#the silver turk

[ryanthedoctor11]

Something interesting that I just realized is that for 3 companions in a row the first trip they went on was meeting Cybermen. Mary Shelley met them in Silver Turk, Charlotte Pollard first met them in Sword of Orion, and Lady Audacity Montague first met them in The Great Cyber War (it's also interesting to point out that they are all companions from various points in history, one even has historical relevance.Though that is less relevant)

[girlgeekjf-blog]

Ranking all the main range Big Finish Eighth Doctor Stories

(Excluding Multi Doctor stories)

(With bonus Eight and Charley special releases)

1. Caerdroia: Just delightful. Witty and cathartic-listened to it twice in one week. Such strong writing and acting, everyone has a moment to shine

2. Scherzo: Some of the best acting you will ever hear, stunning sound design and an awesome script. A masterpiece.

3. The Chimes of Midnight: Meticulous plotting and wonderful dialogue, a tight and constantly gripping story. I love the message about the value of life.

4. Seasons of Fear: Highly entertaining journey through history with a memorable villain and lots of quotable lines

5. The Silver Turk- Genuinely scary, stuffed with atmosphere, one of the best Cybermen stories ever

6. The Natural History of Fear: Excellent showcase for great acting and writing with unforgettable twists. I am fond of stories about shifting power dynamics, so this really appealed to me.

7. The Company of Friends: Each story is creative and well-constructed. The Doctor has convincing chemistry with all four companions (though Izzy suffers from weaker writing) Mary's story is an atmospheric highlight and it is amazing to have Fitz off the page for once.

8. The Girl Who Never Was: Does the difficult job of separating a great doctor/companion duo while keeping them both true to themselves by intelligently combining elements of other companion departures. Heartbreaking but satisfying.

9. Living Legend: A perfect slice of pure comedy, the leads are having a ball and are at their most likeable

10. Terror Firma: Gripping, great dialogue, and a twist that blew me away. A bit over ambitious for the run time, but so memorable and quotable.

11. Storm Warning: Energetic opening story which perfectly captures our two heroes from the get go. The setting is great as well.

12. Neverland: Expertly pays off what was set up in the preceding stories, with amazing concepts and can't miss character interactions

13. Other Lives: Love me a pure historical, especially one that gives each of the leads a compelling plot thread. Eight is so sweet in this it hurts.

14. If I Should Die Before I Wake: Great use of nuwho monsters to construct a twisty plot with lots of great moments between the leads.

15. Zagreus: Lives up to its reputation for being confusing, but it is also very entertaining and I admire the ambition. Plus Zagreus!Eight is a must listen.

16. The Witch From the Well: A smart blend of sci-fi and historical elements to tell a creepy and engaging story

17. The Faith Stealer: A solid story uplifted by delightful dialogue and great world building

18. Memory Lane: Does a lot with its off-beat, dream-like setting and I found the conclusion pretty unique while still fitting with the rest of the story.

20. Embrace the Darkness: Creepy concept and sound effects mixed with insight into the Doctor's character. I did get rather irritated with one of the side characters being stubbornly obstructive.

21. Solitaire: A tight, compelling showcase for Charley and the main villain, plus the idea of ventriloquist dummy!Eight is irresistible.

22. Invaders From Mars:A fun historical romp making the most of its inspired setting.

23. The Mummy Speaks!: Fast paced with some great dialogue and action set pieces. Gee the Gorilla is a star.

24. The Stones of Venice: The plot is messy, but it does a good job of continuing to develop the relationship between the Doctor and Charley.

25. Time Works: I just like the vibes on this one, a nice little self-contained fairy tale.

26. Absolution: Like C'rizz himself, kind of a mixed bag, but does a decent job of sending off my poor lizard/insect boy. The ending is a gut punch.

27. The Next Life: I really enjoyed Daphne Ashbrook in this, she's clearly having the time of her life, and she has great chemistry with McGann. Loved the villains ultimate fate. Did feel the leads were a bit out of character.

28. The Time of the Daleks: I like watching how protective the Doctor is of Charley here, and his sassy attitude towards the Daleks. Objectively, a bit of a slow story.

29. The Slaying of the Writhing Mass: Light and breezy story which has fun teaming up the Doctor and a kid for the adventure. Suffers a bit from separating the Doctor and Charley most of the story.

30. The Army of the Dead: A clichéd plot, but worth it to see the relationship developments between the Doctor and Mary.

31. Something Inside: This story is great for people who like hurt comfort. Which I do, though I prefer a bit more comfort. Otherwise, solid story if a little slow

32. The Last: Bleak, but does provide a fascinating look at the leads in extreme circumstances and helped me understand how the Divergent universe works. Did not like how Charley was written in this.

33. The Twilight Kingdom: It forces Charley to come off as irritating for plot reasons, but has some effective scenes and body horror.

34. The Heart of Orion: Improved sequel, with a better story and grasp on the characters than Sword of Orion. Still kind of middling.

35. Eclipse: Pretty unmemorable, if inoffensive; a generic sci fi story. I did like the ending.

36. Minuet in Hell: This is embarrassingly bad in many ways, especially in how women are treated. However, the parts with the Doctor are good, and I love everything with the Brig. Their meeting is fantastic.

37. The Sword of Orion: Objectively, it's perfectly functional. Subjectively, it is really dull. The leads are written to be the most generic Doctor and companion possible.

38. The Creed of the Kromons: This audio made me genuinely regret trying to eat breakfast in the car while listening. It's like they were trying to make the content as unpleasant as possible. Only good moment was the Doctor laughing about how stupid the villains were while they were torturing him. At least someone was having fun (for a moment).

39. Scaredy Cat: Deadly dull. Bad acting choices made by the main cast. The Doctor's moral compass is on holiday; not in an interesting way, just in a baffling way. It feels like the people making this just ran out of time, gave up and released something nobody particularly enjoyed, especially the audience.

Final thoughts: I adore Eight (now my current favorite Doctor), love Charley and Mary, like C'rizz and wish he had been better written. Loved most of these, and could recommend giving all but the last two a listen (the last two are in the running for worst Doctor Who story ever, and I'm pretty easy to please so I only have six or seven stories on that list).

I've been impressed with Big Finish so far, and I look forward to more Eighth Doctor.

[not-another-doctor]

I've known this version of Mary Shelley for five minutes and I swear to God Eight if something happens to her...

[bullet-prooflove]

A quick round up of updates on the blog including new characters added to the ASK LIST and a list of fics that went out last week:

New Fics:

Chicago Med:

Keys - Crockett gives you a safe space to work through your grief.

Bali - A vacation in Bali leads Jack to make some life changes.

Sunday Morning (NSFW) - You give Sean a very memorable Sunday morning.

Cobra Kai:

Masks - Terry realises you're uncomfortable at an event.

Stranglehold - Terry begs an unlikely duo for help.

Haven:

Domescity - You always seem to fit perfectly into Dwight's life.

Nightmares - Dwight has always had nightmares.

On The Rocks - Dwight finds you on the beach after a fight about Wade Crocker.

JAG:

30 Minutes - Mic decides to give you another thirty minutes in bed.

Law & Order SVU:

Bitter - Mike lashes out after a traumatic event. (Mike Duarte x Terry Bruno x Reader)

Mayans:

Wakeup Call - All Bishop wants is to stay in bed with you.

