#i say hypothetical cause who knows what her role could be exactly

[girlbob-boypants]

You know Jade having a helm where wings cover her face/"eyes" is really interesting given her current hypothetical position in the lore.

The Jade Light was the ultimate death sentence. A finality of judgement. And its often said (at least here in the USA) that justice is blind. To the point where Justice is represented as a woman with a blindfold.

But Jade's helmet wings open up.

And the Orokin are as corrupt as they come.

[1tsjusty0u]

can i present you with a random scenario. what would happen in an au hypothetical where only one of the champions survives the calamity. idk like what would happen for each champion im curious

ywah you can!!

ok this depends on if you mean like. taking links surviving role or surviving alongside link. in my au the former would be.. a bit more complicated? actually that could make for a really fucked up scenario of which i shant say as . probably spoilers? actually no . in wotb link actually dies early (a recent development meta-textually). so basically if hes already in there and a champion has to be put in their instead theres two routes. one he could never be put in there at all, already gone by the time they find the SoR. or two he Is in there but something just Fails Really Badly. it just.. wouldnt heal him. so its a last ditch effort to put a champion in there.

long text below Be Warned.

so while we’re on the topic of that scenario!!! lets start with it!! 1 mipha. she would send out an ok signal to the other champions, and she’d either check on her people first or try to get vah ruta to the nearest champion to help them. or hell she might check on zelda first. i think the plan without link would be to either say fuck it we ball and impa would take zelda to the castle, Or just go straight to kakariko instead as a safety thing. i think she’d actually check on zelda as she’s seen as the most important, then try to reach the champions. i think she’d have the same problems the champions descendants have getting into the divine beasts honestly, though vah naboris would be easy theres no water close enough. vah medoh is not only too high but has an actual shield. vah rudania walks around too much and causes way too much damage to death mountain. she could fire her shot at one of the divine beasts, but that would kill the champion inside it, wouldnt it? so she just resigns to help zelda and impa. she can take care of guardians well enough honestly. her cause of death would probably be either malice or trying to heal zelda or impa While Being Fought at. shes put in and boom 100 years later. i dont know how scales work but i think they wouldnt regrow in the SoR and she’d be left with scarred skin. either rhoam or a zora she knew would greet her on the great plateau. rhoam… wouldnt exactly be happy about. link not being there. mipha being able to defeat her blight is proof to him that shes capable, but also he really has no other options. who else is going to help zelda? mipha had defeated one of his creations.. so she could defeat him. she kind of has to, master sword or not- she’s the only one left. if a zora she knew was there instead i think itd reflect on her personally more? like her healing, her tendency to look after others instead of herself, how she’s dealing with this. the zora wouldnt force her to help zelda, maybe not even telling her. but yeag. still amnesiac, and things go mostly the same as canon besides some.. hiccups. going into zoras domain would have her literally not be able to leave, let alone go to zelda or any of the divine beasts. dorephan and muzu would gush over her because well. they havent seen her in 100 years!! and shes alive!!! she’s been martyred which would be. uncomfortable to her. because she doesnt know who that statue is, even if it looks like her. sure shes calm and nice, but the statues face.. it looks. serene almost. calm. lifeless, dead. vah rutas been protecting the place, and vah ruta would also say hi!! she’d get a memory of herself here which could include her little self or her pre cal self Hiding Things, like vulnerability. itd make her uncomfortable as well!! AND SIDON. sidon would have mixed feelings, but he would absolutely hang out with her in a more.. chill manner. just like. camping and eating. frog hunting. showing her how to ride a waterfall like she taught him. they get to know each other better like. well like siblings. she might do a pre cal and when she suggests leaving while doing a chill hangout she’d do That Smile. the hiding something smile basically, or ‘im the mature sibling’ smile. and sidon would be like ‘youre making that face’ >:( and shed go (sweating) ‘what’. but yeah. sidon would either go with her and travel with her or establish a mail system no matter the cost. They Will Talk damnit. going into other regions is hard when you cant really handle many temperatures that arent in the water. im ppretty sure zoras domain has chillfin trout in it so i think she’d do better in colder weather rather than hot, which sucks because two divine beasts are in hot weather. she’d probably still need at Least a ruby circlet though because hebra is probably too cold, or just sucks because of the snow. death mountain she’d have to put. so much flame resistance elixrs on. she’d also wear a sapphire circlet all the time there even if its not in the flaming zone. she doesnt like the hot springs </3. yunobo and her would-

-get along i think. she’d probably be slightly annoyed at how scared he is but other than that no complaints. he’d be really nice without being a pushover and i think she’d relate/admire that. she’d eat smotherwing butterflies. daruk would be really happy to see her. getting into gerudo town sucks so so soo badly. sand keeps getting under her scales, its Dry, its Hot (during the day), and theres not like. an elixr for her scales. the only real place sand Isnt on her is the lake in the kara kara bazaar. i think she’d put on flame resistant elixir there just so it protects her scales. or she gets some armour to help her with that. otherwise she’s let into gerudo town. vah naboris would be a nightmare for her. she’d have to have like. a hazmat suit for that one. and the yiga!! she wouldnt like them the moment she hears of them, which has to do with link pre cal but saying too much is spoilers. honestly though. i dont think theyd try to kill her, at least not Nearly as much. after all shes Just Some Zora. no sword, no divine intervention. after getting the thunder helm though theyd go after her probably. but yeah she does Not like them and will actually fight them the first chance she gets. this caused problems for the thunder helm stealth mission. urbosa and revali would be impressed to see her but also worried (revali) and defeated/giving up almost (urbosa). she and paya would get along really well and she’d clean with her Instantly. though paya would tell her that she doesnt have to + she should. be doing other things. she’d buy links house which. weird feelings about it so she doesnt really live in it but its just. There. like a memorial. she’d also be annoyed at purah teasing her about having to get parts but she’d mask it. she’d like indexing fish and birds in her compendium, and the sanke carp Fascinates her. she’d like kass’s music and really just sit and listen to him play. she’d also try to tell him what the shrine solution was once she figures it out. though i dont think he’d tell her the calamity legends. impa does however. she’d find lurelin and would So Badly want to go into the sea. however its too much salt. she’d probably fish there honestly, fishing rod and all. also though seafaring is dangerous for her so. no eventide unless a good boat rather than a dodgy raft. she.. tries to make it into korok forest. but she doesnt know how, and if link ever told her how he did it she cant remember. also its Super haunting for her i think she’d minorly see horrors in the mist so. yeah no forest for her. she’d defeat ganon though, and she’d probably live in zoras domain but take zelda with her. OH ALSO HER MEMORIES…. zeldas photos wouldnt help her too much. only 1 has her in it. so she’d get memories based on her surroundings, like how link gets snippets of the champions. seeing her trident would get a memory, the veiled falls shrine would have a memory, goponga village would have a memory, maybe the east post would have one?, and she’d have a zelda memory somewhere in zoras domain (maybe with those history tablets, or in an area with wildlife). and if link has a grave thatd also have a memory. she’d also get a memory of impa because hell yeah. im tempted to make link a spirit that follows her like the other champions honestly. but yeah post cal sidons been set as the ruler so. she can do what she wants. she’d mostly help zelda though.

in the scenario she lives alongside link, she’d tend to him on the great plateau and generally help out purah and robbie. she’d have to be at the domain most of the time though, and she’d be next in line for the crown rather than sidon. she’d grow older and do her best to help with the side effects of the calamity. she HATES yiga even more here than the last scenario. she also hates guardians, but she can take care of even the stalkers now. she’s there to greet link instead of rhoam, and helps him recuperate. she doesnt have a paraglider at first so for him to get down he’d need to climb down. or she couldve made a river system into the great plateau so if he holds his breath he can dive in and out. he still has to do the shrines zelda let mipha know that he has to. she might also travel with him honestly. she’d also spearhead the guardians on the great plateau when she finds out some are active. things would tense between them as time goes on but thats another story. basically old lady who may want to kill.

if revali survived!! uhh first scenario. he would fly all the way to the other champions first, and would check on zelda last. he’d also try to see how the village is doing before he flys to the champions. he cant get to naboris or ruta because he cant see anything, and rudania is at a Really painful angle, and with death mountain erupting.. its a pipe dream to make it there. he dies also to malice, or maybe to a guardian shot. same deal as mipha, either rhoam or a rito he knows greets him. rhoam has the same feelings (+exasperation because of all the champions, it was revali. and he’s a lot more of an old man to him with like changing the deal and teasing him. they would probably fight if not for the fact they dont hate each other). if it was a rito theyd focus more on flying than anything else. actually. he can get off the great plateau. i mean unless he forgot how to glide/one of his wings couldnt work he could. simply get down there. so for plot lets say he forgot how to fly and glide. once he learns how to again he goes to kakariko, and once he learns of rito village hes goes straight there and almost never leaves it. its His Hometown damnit!!! the nostalgia would get to him. though not knowing anyone would be… weird to him. but he’d still love the village. he and medoh would banter but theyd miss each other. he has to get to vah ruta by walking and hes SO mad about it. he would absolutely fight muzu if muzu hated him like he hated link. maybe muzu would doubt his skills and insist no outside help is needed. mipha would be sad probably. not to see him but just to see her family. but i think her and revali would be friends like pre cal and theyd have fun just with now looming dread. the flame resistant stuff would suck to put on, but he isnt going to drink it so he suffers instead. he would probably like yunobo. he’s able to reassure him better and yunobo is like you mentioned more reasonable in general so. yeah!! OH YEAH also he and sidon.. hm. i think sidon would tease him/punk him a lot. be more mean but thatd be why theyd get along in the end. frienemies. vah naboris. would be awful. sand in his feathers the same way mipha had sand in her scales. itd be Doubly hot for him, so he’d have to go at night but rito have terrible night vision so it sucks, and he cant even get into town. he spends a good minute arguing with the guard, not about wanting to be let in but to do Divine Beast things. eventually riju has been summoned and, while exasperated, she believes him. he still has to get the thunder helm, and hes more neutral on the yiga than mipha is. he sees them as a threat but like. he doesnt despise them. if they werent threats itd be fine. i think hes also slightly scared of them. he sneaks through, master kohgas defeated and the yiga are after him, and actually doing naboris hed also need a hazmat suit for. though its a bit better because ARCHERY YEEAAHH 🔥🔥🔥🔥💶💶💶🦅🦅🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹🏹. urbosa would feel the same like she did with mipha, except more exasperated and defeated because Its Revali. daruk would be happy to see him though still. link may or may not be a spirit here? itd be tense at first but i think itd mirror their friendship arc pre cal (of which i need to answer that ask i am sorry) except the roles would be swapped. youll see. anyways yeah. payas meh to him, doesnt like impa a lot but doesnt hate her, would debate purah probably Somehow. he wouldnt buy links house probably. memory locations: his bow and arrow, the flight range, the tabantha village ruins, tanagaar canyon/dinraal, mabe village perhaps, one of zelda same with mipha, links grave, and maybe one of impa. also possibly one at the secret hot springs. post cal he’d constantly help rito village and thats it. Maybe help zelda if she sends a letter but yeah. he’d have to find a hobby though

living along side link. he would also help purah and robbie, though less so. he’d be forced to greet link but in the meantime he’d protect his village and basically become the elder. seeing a young link whiles he old would be… disconcerting. he’d probably feel a mixture of guilt and anger. same deal as mipha though he has a paraglider for him. he wouldnt kill the guardians however and would just find a route for him to avoid them. he’d also be straightforward about what happened to link as opposed to mipha, so their relationship would be less strained as time goes on. he travels with him up to rito village and no more. i think he’d also visit the champion descendants to do his best to help them out.

daruk!! he’d go to the champions straight away. vah ruta is isolated in water which he cant get to (and also has a shield), vah medohs way too high up, and naboris wont stay still, and though hes mighty he can absolutely get crushed by naboris’s legs. god how would he die. yiga misfire maybe???? malice once again?? probably just an accumulation of malice. hed try to instantly leave the plateau (no fall damage like majoras mask goron rock ball form) and while rhoam (if he was there) would try to tease him he’d have to just tell him ‘hey. you Have to do this. Its important. please’ or would straight away tell him the truth. if a goron spirit was there . shrugs. theyd probably focus on strength and building enough to get ganon. goron city, hailed as hero though hes a bit uncomfortable about that and tries to both take it and be mature(?) about it if that makes sense. like hes more comfortable with it than mipha, but it still puts him off a little. vah rudania would hate to see him (rudania missed him so much its unbelievable). vah ruta would be. one Hell of a divine beast to do. he’d have to use a thunder sword instead of arrows, and he’d be A Test to sidons strength as a whole. OH ALSO yunobo would love him !!!!! him bludo and yunobo would probably hang out post cal. anyways. vah naboris he would simply slam into their legs instead of bomb arrows. still would need the thunder helm. master kohga would respect daruk enough however business is business and right now theyre enemies. daruk would not like the yiga like mipha . closer to the hate scale than revali but less than mipha. he’d be pretty pissed at them and wouldnt realize why for a while. the yiga have to get inventive when he becomes wanted which means new weapons methinks!! also he’s let into gerudo town. gorons r genderless so. hell yeah. and. ok so daruk cant get up to vah medoh theres. not many options. either he’s chucked from hebra peak at all of medohs batteries and is finally chucked on board, Or if youve seen klerics 10 ways link can make it up to that divine beast on his own he does that. also also urbosa would have more hope with daruk than mipha and revali. revali would secretly be happy to see the guy. link might be a spirit as usual. memories! his stone smasher, death mountains peak, military training camp, the place where link saved him which he mentions in his diary, the hot springs/springs near the base of death mountain, honestly probably meeting mipha (maybe trading fish) ((where no clue, though he has memories of the other champions like all of them of which they arent the samw memory locations in botw. like miphas statue doesnt trigger a memory for daruk and anyone else ok sorry)), uhh zelda, impa?, links grave, and maybe some place in akkala.

