Her final parting times from the man she had still been masquerading as Alyane Stone and was told to see him as little more then a useful fool to hide her away in the Vale once she let the truth be known. In what had been told of her the eve before, the details of how Jon came to any of these conclusions were not explained.

He rightfully knew, letting her sit in on this trial, learning most of the how and what for herself would be good enough to allow her the freedom to choose what to believe. And as Ser Royce spoke, you and Jon both knew that this was not nearly the worst of the truth. “I cannot speak in absolutes of his guilt, but I can relay the details of what’s led me to my suspicions.”

It was interesting as he spoke, at least to you. The simple fact that he had not given the identity of the confidant whose raven accidentally was brought to him and not Littlefinger. You wondered why not, if he was here to give the details of what he found, why not speak it. Why keep it in the shadows, and the moment your eyes flickered to Littlefinger, it seemed he sensed the same thing.

Ser Royce was nothing if not a well spoken man, a bit on the blunt side at times but never rude nor abrasive over the subjects. A squire gave him a raven meant for Lord Baelish, with the speakings of rumours far North written as the whispering of a spy. Speaking that Jon had married you the night returning from Dragonstone, and that there had been no time for interference on that matter. That Littlefinger seemed to hold an interest in the King and Queen in the North yes, but more specifically, the interest was held greatly in discussing you but he at the time did not know why.

Seeking more information, he had uncovered a great deal of twisting and turnings of people within the North and Winterfell which were all connected to this web of spies tying back to Littlefinger, and much of it, was about you. What you did, where you were, who you spoke to, but that it did not last long. Soon after that was he looked into what he had stumbled across, had Littlefinger left ever so briefly on what he called business matters.

It needn’t be said that the timeline already the North both knew and had been established here today, that the time Littlefinger had briefly left the Vale did it soon align up with the incident in Barrowton. Sansa’s eyes caught Littlefinger, whom failed at any imploring looks to get her to have faith. Her eyes flickered from himself, over to your still yet watchful eyes on Ser Royce, did more of something angering and unsettled filter within her blood.

Turning now more towards the crowd before him, did the story shift slightly, shifting into territory that Jon knew, Littlefinger wished for him to think was his only conclusion for this trial. “After that, I had begun correspondence with the King in the North as to attempt to uncover this suspicious plot surrounding Lord Baelish.”

Speaking up suddenly, Arya had asked the pressing question which she knew the crowd would wonder themselves. To Jon and Sansa both that answer was easy, but you knew he was quick enough to sense not everyone could make that connection right on their own. “Why? You didn’t know him at all, or his wife. Why risk helping him?”

Ser Royce kept eye contact with her, and almost a flicker of familiarity came across his face of memories long since passed. “I knew your father, Lord Eddard Stark. He was sent to the Vale as a young lad to serve as a ward to the late Jon Arryn, along with Robert Baratheon. Half of his life they were raised within the walls of the Eyrie, and I watched both grow from boys before going off to live their lives as men. Now both are gone, and what sort of man would I be if I didn’t do whatever I could do help those they left behind.”

All three of you he looked towards, yourself, Jon and Sansa but said little on the matter of specifics. It spoke for itself, at least the general idea of it spoke for itself. Those details, like much in this trial, Jon knew not to throw out all at once and overwhelm with too much. Too much he had said the night before to you, meant that he could only defend himself against so much at once and lies or not, Littlefinger had every right to defend against what he was accused of.

“There was little reason the King could find on his own for why such events in Barrowton would have occurred, but little I could do from so far while on my own. All we could know for sure, was that Lord Baelish found interest in any instability to be found and exploited between the King and Queen.” Looking with a distaste seen only within the shining of his eyes did Lord Royce state almost to the man directly. “His interest in her specifically, seemed to be only matched by his interest in Lady Sansa.”

Whispers spoke through out without any doubt that time, and the peeling of eyes from Ser Royce to Sansa herself finally settled on Jon, but found something only giving the man unease. A darker look sat in Jons eyes as his face was both seething yet appearing as calm as he could be. As your eyes drifted enough to catch Sansa’s, you recognized the look. A shame not hers yet with nowhere to go but feel as if she was responsible for a grown mans ill desires. But he was not done, and the guilt she felt you realized would only be matched once more by the implication about to be relayed.

“I only have my word of what I speak of his character, and yet I strongly believe there is reason to not doubt his intentions are not honourable.”

You had last seen him a small boy in Kings Landing. Always kept by the close watch of Lysa and an uncanny lack of independence for even a boy of eight. She sheltered Robin from the world, and thus he held no idea how to behave in the real one. His septa must have had been blessed with the power of patience to handle him as much as she did with not a hint of fuss.

But he was a troubled boy. Ill and sickly but always with tantrums and outbursts. Not a clue how to behave and Lysa only seemed to make it worse. There had been days you would walk into the small council chambers to see Lord Arryn there exceptionally early and you could hardly blame him. Sometimes if one wandered close to the tower of the Hand, Robins yelling could be heard and Lysa would do nothing to make him stop. Working in such an environment must have been grating on the poor man.

Some days you would assist in his work, just to give him company that did not shout or cry insistently throughout the day. But this, was something not even your most frustrated thoughts on the petulant boy had come close to. “Lord Baelish had begun giving the boy sweetmilk to sleep. Every night given to him to calm his outbursts, but when the Maester had brought it up to me he seemed concerned. Telling me that when he had questioned Lord Baelish on the matter, he had begun sending another to request it for him, as if to avoid what he was not willing to answer.”

Before anything could be said, Jon had looked to the crowd with much more distinct of a distrust on his face to what he seemed to understand was coming. “Maester Wolkan, do you know why this would be concerning?”

The answer was unsettled to most in the room, despite how little Littlefinger reacted in anyway with dark eyes now looking up towards Jon, whom only stared back with something hardly one could lie and say was not a glare as Wolkan spoke. “Adding drops of sweetwine to milk can replicate the effects of essence of nightshade, help soothe the nerves and give the drinker an easy dreamless sleep. But adding too much of it, or using it everyday over time will cause it to build up in a mans blood. Act almost as a poison, giving the user a very slow death which to many, would appear as a natural illness.”

You knew what such a thing implied, but part of you desperately did not wish too. Someone who could look at a child and only see it as something in their way, as something to be disposed of once it was an inconvenience to their plans. Desperate you suddenly felt as it flipped in your stomach, to stay seated and remain at Jons side.

Growing however was something boiling up inside of you, as if the simple fact that he was not within your sights worried you. As if Littlefingers presence within Winterfell, knowing what he wanted and would try to do to get what he wants, you felt what you refused to yet acknowledge was panic. He was fine, you had seen him not long ago and he was fine. But wouldn’t it be easier of course to get rid of you, if you didn’t have a son any longer to fight for-

Your heart almost stopped and started as fast as it pounded now. Hands tensed further and further without your notice did your nails dig enough into their wrappings that the fabric begun to slowly seep into a red covering the usual white tints. It was harder afterall to separate a man and wife when they had a child between them. But you sat, ignoring the ever so brief look of Jon towards you with a narrowing expression of worry towards your unusually stiff demeanour.

But the thoughts refused to go away, you couldn’t even hear what was being said in the court. What if it was you it was being given too, and your son fed from you and- your blink nearly allowed the tears you didn’t notice were forming to come out. Watering behind your eyes that few could see from where you sat. As soon as the words passed through your mind you felt that guilt as if you did it yourself. If something happened to the baby, that Jon would blame you.

Robin would be thirteen by now, only a year younger then-

“They were boys.”

No one but you could hear, the echo of Robbs voice through the halls in Riverrun as Willem and Martyn Lannister were laid out on a sheet before you both in the middle of the night. It did not matter what age or innocence those boys held, men with enough hate or evil in their hearts would be willing to do anything to those whom they could not see as worthy of their life.

The bright green eyes your son held, the same green eyes that were seen the day you finally met your baby sister, the same which looked up to you with a little smile held by a young girl whom did not understand her baby girl would never get the life she dreamed for her. The girl whom stood there watching the gold cloaks murder that little baby right in the middle of-

It was nothing proper of you, but you could not care to think how it looked as whispers were spoken amongst the crowd the second you pushed from your seat. The guard by the door into the corridor opening and closed it swiftly without any fuss as the halls remained rather empty, those whom could spare their work to watch the spectacle did so.

But one way, then another, then the steps and up through the door almost throwing it open before you realized your lungs ached as they heaved for air. Gillys head shot up in a startle along with little Sam in her lap, your naming coming from her in a breathless worry, “Is everything alright?”

You didn’t answer, your eyes found the little bassinet closer to the fire and dropped to you knees to seek out his level sat down on the chair. Eyes not yet open but a slumbering face now twisting as he slowly woke up with a grumble and small hints of cries for someone having done so. One hand reaching up to run over his head with a gentle shush, he seemed to recognize your voice but the upset cries still creeped out. As soon as his little arms fought from his swaddle out to you did you gently pick him up, moving to stand as you held him close against you.

Turning to press your lips to the top of his head with soothing words meaning very little as you eased him from being upset into recognizing it was only you, and everything was alright. Only then, did you notice your surroundings, everything was alright. He moved to hide in your neck with a now muffled cry in distress as he no doubt had picked up on yours. But he was alright, nothing looked wrong nothing was wrong but yet you stood with your head dizzy at the whirlwind around you.

Gilly had gently put little Sam down, telling him to go play as she slowly approached you from behind, your name coming from her quiet tone, but your eyes closed you had not the energy yet willing to acknowledge any that was not him. The noise in your head too loud, and the warmth behind your face stung at your eyes without the ability to hide them when you inevitably opened them to the room once more.

Slowly her voice finally reached your hearing as she called to your name once more. “Is it over? What happened?” You appreciated her concern, but gentle rocking to ease calm into little Eddard as you needed it to return to you, you shook your head.

Turning only to press your lips against his head, did you whisper, keeping him cradled close against you. “I-” Do you lie? What explanation could make sense of such unbecoming and erratic behaviour? It did not come up as smooth as some lies go down, but you forced it out in a strained mutter all the same. “I just needed to check on him is all. I shouldn’t be away from him for so long.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind you felt thankful at Gilly’s lack of hesitation to rest a comforting hand on your back, leaning more to try and speak closer to you directly then from behind, but without pushing you. The change of subject almost seemed odd at first to what of you could hear her through the blood rushing rapidly in your veins. “I’ve never been away from Sam before.” Your head barley tilted to the side to indicate you heard her. “From the day he was born, I’ve never been without him. I’ve never been away from his side for more then a few minutes, really. I couldn’t imagine having to be away from my son for so long right after he was born.”

The sensation of racing in your heart begun to settle, the realization that not every facet of your life was dictated by others, that not everything would be lost to you the way it once was in such blood. Muttering as you looked down at little Eddard, now awake but snuggling into where he lay at your neck and shoulders, a warmth only then coming through you to feel any manner of rational again. “I was apart from him for hours after he was born.”

Slowly moving to sit in the seat, Gilly had quickly moved the bassinet to the ground as she held the back of the chair. Shifting the baby to rest down in your arms, leaning over to keep his bright eyes looking up at you as you murmured to continue. “I only had him for three hours, I had only fed him once when..” Gilly nodded from what you could see from the side of your vision, she didn’t force you to say it. “I was away from him for hours right after he was born. I was terrified by the time I’d get back to him it would be too late.”

Hands trying to reach up to grasp at either yours or what he could catch of strands of your hair did a little laugh crack out, along with the smile matching on his which no doubt would grow up to look exactly like Jons. “He adores you, I don’t think you have to worry about not protecting him just because you sometimes can’t be with him all day.”

Shaking your head, your smile melted into something tender, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to look away from him as you could continue to see he was as healthy has he was this morning, as he was the day before and the day before that. Everywhere in your life you felt as if you could see the bodies of dead children follow you, their memories haunting you just like the blood soaking Robbs hand that was the last of a son you’d never know was within your sights.

Already things would come for you, for all of you when the winter storms breached the Wall, but as you sat there part of you could only consider, if his plan here worked, whatever it truly was, would he have hurt your son? Would he have harmed Jon? Your life was one thing, theirs was far more precious to you. Little hands drew your attention, a laugh leaving you despite the thoughts swimming in your head. Looking up, you nodded over to a shall sitting across a chair belong to Gilly, “Would you mind? He needs to be fed and-”

A small smile came over her, a knowing you rarely felt in mothers around you it seemed. “Of course.” Coming back over as soon as she grabbed it, you had already undid the easy laces to the front of your dress, a surprised noise leaving you as she made herself comfortable wrapping it around you. “I was out there for months with little Sam, I got used to covering the two of us quick.”

Finding a seat as you muttered a thank you, and an internal one to the Mother for gracing you with a son that had not a single issue with latching, you almost felt a relaxing come across your bones. The paranoia slowly leaving you, knowing you fed him with nothing but your milk and monsters like Littlefinger had not tainted that. Glancing up, Gilly had taken a seat opposite of you by the fire, something on her mind. “You can say whatever it is you want to say, Gilly.”