NCIS:

Show Me (NSFW) - A late night with Jimmy results in a video being sent.

NCIS - Hawaii:

Part Four:  PSYOPS - Charlie finally tracks you down in Mexico.

NCIS - LA:

Underneath The Stars - You and Harm have a unique wedding night.

Six AM - Marty watches you sleep after the accident.

The Call - Arlo calls you at three in the morning expecting to get your voicemail.

NCIS - NOLA:

Roses - Dwayne realises your being courted by another man.

Waiting - Dwayne can't stand to see you with another man.

The Storm - Dwayne and you take shelter together during a hurricane.

NCIS - Sydney:

History - Deshawn fears for the future when you into a face from his past.

You & Me - After the death of your ex, your relationship with JD is brought to life.

The Rookie:

More Than Life It's Self (NSFW) - John reminds you of his feelings for you at a crucial moment.

White Collar:

Light The Match - You and Keller share a kiss after you liberate your grandmother's ring.

Will Trent:

Trust - You realise that Will's been keeping a secret from you.

Yellowstone:

Texas - Travis and you make a realisation about your relationship.

[house-of-mirrors]

After a full week of being too scared to press the button, I completed the scheme of the phoenix! It's very interesting... seems to suggest Manchester is the capital of England in London's absence.

Also, rip to the American businessman. If it was my headcanon of Andrew Carnegie, I'm sorry Andy. Everyone already knew about your overseas investments though so you'll recover soon, probably. Hope someone lets you fight imperialists and put weird red science skeletons in your museums

I had 11 CP of bringer of death already and this gave me 13+10CP. I'm pretty sure that's a 90 CP increase. Agh. At least we didn't kill any Austrian archdukes yet. Speedrun of the game to get the stat as high as possible lmao

[soulsfractured]

Tags

General Tags

Out of Character - #These Fracture Pieces Fit | OOC

Relationship tag list

Muse Tags

Cyril - #Child of Rhapsody [Cyril]

Kuja - #Trial Genome [Kuja]

Luneth - #Silver Child [Luneth]

Sephiroth - #Silver General [Sephiroth]

Tseng - #Turk Leader [Tseng]

Vincent - #Ex Turk [Vincent]

Yazoo - #Remnants Return [Yazoo]

Verses

Cyril Main Verse - #A Soft Rhapsody | Main

Kuja Main Verse - TBA

Luneth Main Verse - TBA

Sephiroth Main Verse - #If I Could Only Speak My Truth | Main

Tseng Main Verse - TBA

Vincent Main Verse - #My Sins Make Me Unworthy | Main

Yazoo Main Verse - TBA

More TBA

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

So this is 100% poking fun at the creators that Next Wave is based on (Todd, Jim, and Rob) but this is also our first look at Fin who will stick around for pretty much the rest of the book.

[rottenpumpkin13]

How do you think ASGZ and the Turks+ Rufus would dress if they were ordinary people living in the real world? (My personal guilty pleasure head cannon is Sephiroth loving leather jackets and V-necks… imagine him in all black, leather jacket, dog tag, some bracelets, black jeans and combat boots… ahem sorry it’s late at night and my thoughts are going weird places)

Sephiroth's go-to outfit: All-black and minimalist is his go-to style, so he does like leather jackets, long coats, and black pants. He wears v-necks sometimes, but prefers button-ups so he can alter how constrictive his shirt is (not the case when he's at home because this man lives for comfortable clothes).

Angeal: I told you this event required you to wear a shirt.

Sephiroth, wearing a button-up that's only fastened at the bottom last button, leaving his whole chest exposed: What's wrong with my shirt?

Angeal: WHAT SHIRT?

Genesis' go-to outfit: Red leather jacket (he has so many of them), a button up/turtle kneck, and knee-high boots. All designer. He accessorizes with jewelry (all gold) such as necklaces, bangles and tons of rings.

Angeal's go-to outfit: sleeveless tee, jeans, boots, and a flannel he either commits to wearing or ties around his waist. All thrifted. Bonus points if the top is DIY'd or tie dye. He's a compulsive tie dyer.

*Zack leaves one of his white shirts out and walks away*

Angeal: Hm.

*Zack comes back and his shirt is tie dye*

Zack, alarmed: MAGIC

Zack's go-to outfit: A fitted tee, baggy pants, fingerless gloves and combat boots. He wears his dog tag as an accessory and hates jackets unless he can roll the sleeves really high.

Zack: I'm ready to go!

Angeal: You cannot wear that shirt out. Go change.

Zack, wearing a shirt that reads "DYSLEXIC WITH TICE NITS": Man, why you gotta be so judgemental?

Sephiroth, still wearing his chest out: Genesis claims he is allergic to good taste.

Angeal: I'm leaving you two at home.

Rufus' go-to outfit: It's a designer suit or nothing; preferably white and pristine, preferably custom-made. He's also likes to wear a kimono and hakama sometimes.

Reno's go-to outfit: A leather jacket, gloves, a button up that's either red or white, gold chain, and jeans, and combat boots.

Rude's go-to outfit: A leather jacket (him and Reno are matching), gloves, wearing all black, usually a button up since he's not a fan of t-shirts, and dress shoes. He likes to accessorize with chains.

Tseng's go-to outfit: No one has ever seen Tseng wear anything other than a suit. Work? suit. Party? suit. Beach? suit. Reno nearly died on the spot the day he and Rude ran into Tseng at the local coffee shop and he was wearing a t-shirt beneath his blazer, no tie, and a silver chain.

Reno: WHO ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH TSENG? Tseng: Why are you and rude wearing matching couple's t-shirts?

[theoutcastrogue]

Cold Iron in folklore, fiction, and RPGs

'Gold is for the mistress—silver for the maid! Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.' 'Good!' said the Baron, sitting in his hall, 'But Iron—Cold Iron—is master of them all!' — Rudyard Kipling, “Cold Iron”

Folklore

Drudenmesser, or "witch-knife", an apotropaic folding knife from Germany

The notion that iron (or steel) can ward against evil spirits, witches, fairies, etc is very widespread in folklore. You hang a horseshoe over your threshold to deny entry to evil spirits, you carry an iron tool with you to make sure devils won't assault you, you place a small knife under the baby's crib to ward it from witches, and so on. Iron is apotropaic in many many cultures.

In English, we often come across passages that refer to apotropaic cold iron (or cold steel). "All uncouth, unknown Wights are terrifyed by nothing earthly so much as by cold Iron", says Robert Kirk in 1691, which I believe is the earliest example. "Evil spirits cannot bear the touch of cold steel. Iron, or preferably steel, in any form is a protection", says John Gregorson Campbell in 1901.

Words

So what is cold iron? In this context, it’s just iron. The “cold” part is poetic, especially – but not only – if we’re talking about either blades (or swords, weapons, the force of arms) or manacles and the like. It just sounds more ominous. There are “cold yron chaines” in The Fairie Queene (1596), and a 1638 book of travels tells us that a Georgian general (in the Caucasus) vowed “to make the Turk to eat cold iron”.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang defines “cold iron” as a sword, and dates the term to 1698. From 1725 it appears in Cant dictionaries (could this sense be thieves’ cant, originally? why not, plenty of words and expressions started as underworld slang and then entered the mainstream), and from ~1750 its use becomes much more common.