the second scenario he would constantly try to help the descendants rather than link as he figures purah and robbie got it covered, but he visits them while they do great plateau things and they chat!! maybe try to take care of guardians. he would be the most straightforward with link, both in helping him gain strength but in his memories. he’ll offer to travel but wont force it on him. other than that he’d stay on death mountain with rudania. most things wouldnt be a threat with daruk around honestly. just a support beam basically. kind of sad because i. dunno what kind of character arc he would have in most of this. </3

urbosa!!! she’d take a quick glance at her people but go to zeldas and the champions aid. its hard to tell which she’d go for first.. like on one hand she’s biased towards zelda but she just went through a blight and can hear the SOS signals of the others. maybe multitasking? getting naboris to zelda as fast as she can, picking her up/dropping her off (which could lead to some chatting on the way), and then to a divine beast, maybe realizing about a quarter left of the way that theyre already dead and theres no point now. mipha would have a similar revelation probably just.. later. but urbosa dies helping zelda and impa, either distracting something or getting ambushed. great plateau, you know the drill. if rhoam was there theyd have some, “lovely” chats (theyd be So petty against each other. she’d find out her smiting power by trying smite him. though they are friends and have fun and would drink with each other.) and once her whole deal is revealed they have a little heart to heart, and this becomes even more serious to her. she’d go straight to the castle or would reluctantly go to kakariko taking rhoams suggestion seriously. if a gerudo was there it’d probably be more fighting training/regaining strength, plus. warnings of the world beyond this plateau. anyways. impa and her would be besties (though impa would be.. too lax for her). and she’d enjoy paya a lot, maybe try to flex on her to tease her. zoras domain dorephan and her would get along i think AND OH WAIT. SHE HAS LIGHTNING POWERS. if she can get the thunder helm she could finish vah ruta in one strike (though it Does worry the zora a bit). she may throw shade at muzu for his hate of hylians and of the shekiah tech (especially the latter i think). sidon and her would be battle buddies i think, theyd constantly try to outdo each other but still respect each other to have Actual Teamwork. dynamic duo that will kill you. also she makes fun of him sometimes. anyways. mipha would be pretty happy to see her! death mountain. either drinks the elixir first and then realizes most people apply it on their skin so. oops. but she doesnt really care so she keeps drinking it like its champagne. chugging. despite being used to the desert she still doesnt like the heat. yunobo and her would also get along i think!! she would just immediately kill whatever hes afraid of and he looks in. slight fear. though the mines was a workout for her and shes making sure he knows he Owes Her for that one. anyways daruk would be ecstatic to see her theyre Instant Besties. new ghost pal perhaps as well. he’d yell like a sports fan everytime she beats the blight/gets a hit. its chaotic that time the energy is just net positive despite the circumstances. hebra. honestly. she might be ok with it? the desert is cold at night and she lives next to snowy mountains. nice change of pace. teba gets her up there pretty easily, maybe bow troubles? slices the targets with her sword as teba watches in surprise yet defeat. revali and her would, once again, be very petty. however revali would still worry with the blight but she’s fine. i think she’d hate the rotating angle of vah medoh. aaand naboris!!! no freeing to do she just gets to see a long time friend of hers (naboris). she’d love riju and riju may feel a bit of pressure, but over all she’s welcomed back with open arms (maybe some new locals not recognizing her which would be interesting). though she’d have to clear the yiga. now on the hate scale, she probably wants them annihilated (i am so sorry). like riju would have to pull her back saying ‘heyheyhey yeah they suck but dont??? kill them??? or their entire clan????’ which would only barely stop her. she wouldnt even try to sneak through she’d fight them and threaten kohga for the thunder helm. kohga lets her have it without fight and makes a retreat, though he probably lays low? if he hunts her afterwards is debatable because on one hand she Is a threat to them and ganon, but also she Can kill them before they teleport and retreat. so a bit of a choice. also hateno, purah and her wouldnt be-

too much of friends but theyd get along well enough. same with robbie. she wouldnt get links house to her its not her problem. or maybe she does but because she’d think itd be a nice place for zelda. kass and her would just be diplomats to each other. link spirit maybe shrugs . memories!! sword and shield, kara kara bazaar, southern oasis?, shield surfing champion shrine that she did, patricia maybe?, digg dogg suspension bridge, a spring memory with zelda, flora and fauna with zelda, links grave, impa, the champions yadda yadda. the memory numbers probably dont match up between all the champions sorry

second scenario!!! exclusively helps zelda and either stops her from letting ganon eat her or tries her best to fight ganon before retreating and he eats zelda. then she just. wanders. purah probably helping her cope or just. do things. she might even stay in kakariko for a bit, and she moves out of gerudo town. she’d say goodbye to everyone of course. but ywah. also maybe guard kakariko from yiga of which cado would fear her immensely. she’d either greet link or let rhoam do it and just meet link at kakariko and be Cryptic and Vague like he was but push him towards helping zelda, maybe even traveling with him. however she’d probably try to have him stay On Track constantly which would go. poorly. either that or she silently judges him but doesnt say anything. she’d only really hammer in to Go To Castle once all the divine beasts are free. they probably split off though, urbosa going to either chill or help in some way just elsewhere. like helping robbie light his ancient oven and getting guardian tools. also she has more wrinkles now shes super super old

if link isnt revived but the champions arent put in the SoR itd just be a mix of the two scenarios, slowly chipping at the divine beasts while helping out globally and getting old and having to cope with everything afterwards because they still have their memories

this . may not have been what you meant. i am sorry. however. thumbs up

ALSOALSO wanting the yiga dead is not a morally pure/correct course of action for them. it is not morally right thing to annihilate an entire group of people this isnt a bug its a feature. them wanting the yigas dead is not good. just in case.

[arctimon]

What If...? (Big Hero 6 Edition)

So the next Marvel series set to release is What If...?, a series of nine episodes that will focus on alternate events and timelines that occur within the Marvel Cinematic Universe.  The series, based off of the comic series of the same name, will premiere on August 11th, running straight through October 6th. The show was suppose to have ten episodes in both Season 1 and 2 (which is already being worked on), but producer Brad Winderbaum mentions in an interview that they had to push an episode back because of, you guessed it, the pandemic:

"We had to push an episode into Season 2. It was just, honestly, like everything else, that was a COVID impact," Winderbaum told Collider. "There was an episode that just wouldn't hit the completion date, but luckily we do get to see it in the second season of the show."

Judging by both the poster and the trailer, we know of a few scenarios: Peggy Carter becoming Captain America, an alternate Avengers lineup battling at New York, Black Panther as Star Lord, Marvel Zombies (of course there’s zombies), and Spider-Man as the Sorcerer Supreme.  Inverse has an article breaking all of the possibilities down.

A lot of the actors who portray their characters in live action will reprise their roles for the animated series, including the late Chadwick Boseman as Black Panther/Star Lord.  Star...Panther?  Black Lord? That last one sounds wrong. Among those not coming back are Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man, Chris Evans as Steve Rogers, and Dave Bautista as Drax.  Bautista was, according to the man himself, wasn’t even asked to come back to voice Drax.  Others include Brie Larson as Carol Danvers, Tom Holland as Spider-Man, James Spader as Ultron, Zoe Saldana as Gamora, Elizabeth Olson as the Scarlet Witch, Letitia Wright as Shuri, Gweneth Paltrow as Pepper Potts, and various members of the Dora Milaje.  They have all apparently been confirmed to be appearing in What If...? in some form or another, but voiced by different people.

It will certainly be an interesting show, but I hope you can see where I’m going with this.

The Big Hero 6 fanbase has a lot of burning questions for the show and movie, and it’s not all just unanswered ones about what happens after the show ended.  I think collectively there are a few common “what-ifs” that we have in our minds about the team.  I think the most obvious one involves one of the Hamada brothers, and that branches off into other what-ifs as well.

Granted, not all of these are reality-altering hypotheticals like there are in the show or comics, but they can still change the course of the movie or show in a huge way.

1.) What if...Tadashi had survived the fire?

Tadashi being a survivor of the fire that takes down the exhibition hall brings up a few interesting conundrums.  Would he be scarred for life?  Would he even be able to complete school?

And if Hiro still made the team, would he end up becoming Sunfire like a lot of fans theorize?

The thing is that Callaghan knows that Tadashi died in the fire.  If he knew that he didn’t, would that change his motivations?  Would he still be using the Microbots knowing that the person that was trying to “stop” him was still alive? Alternatively, you also have...

2.) What if...Hiro had died instead of Tadashi?

Hiro was probably about two seconds away from being fully engulfed in that giant fireball.  It’s entirely plausible that he (or possibly both Hamadas) could have perished in the fire instead of his brother, which sort of leads to the same circumstances as the first question, just with different powersets.  Tadashi would no longer be tied to fire-based powers but the magnetic equipment that that Hiro currently uses.

But one has to think about whether Tadashi would be in the right state of mind to be a hero long term.  Seeing his kid brother perish in the accident would probably cause him to go insane, and perhaps the rest of the team would have to reel him in.

3.) What if...Baymax had killed Callaghan?

It’s worth noting that if Honey Lemon had been about three seconds later on getting the healthcare chip back into Baymax, this wouldn’t have been a “What If?” question.

And sure, the team would have saved the day, but at what cost?  The permanent scarring of a fourteen-year-old?  And what would have come of the major revelations after that fight concerning Project Silent Sparrow and Abigail?

Maybe they would have been the ones to build the portal to the other dimension to try to save her.  That would similar to what happened in the original manga (where Tadashi actually helps with the construction of the original portal and got sucked in as a result). 4.) What if...Baymax had saved Obake in “Countdown to Catastrophe”?

Obake dismissed Baymax after his hideout started collapsing near the end of Part 2, and you could tell that Baymax was seriously considering rescuing him before leaving him in his chair amongst the rubble.  Ultimately, however, he did leave him behind after Obake’s insistence.

Imagine what would have happened if he had gone against his programming and saved his life.

The relieved group hug on the beach would have been replaced with a disheveled (and probably a little damp) Obake.  Hiro would have been staring hiim down in disbelief.  Perhaps there would even be another fight, or at least the makings of one.

And then Obake would give himself up for arrest.

Maybe that’s where Chief Cruz could have been introduced.  It would have given a good lead into the next season, and it would give Megan’s meeting with Hiro in Season 2 a little bit more meaning.

And finally, because I’m a shipper and we have to go there:

5.) What if...Karmi had never left SFIT at the end of “City of Monsters”?

We know from the boards that Bob Schooley posted that “City of Monsters” was originally going to end very differently than what actually made the final cut.  It seemed that Karmi, in addition to getting a nonsensical boyfriend named “Flammarion”, was not suppose to leave SFIT in the early draft.

So what if Hiro had shown up to her lab, and instead of seeing this...

He saw this?

Or...something a little less dramatic?  Maybe just her packing up stuff because she’s in the process of leaving?  And Hiro had to say something in order for her to stop what she was doing? And how exactly would you achieve that? See, if that scenario happened, I think that this particular point would be where Hiro told her about being in Big Hero 6.  And of course Karmi wouldn’t believe him, even though she’s now in love with him crushing on him.

Then, he takes her to the base.

And she turns back to him with an incredulous look.

And roll credits.  What a cliffhanger to go into Season 3 with. I vaguely remember fanart depicting that exact scene (Hiro taking Karmi to the base), but I don’t remember who did it.  I would like to give them the proper credit. Season 3 would have looked totally different if that took place.  Maybe it would have been an actual season and not a bunch of mini stories.  Also...perhaps Karmi would have joined the team proper.

And maybe we would have finally had a giant canonical Karmiro moment.

...Now that is a big “What if?”.

(Marvel’s What If...? premieres on Wednesday, August 11th on Disney+.)

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well��� Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

[tenthgrove]

Can I request la squadra discovering their Fem!Teammate (who's like in her early 30s) is actually a mother, who joined Passione to pay for her 5 y.o daughter's hospital expenses, and she sometimes secretly goes to visit her and spend time with her.

Mother Mother

La Squadra x Reader, Platonic, SFW

Risotto has always kept an eye on his squadmates. It’s not that he would ever entertain the thought of one of them betraying him, even a relatively new member such as yourself. It’s just that with La Squadra’s status in Passione, he’s always feared one of you being used against him against your will.

It’s for this reason that Risotto became concerned by your twice monthly trips away from the base. Risotto doesn’t usually police his underlings’ activities, but the solemn look on your face each time you leave is cause for deep concern. Perhaps if you weren’t so secretive about your reasons, he wouldn’t have to go to the lengths of spying on you.

Risotto catches sight of your car as you pull into the hospital parking lot. There’s a definite weariness about you as you cross quickly towards the entrance. Risotto activates his invisibility and follows.

As you speak with the receptionist, Risotto is fixed on which department you will turn to. Are you sick and hiding it? Pregnant? But then, you surprise him. You turn to the children’s ward.

Risotto follows you past white corridors and waiting rooms. The nurses address you by name, he notices. It seems you’re a regular visitor. Finally, you arrive in a large ward of lonely pods. In each one lies a sick or injured child. He cannot ignore the fact that the one you head towards looks exactly like you.

As you caress the little girl’s cheek, Risotto comes to realise what’s been happening with you all these months. These trips, this sorrow, it was all for your child. A child Risotto didn’t even know you had.

Risotto leaves you be as you talk with your daughter. He feels guilty, undeserving of being present in this conversation. He’d always wondered how someone like you ended up in such a foul business as his, but if it’s really all for the sake of your daughter he doesn’t know if he can bare to keep ordering you on such dangerous tasks.

He can’t cut you out either, that could be detrimental for your sick offspring.

::::::::::::

Risotto goes home and seeks out Melone. It really ought to show the desperation of the situation he’s in that he’d fall on Melone for advice, but the strange man is the only person he can think of who might possibly guide his conscience on such a matter.

“Melone, a word please,” Risotto demands, swinging open the door of the other man’s bedroom. Melone hums and sits up from his nap, pulling off his night-mask to rub his eyes.

“If this is about the vibrator, I swear I didn’t mean to have it delivered here.”

“I- what- no. It isn’t about anything like that. I need your advice,” Risotto explains. Melone taps his fingers excitedly and crosses his legs.

“Oh, by all means go on then!”

“If, hypothetically, a person like us were to have… unavoidable other commitments, how would you say it should be tackled?” Risotto asks.

“Clarify.”

“Family commitments. Children, to be precise,” Risotto elaborates. Melone tilts his head.

“Capo, did you knock someone up?”

“No! Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t done anything of the sort!” Risotto insists. “Alright I’ll clarify some more. How do you think I, as this team’s leader, should support such a person?”

“…Oh, I understand,” Melone assures him. “It’s (y/n) who’s pregnant, isn’t it?”

“I… forget it. (Y/n) isn’t pregnant you fool. I don’t know why I bothered with you,” Risotto laments, shutting the door.

Melone, meanwhile, is unconvinced. Risotto’s defensive behaviour suggests to him his theory regarding your pregnancy may be right after all. This isn’t something he can leave alone.

Melone’s foremost concern is your wellbeing. You’re his friend, and he wants to make sure that your parenthood (should you choose to go through with it) is as easy for you as possible. There’s one person in particular who comes to mind when it comes to raising children in the mob.

::::::::::::

“Prosciutto!” Melone calls, entering the second-in-command’s bedroom as he enjoys a cigarette out his open window.

“What do you want, and what did I tell you about barging in?”

“Please Prosciutto? This is important,” Melone begs. Prosciutto turns around.

“Alright, get it over with.”

“Didn’t you say once that you raised Pesci? I’m curious how it was,” Melone enquires.

“I hardly raised him,” Prosciutto rolls his eyes. “His mother was a good woman, and perfectly capable of raising him herself, money aside. My role was mostly as a financial supporter and an occasional babysitter when my step-mother needed a day off.”

“Oh, I see. But how was it with Passione? How did you balance your commitments between them and family?”

“I’m not a fan of this line of questioning, Melone, but I’ll indulge you. It was hard, very hard. They made me join when Pesci was 6 and back even then they constantly held his life over my head. I couldn’t spend too much time with him for fear of seeming disloyal, but at the same time I feared what would happen if I turned my back too long.”

“Christ,” Melone exclaims. “That’s rough. I never knew it was that bad for you.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all for now?” Prosciutto asks, cocking an eyebrow. Melone swallows.

“Well… I think (y/n) might be pregnant.”

“…What?!”

::::::::::::

“So that’s why we’re suspicious,” Prosciutto finishes. Formaggio stares at them wide-eyed.

“Fucking hell. I knew something was up, but pregnancy?” he exclaims.

“It’s serious, we know,” Melone affirms. “Risotto isn’t letting up so we need you to help us be certain. I’ve got all your DNA on record-”

“Creepy.”

“Regardless, I’ve got hers up on the tracker now, and I need you to take Baby Face and follow the dot until you find its location. Baby Face doesn’t show place names. If you’re spotted, you can shrink down, so it’s better you go than us. Got it?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll go,” Formaggio agrees, picking up the laptop and standing. “I’ll ring if I find anything.”

::::::::::::

Sure enough, 30 minutes later, Formaggio finds something. A hospital to be precise. He looks down at his screen, and back at the hospital. Nope, everything still checks out. There is no possible way the dot could be anywhere other than inside that building when it’s that close. You’re in there. You are in the hospital. Pregnant, near certainly.