“Sorry, sometimes I remember who you are and that I’m supposed to be proper around you.” A smile crossed your lips as you glanced up to her and back down to the baby telling her that you much preferred she not treat you that way it seemed to put her more comfortably at ease. “He’s doing all this to protect you.” Your brow raised in question. “Jon. I mean he wants to protect his whole family, but he’s doing this mostly to protect you. When he and Sam think they’re alone, all Jon does is talk about you, that hes angry you came back and the world won’t leave you and him be.”

In your heart you knew that, but something flipped in your chest at hearing someone else say it with ease, the way people with ease would comment on how Robb felt about you. If you looked closer, you might be able to see traces of a scar haunting you of a son that never was, but before that was the small sight of the real one feeding from your breast. How much you’d do anything to protect him and Jon, but sometimes it was easy to forget. That Jon didn’t just want to protect his son, that people wanted to protect you.

Benjen had looked for you himself to protect you, he chose that on his own. Jon risked everything with a newborn with him to find you before you were taken away from him. And then he comes home, and watches as a plan unfolds around his brother and sisters that means to separate you from him, and put your life in danger once more.

Your voice was quiet as you all but murmured in the air between you and Gilly. “All I started to think of down there was how painful it would be for Jon to lose all of this now, the way it hurt me to lose Robb that night. I couldn’t sit there and relive all of that for the sake of justice because all suddenly could think was how it would feel to put Jon through what I went though.” Eyes glancing to the fire, your tone lowered just a pinch. “While I’m worried about it, he’s the one actually trying to stop it, trying to prevent it. It’s just...not easy accepting that.”

Gilly only commented that it wasn’t easy accepting that Sam sent her away once trying to protect her. “When the other wildlings came, Sam thought I was dead. It took me days to get back to Castle Black and once I saw him again all I cared about was that we were together. It didn’t matter why I was upset before, or he was angry with himself for it.” Asking gently when you got there, her answer almost took you by surprise. “The night the Mance Rayder attacked Castle Black. Part of me still wonders if Sam would’ve stood and fought as much as he did that night if he still thought we were dead. That protecting me gave him a reason to fight even though he always tried to claim he wasn’t good at it.”

“Well, he’s gotten you this far.” Gilly only came back saying that Jon had done the same for you. It almost felt nice, a mutual understanding of having such a strange and difficult to explain love for someone that doesn’t always look like the right thing to others. Sam did the things he did to protect her and you didn’t look at him as if he was wrong for it.

But Jon was doing this for you, and you had every faith in him he could. But as you sat there, allowing the time to pass not focusing on what could possibly be said down in the hall, you considered one more thing. Sam had sent Gilly away to protect her and she made her way back to him, Jon wanted to protect you from Littlefinger, but maybe it was your turn to make your way back to Jon.

Though, you had moreso it seemed, meant that in a metaphorical sense.

The guilt had been established. No trial needed, no public proceedings. Barbrey Dustin had sat in that room and confessed every single detail without holding back. But sitting there now, it was obvious to Jon even moreso then that day, the shame which had grown within her for such actions. He did not wish to condemn her as an evil woman, and now more then ever she had begun to prove him right. It did not take away what she already did, but she had been upfront.

Littlefinger had any and every chance to speak for himself the truth, and he took not one of such opportunities. Already he had betrayal in Ser Royce long before now, and to thus sit here and be stripped down by a woman whom had spied for him the horrific details of what she knew.

Once Jon gave her the freedom to speak, off she had went. As if the moment her mouth opened the air never run out. Rarely needing to interject, Jon had only asked her why it was she never had any instructions from him during the year after the night at the Twins regarding you, if she had known you were alive. And it only served to add onto the falling image he still stood with. “Until Roose had made the move to Winterfell, only a small garrison of his men knew she was alive. I never informed Lord Baelish of the information.”

“Why?”

Glancing back to Jon then the crowd, she avoided Littlefingers narrowed gaze as if she cared not to implore herself to him but people of her own kind, that perhaps all was not lost for her. Thinking to herself only a moment or two, did she find something solemn in her tone. “I was shown the extent of her wounds, then Roose informed me she was alive. I have seen my fair share of blood in my life, but..nothing ever quite like that. Most of you can imagine I am not a woman easily shocked, but that sight.” Looking away for a moment before continuing, Jon knew the feeling of seeing it. Very few had.

He could at any point imagine it perfectly, as in front of his eyes as the feverish dream showed him the blood you laid and died in. Not his men, his sisters, nor anyone could imagine what looking at such a sight felt inside. For as many as littered his own chest, the wounds of knives in Jon were clean. One stab then the next. You had been cut open all it had reminded Jon of was that day they found the direwolves, and seeing the dead stag laying out with its stomach pooled out onto the rotting ground.

“It isn’t an easy thing. Seeing that sort of violence on the woman you, yourself had called a Queen. Had I told Lord Baelish, well I could not imagine what sort of death would come to follow after what she had already returned from. Despite everything I had and would go on to do, still I knew that not even she deserved whatever that would be. So I withheld it from him.”

It was the first she had spoken, and the first Jon sensed any amount of rising troubled emotion in his little sister as Sansa spoke up. A doubt in her tone, but eyes set centre on Littlefinger whom was doing what Jon assumed, was his best to pretend he was not losing faith. “Lady Barbrey, I have a question for you.” Turning a little in suprise, but she gave every ounce of respect if somehow more then previous as she faced the crowd. An act of playing along or not Jon knew it was convincing to watch. “Why go through him? If you were to tell someone she was alive, by then the North was under Roose Boltons control, and he answered to Tywin Lannister. Why would you fear going through Lord Baelish when all he would do is bring that information to the Lannisters?”

Littlefinger ever so slightly tilted his head at Sansa, a curiosity in the question but the moment they slid to the right, landing on Jon did that curiosity once more die. Going through all of these events, telling a story Jon knew you didn’t wish to be public all for your saftey, and the pain of reliving such things and fears having driven you from the hall itself as Jon knew he couldn’t go after you. Theon had silently left, only to return with the whisper of where you had gone and were with, being the only thing letting Jon even somewhat relax.

But to add onto all of that, the last thing he was willing to tolerate was Littlefinger still looking at Sansa as if he had the right to expect her on his side. As if planning once more how to use his advantage as a grown man to manipulate a teenage girl back onto his side. He had wanted to treat her as a woman when he had been forcing her closer and closer to that since she was only a girl of thirteen. But as eyes met, Jon knew Littlefinger likely still felt the sensation of being slammed against the wall and the pressure around his throat the only thing sparing him being Jons own self control.

Barbrey Dustin however, answered Sansa’s question with more fuel to throw onto the fire that was his losing battle of having a single Stark left on his side. “Lord Tywins instructions to Roose detailed the murder of the King and Queen in the North. When Lord Baelish had used me to facilitate this arrangement between the Crown and the North, he was the one who insisted on the importance of her death in particular. That if all else failed there was still the chance to defeat King Robb in battle, but that under no circumstances, could the Queen be allowed to live.” Head rose high now, she kept her eyes on Jon and the Starks beside him. “He had painted the situation as if her death was more important then King Robb’s himself. Learning she was alive when I first saw her, I couldn’t grasp why it was so important to him. But something of the situation felt strange to me, so I kept it to myself.”

Interrupting before any could continue, Jons voice projected throughout the hall. “My lady, you told me he never gave you any orders until after I reclaimed Winterfell. What had occurred which made you decide to listen to him if you already didn’t think you could trust him?”

The truth she told was as she confessed to him. That the act of refusing to give up to the Lannisters that you were alive, had in turn been the act which forced Barbrey Dustin back into Littlefingers control. Now he had leverage over her knowing she kept that from him, and finding out that you were alive and once again within a position of relative power, meant that instead of having her killed for keeping that information from him, she was going to help him instead.

Spy for him on you, on Jon by proxy. And she followed his every instruction which led you to Moat Cailin. Where Littlefinger had been relying on the perceived bloodlust of the new leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners to kill you in a manner which left little trace back to him.

If the story wasn’t damning enough, there was nothing but a rising wave of anger once more through the watchers in the hall as she read out one by one each copy of the ravens sent between she and Littlefinger. It had not been a bluff when Jon told her that he had already seen every letter sent and received by her from within his walls.

Sparing a glance to his side, Jon found Brans gaze drifting towards him. A raise of his little brothers eyebrow, he knew the question, but Jon wouldn’t act yet. He had enough to say Littlefinger was guilty of the attempt on your life and Jon knew he would need no more justification to take his head for it in his people’s eyes. Not the whole tale, but there was something he had to do first.

You had run off, and Jon needed to check on you, he needed to make sure you were alright, and he needed to tell you that you didn’t have to do this, you did not have to say what you knew and he and Bran would understand. Standing from his seat all eyes turned to Jon without hesitation as his voice projected through the hall. “We’ll stop here for now. Give us,” Gesturing to his siblings beside him first then to Littlefinger. “And Lord Baelish time to consider the evidence so far. We’ll continue when I return.”

People everyone stood up, moving about and out the hall as the guards surrounding Littlefinger indicted he was to stay right where he was, and a failure Jon noticed, to catch Sansa’s eye as she stood as well. “Jon-”

Turning to her, Jons voice was set and firm in more of something akin to a whisper towards her. “You don’t need to make your mind up right now, the trial isn’t over.” Looking to Arya he nodded for her to come over. “I don’t want you, any of you alone in the room with you. Take Bran, and go somewhere else for a while, all of you. Until this is over I won’t have any of you anywhere near him.”

A glare came easy from Arya as she looked over to him, a mutter matching Jons low one. “What do you think he’s going to do?” But Jon knew the answer.

“He’s not going to do anything. It’s what he’ll say I’m worried about.”

Some time had passed as the baby was fed. You now resting him back down, a hand still on him watching his bright eyes finally lull asleep when the door opened. A much more wild and on edge Jon firmly closed the door behind him, either ignoring or more likely not even seeing Gilly in the room did Jon come over to you.

The second your body turned in his direction, Jon grabbed you and pulled you into his front. A hand holding at your hip while the other cupped your cheek, thumb running over the skin as he leaned down with his eyes dark and yet urgent. “Are you alright?” Nodding yes, Jon leaned in more narrowing his eyes. “You sure?”

Again you nodded, your hands resting high on his chest and by his shoulders more. “I am. I’m sorry I ran out that way, I couldn’t-”

Cutting you off, Jon let the hand on your cheek drift to rake through your hair. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you sit through all that.” Gently muttering his name, Jon pressed onward anyways. “I didn’t want to hide you away, I wanted him to see you, see the woman he tried to take from me-”

“Jon.” Hands reaching up, you cupped both sides of his face, the scratching of the facial hair against the wrappings of your hands would’ve felt soothing were they bare palms against the coarseness. “I just came to check on him, he needed to be fed anyways.” He knew you were downplaying it, but too could Jon sense the tension had been gone for at least a little while in your muscles. “You know I’m starting to wonder how you put up with this.” Asking with what, your answer pulled a laugh from him immediately. “Put up with me, I mean.”

Nudging your nose with his, he muttered close that you felt his warm breath dance across your skin. “Someone has to.” Cupping the back of your neck, Jon tilted your head down to press a kiss to your forehead, your hands slipping to his shoulders as he allowed you to pull back enough to meet his eyes. “He betrayed you and my father once, he tried to have you killed, and now he’s trying to tear you away from me to do who knows what. I know you don’t like it, but I have to do this. I won’t let him take you from me, in any way. Neither of us will.”

His head gesturing down to the now slumbering bundle, did you smile. A handsome one once more graced Jons face watching you. “I’m ready.” Brows narrowing, you both knew he meant to ask for a certain. “I promise. You’re doing what you need to to protect your family, but you’re all my family now too. I have to do the same.”

Murmuring your name, Jon ran a hand soothingly down your hair at the back of your head, “You don’t have to do this, darling. I have enough on him without putting you in the middle of it like that.”

Nodding, your eyes did not have a single flash of anything which was not a certainty. “I’m sure. You’re protecting me, let me help you. He won’t be able to even attempt talking his way out of this, you know he won’t. Let me do this, and we finish this together.” Asking gently why the sudden change of heart, you felt a melting in your bones almost compel you to sink into his warmth, forcing yourself to stay at a distance, meeting his eyes so he knew you were no longer in doubt. “The damage was already done, I may as well put it to good use.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jon pulled your hands from him to hold in front of you both, the wrappings more red then before. As if switching from night and day did the softness leave Jons eyes, as they darkened with a concern. “What happened?” He didn’t even let a second pass before he came to the answer on his own. “I’ll clean and wrap them, but you’re wearing gloves this time.”