NGram Viewer diagram for 1600-2019.

In other contexts, cold iron is (surprise!) iron that’s not hot. So let’s talk a bit about metallurgy.

Metals

In nature, we can find only one kind of iron that’s pure enough to work with: meteoritic iron. It has to literally fall from the sky. Barring that very rare occurrence, people have to mine the earth for iron ore, which is not workable as is. To separate the iron from the ore we have to smelt it, and for that we need heat, in the form of hot charcoals. Throwing the ore on the coals won’t do much of anything, it’s not hot enough. But if we enclose the coals in a little tower built of clay, leaving holes for air flow, the temperature rises enough to smelt the ore. That’s called a bloomery.

clay bloomery / medieval bloomery / beating the bloom to get rid of the slag

What comes out of the bloomery is a bloom: a porous, malleable mass of iron (that we need) and slag (byproducts that we don’t need). But now we can get rid of the slag and turn the porous mass to something solid, by hammering the hot bloom over and over. And once the slag is off, by the same process we can give it a desired shape in the forge, reheating it as needed. This is called “working” the iron, hence “wrought iron” objects, i.e. forged.

a blacksmith in his forge, with bellows, fire, and anvil (English woodcut, 1603)

This is the lowest-tech version, possibly going back to ~2000 BCE in Nigeria. If we add bellows, the improved air flow will raise the temperature. So smelting happens faster and more efficiently in the bloomery, and so does heating the iron in the forge, making it easier to work with. And that’s the standard process from the Iron Age all through the middle ages and beyond (although in China they may have skipped this stage and gone straight to the next one).

If we make the bloomery bigger and bigger, with stronger and stronger bellows, we end up with a blast furnace, a construction so efficient that the temperature outright melts the iron, and it’s liquified enough to be poured into a mould and acquire the desired shape when it cools off. This is “cast iron”.

a blast furnace

So in all of this, what’s cold iron? Well, it’s iron that went though the heat and cooled off. (No heat = no iron, all you got is ore.) If it came out of a bloomery, or if it wasn’t cast, it’s by definition worked, hammered, beaten, wrought, and that happened while it was still hot.

Is there such a thing as “cold-wrought” iron? No. In fact, “working cold iron” was a simile for something foolish or pointless. A smith who beats cold iron instead of putting it in the fire shows folly, says a 1694 book on religion, so you too should choose your best tools, piety and good decorum, to educate your children and servants, instead of beating them. When Don Quixote (1605) declares he’ll go knight-erranting again, Sancho Panza tries to dissuade him, but it’s like “preaching in the desert and hammering on cold iron” (a direct translation of martillar en hierro frío).

Minor work can be done on cold iron. A 1710 dictionary of technical terms tells us that a rivetting-hammer is “chiefly used for rivetting or setting straight cold iron, or for crooking of small work; but ’tis seldom used at the forge”. Fully fashioning an object out of cold iron is not a real process – though a 1659 History of the World would claim that in Arabia it’s so hot that “smiths work nails and horseshoes out of cold iron, softened only by the vigorous heat of the sun, and the hard hammering of hands on the anvil”. [I declare myself unqualified to judge the veracity of this statement, let's just say I have doubts.] And there is of course such a thing as “cold wrought-iron”, as in wrought iron after it’s cooled off.

Either way, in the context of pre-20th century English texts which refer to apotropaic “cold iron”, it’s definitely not “cold-wrought”, or meteoritic, or a special alloy of any kind. It’s just iron.

Fiction

The old superstition kept coming up in fantasy fiction. In 1910 Rudyard Kipling wrote the very influential short story “Cold Iron” (in the collection Rewards and Fairies), where he explains invents the details of the fairies’ aversion to iron. They can’t bewitch a child wearing boots, because the boots have nails in the soles. They can’t pass under a doorway guarded by a horseshoe, but they can slip through the backdoor that people neglected to guard. Mortals live “on the near side of Cold Iron”, because there’s iron in every house, while fairies live “on the far side of Cold Iron”, and want nothing to do with it. And changelings brought up by fairies will go back to the world of mortals as soon they touch cold iron for the first time.

In Poul Anderson’s The Broken Sword (1954), we read:

“Let me tell you, boy, that you humans, weak and short-lived and unwitting, are nonetheless more strong than elves and trolls, aye, than giants and gods. And that you can touch cold iron is only one reason.”

In Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn (1968) the unicorn is imprisoned in an iron cage:

“She turned and turned in her prison, her body shrinking from the touch of the iron bars all around her. No creature of man’s night loves cold iron, and while the unicorn could endure its presence, the murderous smell of it seemed to turn her bones to sand and her blood to rain.”

Poul Anderson would come back to that idea in Operation Chaos (1971), where the worldbuilding’s premise is that magic and magical creatures have been reintroduced into the modern world, because a scientist “discovered he could degauss the effects of cold iron and release the goetic forces”. And that until then, they had been steadily declining, ever since the Iron Age came along.

There are a million examples, I’m just focusing on those that would have had a more direct influence on roleplaying games. However, I should note that all these say “cold iron” but mean “iron”. Yes, the fey call it cold, but they are a poetic bunch. You can’t expect Robin Goodfellow’s words to be pedestrian, now can you?

RPGs

And from there, fantasy roleplaying systems got the idea that Cold Iron is a special material that fey are vulnerable to. The term had been floating around since the early D&D days, but inconsistently, scattered in random sourcebooks, and not necessarily meaning anything else than iron. In 1st Edition’s Monster Manual (1977) it’s ghasts and quasits who are vulnerable to it, not any fey creature. Devils and/or fiends might dislike iron, powdered cold iron is a component in Magic Circle Against Evil, and “cold-wrought iron” makes a couple of appearances. For example, in AD&D it can strike Fool’s Gold and turn it back to its natural state, revealing the illusion.

Then Changeling: The Dreaming came along and made it a big deal, a fundamental rule, and an anathema to all fae:

Cold iron is the ultimate sign of Banality to changelings. ... Its presence makes changelings ill at ease, and cold iron weapons cause horrible, smoking wounds that rob changelings of Glamour and threaten their very existence.... The best way to think about cold iron is not as a thing, but as a process, a very low-tech process. It must be produced from iron ore over a charcoal fire. The resulting lump of black-gray material can then be forged (hammered) into useful shapes. — Changeling: The Dreaming (2nd Edition, 1997)

So now that we know how iron works, does that description make sense? Well, if we assume that the iron ore is unceremoniously dumped on coals, it does not. You can’t smelt iron like that. If we assume that a bloomery is involved even though it’s not mentioned, then yes, this is broadly speaking how iron’s been made since the Iron Age, and until blast furnaces came into the picture. But the World of Darkness isn’t a pseudo-medieval setting, it’s modern urban fantasy. So the implication here is that “cold iron” is iron made the old way: you can’t buy it in the store, someone has to replicate ye olde process and do the whole thing by hand. Now, this is NOT how the term “cold iron” has been used in real life or fiction thus far, but hey, fantasy games are allowed to invent things.