Formaggio’s had enough shocks for one day.

Turning tail, Formaggio half-runs back down the pavement towards the base. He fumbles for his phone and calls Prosciutto. No answer. Thinking fast (but not well) he hits the next number in the list. Illuso’s.

“Illuso hi. It’s Formaggio! She’s definitely at the hospital like we thought!”

“…Are you high?”

“Oh fuck, did you not know? (Y/n)’s pregnant and Mel just found out!” Formaggio fills him in. There’s a long pause.

“Holy fucking shit! Get back here now and tell me more!”

::::::::::::

Shortly after this, the sitting room of the La Squadra base finds itself crowded with Melone, Prosciutto, Formaggio and Illuso all in frenzied discussion.

“This is insane. We can’t have a baby! In the hitman squad!” Illuso decries.

“We’re not recruiting the kid!” Melone reminds him.

“That’s not the point!” Prosciutto protests. Formaggio puts his hands up in a show of peace

“Okay okay can everyone please-”

“I AM CALM!”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GUYS SHOUTING ABOUT?!” A voice calls. It’s Ghiaccio, standing in the hallway with Pesci at his side. The four men in the lounge look between each other nervously. Formaggio steps forwards.

“Ghiaccio, Pesci… let me fill you in on some things.”

::::::::::::

“RISOTTO WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU TELL US ABOUT THIS SOONER!”

Risotto Nero has seen a lot in his days, but never before has he had his office door kicked down by one of his own teammates, while in mid-conversation with two others.

“…Ghiaccio I beg your pardon.”

“(Y/n) was pregnant and you didn’t tell us about it?” Pesci says. “I was on a mission with her just last night! I could have done more to protect her if I’d known!”

“Risotto, I know you like to respect our privacy, but this is serious! If (y/n) is going to have this child then we need to have discussions about how it’s going to be feasible now. As a team,” Prosciutto argues. Risotto blinks.

“Capo, what on earth is going on?” Sorbet asks from by the window. Gelato, having clung onto him since the door fell, continues to look at the crowd in the doorway like… well, like they just busted the office door down.

Risotto takes a sip of his coffee, and sighs.

“I think you all may be under a severe misapprehension.”

::::::::::::

You get back to the base around 4pm, severely exhausted both emotionally and physically. Your daughter is stable, you’re assured, and clearly in better spirits than your last visit. With continued treatment, the doctor sees her out of the hospital and living comfortably with only minor supports within the year. But the bill to get her to that point will not be cheap. You honestly don’t know how you’ll manage it.

As you hang up your coat you are met with visitors. Sorbet and Gelato would like to speak with you, it seems.

“We’re glad to see you’re back. Could you follow us please? It won’t take a minute,” Gelato requests.

“Okay?” you agree, following them into the sitting room. Your entire team is present in dead silence, with Risotto at the helm in his usual chair. He is looking grave. This can’t be good.

Risotto gestures for you to sit down. You comply.

“(Y/n),” he begins. “We know about your daughter.”

Everything seems to go still. You cannot help it as tears well in your eyes. Before you know, you are crying in front of your teammates.

“We are willing to give some help,” Risotto announces. You look up from your tears. Did he just…

“We did some maths and we calculated that if we all pool together, we can pay half your daughter’s monthly bill every month for the immediate future, without any major changes to our lifestyle,” Sorbet announces. “We’re all happy to do that,” he adds, to a chorus of nods around the room.

“Additionally, we can look into getting her case transferred to a doctor on Passione’s payroll. It will be the same quality care or higher, and at a significant discount,” Melone suggests. Oh fuck, why didn’t you ever think of that?

“You would… you would all really do that for me?” you sob.

“And if it still isn’t enough, we’ll find a way. You can rely on us to help you, I swear it,” Risotto promises.

“Thank you… thank you all so much!”

[what-the-witch-stuff]

Landings Through the Grapevine

Chapter 2: Unfulfilled Expectations

Masterpost: here Go to:  Ch.1   |   Ch.2  |

_________________________

"I have news for you. One good, one bad" Shane said hours after the dance, when everyone was busy cleaning the place up. "Wait! Help me with that table first...Allright. Shoot". Shane grabbed the other side of the table and together they heaved it off the ground to carry it back to Marnie's farm. The path that led to the narrow bridge which divided the forest clearing from the rest of the village, was not large enough for them to carry the table side by side. So Shane volunteered to walk backwards while Riley gave directions. For a few moments Shane didn't say anything but occasionally looked at something over her shoulder. Then he lowered his voice:

"Ok, so...Mr. Darcy" – that was code for Elliott – "has been mingling with my aunt for almost the entire festival and now they both keep looking over at you".

"What?"

"Don't look! I didn't want to say it earlier, because I wasn't sure. But given how Marnie has been really chatty today, I bet she's playing matchmaker again"

"Oh for fuck's sake! What about Elliott?"

"Don't know, maybe he finally figured out that you don't understand his poems, or something"

"Shane!"

„I'm kidding. Don't act so horrified. Also, it's true!"

„No! It's not."

„Okay. Remember the poem he 'gifted' you at the Feast of the Winter Star? What was that about?"

Riley was preparing to answer him in a know-it-all manner but soon realised that she had actually no idea what to say. She hoped her death glare would shut him up for good. Alas, it didn't.

„You can give me the evil eye all you want. I already cringed to death when he started performing it in front of the goddam tree."

„Maybe a few metaphors and references go over my head sometimes, but that's because I never read much poetry before.

„Or maybe his writing is as inflated as his ego"

„Stop! For Yoba's sake, just tell me what's up with him!

„How should I know?"

„Then why tell me?"

"I thought you would want to know these things"

"Well, what does he look like? Does he look upset or anything?"

"Ehm",– at that Shane peeked back over her shoulder, looking rather pained as he tried to awaken his interpersonal skills: "Well he looks like a schmock, so nothing new there. Maybe that's just his –oh shit!"

"What?!"

"He's coming"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Stop! Jesus, Riley have you never been to highschool? You don't look at people you're talking shit about."

"Ok! ok, act natural !"

"You're the only one acting like a headless chicken", he hissed under his breath.

"Well, maybe I would be calmer if you –"

Shane dropped his side of the table. It came to the ground with a soft thud and Riley almost lost her footing from the sudden yank it caused on her side, forcing them to an immediate stop shortly before the bridge. This interrupted Riley's tirade and in hindsight saved her some embarrassment, as Elliott appeared by her side soon after, brushing a strain of hair behind his ear : "Good day, you two. I am so very sorry I didn't get to chat with you sooner. Can I help you with that?", he asked, having seen them struggle but obviously mistaking the situation at hand. Before Riley could even say anything, Shane intervened again : "Glad that you ask!" he said in an overly friendly manner while stretching theatrically and making a face: "My back is killing me! If you don't mind, I'd rather go see if I can help with something else" and with the blink of an eye, Shane and Elliott had switched places.

"You're welcome!", Shane murmured while brushing past her and he was gone. Meanwhile Elliott was getting into position and testing the table's weight while Riley could do nothing but watch him dumbfounded. When he noticed her staring, Elliot winked: "Shall we then?"

"YES! I mean, sure. Thanks for the help", If Riley's face looked as flushed as it felt right then and there, Elliott was gentleman enough to pretend not to notice. "Please, don't thank me! I should have been more involved with the preparations to begin with. I was just so caught up with my newest draft, that I had forgotten all about the dance until a few days ago. Oh, also, I hope I wasn't interrupting anything between you and Shane?", he added, leaning slightly towards her in mock-conspiracy.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it did look like you've been arguing, before I came over. I hope it was nothing serious"

"Ehm... I was just worried. His, eh... his 'back pain' is quite bad, but he didn't want to bother Harvey during a holiday", Riley lied between her teeth, as they made their way over the narrow bridge.

"Poor fellow, no wonder he seemed rather miffed today. But he danced like a champ!", Elliott stated sympathetically.

"Yes, he knows how much it means to Emily and didn't want to let her down"

"See, I was wondering about that a little. I did expect the two of you to be dancing today"

At that, Riley tripped over nothing, looking at Elliott with such astonishment that she almost forgot to warn him about the slight slope the path would be taking, shortly after the bridge.

"Sorry, who?"

"Well, you and Shane….?"

"Huh?"

Elliott then must have come to some sort of realisation, for it was now his turn to look flushed and embarrassed.

"Oh, Let the greater part of the news thou hearest be the least part of what thou believest." he exclaimed ruefully and smiled at her apologetically: " I should have known better than to make assumptions. I am sorry, Riley. It was something I overheard, please pay no mind to it!"

Riley suppressed the urge to ask him if he had been quoting Shakespeare again, as in 5 times out of 7 she had already been wrong. And by now, she had the nagging suspicion that Elliott chose anything but Shakespeare, just to mess with her. Instead, she stammered: "N-No, it's fine! Shane and I are close, but we are just friends...'', and almost Riley would have given into the temptation of adding something like: '...just as you and Leah, if I am not mistaken?'. But she discarded that idea as soon as it came to her. Too obvious. Though Riley was dying to get her hands on any piece of information about what kind of relationship he and the artist were cultivating, she had to be careful. The last thing she needed was the awkwardness of unrequited feelings or the loss of a friendship because of it. However, remembering Shane's assumption regarding Marnie, she continued : "...Though I do believe Marnie wouldn't mind me as her niece-in-law. But neither Shane or I see that ever happening,". She then laughed. But, following her gut instinct, she kept an eye out for Elliott's reaction, who, still dealing with his own embarrassment, couldn't help but wince slightly.

Bingo.

Shane's words were practically echoing in the back of her mind: I bet she's playing matchmaker again.

– ‘Yes she is and you won't like to find out with whom exactly', Riley thought grimly.

To say this was news to her would be a lie, sadly. Last year it had been just a few questions, if Riley was seeing someone, or if she fancied someone from the village already. Before long, Marnie had gotten more obvious about her actual motivation: "Have you met my nephew, yet? Shane. He is from Zuzu-City too. Oh, I need to introduce you to each other, next time you visit."

But said introduction flopped big-time. It had been difficult. Well, Shane had been. But Riley now knew that this wasn't anything personal. She had involuntarily witnessed his downward spiral until the fateful day at the cliffs, where Shane had finally hit rock bottom. Since then he was getting the help he needed and they could manage having a conversation that wasn't ending in a disaster. Nevertheless, as she and Shane clearly never hit it off, Riley thought that Marnie had moved on and was satisfied with talking her up to some other bachelor instead. Apparently, she had been wrong. "Please, do not believe that I usually engage in petty gossip." Elliott exclaimed and Riley knew, if his hands were free, he would probably underline his words with some dramatic gesture: " This is not why I wanted to talk to you. I would never bother you with such shallow conversation!". They finally reached Marnie's farmhouse and were greeted by Gunther and Clint, who were busy sorting Marnie's belongings back to where they belonged. Soon Elliott and Riley were relieved of their task and hurriedly shooed away. "Riley, you did enough! You've been here all day and surely your farm does not run itself", Gunther called over his shoulder as he and Clint disappeared into the house, leaving Elliott and Riley to themselves. „Well, I don't want to keep you from your duties..." Elliott eventually said rather deflated, after some seconds of them just standing there.

„It's fine! Really. I have time to chat."

„Are you sure? I would hate to inconvenience you", though Riley could easily tell that Elliott was just saying that to stay polite.

„You aren't, believe me. What did you want to talk about originally?"

Elliott immediately straightened his posture, his demeanour getting more relaxed as Riley's question offered him the chance to return their conversation back towards familiar territory.

He suspensefully cleared his throat.

"I wanted to thank you, for you have played a significant role regarding my latest draft. Well, draft is a bit much. It's more of an outline, actually."

"Really?!", Riley could not believe her ears. This was like the beginning of some obscure fever dream, where Elliott would finally announce her as his muse and declare his undying love for her…. Totally hypothetically of course, because Riley would never fantasize about such a corny situation! Ever.

"Yes! For as much as I frequent the library, I just recently noticed the marvellous collection of exhibits you have been providing to the museum. I would've never thought for our tiny valley to be such a place of wonder and history! I must be honest, my latest works were getting nowhere and I dreaded starting a new manuscript. I had gotten quite far with my latest piece. But all these treasures have ignited a new spark within me. Now I can hardly put my pen to rest. But I need more inspiration!". Elliott got more excited the more he talked. It was no longer just polite enthusiasm but an almost childlike delight that made his eyes sparkle in a way she rarely got to see on him.

"Oh that's wonderful! But how can I help you with that?" Riley was getting somewhat confused. If Elliott needed more information on the artifacts, he would be better off talking to Guntehr instead. And following that line of thought, Riley couldn't really fathom what Elliott needed of her, to fuel his newfound inspiration.

"It's about this Adventurer's Guild..."

The answer was: absolutely nothing.

"Oh", Riley tried not to sound or even look unhappy about this revelation and Elliott seemed too fixated on his own issues to notice anything, for he continued talking: "I have seen you standing next to that older gentleman, today. What was his name again?"

"Marlon?"

"Yes! He is the guild's leader, I suppose ?"

"Eh, yes, you could call him that."

"I would like to ask him a few questions. I would love to hear some of his adventures. He looks like a man who has many stories to tell. However, I struggle to get a hold of him!

Surely, I tried asking around. But before today, I didn't even know whose company he keeps. I have never seen him in town either, other than during holidays, which is why I had hoped to talk to him today. But shortly after the dance I lost sight of him and he was gone! I could tear my hair out, Riley! That man is like a ghost. How am I supposed to write about fantastic tales of danger, when I have no authentic experience to write from?!" Elliott had talked himself into such a frenzy, that he ended up being short of breath. While he needed a moment to collect himself, Riley used this pause to talk some sense into him.

"Well, you will be happy to hear that the guild building is actually very easy to find. It's right next to the entrance to the mines.", she informed him, trying to push away the feeling of disappointment. "Office hours are between 2 pm to 10 pm. Normally, entrance is only allowed for adventurers only, but technically you would be considered a potential client. And If you really cannot get in, then Clint, Willy and I see Marlon often enough that we can relay a message to him." "Is that so? Thank you so much, I knew I could count on you! I will seek him out first thing tomorrow!". With that he made his goodbyes and hurried back towards the meadow, presumably to find Leah and share his progress with her. She looked after him until his silhouette disappeared from her sight and with a groan Riley decided that it was indeed time to head back to her farm. The gleeful excitement she had felt at the prospect of being alone with Elliott, had vanished to sober disillusion. She wasn't even in the mood to get worked up over the whole Marnie-situation. Therefore, she decided to no longer think about whatever had transpired today. That would be future-her's issue to deal with. When Riley entered the premises to her own farm, the sight of the seemingly endless plot of land filled her with awe, like it did everytime. Proudly, she watched her cows, chicken and ducks peacefully napping in the sun and listened to the faint rustling of leaves above her head, as she finally made her way towards home.