You didn’t argue, Jon sitting you back down in the seat as he kneeled on the ground to get a better level to work at your hands. Palms facing up on your knees, for such large and rough hands in feeling, Jon always worked away on yours with such a feather light touch. “Do Arya and Sansa know?” Shaking his head, you let out a deep sigh. “Not an easy way to learn about it.”

Jon didn’t waver in his work, nor even allow himself to be distracted. “I never knew until the night you saw it. I was at Castle Black, and all I had was a letter from Robb saying Bran woke up. Told me he’d never walk again, but nothing about what happened.”

Perhaps in another life you wouldn’t have been so confident speaking for him, but it came out as natural as the image in your head appeared. “He knew you’d come back. Taken your vows or not, he knew you’d come back if he told you what happened.” Affirming he would’ve, you knew that made three times he had tried to do so. “I’m starting to think the gods were trying to tell you something.” Asking what, you had made him pause his work at the gentle way you said it. “That you didn’t deserve to think you didn’t have a place here anymore.”

Only a moment in waiting did Jon let a beat pass, before a small huff left him, returning to now wrapping the left hand first. Low he rasped, “My place is here with you.” Flickering his eyes up, the wide grey shined at you in a boyish sort of charm. If a tease existed on your tongue, Jon watched you swallow it back down. Not even needing to look as he wrapped your right hand, “I’m protecting them too. My sisters, my brother, my son, but I’m here because I need to protect you. Because you won’t do it yourself. Why I never should’ve left, I’ve always been the one to stop you from getting into trouble.”

Honestly, you didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, a true jest dry in nature. “So why have I been in more trouble since marrying you?”

It was unfair, he was so much quicker then you were at this sort of thing, he didn’t even need to let enough time to blink skip by before he snarked back, “I think you just like the punishment.” His name leaving your lips in a hiss knowing Gilly could’ve easily heard that, but Jon rose his head with that smirk so handsome across his face. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You had no defence, and he was smug knowing it. He truly must not have cared, cupping the back of your neck, Jon brought you to his lips. His other hand cupping your cheek and jaw, tilting you to the angle so much better for him the way you both sat. Keeping you pressed to his kiss, he was soft and guiding, kissing you deeply but with a slowness that made it somehow as chaste as it was passionate. Almost too much so for someone else being in the room, but he tilted your head to kiss you more regardless the second you even thought about pulling away.

A tingling left on your lips as he let his teeth graze on your bottom one, almost teasing you with deepening his kiss in a way he wouldn’t so brazenly out in the open as such. The second your lips left his, Jon had barley even allowed his eyes to open to see yours still shut as if in a daze when he pushed forward. Connecting you right back, his kiss so much deeper, so much more demanding right away as your hands dug into his shoulders, him keeping your face in his hands to steal every inch of breath in your lungs, gifted right into his mouth along with such small sounds of need bouncing around in your chest.

One kiss, then another, then another before finally Jon had to be the one to tear himself from your lips, turning you head down once again to leave one at your forehead and resting against it. Your murmur was light in his ear as your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. “None of this will make our lives any easier.”

Jons rasp was as deep as it was comforting. “No. But they won’t be so complicated anymore. We can focus on what really matters.” The audacity Jon had to lean back to let his eyes drag down to your stomach, breaking out into a grin as you tried to pull away hiding a flustered grin. “We finish this today, and it’s over. I promise.”

Leaning in, your kiss was far more tender and light then his was. Not in need but almost an appreciation for the love he never wavered in showing no matter what direction your spiralling mind could take him in at any moment. Speaking against them, you felt by the tightness of his hand on the back of your neck that Jon was tempting pulling you back into his kiss each word you said. “I trust you.”

Nodding, Jon brushed his nose against yours barley letting you nudge back before pulling back. Hands lifting you to your feet, he only looked down at you for one moment before grasping at the laces of the front of your dress, tightening them with furrowed brows, as if even the idea of temptation of how it made you look made him annoyed. If it was with the idea that other men would notice how loose it was around your chest or if it was because it would be that loose right beside him and couldn’t have anything be done about it that annoyed him.

Leaning down, Jon pressed a kiss to little Eddards forehead, whispering only enough you and him could hear. “Don’t nap too long. I need time with your mother tonight.” Only hesitating for half of a second Jon grin adding, “Still need to make you a sister.”

Were Gilly not in the room you’d have called his name in a fluster, but your wide eyes and embarrassed smile said it all for him no doubt. Both making your way back down, Jons hand pressed firmly into your lower back each step did you ask, “Who else still needs to speak?”

Shaking his head a little bit, Jon answered with more of an authority falling back into his tone naturally the closer you both got to the meeting hall. “Only you.” Nodding, you both arrived, clearly everyone was waiting inside for the trial to commence once more, the guards alone on the other side of the closed doors as you both stood there. Turning you in his arms, Jon cupped your cheek, holding at your hip in the other, simply allowing himself not to care of the guards watching his softness with you. “Give me a bit, when the doors open, it’ll be your turn. Are you ready?”

Exhaling shakily, your hands rested on his waist as you shook your head. “No, but it’s like you said. We end this now.” Pulling you back in, his kiss that time was much deeper, yet more urgent before pulling away. Looking you over with wide eyes, Jon swallowed down the rest of such raw need of many desires as his expression steeled over. Nodding for the guards to let him through, you could only stand out there.

Waiting for them to open, you had confronted the memory of Catelyn Stark in a trial of your own with no hesitation. This was not your trial nor your death on the option of the chopping block, you would not allow yourself to let the fear talk you out of it now. Not with what you were about to say, and how few anyone in that room could guess what that would be.

No doubt, Littlefinger had expected once the trial begun once more as Jon sat down, that he would finally be given his chance. A man such as him you knew would’ve spent the entire duration of the break between coming up with the right words to convince even one person. But when Jon had called for the next witness and the doors opened, never more was there such a distinct apprehension, and perhaps even fear which flashed before his eyes as it was you who walked into the hall, and up to the small podium.

You had felt fear before, but meeting his eyes, you too could see one person specifically up at the table on Jons side. Jon did the rest of this without fear to protect you, it was your turn to return the favour. If there was only one slip, it was the simple one noted by some, that the King in the North had been polite, yet stern and proper this whole time but was just the slightest bit softer spoken with just the softer matching eyes looking to you as he only ever addressed you by your first name.

If that was Jons only slip, then you knew you could not disappoint him this time.

Asking how it was you knew the accused, you only looked to him for as long as it took for Littlefingers eyes to narrow in question at you, before you turned back to Jon. Collected you hoped it was, and steady without sounding like you were forcing it. “I’ve known him since I was a twelve, he sat at the small council in Kings Landing with my father, and later myself when I begun sitting in on such meetings as well.”

Jon had the questions he needed to establish, but with less demand in the way he spoke to you compared to anyone else. “Did he ever give you a reason to think he’d betray your trust?”

Again, your eyes looked to his, and then back at Jons. As if the familiarity of the grey could overpower the beating in your heart. “Yes. More then once.” Some whispers begun, only to be washed away into silence as with but a single glance to the crowd in disapproval did they all grasp the message their King was telling them. That this was not the time to gossip or to stop paying attention. “The first was in Kings Landing, during the time your father was serving as Robert Baratheon’s Hand of the King.”

Waiting only long enough for Jon to gently nod at you with a gentle look did you know he was prompting you to speak it in your own words in your time. He knew the questions to ask to guide you to the conclusion you both knew was coming. And Jon too knew the closer to that he could get you to, the more confident you would grow to say it on your own. He just needed to help you get there first.

Speaking clearly, you would glance ever so briefly at Arya and Sansa, the details of all this mostly lost on them as only unaware girls at the time of the events before it all crumbled around them in one single day. “King Robert was dying, and your father and I had uncovered the truth that his children and heir were not actually his, and he had not known it. Both of us knew once he was gone, that Cersei Lannister would attempt to force Prince Joffery onto the throne knowing he was not Robert’s rightful heir, and that she would use force against us if necessary.”

Dragging your eyes over to him, the single brow raised did not even anger you as perhaps once his attempts may have. He assumed this trial was still about you, afterall. But you didn’t care about that, what he had done and tried to do to you. You cared about what he would do once he got what he wanted. With you out of his way entirely, where would he stop? Not just with you, not with your son, and certainly would not stop before trying to move Jon from his path as well.

Jon was doing this to protect his siblings, and to protect you and the case he had created was well put together enough none in this room would object to Littlefinger being sentenced to death. But you were here for Jon, he was your purpose and so you would erase any spec of doubt left within the air and force it gone forever. You were to leave no stone unturned, and no room to ever give a single person doubt of Jons choice.

“Lord Baelish assured Lord Stark and myself that the City Watch would be on our side, sworn to defend the Kings peace. But we stood in the throne room, and realized he had done the exact opposite.” Darker and darker the colour in your eyes grew as did the tightening in your heart at the sight and memory swirling of a last time you then had not known. “It wasn’t until the City Watch had murdered the remainder of the Stark household guard, one held a knife to my throat and Littlefinger holding a knife to Lord Stark’s did we understand he never intended to help us.”

“I did warn you not to trust me.”

You ignored the whispers, you ignored the looks any gave to one another or to you or to Littlefinger. You simply stomped over whatever explanation he’d no doubt give again to pile against him this time. “Lord Baelish purposely betrayed us knowing it would lead to Ned Stark’s death, hoping it would lead me to mine. During the war, when Catelyn Stark had gone to the Stormlands to negotiate peace with Renly Baratheon, Lord Baelish approached her. Telling her lies that he never betrayed us, telling her lies that Arya was safe in the captiol when none had heard from her, and offered to arrange sending home the bones of a man he helped lead to his death to manipulate Lady Catelyn in freeing Ser Jaime Lannister in hopes her daughters would be returned to her. When he knew without any doubt, they did not have Arya, and they would never give Sansa up.”

It was strange, that fear you felt no longer within your chest. As if knowing all you knew, and trusting that the man you loved would keep you safe, you felt nothing about the way Littlefinger looked to you as if daring to say it. You knew too what he may say to you in return, but he had not a clue what sort of place he had come to. Your eyes barley tore from him at the behest of Jons voice asking you in a more lulling tone then he would’ve others, “The crime he committed was against your life and you’ve established he has reasons to do it. Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Jon was giving you that one last chance to tell him you couldn’t do it, but the brightness in them and the warmth radiating into you was only watched as your eyes flickered to Bran. Your hands flexing under the material of your gloves, you felt the sting of the blade as you looked at him. Were one to not focus, still he could’ve been mistaken for a boy, the boy you thought you’d never seen again who did not yet know the danger of the world around him.

Your voice was steady, as you met Jons gaze before turning to address the court. “There is nothing I could add to the case which the King has already presented today, but there is one thing which has not been answered. Why.” Those up on the stand here had seldom found reason or willingness to address him so directly, but your lack of fear in doing so, almost seemed to put him on edge. “Lord Baelish, you knew there was a chance the Lannisters may have traded Ned Stark’s life in exchange for peace with the North, but you knew there was no negotiating with Stannis Baratheon once he had chosen to fight against Joffery’s claim. That he was not a man to surrender in exchange to free me from being a prisoner. When you betrayed myself and Ned Stark that day, if you only had one plan which you hoped would work, is that I without any doubt would’ve been executed for a treason we both knew was false.”

If you listened closely, the sounds of the strings was heard through the halls in an echo only to you, but still you spoke over it. You pushed passed it knowing lingering on just that pain was not where this belonged. “You later had hoped the threat I posed to you was gone the night the Freys betrayed Robb Stark and I at the Twins. And when you heard I was alive over a year later, you tried again to have me killed but in a way you hoped could not lead back to you.” Truly it was as if something inside of you flipped.

The way Jons own fears of his blood and father and who he is, all compounding in fears which were inflamed by his own sister. But those distrusting didn’t come from her alone, you knew her as a girl but that level of animosity towards Jon did not come from merely years of being apart. That came from somewhere. Someone whom had interest in getting between you and Jon before.

Growing and growing that resentment that he ever thought to worry with you what he was like, how he treated you, or if you feared the love he gave you, and the question of would this have returned to Jons mind had the man before you not slithered in, a snake looking to bite at the right strike. “When all else failed around you Lord Baelish, you then came here. Under the guide of simply bringing Sansa home where she belongs, and then you stayed. You fed lies to her, saying that Jon is nothing more then a bastard who can’t be trusted, that she should attempt to drive us apart. Because you know that it is a lot easier to try and kill me when I’m nowhere near Jons side.”

Sensing her eyes on you intensely, you pushed passed what you knew Sansa had not yet started to consider. Not that such a thing was her fault. Whatever she and Jon had discussed the other night seemed to have brought her down to some kind of understanding with him, but you knew this was not even the worst.