Regardless, 3.5 borrowed the idea, and for the first time D&D made this a core rule. Now most fey creatures had damage reduction and took less damage from weapons and natural attacks, unless the weapon was made of Cold Iron:

“This iron, mined deep underground, known for its effectiveness against fey creatures, is forged at a lower temperature to preserve its delicate properties.” — Player’s Handbook (3.5 Edition, 2003)

Pathfinder kept the rule, though 5e did not. And unlike Changeling, this definition left it somewhat ambiguous if we’re talking about a material with special composition (i.e. not iron) or made with a special process (i.e. iron but). The community was divided, threads were locked over this!

So until someone points me to new evidence, I’ll assume that the invention of cold iron as a special material, distinct from plain iron, should be attributed to TTRPGs.

[crisiscutie]

Yooo been ages, miss you boo! 👀 that you're asking for requests to help with writers blocks. Lets see...

How about if Vincent actually fell for that adorable intern who worked with lucrecia instead? Considering lucrecia revived him out of guilt when he confronted hojo, maybe he as chaos instinctively looked for the darling afterward?

Make it as yandere slash monstrous however much you like it! Or tame. Or drama filled if lucrecia gets jealous, hojo meddling with Vincent's crush, or whatever.

Hey there bae! Thank you so much for this interesting request! Let's just say there are some pretty interesting implications if you spy some hints 👀...

Content Warning: Nothing really beside drama and angst. Pregnant Darling.

Pairing: 🕵️Turk Vincent Valentine/Intern Darling👩‍🔬

Vincent's hand gently glided down your aching body, providing support as he stood you up. Yes, you expected your first pregnancy to be difficult, but that doesn't mean you couldn't complain. The frequent morning sickness, swollen feet, and a back that felt like it was full of tiny painful knots made almost every moment hell for you. That's ignoring the strange, lucid dreams you had since it started. Were those dreams a normal part of pregnancy, or were they a result of the "treatments" you've been involved in? There was no way for you to know, as you had never experienced pregnancy before and had no one trustworthy to guide you. And it would stay like that until you're out of Nibelheim with Vincent tonight.

Although he wanted to give you time to rest and relax, he knew it wasn't feasible. This plan had been in the works for a while, but the worsening of your condition forced both you two to act now. Neither of you could let Hojo and Lucrecia continue their twisted experiments on you. Lucrecia had you doing busy work as her intern until she and Hojo offered you the opportunity to carry their child, in exchange for the better life you'd get after they're born. And like the feckless grunt you were, you took it, and it easily became the worst decision you ever made in your life.

"I'm fine, Vincent," you said and moved away from his grasp. You picked up a small bag and hastily walked down the hallway. Just as you were about to reach the entrance, he caught up to you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Darling. We need to talk."

"We don't have much-"

"No, you need to listen to me," you pleaded, turning around to meet his pained, red eyes. Your own eyes were on the verge of tears. "You didn't ask for this. You had no idea they were going to subject you and their child to experiments."

"That's the point! I should've fucking known! Two lunatics somehow needing a surrogate should've been suspicious from the start! And I didn't even want to do it. But I let them talk me into it. All because I wanted the money for us to settle down..."

"And we can still do that now. We'd give their child a normal life away from this. Together." he whispered. That very last word of his broke you down. You're not sure you're ready to be a parent. You're just barely getting started with adulthood, but this mess happened. A part of you knew you should've stayed a paper pusher in this shitty science department. Despite this internship from hell, there was one silver lining, Vincent himself.

Ever since you were assigned to work under Lucrecia, he has always been there for you. He was not just a shield to protect you from harm; he was your soulmate. The only bond you had within the cold, dark halls of this mansion. She wanted you to stay away from, but you couldn't care less. He was simply the best you could ever ask for.

"There might be guards outside, waiting for us..." you said.

He moved in closer, resting his forehead against yours. "We'll make it through," he assured, before giving you a deep and passionate kiss. It caught you off guard, but this reassurance was exactly what you needed. Your frown transformed into a small smile.

"I'll hold you to that," you said, squeezing his hand. He chuckled in response. Resting your other hand on your belly, you both continued to walk together. You knew there would be people waiting on the other side of that door, but you were ready to face them down with Vincent at your side.

I had to cut a bit out but I definitely wanna continue this if y'all liked it?

[after-witch]

That Great Triumphal Arch [Yandere Sephiroth x Reader]

Title: That Great Triumphal Arch [Yandere Sephiroth x Reader]

Synopsis: Sephiroth took you. And now all you know is pain. FF7R-verse. 

Word count: 2096

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, physical abuse and violence, noncon and sexual abuse, unwanted pregnancy for reader

You’ve been hurt before. You’re not some dainty thing, kept in a tower all your life.  You knew the streets. There were arms broken in alley tussles, noses bloodied through a drunken bar fight, and lately--far more lately--cuts from blades and the edges of Turk bullets and all those aching wounds that come with willingly signing up for a fight far bigger than yourself. You were under no illusions, when you joined with Cloud, what might lie ahead.

Though perhaps, being kidnapped by Sephiroth was not in your visions for the Could Happen in the Future. Getting hurt, yes. Being wrapped up in some insane plot to save the world, sure. 

Being targeted by Sephiroth? Not so much. 

Yet it happened. It happened so fast that if you were asked to recall the specific details, you couldn’t say. You remember the blow to your stomach, the blow to your head. You remember looking up and seeing Sephiroth staring down at you, a smile on his face, the grayness of your vision blurring with the glimmering silver of his hair. You remember, or at least you hope it’s a memory and not just something you imagined, hearing Tifa shout out something, hearing the clash of blades. 

But then there was nothing but grayness and fog and an awful, dreamless sleep. 

When you woke up, he was there.

Smiling.

Speaking words that felt like black tar in your ear. How you were his. How you were a gift. How you were meant to be there.

And he hurt you.

So, so much.

He hasn’t stopped.

The pain is relentless, fresh, raw. You can’t get used to it, not like you might eventually get used to the ache from a broken rib from a single ill-timed bar brawl. It’s ever-changing, day by day. 

Maybe that is why it’s taken you out so completely over the past few days (and just how long has he had you, in all?); got you weak and speechless, barely able to breathe much less think much less fight back much less--

“You’re beautiful, you know.”

The voice from above you is grating to your ears, like gravel being rubbed right into your bleeding, sore kneecaps. You’ve heard that damned voice so often lately, and sometimes you swear--you swear--that his lips aren’t moving when he speaks.

But why is he above you, again? You remember him hitting you this morning, you remember the kick that broke your ribs. You remember spitting in his face. And then, quite clearly, you remember the tip of his sword puncturing right through your wrist, leaving an almost disgustingly clean wound behind.

That was the last clear memory before all this.

So why is he above you, hair almost shimmering, eyes bright and piercing--what is that sensation, that awful, awful sensation? Like being pierced from the inside out. 

“Beautiful… when you’re bleeding for me.” His voice is just a little breathy. A practiced sound, you think, because he doesn’t break so much as a sweat when he spends hours hurting you. It’s not like sex was going to knock the wind out of him, like his boot connecting solidly with your stomach once or twice or umpteen times did to you so readily.

Unwillingly, reality finally comes back to you, sore and sticky and painful, with his gloved hand tapping at your cheek; with the realization that he’s inside you, again, thick and intruding and insistent. It’s like a drum beat in your lower body, a rhythm you’ve come to understand after all this time--and it makes you feel sick, still, no matter how familiar it’s become. 