[seafleece]

now, i don’t know how this is gonna shake out, but i’m just thinking about comparisons between false flags in ttrpgs. 

this isn’t the first one, and it could be avoided bc matt kinda likes the plot armor at this point and most consequences seem to end up as “there’s a guy to fight”, but regardless, i’m just gonna give a little hypothetical: they get away from trent, and trent, seeing the obvious usage of dunamancy, decides to ring up ol’ dwendal and say ‘hey, the dynasty is stealing from us. i have proof.’ he has a vested interest in doing exactly this. at this point, the m9 has just aided in a false flag operation, unwittingly.

off the top of my head, i can think of two other false flag situations in a ttrpg show, both from friends at the table. in both of them, the cast is aware it’s what they’re doing, and it has serious plot consequences. dwindling conflict is reunited. soldiers and civilians die. player characters are even exiled from a community when one is discovered, and they don’t come back from it. those rifts between the affected groups don’t heal. there’s nothing the party can do to take back that mistake.

there have been similar calls in cr2, with the dynasty. if i had a little more faith in themes right now, i wouldn’t even be surprised if the assembly themselves collapsed that tower in zadash to make the dynasty look bad for the horrible crime of (checks notes) wanting their sacred artifacts back.

the real difference between these two groups of situations is that m9 largely outgrew their interest in the dynasty-empire relationship after the hiatus, and their treatment and sort of. disinterest and failure to consider optics. here is impossible to separate from the cast that critical is a show run by liberals. f@tt-- here i’ll direct specifically to partizan-- is directly interested in portraying the most corrupt aspects of war, and their cast decidedly does not take a liberal perspective.

when cr2 is over, i’d like to write a full comparative retrospective on portrayals of empire and war, but for now i’ll just say that how this plays out (and has already) really comes down to how cast politics affects the portrayal of fictional politics (see waffling on whether the assembly needs to go or whether trent is a “bad apple” and failure to condemn an empire for, y’know, being an empire), as well as whether cast sees themselves as storytellers or responsible for the themes that play out in their own show, which they often don’t or at least don’t seem to. the interesting conclusion to “using another country’s magic against a powerful wizard, one who would happily see war fought against that country for his own gain” just isn’t “and then they magic missiled each other to death”. there are empire assassins hunting essek. trent almost certainly knows about it. using dunamancy to attack empire guards watching over trent’s things means something with this context, inherently. and if it didn’t to cast, then it should.

impulsively blundering into consequence this potentially serious isn’t inherently uninteresting. it just becomes that way when it feels like it doesn’t mean anything, or when what it means is a big 3-hour fight with a guy that resolves (successfully ignores) the underlying issues.

i’m gonna make another little comparison for a second. in critical role, there’s trent ikithon. in partizan, there’s spymaster crysanth kesh. the party in both seasons has a vested interest in seeing this person killed, because they’re responsible for a lot of death and suffering, both on a personal and political level during a time of war, acting in their own interest at the expense of almost everything around them except their own power. when talking about killing trent or the people closest to him, cast treats this like a solution to a singular problem. when talking about killing crysanth or the people she’s closest to (including her daughter, who’s a player character the cast doesn’t shy away from despising or antagonizing or portraying as selfish and manipulative), the gm says outright that while she holds power, her death will not fix the war. the rules for beam saber, the game, are also explicit about this: the party is small. they cannot end a war, nor erase its sins. the difference is that the cast of critical role thinks of trent ikithon as a cause. the cast of partizan says that crysanth kesh is a symptom.

difference in tone is fine-- this isn’t saying that the cast needs to overthink everything they do and have a 0% war crime rate, or that this game needs to be about the horrors of war. it’s just saying (in a lot of words) that actions have consequences, and that whether they realize it or not, their actions shape a story. this is a really killer opportunity for matt to say no, i’m not compromising on a theme that’s been in this game since day one.

[ibijau]

Part 2 of Lan Xichen refusing to listen when Nie Huaisang tries to tell him about Jin Guangyao’s crimes, this time post canon. As a quick warning... don’t go in there expecting a reconciliation ahah :D

In all his years of acquaintance with the Nie sect, this is the first time that Lan Xichen is made to wait at the gate, and the insult smarts. This is how a merchant or the servant of a noble family begging for help might be treated, not the leader of one of the Great Sect, and certainly not an old friend. Then again, it has been many years since Lan Xichen last came to the Unclean Realm alone. Perhaps he would have received such a welcome all along, after he and Nie Huaisang...

They never broke up, not exactly, not in such a manner that Lan Xichen could pinpoint an exact date to mark the end of their intimacy. But Nie Huaisang became more closed off in the months after his brother's death, more reluctant to tolerate any sort of affection, and Lan Xichen, tired of being denied again and again, stopped visiting alone. He only came alongside Jin Guangyao, in whose company Nie Huaisang was always a little less cold. For a while, Lan Xichen even wondered if his former lover's affection hadn't shifted toward a new target.

He wishes now that it had been something so easy. The truth, he fears, might be more unpleasant yet.

After nearly a shichen of waiting at the gate, Lan Xichen is brought inside by a disciple. Not Qinghe Nie's first disciple, but one of lesser importance who takes him to a sparse room and offers him subpar tea. He is then informed that the sect leader is currently busy, but will make time for him as soon as possible.

In a way, Lan Xichen finds this already answers the questions he has come to ask. Just a few weeks ago, Nie Huaisang would never have dared to be so rude to anyone, least of all one of Nie Mingjue's sworn brothers. He used to always drop everything for Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao, throwing himself at them with heavy tears... but then again, he was always the one begging them to come as well, whereas Lan Xichen is now here uninvited.

Another shichen passes, and then some. The tea Lan Xichen was offered is worse cold than warm, but he still finishes it as darkness creeps on him. Night, outside, is coming close, and Lan Xichen regrets not booking a room at some Qinghe inn. He has never had to before, and quite foolishly he hoped this wouldn't have changed. A mistake he will not repeat, if he ever visits again.

At long last the door opens, revealing Nie Huaisang who looks...

It would be only polite for Lan Xichen to rise up and bow to his host, or salute him in some manner. If he doesn't it isn't in protest of the long wait, but only because he can hardly recognise Nie Huaisang. The man in front of him might as well be a stranger. It might just be that it has been so long since Lan Xichen has had cause to truly look at the man he once loved. It might also be that for the first time in nearly a decade, Nie Huaisang isn't playing a role. Either way, Nie Huaisang seems taller than Lan Xichen thinks he ought to be, even accounting for the fact that one of them is standing and the other sitting. That might be because he is standing so straight, his shoulders squared rather than hunched. He looks, as he has for this past decade, a little too thin, but rather than making him frail and delicate, Lan Xichen finds the other man's features now bring to mind a carefully sharpened blade. Nie Huaisang's eyes are certainly as cool as steel, his narrow smile threatening in a way his sabre never managed to be.

“Er-ge, I'm surprised you've come here,” Nie Huaisang calmly states, looking down at Lan Xichen as he puts down a candle on a chest near the door. “I suppose I should ask the reason of your visit.”

“I think you know it already,” Lan Xichen replies without thinking, too startled by this stranger bearing a face he once adored to be polite.

Nie Huaisang smirks. “Do I? I don't think I do. Please do tell me, Er-ge. I am but a stupid man, I need things stated plainly.”

Not so long ago, Lan Xichen might have unkindly agreed.

“I'll ask this before all else: the other night, did Jin Guangyao really move?”

Nie Huaisang's smirk curls a little higher. “I've said already that I can't be sure, haven't I? Maybe he moved, maybe he didn't... I was tired, and I was wounded, and I was so terribly scared,” he explains in a mocking tone. “Weeks after the accusation was first made, I just had it confirmed that one of my very dear friend had murdered my da-ge, and you expect me to have been clear minded enough to remember every inconsequential detail?”

“You already knew he had killed da-ge,” Lan Xichen retorts.

Nie Huaisang's mouth slowly opens in a artful 'Oh' of surprise too deliberate to be anything but artifice, while his hand sets on his heart as if wounded by the accusation. He looks right out of a picture, beautiful and elegant and insincere.

“Er-ge, I'm not sure I quite understand what you're saying.”

Lan Xichen frowns. He had not expected this to be easy, of course, but he hadn't prepared himself for such coldness either. In his mind, Nie Huaisang ought to have been shouting at this point. But then, he was thinking of Nie Huaisang as he lives in his memory, young and spoiled, rather than the man he became while Lan Xichen wasn't paying attention.

“I am saying that I have given due consideration to what Wei Wuxian said last month in that temple,” Lan Xichen says. “I believe that he might have been right.”

Even an actor as talented as Nie Huaisang can break character. For a brief instant, he appears to struggle to contain a smile, though that problem is solved when he quickly opens a fan with a sharp yet graceful gesture. Lan Xichen is left breathless when he recognises the fan. It is one he bought for Nie Huaisang, when they were young and not yet crossing the line between friends and lovers. When they finally did, they wrote together a few lines of poetry on that fan, because Nie Huaisang, so sweet at that time, wanted to do like the couples in those stories he so enjoyed reading, and Lan Xichen of course couldn't have done anything but indulge him in this caprice.

It cannot be an accident for this particular fan to have been chosen as Nie Huaisang's shield.

“Er-ge... no, sorry, Zewu-Jun, that is a serious accusation you're throwing at me,” Nie Huaisang saying, almost sounding hurt. Almost. “So, I must ask... do you have any proof? You can't say this without some serious proof.”

Something in Nie Huaisang's tone is a little odd, as if it matters to him whether Lan Xichen has anything concrete to show.

“No more than you probably did when you started all this, Huaisang.”

“But if I had done that, I would have had proof” Nie Huaisang retorts, his eyes burning from behind his fan. “Plenty of it. If I were to have gone on the path of revenge, it might have been because Baxia had become restless in the weeks after her master's death, and started causing problems in the sabre's hall,” he explains, dropping the fan to reveal a feverish expression. “So of course I would have checked my brother's tomb, and found it empty. That's when I might have become suspicious of foul play, and turned to you for help. I wonder, would you have listened to me, or would you have rushed to defend someone you clearly valued more than me?”

Lan Xichen's eyebrows rise high in surprise. He knows for a fact that Nie Huaisang never mentioned his brother's corpse being missing, he certainly would remember that.

“If this is your excuse for never letting me know the truth...��

The fan comes up again. “Er-ge, this is purely hypothetical of course,” Nie Huaisang says pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather. “I suppose if those things had happened, I wouldn't even have had a chance to make a case against Jin Guangyao before you'd make it clear on whose side you were. You've always been so quick to defend him, haven't you? Even when da-ge was alive... they were both your friends, but you only ever seemed to side with one of them, didn't you?”

It is an unfair statement. Lan Xichen used to defend Jin Guangyao in front of Nie Mingjue, yes, but he made no less efforts to mend that relationship on both sides. Many times he tried to explain to Jin Guangyao how their sworn brother's personality worked, how Nie Mingjue meant no harm by speaking the way he did, how he was truly trying to help by offering chance after chance for Jin Guangyao to prove his good faith, especially in that business with Xue Yang, and how Nie Mingjue's education and personal experience made it hard for him to understand that Jin Guangshan wouldn't be swayed by the demands of a bastard son he half openly despised.

Lan Xichen had done all that he could to be a bridge between two men whose affection was so disturbed by deeply different worldviews. Many things had escaped his attention at that time, but he had never been so foolish as to think every problem in their friendship came from Nie Mingjue alone.

Just because Nie Huaisang had borne witness to only one side of his efforts didn't mean the other side never existed.

“Someone had to defend him,” Lan Xichen coldly points out. “I realise now that some of his enemies were right to hate him, but how could I not dismiss them when their first impulse was always to attack him for his birth?”

“But I didn't!” Nie Huaisang explodes, closing his fan to furiously point it at Lan Xichen. His hand trembles with rage, and there's not art to his expression now, only raw emotion of unexpected intensity. “I didn't come to you calling him a son of a whore!” He cries out. “I didn't call him a bastard, or a servant unworthy of his title! All I said was that I suspected murder, and instantly you defended Jin Guangyao, before throwing it to my face that maybe it was my fault if da-ge had been so unbalanced!”

Nie Huaisang waves his fan at Lan Xichen, heavy tears staining his face.

“Do you know how terrified I was to share this with you? You'd been on Guangyao's side so often, you'd been the reason he'd had access to da-ge even in his unstable state! Everything was telling me that you could have been complicit in da-ge's death, that you and Guangyao could have been working together! But I loved you!” Nie Huaisang shouts, his voice breaking on the words. “I loved you, you were the only thing I had left and I loved you, certain you loved me as well, so I trusted you and tried to come to you with my discoveries, and for what?”

Laughing hysterically, Nie Huaisang reopens his fan to hide his tears.

“You don't even remember that day, do you?” he croaks. “Everything changed for me that night, and it wasn't even worth remembering for you.”

Lan Xichen stares down at the table in front of him, desperately trying to recall the conversation that left such an impact on Nie Huaisang. It must have been before they drifted apart, he guesses. To his shame, he truly cannot remember.

He tells himself that he too was grieving, that Nie Huaisang doesn't remember well, that he was perhaps less clear in his accusation than he now thinks he was. Lan Xichen easily finds many excuses for not remembering, but he knows them for what they are: excuses. The truth, ugly as it might be, is simply that he paid little attention to what Nie Huaisang had to say at that time. His grief, raw and exposed, had been uncomfortable to witness, and Lan Xichen had only held on to the good parts of his lover while waiting for the bad ones to go away on their own.

“So Wei Wuxian guessed right, then,” Lan Xichen whispers, unwilling to dwell on his past failings at the moment. “You did all this...”

“Did I?” Nie Huaisang asks, regaining control of himself, his expression turning distant again in spite of the lingering hoarseness in his voice. “Everything I said was hypothetical of course. Who knows what I did or didn't do? After so long, who knows what could have been prevented if you'd only trusted me half as much as I might have trusted you? But I will say this...”

He lowers his fan, revealing a sharp smile, more like a beast baring its teeth than anything.

“Er-ge, supposing I did any of the things Wei Wuxian accused me of the other day, then you would bear as much fault in my supposed crimes as you do in Jin Guangyao's,” Nie Huaisang says, almost sweetly. “The mighty Zewu-Jun, so pure and good, so untouched by dirt and blood, having enabled so much pain and chaos just because it's easier to look away when things are unpleasant.”

Lan Xichen doesn't answer. It is an unfair accusation, he tells himself. Jin Guangyao's actions were never under his control, and neither were Nie Huaisang.

What happened wasn't his fault, and he refuses to react to Nie Huaisang's very obvious taunting. It is clear now that the other man will not give him a straight answer regarding anything that has happened. Perhaps it was foolish to ever hope that he would, considering what Wei Wuxian said he might have done.

“It's getting late, Zewu-Jun,” Nie Huaisang remarks, glancing out the window as if he only now realises how dark it has become around them. The candle he'd brought with him offers little light. “You should get going. I hope you'll understand why I don't offer to let you stay the night.”

“I wouldn't accept even if you offered,” Lan Xichen replies as he stands up. “I suppose we'll meet again some other time, Nie zongzhu.”

“Only if I have no other choice, Zewu-Jun,” Nie Huaisang says. “I'll call for someone to take you back to the gate. I've already wasted enough time on you.”

With how often he has been here as a guest, Lan Xichen doesn't need a guide to find his way inside the Unclean Realm, not even in the dark. He keeps that remark to himself, unwilling to deal with Nie Huaisang longer than necessary.

Soon enough he is outside the gates of the Unclean Realm, free to breathe again, and starts walking into the night, toward Qinghe. Lan Xichen knows he could fly, but walking gives him a better chance to think and consider what he has just learned, and to analyse this conversation with Nie Huaisang.

It is the first time in many years that he gives this much thought to his former lover's words and actions, he realises, and something like guilt curls coldly into his chest. Perhaps this really could have been avoided, if he had paid more attention to the changes in Nie Huaisang's personality... but in those years after the Sunshot Campaign he'd seen too much grief, accepted too well that it manifested in odd ways, that someone people would wallow in it and let it become the core of what they are. Nie Huaisang had seemed only another example of this. Having always been so expressive in his joys, it felt unsurprising that he would fall as eagerly into his despair.