Whispers around all begun a slow ascend, the unavoidable fact that it continued to get worse and worse and how utterly long and devastating of a path it took Jon and yourself to be able to get here. Of course, he had not perhaps, seen it coming that his path against you had attempted to take what should’ve been time used to repair Sansa’s difficult past with Jon and Arya, instead making her animosity drive them each apart from her. Looking to you, he had the audacity to speak as if you were anywhere near done. “Perhaps what you see as lies were merely what I thought was fair advice to Lady Sansa-”

If Sansa were to speak for herself, instead who took up her defence was Arya. Cutting through him louder and with a bite in her tone enough it could’ve come across a growl. “You weren’t here to help her, you’ve never tried to help her.” Jon attempted to call Arya’s name in a quieter tone, but she kept going, likely not even hearing him. “The last time I saw my sister she was screaming and crying for Joffery not to murder our father and because you came here trying to tear what few of us were left, I couldn’t even be happy to see her again because all I saw was you.”

Eyes flickering between Jon and to Sansa, no doubt he too could feel the conflict within her, that guilt at what part she played and the slow understanding of todays events the degree he simply used her. Afterall, she had not known any reason to see any ill use of giving her young cousin sweetmilk. She had not a clue that when Maester Coleman had grown suspicious of him, did he send the naive Alyane Stone to continue it for him. Until Maester Wolkan had explained it’s effects, until you had heard too much to handle and left did it occur what he had her become.

And just like the rest of it, that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Arya continued to defend her sister, in despite of everything and how strained they were and how little they talked, it was just like that night at the inn. Moments before she had grabbed at Sansas hair yelling she was a liar as the two girl fought against the other, then without any hesitation did Arya yell at Cersei herself the moment Lady was declared to take the punishment in Nymeria’s place. You had seen the way she much like you had, stared unblinkingly at Cersei with a glare wild in her eyes as she stood beside her crying sister.

Only this time, Sansa didn’t cry or argue or yell, she sat in a silence in a feeling you knew too well. As if she sat a stranger to who she even was anymore, and Jon saw it too. A small nod, Jon read your intent that you understood to leave it to him as Arya was arguing back against Littlefinger. Whom had just inferred that perhaps his advice was simply taken in the wrong way beacuse of a misunderstanding. “You don’t even know him, you just call him a bastard and tell Sansa to assume the worst, and expect anyone to believe you didn’t intend to tear us apart-”

“Arya.”

Snapping over to him, Arya felt that feeling much like Sansa had the other night, but in a way familiar to her. The calling of her name in a manner and tone so much like their father, but coming from Jon. His head tilting as he looked at her with a knowing expression. “That’s enough.”

The understanding between them was one of a silent language Jon had always been able to speak to Arya. An equally as low and rasping voice from closer to you however drew your focus. Benjen softly prompting you with something shining of encouragement in his eyes only you seemed to catch. “Please, continue.”

Only a nod, but turning from the table towards where Littlefinger stood, you knew there was little left. “What I am saying, my lord, is that you should have worked far sooner to try and kill me again.”

He was daring you gave him that, looking to you as if to attempt to make you sound delusional. “And why your grace, would you think I want that?”

Not for long would he remain daring. Staring at one another, no doubt were you any other witness, such an exchange of words not be permitted so freely, but you trusted Jon the rest of this trial and so now he trusted in you. Your voice was flat as you spoke, and yet did not match the ever growing darker look within your eyes. “Do you know much about gambling, my lord?”

Eyes flickering side to side in a bit of confusion, he sounded more honest in that moment then he had the entire time he had been within the North. “I’ve dabbled in it.”

The scowl grew a breath more noticeable. “Then you would know two important rules a smart gambler would live by. Firstly, never wait to play your best card for too long. Because another might come around with a better one in the time it took you to choose when to play it.” If he didn’t grasp it then, he did now as you slowly and clearly phrased it. “The second, never play the same card too many times. Eventually someone will recognize your tricks, and put together how much you’ve lied your way into winning.”

There it was. The look you were waiting for. The anger of a man realizing that he had placed his enemy in the hands of the wrong Baratheon. How does it feel Lord Baelish, you thought. How does it feel to realize that it wasn’t Stannis’s hatred for him that was his biggest enemy, it was the daughter right in front of his eyes. Doing exactly what he had tried more then one to have you killed to avoid. It simply took long enough to come together that it brought him into a falsehood of his own hubris.

You didn’t even look to the crowd, or Jon. Just Littlefinger right in the eye so he could feel it all coming.

“The night King Robert had come to Winterfell, Catelyn received a letter from the Eyrie from her sister, Lysa Arryn. Stating that her husband, the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn had been murdered by the Lannisters.” Not yet any reaction further. “The day after, when most of the men and guard were on a hunt, ten year old Bran Stark had seemingly fallen from a tower, leaving him unconscious for nearly a month and crippled for the rest of his life. Not long before he had woken up, a fire was started in the library here to draw attention away from Brans chambers. Only Lady Catelyn had still been there taking care of her son, when a man came into the room, attacked Lady Catelyn, and viciously attempted to murder Bran Stark in his sleep before his throat was ripped out by Brans direwolf Summer, saving his life.”

Oh very few would be able to even spot it, but it was there. The slightest twitch in his eye, and the rush within your blood burned hotter. Jons voice to the side was rough, a control meaning to hide the husk furthering him into an anger. “Do you know who this man was?”

Your head shook slightly to indicate a no. “No assassin any more sophisticated then a simple catspaw.” You dared not look at the remaining Starks, the distraction of their anger or devastation could not spare to interfere now. “The blade did stand out however. Made of Valyrian Steel, and the handle carved from dragon bone. Someone gave it him. Lady Catelyn had reasonable presumed the two incidents were connected, and Lysas letter had given the impression that the Lannisters loyalty to the crown was questionable already. Soon she left Winterfell for Kings Landing to inform her husband of the events but was greeted when she got there by you Lord Baelish.”

“I simply had heard she was coming-”

You cut him off, and the hall was silent as if only you both stood there. “You were honest with Catelyn. There is only one dagger like that in all the Seven Kingdoms. It was yours. But that you had bet it in a wager during the tournament of Prince Joffery’s last nameday.” Brows furrowing, Littlefinger looked confused and unsettled at the manner which you spoke, as if someone showed you the meeting itself. “You bet on Ser Jaime as any sane man would. When the Knight of the Flowers unseated him, you lost that dagger.”

Bran was more clever then you could’ve hoped for, both of you speaking such easy words yet only the man before you would recognize their exactness. “To whom?”

“Tyrion Lannister. The imp.” The details were harrowing, speaking of your time with Ned Stark in Kings Landing, what the mystery of uncovering Jon Arryns death had uncovered and why, the secret he learned before he was poisoned. How the secret pertained in such specifics to the nature of Cersei and Jaime Lannisters secret affair. “So imagine my suprise, Lord Baelish when Catelyn arrives at the Eyrie with Tyrion Lannister as her prisoner, as you put it in her head that he had tried to murder her son, that Lysa accuses him of a new crime. She suddenly accuses Lord Tyrion of murdering her husband, Jon Arryn as well. When so far, not even Ned Stark or I had come anywhere near that conclusion. Strange, how two murders were pinned on him. And even more strange, that I know for a fact, Tyrion Lannister had nothing to do with the attempt on Brans life.”

The trial by combat in the Eyrie, learning Jon Arryn was murdered by poison wine given to him by his squire. It all was a life reliving that had been so long gone but felt as if it were fresh in your mind without any doubt. Arya had glanced to the side, a look on her sisters face as they both found the others gaze, a near scowl putting it all together only to find Bran seemed to watch Littlefinger with the same amount of knowing animosity as you did.

An issue posed, was that you knew for a fact the person who ordered a catspaw to murder Bran was not connected to whomever pushed him from a window. Jaime Lannister had confessed to Catelyn that he did it, and neither he nor Cersei had a clue about the assassin. They weren’t connected, and neither did Lord Tyrion know about his brother and sister and thus had no reason to wish to see Jon Arryn out of the way.

Grasping at straws, that time he picked one which Jon himself had the answer to shut down. “Perhaps Lord Tyrion had other motives, arranged for the murder on the road after parting from Winterfell.”

Jon could speak for that. “He didn’t, and you know that. Lord Tyrion was on the road to visit Castle Black, with me, and my uncle, Benjen Stark.” Asking if by any chance was their an opportunity to plan an arm an assassin during that period of time, Benjen confirmed without a doubt there wasn’t.

Tyrion had no reason nor gain from ordering Jon Arryns death, and had even less reason or ability to order the attempt twice on Brans. “Twice falsely accused is odd, my lord. But three times? That tells me he was being used as a shield. A lamb for the slaughter to hide the real murderers actions.” Asking loudly and with a defiance you knew was crumbling to his feet, what this third imaginary crime was, it was nothing short of satisfying that she finally found her voice.

Something between a tearing of betrayal and anger was shaking behind Sansa’s voice. “You told me that you killed Joffery. You had a necklace made for me, one of the stones held the vial of poison so someone at the wedding could take it off me without me realizing and use it to poison him.” If the look on his face was a wider eyed shock, you hoped it felt even sharper in what little of a heart a man as him could possibly have. “You planned it all out to help me escape the city, knowing they would accuse me of helping my husband murder the King. You needed Cersei to accuse Tyrion, because you knew he had no one there to defend him. Knowing he and I both didn’t do it.”

The room was thick with tension. Littlefinger had one play left and it was his weakest card and it seemed he could sense that. “It would seem backwards for the King in the North to try me for the murder of the very King who murdered his father.”

Pushing up from the table, Jons stood with his hands braced against the surface and nothing but black remaining in his eyes. “You aren’t on trial for that, my lord. I could stand here and accuse you of using Lysa Arryn to murder her husband and blame it on Tyrion Lannister, of murdering the man who killed my father, but that’s not my place. More then once you tried to murder my wife, because you knew she was the only person left who could actually find the truth in the chaos you caused.”

If an ounce of credit could be given, it was that Littlefinger held himself together very well, but his eyes told stories beyond even his comprehension when he asked what reason would he have to cause that much chaos just to murder one woman. But Bran was the one with the answer, and one that put him into a silence as he realized there was no hiding from the truth coming out, because Bran said the one thing Petyr Baelish alone knew that not a soul in this room could have possibly known he said.

“To most of us, chaos is just a gaping pit waiting to swallow us all. Many try to climb it and fail, and never get to try again. The fall breaks them, some are given a chance to climb but they refuse. They cling to an illusion, but the climb is all there. Beacuse to a man like you, chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder.”

Petyr Baelish could lie about you, he could lie to Sansa, to Catelyn, back stab many of the Starks and Baratheons because he knew he could get away with it, but he couldn’t look Bran Stark in the eye and even pretend as if he could climb his way out of this pit. The pit he caused.

And the issue was, chaos was not a ladder to all. Chaos was not found in the lives of some men. Ones with the trust in justice and duty and honour and love above all else. Jon stood there as King in the North and took away his last chance to ever try to climb his way out of that put of chaos. Projecting loud and a husk under an anger of dark eyes turned black and a tensity you felt too within your own bones, Jon knew he had him without any doubt, just as he trusted in you for.

“Unless any up here with me have any protest, I, Jon Snow, find Lord Petyr Baelish guilty of three charges.” Your name without even hesitating for once to feel the bravery to name you a Snow coming from him with that same rasping seriousness hardly masking an anger. “For conspiring to murder her, my wife and Queen. For betraying my father Eddard Stark and giving him over to the enemy you know was to kill him. And for the attempted murder of my little brother, Bran Stark.”

When none, not Arya, nor Bran, nor Benjen, nor even Sansa spoke a single word or even though about saying something in his defence, Jon gave a slow nod to the guards by him, not hesitating to pull Littlefingers arms back into chains, as he stared in a disbelief at how swiftly it had gone wrong without ever seeing it coming. There was not even an attempt to silence the sheer volume of the now standing crowd, the North loyal to their King and the Starks, shouting and yelling in defence of the family he had used and harmed over and over.

Petyr Baelish could only stare at Jon’s burning glare of black eyes. The man who, unlike his father who Littlefinger betrayed, had been the one to put the knife to his throat all without spilling a drop of blood.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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kemetic-dreams · 1 year

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Minnie Julia Riperton Rudolph (November 8, 1947 – July 12, 1979) was an American singer-songwriter best known for her 1975 single "Lovin' You" and her four octave D3 to F♯7 coloratura soprano range. She is also widely known for her use of the whistle register and has been referred to by the media as the "Queen of the Whistle Register."

Minnie Riperton grew up in Chicago's Bronzeville neighborhood on the South Side. As a child, she studied music, drama and dance at Chicago's Lincoln Center. The youngest of eight children in a musical family, she embraced the arts early. Although she began with ballet and modern dance, her parents recognized her vocal and musical abilities and encouraged her to pursue music and voice. At Chicago's Abraham Lincoln Center, she received operatic vocal training from Marion Jeffery. She practiced breathing and phrasing, with particular emphasis on diction. Jeffery also trained Riperton to use her full range. While studying under Jeffery, she sang operettas and show tunes, in preparation for a career in opera. Jeffery was so convinced of her pupil's abilities that she strongly pushed her to further study the classics at Chicago's Junior Lyric Opera.