A gloved thumb runs along your lower lip, catching on a scab healing over. 

“Everything you do is for me… bleeding… breathing… your very existence.” There’s a sticky coolness to his voice that makes you want to peel your skin off even more than the ever-present sensation of his body above yours. 

His voice continues, no matter how much you wish it would not. 

“When will you come to accept that?”

You ignore the content of his words (you so often do, when you can get away with it) and merely squint your eyes, desperate to make sense of things despite your aching body. But you still can’t tell. 

Did his lips move… or not?

His thumb presses down on the scab. And it’s such a small pain, really, compared to what you’ve been through. But you groan nonetheless, and squeeze your eyes shut to block out the stinging sensation spreading across your mouth.

“Answer me, and I may grant you mercy.”

You laugh, or at least you think it’s a laugh. A hoarse stuttering sound that wheezes out of your used and abused chest. In response, he thrusts harder, and your fingers curl on the sheets underneath you, desperate to gain purchase.

Above you (and inside you)-- there are signs that he is human, that he is not some infallible granite creature. Sweat on his naked chest. The movement of his hair, tickling your skin, as he begins to thrust quickly enough to signify his end. 

A soft, low sound as he pushes inside you so deeply that it hurts, and then warmth--a burning warmth that shouldn’t feel like it does, stinging and slick. Is it because he’s fucked you so often, creating tears? Or is there something wrong with him, to make his seed more unpleasant? Or--the thought comes, unbidden, awful--something wrong with you? 

His gloved hand taps your cheek again. It’s like being chided by a friend for dropping off in the middle of a conversation, but nowhere near as lighthearted. 

“Where did you go, I wonder?” 

You can’t answer him right away. Not without sacrificing dignity. So you keep your mouth shut and wait until your breath isn’t coming in so hard, and your heart rate has regained some sense of normalcy. 

You look straight at him, at the eyes that seem to glow from within now, something awful inside them. You wait until he’s raised an eyebrow, just a little, a sign that he’s expecting you to speak.

And you do.

“I’ll never accept whatever delusion you’ve created about me.” 

Yes, your voice is tired and hardly filled with the bravado you might have spoken with before he took you. But at least you got the words out. At least you know you spoke them with your own damn mouth.

His thumb returns to trailing gently on your lips. Almost soft, almost kind.

“But you’ve already accepted so much…” 

You don’t ask what he means, exactly. 

Later on, you’ll wish you had.

--

Your head lolls side to side. The pillow underneath, damp with your sweat, does nothing to ease your discomfort or the gnawing ache inside your chest. 

“Do you really think they’ll come for you?”

Yes, you want to say. They are my friends. We would never give up on one another. But you press your lips tight. 

“Don’t you know how long it’s been? How far they’ve traveled? They haven’t even tried to retrieve you.”

He’s lying. They would never just give you up, let you stay in his clutches. If they traveled, it was out of necessity, to find help or create a plan or get a better vantage point. Yes, that would be it. He’s… lying. Isn’t he? 

“They’re concerned with far greater things than you, aren’t they? Do you think they’ll choose you over this world’s pretended sanctity?” 

Yes, you want to say. Yes, yes, yes! But even you can’t pretend that wouldn’t be a bold, ridiculous lie. One life--or the world? Even if it was you… Even if it meant you were trapped here, with Sephiroth.

His voice continues to drip honeyed poison straight into your ears--straight into your mind. Soft whispers in the dark, over and over, reminding you, taunting you, telling you things that you must surely admit (deep, deep, deep down) are likely the truth. 

But he can’t be doing this to you. It’s impossible. Because he’s not speaking. You’re staring right at him, right at his detestable face, a face you could now describe with uncanny certainty… and his lips are not moving.

You weren’t sure, before; you’d wondered at the way his whispers seemed to squirm right into your ears, no matter how far away he was or how fuzzy your vision got from pain. 

You let out a confused groan that covers up whatever vile thing he blows into your ear next, though it doesn’t stop the awful sensation that comes with hearing him inside your skull. 

“I don’t understand.” You practically moan the words out, like a sick child on a feverbed. The damp sheets and your clenching fingers, rubbing the sheets raw, are much the same. “How are you doing this?”

“Oh, darling.” He says--but doesn’t say--as his hand skims down your chest and rests on your stomach. The feel of the leather is cold and harsh, like a ragged seam dragging down your skin.  “Don’t you know?”

You don’t know. You don’t know what he means, or why he’s doing this, or how the fuck he’s talking inside your head.

His hand doesn’t move, exactly, but presses down in a remarkably gentle gesture.

“Don’t you know what I’ve put inside you?”

There’s a terrible, long moment where the world drops out from underneath you. And then you’re back above with no air in your lungs, because you’ve screamed--you didn’t even know it.

He stares down at you with a patient smile until your breathing comes back, ragged and uneven.

“You’re lying.” Hot tears prick at your eyes, because you’re not stupid and you know what he means now, and you know that it’s the awful truth. You can deny a lot of things (and have done so at every opportunity) but this? This was real. It was sick and real. 

“I never lie to you,” he says, lips still unmoving. 

You know. You know. The calmness in his tone terrifies you more than any of his sweet poisons, than any of his bruising grips or swift strikes to your vulnerable body. 

“It’s remarkable, what her cells can do. And you took to them so quickly.” His smile has an almost edge of ecstasy to it that turns your insides sour. “It’s destiny. Even you must admit that.”

You think the word “no” comes out, but you can’t be sure you actually said it. Maybe you’re talking without opening your mouth now, too. Maybe you’re losing it, like frayed edges of an old blanket, just waiting to be pulled out. 

Sephiroth, if he notices your growing inner hysteria, chooses to ignore it. Instead, he leans down, taking a moment to rest his cheek against yours. He inhales softly through his nose.

“I thought you were at your most beautiful before, but this?” The hand on  your stomach trails up until he’s grasping your chin, keeping you in place. “This might be preferable…”

“Stop.” The words come out soft and perhaps pitiable to anyone but the man above you. 

He doesn’t even acknowledge them. Maybe you didn’t say them at all. 

There’s something determined in his eyes now, as he stares down at you. You’re almost afraid to find out what it is. 

“Mother has given me two gifts,” he says, softly, with reverence. “And I now will prove myself all the more worthy to her.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. It could be chaste, if anything Sephiroth ever did might ever be called that. The kiss tastes of his breath and your own tangy blood. 

This time, when he speaks, his lips move--cruel and hot against your own.

“Do you think Cloud will be able to look you in the eye, once he knows what’s inside you?”

Hot tears slide down your cheeks and join the sweat already dampening the pillowcase. 

His hand returns to your belly, cupping the skin there. There is warmth--he’s removed his gloves now--and the sensation makes you shudder. 

“Do you think you can belong to anyone but me now?”