Lan Xichen, busy with his own trouble, with a sect to run, with his brother's punishment only then lifted, cannot be expected to have dedicated all his energy and time analysing the changes in a lover who kept pushing him away.

Can he?

He also cannot be blamed for the crimes of others, Lan Xichen eventually decides. All he did was consider the information at hand, and trust people based on their actions. Anyone else would have done the same, his actions were measured and reasonable, and though he was wrong in his judgement, everything he did was in good faith.

What happened wasn't his fault.

Was it?

[unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix]

You may have seen this going around but people are hating JJ for snapping at Reid in 10x11. Like maybe she shouldn’t of done that but she was having a literal breakdown and her ptsd affecting her a lot. Not to mention that Reid did the same when Emily asked if he was okay when he was going through his drug addiction and ptsd after Hankel but yet no one gives him hate for it. Emily also snapped at Garcia in 6x17 when Garcia checked up on her. They two were also going through a lot but people still defend them while JJ who also did the same as them gets the most hate (which doesn’t surprise me with this fandom). And at the end of 10x11 JJ thanked Reid for helping her and in a way apologised. Also Reid, Emily and Garcia didn’t take it personally when they were snapped at as they could tell something was going on. When you’re going through something especially trauma it’s possible you may end up snapping at someone and we shouldn’t give them hate for it.

Sorry for this rant, I’m just annoyed that people are hating on JJ for going through something traumatic

Hi thank you so much anon!

I don't know exactly what happened recently regarding this situation, but after reading this ask, I 100% agree with you! You are more than welcome to rant about this because I feel the same way. I think I have seen something like this in the past, and I still don't understand the JJ hate, which I will get at the end of the post under the cut. (I also apologize in advance if this is all over the place haha)

I think JJ has the right to feel the way she feels in 10x11. JJ probably thought Reid means well when he was asking if she was ok, but it also seemed very clear that she didn't want to talk about it. She also didn't want them to cause a scene in a place where it's public. Like you said, it seemed pretty similar to the scene about Reid getting mad at JJ for hiding the fact that Emily was still alive. He didn't get much hate as JJ did in that moment, too. Even people were blaming JJ for "hurting Reid's feelings" because she had to protect someone very close to her and the team. JJ already felt guilty having to lie to the team and while Hotch wasn't the target of Reid's anger, he still felt responsible for his actions and Reid's feelings. In fact, Hotch has made that clear for everyone to tell him how they felt about Emily's return. Even in 7x02, Hotch tells Reid if he is angry, Hotch is willing to take the blame for it and that he shouldn't be angry at JJ, in which Reid bitterly responds: "I can't. I didn't come crying to your house for 10 weeks." Hotch was guilty for hiding it from the team as well, and people have aimed their anger towards JJ because she "hurt Reid's feelings". It also didn't sit right with me when Reid implied that he was going to blame JJ for his hypothetical relapsing (that may be poor writing but it still doesn't sound right).

JJ was dealing with something traumatic to her, and so she deserved to feel frustrated, angry, etc. because it is difficult to keep all those emotions, especially negative ones, shoved into a box. Even though one pushes their emotions down, there is going to be a breaking point and all of whatever they have been feeling is going to burst out of the bottle sooner or later. That's the case with JJ. She wasn't mad that Reid was checking on her, she was only mad that it was at the wrong time. If it was at a time that was decent for them (aka when it's in a quiet place like at the end of 10x11), then JJ wouldn't mind as much. Over time, JJ has worked to push her emotions away because of everything that's happened to her. It becomes both better and worse for her coping. Better because she is able to get a task done fast. Worse because she isn't confronting her feelings, which is unhealthy. At the end of 10x11, JJ has thanked Reid for helping her and didn't seem too angry at him anymore, and in a way, has apologized. She felt somewhat relieved that she finally told someone about what she was going through (even though her trauma was still not entirely resolved, in my opinion).

I think you've made some interesting points using examples of other scenes that have characters snapping at someone else for getting them to open up about something troubling them. Derek and Emily have snapped at Garcia, who was checking up on them during a time of distress. Both of them know she meant no harm as well and they were both frustrated and stressed in those two times. Garcia understood and was only concerned about them. Same with Reid confronting JJ about her trauma. Or even Emily with Reid when he was taking dilaudid. They all were worried about each other and wanted to be there to support their friends.

People have different ways of coping with trauma and shouldn't be judged for it. It is a step forward to help them deal with it, and hopefully, make them feel safe and comfortable to talk about it.

Under the cut is how I feel about the JJ hate, so if you want to read that, feel free to do so.

This is something I needed to get off my chest. I'm already getting tired of seeing the JJ hate on some posts, here and on other social media platforms. Oddly enough back then, there wasn't this much hatred towards her character. Aside from the confession in later seasons, JJ has gotten a lot of hate now that the show's over. I have noticed the common thread of the hate being connected to Reid's character (note: I really don't want to get into some sort of hate discourse thing so please don't come at me for this).

I have seen fans say that JJ's the mean girl of the team because she is "mean to Reid" or because "Reid said so". I disagree with this whole notion because everyone has treated Reid the same way JJ has, and JJ wasn't super mean to him. I've always seen them interact like siblings, so they had that older sis teases little bro vibes to me. They both cared for each other, as seen numerous times on the show (this does not mean I ship them). In the scene where Reid thought JJ was a mean girl, she was defensive because she was hurt that someone close to her would think that lowly of her. Reid didn't even know that JJ was offended by that statement, so he just carried on with it.

People have also said that JJ is "too bland" or "too boring" of a character. I like to dig into little details of the show and/or the characters themselves, and learn why they are the way they are. People don't often see why JJ is the way she is like they do with other characters. To say that JJ's only trait is "being a mom" or "being too sensitive" is stupid. I agree that JJ's character was done dirty by the writers and producers, though. With everything that has happened to her, it explains why she is the person she is on the show. When JJ was younger, she didn't have any role model growing up besides Roslyn. She came from a broken family, who was often emotionally and physically distant from everything and everyone. Because of that, it shaped JJ into the person she is today. This is one of the reasons why she hates talking about her feelings and opening up because as her mom said, "Avoidance is what this family does best, anyhow." Her whole life, JJ pushes herself to work hard that she's never learned how to give herself a break, especially when her mental health is going bad. She needs someone to rely on and that she can trust to vent about anything she's having a hard time with.

Another thing people have to remember is that Reid and JJ are two completely different personalities and their own characters, so comparing them with each other or even pitting them against each other isn't going to make things better for many, and people will continue to fight about this.

Admittedly, this is one of the reasons why I don't join fandoms often because people are there to enjoy and share their interests with one another. I am aware that I have stated my opinions from time to time, but to waste all that energy continuously hating on something others like, is tiring. I like when people post things they like, instead of posting their absolute hatred on something that others enjoy often. I usually don’t interact with posts that have hate on something I like that I've seen and I try to filter that out. (I’m sorry if my wording doesn’t make sense here)

[squishneedsahero]

Sour Lemonade

It’s Who I Am Part 3

Word Count: 2320

How would The Falcon and The Winter Soldier have played out if you, the younger daughter of Howard Stark got involved? You had been kidnapped by HYDRA at a young age, your mind taken from you as they forced you to work towards creating new weapons for them and when HYDRA had fallen you had gotten free with your scattered memories for you to slowly piece together.

After you all had left the prison where Zemo was being held, you and Sam unintentionally follow Bucky into this garage with a ton of old fancy cars in it. It is at this time that Sam turns to him and asks, "wait- where are we?"

Bucky avoids the question by bringing up Zemo once again, "we need to get Zemo out, he's our best chance to figure-"

"We aren't breaking Zemo out of prison." Sam responds bluntly.

There is a split second pause and then Bucky begins, "can I give you a hypothetical? Let me run you through a hypothetical." From there he runs the both of you through this scenario of how easy it would be to break Zemo out, with the ease he goes through this scenario you're pretty sure he has already done this without asking you or Sam.

Your theory was proven correct mere moments later when Zemo walks in and removes his hat. Sam and Bucky begin to argue from there and Zemo asks, "if I could-"

"NO!" Sam and Bucky shout simultaneously.

Zemo quietly nods his head and says, "apologize" under his breath.

From there Bucky talks Sam into it and Sam decides to go along with it as Zemo is already out and he might as well keep an eye on things.

Once they finish talking you look at Bucky and just say, "this is stupid." Then you turn and look at Zemo for a moment before going back to looking at Bucky, "so, how are going to do this?"

"We will go to Madripoor." From there Bucky and Zemo run you and Sam through what the plan is going to be as far as it is that they know what to do.

Before either you or Sam has the chance to ask how you'd get there, the four of you are already on your way to the airport. From there you all board a private jet, learn that Zemo is a Barron and has a butler.

It is once you all are in your seats that Zemo actually turns to you. "Y/n Stark? How unexpected... you still struggling with your memory?"

You look at him, then look at Sam and Bucky, before deciding to ignore him and the fact that he is trying to provoke you. From there he moves on to instead harass Bucky about the names he has in his journal, which Bucky chokes him over before taking his notebook back. This starts an entire conversation on Marvin Gaye and how he is one of the greatest musical artists of all time.

It takes a good few hours of flying to get to Madripoor, during this time Zemo tries another couple times to get you to talk to him... but he's careful since both Sam and Bucky are there and will do who knows what to him if he messes with you. He finally stops when you tell him to, "either stop being a coward and get out whatever is on his mind or to fuck off." He knew quite a lot about you, that much was obvious, but that was why you had gone to him, because he knows about HYDRA. Despite knowing a lot about you, your attitude towards him seemed to surprise him quite a bit. You took note of this, knowing he was prodding and probing to see how it is you would react, knowing that it couldn't mean anything good for you if he was interested in you.

You all leave the plane, Sam getting a nice suit to wear and they somehow talk you into the fact that to pull this off you'll need to wear a dress. You weren't necessarily happy about the idea, dresses, especially more revealing dresses were not your thing, as you preferred to keep to yourself and stay covered nearly from head to toe, to the point that the idea of a morph suit had crossed your mind more than once. When you stepped off the plane in your heels and dress you're thankful that at least it's dark and that it will make the many scars that covered your body less obvious. Sure, your scars from your time with HYDRA might not be as noticeable as a prosthetic arm but they were deep and hadn't healed well, leaving them obvious against the rest of your skin.

"I look like a pimp," Sam comments as the four of you walk.

"Only an American would think a well dressed black man looks like a pimp," Zemo says then once again explains who it is that Sam is supposed to be pretending to be. Then Zemo was himself, and Bucky pretending to once again be the Winter Soldier. Then you. You had been given what seemed to be the only obvious role for a woman, at least when it came to men and sleazy places like Madripoor, you got to be the stupid girl hanging on the Smiling Tiger's arm. At least it's just Sam you tell yourself, not Zemo and definitely not Bucky, not that you had anything against Bucky but due to him and you having some shared time with HYDRA you weren't really comfortable with him. Probably because he would have been the one they sent to take you and fake your death, the reason you'd had such a panic attack at the feeling of his cold metal hand over your mouth back in that warehouse.

The four of you get out of the car, and your act begins. Your arm naturally links with Sam's as you walk into the bar together, your grip is a bit tight and Sam notices but he knows you've been through a lot even if you haven't a clue what exactly it is that happened to you. He gives your hand a slight, reassuring, squeeze, you look at him and offer a slight smile, squeezing his hand in return before loosening the death grip you had on him.

Zemo knows exactly where it is he is heading, going right up to the bartender and asks to see Selby. The man behind the bar somewhat ignores Zemo to instead as Sam if he wanted his usual. Sam only nods, not wanting to use his voice and risk revealing that he had an American accent. You watch in disgust as the man dissects a snake right there on the counter and adds something from its innards into the shot glass before handing it to Sam.  

"Ah, Smiling Tiger, your favorite."

"Yep," Sam says, barely getting the word out, but he pushes through and takes the shot.

All you can do to help him is offer another gentle squeeze to his hand. You hadn't let go of his hand since you had entered the place and something about it seemed to be helping you stay calm despite the crowd and the volume of the place.

Zemo asks once again about Selby, then as some guy is about to jump him he says, "Soldier, attack," of course it is said in Russian but you understand it.

It is with ease that Bucky flips that invisible switch, turning on the Winter Soldier and quickly downing the man before being told to stop. In those few seconds you heart reaches your throat and you feel your knees begin to buckle under your weight. Sam feels you begin to shake next to him and puts an arm around your waist to steady you. Surprisingly this helps pull you back into the moment. Your legs still feel weak but you lean your head on Sam's shoulder and try to ground yourself, you don't even think about it as your arm finds its way to go around his shoulders. By the time the fight is over with you truly are hanging on Sam's arm like the eye candy part you're supposed to be playing.

You don't think too much about it, focusing more on the current threats than the one thing making you feel safe. You're still holding onto him when you reach the room Selby is in and Zemo begins speaking to her. The both of you let Zemo do the talking, he offers Bucky and the code words to control the winter soldier in exchange for information on who is manufacturing the super soldier serum.

"Where can we find him?" Zemo asks, Selby about the scientist who is making the serum.

"Oh, Zemo, the bread crumbs you can have for free-" The woman gets interrupted by the ringing of Sam's phone. "Answer it. On speaker," she says, leaving no option for Sam but to answer his phone.

He tries to answer it and play it cool, you can hear the woman on the other end and she isn't making it easy on Sam to stay in disguise, obviously trying to talk about something important to the both of them. Next thing you know the conversation comes to an end as the woman yells at what is most likely some kids before saying, "sorry Sam I got to go."

The phone clicks as it hangs up, and Selby just asks, "Sam? Who is Sam?" The next moment there is a ton of shouting, a gunshot, and then for you things go dark.

When you come too you're lying on a couch in an extremely nice house. You can hear voices off in an adjacent room but you don't make any move to get up. Instead you lie there, trying to gather your thoughts in your scrambled mind. Something had happened. There was a familiar feeling of a cold sweat over your body and you feel nauseous. You try and focus on the conversation with Selby, where it had gone south and what had happened.

The memory was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn't get a solid grasp on it, you grab at it and keep digging. There had been yelling then the gunshot. Selby fell to the floor, dead. You take a deep breath as you remember letting go of Sam. You had let go of him and Zemo had shouted something in Russian. That was when things went dark. Zemo knew a key word. The words that HYDRA had used to control you.

You slowly sit up and look at your hands, they were covered in blood, you didn't know who but Zemo had activated something inside of you, causing you to kill someone. Anger swelled within you, Zemo had used you. He had broken into your mind with a single word and caused you to attack. Your heart feels as though it will explode as you stand up and without warning enter then next room.

You notice Sam and Bucky, but not Sharon. Your eyes lock onto Zemo and in less than a second you're across the room, your hand on his throat as you push him against the wall. "What do you know?" The anger in your voice is clear, an anger you couldn't remember seeing in yourself before.

"So now you'll speak to me?" Zemo taunts you and you slightly lessen the pressure on his neck only to be able to slam his head back into the wall behind him with more force.

"I said tell me what you know and what the hell you did to me back there." You can feel the eyes of Sam and Bucky on you, Sam is standing behind you now but you just hold out your other hand in warning. If he wants you to stand down it will mean knocking you out. You aren't taking no for an answer Zemo will give you answers.