The young Riperton was, however, becoming interested in soul, rhythm and blues, and rock. In her teen years, she sang lead vocals for the Chicago-based girl group the Gems. Eventually the group became a session group known as Studio Three and it was during this period that they provided the backing vocals on the classic 1965 Fontella Bass hit "Rescue Me".

After graduating from Hyde Park High School (now Hyde Park Academy High School), she enrolled at Loop College and became a member of Zeta Phi Beta sorority. She dropped out of college to pursue her music career.

Her early affiliation with the legendary Chicago-based Chess Records afforded her the opportunity to sing backup for various established artists such as Etta James, Fontella Bass, Ramsey Lewis, Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and Muddy Waters. While at Chess, Riperton also sang lead for the experimental rock/soul group Rotary Connection, from 1967 to 1971.

On April 5, 1975, Riperton reached the apex of her career with her No. 1 single "Lovin' You". The single was the last release from her 1974 gold album titled Perfect Angel. Riperton's third album, Adventures in Paradise was released in 1975. Despite the R&B hit "Inside My Love", some radio stations refused to play "Inside My Love" due to the lyrics.

Her fourth album for Epic Records, titled Stay in Love (1977), featured another collaboration with Stevie Wonder in the funky disco tune "Stick Together".

In 1978, Richard Rudolph and Riperton's attorney Mike Rosenfeld orchestrated a move to Capitol Records for Riperton and her CBS Records catalog. In April 1979, Riperton released her fifth and final album, Minnie. "Memory Lane" was a hit from the album.

Riperton provided backing vocals on Stevie Wonder's songs "Creepin'" from 1974's Fulfillingness' First Finale and "Ordinary Pain" from 1976's Songs in the Key of Life. In 1977, she lent her vocal abilities to a track named "Yesterday and Karma", on Osamu Kitajima's album, Osamu.

In January 1976, Riperton was diagnosed with breast cancer and, in April, she underwent a radical mastectomy. By the time of diagnosis, the cancer had metastasized and she was given about six months to live. Despite the grim prognosis, she continued recording and touring. She was one of the first celebrities to go public with her breast cancer diagnosis but did not disclose she was terminally ill.

In 1977, she became a spokesperson for the American Cancer Society. In 1978, she received the American Cancer Society's Courage Award, which was presented to her at the White House by President Jimmy Carter.

Riperton died of cancer on July 12, 1979 at the age 31.

During the 1990s, Riperton's music was sampled by many rap and hip-hop artists, including Tupac Shakur, Dr. Dre, A Tribe Called Quest, Blumentopf, The Orb

#african #afrakan #kemetic dreams #africans #afrakans #brown skin #brownskin #african culture #afrakan spirituality #riperton #tupac shakur #dr dre #a tribe called quest #the orb #minnie julia riperton #Minnie Julia Riperton Rudolph

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lookismstuff · 1 year

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Lookism Webtoon/Manhwa is Still About Lookism, After All

Added some new analysis. SPOILERS ALERT.

I read many complaints that Lookism webtoon/manhwa isn't about lookism anymore (some even call it "fightism" or "gangism"). I respectfully beg to disagree, since I think the manhwa/webtoon is still a story about lookism, despite the genre shift. I recently binge-read the webtoon/manhwa for about three weeks, so maybe that's why I can spot the threads of the lookism theme across the story.

If you want to read about the current arcs, please read point B right away.

A. Lookism in its basic definition (early arcs)

Spotlight Characters

1.Daniel

Lookism is "societal discrimination based on looks or perceived notion of beauty". As we all know, this concept can easily be applied to the case of Daniel (Hyungseok). With his second body, Daniel could access the things he previously couldn't even dream of: becoming a model, a singer, even a trainee, finding friends, crushes, etc.

2. Crystal, Duke, Aru,Jasmine, Yui and Zoe

Crystal (Soojung)'s smaller body and Duke (Deokhwa) experienced discrimination based on their looks. Others used their looks or appearance to manipulate others, like Aru (the singer of PTJ Company), or Jasmine (Youngmi), the girl who framed Vasco for theft. Yui and Zoe (Haneul) had to "sell" more than looks as streamers (they had to dress and act provocatively even though they're minors).

3. Vasco and Burn Knuckles

People like Vasco and the rest of the Burn Knuckles suffer from being stigmatized as coarse criminals simply because of their looks, tattoos and built, when actually they're really kind people.

4. The Stalker

The stalker ended up getting the attention she craved after putting on some makeup, making her look pretty even though she's a hideous criminal inside and outside.

So the school/trainee/daily life chapters of Lookism are very straightforward about what lookism is and about its impacts. Maybe that's why some readers think that the lookism theme stops there. But actually the theme stays even after the genre shifts to scifi/thriller/action.

B. Lookism and Its Further Consequences (later arcs)

Ever since the genre shifted, the manhwa/webtoon expanded its notion of lookism into further observation on its consequences.

Let's see.

1.Juvenile Prison and Jiho's Last Moment Arcs

Jiho

In his desperation, Jiho sought for societal acceptance through a series of crimes. He kept making the wrong choices just because he felt victimized and alienated (from lookism reasons). He ended up in a vicious mentality as a tragic, suicidal murderer.

2. Hostel Arc

Spotlight Characters

Eli

Eli (Jang Hyun)'s studies hairdressing, benefits from his gentle looks and mannerisms. So people previously always excluded him from the list of J (Jaewon) High gangsters (unlike Vasco, Zack (Jinsung), Logan (Taesung), Burn Knuckles members) before the God Dog crew came to find him. Had he dressed, talked, and looked like a gang member, many people would've distanced themselves from him from the get go.

Olly

On the other hand, Olly (Ochun / Ohchun), who at times acted and looked unhinged, started out as a sheltered kid who was starving for attention and kindness. People were scared of him but he didn't start out that way, and he made himself scary, ironically, to gain some footing in the world that Eli lived in and later abandoned.

In Eli and Olly's case, the former benefited from lookism while the latter was disadvantaged by it, that until their respective backgrounds were revealed people never knew that they were biased towards these two.

Sally and Warren

Sally (Serim) is perceived as a rich princess just because of her looks and her rumored wealth, but is actually a very lonely child who lives alone in a shabby place. Warren (Wonseok) is rumored and regarded as a scary school thug but is actually a brave and protective orphan. The two characters suffer from prejudices that are rooted in lookism.

3. Fourth, Third and Second Affiliate Arcs

Spotlight Characters

Vivi and Mitsuki

In the Third and Second Affiliate of Workers (Ilhae) arcs, people like Vivi and Mitsuki benefit from their wealth and beauty that they (almost) got away with horrible crimes that range from illicit drug use, manufacture, and trade, multiple counts of sexual assaults, human trafficking, and abduction. In a lookism-based society, the rich and privileged could benefit more when they are also beautiful.

Jake (and Daniel)

During the Third Affiliate Arc, Jake (Gimyung) was allowed to enter Vivi's nightclub and work there mainly because he doesn't look like a minor. While Daniel wasn't allowed, until he shows the Workers pin that Gun (Jonggun) gave him. They're both minors but only Daniel was suspected, because of how different they look, showing a bias caused by lookism.

Ms. Raccoon and Arin

In the Fourth Affiliate arc, an innocent-looking streamer nicknamed as Ms Raccoon lured Hostel's Amy and Natalie (Yejin and Eunbi) and later bound them under a slave contract in a secluded location. The two young girls would not be easily deceived had the streamer seemed hostile.

Daniel also met Arin, a beautiful but poor newbie streamer, who was later drugged and almost sexually assaulted by Vivi's cohorts. He regretted introducing Kwitch streaming to her. Her case is an example that lookism can turn beauty into harm when the beautiful is socially disadvantaged.

Johan and Vin

Johan (Yohan) and Vin (Hobin) live with a disability (visual impairment). In Johan's case he always covers his impaired eye with his hair, while Vin hides his polycoria behind super dark sunglasses. But Johan's disability was discovered by Zack in the Fourth Affiliate arc, and Vin was forced to show his during the Second Affiliate arc. In both ocassions, both characters were furious that their disability was revealed.

Before the Lookism arc, Vin even told Mary (Miru) that his dream of becoming a rapper had ended since people had seen his disability implying that what society wants is a perfect celebrity.

Although both Johan and Vin don't fully lose their self-confidence from their disabilities (and Vin spitefully targeted Duke because of his physique), we can't ignore the fact that both characters choose to conceal their disability and consider it as their blemish. This behavior is also a facet of lookism.

Channing and Jace

Channing (Changwon) of Ansan Public hurt and shamed his opponents by slashing them with tattoo pens. The purpose of this torture isn't simply to inflict pain but also to bring shame, since tattoos are still stigmatized in many aspects and in many places, including in Korea. So when Jace was slashed and branded with Ansan Public's name and address and in uneven colors, Vasco was livid. It was more than just his own trauma resurfacing, you know. Jace already got his own tattoos, but being branded and stripped like that was humiliating.

4. The Hunt for Big Deal, United Major Crews, Holiday 1, Holiday 2 Arcs

Spotlight Characters

D.G., Gun and Goo

D.G. (Diego/Dagyeom/James Lee/Lee Jihoon). Behind that beautiful façade is a guy who got away with murder and erased everything about his past.

Compare his case with Gun's and Goo (Joongoo)'s, who exude dangerous gangster-ish vibes (especially Gun).

Even though all three had killed people before, D.G. is viewed as angelic, while Gun and Goo are portrayed as demonic. Their case is a clear example of lookism-based discrimination.

CEO Charles Choi and CEO Steve Hong

Charles Choi (Dongsoo), who beautified D.G. (through plastic surgery? a second body?), knew all too well of the power of beauty. It's his true and tested method: he used his own daughter Crystal (Soojung)'s disarming beauty in the same way.

Charles himself benefits from lookism. Out of all the fighters from Gen 0, Charles is the only one whose face and mannerisms look like a legit businessman. So he passes as one, even though he was Elite, a killer like the rest of those fighters.

On the other hand, Steve Hong (Hong Kyungyeong), Charles's business rival, is brash and often poorly dressed, so the public probably would probably lend more support towards Charles if their enmity was exposed.

Though both men are terrible fathers, Steve clearly abandons Jay and would probably be more criticized by the public than Charles, who fakes his affection for Crystal and face it he's a good looking old man. Charles is better at lookism-based P.R.

Luah

Small, slender, and pretty, Luah (Rua) is underestimated and often feels unsafe when she's out alone in public. In fact, she's a thorough investigator under the Big Deal crew, enough for Jake and the others to acknowledge her capabilities.

Daniel (Again)

After being underestimated for years by his relatives especially his cousins Dylan (Hyungjoon) and David (Hyunggoo) and their families, Daniel only gains full acceptance and recognition after he slimmed down, became more confident, and grew taller. This situation shows how lookism is a social wrong because it can break families apart.

5. Lookism Arc

Spotlight Characters

Hangyeol (The Grimm Plastic Surgery Clinic)

Hangyeol of Workers runs a legit plastic surgery clinic. Without the high demand for plastic surgery, it would've been difficult for him to hide the dubious malpractice, asylum and shelter operations. And why is there such a rush for plastic surgeries? The answer is lookism.

Hangyeol himself takes advantage of his looks and demeanor. Because of these, his patients takes it for granted that he's a pro through and through when in fact he's insane (and is a minor).

Mary

Mary has to hide her background as a judoka because of her past body size and another undisclosed trauma. She and Vin had to leave their hometown Cheonliang (Chunryang) and settled in Seoul, and could only recently embraced their Cheonliang identity again after Vin's escape from Mitsuki's illegal fight club.

Their shared trauma of body shaming and disability makes it hard for them to believe in other people, an example of how lookism works in alienation.

6. Jake Kim, James Lee & First Generation King Arcs

Spotlight Characters:

Sinu, Taesoo, and Seokdu

Taesoo, who is Hudson (Hyunseong)'s teacher from Ansan, is traumatized by his disability. His bitterness and shame drove him to lose his belief in himself, and to retreat from society.

Meanwhile Sinu (Shinwoo) and Seokdu are never discriminated only because they put up a "tough front" that seem to have "surpassed" their respective disability (in what is probably an example of how their society treats them as an 'inspiration porn', a term coined by Australian disability activist Stella Young).

7. First Affiliate Arc (Current Arc)

Spotlight Characters

Logan (and Daniel)

Logan is back at his worst in the First Affiliate arc when he taunted Daniel with the past crude name "Pikachu". Daniel too had to resort to call Logan "Pig" even though he knows that it's a name given by bullies including Logan himself.

This situation is an example of how lookism in society makes it difficult for people to escape from labels, no matter how far they've come.

Side Notes

Not exactly lookism here but ageism: the dismissive attitude by younger characters towards the aging members of Gen 0. Well of course physically they're different from when they were young but they're still formidable people! But they themselves despise the younger generation, so the hatred is mutual.