This time, his lips don’t move.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 58

Before she decided to be called Susan, Susan was called Arkytior according to some accounts. Arkytior is the Gallifreyan word for "rose." (Short story: Roses)

Indeed, when Spring-Heeled Jack looked into the Eighth Doctor's mind, he referred Susan as his "precious little flower." (Comic: The Curious Tale of Spring-Heeled Jack)

The Fifth Doctor was once scientific advisor to Queen Victoria. (Novel: Empire of Death)

The version of the sonic screwdriver seen in the Doctor Who TV Movie was destroyed by Mary Shelley. (Audio: The Silver Turk)

In one possible future, the Delgado Master received long term care from the Third Doctor in a Zero Room after a collision in the vortex. (Audio: The Threshold)

The Delgado Master's TARDIS console sometimes makes the sound of a drumbeat of four. (Audio: The Threshold)

The Fourth Doctor could tell the difference between natural cerebrospinal fluid and an artificial version with added nutrients based on taste. (Audio: Invasion of the Body Stealers)

While stranded on Earth for 77 years, the Spy Master became a mycologist in Russia while trying to find a Silurian camp as part of an elaborate plan to interfere with Jo and Cliff Jones' marriage. He also became the scientific advisor for the Soviet Union's version of UNIT. (Short story: The Master and Margarita)

Nyssa once called the Fifth Doctor’s cricket pads "strange leggings." (Audio: Autumn)

The Fourth Doctor once downed 12 single malt scotches with a water chaser in order to protect himself against an extradimensional creature. (Novel: Drift)

Irving Braxiatel owns champagne glasses that were molded on the breasts of Marie Antoinette. (Novel: Professor Bernice Summerfield and the Doomsday Manuscript)

Braxiatel finds it hard to show sympathy, so he normally doesn't even try. (Novel: Professor Bernice Summerfield and the Doomsday Manuscript)

After learning to read and write, Jamie wrote a letter to Victoria to thank her for her lessons. The Seventh Doctor later delivered this letter to an elderly Victoria. (Audio: The Story of Extinction)

The Shadow Directory calls Time Lords "caillou." (Novel: Christmas on a Rational Planet)

The Shalka Doctor is ticklish. (Short story: The Feast of the Stone)

First 1 Prev 57 Next 59

[breath0ftheglacian]

Discipline

Yeah I'm just gonna get this out of my system. Long live Rufus Shinra. Remember this is pure filth and NSFW. All chapters: Lesson 1 Lesson 2 Lesson 3

Lesson 2

You stand in the middle of the room, Rufus Shinra positioned across, behind his mahogany desk, gently resting his chin on his arm. "You came." You shrug. "You called."

It's been some weeks, maybe three, since your previous and only encounter with the vice president. Yet not a day has passed where it hasn't been on your mind, like a permanent stain that you can't get rid of no matter how much you scrub. His hand marks all over your body, his voice telling you dirty things. 

You only got the word last night. A call from Tseng of the Turks, out of the blue, with very brief instructions. The VP wants to see you tomorrow. Wear something nice. 

Despite his polite manner, there is something crooked, something unnatural in how he sees you in and out of the VP's office. He walks just a few steps in front of you, leading you to his boss. Yet you did as you were told. You chose a set of lingerie just for him. The stockings, your favourite dress. Like some high class prostitute, you couldn't help thinking, and as the door shut behind you with that familiar click, you felt a quiet rebellion rising within you. Why should it only be on your terms?

A small grunt emerges from the corner of the room, and you see a large black creature adjusting itself as it lays its head on its muscular paws, mirroring its owner. An undeniably powerful looking dog. Or is it a cat? You can't quite tell.

"Darkstar." Rufus introduces his companion, and the creature slightly lifts its gaze. "She's a darling, really."

"I'm sure."

Your eyes drift back to Rufus, and land on the single object he's placed in the middle of his otherwise cleared desk. A collar, not dissimilar to the one the creature is wearing. Black leather, silver chain.

"And this, is it for me?" you ask, nodding at the collar. "It's for a pet."

Your eyes lock. A thought flashes through your mind, a brave impulse. You could...

It seems he read your mind, as you stumble forward and reach for the collar at the same time. He traps your hand under his. Thinking quick, you manage to snatch the chain and swiftly pull the item for yourself.

"I win."

Rufus stares you down. You're not sure what this means, but you're holding the symbol of dominance in your hands. He doesn't speak. You hold his gaze, unwavering. You've decided to stand your ground.

Finally, he lets out a little "hmph," and with a little rub of his lip, proceeds to take off his suit jacket, carefully placing it on the back of his chair. You watch him, still unsure of what's to follow. Then, opening the cuffs of his shirt, he rolls the black sleeves up to his elbows. He opens the top two buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric away from his neck, and looks at you as if to ask, what are you going to do?

You take a deep breath and straighten your back. "Get on your knees," you demand.

He moves closer, and you're sure you're about to be punished. This time though, you're not scared to look him in the eye, like a beast challenging an intruder, expressing dominance. To your surprise, he stops in front of you and drops to his knees. "I knew you were going to be fun."

"Hah," you manage to respond, shocked at what's actually happening. He looks up at the collar in your hands, then you. You take the collar to his neck and he lets you put it on, waiting patiently for you to finish as you try to be as gentle as you can. Once you've buckled the collar, you pull the chain tight and lean against the desk, pulling him closer  to you.

The black creature rouses in the corner of the room and lets out a low but distinct growl - a warning. 

"D, it's ok," Rufus lifts his hand and with that, the beast is tamed, laying its head down again. Suddenly it hits you. You're in control. He's submitting. Something wild takes over you. You slap him on the cheek.

"Did I give you permission to talk?" 

His eyes widen in disbelief as he processes what you've just done. Then, a deep breath.

"Harder." "Excuse me?" You can't believe what you're hearing. "You have to do it har--" He's interrupted by another slap from you, this time harder, as per his request. "Is that better?" 

You slap him again, even harder. Your hand stings. His cheek is red, his breathing growing heavy. He looks up and gives you a little nod. You run your hand through his hair and he keeps his blue eyes on you, waiting for your command.

"You told me to wear something nice," you say softly, bringing your hand to caress his cheek where you landed your blow. "I picked this out for you."

You slowly roll up the hem of your dress, revealing the rim of the stockings, the suspenders, the laced underwear. He watches you as you bring the dress to your waist. 

"Do you like it?" He nods gently, looking up at you again. "Why don't you show me how much you like it," you say with a playful tinge, giving the chain a little tug.

He moves closer to you and lifts his hands to the outside of your thighs. Looking up, he checks if you're ok with this.

"Yeah," you whisper.

He brings his face to your hips and takes a deep breath. You run your hand through his hair again, as he rubs his nose against your underwear, breathing you in, slowly, intently. A soft sigh escapes your lips. He presses a kiss on the flowery embroidered underwear as his hands move to grab your ass, squeezing you firmly. Another sigh. You're both breathing in time, heavy, hungry.

His finger traces along the rim of your panties, then moves them aside to make way to his lips, pressing kisses around, everywhere, moving dangerously close to your most sensitive area. He looks up at you, and with a little smug smile, closes his eyes as he lets his tongue slide in between your legs, lapping up, up, up towards your clitoris.

You instantly let out a moan. You know the rules - he wants to hear it, and you want to give him the reward. He's making you hot, wet, way too aroused way too quickly. He grabs your ass harder and you start to move your hips in time with his tongue. You feel your whole body tense, the hair stand up in your neck, your nipples harden, your fingers grabbing his hair. This could come to and end very soon, but it would be too soon, too hasty.