As you stare Zemo down its as though he's staring down the barrel of a gun. He knows that he'd hit a spot with you by doing what he had, he wasn't scared of death, but your look did make him feel some fear. You weren't a killer. "You were the one HYDRA used to torture people. A brilliant mind they got completely under their control by only giving you parts of your memories as you needed them. You were their top scientist from the time they took you, you did terrible things, gave many people long and drawn out deaths when they wouldn't do what HYDRA wanted. You used innocent people as test subjects for your weapons, you killed just as many people as he did," he nods towards Bucky, "but at least he made their deaths quick and relatively painless."

You continue to stare him down, slowly you released your grip on his neck and stepped back. Turning to Sam you ask, "where's the bathroom," Sam looks at Sharon, causing you to notice her for the first time, and Sharon gives you directions to the bathroom.

You go on your own to the bathroom, taking your time with washing your hands and then slowly sliding to the floor and sitting with your back to the door. Zemo was right. He knew exactly who you were and could probably name every single terrible thing which you had done and who your victims were. You grip your forehead as you make yourself remember what Zemo had said in Russian, what word he had used to activate your kill switch.

"Лимонад." That was what he said. It was a simple word, a word that meant Lemonade. You begin to say the word out loud to yourself, starting in a whisper as you repeat again and again, "Лимонад. Лимонад. Лимонад."

You can feel your anxiety rise as you do this to yourself, but you can't make yourself stop once you've started. As you sit there, as you repeat that code word, glimpses of your past, your time at HYDRA and even some memories before that, when you were young and would try to play with Tony.  You lost track of time as you sat there, bringing your own memories back, with the taste of sour sour lemonade on your lips.

[fencesandfrogs]

cloudtail’s daughter — worldbuilding & logistical things

so i've been working on an au re. dovewing being the direct child of cloudtail and brightheart. check out my cloudtail's daughter tag for more info, because i'm basically just jumping in this time with minimal context.

that said, i think this is relatively self-contained. it's mostly thoughts about the world of warriors, lumped in with specific changes for the au purposes.

[3.8k words, 14 min read. section headers, very long paragraphs. paragraphs in parathesis and italics are sidebars that can be skipped. a lot of spelling mistakes because my grammer checker cuts me off after like 2k words. sorry.]

section one: po3

so i've said before i want to minimize the changes made specifically in po3 for the purposes of this au. a) because that means i only have to keep track of 6 books worth of content (i've given myself through bramblestar's storm to get to the point where it could mostly fit into canon, but for reasons that are obvious re. my dovewing/tigerheart take, tigerheart's shadow would be a little weird, but not out of canon. anyway we don't get any tigerheart pov in this so who knows what he's thinking.)

anyway, hollyleaf plays a significant role in the ending three books of the rewrite, getting her own pov in book 4 the forgotten warrior. so she can't go exactly the same way it happens in po3. i need her back in thunderclan by book 2 for beavers, not book 5. also, she still needs to end up mates with fallen leaves. because changing that would count as a major series change that could have an impact on the future continuity and this series rewrite is intended to be fairly self contained.

right. so hollyleaf has her shit a bit more together, but she still kills ashfur and goes into the tunnels. the difference is we're ignoring the entire hollyleaf's story novella. don't get me wrong, it was a really good novella, but she doesn't have that much time. i'm not interested in figuring out the details of what happens, but she returns to the clans either before book one or in book one, i haven't decided. she continues to see fallen leaves fairly regularly, though, including spending irregular nights with him. everyone just kind of...accepts hollyleaf's ghost boyfriend, because no one wants to upset hollyleaf again.

lionblaze's personality is not entirely nonexistant in po3, contrary to popular opinion, but he does have to support an entire book in this rewrite, and it's the weakest book in the arc, so he's gotta have something. i've nudged him to be a bit gregarious and open. you know, big and friendly and warm. terrifying in battle though.

jayfeather ends on much better terms with brightheart. i know he doesn't really end on a bad note with her, but this is also to help story flow a bit.

other changes will, i'm sure, crop up here and there, but those are the three major ones. i've got tonnes of changes i'd like to make, but i'm keeping it minor. (notably, if it were up to me, jayfeather would do his back in time sequence once, not twice, and it would be in omen of the stars. hollyleaf's ghost boyfriend would add more solid ground to it, and that would be established in book 2, but as i've decreed the rules, it is not up to me.

also, dovekit and jaykit would be siblings, and dovepaw would become the medicine cat dovefeather, and jaypaw would be the warrior jaywing. that's a bigger change though for a different au.)

section two: family dynamics & a bit of genetics

so one thing i really like in omen of the stars is how close dove/ivy/white are. it's really cute. cloudtail and dovekit are super close in the first book, and brightheart, dovekit, and ivykit are going to stay close throughout their lives. (cloudtail will also stay close with his daughters, but dovewing and ivypool consistently look to whitewing for support, and brightheart is good for that too.)

i have whitewing as still existing because age wise, i think it makes sense for brightheart to have her younger litter at dovekit and ivykit, than for them to be her first litter and for amber/dew/snow continue to exist. (in my hypothetical jaywing/dovefeather au, this is reversed.)

i'm not keen on her being close with her younger sisters. i do think, for future story purposes, whitewing and birchfall would have amber/snow/dew. this is a super unimportant change because the only part of that litter that matters is that lilykit is fostered so that lilyheart can then foster twigkit and violetkit, and there's 0 reason that whitewing can't be responsible for that.

(be honest, did you even remember that chain of events? did you even remember who raised lilykit? did you even remember sorreltail was her birth mother who died? yeah, that's what i thought.)

anyway, i've danced around the specific genetics of how we get a grey dovekit from a white cloudtail and a red brightheart, and you may think, "matthew, one paragraph isn't dancing around it," and that's because you have no idea how much i care about this and how much i have to say about this. if you don't want to read 1.3k words about cat genetics, skip to the next section. the last two paragraphs is the only part that's even kind of important.

so. i've put a whole lot of thought into this. because obviously dovekit is responsible for being grey to make the whole bit work about her, you know, being dovekit, and dovekit must be dovekit for dove's gentle wings to work. so this is important.

i'm going to walk through the two options: tortie brightheart and tortie dovewing. (*technically, calico brightheart and either for dovewing, but i'm keeping it brief.)

(an aside that's totally skipable: so there is a gene on the extension locus E/e which causes cats born black to turn to amber, which definitely could be brightheart, but it's pretty rare, so i'm sticking with my calico assumptions. that said, in brightheart's official art, there is a black ring around her nose, implying a very specific silver tabby to amber deal. given her kit coat isn't described anywhere i can find it, i'd say it's actually the best description of brightheart. that said, best description is not the most likely. anyway, if this were the case, i wouldn't need all of this write up. so know that there's an easy solution, but i'm choosing to ignore it because of its rarity and because i don't want to check if brightheart could have inherited the silver genes she would have had to for this to work. it's definitely possible, given that frostfur has the same deal as cloudtail, see below, and lionheart could be golden --- as in the formal word for a cat with certain genes, a color linked to silver, but, well, i just can't find it likely. i'll add a short description of how it would work at the very end of this though.)

in either case, cloudtail is the same, so i'll address him first.

so, cats have four genes on the white allele, Wd, Ws, w, and wg. Wd is dominant white, and it could be what cloudtail has, but since he has blue eyes, it would be likely for him to be deaf, and, because it's dominant, there's a low chance that neither dovekit nor ivykit inherit it. is what i would be saying if whitewing wasn't his first daughter. she is also solid white with blue eyes, so to me, that makes me thing he has Wd- (as in, any other gene.)

the other option, Ws, requires him to be WsWs to be fully white, and brightheart to be either WsWs or Ws- for whitewing to inherit WsWs. given that ambermoon and dewnose are not fully white, it seems that brightheart is Ws- and cloudtails is Wdw (or Wdwg) in order for their theoretical image to be correct.

(an aside of even less importance: ambermoon's father was not cloudtail. the short explanation is that she shares one X chromosome with princess, who was XX --- see my discussion of tortoiseshells below, we know princess wasn't one, so she can't be XXo --- and one with brightheart, who's XXo or XoXo. therefore, ambermoon and princess cannot both have accurate canon descriptions because one of them needs to be a tortie. i think it's more likely she was sired by a red tom. yes, it is possible for kits in the same litter to have different sires, and yes, that is necessary, because no one else has dominant white in thunderclan AFAIK. this means making her birchfall and whitewing's gives a bit more wiggle room in all this. a bit. she could also have the same thing covered on brightheart in the above slide, but that's complicated for other reasons.)

brightheart is almost certainly Wsw or Wswg. they're not both wgwg because that leaves no options for ambermoon, who i'm interpretting as not having any white. cloudtail inherits from princess wg because of birman gloving demonstrating on her white paws (there are other ways, but given her description, which fits it almost identically, i'm going with that.) so for white, we have Wdwg for cloudtail and Wsw for brightheart.

ivypool inherits Wswg so she can have her inconsistent white, and dovewing inherits wwg.

now, we don't know anything about cloudtail's father, except that he's white too (or cloudtail couldn't be white.) princess is light brown tabby, which is something i'm having a hard time deciding her genetics for, so we'll work back to that (neither of the obvious options leads to a cat that looks like princess, because of how tabbies work, the combination is likely not to be obvious anyway) if i decide we need her genetics.

right so for dovewing to be solid grey, two things must be true: cloudtail and brightheart must be either Dd or dd (dilution). brightheart, i don't believe, is dilute, because i've seen cream on cats and it's far closer to sandstorm's color than brightheart, so i'm calling her Dd. cloudtail can be either.

dovewing is dd, and so is ivypool. that's how you get light grey.

now, either cloudtail or brightheart have to have a B- black phenotype. (special case included, if you read the aside) and i think it's more likely to be cloudtail. then, brightheart can be blbl, which is cinnamon, and would help hide her tortie-ness. (we're covering that later.)

at this point, dovewing is more or less settled. if you're comfortable with this type of genetics, you can probably work it out. dovekit inherits B-/dd/wwg, and she's everything we need. the fact that she's not a tabby does kind of matter, but not really, because the nonagouti gene is recessive so even if cloudtail was a masked tabby, he can still be Aa and brighheart can be Aa, so she won't show. that makes dovewing B-/dd/wwg/aa, for those following along at home.

ivypool is a tabby, so she'd be B-/bb/Ws-/A-.

okay, we have the core of them settled down. there's a lot more that goes into types of tabbies, but that doesn't really matter here. the last bit that matters is the tortie issue.

as is a somewhat commonly known fact, tortie cats are almost always female, because the phaeomelanin (red pigment) gene in cats is sex linked to Xo (vs X for eumelanin, the black gene). this is expressed as O/o when discussing the specific gene, but since we only care if its dominant, the XO/Xo distinction is slightly faster to type if X means black and Xo means orange.

anyway, these are codominant, if a cat has two, they'll be expressed at random. that's how tortie cats exist. since for the vast majority of cases, only female cats have two X chromosomes, only female cats can be XXo.

(as an aside, that's another reason for the clans to find sol strange. i know the clans have a lot of male calicos, but sol was the most distinctive one, since redtail died in the prologue and i can't recall any others off the top of my head.)

anyway, dovewing needs to inherit XX to be fully black (grey), so brightheart needs to be tortie to pass on one to her and remain orange. alternatively, brightheart is XoXo and dovewing is a tortie. i'm sticking with brightheart tortie because that's actually how i pictured her, so i like it better, but it doesn't really matter, since the cream on dilute torties is actually rather subtle.

ivypool is the same as dovewing, although she could be a tortie if dovewing isn't and brightheart is, something i quite like the idea of.

now, for option 3, the cryptic option in the aside. basically, to summarize, you can get black cats who turn orange over time. the end result is a cat who looks very much like brightheart if they start silver tabbies (like ivypool could be), up to the black ring around her nose in the official art. that makes it the best way to describe brightheart.

however, it's pretty rare, so i chose to ignore it for my analysis. if brightheart did have this gene, then nothing would change about dovekit and ivykit from their canon descriptions, nor would her's change, except for her apprentice art, which would need to be updated as spreading orange over silver.

this is also the only option that gives us fully red ivykit, something i have decreed adorable.

over 1k words about cat colors later, here's my take: dovewing and ivypool with somewhat mirrored tortie spots (they'll never be perfectly mirrored, both because ivypool has white and because its entirely random) is cute and adds something extra to all of that art where they're mirrored.

i'd rather have straight red brightheart because she's got so much art very clearly not calico, and i'd rather have the two sisters match each other for cinematic drama than change brightheart. the accurate thing to do would be calico brightheart because it could be easily hidden by the right genes on the B locus, but i don't want to do that. so. i hope this was illustrative.

section three: clan culture

this here has no impact on plot but i've read a lot of worldbuilding stuff developing distinct cultures for the clans and honestly, that's why i'm so sad book 6 takes place with two shadowclan narrators. unfortunately, dovewing and ivypool are, like, crucial to the success of the clan cats, so they need to be there.

that said, were i to write this, i would certain write novellas for lionblaze and jayfeather.

anyway, i'm going to take what we've come to see as "standard clan culture" as thunderclan culture. they have a good deal of contact not with twolegs but with kittypets (compared to the opposite for riverclan) in the old terretory, so it makes sense they developed a more rigid, militeristic life, less free and less spiritual than the other clans necessarily. they're trying to be tough in front of the kittypets.

riverclan is just kinda...chill. they like flowers and shiny things. they copy twolegs because its fun (cats irl do this because they want to be like you --- being like you seems safe to them, but these kitties do it because its fun.)

so they make, not flower crowns because, no thumbs, but certainly weave flowers into den walls and leave petals places. (to everyone who keeps putting things on cats heads, please try doing that with the most patient domestic cat you know, and then i'll let you quietly correct yourself. i mean, continue doing it for fun, but if you seriously think that's possible...)

i do like the idea of them making wreathes its just, like, no opposable thumbs guys. maybe the medicine cats do it for religious holidays.

anyway, they have patrols far less regularly than thunderclan. they're also the most true to real cat schedules: most active at dawn and dusk. that's when fish are active.

so they're not lazy, sleeping all day, they get up earlier than all but the earliest risers in thunderclan and shadowclan. (windclan wakes up early too, we're getting to them.)

they also make shrines, but they don't really have a ton of weight to them. they're copying what they see.

when cats die, however, the trinkets lining their nests are dispersed to their loved ones, and one or two are added to a collective pile/arrangement somewhere. riverclan has been pretty clear their nests float (although i can't tell you why, considering they just evacuate when that happens and have to rebuild), so the most useful thin i can think of is to preserve the trinkets.

they also are one of the two clans to celebrate proper holidays. there's not a good sense of order to them, but when a celebration is needed, a celebration is had.

that said, unlike thunderclan, the warrior vigil does remain strong in riverclan. this is because twolegs are far more common in their territory, and so learning to be quiet when necessary is important, and the vigil reinforces that. riverclan cats are also really good at sitting still: you have to, to be able to catch fish.

shadowclan is pretty serious, but unlike thunderclan, they're serious about religion. being a medicine cat in shadowclan is a pretty serious deal. they tend to die young. (i'm stealing this mostly/entirely from warrior cats redux because i can't get it out of my head.)

they retain bringing apprentices to the moonpool in the new territory. it was always an important deal for them, whereas in thunderclan it's kind of like "oh yeah make sure that happens," like a mastery project in high school or a first year seminar in university.

they also care a lot about their ancestors. i believe blackstar is the one who called the names of the fallen during every gathering? yeah. that's because remembering the dead is really important in shadowclan.

they've got a lot of nursery tales about ghosts who grew vengeful once their names were forgotten, fading from starclan but not allowed to fully die. so. when everyone dies real fast like that, carving their names into everyone's memory is super important.