Maybe Samuel (Seongeun)'s bitter rivalry with Jake about Big Deal etc. counts as lookism. Jake benefits from his Gapryong looks, and is the more acknowledged one in the criminal underworld, for better or worse. I'm not saying that Jake only has his looks, of course he's talented and tough, but Samuel had nothing (the running joke between the creators and the fandom is how he's cool because his father was an AC repairman). I wonder if that was why Samuel tried hard to make his physique more formidable before meeting Jake again (but Samuel is literally a bag of insecurities and maybe not just about his looks or heritage alone so who knows).

In the Future...

I think the lookism consequences would keep appearing in the manhwa/webtoon. I mean there's the problem of Daniel's, Crystal's and who knows who else's alternate bodies. Daniel's alternate body was probably created as a perfect human weapon, while Crystal's was to observe people (and Daniel?). I have this feeling in my gut that the alternate bodies were products of someone's (Charles's? Someone else's?) morbid dissatisfaction about human imperfections.

There goes my rant about the threads of the lookism theme across the Lookism manhwa/webtoon. I'm sorry that this turns out to be very long.

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a-very-tired-jew · 2 months

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That moment when you find out the anti-Zionist Jewish friend you have has been getting all their news, positions, and rhetoric from BreakThrough News. It explains so much of their sentiments towards the West in general, not just Israel. If you're unaware, The DailyBeast did a thorough report and investigation on BTN and how it's just a propaganda piece for the B, R, C, and S of BRICS. Many of its content creators are former Sputnik and RT personnel. They've downplayed the war in the Ukraine and repeatedly put out pro-Russia propaganda. They currently still put out pro-Russia/anti-Ukraine pieces, but also put out pro-Hamas/anti-Israel material as well.

They are part of an ever growing network of anti-Western media that defend the regressive policies of Russia and China while garnering support from Leftists who may find those policies bad, but are so driven by anti-Western rhetoric and belief that they're willing to make allies of of people, organizations, and governments that would likely see them stripped of their rights, imprisoned, and/or dead.

Please give their article a read.

I personally found this particular bit interesting:

BreakThrough’s filings, meanwhile, show it operates out of the People’s Forum in Manhattan, another organization that has acknowledged receiving dark money donations from Singham—whom the group praised on Twitter as “a Marxist comrade who sold his company & donated most of his wealth to nonprofits that focus on political education, culture & internationalism.” To date, Singham-linked groups have donated almost $20 million to the People’s Forum.

Sitting on the People’s Forum’s board is Claudia De La Cruz, who pulls triple duty as BreakThrough’s secretary and as a “co-coordinator/educator” for the Justice and Education Fund. An auditor’s report filed in New York shows that more of Singham’s money trickled down to BreakThrough from the Forum in the form of $80,575 in donated rent in 2021, the most recent year for which filings are available.

But when The Daily Beast visited the People’s Forum address, it found a bookstore hawking tomes by Prashad and titles from his Leftword imprint, as well as a coffee shop and an event space—but no evidence of a studio. What’s more, none of BreakThrough’s hosts appear among the staff listed in the outlet’s filings. Rather, the underlying nonprofit’s leadership consists of figures like De La Cruz who donate an hour a week to the organization, and who like De La Cruz are affiliated with the Party for Socialism and Liberation, a small far-left sect that does not appear to receive substantial donations from Singham or from anybody else. The PSL does, however, appear as an allied group to the International People’s Media Network on its webpage. Puryear and Becker, two of the BreakThrough anchors, are co-founders of the party.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm not surprised due to the community they are part of. But it's really telling that they'll claim Zionists are spreading propaganda, are paid propaganda shills, and all the other lines we've heard since October while they themselves are spreading stuff like this. Yes there's the cliche line that every accusation is a projection, but I think in this case, because I know the individual so well, that it's sheer willful ignorance because those unvetted sources support The Narrative.

#jumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #BreakThrough News #BreakThrough News is propaganda

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dufferpuffer · 2 months

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Order member ages

Just wanted to post this as its own thing for future reference. People often say Dumbledore recruits directly from Hogwarts, but it never seemed to line up with how old most of the members were...? So - I looked up who all the known members are! :)

First War:

Order was founded 1970 at the earliest - dissolved 1981. Earliest birthday possible: 1953, graduating 1970

S. Black, class of 78. R. Lupin, class of 78. P. Pettigrew, class of 78. J.+ L. Potter, class of 78. S. Snape, class of 78 E. Bones - Murdered w. wife + kids. Brother of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones. M. Fletcher - already well integrated in Wizarding crime world. A.+ F. Longbottom - They would have been OLDER than the Potters as they were 'Prominent Aurors' and Auror training takes years to complete. A. Moody - Legendary Auror. Retired after this war. S. Podmore - Born 1956/1957, apparently…? G.+ F. Prewitt - Molly Weasley's brothers. E. Doge - Albus' schoolmate. Ab. Dumbledore - His brother. A. Figg - old Squib. R. Hagrid - He was 51 when Harry was born Unknown age estimate: C. Dearborn - Missing. D. Diggle. B. Fenwick - 'bits of him' were discovered. D. Meadowes - Personally killed by Voldemort, might mean he is a skilled adult. M. McKinnon - Killed 'with her whole family' E. Vance - 'stately looking with a green shawl' in the the 90s.

Note with the Longbottoms: They were 'Prominent Aurors' - which means they worked for the Ministry for some time. If they were born 1953, and thus graduated 1970 - they would only be 27 when Neville was born... giving them a little time to have built their careers while still being a younger couple. But was the Order formed right at the crack of the war...?

Second War:

F. Delacour - 95/96 at Gringotts, joined the order through Bill. H. Jones - Unknown age. Never mentioned to be at Hogwarts while Harry is there. N. Tonks - Adult, well into Auror training. C + B Weasley - Adult, well into their own careers. A + M Weasley - Born 1949/1950. M. McGonagall - I mean I suppose she was recruited from Hogwarts hey haha K. Shacklebolt - An Auror; my man became Minister of Magic F + G Weasley - 'Graduated' 95/96 - opened store H. Granger; R. Weasley - First mission seems to be when 17 H. Potter - Did some things with Albus at 16...? Unclear.

If I am missing anyone please add B^)

- Harry was doomed to face Voldemort anyway. Does he really count as an Order member...? He's more the reason the order exists. - Ron and Hermione are there in support of Harry - and only do things for the Order after Albus' death, when they are 17 and don't have much choice, they are hunted. Is it really 'joining the Order' when the order barely exists anymore...? - Fred and George... did they do any Order things before Albus' death...? Were they just running their shop, with their Mum breathing down their backs to not get involved? Unclear.

Notes to do with the second Order: Molly is against the children participating. Sirius, Lupin, probably some others but I can't remember are in support of it.

Albus Dumbledore was also against the children participating - especially in 95/96, where his whole deal was trying to keep them at school, safe - even though they weren't learning jack shit. It takes Harry having a meltdown, Sirius dying - and Dumbledore being cursed - for him to go "Fuck it... Harry, you should help. I gotta teach you before I die."

Observations about both Orders:

They both have a large group that come from one source. In the First War it was the Marauders, in the second the Weasleys.

They also share an 'Auror talent' that seem more affiliated with Moody than they do Albus: Tonks and the Longbottoms.

It makes sense that when one person joins others are likely to follow. The Weasley parents -> the Weasley kids -> Fleur. James, Sirius -> Peter, Remus, Lily -> Severus.

That's not really recruitment from school.

If I personally were to use the school to groom/recruit children to fight for me in a war: I would be trying to get the best from every year. I would be heavily encouraging kids from all year levels that show promise to take certain classes and learn certain spells... Then, I would assess them when they graduate: '71, '72, '73, '74, '75, '76, '77, '78 was a big year. '79, '80... A constant trickle. A couple of new people this year, one the next - and they are all likely to bring at least a friend along, too - right...?

Yet we don't really see that happen. It's just that one bumper crop from 78, that one friend group. Were there NO talented graduates in any other year...? Was ONLY Griffindor considered...?

There isn't exactly a 'skill requirement' to join the Order. You had people there just to source information. Remus did werewolf jobs. Peter Pete'd all over the place. There were min. 2 pregnancies...

They were losing people - if they needed quantity over quality, if they only really needed base loyalty and a good heart... why NOT recruit more students? And yet there's just one blip in 78.

That doesn't particularly scream 'groomed child soldiers' to me. BUT - there are 6 people from the first Order whose ages can't be estimated. Are they the missing child soldiers from the years before/after the Marauders? Dunno.

#hp #hp meta #mainly for my own sake #sorry if im rambling #mywrite #order member ages

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imjustsocute · 6 months

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Liisa “Kettu” Korhenen [Call Of Duty: OC Remake]

PERSONAL INFOMATION

Date of birth: December 2nd 1997

Age: 27 (In 2024)

Blood Type: B+

Nationality: Finnish

Birthplace: Oulu, Finland

Languages Spoken: Finnish (native), Swedish, English, German, Korean

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

Gender: Female

Eye Color: Sky blue

Hair Color: Light Blonde

Build: Slim

Height: 5’3/160 cm

Weight: 121 lbs/ 55 kg.

Marks: Freckles at face, shoulders, arms and thighs

AFFILIATIONS

Finnish Defence Forces

Karelia Brigade

Nordic Battlegroup

EU Battlegroup

BIOGRAPHY

Born in Oulu, Finland with a silver spoon in one’s mouth. As a young mistress of Korhenen she had everything like a general mistress has, whether it be appearance, good at sports, being the top 1 of the class and beloved of many friends. Even she had a happy life in school, A family who always supported her and a wealthy but what Kettu actually need was something which she couldn’t explain. It was ‘challenge’.

At the age of 18 she joined the military, Finnish Defence Foreces. With her small physical size and not quite good at close combat with a large fighter or muscle fighter made her unsuitable candidate for tactical assault unit. Later she was joined Karelia Brigade as a marksman to backup team. Mostly Kettu likes to stealth or surprise attack from behind enemies because of avoid to confront them with different size. Also she is the fastest movements and good at hiding like a fox hunting the pray.

In 2022, She was later in EU Battlegroup. She assigned to backup the insertion specialist team which took down an Al-Qatala cell in Berlin. And that’s how Kettu and König have met for the first time she eliminated an AQ Fighter who trying attack König from behind he appreciated her at the first sight that she saved him. From that day they almost in the same team and missions. Ketttu always greeting and talking first made König feels more comfortable and relaxing from anxiety and stresses when she near him. It’s look like they both have a good time together during a mission.

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Fighting Style: Freestyle

Weapon(s): Long range weapons, assault rifles or shortgun

Distinct Weapon: m1911, KA-BAR Becker

Special Skills: Specializes in stealth kill, Marksmanship, Climbing, fast movements

Shortcomings: Cannot confront a larger fighter directly because of her physical size

PERSONALITY

Myers Briggs Type: ENFJ-A [Kettu is an omnivert, She likes to make a new friends whoever her met with, she’s a talkative one if you’re her close friends(Example: König). Sometimes she wants to sit still and sleep in warm blanket distance from outside world but mostly she enjoys talking to people. She’s unselfish person, help and cheer up her teammates who gets sad or hopeless.]

Optimism: No matter how situations are getting worse, Kettu always had a positive thinking more than you expected.

Easy-going: She’s not quite take a serious about her life much, she just wants to adventure and chill out.

Patient: When she’s in a stealth mode, Kettu has a plenty of plans in her mind to sneak attack enemies behind, she’s stalking them to analyst numbers of enemy and learn how to deal with them. Maybe she climbs to high ground and watching them

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Masking: Kettu doesn’t want the others have to worry about her so she has keep pretend to be fine even her feelings is drowning in the grief.

Naughty: She likes to prank her friends a lot for some fun and teases them normally. Didn’t listen their warnings or swears which they spilled she continues to tease her beloved friends because it’s so funny. (Especially König)

FAMILY

Parents: Otso Korhenen (Father), Elsa Korhenen (Mother)

Sibling(s): Noel Korhenen (Older brother)

Grandparents: Onni Korhenen (Grandfather), Phila Korhenen (Grandmother)

Relatives: Olivia Nieminen (Aunt, Otso’s younger sister), Leevi Nieminen (Uncle, Olivia’s husband), Tapio Nieminen (Cousin, Olivia and Leevi’s son)

FAVORITE

Food: Lohikeitto

Drink: Hot cocoa

Color: Pastel Pink

Song: MIC Drop (Steve Aoki Remix) - BTS

TRIVIA

Kettu means ‘Fox’ in Finnish.

She was a member of K-POP dance club.

Kettu is a BTS fan-girl, never missed a new single album or any of concerts

She hates cooking. Once she burned the kitchen when she made omelette.

König bought the fox keychain to Kettu as a Christmas present, She named it ‘Mr.Oranssi’ means orange and hang him on the waist bag all the time.