"Wait," you whimper. "Stop."

He doesn't. 

"Stop," you demand, louder, as he tries to slide his tongue inside you. It takes every ounce of self control for you not to cum right then. Grabbing his head with both hands, you push his face away as he pauses to catch his breath, his lips glistening from your juices. You stare at him, painful, throbbing pulsating between your legs.

"Bad, bad pet," you pant. He licks his lips, waiting for your next command. You survey around the room. "The chair," you decide. "Sit in your chair."

He does as he's told and you instantly climb over him, starting to undo his pants. His hands join in to help you. Together you manage to fumble the buttons open and pull down his underwear, revealing his cock, already fully hard. You wrap your fingers around the shaft, and this time it's him that lets out a slow moan. You can't help but smile, feeling up his size, gliding your hand up and down as he looks at you, eyes burning with need.

Lifting your hips, you position yourself on top, bringing his tip to gently touch your moist opening, leaning over to place a kiss on his temple.

"Since you were so bad," you whisper, slowly sliding down, taking all of him inside you, "I will have my fun, and cum all over you. And you will watch, and hold yourself together. Understood?" 

You turn your gaze to meet his, and he nods again in agreement, giving you a little smirk. Is this what he wanted all along? You don't care. You're drunk on your power, intoxicated by calling the shots. You start to grind yourself against him, his cock pushing against your walls. Not quite the spot, almost, you readjust yourself. And there it is. His shaft is pushing against that spot inside you, the waves of pleasure start coming, first slowly, then more consuming, and you lose yourself in the rhythm. He watches you in awe, letting out little gasps, doing his best not to get too lost in your slow dance.

 You pull on the chain and crash your lips against his as you feel yourself get tight around him, so tight it almost hurts to move, but you have to, you're compelled by the pleasure. You moan loudly into his mouth as you allow yourself to finally experience the full orgasm, sending little jolts across your body, leaving you dizzy with delight. One more little twitch, then, stillness.

As you come down from the high, you shift your hips and feel him inside you. Still hard, waiting patiently. You let out a little laugh and he chuckles with you.

"Wow," he whispers. "What would my pet like now?" you ask.

He pauses to think for a moment. "I want to fuck you until you cum again."

You find yourself on all fours in front of his desk, spreading your knees on his fancy rug. He enters you from behind, with a powerful thrust, and you cry out again, fulfilling your side of the agreement. He fucks, you scream. He doesn't waste time being gentle, and you drop your upper body to the floor, pushing your ass agains his cock as he pounds you, harder, faster. He grabs your hair and leans in closer, reclaiming his position as the master.

"I love being your pet," he speaks in a low voice, sending electricity up your spine, "I love it even more when you think you can get away with it." He drives his cock into you, commanding, sweat dripping everywhere. Your skins stick together, sticky, sweaty, soaked. It's rough, animalistic, utterly vulgar, and still, somehow, it's not enough.

"I can't," you cry out from sheer exhaustion. You're so close, so desperate to get another release, yet somehow it's eluding you. "You can." He reaches his hand down, fingers finding your clit, and starts to work at the same pace he's pushing inside you. It's enough. "Can I cum?" you whine as you already start to, clear liquid gushing from your entrance and dripping all over your legs, his legs, the rug. It's the first time you've ever experienced anything like this. "Oh you dirty girl," he sighs, and with a few last forceful thrusts, joins you in the elation, releasing his seed inside you, his juices mixing with yours.

You collapse on the rug and he follows you all the way down, burying his face in your hair as he rides the final waves of his orgasm.

It's a few minutes before you finally have the energy to roll around onto your back. Rufus sits up on the rug next to you, looking down at the chain that hangs from the collar, still around his neck. You wrap your index finger around the chain and play with it as you look at each other, neither of you finding the words to say, or perhaps not needing to. Suddenly you remember something, and let out a giggle.

"Is he waiting? Behind the door?" "Tseng?" "Mhm." "Why? Would you like me to invite him to join us?" You laugh out loud, but Rufus just smiles at you. "I don't know... maybe that would be exciting." "I'll ask him." You laugh again, pushing yourself up to sitting, while Rufus finally decides to free himself from the collar.  "Are you hungry?" he asks, pulling up his pants and tucking his shirt in. "I know a place just two blocks from here. We can take D for a walk, too." The beast snores quietly in the corner, relaxed and fast asleep, seemingly completely undisturbed by your carnal games.

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

Just a random collection of thoughts. all of these are Pre-Nibelhiem. Yandereish? Was hoping maybe writing some of it down would help curb the Sephiroth obsession, don’t think I can reverse 20+ years of obsession though. And Genesis is a little menace, especially to Sephiroth this is facts. I guess slight nsfw? I dunno how to tag these things. Never thought I’d post anything.

*************************************************

“Oh you love me, I know you do y/n.”

Glancing at the clock on your stove then back to the drunk silver hair man at your kitchen table, you realize you’re in for a very long night.

———————————————————————

Today’s lecture entails your lack of responsibility, fantastic right? It’s been an hour and you’ve already accepted defeat and agreed to the fact that you were wrong for not answering the phone. However, he’s still complaining. It’s sweet sure, sometimes a bit much. You just can’t stay that mad when he’s worried about you. However it’s almost a bit weird, it’s like he’s tracking your every move.

“I didn’t know you had so much time for me, just imagined you’d be busier than this.” You say trying to contain your smile. “We both have the same, well similar, job. So you know overtime is mandatory.”

“Your schedule said-“ he started but you interrupted.

“My schedule said what? You know my schedule? I’m a Turk not a SOLDIER, how would you know?” Firing questions at him, you look genuinely confused. You know Tseng wouldn’t disclose such information, surely Rufus wouldn’t even entertain the thought.

“I keep track of what’s mine.”

———————————————————————

The arguing has been going on since they arrived. Well one couldn’t call it arguing really, Sephiroth was whining. Closing Loveless and setting it on the counter he’s sitting on, Genesis starts to speak, “He’s embarrassing himself in there, I think y/n loves it.”

A notion that Angeal has agreed with numerous times. Sephiroth isn’t going to beg for your forgiveness and affections publicly, but these two feel like they’ve just about seen it all. It’s not that you get a slight kick out of being a little mean to him, he’s just been so damn bad all week. Someone has to hold Sephiroth accountable and he hates that you’re more than willing to do that.

—————————————————————

Kicking his feet up on your coffee table, Genesis rests his arms along the back of the couch. Conveniently one of those arms ended up behind you. Is this necessarily a problem? Maybe not. But why the fuck does he act like he owns the place?

Staring at his boots on your table you huff, “Someone’s a bit comfortable huh?”

Sephiroth, who immediately perked up when Genesis’ arm went behind you, couldn’t have been faster to agree. “A little too comfortable in my girlfriend’s home if you ask me.”

Oh. There was that tone of voice again, it’s time to make your escape. Excusing yourself to help Angeal in the kitchen you faintly hear Genesis reply to Sephiroth and you know it was nothing to calm him down.

Leaning against the counter you give a light chuckle. “Should be safer in here with you right? Do you think he’ll ever get over-“ you pause trying to find the proper wording “-that?” There are no proper words, the two of you know what you’re asking.