(if it wasn't blackstar who did that it is in this au.)

anyway, they've got a good amount of order to their life, like thunderclan, and the camp is also a lot quieter. in thunderclan, kits are under a good amount of danger from badgers and foxes and hawks, oh my!, but pine forests are a bit safer, since foxes are the only serious predetor.

i mean, it's complicated, and i can't really figure out what biome to base this analysis on, but i'm sticking with "foxes are all shadowclan really has to worry about" because it works for me. so shadowclan kits are allowed (suprivised) out of camp much earlier.

i know this contradicts tigerheart's shadow, and my choice was either "shadowclan: militant about protecting kits" or "shadowclan: dgaf" and i'm going with "after brokenstar, they did get real protective of their kits, which is when tigerkit was born and raised, but over time, they've relaxed back to their natural state of chill"

anyway, they're probably the most similar to thunderclan, but dovewing vibes there so much better because there's a real sense of order for purpose, not just because. so there's less shouting about who is going on patrol and who's hunting. the dawn patrol is leaving because if you're up at dawn, you need to secure the territory. etc.

and while she's part of a prophecy, shadowclan revers the prophecy itself, not dovewing. dovewing is not special for being a part of it, she's just doing her role for clan life. her role happens to be different than the usual, but so what? she's just a cat.'

also, they have holidays. namely, the new moon is a big celebration night, but they also celebrate the seasons, and new life. this is part of why tigerheart gets so homesick: even dovewing, his wife, doesn't share this part of life with him, and he misses it.

finally, windclan. i don't know honestly what to do with them. they're supposed to be the most spiritual but that's not reflected in how they're written, even in like tallstar's revenge, so i don't know. i think they're the calm riverclan crossed with the more focused on protocol of clan life thunderclan.

they rise early because rabbits, and their hunting patrols are smaller and less organized. based on the books, they just run full wild after rabbits most of the time, which means they scare off the other ones for a while, so it makes sense to have a mentor and apprentice go out every hour or so during the waking day to grab a bunny or bird than for a bunch of cats to feed the clan for a day.

they do have a lot of respect for medicine cats and leaders. starclan isn't seen as something the average cat has any connection at all with. i have a hard time keeping track of who complains about what in the broken code and avos, but i feel like windclan gets angry at some point about shadowsight's visiosn.

anyway, so a cat like jayfeather is like "oh he real cool" and that's fun for jayfeather. everyone expects great things from him. because, you know, medicine cat and in a prophecy? can you imagine i mean shame he came to be via crowfeather and leafpool but you'd be a fool not to admit he's a credit to his parent's names.

they're also pretty proud. and private. very private. no one knows at all what goes on in windclan. i'd not put it past them to have a secondary camp to move to if they get uncomfortable with so many people knowing where their camp is.

i mean, how else do you explain them keeping the tunnlers secret for so long? i mean, like completely secret, no one else knew about them secret, we found out about them in a super edition secret for so long?

section four: medicine cat shit

this is a short section, but i want there to be the idea, especially in shadowclan and windclan, that medicine cats are really important to the integrity of a clan, so they need to be spiritually pure. this doesn't mean they can't have been warriors, but they can't break the code.

that's why thunderclan and riverclan medicine cats share herbs so much more than the others: if windclan and shadowclan leadrs say no, medicine cats are risking a lot by disobeying.

this is also part of why leafpool steps down when the truth comes out. what she did is bad enough, but it will be far worse for crowfeather if she doesn't step down, and shadowclan and windclan will come for her head.

nightcloud and breezepelt are also angry because not only did crowfeather have kits out of clan, but it was with a medicine cat. that's like having sex out of wedlock with a nun.

and that's pretty much all i have for this. most of it was taken up by cat genetics, because integrity matters to me.

[figula]

cw: eating disorders

im still thinking about that 'pro an/a from the early 2000s' video i watched yesterday, it reminded me that i had/have semi-formed plans for a hypothetical youtube video on my hypothetical youtube account doing a compare / contrast of eating disorder communities from 10 years ago vs now. i never went very far w/ this idea bc it would obviously necessitate embedding myself in those communities again, which is probably a bad idea given that i actually struggled w/ giving up those spaces for YEARS after i recovered - i would just make accounts to hang out in those places without saying anything lol. which is exactly what i'd be doing if i wanted to make that video lmao so it's probably a bad idea but i find them genuinely (i.e. not-as-a-secret-triggering-tool) fascinating conceptually

ana who has no history of an ED also found the whole thing fascinating and i think ended up watching that account all day

i was thining yesterday that i think it might in some ways have actually been WORSE to be a teenage girl on the verge of an ED in the mid 00s - being thin was IT. there was simply no counter-narrative, there were no role models who weren't stick-thin, fat people were almost without exception the butt of jokes and there was never anything even approaching a backlash. (remember Fat Monica?) i know that there's still a long way to go - fat people are still obviously and clearly a pretty hated class on the whole - but tess holliday could have never existed in 2007. lizzo could not have existed. (note on lizzo: i was DEEPLY disappointed when she promoted weight loss shakes on her insta, and it made me lose a lot of respect for her body positivity shtick, but the point still stands i think). like fat acceptance as a concept did not exist. i remember reading one of my gran's magazines and there was like a full page on a Dove (?) commercial - that woman sitting down with one small fat roll. like - this is definitely not the case anymore.

i think there's also more of an acknowledgement of outside forces, too: when i was a teen there was a lot of individualisation - a lot of the discourse i saw centred on dismissing the idea that very thin celebrities / models / magazines /size zero / The Media had anything to do with eating disorders as a whole. there was this push to cerebralise the illness into something more meaningful than what it was, imo. i think, obviously, that it's a combination of factors that causes EDs (particularly restrictive ones in this context) but looking back i cant quite understand the absolute refusal to engage with the what seems to me now very obvious truth that if thinness is held up as the ideal of female sucess, beauty, and achievement, that this will sink into young girls' heads.

however i do think that (for me) there was a forced distance between me and the online realm of EDs in that phones were not the way they are now - i would look at my ED content on the computer in the morning before school and when i got home but there were like 8 hours inbetween where i was free from it, and was kind of a 'normal' teen (albeit one with an ED). like if it's on your phone and inextricably linked with all your SM accounts where do you go? you literally have no escape. i think that must be really, really difficult. and i think that in some ways the concept of pro/ana is more mainstream? like most teens have instagram; the content is immediately there - either under tags or just right there on your feed as inspirational wellness content. it's more mainstream but more blurred. i think that is really hard too. at least for us we acknowledged what we were doing. there was very little pretence of health.

[aion-rsa]

House of the Dragon: Game of Thrones Prequel Trailer Breakdown

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It’s been far too long since TV viewers got to spend time in Westeros. Thankfully, we will all be returning soon. Today HBO Max revealed an official teaser for House of the Dragon, the first of many planned Game of Thrones spinoffs. Check it out below.

This story is a prequel that picks up roughly 200 years before the events of the epic HBO series. The Targaryen dynasty is on its fifth king of the Seven Kingdoms. They’ve got all the dragons they could want and things are going great in Westeros. Surely, no petty family squabble over succession could possibly ruin such a great thing! Unfortunately for the Targaryen family, George R.R. Martin kind of lives for this shit. 

House of the Dragon is set to cover a major event in Westerosi history known as the Dance of the Dragons. This is when a crisis of succession leads to an enormous civil war that devastates the continent and kills off a large percentage of House Targaryen’s dragons. And those dragons are pretty important, you see. As the voiceover in the teaser indicates “Gods, kings, fire, and blood. Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did.”

Though this teaser is only just over a minute long, it packs quite a bit of exciting imagery within it. Let’s break down exactly what it is we’re seeing here, using Martin’s prequel text Fire & Blood as a guide. 

Ser Otto Hightower

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House of the Dragon Photos Offer First Look at Thrones Prequel Characters

By Alec Bojalad

Fans of Game of Thrones should immediately recognize the pendant on the chest of this unseen character. That is worn by the “Hand of the King” who is essentially the King of the Seven Kingdoms’ chief of staff. Some Hands of the King are more historically significant than others and the House of the Dragon will depict a particularly important one. Though we don’t see his face, this character is certainly Ser Otto Hightower (Rhys Ifans).

The Hightowers hail from Oldtown in The Reach, one of the biggest and most powerful cities in the Seven Kingdoms. In fact, before Aegon I’s arrival on the continent and the creation of King’s Landing, Oldtown was THE city in Westeros. As such, the Hightower family that rules Oldtown is extremely powerful. Though Otto’s brother is the Lord of Oldtown, Otto has been a mainstay of King’s Landing for years. He is a deeply political man who counts the king’s brother Daemon as his biggest rival. His daughter is also quite attractive and may or may not catch the eye of King Viserys I.

King Viserys I

Ah yes, King Viserys I: the head honcho. Viserys I (Paddy Considine) is the fifth king of the Targaryen dynasty. He seems to be doing a decent job but that might just be because his reign followed that of his grandfather Jaehaerys I – perhaps the greatest king Westeros ever had. Viserys’s biggest “sin” is his love of his daughter Rhaenyra. Viserys is grooming her to be Westeros’s ruling monarch despite the precdent of patrilineal succession being set under Jaehaerys’s reign.

The prominent inclusion of Viserys’ sword in this shot might not be a coincidence. All Targaryen kings through Aegon IV wielded Aegon I’s Valyrian steel sword Blackfyre. Should someone hypothetically nab that sword in a civil war it would lend an air of legitimacy to their claim.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen (Emma D’Arcy). This may be the closest this story has to a “main character.” Rhaenyra is the apple of her father King Viserys’s eye. In fact, for much of her youth she was pretty much the apple of everyone’s eye. Known as the “Realm’s Delight”, Rhaenyra has a very positive approval rating in the Seven Kingdoms. She is Viserys’s only child from his marriage to Queen Aemma of House Arryn. She appears to have a clear path to the Iron Throne … unless her father does something crazy like say, get remarried.

Daemon Targaryen

Here we have Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen. Daemon (Matt Smith) is the king’s younger brother and therefore Rhaenyra’s uncle. In the war to come, Daemon will be one of the most important players. He is an excellent warrior but also a bit unbearable. Otto Hightower hates him and Viserys himself isn’t too taken by him. His niece certainly loves him though. Perhaps a bit too much. 

This may not be a particularly important moment but it does serve as a reminder that the Targaryen fashion sense is so rad. This also, however, could be a fateful duel between Daemon Targaryen and Ser Criston Cole (Fabien Frankel), the latter of which loves a morningstar and who will play an important role in the palace intrigue to come.

Corlys Velaryon a.k.a. The Sea Snake

Now THIS guy is very important. This is Corlys Velaryon a.k.a. The Sea Snake (Steve Toussaint). Think of him as House of the Dragon’s Tywin Lannister, that is to say: the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms who does not sit on the Iron Throne. House Velaryon dates its lineage back to Old Valyria just like the Targaryens. As such the two families are quite close, with Corlys even marrying Princess Rhaenys Targaryen (Eve Best).

Even beyond his family’s power, however, Corlys is a particularly impressive man. He is a prolific sailor and adventurer who has traveled all over the world, bringing many riches back home with him. Should a civil war break out, he would be a very important ally to win.

Speaking of Velaryons, here is the whole crew. It’s unknown who is who here but the following actors have been confirmed to be a part of the Velaryon family:

– Wil Johnson as Ser Vaemond Velaryon – Younger brother to Coryls Velaryon and commander in the Velaryon navy – John Macmillan as Ser Laenor Velaryon – Son of Corlys Velaryon and  Rhaenys Targaryen    – Savannah Steyn as Lady Laena Velayron – Daughter of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen  – Theo Nate as Ser Laenor Velaryon – Son of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen

I believe we’re seeing the adolescent Ser Laenor to Corlys’s left. His wife Rhaenys is also accompanying him.

This is a conspicuous shot of the Iron Throne – the thing that each character is striving for and the thing that also no longer exists, thanks to Drogon.

Mysaria

Here we see Sonoya Mizuno (Devs, Ex Machina) as Mysaria, Daemon’s Mistress of Whisperers and also just his mistress. Mysaria is pretty rad. She’s a dancer from the Free City of Lys in Essos who caught Daemon’s eye. She comes to serve a pretty important role in the Dance of the Dragons and is involved with at least one unbearably cruel act. Much of Westeros comes to know her as “Lady Misery.”

Lady Alicent Hightower

Told you Ser Otto Hightower’s daughter was attractive! This is Lady Alicent Hightower (Olivia Cooker), who will soon catch the king’s eye. Here, however, she appears to be in distress. She’s running through the court in Maegor’s Holdfast and holding what could be the same Valyrian dagger that caused so much strife in Game of Thrones. What events could this cursed thing have set in motion here? It’s hard to say but it may involve her son Aemon losing an eye.

Remember how much fun the jousting episodes were in Game of Thrones season 1? So much can happen at a tourney. It’s a fun place for highborn and commoners alike to take in some sweet violence. It’s also dramatically fertile ground for many schemes to take shape. Based on the heraldry of a red archer on a green field, this tournament is being held in Horn Hill, home of House Tarly (yes, as in Samwell Tarly). The two participants in this particular joust appear to be Ser Criston Cole again and a House Tarly knight.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

In Fire & Blood, the events that set the Dance of the Dragons in motion begin at a tourney in King’s Landing. Alicent Hightower is adorned in green and Rhaenyra Targaryen in black, so when the factions eventually divide they are known as the “greens” and the “blacks.”

At first glance this appears to be a simple training session. But then it becomes clear that these two combatants really hate each other. We are likely seeing here a skirmish between one of Lady Alicent’s sons and one of Lady Rhaenyra’s. You might think that the blond-haired boy is Rhaenyra’s son but curiously all of her and her blond husband Laenor’s kids come out with jet black hair. He almost looks a little bit more like Ser Harwin Strong (Ryan Corr). Interesting.

House of the Dragon will premiere in 2022 on HBO and HBO Max.

The post House of the Dragon: Game of Thrones Prequel Trailer Breakdown appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[marshmallowprotection]

it’s the Guardian of The Mortal Plane’s turn! uwu

Next is Guardian of The Heavenly Plane. I’ll explain what the Hellish and Heavenly Planes are when I get to the Plane’s respective guardians. Because the Heavenly and Hellish Planes are not exactly what you think they are. Because remember everyone goes through reincarnation after they die-…right? hehehehe- ok it’s complicated I’ll say more when I get to Guardian of The Heavenly Plane.

Name: Crimson #192

 Aliases (If Any): Hina (Preferred Name)

Guardian of The Mortal Plane (Title/Alias)

 Age: Several Billions of Years Old (Chronologically In The Twelfth World)

1 Year Old (Chronologically In Cela’s World)

Looks 19-21ish

 Date of Birth/Birthday: May 12th, 1816 (Redayan Birthday)

Day 12 of Nymeria’s Star, ??? (Twelfth World Birthday)

 Zodiac: Taurus

 Status: Alive

 Species: Artificial (“Super”) Human (Redayan)

 Magic: ???

 Height: 5'3 (162 Centimeters)

 Ethnicity: ???