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she-is-juniper · 2 years

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temptation greets you like your naughty friend (joel miller x reader) // chapter one

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader chapter title: the arrangement summary: joel miller likes to be made to feel in control; reader like to be made to feel helpless. thus, an arrangement is born, no strings attached. but there’s more than meets the eye to this gruff survivor.... This story takes place in the Boston QZ roughly 10 years after the outbreak begins, and Reader and Joel are business partners in the illegal smuggling trade. word count: 5K rating: E (Explicit) ***18+ only. minors DNI or you will be blocked. content/warnings: there’s a lot…. dom!Joel, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, established relationship, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his late 40s), oral s*x (f receiving), squ*rting, some degradation/humiliation but in a lighthearted way, some begging, a splash of a “sir” kink, some angst and resolution, porn with a bit of a plot, spanking, power play (all of this is consensual). Also Tess exists but she and Joel are not together a/n: ah, yes, the fanfic to end a hiatus... ♡ I recommend reading this one before bed so you can, yknow, have nice wet dreams about it while you sleep. to my long time readers/fans: hiii i missed y'all! to my new readers/fans: enjoyyy and please reach out to introduce yourself! i’m always looking to make new friends ◡̈ ((I do not claim to own the last of us or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape. And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—it’s the only form of repayment i ask for!!! thank you in advance!))

———

A hardened man like Joel Miller has a lot to offer a woman like you. Particularly in the form of desperate, mind-numbing sex.

The kind of sex that makes you forget your own name. Makes you forget the sting of whatever injuries you’d suffered this week at the hands of thugs and hunters. Not to mention, makes you forget, even if just for an hour or two, the fact that you’re living in the aftermath of the apocalypse in a world savaged by infected monsters.

That’s the kind of sex you and Joel both crave. The kind that takes away the crushing weight of repressed memories and feelings. The kind of sex where there’s nothing left to think about but the way his cock fills you up and his lips steal the breath from your lungs. The kind of sex that, after a day’s worth of decision fatigue as Tess’s right-hand woman as a contraband smuggler in the Boston QZ, you finally don’t have to make a single decision for yourself, as your pleasure is entirely in Joel’s expert hands.

Just sex, nothing else. Plain and simple. That’s the arrangement as you know it. No cuddling in bed after, no exchanging tender kisses, no talking about your feelings or any bullshit like that. Just rough, dirty sex to get your minds off the shittiness of your lives.

No shame. Everyone who’s survived the pandemic thus far has found their own unique means of self-medication. For some, it’s drugs, or alcohol, or murder. For you and Joel, it’s fucking.

As for when the encounters would take place, it depends on the day or week. Today, after a particularly shitty week for the both of you, all it takes is a mutual look shared from across the room in the rations distribution center.

You’re near the front of the rations line when you spot him coming in toward the back. Joel surveys the crowded hall, the line of his brows furrowed into his signature harsh scowl. You meet the man’s gaze with glassy eyes of your own. In that moment you swear you notice his frown soften as he looks at you, although a tendon tightens on his temple. It’s a look that confirms he’s had just as god awful a week as you had, although there’s something more there today that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You look away and sigh, wincing a little at the pain from a bruised rib that’s only just started to heal. Your injury’s pretty mild, though, and nothing compared to the state you’d left the other guy in. Oh, well. At least you got a few extra ration cards out of it, which you now hand to the FEDRA officer in exchange for a box of supplies and provisions. Mostly non-perishable food, but there’s also some medicines, toiletries, socks, soap—thank fuck, more soap.

On your way out of the hall, you meet Joel’s gaze once more. Not a word is exchanged, but with an almost imperceptible nod of his chin, you know you’ll be hearing his knock at your door at 2300 sharp. God knows you need his specific methods of distraction right now.

– – –

Three raps of his knuckles against your apartment door at 2300 exactly, and Joel’s all over you.

It happens so fast. As soon as you open the door, Joel seizes you by the arms and spins your body with his, slamming your body to the door with his own momentum to close it shut. Your sore rib burns from the impact and you hiss, “Ouch, asshole.”

“Toughen up, princess,” he growls. There’s nothing endearing about the pet name, it’s not like that. In fact, he says it almost demeaningly, which is on par for your relationship with the smuggler. But there’s a primal sort of desperation in the tone of his voice, and your arousal at that prospect spreads over your whole body and finds a home right in between your legs.

Joel’s hands wrench your arms above your head and pin them there as his mouth attacks yours, effectively muffling the surprised squeal that emits from your throat. His mouth is hot, his grown-out stubble scratching the delicate skin of your face in a delicious contrast, his breath faintly spiced from whiskey. You melt into him, arching your body into his, and a surly grunt resonates from his throat. He gathers your wrists in one hand pinned to the door and brings his free hand down to the nape of your neck, not so gently pulling at the base of your hair. He pulls away from the kiss and regards your exposed neck, where you swear he can see your pulse thumping in your throat. You wish he would kiss you there, but he holds back.

“Still on the mend?” he asks, bringing his hand down to your ribcage and barely brushing against the bruise.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Tell me if you want me to be gentler,” he says.

You almost scoff. The name “Joel Miller” and the word “gentle” don’t go together. Nothing about that man is gentle. And nothing about what you and he do together behind closed doors has ever been or will ever be gentle. Part of you wonders if Joel would rather go on home than fuck you gently.

Besides, you don’t want it to be gentle. Not one bit.

You slip one of your arms out from where he’s pinning them against the door. You grab his hand and slide it from your rib under your shirt to your breast, squeezing yourself with his palm. “I’m tougher than you think, Miller,” you purr.

It’s your way of giving him permission to do with you what he wants.

“Are you, now?” he drawls. He takes your initiative and runs with it, pinching your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, just a little at first, and then much harder. You gasp, heat flooding your lower stomach. “You think you can handle me tonight, huh, darlin’?”

You reach for his crotch, feeling the erection you know he’s probably had all night, and smile at the strained breath he releases. “Should be asking you the same question, don’t you think?” you say.

It’s a thoroughly bratty response, not to mention completely loaded, and you and Joel both seem to know it. Joel calls the shots in these encounters, not you. Which is exactly how you both like it.

Joel hitches your leg up and situates his hips in between your legs. You can feel his dick pressed against your inner thigh now. He tangles his hands in your hair and kisses you fiercely again. The only time Joel ever kisses you is before he fucks you. Never after. You’re sure that somewhere, buried deep down inside you, you secretly wish Joel would kiss you after sex, too. But that simply isn’t what this arrangement is about.

You hang onto the moment as long as possible, lacing your fingers behind his neck and pulling him even closer. His once neatly slicked back hair now mussed from your fingers, and his skin smells like firewood and soap.

Outside, the female military voice recording announcing the strict enforcement of curfew echoes through the QZ, but you and Joel barely notice. You’re lost in him, the feel of his body, the touch of his rough hands, and allow yourself to fall into the mindless, primal motions of sex.

You and Joel have done this many times over the past few months. Sometimes, when all was quiet and going relatively well in the QZ, you didn’t feel the need to visit him quite as often. But your need to see each other only increasing in frequency when things seemed to get worse… and things surely have gotten a lot fucking worse lately. FEDRA cracking down on everyday civilian freedoms. Rising animosity between the factions of smugglers within the QZ, causing many of Tess’s deals for ammo and pills going south more often than not. Firefly attacks within the city walls with no regard for innocent lives. Oh, and not to mention the ever-present problem of the growing number of infected just outside the city…

All of which to say, you and Joel have been seeing a lot of each other as of late.

Clothes fall to the floor. Joel’s new shirt that must have come with his set of provisions today, your favorite holey sweater you can’t bear to toss, his pants, your pants, shoes and socks. The next thing you know, you’re flat on your bed beneath him.

In your past life, would you have been with someone like Joel if you knew of all the bad things he’s done? Would it have overpowered the intense attraction you felt toward him, causing you to be repulsed by him? Probably then.

But not now. You don’t care what he’s done in the name of survival. You both have committed your fair share of inhumanities. But this is just how your lives turned out. Neither you nor Joel had chosen the life of smugglers, but the perseverance to survive takes over one way or another.

But none of that matters right now. All that matters is the need to eliminate any space and barrier between your hot, needy body and his.

He’s a menacing sight with his intimidatingly large muscles, the result of nearly five decades worth of manual labor, and the numerous scars peppered over his skin from countless tussles. He looms above you like a thundercloud, like a predatory cat prowling for its meal. You think to yourself how lucky you are to be on his side as an ally in your nefarious affairs—and not just an ally, but a business partner of all things. Because someone like Joel Miller would be a scary as fuck to have as an enemy.

Joel hooks his thumbs under the hems of your underwear and wastes no time to yank them down and off your legs. He pries your legs apart as far as you’ll let him, nearly drooling at the sight of you completely naked for him. You almost feel self-conscious, but you know if you try to shy away or close your legs now, it would do absolutely no good. Joel’s a very single-minded man. When he puts his mind to something, there’s absolutely no stopping him.

It always takes you aback when Joel doesn’t immediately penetrate you, especially with that glint in his eyes like the one he has now. But he never rushes that part, not even when you really wish he would. Instead, as per usual, he dips down and buries his face in your pussy.

“Joel,” you whine out his name, your body lurching—away from him? Closer toward him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that his mouth on your pussy like this feels so intense that it would be impossible not to squirm. You wonder if he does this for himself or for you. “You really don’t have to,” you manage to get out.

The look of sheer wrath he gives you…it’s as if you’d just told him you’d given away all the contraband he’d smuggled to FEDRA. “You think I only do this for you?” he rasps.

“I don’t know," you squeak out with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I know you do it every time, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel obligated—”

“Obligated?” Joel barks a laugh. “Don’t be so naive. You think I would eat your pussy if I didn’t want to?”

Wetness pooled at your core. “Fuck, Joel.”

“I wanna make you squirm first,” he growls. “Wanna make you so needy and wet for me that you don’t think about anything else.” His breath fanned out over your pussy, and you shivered, your thighs squeezing together. He pries them apart again. “You say some bullshit like that again, I’ll tie your ankles to the goddamn bedposts so you can’t even think about closing your legs. You hear me?”

Your eyes widen and your stomach flutters. Does he not know how much the idea of that turns you on? “Yes,” you croak.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl.”

He doesn’t need to tie your ankles to the bedposts when he’s got the leverage of his body weight to press your legs apart. His mouth is on you again in an instant and you gasp embarrassingly loudly, falling flat against the mattress.

He eats you out with the fervor and desperation of a parched man finding water, pressing his entire face into you as though he couldn’t possibly get close enough. Joel’s lips trap your clit in a tight suction, his tongue swirling in practiced circles in a way that makes your hairline break out in a sweat. You moan too loudly again, reaching for the nearest pillow to stifle the sound for the sake of your poor neighbors.

Just when he’s gotten into a groove, Joel releases the suction of his mouth with a pop and buries his whole face even lower, his tongue drawing a lavish line up your entrance before moving inside you, his nose pressed against your clit. He’s absolutely ravenous, and you have no semblance of control left in your body. Your legs jolt, and he presses them even further apart in response. The sparks at the pit of your stomach bloom and bloom.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” he moans into you. You moan in response, tangling your hands in his silvering hair. Baby, that one is new. Baby’s almost too sweet coming from a man like Joel’s lips. A little red flag goes up in your mind but you quickly forget all about it as he continues to lap at you.

Joel breaks away only to wet his finger with his saliva and you watch in awe as he pushes it into you. You see stars as he curls his adept middle finger up toward your belly button. You dig your nails into his arms and keen his name again.

The waves of pleasure grow and grow, like a tsunami on the horizon approaching fast and sure, and your breathing grows erratic. Joel is relentless, tireless, his lips finding your clit again, and it’s as if he knows he’s found the sweet spot, knows the exact speed and intensity to stay at to push you over the edge. His eyes close as if in total bliss, seemingly motionless, and only you as the recipient of this unholy worship could ever know just how expertly fast his tongue is moving against your clit. The combination of that with his digit curling up into you over and over breaks you of any resolve you might have had left.

You should warn him you're going to come. You have before. But you know how well he knows you now. He knows you're right on the edge. So he presses his palm to the soft part of your stomach, just below your belly button, and that does it. He knows me so goddamn well.

You come completely undone, the waves of your orgasm furiously overtaking your whole body. You arch your back and clench your walls around Joel’s finger, unable to keep from writhing in pleasure, unable to hold back the choked moans from your throat.

“That’s right, ride it out, darlin’,” Joel praises you. “Love feeling you squeeze my finger so tight. Good girl.” He sits up and watches your body come down from the high, gently coaxing about what’s left of your convulsions with his finger. But even once they subside, he doesn’t pull it out, instead continuing to curling it into you again over and over. You weren’t expecting a break—Joel never needs one, never gives one unless you ask—but you wonder how on earth you’re going to survive this. With a desperate, pleading sound, you peer up at him in disbelief.