“We can only hope.” Angeal sighs as Genesis’ laughter rings out.

———————————————————————

He fucked up, he knows he fucked up. He also knows you can’t stay mad at him, not that he’ll let you. This is how you ended up in bed with him, getting fucked for hours. He really just wants to make it up to you. He doesn’t mean to upset you he just doesn’t know how to act because you drive him crazy.

Between the sessions of Sephiroth’s balls slapping against your ass and his cum dripping out of you, he pulls you against him. Hands still roaming all over you as he tells you how much he loves you and that he just can’t let you go.

You’re still not sure how he even got in your apartment, he was already there when you got home. Gifts in hand, apology played out in his mind over and over again to make sure it comes out just right, puppy eyes prepared to make you give into his begging. What he didn’t expect was for you to not forgive him, at first at least.

“No…no no no. You can’t do that y/n please.” Shaking his head he stares at you with a mix of confusion and hurt. Don’t make that baby cry, if you keep denying him he just might. But now you see that if he starts crying, he gets violent. You better tell him that everything is okay soon ‘cause fuck you’re not getting that security deposit back. Eventually you calm Sephiroth down, holding his head against your chest, playing with his hair and whispering sweet nothings to him.

He’s going to clean up the mess he’s created, but before that he has to fuck you to sleep right? You’ll talk to him in the morning about seeking help, maybe you’ll do the same.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part seventeen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

-

The lifeblood of Shinra is power in its many forms - Mako, money, military, medical... - but its nervous system is intelligence.

Shinra controls all the major print media, radio and television stations and has its own, not entirely public, publicity arm that makes sure that those things stay in line. It works from within the Public Service Department, of course, and it has its fingers in everything from print houses to public libraries to theatres and cinema. Very few things go out into the world without Shinra Public Service's stamp on it.

And the Department has, always, an ear to the ground for rumours. Everything from a Department head's illicit indulgences to lowly janitor voicing work-related complaints at a bar, Turks are often the first to know about. Some of those rumours could be ignored, others had to be suppressed, some were given a megaphone, and the rest… were dealt with according to procedure. 

Whenever there's anything at all noticeable out in the wilds, the Turks notice. And when SOLDIER First Class takes a leave of absence, it's noticeable.

When it's Sephiroth, it's a potential disaster - PR, or otherwise. And the fact that he cited Shinra Medical Research Department as his reason….

Sephiroth doesn't take time off. He gets it assigned in the form of downtime, which he then uses to train, but he never requests it. He never takes any form of sick leave either - he doesn't get sick. And he rarely, if ever, cites the Medical Research Department in any way in written form.

The man has a… notably awkward relationship with the department, what with it being run by his father. Who is, by all accounts, one of the most abusing and manipulative men in Turk records. Hm.

"First signs of a little rebellion from our Silver General," Reno suggests, lounging casually back on Tseng's office couch. "Or the first cracks in the ice?"

Tseng hums, leafing through Sephiroth's file. It's a lengthy one - even the unclassified folder is thicker than any other SOLDIERs - but has remarkably little about Sephiroth's psychology. It was considered a non-issue, because Sephiroth was classified more as company property, rather than as an employee. Employees need to be managed - property is used or stored.

It makes it difficult to estimate, or even guesstimate his potential reaction - or the eventual fallout.

"They accidentally killed him with an injection," Rude comments, sitting across from Reno. "It's reasonable cause."

"Reasonable cause to lose his shit and go crazy sword killer on us all," Reno says, crossing one leg over the other. "Like that guy, what's his face - went whacko on a mission and slaughtered his whole squad in Wutai."

"No such incident occurred," Tseng says, inflectionless.

"Yes, yes, and that particular jungle burned down to the ground completely by coincidence," Reno snorts. "Just saying - that guy went through only a fraction of what Sephiroth's gone through. If the Elite among Elite is cracking, I'd like to know what happened the last time SOLDIER lost their marbles. You know, for reference."

Though a fair point, it's not a good point of reference for Sephiroth though - Sephiroth is on a whole different level of dangerous.

Lowering the folder, Tseng rests his elbows on his desk and steeples his hands. "SOLDIER look after their own," he comments, more to himself than to his underlings.

"And thank fuck for that," Reno agrees heartily. "But again, it's Sephiroth."

In previous cases of SOLDIER showing especial signs of stress, they were taken care of by other SOLDIERs. They even did a decent enough job covering up the usual issues that plagued SOLDIERs thanks to Mako injections - the side effects of memory loss were something of an open secret, but as long as it didn't affect SOLDIER effectiveness, it was being overlooked.

Usually Turks could trust SOLDIER to clean up their own messes… but sometimes a jungle had to burn. Tseng didn't really want to go poking around SOLDIER, but…

Sephiroth is more than a potential incident with massive casualties they might need to take care of. He's the face of Wutai War - and the company's second most valuable asset, right after Mako extraction technology itself. An incident simply isn't permissible, when Sephiroth is concerned. However… it might not be preventable, either.

Sephiroth is the only member of Shinra military that cannot be swept under the rug if he becomes an issue. Nor is there much anything they can do to control the man. Sephiroth answers to Lazard and through him to Heidegger… but he's owned by Hojo. And Hojo barely answers to the president.

How troublesome.

"I want a full, detailed accounting of everything Sephiroth has done post-op, and everything he will do going forward, until we can safely classify him as no longer a concern," he decides. It's barely an effort to maintain control, he knows, but there's not much else that can go, with a VIP target like this.

Hopefully being watched would make the man exercise self-control - rather than make him feel controlled and all the more stressed. 

"And if he loses it and starts slicing and dicing everything that moves?" Reno asks. "Because, no offence, boss, you don't pay me near enough to get in the way of that." Rude hums in agreement.

"I pay you enough to make sure no one important does either," Tseng says, giving him a look. "Distract, divert and minimise loss of valuable company assets. Which includes Sephiroth himself."

"What fun that will be," Reno decides and rolls to his feet with all the grace of an alleyway cat. "Alright. Off I go to poke my nose where it doesn't belong."

Rude hums and stands up, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. "What's the operating procedure concerning information leakage? Sephiroth is a public figure."

"Standard OP. Suppress anything that might bring trouble to the company," Tseng says and leans back. "Nothing has changed, for now, so let's concentrate on getting Sephiroth quickly and smoothly back to Wutai." Where any incidents would be much easier to suppress.

"Here's hoping our famous Elite First won't make that impossible," Reno says. "Like, by very publicly going Tonberry on someone's ass."

Tseng sighs. "Reno…"

"I'm going, I'm going," Reno cackles. "Coming, Rude?"

"Mn," Rude hums and nods to Tseng. "Sir."

Tseng waits until they're out of the office before leaning back with a sigh.

The SOLDIER program has made one hell of a difference for Shinra, both in military power and in terms of publicity. Now if only Medical Research stopped treating them like disposable lab rats… 

Running a hand down his face, Tseng shakes his head. Not his department. With that thought he turns to his computer and on to what is his department - and begins writing a report on what it would take to neutralise Sephiroth, if it ever became necessary. 

-

No personal privacy in this company. SY would really like for people to stop being concerned about him now, please and thank you.

[soulsfractured]

Plotting call for any muse!!