 Relatives: Cela (Creator)

191 Previous Versions Of Herself (Siblings(?) Their All Dead Tho)

 Birth Place: Redaya, Shoa

 Nationality/Current Residence: Portal Island, Twelfth World

 Religion (Which Goddess Do they Worship?): None/Atheist

 Occupation: Guardian of The Mortal Plane

192nd Attempt By Cela In Creating a “Super” Human

Only Successful Attempt By Cela In Creating a “Super” Human

 Affiliations: Redaya

Cela

Personality: Awkward, Shy, Nervous, Socially Inept, Just Adorable, And Dorky

(Sometimes Is) Serious, Kind of Scary, Creepy, Stoic, Cold

Marital Status: Single

 Sexuality: Heterosexual/Romantic

 Likes: Sweets, Being Treated Like An Actual Human, Lollipops (They’re, Like, Her Signature Item Or Something), Flowers

 Dislikes: Being Treated As If She Weren’t Human,  Being Treated Like a Tool, Spicy Foods, Bitter Foods, Cela (In Secret)

 Role: Secondary Character

Debut: Undecided

 Backstory: Crimson #192, or “Hina” as she prefers to be called, is the Guardian of The Mortal Plane. However, she is, unlike all the other guardians, not from the Twelfth World or any worlds before that- she’s a successful experiment created by the creator of Kaya and the universe of the Twelfth World and its previous worlds- Cela. 

 Cela had been attempting to create a “super” human- something powerful and extremely durable, however, she wanted to create it within her world. You see, while Cela can create worlds, she cannot create something that is within her world with the tools given to her. Nobody knows yet why these limitations exist, even though hypothetically it should be possible. 

 And so Cela decided to do what nobody had: create a new person without going through the normal process of reproduction- create a person without having to put them in a preexisting world or make a new world for them to exist within. She also wanted to make something extremely powerful that could help with basically anything.

 191 attempts later, Cela was becoming fed up with her failures, having been trying to do this for 5 years. However, when her 192nd attempt at creating a superhuman actually started showing signs of being alive, and eventually was alive, Cela declared it a success. 

 Thus, Crimson #192 (or Hina as she will be called for the rest of this backstory) was the only successful attempt that Cela had been able to produce on her quest to make a superhuman.

Hina was treated as not even human by basically everyone in Cela’s world upon Cela introducing her, and Cela herself only saw Hina as a tool. 

 It didn’t help that Hina turned out to have a “defect”, as Cela called it, where without glasses her vision was heavily impaired, and Cela expressed disappointment at her creation’s visual impairedness, treating her not like a human who just needed glasses, but a tool with a scratch. 

 After a few months of tweaking by Cela, Cela decided to have Hina be her sort of stand-in observer, as Cela couldn’t observe the Twelfth World all day and she couldn’t directly interact with the world’s affairs, only create and destroy. And so she sent Hina to the world.

 Upon Hina being found by Kaya several billions of years before the events of Ever Changing Fate, Hina would eventually become a friend of Kaya, who actually treated her like a human instead of a tool or disgusting thing. 

 Eventually, Hina would end up as the Guardian of The Mortal Plane, guarding the portals to the Heavenly, Hellish, and Spiritual Planes on Portal Island, a small island in the middle of the Aleonese Ocean, smack dab in the middle of the area between Theda and Aleon. While Hina felt as if Kaya was getting rid of her by sending her there, Kaya stated that she couldn’t trust anyone more than her to guard the portals.

 And so Hina remains there to this day, drowning in loneliness and a lingering feeling as if Kaya had wanted to get rid of her because she was disgusted by her. 

 Other Random Facts:

Hina hates her “birth name” Crimson #192 because it makes her feel less human. Hina chose the name “Hina” as her preferred name for no real reason except because a child once asked her what her name was and couldn’t pronounce her birth name, and so Hina asked what the child would prefer to call her, and the child just chose “Hina”. It’s stuck ever since.  Cela doesn’t call Hina “Hina” because she thinks it’s dumb that Hina wants to be any more human than she is, because Cela believes Hina is simply a tool whose mind doesn’t matter.  Hina becomes extremely different from how she usually acts (which is socially awkward and nervous) whenever someone arrives at Portal Island without Kaya telling Hina they’re allowed there; she full out threatens to murder the intruder and has done so many times to intruders. She acts extremely serious and sometimes even tries to scare them away if they don’t leave by acting sadistic and insane. She usually ends up killing the intruder anyway. Only 3 intruders of the 239 people who have ever stumbled upon Portal Island without Kaya permitting them to go there have ever left alive. It’s become a fable that an evil witch lives on Portal Island and kills anyone who arrives there, and Portal Island has gained the name “Island of The Evil Witch” by the public. Its name and the fable attached to it have caused most people to avoid it nowadays. Hina has never met the Guardian of The Spiritual Plane but has met the Guardians of The Heavenly and The Hellish Planes. She’s aware of The Guardian of The Spiritual Plane’s existence, and The Guardian of The Spiritual Plane is aware of Hina’s existence. Hina doesn’t actually need to eat or do most normal human things, but to try to convince herself she’s just as human as anyone else she does most human things like sleep, eat, drink,  go to the bathroom, stuff like that. Hina is probably the loneliest of all the Plane Guardians, as whilst the other Guardians can talk to the spirits that live in their planes of existence, Hina is all alone on an almost completely deserted island, the only inhabitants being a few rare colorations of pegasi and rare species’ of hummingbirds. Hina has taken up the hobby of talking to animals by this point in time.  Nymeria is the only goddess besides Kaya who has met Hina, and she personally thinks Hina’s completely lost her mind.  “She talks to ANIMALS. She’s probably almost as insane as Gaia is by this point! And Gaia is REALLY fucking crazy!” Is what Nymeria said to herself in private after meeting Hina. Cela has often extremely harshly lectured Hina (to the point it borders on verbal abuse) whenever Hina does not listen to her or does something she doesn’t like. Hence her expression in the Picrew above. Hina is “supposed” to not have emotions according to Cela but Hina really does have emotions, and Cela treats that fact as yet another defect, but because Hina is her only successful experiment in her superhuman experiment stuff, she has to deal with it because she doesn’t have the resources to try to make another attempt. Hina’s birth name, “Crimson #192”, comes from the fact that Cela decided to give all the experiments “crimson” hair like her own.

— Submission

Ouch. It’s painful when you’re got characters that are blamed for things that are out of their control. Liike, buddy, you can’t kick someone for how their bodies are going to react and grow to certain things. Can someone come and save this girl and get her some snacks? It seems like she’s benefit from some gummy worms or something. The birds are company, of course, but you can only talk to them for so long before you miss the comfort of another person.

Godly or not, interaction with others is important or you start to lose yourself to your feelings. 

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Two Gods, One Braincell Ch.4 Goddesses Do Not Hesitate

Summary:

Bold of you to assume I won't love you.

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

"I love you," Kagami stated simply.

"R-really!?" Adrien's cheeks reddened as he stumbled over his words.

"Yes." Kagami waited for a moment. "Oh, am I supposed to elaborate?"

"I mean, it wouldn't hurt!"

"You have always taken your role seriously," Kagami began, Adrien's nervousness ebbing as she continued in her honest, matter-of-fact tone. "If through your intervention a single mortal can be protected you do so. Regardless of what the council says about treading lightly in the lower world. You have nothing but praise for me when my storms out thunder your own. When Mother brought me to the court of heaven for the first time it was you who befriended me. Despite my obnoxious attitude."

"I didn't think you were obnoxious," Adrien said softly.

Although it made her wish to knock some sense into her younger self Kagami smiled at the memory. "I declared myself the equal of any swordsman in heaven. Masters millennia my seniors."

"I seem to remember you knocked a certain 'master' on his back that day." Adrien hadn't gone easy on her either. Kagami's confidence demanded to be met with his best.

"See? Even in defeat you have nothing but praise. Taking joy in your friends' victories as though they were your own."

"Isn't that what friends do?" Adrien was pretty sure it was. Nino said so and, as a god of 'platonic bonds', he should know.

"But you make it look so effortless." Kagami herself still struggled to separate the desire to win from her pride in her friends. It was, as Marinette says, a learning process.

Rubbing the back of his head Adrien smiled ruefully. "Effortless? That's what I see when I look at you. How you go after what you want without hesitating. The way you're always honest, even when it's not what the other god wants to hear. And I'm not the only one that protects mortals so vehemently, Kagami."

Feeling heat rise across her cheeks Kagami stepped into Adrien's space. "You really think so highly of me?"

Adrien quirked his eyebrows in puzzlement, taking her hands in his. "Of course. Don't I tell you every day how amazing you are?"

"Right, yes, it's just..." Kagami floated up and pecked the taller god lightly on the lips. "Different this time."

A bunch of emotions flickered through Adrien's eyes as he stared at her. Then a silly grin bloomed across his face as Adrien bent down for a longer, softer kiss.

Sparks arced between them as the air filled with the scent of lightning. Dipping Adrien suddenly, Kagami deepened the kiss. Thunder booming in the distance.

Gasping for breath, Adrien looked up at Kagami from his place in her strong arms. "No fair! I wanted to do that!"

Kagami leaned in until their noses almost touched. "What's stopping you?"

With a smirk Adrien switched their positions. Kagami's eyes widening at the sudden shift. The wind picked up, swirling around them.

Lifting her upright Adrien broke the kiss and held her to his chest. Warmth filled Kagami as she felt his heartbeat under her hands.

A happy squeal brought them back to the present. Alya cleared her throat but didn't bother masking her giddiness. The others were much closer than Kagami remembered leaving them. Not that she had bothered with an actually private confession. 

"I knew it!" Alya grabbed Nino and shook him. "I knew it!"

Weathering Alya's enthusiasm admirably, Nino gave two thumbs up.

Marinette was peaking through her fingers, face bright red from the intensity of Adrien and Kagami's passion. "Kagami, Adrien, I'm happy for you. But if y'all could not manifest a hurricane in the middle of a continent that would be great!"

Kagami felt Adrien's embarrassment mirror her own. "I thought you were a love goddess?"

"I enjoy bringing couples together," Marinette recited as though she was often asked the same thing. "I have no interest in... the other stuff."

Before Kagami could spontaneously combust, Kim dropped in. Literally, he jumped off his cloud and landed in the middle. "Got 'em!" he announced, raising a barrel small enough to fit in his palm.

A gleam entered Adrien's eye. "Monkeys in a barrel?"

"You know it!" Kim high-fived Adrien before noticing how his other arm wrapped around Kagami. "Did you gods get together? That's great! You gonna combine domains like Alya and Nino?"

"God, that's personal!" Nino chastised. "They have to talk about it before-"

"No, no no no no no." Marinette gestured emphatically. "I know that look, Kim! Even if Adrien and Kagami merge domains they are not going to be making any supercells anytime soon!"

"Spoilsport!"

"I mean, maybe in the middle of the ocean."

"Alya!"

Their friends continued discussing the merits of Adrien and Kagami's union, much to the new couple's amusement. Nino, the only voice of reason, exposed the merits of communication before taking important decisions. Alya and Kim immediately placed bets on how exactly the new relationship would progress. While Marinette bemoaned all the hypothetical headaches her friends were going to cause her.

Adrien laughed a bit too gleefully at that last one.

Kagami frowned as she looked up at him. Adjusting the way her fingers fit into his.

Noticing her scrutiny, Adrien fidgeted self-consciously. "What?"

"You're taller than me." Later Adrien would accuse her of pouting. Which was, of course, nonsense. Kagami did not pout.

Adrien laughed. "Not in your dragon form I'm not!"

Pleased at this reminder, Kagami rested her head on his shoulder. Attention going back to their friends antics.

"... Kagami?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you, too."

Kagami's shy moments were rare but this definitely counted. Shifting her head away in a vain attempt to block her blush from his sight. He didn't say anything else, though she got the distinct impression Adrien was smiling at her.

She squeezed his hand gently. Letting his presence and the voices of their friends fill her heart.

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

@kagamiappreciationweek2020

[shapeshifting-wildcard]

On the eleventh, Zenkichi stumbled into an argument between the Phantom Thieves. All of them had different ideas of who was "to blame" for an incident a couple years prior, where an ice sculpture in Saporro fell and killed an innocent child. The debate between the Phantom Thieves was reminiscent of the trolley problem, and the underlying problems with it. From an outside perspective, there were many, many spots where the trolley problem should not have happened. The engineers, the conductor, the politicians calling the shots, all of them played a role well before it came to the final result.

So, who was responsible for the ice sculpture falling? Was it the corrupt politician who bribed the one in charge of hiring people? Was it the one who took the bribe and hired shitty contractors? Was it the shitty contractors who did such a bad job and caused the sculpture to collapse under its own weight?

Or was it Mariko Hyodo, the mayor who had no idea any of these things were going on right under her nose until it was far too late?

"Contrary to what all of you might believe, multiple people can be complicit in a given incident," Akechi pointed out. "Quibble all you want about who's 'most' at fault, but the fact of the matter is, there are at least four people who share the blame: the one who offered the bribe, the one who took the bribe, the contractor... and the person who was supposed to be overseeing it all."

Zenkichi nodded. "Exactly. At the end of the day, the accident was her responsibility, since she's the top of command. Regardless of who did what, a real leader takes the fall."

"In an ideal world, of course, it wouldn't just be the leader 'taking the fall,'" Akechi said. "After all, if the ones who exchanged money are allowed to get away scot-free, they'd simply keep doing the same thing. And who's to say the contractor won't get another job that results in even more death and harm? True justice would see all of them facing consequences for their actions."

A few Thieves shot him looks, many of them looking like they wanted to say something but deciding against it.

"Real life is rarely that straightforward, though," Zenkichi said, shrugging and leaning back. "I know it's a bitter pill to swallow for a bunch of justice-loving kids operating outside the law—"

"I'm not merely speaking in hypotheticals," Akechi interrupted. "I am more than aware of how complicated the real world is. The better question is, are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zenkichi said, frowning.

"Reducing us to simply 'a bunch of justice-loving kids' is a gross oversimplification," Akechi said, leaning back in his seat as well. "Our ideas of what constitutes justice and our ideas of how to achieve it don't always align. And sometimes, the only way to acheive true justice requires one to do things that fall outside the pre-established 'rules.'"

"Why, dad?!" Akane shouted at him over the grave of her mother, mere days ago. "Why don't you even listen to me?! You know who the real bad guy is! Aren't the police supposed to do what's right?!"

What Comissioner Kaburagi sought to do didn't sit right with Zenkichi. With the exception of the straggler who had thrown in his lot with them, the Phantom Thieves were all kids. The youngest was only a couple years older than his own daughter. And Kaburagi wanted to arrest them for murder? No. No, this was his wife's murder all over again. A bunch of innocents were about to be blamed for something that was absolutely not their fault.

" If it came down to it, inspector," Akechi's words rang through his mind alongside Akane's, "would you be willing to go against your superiors for the sake of true justice? How much are you willing to risk, if it turns out your own organization is just as corrupt from the top down?"

Kaburagi turned her back on Zenkichi, facing the hotel he had so foolishly put the Thieves up in. The one he had expensed for them as part of the investigation.

"It's time. Everyone ready?"

Zenkichi grit his teeth. "How much are you willing to risk?"

Kaburagi raised her arm. "All units, move out!"

"Hold it!"

Zenkichi saw Kaburagi lower her head as he dashed past her, no doubt scowling at the interruption. He didn't care. It didn't matter to him how much trouble he would be in, or what was about to happen to him.

He couldn't let things continue like this.

"Run," he murmured like a prayer, before raising his voice in a shout. "Run for it! All of you!"

"Idiot," Kaburagi muttered behind him. "You're under arrest! Interfering with an officer is punishable by law!"

As his fellow officer pushed him to the ground and restrained him, all he could do was hope and pray that the Phantom Thieves were okay. That when Kaburagi burst into the hotel, she would find no trace of them.

It was a long shot, but it was the only thing he had left.