“It’s too much,” you whimper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head furiously. Joel almost smiles at that, almost as though he knew your response already. He repositions himself so he’s propped up on his elbow beside your body, his other hand still at your slippery entrance. His finger slides in and out with each movement, the pad of his finger gliding against precisely the right place inside you. It’s a sensation only another person could satisfy in you, and you find yourself silently thanking your lucky stars that Joel knows how to do it so well. He knows your body so well after just a few months, knows exactly what you need is a break from the clitoral stimulation, yet added stimulation elsewhere.

Pressure builds in your pelvis, a different kind of pressure than before. Your jaw falls open when his tempo picks up. Joel presses his forehead to yours, sharing your breaths, before he moves to your ear and starts whispering.

“Takin’ my finger so well,” he breathes, and goosebumps erupt across your whole body. “Wanna see if you can handle another one?”

You nod breathlessly and he slides his ring finger in with the middle finger. A jolt of energy overtakes your body. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck. The last time he fingered you like this, you had completely soaked the mattress. You had luckily remembered to lay a couple of towels down under the sheets this time, just in case, but still. You’d been humiliated. You hadn’t said anything about it last time, but you knew what had happened, and you knew that he knew.

And now he’s going to make you squirt again. Which means that he likes it.

Joel sets into a relentless pace and the dreaded pressure grows and grows. “That’s my good little slut,” he growls. “Want you to let go for me, make my fingers wet.”

You can’t help it. The pressure in your core explodes. A slick wetness seeps all over Joel’s fingers and into the sheets around your hips. Joel moans into your neck. You feel yourself turning so hot you break a sweat.

“Oh god,” you moan, suddenly lightheaded, and you cover your face. You feel him wrench your hands away and he stares at you in astonishment.

“Are you…embarrassed?” he gapes.

“Yes,” you respond, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His face shifts slightly from disbelief into an almost sinister expression. “Look at you. All humiliated at the mess I made you make for me.”

The fact that he takes pleasure in your humiliation turns you on more than you’re willing to admit. “Fuck you, Joel,” you bark back, but there’s no energy left in your voice for malice.

Joel grips your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t call the shots here. If I want you to make a fuckin’ mess for me, then you will.”

If he hadn’t been manhandling you before, he’s manhandling you now, pulling your limp body into the exact position he wants: on your stomach, your thighs pressed together, your ass pointed up at him perfectly.

You realize then that he’s been touching himself for quite some time through his boxers, only now he’s sliding them off his body, revealing his dick, weeping and swollen and angry red. If you had any ounce of energy left in your body, you’d flip yourself over so you were on top and wrap your mouth around it. But he’s faster than you can replenish your energy, and in one feverish motion, he’s mounting you from behind, his dick pressed against the base of your ass.

“Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you raw into these sheets.”

You know Joel, know what he’s doing. He’s playing up the moment, building the anticipation, but he’s also gauging your consent. He’s asking your permission.

“Please,” you mewl. “Please fuck me, sir. I want you so bad.”

“Good,” he responds. “Good girl.” And then he’s plowing his dick into you.

Holy fuck. The momentum of his first thrust pushes you several inches up the bed and you cry out, inviting the mix of pain and pleasure with eagerness. He’s so much fucking bigger than his fingers, even though his fingers are nothing short of girthy themselves.

He pulls out unbearably slow, almost all the way out, until just the ridge of his head remains inside you, before he grips your hips with a fervor and thrusts back into you with a grunt. And again, and again. A rush of emotions floods through you at the feeling…among them, a sense of security, a total trust in him, the reassurance at the knowledge that Joel would stop if you told him you wanted to.

God, you don’t want him to stop.

“Mine,” he growls, gathering your arms behind your back, and your muscles burn. “You hear me? Your pussy’s fucking mine, sweetheart.”

You have no coherent response, only his name.

Joel uses your bended arms locked behind you as leverage, gripping them with desperation as he rams into you over and over again, taking what’s his. His dick feels unreal inside you, slipping in and out like it’s made for you. The position of your arms plays tricks on your mind, makes you feel trapped in the best way possible, like there’s no escape from this. Which, of course, there is an escape—the simple phrase stop, something you and Joel had agreed upon weeks prior—and yet, the false sense of helplessness is exactly what you’re going for.

And what is it for Joel that gets him going about this, you wonder briefly? Is it the false sense of control, something he’s felt devoid of in real life for years now? Is it the fact that for just one night, everything that happens will have been something that Joel had direct influence over? Did he need that catharsis of complete control as much as you needed the catharsis of being out of control? You wonder if maybe you and Joel were made to find each other in these awful, bleak times, if maybe though you fight day in and day out about business, if you were made for each other in this way.

A strange sensation along the spine of your back. It’s Joel’s lips, soft and wet along with the scratch of his beard. Juxtaposed with the unforgiving force of his hips crashing into your ass, you melt into him. He's never done that while he fucks you before. Joel releases your arms and kisses your back again, seeming to soak in the feel of your skin on his lips. He moves up to your neck, still mounted on top of you, still sliding in and out of you with a vigor, but his mouth comes to rest by your ear.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

Oh, god. That was tender. You didn’t hate it, but talk about uncharacteristic for Joel Miller. Red flag goes up again. You squash it down, not wanting to kill the moment. You reach behind and comb your fingers through his hair. “Joel, oh my god, Joel.”

Maybe it’s as if he realized he’d breached some unspoken protocol with that lapse in his tough-guy persona, but Joel seems to snap to reality. With a new intensity, he pulls out of you to draw your hips up, propping you up on your knees and elbows. A much less tender, much more primal position. He kneels behind you and brings your hips back to meet his dick again, bottoming out in one motion.

You cry out and arch your back. This new angle is intense. Tender Joel Miller is gone, at least for now. He seals that notion with a hard slap of his palm on your ass.

He fucks you hard and fast and it’s precisely what you want. Waves of desire start to ebb and flow in your pelvis once again. You wince in surprise as you feel Joel bring his head down to bite your shoulder lightly. Nope, nothing tender about this.

“Oh my god, Joel, I’m— you’re gonna make me—”

“Make you what?” Joel demands. “Make you come again, pretty girl?”

You can’t make another sound; you feel so fucked out you could only nod as he brought you closer and closer. But Joel wanted more.

“You heard me, tell me how good I make you feel,” he growled and bit down on your shoulder harder this time. “Tell me you’re gonna come all over my dick.”

Telling Joel anything would be a little hard to do considering he’s fucking you so hard you could hardly breathe let alone speak, but Joel was now hell bent on hearing you. He slaps your ass again, even harder, and your knees nearly buckle. But you manage to locate your voice.

“You feel so good,” you sob out, falling forward onto your elbows while Joel keeps a tight grip on your hips. “I'm gonna come again.”

“You want that?” Joel says in almost a sneer from behind you. “You wanna come for me again, my dirty little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, your voice hitching each time he rams into you, “please, please.”

“Love it when you beg like that for me. So desperate, it’s pitiful. Fuck,” he groans, seeming to somehow swell inside of you even more. Droplets of wetness roll down your thighs, your pleasure mixed with his precum. “You better not come until I say so.”

His request may or may not be plausible, given how fast approaching your orgasm was coming over you. You had no choice but to take him how he wanted you to and try to hold off your orgasm as long as you could. Joel keeps a firm grip on your sides as he snaps his hips, and the explicit slapping sounds of skin on skin fill your bedroom.

“Oh-oh-my-g-god,” you gasp out, moaning with each perfectly angled thrust, nearly in tears from how deep he is. You’re teetering right on the edge, dangerously close to the edge, but you realize then, so is he, if his heavy breathing and moaning is any indication.

“Come on, Joel, baby, cum deep in my pussy, make me yours…” The pet name had just slipped out of your mouth again. Reservations be fucked. If you wanted to be tender and intimate right now, so fucking be it.

Sure enough, Joel gasps and grunts with more bravado than you’d ever heard from him before, as if hearing you call him baby had made him come on command. You feel a flood of warmth gush inside you, filling you up as he stills and drops his head to your shoulder. The final bucking of his hips and the visceral, shuddering whimper that comes from his throat set you off as well. You can’t hold back the cry that comes from somewhere deep in your body. “I’m coming, Joel, I can’t help it—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me now. I got you. It’s okay.”

You come hard and keep coming for longer than you thought was possible. Explosions of pleasure wrack your body and were it not for Joel holding you up, you’d have collapsed into the mattress. You’re clenching so hard around Joel’s dick that you wonder if it might hurt him, but he doesn’t protest, just moans right along with you.

You’re still trembling from the aftershocks as Joel pulls you up so your back is pressed against his chest and you both take a moment to catch your breath. Joel cups your breasts and kneads them in his hands as he comes down from his high, and in your daze you were dimly aware that he’s peppering several soft kisses along your shoulder blades, humming against your skin.

Again with the intimacy. What is going on?

“Joel?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you...dying or something?”

“What?”

“Or, like, secretly infected or some shit you don’t wanna tell me?”

He huffs, peeling himself off of you. You ignore the feeling of his cum dribbling out of you and turn to look at him. He’s scowling now, to no one’s surprise.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he barks. Aggravated, yet again. Oh, well, it's not like you were going to get any aftercare from him anyway—not part of the arrangement.

But nor was all that other shit he'd done.

“You’re acting…weird,” you accuse, your heart still pounding from before.

“I’m not acting weird,” he snaps back, defensive.

“You’re not acting like yourself, is all I mean,” you respond, crossing your arms and legs.

He watches you, that same tendon in his temple tensing up. “I have no idea what the devil you’re talking about,” he mutters, looking away.

“You have no idea what—” you repeat, shaking your head before explaining, “Joel, that was different.”

“What was different?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“That! The whole…” you say uselessly, gesturing between you and him.

He just stares at you. If he’s catching your drift, he must just be playing dumb now. “I’m gonna go,” he grumbles, standing to slip back on his boxers. “Come find me again when you start makin’ sense and stop drabblin’ on about nonsense.”

“Wait, stop, stop. Stop it, Joel,” you say, gripping his arm. “Jesus, will you let me talk? Why are you trying to run away?”

He glares down at you, his jaw rigid. A few tense seconds pass. “Go ahead,” he says at last, in response to the first question. As for the second question, you figure he’s trying to work that one out himself.

Now that you have his attention, you’re stunned. What exactly was the issue you were trying to bring up? He was being too sweet to you?

As if you can feel your own defenses coming up around you, you look around for your sweater and underwear, not wanting to be the only one unclothed here. Joel watches you wordlessly as you pull on your clothes, and your resolve grows stronger.

“That felt different,” you repeat, looking into his eyes for some sign that he agrees with you. “Didn’t it?”

Joel says nothing. In the silent space, your words come spilling out.

“Like… I don’t know, I just feel like something changed tonight. You felt different this time.”

Joel frowns in confusion and looks down at his crotch.

“No, not like that.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “It’s the things you…did. And said. It just felt different to me.”

“Like what?” Joel said, still playing dumb. You sigh again in exasperation. Is he really going to make you bring up specific examples?

“I mean, like…the kisses. And…and why’d you call me beautiful?” you insist.

He glowers. “What, so I can’t call you beautiful?”

“No, I—I mean, you can, I just… You’ve never said anything like that to me before,” you respond. He truly hasn't. He's called you sexy, called your pussy pretty, things like that. But he's never leaned down to whisper in your ear that he thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world while railing the fuck out of you.

"Well, I did now. But I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you were gonna get all weird about it.”

Jesus, he could be so fucking immature for a man in his late 40s. “It just took me off guard, that’s all.”

“Well, if that’s all, I don’t understand what’s the big problem.”

Why isn’t he understanding? You can’t help it, you explode. “That isn’t what we agreed on, Joel,” you say, your voice more insistent.

“What isn’t?”

“The...kissing, and the calling each other pet names, and the exchanging niceties,” you say emphatically. “Shit like that. That’s not what this arrangement is supposed to be about.” You started this with Joel to avoid your feelings…

Not to catch them for each other.

Joel leans down closer to you, cynicism in his voice as he says, “And what is it that this arrangement’s supposed to be about, then?”

“Sex!” you shout, raising your arms in exasperation. “Just sex!”

Right?

Joel says nothing. He stands and silently puts on the rest of his clothes before giving you the hardest stare you’ve ever seen from him since you met him half a year ago.

“Maybe for you.”

Your mouth goes dry. But before you can think of a response, Joel slips his shoes on and mutters. “I’m gonna go. Don’t come after me tonight.” Without another word, he leaves your dingy apartment, leaving you alone with your jaw on the floor. And in that moment, you realize, you had Joel Miller all wrong.

———

a/n: …i’m kind of embarrassed to put this on the internet but hey at least no one i know follows me so!!! hopefully at least! hahahahah 😭

Thank you so much for reading! I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

For real though. Leaving feedback is just the common courtesy thing to do when you consume free, unpaid creative works online. Like I promise i do write for myself hehe but it really helps give me momentum to keep writing when i know that people genuinely liked my work!

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Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

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